Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/273357.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Bro/John_Egbert, John_Egbert/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      John_Egbert, Bro, Dave_Strider, Rose_Lalonde
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-11-06 Updated: 2012-05-06 Chapters: 11/? Words: 27180
****** Upgrade ******
by Anathema
Summary
     "You know, you seem like a pretty straight forward kid, but I still
     can't figure you out," Bro says.
     "What do you mean?" You reply, and your voice sounds small and
     strained.
     "I mean one minute you're cuddlin' with my kid brother on the couch,
     making the most sincere 3rd grade moves on him, and the next you're
     blushin' and battin' your eyelashes at me like an anime schoolgirl."
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
You're not sure when you started noticing boys, but once you started you
couldn't switch it off. You didn't want to examine it too closely, so you
pushed these thoughts to the back of your head during school hours. It wasn't
until you had slung your backpack off one shoulder, cleared the stairs two at a
time, and slammed your bedroom door that you felt hidden enough to let your
mind wander.
You had denied it as long as you could, laughing it up as you played along
whenever Dave would bro-flirt with you ironically. But it wasn't irony for you
anymore. Whether or not you had an actual crush on your best friend for life
you couldn't begin to wrap your head around, but you knew you grinned like an
idiot whenever you shared one set of earbuds, you knew you flooded with warmth
whenever your thighs pressed together on the bus ride to school, and you knew
you were finding increasingly lame excuses to touch him all the time.
Okay, so this definitely cannot happen. Falling for your best friend may be a
time-honored tradition in your favorite terrible romantic comedies, but in real
life you know(in the general knowledge sort of way)that it always ruins
everything. And also you have a three-day weekend ironic sleepover pajama party
starting tomorrow, and realizing you want to make out more than you want to
play video games is going to make thing at least 300% more awkward. You wonder
if Colonel Sassacre would know the precise index of elevated awkwardness.
Out of the corner of your eye you notice that your pesterchum window is already
flashing, but your stomach does a silly sort of flip and and you shuffle things
around in your room to avoid seeing who is pestering you. You kick a few comic
books and pairs of pants under your bed as an excuse for cleaning, and take
time to lovingly re-tape the corner of one of your many Matthew Mcconaughey
posters that was starting to peel away from the wall. You don't care what Dave
says, Mcconaughey is clearly one of the great actors of our time.
Finally there's nothing left for your short attention span to latch onto, and
you've reasoned with yourself that if you can't even handle a chat on
pesterchum, there's no way you're gonna survive this weekend. You flop down
into your computer chair and breathe a sigh of relief to see Rose's window
blinking at you.
 
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:08 --
TT: So
TT: Are you all ready for the glorious three days of male bonding I keep
hearing so much about?
TT: Really, John. You'd think a trip to the Strider household was a visit to
Disney Land, the way you've been going on.
TT: If only the differences in our anatomy didn't render my joining your
sleepover socially taboo. I could tag along to keep you out of trouble.
 EB: what?
EB: oh, haha! yeah, it's going to be pretty much even more awesome than you can
imagine.
EB: we are going to get up to all sorts of shenanigans. it will be no place for
a lady of your
EB: uhm
EB: stature
 TT: I don't think that word means what you think it means.
 EB: haha, probably not!
 TT: All joking aside, do try to keep your wits about you this weekend, John.
TT: I don't exactly know how to broach the subject, but I've been noticing a
change in your behavior lately of which I don't think you yourself are entirely
aware.
 EB: uh
 TT: I don't mean to pry.
 EB: but you will!
 TT: So you do know what I'm talking about?
 EB: i never do!! but uhm my dad is calling me from downstairs. he's probably
baked something horrible he wants to pawn off on the first unsuspecting victim
he can come across
EB: ie ME!!!
 TT: Wait
 EB: talk you after this weekend! bye!!
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 17:18 --
 
You quickly log off pesterchum and stare at the aborted conversation, nibbling
your bottom lip with your oversized front teeth. This is seriously bad. If Rose
was about to mention what you think she was about to mention, that means other
people might have cottoned on. Other coolkid people. But then again Rose is
always analyzing everyone and their "behavior patterns" so chances are you're
still in the clear. You've got to snap out of this fast before it becomes even
more of an issue. The problem is... how?
Chapter End Notes
     So sorry about this. I don't really know the first thing about
     writing fanfiction, but it looked like fun so here we are. You may
     offer me constructive criticism, but you have to come to my house and
     whisper it gently into my ear while you hold me.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Before you know it you're standing outside Dave's front door the next day with
your duffel bag bulging at your feet. You hesitate one beat before lifting a
skinny arm to knock on the door, nibbling at your lower lip and fiddling with
the frayed ends of your oversized sweater sleeves. One glance over your
shoulder lets you know your Dad is still standing vigilantly outside his car,
hands in his pockets as he makes sure you're safely inside the house before he
will consent to drive away. Humiliating.
You hear fast footsteps that slow down to a cooler pace the closer they get,
and when Dave cracks the door open you grin and can't help but forget your
nerves. Somehow you even forget your embarrassing Dad beaming his fatherly
protection at you from the driveway, because Dave is about the most adorable
thing you've ever seen when he's just woken up. His hair is a messy white-blond
tangle around his pale face, his clothes freshly rumpled and somehow you can
tell his eyes are tired even though you can never see them through his
trademark shades.
"Jegus, Egbert. How did I know you were gonna get me out of bed at the crack of
noon? I can always count on you to not care about seeming overeager," he
attempts to drawl, but his voice is too scratchy from sleep for it to have the
desired effect. He nods and gives a half-assed wave over your shoulder at your
father who finally opens the car door and slips inside, as if the two of them
have just completed some telepathic agreement that the care of John Egbert has
been passed on like some kind of olympic torch.
"Don't pull your coolkid act with me! I bet you jumped out of bed the second
you heard our car pull up," you reply cheerfully, shouldering your duffel bag
and ducking into the house under Dave's arm. You can never understand how your
best friend manages to sleep in as religiously as he does. It seems as if your
body has an internal alarm clock that always goes off at 7am on the dot. You've
attempted to lie still and fall asleep again, but within 15 minutes you're
always nearly vibrating with pent up youthful energy.
Dave's house is a complete wreck, suprise suprise, but you're so used to it at
this point you barely notice having to actually pay attention to where your
feet can find the floor. His room is not exactly tidy, but it's comparably much
better so the two of you usually hole up in there for as long as you can stand.
You bellyflop onto Dave's bed, as is customary, and bounce a few times on your
hands and knees for good measure before slinging your legs over the side to pry
off your shoes without untying them. You didn't even bother putting on socks.
"I hope you brought your best ironic sleepwear, bro," Dave reminds you, "I'm
talking real footie-pajama action here, too. I'm not gonna be satisfied unless
there's a button-up buttflap."
You wrinkle your nose at the mention of buttflaps. "Uh, I hope my ghostbusters
PJs will be satisfactory enough!" you chirp, digging them out of your duffel
bag and waggling them in the air.
"Dude, it's not ironic if you legitimately think they're cool. Once again it's
time for me to school you in the ways of real irony. Check these out," Dave
says and stretches over to tug out the bottom drawer of his dresser. He reaches
in and pulls out something truly ghastly.
"Oh my god."
"Yeah."
"Is that..."
"Yeah."
"Wow."
In Dave's hand is a leopard print onesie. There are no words.
"So let's get this party started," Dave demands, and tugs off his wrinkled t-
shirt in one smooth motion. You've never flushed red so quickly in your entire
life, and you spin around to hide your crimson face. The two of you change in
silence, you facing the wall, and Dave facing however he wants because he's
never been shy about that sort of thing.
When you turn around again you have to dedicate the next 5 minutes to
collapsing on Dave's bed again in the biggest gigglefit you've had this week
because you didn't realize before that the onesie had a hood with ears. Dave
just stands there slouching with his hands in his pajama pockets, pokerfacing
behind his shades like he doesn't even realize what's funny. Finally you catch
your breath, taking off your glasses for a second so you can wipe your eyes.
"Wanna play Black Ops?"
"Yeah!"
The two of you venture down the hall and into the Strider's dimly lit living
room. You absent-mindedly shove a few of Dave's brother's puppets off the couch
to carve out a space for the two of you to sit down, unable to help but give a
leary glance to where Lil Cal is propped limply on the end table. You can never
quite shake the feeling that the doll is observing you as well.
"Is Bro still asleep?" you ask curiously, watching as Dave kneels on the carpet
and loads a game into his brother's PS3. You can't help but notice how
fetchingly the sharp angles of his shoulder blades tug at his ridiculous
pajamas whenever his arms move. You bite your lip.
Dave snorts distractedly as he passes you your controller. "Of course. No self
respecting Strider gets up before sunset if he can help it," he scolds you
again. "Also yeah, he was so hungover yesterday I pretty much knew there was no
way he'd be bugging us today," he added carelessly. You don't say anything
because you never know what to say when Dave talks about his brother like that.
The two of you have a way of getting totally absorbed in Black Ops that most of
your ADHD-addled fellows would boggle at. You never really know what you're
doing when it comes to 1st person shooters but trying to figure out tricky ways
to spot Dave before he spots you is fun enough to keep you enthralled. It
almost never happens. An hour and a half later, you're stil losing so badly
you're finally starting to get bored and you're no longer even trying, you're
just shooting cars until they blow up and letting Dave headshot you over and
over. It's probably the only reason Dave let his guard down, allowing you to
kill him first, but you jump up and whoop like you have achieved something
amazing. Dave actually gives you an incredulous glance over his shades, but all
it does is make you giggle. Emboldened by your victory, you engage him in a
sudden wrestling match.
"Egderp, what the actual fuck" he says, but laughs despite himself at your
enthusiasm. You two are a confusing tangle of teenage limbs when you look up
and see Bro Strider standing in the hall and staring at the two of you.
Chapter End Notes
     I spent way too long googling "world's worst pajamas" just for this
     chapter.
***** Chapter 3 *****
You scramble backwards off of Dave like you got caught doing something bad. Bro
just stands there as if he's processing the image before him. Like the both of
you, he's decked out in sleepwear. Well, you'd hardly use the words "decked
out." His chest is bare and he's missing his signature cap, though the pointy
anime shades are still present. His heather grey draw-string pajama bottoms
seem drastically sincere compared to your happy ghost Slime print boxers and
Dave's outrageous footie-pajama getup.
You wish very much that some sort of casual joke or greeting would come out of
your mouth . You could even playfully invite him to join your ironic but still
kind of totally cool pajama sleepover, but you can't seem to make speech
happen. Dave just adjusts his shades and turns off the PS3 while you're caught
in the headlights.
