Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1158715.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      John_Egbert/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      John_Egbert, Dave_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      Phone_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-29 Words: 2178
****** The Domino Effect ******
by Fudgyokra
Notes
     This is an old UA (that’s a fancy, Tumblr-derived term meaning
     “universe alteration.” The change in this case is that Dave and John
     live within walking distance of each other.) Also, this is written
     for someone else. I actually don't read Homestuck, lol. Let’s say
     Dave and John are sixteen or seventeen during the course of this
     story.
Your name is John Egbert, and you are ninety-nine percent positive that your
father is fucking your best friend's brother in the room adjacent to yours.
Instead of pausing to wonder why your presence in the house didn't stop them
from engaging in their current activities, you reach for your cell phone and
dial the aforementioned best friend, who answers after three rings into your
fourth call. "John? What the flying fuck, man? Why are you calling me?"
"Because I need to talk to you."
"But why are you calling?Just message me-"
"No, I need to hear your voice."
There is an infinitesimal pause, and you are quick to register the change in
Dave's tone as he continues, although you can't determine what it has changed
to. "Well, I can see why you may wanna do that."
"I think your notions are misconstrued."
"I think they are, too."
"I'll explain: I need to listen to you so I can block out the sounds of Dad
rocking the bed with your brother."
"...Oh." Dave's tone is definitely uncomfortable now, and you can hear it as
plain as day when he follows that 'Oh' up with, "So that's where Bro went."
"Yeah."
Despite your best efforts to keep those noisesfrom reaching your ears, you soon
realize that neither you nor Dave has anything to say, therefore any and every
sound coming from your dad's room is audible. Very audible.
Just when a loud thunk on your wall and a heady moan had you contemplating
escaping to the Strider household, the boy on the other line of your call
laughs. "Wait, I think I hear it. Was that them? Or was that you?"
Your first reaction is a scoff — your second is a disturbed face, because the
moans are more frequent now. "That was me," you reply, voice heavy with
sarcasm.
Dave responds in an equally sarcastic fashion: "I figured. Keep it up, that was
hot."
"Yeah, baby," you deadpan, standing from your seat and moving to collect your
jacket and shoes. It was about time you fled the house, you've decided, but
your moving around didn't break the chain of sarcasm that you and your best
friend have created.
The latter's response was even more monotonous than yours, and you have to give
him credit for that. "You know how I like it."
You sort-of accidentally purr back, "I don't believe I do. Why don't you tell
me?"
As you're tugging one jacket sleeve on, the phone that isn't quite close enough
to your ear buzzes to life again with the distant sound of Dave's voice. "I
like it loud." And, if you are not mistaken, he's purring his words, too. "I
like it when you scream."
"Oh?" Your voice sounds just a tad shell-shocked, but you don't realize that in
the midst of your dressing. "I'd wager that you don't have what it takes to
make me scream."
"Betcha I do."
"Yeah? How?"
When he doesn't reply with some smart-ass quip about jumping out at you from
around corners or putting fake spiders in your juice to make you scream, you
know this conversation is heading in the wrong direction. Instead, you get, "I
could bend you over the arm of the couch," in response, and you'd be damned if
your face didn't heat up. "Legs spread out just for me." Dave definitely does
not sound like he's joking. "And I'd fuck you so hard your neighbors would know
my name."
In the three seconds following these remarks, you consider laughing that off
and telling him that you needed to come over to avoid your father's personal
business; in the split-second following those three seconds, you toss
everything out the metaphorical window and say, "Oh really?" with a blatantly
challenging tone.
Dave's voice is coming off as a little slurred now, and it takes you more time
than it should to realize that he sounds amusingly Southern. You never hear him
get like that. "Yeah, really... And y'know what?"
You refuse to acknowledge that your legs are weak, but you sit down on the bed
because you're 'tired' and breathe back a, "What?" to answer his question.
"I bet I could get you to beg, too."
"Absolutely not," you say without conviction, chuckling weakly and collapsing
onto your back.
"You know I could, Egbert."
"How do you propose you'd go about that, eh?" You didn't mean to unzip your
shorts, but you figure since they're undone you'd slip your hand inside them,
anyway.
"I'd kiss you dizzy...you'd prolly taste like something totally gay."
You laugh at his words and faintly shake your head. "Apple juice, maybe."
"Uh-huh. And I'd push you against a wall..."
"I thought we were on the couch," you murmur, pressing down ever-so-slightly on
the front of your boxers. "Mm..."
A chuckle comes from his end, and you are very sure it's as in need of air as
your words are. "Not yet. We're on the wall right now. And I'm grabbing your
hips, kissing your neck... Whispering shit in your ear."
"Whispering what?" You tease your fingers up and down, releasing a soft breath
and immediately feeling self-conscious when you finally stop to think that Dave
might be able to hear you.
He didn't seem to notice. "'C'mon, Egbert, tell me how bad you want it.'"
Another chuckle from the other line, then, "And you'd say..."
"I'd say, 'Not bad enough to beg.'" Even you have to let a soft laugh escape,
though you're more focused on moving your hand down to palm yourself now.
"So I'd grind against you-" Presently, you press down a little harder, moving
your hand back up towards the hem of your underwear.
"Ah..."
"Trail my hand up your side..."
You let the phone drop onto the bed next to your ear and do what he says,
hiking your shirt up as you go. "Then what?" you find yourself mumbling before
you realize you're even doing it.
"Take your shirt off."
You don't stop to think about whether that was a command or what he meant he'd
do next, but you comply either way, tossing it off the bed with little care.
"And?"
"And run my hands up your body. You're prolly soft, 'cause I know you ain't got
shit for hair on your chest."