Finally Bro just breezes through into the kitchen without a word, and you hear
the refrigerator open. You sit back on your haunches, becoming aware that you
were kneeling on the carpet like an idiot for that entire moment. You take a
moment to be embarrassed that you froze up like a weirdo in front of both
Striders. You're pretty sure Dave is going to harrass you about it endlessly,
but to your suprise he seems to be deliberately quiet. Maybe he's finally
feeling some sympathy for you. He really should. His brother is completely
terrifying.
"I guess we woke him up," you say sheepishly, getting up to flop onto the
couch. Dave doesn't respond, and you begin to wonder at the tension that seems
to crowd the room whenever Bro Strider comes up. Perhaps the two of them are
having to put an argument on pause for the duration of your visit. You begin to
worry at your lip again with your teeth, and that familiar nervous habit seems
to snap Dave out of his stupor.
"He'll get over it. He doesn't have to DJ tonight anyway," he replies easily,
stretching his arms over his head. You stretch back on the couch and prop your
feet up in Dave's lap, which makes him snort and push them off. You grin and
things seem more normal again.
"Hey, let's watch a movie," you suggest with a thousand-watt smile.
"No Nic Cage."
"AW!"
"And no Mcconaughey."
"Mannn! You hate everything good!" you whine, pretending to be very distressed.
"Fine! Can we agree on Deep Impact?" you offer in your most magnanimous voice.
"Okay, yeah. Maybe it'll inspire me to finally write that rap about Morgan
Freeman and Obama I know you've been waiting around for," Dave says, very
seriously. You attempt to look pleased for his sake and he actually laughs but
plays it off, leaning into the arm of the couch and resting his chin in his
hand, mouth hidden behind his curled fingers. You've never seen someone recoil
so instantly from a genuine reaction, like Dave tends to do when he knows Bro
is lurking. It makes your heart ache a little.
"Be right back, it's in my bag!" you announce, and scurry back and forth from
his room like an excited 5 year old. You hand off the movie to Dave who kneels
at the entertainment center and pries open the glass door to get to the Dvd
player. You happen to get a look at the bottom of one leopard print covered
foot this way, and notice pink felt paw pads sewn to the bottom. You shouldn't
be suprised, but you are.
"Can we make popcorn? Do you have any?" You ask and give Dave what you hope are
irresistable puppy dog eyes.
"Jegus, yes, we can. Just don't point those eyes at me," he says, shielding his
face with his hands as if you're the sun. "I mean really, the pouty face just
for popcorn? Shouldn't you save the big guns for drastic times?"
"Popcorn lack is drastic times," you respond, solemnly mangling the English
language.
The two of you go into the kitchen and Dave finally flicks on a light and
you've adjusted to their dim living room so much it hurts your eyes a little.
You look around the kitchen but Bro is nowhere to be found.
Dave reaches up to open a cabinet and a jumble of shitty swords clatters down
onto the counter and the floor, making the two of you spring back like cats.
You both just stare for a moment, as if to appreciate just how close you both
came to losing a few toes. You're pretty sure you see a crappy replica of Sting
on the very top. Dave just pushes them to the side with his foot and looks in
another cabinet.
"Er, your brother must be running out of storage space, huh?" You ask, finding
yourself unable to not comment on what just occurred.
"What, those? Nah, I'm pretty sure he does that shit just to keep me on my
toes," he answers casually, bringing down an unopened box of popcorn bags and
ripping into it. Once again you have nothing to say on the subject of Bro and
Dave's strange relationship.
The two of you pop several bags of over-buttered popcorn and dump them into the
most obnoxiously big bowl you can find and head back into the living room
together. To your suprise, Bro is seated in the armchair by the couch. Dave
doesn't seem to notice or care, he just sits down on the couch and sets the
bowl down next to him. That leaves you to sit on the side of the couch nearest
to where Bro is reclining casually, and you try to do so as nonchalantly as
possible.
"Movie night?" Bro asks, and his voice is deep and rough and you can't help but
wonder why you never noticed how nice-sounding it was before. You also can't
help but notice Bro has thrown on a white cotton t-shirt for the occasion, and
you kick yourself mentally for being disappointed.
"Deep Impact," Dave says with a mouthful of popcorn, which makes you giggle.
You think you notice Bro looking at you out of the corner of your eye, but when
you glance over he's just looking at Dave.
"My date cancelled so I guess I'm in for the night," Bro says, possibly trying
to assure the two of them there's no way he'd be hovering around otherwise.
"Oh yeah? That's rare," Dave replies, but his voice and posture seem more
reluctant to talk with every word.
"Couldn't find a babysitter or some shit," Bro says with a shrug. Suddenly Bro
is gesturing at you and you sit up straight and stare at him in confusion until
he cuts you some slack and commands "Popcorn."
"Oh!" You laugh and hold out the bowl so he can grab a handful. His hands seem
massive to you, and he doesn't even bother removing his leather fingerless
gloves to protect them from butter and salt. You're pretty sure at this point
Bro must assume you're mentally handicapped in some way, but you just can't
help it. You're so used to the older Strider ignoring your presence entirely,
and this sudden call for interaction feels like an ambush somehow.
"Well, let's start this crapfest," Dave says gravely, ignoring a shoulder slap
from you. He turns off the only lamp that's on in the room and you all become
bathed in the blue glow of the TV screen before the movie starts and you settle
back into the couch with a contented sigh.
You find that your attention keeps slipping away from the movie and you're
trying to get a good look at Dave's brother, since it's so rare for him to be
around for more than a handful of seconds. The bones structure of his face is
very fine, with high cheek bones and a narrow, aquiline nose like you've seen
on Roman statues. Like Dave, his skin is very fair and totally without
freckles, and his hair is such a pale shade of blonde it's nearly white. His
mouth is a bit wide but his lips aren't too full or too thin, and his cupid's
bow is quite deep. He has these drastic sideburns, but they compliment his face
quite well. He looks masculine, and proud.
Blushing, you tell yourself to focus on the movie and to stop worshipping Bro's
profile. Though, you're only seeing how he and Dave are similar, you reason
with yourself. It's not a big deal just to look, right? After a few minutes
pass and the movie still just isn't as interesting as it should be, you let
yourself sneak another glance.
One thing that's incredibly different about the two Striders is physique. Dave
is very slender and elegant, whereas Bro is muscled and powerful. The white t-
shirt is tight across Bro's broad chest and the sleeves cling to his rounded
biceps. His torso is rather long and ends in narrow hips which are your
absolute favorite. You think maybe these are objectifying thoughts and are just
about to stop oggling when you notice that Bro has been looking back at you for
God knows how long.
You snap your attention back to the movie and you turn red all the way to the
tips of your ears. You can only assume Bro wanted you to know he'd caught you,
because he'd turned his head completely towards you to let you know without
even seeing his eyes that he was staring back.
A peek out of the corner of your eye and you find that Bro has not turned back
towards the movie yet. He is still staring holes into the side of your face
while you stubbornly pretend not to notice, and you find yourself starting to
fidget despite trying desperately not to. Your heart pounds as you slowly meet
his gaze again, hoping that maybe he's just trying to test whether or not you
are too cowardly to do so. Bro's stare is so heavy on you that you imagine you
can actually feel it on your skin, heating you up.
After an agonizingly long moment Bro finally releases you and looks at the TV
again. To your amazement, the corner of his mouth twitches up in a secretive
smile.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     I just want to take a second and really thank everyone who has left
     kudos or a comment on this fic. I honestly didn't expect anyone to
     bother reading, especially when it took me this long to even put
     something in the summary section. So yeah, thank you all! Seriously!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
After the movie is finished and the credits roll, you and Dave retreat back
into the confines of his room. Bro is already nowhere to be found, having
gotten a call on his cell about halfway into the film and absconded shortly
after. Even without him in the room you couldn't concentrate on what you were
watching, so you spent a good 45 minutes biting your nails and wondering what
Bro was thinking when the two of you locked eyes for so long.
But now with the lights on and Dave talking to you, Bro is pushed to the back
of your mind and it's like nothing weird happened at all. You're once again
lounging on your stomach in Dave's bed, while he swivels in his computer chair
and brings up his music programs, jabbering about the "new stuff he's been
working on." You just listen politely and nod when you're prompted to, but the
best you can contribute to these conversations is a few good natured "yeahs"
and a "cool!"
Every visit to Dave's is guaranteed a slightly too long session of listening to
new mixes, and the occasional rap. It's not that you don't think Dave is
ridiculously talented(you do!), but you've never been that interested in club
music and it all ends up blending together for you. Dave hands you his pair of
headphones and you fit them snugly over your ears, already anticipating the
depreciation speech.
"I was just fiddling around with this last night, so don't expect anything
like, phenomonal. Actually I already know a lot of what I need to tweak, like,
I went so overboard on the flanging around 50 seconds in it's almost cheesy,"
Dave prattles, and clicks a file that opens up the squiggly audio lines that
you like to watch as the music plays.
He must have started it because the bass is now thudding in your ears and
making you grin in that dopey way that makes your buckteeth even more
prominent. Dave is watching you intently, and you can tell by the line of his
mouth that he's anxious. You just sit and bounce your feet, because you never
know if you should be bobbing your head to the music or if that's a stupid
thing to do.
Dave stops the track suddenly and informs you that he's going to superimpose
the verse vocals backwards over the chorus, whatever that means, then starts it
again. This goes on for quite a while before finally Dave gently slides the
headphones from your ears. You're ready with an "It was awesome!" which just
makes him look at you skeptically.
"No, seriously. Everything you show me sounds cool, I just suck at being able
to tell you why!" You plead.
"Well, it's definitely a work in progress so tomorrow it'll probably sound
totally different," Dave replies, refusing to accept the compliment, and you
just sigh. One of these days you're going to have to get up and start dancing
wildly around the room during the song, because that's the only way you'll ever
get him to believe you really like it.
Dave plays you a few more songs without the headphones, so you're free to lie
back in his bed and get comfortable. The music isn't exactly soothing, but you
start to feel your eyelids wanting to close, and the bed seems to become more
soft and warm with every second. You fight it as best you can, but all of a
sudden Dave is shaking you awake and it's totally dark out.
"Oh shit," you croak, "sorry."
"No biggie, Derpbert. That's what happens when you jump out of bed at dawn
every damn day," he chides. "You're hogging the entire bed, though, so get your
ass up."
You groan and roll over and over until you slide off the edge of the bed
dramatically. You see that Dave has at least been kind enough to unroll your
sleeping bag for you on the floor. You sit on the slick nylon surface and rub
your eyes, eyeing the clock to see that it's 2am. Dave crawls into his bed and
you hear the clack of his sunglasses as he sets them on his nightstand. You're
a little disappointed he let you sleep until he was ready for bed himself, but
you figure he was just trying to be nice.
You unzip your sleeping bag and stick your skinny legs inside and wriggle down
until you're chin-deep, taking a second to fold your glasses carefully and set
them next to your pillow. For what feels like forever you lie still with your
eyes closed and just listen to Dave's breathing, but it seems as if your little
power nap has now left you wide awake.
"Dave?" You whisper timidly, but he doesn't respond because he's a complete
jerk who falls asleep faster than anyone you've ever known. After another long
attempt at sleep you crawl out of the sleeping back and decide to sneak to the
kitchen for some water. You wonder if maybe you should try drinking warm milk
instead, but you quickly dismiss the idea because you doubt Bro keeps milk in
the fridge, and also because warm milk has always sounded a little gross to
you.
You try to walk as lightly as you can down the hall but the floor still creaks
under your feet, and every noise makes you want to curse. It feels like ages
until you finally reach the kitchen, but once you do you feel home free. You've
just started to open the cabinets and look for cups when a movement catches
your eye and you turn to see Bro leaning in the open doorway. You start.
"Pretty jumpy, aren't you kid? Guilty conscience?" He asks, and his voice is as
smooth as silk and gets your heart going a little faster. He makes no move to
leave the doorway, just stands and observes you with his arms folded across his
chest.
"W-what? I was just getting a drink," you stammer, inwardly applauding yourself
for not saying anything too stupid. Now that Bro is here watching you, you're
too self conscious to just rifle through their cabinets, so you reel back in
your extended arm and just blink owlishly.
"Well, don't let me stop you," he says congenially, and you return to blindly
opening cabinets in the dark until he takes pity on you and walks over to yank
open the right one. The only problem is that now he's standing right behind
you, close enough that he's almost pressed against your back.
"Oh, Thanks," you mumble quietly, your face going red against your will. The
dilemma you're facing now is that to get to the sink you'll have to either duck
under his arm or walk around him the long way, and after an uncomfortable
moment's deliberation you choose the former. Bro says nothing, just watches you
like a big cat stalking his prey. You fill your cup at the sink in complete
silence, taking a long, long drink to avoid having to make conversation. You
get your courage up and glance at Bro again.
He walks forward and takes the cup out of your hand and sets it down, and you
almost squeak because now he's got you caged at the kitchen counter between his
arms and he's looking you straight in the face. You just stare back at him,
mouth open.
"You know, you seem like a pretty straight forward kid, but I still can't
figure you out," Bro says.
"What do you mean?" You reply, and your voice sounds small and strained.
"I mean one minute you're cuddlin' with my kid brother on the couch, making the
most sincere 3rd grade moves on him, and the next you're blushin' and battin'
your eyelashes at me like an anime schoolgirl."
You splutter.
"Now I'm not a bad guy at heart, kid. Normally I'd never move in on another
Strider's territory, but when you start lookin' at me with those big blue eyes
like you're wantin' somethin' from me, what am I supposed to do?" he asks,
tilting his head to the side as he leans in a little.
"I'm, I'm not, I didn't..." you stammer, shaking your head and waving your
hands.
"Bullshit," he states evenly, and you clamp your mouth shut. For a second you
just stare at each other. Well, he stares at you and you stare at the
reflection of yourself in his pointed shades. Your eyes are as wide as dinner
plates. "So does he know?" Bro prompts, and you struggle with yourself for a
long time before you manage to answer him.
"Uhm, that I like him? ...No," you whisper, avoiding his eyes. You can't
believe after barely being able to admit it to yourself, you're having to talk
about it with Bro Strider, the scariest person you know. You're mentally
bracing yourself for him to yell at you or maybe even knock you around a
little, if the things you've heard from Dave are true.
"Good. You don't wanna go down that road, kid. Keep that shit to yourself," he
says bluntly.
"What?" you ask hesitantly, a little taken aback.
"You deaf? I'm tellin' you to give up."
You see the stubborn look form on your face in your reflection before you even
realize you're making it, and you summon your courage. "Sorry that seems to
offend you so much, but I don't know if it's any of your business, anyway. I
know he's your brother or whatever, but you c-can't just corner me and
intimidate my feelings away. I'm not even sure why you would want to."
"Maybe because I was under the impression you two liked bein' friends? But I
guess you're feelin' pretty confident that hittin' on Dave is really gonna
improve that dynamic and not completely fuck everything up."
You want to be quick with a reply but Bro has struck a little too close to
home. Being near Dave and indulging in a little harmless flirting made you
forget all the anxiety you had over the crush in the first place, but now Bro
is making you remember. You avert your eyes again, and nibble your plush bottom
lip, and Bro's gaze drops to your mouth as he watches.
"Anyway, I got a theory, see?" he begins, breaking the silence. "I don't think
it's really Dave you like." Bro's voice has taken on a sly edge that makes you
look back at him warily.
"It's not?"
"I think it's just Strider genetics," he states, and grins like the devil.
You're beet red again almost instantly.
"Th-that's... Why would--"
"So consider yourself real fuckin' lucky, kid. You were aimin' for a prototype
and ended up with the deluxe model, so to speak."
You mentally make a note that one more similarity between Dave and his brother
is that you rarely know what either of them are talking about.
"I'm sorry, what?" you say, meekly. You think that Bro is starting to get a
little exasperated which makes you want to apologize again, but you keep your
mouth shut.
"I'm tryin' to tell you, kid. You can bat your eyelashes at me whenever you
want, get it? The way you've been lookin' at me I doubt you were gonna stop
anytime soon, anyway. So let's satisfy my curiousity, and distract you from
makin' a huge mess," Bro offers, laying out the offer as reasonably as if you
two were swapping trading cards. You're at a complete loss for words, and you
suppose Bro can tell because he finally steps back and just ruffles your hair
as he walks away.
"You think about it. If you think you're brave enough, my room's down the
hall."
Chapter End Notes
     I'm getting so antsy for young Bro to appear in the comic, by the
     way. I just know his real name is gonna blow my mind.
***** Chapter 5 *****
When Bro is out of sight you let out a breath you didn't realize you were
holding. Your legs feel a little wobbly, like you just survived an unexpected
encounter with a wild animal. The silence of the dark kitchen is suddenly
threatening to swallow you up, so you scurry back to Dave's room as quietly as
you can manage, refusing to even glance at Bro's Strider's bedroom door.
Being inside Dave's room brings an overwhelming feeling of safety, and you
practically throw yourself into your sleeping bag. Dave is still sleeping
soundly, completely unaware of the weirdness you just went through. You let the
slow rhythm of his breathing calm you down until your heart isn't trying to
beat its way out of your chest, and then you start to think.
You want to believe that Bro is just messing with you, but you think you have
enough Strider experience to know when one of them is being completely serious.
The only thing you are sure about is that there is absolutely no way you can go
through with it, because Bro Strider would eat you alive. You can't even talk
around him one on one, much less date or whatever it was Bro was suggesting the
two of you get up to.
That train of thought leaves you a little hot under the collar. Now all you can
think about is just how close Bro was when he was talking to you. Close enough
for you to feel the warmth coming off his body. Close enough that you could
feel his breath ghost across your lips. What if he had leaned in just a little
bit more and actually...?
You yank the top of the sleeping bag up over your face and shake the thought
right out of your head. This is so ridiculous, you scold yourself. If you don't
go the hell to sleep right now, even Dave is going to wake up before you and
you can't have that. So you roll over with conviction and nudge your head
against the pillow forcefully, letting your body know you mean business.
It doesn't work. It takes at least an hour more for you to be bored enough that
you finally drift off, and when you do your dreams are all traitorously about
Dave Strider's older brother.
The second you realize you're awake you sit up. The sleeping bag drapes off one
shoulder as you spend a few minutes blinking in the daylight and fighting the
urge to lay back down. Dave is still sound asleep, so you figure that means Bro
probably is too. Irritated that you thought about Bro first thing after you
woke up, you climb out of your sleeping bag and jump on the bed next to Dave.
"Dave, get up!" you command in your loudest whisper. He doesn't budge. "Dave,
come on! Daave!" You start bouncing next to him to jostle him around.
"Ugh," he says at last, and hides his face in his pillow.
"Are you up yet?" you ask, still jostling.
"Ugh," you hear again, but muffled.
You unceremoniously yank the covers all the way off him. To your suprise Dave
isn't wearing the silly leopard print footie pajamas he went to sleep in; he's
back to a midnight crew t-shirt and boxers with spades all over them.
"Why do I keep inviting you over?" he asks groggily, lifting his face out of
the pillow and squinting at his alarm clock.
"Your pajamas changed," you inform him helpfully.
"Yeah, I wanted to be faithful to this whole irony sleepover thing but I swear
to god it was like sleeping on the surface of the sun. I kept waking up all
night," he says, and struggles to sit up. He's got some truly wicked bedhead
today just ripe for making fun of, but you have other things on your mind.
"You were up last night?"
"Some. Why?"
"Where was I?"
"Snoring in your bag like a happy moron, where else? Did you go romping around
town without me or something?" Dave asks, turning to look at you. Now is one of
those rare times where you are allowed to see his eyes, and combined with the
pinning look he's giving you, that red color is really unnerving.
"Ha, no. Anyway, I'm starving to death here, Dave. I swear you wouldn't ever
remember to eat if I didn't bug you about it. How are you never hungry?" You
whine, changing the subject as smooth as sandpaper. He turns his gaze away from
you at last and rubs his face, shrugging his narrow shoulders.
"Dunno. Because there's never anything here anyway? Didn't you eat like 50
pounds of popcorn last night?"
"Daaave, that was like 12 hours ago! If you don't feed me I'm gonna have to eat
your creepy dead bug collection!"
"Dude, don't even joke. Those are perfectly preserved specimens. Do you know
how much I paid for that Illacme pl-"
"No!" you say, covering your ears dramatically. "Don't even say it again. God.
Didn't anyone at coolkid school tell you it is so NOT COOL to know stuff about
bugs?"
Dave shoves you over on the bed, but he's smiling. "Whatever. We can go look in
the kitchen, but don't hold your breath," he says, standing up and stretching
as languidly as a cat. You try not to watch the hem of his shirt lift and show
off the indent of his spine.
"Hurray!" you cheer, and pop up to follow him out to the kitchen. Unfortunately
Dave was right, and the cabinets yield nothing but empty space and questionable
weaponry. The refridgerator is full of fireworks.
"Awwwww," you groan in disappointment, and look over to where Dave is half-
heartedly trying to tame his hair with his fingers. You give him the puppy
eyes.
"Well, we could walk to the gas station and load up on stuff. Bro gave me some
money the other day," He suggests.
"That sounds like the best idea I've ever heard," you say as earnestly as
possible.