Again, you laugh—a small, barely-there sound while you reluctantly withdraw one
hand from your shorts and trail both hands up your torso, feeling only vaguely
dumb in the process. You faintly remember to tilt your head so you're actually
speaking into the phone. "All right. And then?"
"Then I'd pinch your nipples, suck at your earlobe, tell you how good you look
all hot and bothered for me..."
You move your hands up to chest and pinch, and the only response you can manage
for Dave is a soft whimper, but you're too gone to remember that this is
actually happening and that you probably ought to stop.
The blond continued, his voice faint. "I'd bring one hand back down to rub your
thigh. So close to touching you just right, but not quite there."
"Ahhn..." It was around that moment—when you've got one hand rubbing at your
inner thigh and the other tweaking a rosy bud on your chest—that you begin to
feel hazy enough to picture Dave hovering above you, and suddenly forget that
he's just on the phone and not presently with you. "Dave..."
"Mm... Since I know you want me to, I'll touch you...but it'll be torturously
soft and slow, 'cause I won't go faster unless you ask nicely."
"Fuck...ah... Faster."
"Say 'please.'"
"Please."
His small sound of approval spurs you on. "So I'll cup you through your shorts
and squeeze just the right way." The sound that escapes your mouth might be
called a mewl, but you didn't hear it and therefore couldn't possibly begin to
think about putting a name to it.
Dave hums. "I'll get rid of those dumb shorts...boxers, too. They're pesky and
in the way."
You do just that, pushing them down until they pooled around your ankles, where
you promptly kick them to the floor.
"And once I'm undressed too, I'll push you onto the couch." There is a faint
shuffling sound that you miss on the end of the line, and then Dave's voice is
back again. "I'll tell you to spread your legs wide for me."
Another brief whimper later and you've done so; the Strider boy keeps going:
"So I tell you to open up 'n' put three fingers up to your mouth, 'cause you're
gonna need 'em all." He laughs once through his nose, then hums lowly.
You take three fingers into your mouth as instructed and suck, entirely
unaware—as you have been of most of the noises—of the soft moan that leaves
your throat.
"Yeah, just like that," Dave says, reverting back to purring. There is a
moment's pause while you ensure that the fingers are evenly coated in saliva,
and then, as if on a cue, your friend's voice returns. "I'll press one up to
your entrance and kiss you dizzy while I put it in..."
A rather loud curse leaves your mouth. "Go slow, baby..." There are shivers
running up your spine, and you exhale shakily, tipping your head back onto the
bed.
Your thighs twitch, but you've done it, and you only have to wait another
second or so before the Strider picks up again. "I'm drawing it out now,
rubbing your thigh with my free hand again." Another whimper on your end. "Back
in, a little faster."
"Oh..."
"Ahh... I'll repeat it, speeding up 'til you're comfortable with it. But I
won't add another 'til you ask."
"Dave," you manage to choke out, becoming acutely aware of the dark flush that
your face has gained by this point. "Another."
"What's the magic word, John?"
"Please."
"Good. So I'll be nice and put in another. And I'll touch you again to make you
feel better." Dave's voice breaks off into a sharp exhale somewhere along in
that sentence, but he continues on breathlessly. "Just a little...I'll trail
two fingers all the way down, then back up..."
"Dave..."
"Yeah?" He takes that moment to replenish his air supply.
"More."
"All right, all right. I'll curl my fingers around ya..." His voice was
slurring a bit more now, you could tell.
Past a gasp, you manage a sharp, "Oh."
There’s an impressively high-pitched sound on the other end of the receiver,
and right as you register that, you also realize that you’ve subconsciously
sped up your hand movements. It takes all of five seconds for your brain to
press a white-ish haze against your retinas, and suddenly you’re breathing a
lot more heavily than before.
After another few minutes of accented, far-off-sounding curses from Dave and
what you imagine sounds quite similar coming from yourself, the haze snaps into
focus as a solid white wall, rendering your sight useless; in response to this,
you squeeze your eyes close. Your hips are jerking upward now, and by the time
your eyes flutter open again, you’ve managed to make a mess of your hand and
your bed’s cover. Wonderful.
And Dave—
Dave.
Shit, you think frantically. For good measure, you say it aloud, then snatch
your phone up into a white-knuckled grip. “Dave?”
Silence.
“Dude?”
Again, dead silence. You briefly wonder if the call had been cut off, but a
quick glance at the phone’s screen indicated otherwise. “Did we just…?”
Finally, the blond speaks after clearing his throat. “Yeah. We did.”
“I just…”
“Me, too.”
“Wow.”
“Uh-huh.”
A lengthy pause created an awkward air between them, though it eventually broke
with Dave’s ill-concealed humor. “I think this makes you sorta gay, Egbert.”
You roll your eyes, but your reply doesn’t make it out of your mouth before you
hear someone knocking on your door.
“Ah—who is it?”
“Your father? Who else would it be?”
Shit. Fuck. Damn it.
“Hold on, Dad. I’m on the phone.”
“I’m aware of that, son.”
The expletives in your mental monologue keep on coming. “…What?”
“I know you’re on the phone with your little friend, David. I just wanted to
let you know that we’re having dinner at the Strider house tonight.”
“Why?” you practically squeak before pinching the bridge of your nose in
frustration at your own voice.
“Mister Strider invited us.”
“I’m sure he did,” Dave’s voice crackled from the phone.
You snort. “Okay, Dad. Is that all?”
“Sure. But John?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you two are going to mess around, please make sure you use protection. It
gets messyif you don’t.” The sound of retreating footsteps punctuated this,
effectively putting an end to the conversation.
You’re quite positive your face can’t get any redder. But, as with many of your
other assumptions, you find that you were very, very wrong, because seconds
later, Dave says, “I’m sure your dad would know, eh, Egbert?”
“Fuck you, Dave.”
“I’d be honored.”
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