The two of you suit up for cold weather and begin your journey down the
sidewalk in front of Dave's house, hunched over against the wind. It takes you
both about 20 minutes to get there, and when you arrive you start filling your
arms up with chips and soda. You spot one of those cases that keep things like
corn dogs and hot pockets warm indefinitely and you can almost feel your eyes
sparkling.
A few minutes and almost 20 bucks later, you and Dave are perched on the curb
outside and having the breakfast of champions. You are halfway through with
your second ham and cheese hot pocket, and poking through Dave's bags of junk
food.
"Dave, you got like 80% skittles. A man cannot live on skittles alone," you
say, but he shakes his head and tears the corner off one of the red packages.
"He can certainly try," he says, digging around inside the bag and picking out
all the reds first. You eat in silence for a bit and just watch him
methodically devour his candy. Red is always first, then purple, then orange,
and yellow is always last. The poor neglected green ones are always crumpled up
with the bag and thrown out. It makes you smile. Dave being weird about food is
just one of your many favorite things about him.
That train of thought eventually brings you into dangerous territory, and
before you think too hard about what's coming out of your mouth you say, "Dave,
what if we were to stop being friends one day?" You immediately wish you hadn't
said anything at all, and you curl your toes up inside your shoes in your
nervousness.
"What? Why? What do you mean?" Dave asks, looking hard at you from behind his
sunglasses. He's giving you his full attention now, so your hopes that he'd
shrug it off or reply flippantly are effectively dashed.
"Well, nothing really. I just mean, like, what if in the future... we weren't
friends anymore?" You reiterate feebly, eyes on your shoes.
"That's bullshit. You wouldn't say that for no reason. What's going on?" Dave
presses. He's starting to sound panicked and you have no idea what to do. You
feel so guilty for bringing the subject up and not having the courage to tell
him it's because you're pretty sure you like like him, cuz now he's genuinely
upset and you can't even think of a good lie to make things alright again.
"Look, I'm sorry if I've been kind of a douchebag lately," he blurts out.
"No! You haven't! I really wasn-"
"Is it because I made fun of your teeth? Seriously, if you want to punch me or
something that's cool."
"Dave! I don't care about that! Just listen," you plead, and he goes quiet and
looks at you like he's expecting the next thing you say to hurt him. You are
nearly exasperated at how much you just want to blurt out the truth and maybe
kiss him.
"I really was just thinking like... what if something happened to me or
something?" you lie, lamely. "Or if I had to move away would you miss me and
stuff? I dunno, it's dumb. I'm sorry I said anything."
"Are you moving?" Dave asks.
"No," you say, and smile apologetically. "I promise."
The tension finally goes out of Dave's shoulders, so you're pretty sure he
finally believes you. The silence that follows is excrutiatingly awkward,
though. You've never seen Dave get upset like that over anything, and you don't
really know how to recover from it.
"John, do me a huge favor and never say anything like that again, okay?" Dave
asks, looking away from you.
"Dude, you don't even have to ask. Never again," you assure him. You want to
apologize over and over again. If you weren't a huge coward you'd give him a
one-armed bro hug or something. Anything to make his voice stop sounding so
small.
Dave stands and starts gathering up his stuff, so you take the hint and do the
same. On the long walk home you make a decision.
 
You and Dave waste the rest of the day on video games, and eating junk until
you feel a little sick. Dave has you listen to about a dozen more songs, and
once the two of you are bored enough you lie on the couch and watch Cosby
reruns until it's very late. It feels like it takes forever, but finally Dave
is ready to call it a night.
Tonight he goes to sleep wearing his headphones. You lie in your sleeping bag
pretending to be asleep until you hear his breathing change, and then you crawl
out of it as quietly as possible. You creep over to his bedroom door and look
back over your shoulder at him. He must have forgotten to take off his shades,
because they're knocked askew on his face. You smile fondly, and slip out the
door.
You stand outside Bro's bedroom door for a full five minutes before you force
yourself to touch the doorknob. You open it very quietly and struggle not to
have a heart attack when you see Bro looking at you from his computer chair.
He's leaning back in the seat with his hands folded on his stomach, headphones
draped around his neck. His shades are on so you can't even tell if he's
suprised you actually came.
"I, uh, need you to make me f-forget I like Dave," you say quietly.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     So now we're finally getting somewhere. I'm going to pre-emptively
     bump up the rating even though it's not entirely necessary yet, and
     I'm giving a heads up for "dubious consent" even though I'm not sure
     if it 100% applies, because some of Bro's moves are not for everyone
     and may be a little on the aggressive side? I don't want anyone
     stumbling into that if it makes them uncomfortable! Once again, thank
     you sooo much for the kudos and comments. I haven't responded to all
     of them because I don't wanna seem spammy or like I'm trying to jump
     up the number, but I read and deeply appreciate every single one.
"You said you could, right? Uhm, d-distract me?" You ask, heart still pounding
in your chest. You hold onto your wrist behind your back and look at the floor.
"This is the most unromantic come-on I've ever heard, kid," Bro says, and his
deep voice makes little prickles of anxiety wash over your skin.
"Nevermind," you say hurriedly, and move to open the door again.
"Hang on a damn second. Jesus, you spook easier than a fuckin' mouse," he says,
and you stop and actually wring your hands as you look back at him. He's still
looking pretty relaxed in his chair as he observes you, as if contemplating his
options. You lean back against the door for a precious extra centimeter of
space between you and the eldest Strider.
"It's just that, well, I was talking to him some today and I think I was going
to tell him how I felt but then he totally freaked out and then I started
freaking out and the whole thing went downhill," you gush. "So I realized you
were right. I'm like two seconds away from ruining everything and I don't know
if I can even keep my mouth shut so if you can help at all then please."
Bro turns his chair until he's facing you and sits up a little straighter. He
regards you for a moment before gesturing you over with a jerk of his head.
Your feet suddenly feel rooted to the floor.
"C'mere," he orders, which gets you moving. You stop a few steps away from his
chair but he's still gesturing you closer. Panic rises in your chest as you
inch a bit closer to him, completely unable to tell just where he wants you to
be. Then he pats his thigh.
"I'm not sitting in your lap!" You say incredulously, taking a step back. He
just grins and shrugs. "Suit yourself," he says, and leans back in his chair,
crossing his leg over his knee. "But I don't know how well I can distract you
if you don't let me do my job."
The flood of relief you feel is overwhelming, because you had been almost
positive he was going to force you to do it and you didn't think you could
handle dying of embarrassment within the first 5 minutes of this escapade.
"Uhm, it's not that I'm trying to be insulting. Maybe we can just talk? It's
funny, I've been coming over here for years and I kind of don't know anything
about you," You say nervously, and start fiddling with something on top of his
dresser. Closer inspection reveals it to be one of what appears to be several
computer motherboards.
"Heh. Knock yourself out, kid," he agrees, crossing his arms over his broad
chest and tilting his head as if he's waiting to hear what you have to say. You
wish he hadn't done that, because now your mind has gone completely blank and
all you can focus on is the fact that he is so infuriatingly... handsome. You
turn away from him and walk to his bookshelf to protect yourself from staring
at him. You reach out and gently touch the binding of one of his books with a
trembling hand.
This was such a bad idea, you think, but you're neck deep in it now and there's
no taking it back. You're pretty sure there's not a single thing you and Bro
Strider have in common to talk about, but you realize there's an opportunity
right in front of your face so you grab it.
"Oh! You have a lot of books on robotics! Do you like robots? Like science-
fictiony robots or wh-"
You jump because Bro's hand slides slowly across your stomach as he presses up
behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. You didn't even hear him get
out of his chair, much less walk over to you. His other hand comes to rest on
your hip and you make the stupidest little squeak.
"You came to my bedroom in the middle of the night, little mouse. I think you
knew what might happen. And then you start actin' all cute and say you just
wanna talk? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were tryin' to seduce
me."
Your heartbeat is racing and you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes
out. No one has ever touched you like this and it feels forbidden and amazing.
Bro's chest is warm and hard against your back, and you can feel the hint of
stubble on his cheek scratching lightly against your jaw. He gently turns you
around and puts a finger under your chin to lift your face until you're looking
right at him.
"I wasn't," you say quietly, wishing so badly you could see his eyes. "I don't
even know how. I've... I've never even kissed anyone."
"There you go again," he responds. "You're a master at this, kid."
His voice is low and rougher than usual and you notice yourself leaning in
towards him like he's casting a spell. Somewhere in the back of your mind it
registers that you should push him away and put a stop to this, but mostly you
are looking at his beautiful mouth and feeling more than thinking that you are
seconds away from your first kiss.
An electric jolt goes straight down to your tummy as he closes the rest of the
gap and suddenly his mouth is soft and warm on yours. He locks his arms around
your waist as you struggle to imitate his movements. He nips at your lower lip
and when you gasp he slips his tongue past your lips, slick and warm as it
slides along your own. You hold onto his broad shoulders because your legs are
starting to feel like jelly, and hope to god you don't seem too eager.
Abruptly his hands drop to roughly palm your ass, and your shocked whimper
makes Bro growl and tug your hips forward against his own. He walks backwards
with you in his grip until he's sitting on the edge of his bed and yanking you
into his lap, your legs around his waist. Your thoughts are muddled, but you
find it a little funny that he ended up making you sit in his lap after all.
"Uh-uhm, what-" You stammer, intimidated beyond all else that you're basically
in bed together, but he shushes you and pulls you down again and devours your
mouth. He slips both hands under the hem of your t-shirt and drags his leather-
clad palms all across your bare skin. There's a heated desire in his actions
that's drowning out your better judgement. You're trying desperately not to get
swept away.
He pulls one hand back to gently tilt your head to one side, exposing your
throat, and runs the tip of his tongue from your collarbone to your jawline
before closing his lips around the delicate skin and sucking hard. You can't
keep yourself from gasping; the scrape of his stubble on such a sensitive area
makes you feel on fire all over, and you're terrified he's going to realize
you're completely hard already. Everything's moving way too fast and your head
is spinning.
"Uhm, B-Bro," you squeak, trying desperately to keep a grip on the situation.
He pushes you back a little and tugs your shirt off over your head, and you
flush even redder than you were already. Bro pulls his gloves off quickly and
then his warm, rough hands are exploring your chest and in a haze you forget to
finish your sentence. His hands grip your hips and pull the two of you tightly
together again and then you finally feel the hot press of what you can only
assume is a grown man's erection. You shudder and your head falls forward
against his shoulder, overwhelmed.
Suddenly he's tipping you backwards until you're stretched out on the covers of
his bed, and his weight is heavy on top of you. His fingers are on the
waistband of your pajama bottoms now and beginning to pull.
"Wait! Wait, stop. Please," you gasp at last, and his hand stills. You don't
say anything more just yet; you just try to catch your breath and clear your
head. Bro is breathing pretty hard, too, and he gently bumps his damp forehead
against yours and then snorts softly.
"Sorry, kid," he says.
"No, it was... good. It was too good. But it's too fast, I can't, I'm sorry,"
you say, trying to explain.
"Oh, come on. Don't apologize. You're makin' me feel like a cad," He grumbles,
sitting back and readjusting his slightly lopsided shades. Without his body
heat you feel cold and exposed, and half of you secretly wishes you hadn't told
him to stop.
"Can... can you just kiss me again?" you ask quietly, blushing at yourself for
saying something so embarrassing. Bro looks at you for a minute and then lays
down on his side next to you, propped up on one elbow. He dips his head down
and kisses you soft and slow and your heart thuds just as fast as it did the
first time. There's no tongue this time around; he just catches your bottom lip
between his own and moves his mouth hotly against yours.
Your fingers curl in the front of his t-shirt as you learn everything you can.
You two stay liplocked for a long time before he pulls back, and then you're
just lying together in the dark. The silence is comfortable to you at first but
after a while you start worrying that you need to be saying something. You
agonize over it for a few minutes before turning your head to look at him.
"Uhm, Bro?" you say, still unused to calling him by his nickname. You get no
answer. You sit up and try his name again, but he doesn't respond. You glance
at the clock and wonder if you spent more time lying together than you thought,
because Bro is completely asleep. It's more likely that falling asleep quickly
just runs in the Strider family.
You hug your knees to your chest and look down at him, for once free to observe
him without having to feel anxiety about it. His head is cradled in the crook
of his elbow, and from what you can tell he's got just as strong a pokerface in
sleep as he does awake. It's so hard to tell when he's got those cursed shades
on literally all the time. For some reason Bro's bother you more than Dave's
do. Maybe it's because you're not sure if Bro needs them for the same reasons.
Tentatively, you reach out your hands and ever-so-slowly slide them off Bro's
face and fold the stems shut. Your eyes devour his features greedily, and you
smile to discover Bro's eyelashes are rather long for a boy. You tuck that one
little secret away in your mind to help you try to be less afraid of the man
who gave you your first kiss.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     I trust everyone had fun over the holidays? They certainly slowed me
     down a bit when it comes to writing, sorry about that! It also didn't
     help that this wasn't exactly a heart-warming chapter to write. But
     in much better news, have you seen this_lovely_fanart for chapter six
     yet? :) Many thanks to Renaris!
"Well this is a first."
Slowly, you become aware of the sensation of something prodding you in the ribs
gently at first, and then insistently. You roll away from the uncomfortable
feeling and the sleeping bag trapping your limbs makes you remember where you
are. You pop your head up and open one eye to look up at Dave, wishing
immediately that you hadn't. Your eyes feel dry and gritty and you are sleepier
than you've ever been in your entire life, but the early afternoon sun in
streaming in through the window with no consideration for this fact.
Dave steps within reach of you again and resumes prodding you with his foot.
You burrow deep into your bag and groan as exaggeratedly as you can. With your
eyes closed again you feel inches away from going back to sleep, but Dave is
making things difficult.
"Daaave. Lemme sleep. One more hour," you plead with a voice like sandpaper.
"Oh ho ho, this is rich. The taste of your own medicine is pretty fucking foul,
isn't it? The tables have been turned pretty hard and the silverware is
everywhere! What's this on the plate in front of you? Do you detect the aroma
of that dish best served cold? Do you-,"
"Dave! Okay, I get it," you cut him off feebly, eyes still closed. "Seriously,
though. I will be your best friend. Forever. Eternally. if you just let me
sleep for just ONE more hour."
"Guess what? Tough shit. Get up. I don't feel the slightest bit sorry for you
so stop whimpering," Dave decrees, nudging you more demandingly. You crawl out
of your sleeping bag at last and sit rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You're
so tired your arms feel weirdly rubbery.
"You are such a hardass!"
"I've been giving up hours of sleep for you for years, Egbert. It's about time
I woke up first for once," he answers with a smirk. "Alright, I'm gonna hop in
the shower. I swear to god if you're asleep when I get out I'm gonna drip all
over you."
You stick your tongue out at his back and flop back down on top of your
makeshift bed, but you don't shut your eyes for fear of instantly drifing off.
You know Dave will make good on his threat.
You look at the clock and count how many hours you actually slept; you don't
even use all the fingers on one hand. The sky was just starting to lighten when
you had snuck out of Bro's bed and into Dave's room again. Just thinking about
it makes you grin a little as you chew on your thumbnail, your stomach flip
flopping.
You had lain next to Bro as he slept for hours last night, unable to sleep
yourself from the sheer adrenaline of it all. The older Strider had
unexpectedly turned out to be a possessive sleeper, and any movement on your
part to get more comfortable made him draw you to his chest like his arms were
your incredibly short leash. It was kind of... sweet. But suffocating to
someone who had never shared a bed in his life.
At one point you had actually tried to unlock his arm from around your waist so
you could stretch out and Bro had sat up a little and given you a heart attack.
He just squeezed you and asked 'What's wrong?" twice in a raw voice, and you
had answered 'nothing' as quietly as you could, but whispering in the dark
bedroom with him seemed more shockingly intimate to you than anything that had
happened earlier that it had set your heart to pounding. Bro had settled back
down and started snoring softly almost instantly, and you were sure he had just
been talking in his sleep.
The small smile grin on your face has turned into a completely shameless smile
as you recall, and you sit up suddenly as you realize that you were just so
preoccupied with other things that you hadn't even noticed if Dave looked cute
this morning or not. You had looked at him 100% platonically, even it if was
only for a second. Does that mean your plan is actually working? Your chest
tightens, and you feel giddy.
You barely have a moment to decide to test it out more later when Dave comes
back in the room and sits in his computer chair, not looking at you. You wait
for him to say something, but he doesn't so break the silence yourself.
"Aren't you going to shower?"
As if your question spurs him into action, he gets back up out of his chair and
leaves the room again but the sound of his footsteps lead past the bathroom
towards Bro's room. Anxiety explodes inside of you. There is absolutely no way
Dave could know something was up, could he? You jump to your feet and hesitate
at the door for a minute before you step into the hallway as if gravity itself
dragged you out.
Dave knocks so loudly on Bro's bedroom door that you have no doubts he is
upset. The whole line of his back and shoulders are as taut as a bowstring, and
cold dread is building and building inside of you. You want to say something,
but your voice is frozen. When Bro's door opens and the older Strider appears
to lean casually in the doorframe, a cold sweat breaks out on your skin. You
wait for the bomb to drop.
"This better be pretty fuckin' important seein' as it's not even noon yet," Bro
says coolly, but even your ears can pick up a strange tone behind his tired
irritation.
"The water is shut off. Again," Dave says very evenly and quietly. Bro looks
nonplussed for a split second.
"What? Bullshit. I just paid that shit like two weeks ago."
"Yeah, for last month. And that was 3 weeks late itself. It's February now."
Bro rakes a hand through his hair and looks back over his shoulder and then
down at his little brother. His mouth is pressed into a thin line like he's
agitated. You think you detect, or possibly, imagine a guilty tinge to his
frustration.
"Well, I'll just call them and it'll be back on in like 20 minutes. No big
fuckin' deal. It's not like we're dead ass broke, Dave. I just forgot. So how
about you chill the fuck out?"
"How about you pay a fucking bill on time for once in your life like you're
supposed to do?" Dave fires back, raising his voice at first and then steadying
it like he's trying to keep it quiet.
Your jaw drops a little and you grip the doorknob tightly, knowing for sure
that this is definitely something you shouldn't be witnessing. You've never
heard Dave talk to his brother like this, and you sure as hell have never
talked to your father like this. In fact, you don't think you've ever seen Dave
get this mad at anyone, so you don't want to see a second more. But you know
opening the door will give away the fact you've been eavedropping, and you
don't want Dave to know you've been standing here watching like a nosy jackass.
As you watch, Bro slams his fist against the doorframe with a bang that makes
you and Dave jump. He stances his feet apart and brings his face down until
it's level with Dave's, and whips off his shades to stare down his little
brother with eyes like hot coals.
"How about you watch your fucking mouth before I backhand you right here in
front of your little friend?" he says, cold as ice.
Before you can duck out of site Dave looks at you standing like a deer in
headlights a 15 feet behind him, and his shoulders tense up as he turns back to
Bro. He clenches his fists and seems to struggle with himself for several
moments before he says anything.
"Alright, fine. Just call them soon, please," Dave says quietly, and Bro turns
around and slams his bedroom door. You take a hint and do the same, retreating
into Dave's bedroom and sitting on the side of his bed.
The fight wasn't at all what you were afraid of, but you feel far from
relieved. When Dave comes into the room and sits in his computer chair, you
both suffer a long, awkward silence.
"If you need to use the bathroom or anything, go ahead. There's still water in
the tank," he says in an attempt at nonchalantly acknowledging what just
transpired. Beggars can't be choosers, so you jump on it.
"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks," You say, and head to the bathroom.
After you relieve yourself you stop to wash your hands and when you glance at
yourself in the mirror you notice something. You lean forward, squinting
unnecessarily at your reflection as you tilt your chin up in dawning
realization. There is a huge purple-red blotch low on your neck that is barely
obscurred by the top of your tshirt. You slap your hand over it in horror.
It's your first hickey.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     I just wanna bug you guys with a few notes before you jump in! First
     of all, Renaris has done an absolutely amazing fanart for chapter 7
     that you can see here.
     I also have some good news and bad news. The good news is, this
     chapter is an absolute monster. It's over 5k words! To put that in
     perspective, chapters 1 - 7 combines were just under 11k. I was
     looking forward to this chapter since the very beginning, and it
     totally got away from me! For weird reasons. You'll see. Bro is such
     a bad person. Or I am, whichever.
     The kind of bad news is tomorrow I start a new full time job, so the
     next chapter might come out slower than usual while I adjust to
     everything. Don't give up on me, folks. I'll definitely get to it
     when I can! In the mean time, if you wanna drop by my tumblr and say
     hello or share some love, please do. :)
You trace the outline of the mark on your neck, the face in your reflection
getting a little pink in the ears. Bro has literally marked you, and you can
only assume he did so on purpose so that Dave might see. You make an
expasperated sound purely for your own benefit and rub your thumb over it hard
to see if maybe it'll fade. You have absolutely no idea if there is even a way
to get rid of these things. Now the entire side of your neck is a bright red
neon sign with a hickey right in the middle.
You realize that you never even got a chance to ask Bro to keep this whole
thing a secret, and you enjoy a moment of panic over it. You just assumed he
would know that you would absolutely die if Dave found out, but obviously Bro
doesn't care. Maybe he even wants Dave to know. This is a situation you
absolutely must fix, but definitely not until much later when hopefully Bro
isn't in such a terrifying mood.
Having given up on making the blotch on your neck any less noticeable, you head
back into Dave's bedroom careful to keep your good side to him as you dig
quickly through your bag. You pull out your wadded up navy blue hoodie and yank
it over your head. It's higher and more snug around your neck than your shirt,
so you're in the clear. You smooth the folds of the hood even further up your
neck just in case before you notice Dave looking at you funny.
"Man, it's freezing," you announce nervously. "How are you not cold?"
Dave just shrugs and looks out his window and you remember he's probably
feeling embarrassed about earlier. Either that or he did see your neck, and now
he doesn't know what to say to you. You need to get him talking so you can
figure out if he knows, and you spare a moment to feel guilty for worrying
about your own problems so much. Since when were you such a shitty friend?
"I guess, uh. I guess you and Bro kind of aren't getting along lately?" you
start off awkwardly. This prompts kind of a sigh from Dave, who leans back on
his bed and keeps looking decidedly out the window.
"You could say that."
You hope he'll continue on his own, but of course he doesn't.
"Is it just the bills thing or...?"
Dave laughs a little under his breath, bringing his knees up to hug them to his
chest. You're no psychiatrist but even you can tell his body language is as
closed off as it could possibly be. You want to drop it, but you can't.
"I just don't get it. I mean, you used to kind of talk my ear off about your
brother and his raps and his weird puppets and stuff but then all of a sudden
this year it seems like you two do nothing but fight. I don't want to be nosy
but I feel bad that I don't really understand what you're going through," you
admit in a rush.
"Don't. Don't feel bad. It's seriously good that you don't understand," he
says. At the look on your face he hurriedly adds "I'm not trying to be a dick
about it. I just mean I'm happy that you're in the kind of situation where
you'd just naturally know nothing about mine. Fuck if I'm gonna clue you in."
"Well... that's... really cryptic, Dave."
"Sorry. It's not a huge deal or anything. I don't want you to worry about me
like I'm having some kind of crisis. Bro and I are fine, okay? He's just an
asshole sometimes and I get sick of how he acts like all the bills he pays are
some huge favor he's doing me. Even if I wasn't around he'd still have to pay
rent, right? It's not like I'm adding much on there. And he sure as hell isn't
emptying his pockets to buy us groceries or anything. I appreciate the fact
that he's given up a lot to take care of me but god, it's not like I asked for
our parents to die," he says crossly, and then runs his hand through his hair
and ducks his head a bit, making a face like he just realized he's dropped the
ball. After a minute his face smoothes out into a disinterested mask and he
looks back out the window.
"Everything's cool, though. I'll be 16 before long and I'll get a job and help
pay my way around here, so maybe things will get less shitty. Forget I said
anything about it. This has got to be about as fun as one of Rose's
psychotherapy romps."
You're a little dumbstruck by the amount of heavy shit Dave just let slip, so
you just nod and accept the subject drop. Not for the first time you wish you
were more like Rose, who always seemed to have at least a little knowledge on
any subject. She would know what to say to help Dave understand his brother.
Maybe she would even be able to get Bro to understand Dave. But you are not
Rose, and the best you can do is listen whenever Dave is ready to talk to you.
You can't help but realize you're relieved that Dave seems to not have noticed
your hickey after all, but then you reason that it was unlikely that he would
have. You were in your sleeping bag most of the time he was in the room with
you, and after that he was too focused on his frustrations with Bro to be
getting a good look at you. Unconsciously you reach up and press your fingers
to it through the cloth of your hoodie.
Dave gets up off the bed and pops his neck loudly, and you make the horrified
face you always make. He snorts softly and the tense mood gets a little less
suffocating.
"Well, I'm gonna check the water and then try this shower thing again."
"Yeah, me next. I smell."
"You don't have to tell me, man," he says right on cue and you roll your eyes.
You knew he was going to say that so hard you could have said it right along
with him.
After your showers you waste the day on more video games and junk food. You've
eaten so many chips these past three days that even though you're dreading
school and the subsequent return home, you kind of can't wait to eat actual
food again. You think about how Dave has to do this all the time, and about how
skinny he is, and your chest feels tight. You tell yourself that at least he
can eat a decent meal at school, but at the same time realize it's not at all
right that the best meal he has to look forward to is a cafeteria meal.
These thoughts and other variations of them bother you all day. You want to
help Dave. He's your best friend, so it's absurd for you to do nothing when
he's obviously so unhappy. You think, maybe just maybe you can talk to Bro.
Maybe that's something else that you can fix using this weird situation you're
in. Maybe you can take a page out of Rose's book after all, but you're gonna
have to work your way up to it.
When at last it's late and you've once again patiently waited for Dave to fall
asleep, you sneak out and head to Bro's room. You think about just walking in
like you did last time, but Bro's face from that morning is fresh in your mind.
Nervously, you tap on the door very softly.
You hear Bro's chair squeak and a second later he opens the door and smirks
amusedly as he steps back to let you walk in. His mood is so much different
than you were expecting that you breathe a deep sigh of relief. You can't help
but notice his room smells... kind of bizarre.
"Not waltzin' in like you own the place today, mouse?" he asks, closing his
door with a soft click and returning to sit in his computer chair. The lights
in his room are on but it's still pretty dim, and you're not sure if it's the
weak light or your imagination but it seems almost hazy.
"Haha... Not today, I guess," you reply shyly, standing there like you don't
know where to be. Bro is still dressed like he was when he got back to the
apartment (which had shocked you cuz you'd never even seen him leave in the
first place) when you and Dave had been in the living room playing games.
He's got on those tight black jeans and a white polo with the stiff collar
popped up around his neck. His fingerless black gloves are on, as are his
shades and the cap that makes his blond hair jut up over the edges in spiky
tufts. He looks so good to you; you are so embarrassingly attracted to him that
you wonder if you should be worried. Bro is classically handsome and masculine,
and compared you can't help but feel like every bit of the scrawny, mousey teen
in a hoodie and basketball shorts that you are. You guess Bro doesn't see you
like that, because though you can't see his eyes right now, the curve of his
smile is almost... fond.
"What's this about? You cold?" He asks, leaning forward and tugging at the
bottom of your oversized hoodie.
"Uhm," you start, getting tugged forward a few clumsy steps until you're
standing between his knees. Bro is in such an easygoing mood that it's getting
distracting. "Not really. It's just, uhm." You reach up and pull down the neck,
tilting your chin back to show Bro what you're hiding. You watch his face for a
reaction, and to your suprise he just smirks and snorts a laugh.
"I don't think it's very funny," you protest, cheeks pink. He quirks an
eyebrow.
"Oh it's funny," he answers, leaning back.
"But what if Dave saw? You know he'd freak out! I guess I should have said this
sooner but he absolutely cannot find out that we..."
"That we, what?" Bro prompts, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his
head. Your face is burning bright red now.
"You know!" you say, refusing to play along. "Did you do it on purpose?"
"Cut me some slack, kid. I knew you'd just hide it. Everyone goes through
learnin' to hide it. Besides, I thought maybe you'd like it."
You avert your eyes to adjust your glasses needlessly, refusing to respond.
"W-well, we should be more careful than that from now on. What would I have
said if he... What on earth is that?" You ask, your train of that derailing as
Bro picks up something weird looking off his desk. He looks at you for a second
like he's considering options, and then hands it to you.
It's kind of like one of your dad's pipes but tiny and oddly shaped and made of
what looks like blown glass. You'd turn it over in your hands to inspect the
pattern, but there's already what looks like half blackened tobacco in the
shallow bowl on one end.
"Oh. It's a pipe. I didn't know you smoked," you say, and he gives you a weird
look that makes you feel self conscious. It's not like you're trying to look
knowledgeable or anything.
"This doesn't look anything like my dad's pipes."
"I'll bet you anything it's not," he says, looking amused.
"What? What's funny?" you ask just seconds before you cotton on.
"Ohhhh. Oh. Okay," you say, and quickly hand it back to him. You should have
known just by the smell in the room that it wasn't tobacco in there, but it's
not like you're experienced with this kind of thing.
"Come here. I'm gonna show you how to relax a little," he says, taking the pipe
and getting up to sit on the edge of his bed. He pats the space next to him,
and you sit down hesitantly.
"What do you mean?"
"Here," He says, and hands you back the little glass pipe and a red lighter.
"What?! No way," you say, and try to pass it back quickly.
"C'mon kid. Nobody needs it more than you. It's not gonna hurt you," he says
with a snort. "Look."
He takes the pipe and the lighter from your outstretched hands, dragging his
hands unnecessarily over yours before pulling away. You flush pink again. Bro
brings the pipe up with one hand and closes his lips around its stem, igniting
the lighter with a flick. He dips the flame into the bowl for just a moment and
you see his chest broaden as he inhales. The herb in the pipe crackles a bit
when he does and you stare at his profile in the flames light. You know this
shouldn't be sexy, but for some reason your heart starts thudding in your
chest.
Bro waits a beat and then tips his head back and exhales. The light grey smoke
seems to billow endlessly from his nose and his open mouth, curling up to the
ceiling. Then he's handing the pipe to you again and you fidget nervously.
Against your better judgement you take it from him, hoping that he'll be
satisfied if you try it one time. You look at the pipe and lighter like you've
just been handed a pop quiz in hieroglyphics. Bro had made it look so natural
before but suddenly your mind is blank. You can't believe you're actually going
to do this. You feel like you wandered into an after school special and you're
failing at it, hard.
"Here," he says softly, covering your hand with his own to bring the pipe up to
your mouth. You blush furiously as you put your mouth on it obediently. "Now
put your finger here on the carb. This little hole on the side. See it? Then
light."
You do as he says and flick the lighter on, trying to dip the flame into the
bowl while trying not to let the flame get close to your thumb. Your hands are
trembling and your thumb slips, killing the flame. You resist cursing and try
again, and manage to touch the flame to the herb inside.
"Now take your finger off and breathe it in. Hold it in a sec and let it go."
You steel your courage and inhale. Hot and strangely flavored smoke sucks down
your throat, and it tickles your throat so bad it makes your eyes water but you
absolutely refuse to cough. You have no idea how long you're supposed to hold
it in but to keep from coughing you exhale immediately. The smoke seems like it
explodes out of your mouth in one big cloud, lacking all of Bro's earlier
grace. You try to hand it back but he shakes his head.
"You finish it off, kid. I had a head start on you," he says, and you groan.
You should have known he wouldn't be satisfied. You glance at him and wonder if
he's really high. Besides seeming more laid back than usual he's really not
acting any different, so you can't tell. You can only hope it won't affect you
much either.
Once again you bring the pipe to your lips and light it, dragging the smoke
into your lungs. This time you count to 3 before you try exhaling out of your
nose instead. The smoke pours out of you in a stream, and you find yourself
grinning.
"Look at you. You're already a pro," Bro says, and you know it's kind of
ridiculous but you feel pleased that he's impressed with you.
"Uh, thanks. It's kind of like being a dragon," you say, and he smirks. It
takes a while longer and many more inhales before Bro seems satisfied and takes
his pipe back. You're so relieved that it's over, and luckily you don't feel
any different. You think.
He walks back to his desk and puts the pipe in its spot before he turns on the
TV at the foot of his bed.
"Wanna watch a movie?" he asks.
"Yes!"
He drags a huge black binder off his desk and flops it down in front of you.
You crack it open and see that it's full of burned cds with movie titles
scrawled on each of them in Bro's messy handwriting.
"Pick whatever you want," he offers generously, and you flip through the disc
filled pages. You try to pick something quickly because you don't want Bro to
get impatient with you like Dave does, but most of Bro's movies seem a little
weird. The first thing you see that you like you slide out of its spot and hand
it to him.
"Hm. This one should be interesting when you're stoned," he remarks.
"I kind of don't think I am. I don't think I feel anything," you say, handing
the heavy black binder back to him as well. You spoke too soon, because when
you move is when you notice you're feeling kind of lightheaded.
"Give it a minute," he answers, sliding the binder back on its shelf and
putting the movie in. He shuts off the lights and crawls onto the bed behind
you, picking you up as easy as if you were a ragdoll and making you squeak in
suprise. He settles back against the pillows propped on his headboard and sets
you down between his legs, wrapping his arms loosely around your stomach. You
stiffen up nervously at first, but soon relax against his chest and let your
head thump back dizzily against his shoulder.
The familiar picturesque opening of Donnie Darko comes over the screen. It's
been forever since you've seen this movie, but you've always liked it despite
it being kind of depressing and weird. For some reason you feel like you can
feel the opening music on your skin.
"Nevermind. I am definitely high," you say, and Bro laughs softly.
You try to focus on the movie but you've seen it before so your interest isn't
exactly piqued. Much more fascinating to you is the rise and fall of Bro's
chest and how your body moves with it, and how Bro slips his hand just barely
under the hem of your hoodie to rest his hand on your stomach. He rubs his
thumb over your skin absentmindedly and it makes you shiver, goosebumps popping
out over your arms.
You turn your head just enough that you can watch Bro as he watches the screen.
You love his jutting, angular jawline and the blonde stubble that always adorns
it. Your gaze drifts down his masculine neck and to the peek of his collarbone.
The dip behind his clavicle is very pronounced, and you notice two freckles
there you'd never noticed before. For some reason it strikes you as unbearably
beautiful, though that's not exactly a word you'd usually apply to someone like
Bro.
As you're watching, Bro swallows and his adam's apple bobs, mesmerizing you.
Without thinking you lean forward and press a kiss just under his jaw, then let
your head fall back onto his shoulder again. You feel so warm and sleepy and
light-headed.
Bro looks pretty suprised, from what you can tell. As soon as that thought
strikes you, you reach up slowly and touch his shades. He makes no move to stop
you, so you slide them off and set them aside, and do the same with his cap.
You drink in his features, and he's looking at you just as hard.
"Your eyes are red after all. I thought I saw so earlier but I was kind of far
away. They're darker red than Dave's are, though. It's pretty," you babble, and
your voice sounds really loud to you. You hope you're not talking really loud.
Bro doesn't say anything, he just moves in towards you and you close your eyes
and tilt your face up expectantly. He puts his gloved palm on your neck and
covers your mouth with his own, and you sigh into the kiss happily. You taste
that strange flavor of smoke in his kiss and you breathe in the spicy, wood-
like scent of his cologne. Everything about him is so distinctly male, and you
revel in it.
Bro's other hand slips farther up under your shirt to rub your chest, his bare
fingertips teasing over one nipple and making you gasp into his mouth. He uses
that opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips to explore, and you feel
your face growing hot. You squirm against him but he doesn't let up on you,
pinching and rubbing with his fingers. You get hard so quickly it's
embarrassing, your erection pressing up noticably against the fabric of your
shorts.
His free hand trails down from your neck and over your chest to rub your
stomach and thighs teasingly. Your heart is pounding in your ears as he gets
suggestively closer and closer, until he cups the bulge firmly and your hips
jolt. You make a sound that is half pleasure and half protest as you pull back
from his kiss and he shushes you, nuzzling his nose just behind your ear, not
moving his hand away.
"Shh, shhh. It's okay," he assures you, his voice a thunder's rumble right in
your ear. He rubs you with the heel of his palm, before closing his fingers
around your dick outside the cloth and squeezing lightly. You huff and gasp and
hide your face in his neck, reaching back behind you with both hands to clutch
at Bro, the headboard, the pillows, whatever is within your reach.
Bro releases his grip on you and you come out of hiding to see him peel off his
glove with his teeth before reaching down again. This time his fingers slide
easily beneath your waistband and grip your hard-on skin to skin, and you bite
your lip hard.
"Ah... ah... God, Bro," you whisper as he pumps you steadily. The sight of his
hand moving under the fabric of your shorts seems so obscene, but you can't
look away. His hand is hot and rough on you, and he squeezes with just the
right amount of firmness, twisting ever so slightly as he works your erection
up and down.
His other hand is still teasing your chest, but then he slides his hand up
through the neck of your hoodie, up your throat until his fingers trace your
lips. You're not sure what he wants, and the heat between your legs prevents
you from thinking clearly at all. When he presses his fingertip forward you
open your mouth and let him slip his finger inside, closing your lips around it
instinctively and sucking. That earns you an increase in the pace on your dick,
and you moan helplessly and buck your hips up into his hand.
"Jesus, fuck, John," he growls in your ear. "Wanna fuck you so bad."
Your face flames red to hear such direct filthiness, your heart skipping a
beat. He takes his hand away from your mouth and out of your shirt to yank down
your shorts and expose you completely. You shyly hide away in his neck again,
but move your legs helpfully until your shorts are completely off and in a pile
on the floor. He roughly jerks your legs until they're spread obscenely wide,
and you can't help a loud gasp of embarrassed pleasure.
His hand feels so good, so much better than your own has ever felt. Your hips
are pumping lewdly without stop, the heat building and building between your
legs.
"Oh f-fuck, Bro, yes" you sigh, your head lolling back onto his shoulder. He
groans and you feel him thrust his hips against you, his jeans rough against
your bare backside. You can clearly feel his trapped erection pushing up
against you, and he grinds it against you forcefully.
The pleasure is starting to spike and you tangle your legs in his blankets as
you slide them up and down in sheer erratic restlessness. You're so close, it's
so so good, if he just pumps like that a few more times, if he'd just brush his
hand over the head and fuck he does and your hips jerk and you come with a cry,
spilling over your stomach and up all the way up your chest.
You slump against him, exhausted, trying to catch your breath and process what
just happened. Bro leans over and grabs an old shirt off the floor and cleans
off your stomach a bit before he lets you take over. You wipe your hoodie off
as much as you can before you let the soiled shirt fall back to the ground.
Your face is flushed from sex and embarrassment, but you make yourself meet
Bro's eyes. They're so intense on you they might as well be glowing embers.
He's breathing heavy and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead. You never
thought you'd see someone want you so bad, and more in that moment than any
other so far, you fall for him.
You turn until you're facing him and kiss him sweetly. His hands, hot as blood,
find your naked hips and hold tight. He's worked up and holding himself back as
hard as he can; you barely need to look at him to tell. You find that you want
to give back to him some of what he's just begun to share with you, but you're
a bundle of nerves on how to proceed. Shy and unsure, you rest your hand over
the bulge in his jeans.
"Can I?" you ask, and he nods almost imperceptibly.
Your hands shake as you undo the button of his black jeans; the sound of his
zipper lowering is the the most significant thing you've heard in your entire
life. Here you have to stop and you press your hands to your cheeks and will
your heart to stop trying to jump out of your throat.
"Sorry, I'm so nervous," you whisper.
"S'ok, kid. Don't apologize."
Bro's voice seems deeper and rougher than usual, and you're finding yourself
addicted to seeing him in this state. Once you work your courage up again, you
reach in through the opening in the front of his red boxers and tentatively
brush his cock with your fingers. Your ears go red, and Bro sucks in a breath
through his teeth. Encouraged, you grip it and ease it out until it's exposed,
and you start pumping in a steady rhythm, barely able to believe what you're
doing.
The skin is velvetly soft, but underneath feels as hard as granite, but alive
and pulsing. Bro's head falls back against the headboard with a thump, his eyes
shut and mouth slack. You mimick the slight twist at the head that he did to
you and his hips twitch up. He's panting softly, lost in himself as you work
him.
He's calmer and less noisy than you were, and you can't tell if it's just
because he's more experienced or because you're not very good at it. You think
about his heated confession earlier and realize with a blush that he probably
wants much more than this, but there's absolutely no way you can go any
further.
Your eyes are glued to his face watching for every fleeting expressions or
reaction. You speed up and his brows knit together unconsciously, a huff of
breath his only admission of pleasure. He opens his eyes to look at you, red
irises framed by thick blonde eyelashes and hazy with lust. He puts his large
hand behind your neck and drags you forward to devour your mouth. You make a
helpless sound and melt under his rough intimacy, still pumping him as quick
and steady as you can manage.
His kiss gets sloppy and distracted, and you feel his free hand lightly touch
your wrist as his eyes screw shut again and you know he must be close because
his actions feel restless. Suddenly his dick stiffens further and then is
pulsing and pulsing in your hand, and you feel his come spill thick and hot
over your fingers.
"Fuck, fuck," he hisses against your lips, and you feel dizzy knowing that it's
you that made him feel good, and you that gets to see this side of him. Your
heart swells possessively.
You give him a moment to come down and then quickly clean your hand off on the
same shirt from earlier, unable to keep from making a face. No matter how good
it feels, and how sexy you find Bro, this part is always gross to you whether
its your own or someone else's.
After you modestly pull back on your shorts and Bro has tucked himself back
into his jeans, you look at him and wonder if you're supposed to stay or if you
should excuse yourself now and slink back to Dave's room. You still feel lazy
and lightheaded from smoking, so you decide to be bold and crawl back into his
bed and you settle in to the space at his side, hugging his middle with one
arm. You press your face against his shoulder to avoid seeing whether he
approves or disapproves.
You feel Bro start to rub your back and you're reminded of just how tired you
are, having gotten barely any sleep the night before. But you can't fall asleep
yet. Not here. You look over at the tv where the movie continues to play,
forgotten. On screen, Donnie sits across from his therapist and morosely
confesses his fear of being alone. You feel like you can relate.
"I want to stay but it'll be kind of obvious if I'm not in Dave's room when he
wakes up," you say quietly. Bro pulls you against his chest and untangles his
covers and sheets to pull them around the two of you. You feel wrapped up and
warm and safe. Your eyelids droop threateningly.
"Whatever you wanna do, kid," he answers in a neutral voice. "We could at least
finish the movie."
After a pause you nod in agreement, resting your head on his chest. His
heartbeat thuds steady under your ear, and despite all your effort you doze off
almost immediately. By a stroke of luck you jerk awake due to a gunshot in the
movie, and you sit up straight and rub your eyes furiously. Thankfully, it's
only been a short while, and the movie isn't even over yet. You look at Bro,
who is passed out beside you still fully dressed.
You crawl out of bed as slowly and noiselessly as you can manage, watching his
face to make sure you don't wake him. You turn to leave, but a thought strikes
you and you turn back to tug the covers back over him before you go. Standing
there, you wonder what things will be like starting tomorrow when you won't be
staying in the same house anymore. Will you even be able to see him at all?
You're not even sure how to let him know you want to.
Quietly, you walk to the foot of his bed and are about to pass his desk when
you spot something that gives you an idea. Bro's phone is stacked neatly on top
of his wallet, and you sneak a look over your shoulder and then pick it up. You
slide your thumb across to unlock the screen and find his contacts list,
feeling sneaky and hoping beyond hope this doesn't piss Bro off. You think for
a second and then smile to yourself, typing in your number and saving it as
"Kid."
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     I hope everyone got a chance to see this_piece for chapter 8 by the
     lovely Renaris! Warning! it's NSFW. ;)
     Many thanks for your patience on waiting for this chapter!
The next day you're so exhausted you can't help but sleep in all your early
classes, an act typically reserved for Dave. More than once you catch Rose
observing you closely, but you just grin at her and wave, hoping beyond hope
that if you act unaware of her suspicion she'll assume nothing is up. She
returns an elegant lift of one pale hand and quirks one perfectly arched brow.
You know you're in for it later, but for now you're too distracted to care.
You glance at your phone for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time you
try not to be disappointed when there's no new messages or missed calls. You
assure yourself that Bro probably hasn't even checked his phone yet. Even if he
had, you know he's not the type to eagerly reach out to you first thing.
There's no reason to worry yet. You remind yourself that a Strider's number one
priority is to seem cool and aloof.
It's not until lunch hour that Rose finally manages to catch you alone. She
seats herself across from you at your usual table by the window, and you offer
a tense smile.
"You know, John. A more leery woman than I might assume you've been avoiding me
since we last spoke," she begins, sliding the strap of her knitting satchel off
her shoulder and carefully extracting her latest project.
"What? Me?" You say, pausing in the midst of chewing your sandwich and hope you
don't look as guilty as you feel.
"Mmhm," she hums casually. You watch as she carefully digs the tip of one
knitting needle under a loop of yarn on the other, and then she's off as fast
as ever, clicking the needles together quietly and tugging and looping the yarn
with her long fingers faster than your brain can understand. Usually you like
to watch her work, but today you're unsettled. Her strange blue-violet eyes
flick up to glance at you.
"It's quite odd. Usually I return to my computer to find a wall of blue text,
but not lately. Should I be concerned? Heartbroken?" she asks, and finally
smirks that smirk that lets you know she's being playful, despite any honest
trepidation she might feel.
"Don't be silly. You know I've been at Dave's all weekend," you answer, but
your accompanying laugh sounds nervous.
"Ah, of course. So how was it?"
"Oh, fine."
"Just fine?"
"Yeah. Fine. I mean, fun. It was good. I guess."
She nods a bit and doesn't look up from her knitting, but you squirm in your
seat. You know she's trying to get at something, and you wish she'd just come
out with it already.
"So nothing... unusual happened?"
Bingo.
"What do you mean?" you ask as neutrally as you can manage, and her hands pause
in her work. She lowers the knitted length of fabric a bit and gives you a
level look.
"I'm going to be frank with you, John. I'll also do you the favor of not making
this about your feelings for Dave, whatever the state of them may be," she
says, holding up a hand to stifle the protest she knew you would make.
"I'm doing this because if I had to hazard a guess based on what I've observed,
you haven't said a word about it to him. Despite that it's obvious to me that
something is really different about him lately. He seems more tense and
distracted as time goes by and honestly? I'm worried."
You both reflexively glance across the room where Dave is slouching in line
still.
"He seemed mostly okay this weekend," you say more defensively than you
intended, and then stop to consider. You know for a fact that Dave has been
dealing with tension at home, but you really don't feel privy to share.
"I don't know, John. He's neglecting to do his assignments more and more often.
He's stopped talking to almost everyone but us. He even looks thinner, and for
an already slender person that's saying something."
That punches you in the gut with its implications, but you keep your mouth shut
on how much you know.
"Well, he is a little more quiet lately," you say hesitantly.
"So you have noticed? It's not just me?" she asks, and her angular shoulders
relax a little as if she's relieved to finally be discussing it. "Do you know
what's going on with him?"
"Not everything," you say, which is probably more truthful than you meant to
be. Rose looks frustrated that you won't spill your guts, but you'd feel like
you were gossiping about your best friend if you continued. As much as you
think her insight would be ten times more useful than yours, its simply not
your secret to tell.
"Try not to worry, Rose. Dave will be fine. I'll talk to him about it later,
okay? It'd probably be easier for him to talk to his best bro anyway," you
reason.
Rose seems to want to say something more, but you see Dave heading this way and
give her a pleading look. Before she can respond, Dave settles in to the seat
next to you and Rose gives you one last meaningful glance before she returns to
her knitting, her face as serene as if you'd been discussing the weather.
 
After school is out and you're finally home and settled down at the dinner
table with your father, the subject comes back up just as surely as if it was
haunting you. It's one of those rare nights that your dad doesn't stay late at
the office, so he's gone all out and made his special pot roast recipe. Your
eyes light up at the sight of it.
"Oh my god, real food," you moan, picking up your fork and stuffing your mouth
with beef and potatoes.
You don't notice how your father goes tense as this statement until he clears
his throat and you look up from your plate.
"You didn't eat well at the Strider house again, I gather," he says in a way
that makes you unsure whether or not it's a question. You straighten up and
swallow a half-chewed mouthful so quick it hurts.
"No, I did! Just not... stuff like this," you say, carefully.
"You really shouldn't be staying there for such long visits if Mr. Strider
can't be bothered to take time out of his busy clubbing schedule to feed the
two of you."
Your chest tightens with worry. Every time this argument comes up you feel like
you're getting closer and closer to being banned from staying at Dave's.
Considering the new developments in your situation, this is the absolute worst
time that it could happen.
"Dave bought us enough food to last the whole weekend. We weren't hungry! Just
because you don't like Dave's brother doesn't mean he isn't actually really
busy, you know," you say defensively, and then your face gets hot. Usually you
just let your Dad gripe until he's satisfied that you know how much he
disapproves of Bro, but you don't think you can keep quiet much longer. You
know Bro isn't the horrible person everyone makes him out to be, but there's no
way you can prove it.
Your dad doesn't seem to get angry that you backtalked; he just sighs and rubs
at his temples.
"As busy as I've been at work this year, has there ever been a day you didn't
have everything you needed? I'm not attacking your friends, John. I'm just
trying to say that it worries me to leave you in that kind of care. I think
it's high time Mr. Strider sorted out some priorities and took being Dave's
guardian a little more seriously."
You clamp your mouth shut and stare down at your plate, your fists clenching in
your lap as you struggle not to make another outburst. There's no way you can
make your dad understand why the situation is completely different. If you
think about it a little bit harder, you're not sure you can come up with enough
good reasons yourself.
Dad must see that you're miserable so he takes pity on you and changes the
subject, but all of your replies after that are a little sulky. After you help
with the dishes in complete silence, you retreat to your room and sit heavily
in your computer chair. You rest your chin on your fist and stare dully out the
window, your heart heavy.
You find yourself wishing there was someone you could talk to that you didn't
have to hide any details from them. You feel like its been ages since you
messaged Dave on pesterchum, but after today the thought of trying to act
chipper makes your heart sink even lower. Even Jade, a mutual online friend of
your little gang, isn't really an option since you'd just be nervous she might
let something slip to Dave or Rose.
There's really only one person you feel like reaching out to tonight, and with
yet another miserable little glance at your phone you resign yourself that it
won't be happening.
 
Your anxiety gets worse and worse as the week crawls by with still no word from
Bro. You can't even focus on any of your school work; all you can do is bounce
one leg nervously and wonder if maybe he thought you were getting too clingy
too fast. You replay every moment you've spent together in your head and wonder
where you went wrong, swearing fervently that the next time you're around him
you're gonna show him just how totally aloof you can be.
It's getting to the point where even Dave has asked you what's up, so you know
you must look like a mess. You just tried your best to pretend you didn't know
why he was asking, and you suspect you may have wounded him a little with your
obvious lie because he's been distant since then. Maybe if you didn't wear your
heart on your sleeve like this you could play this game better, but you don't
know how to stop.
Wednesday night has you sitting in your bedroom, seriously considering lying to
Dave and saying your dad asked for Bro's number. Just thinking it makes you
feel a punch of guilt to the chest so intense you actually feel ill. Above
anything else you should be considering Dave's feelings, but here you are
fretting over whether or not you can keep sneaking off with his brother behind
his back.
You wake up Thursday morning and decide enough is enough. You obviously don't
interest Bro as much as you thought, and you need to pull yourself together and
stop being so obsessive. If this is what romance is like you're not sure it's
for you, because this whole week has just been one long panic attack and
frankly, you're exhausted.
As the day goes by you let yourself finally get your mind off things. You don't
turn in any incompleted tests, and you actually find yourself joking with Dave
and Rose during lunch again. Dave seems to have forgiven you for brushing off
his concern, and the two of you are back to ironically passing notes in class
like nothing happened.
It's pretty late on Thursday night when you're making yourself catch up on
homework when your phone buzzes on your desk. You look up at it like it just
shouted at you, and you feel prickles break out over your skin. You reach over
and grab it, lighting up the screen.
"heh. cute."
Butterflies explode in your stomach and your hands tremble. It's from a number
not saved in your contacts, and even though it's only two words you can
practically see Bro's personality jumping out of the syntax. You can't believe
it took him this long to stumble across your number, but the relief you feel is
so intense you feel lightheaded.
You spend a long moment agonizing over how to reply. At first you type "took
you long enough!" but you backspace it, thinking it looks needy. So you go with
"hey! :)" but then you delete the smiley and the exclamation point because it
makes you look like a kid. But the "hey" on the screen looks so bored and
uninterested you fear he might not bother messaging back. You add the
exclamation point back, take a deep breath, and hit send. The five minutes it
takes to get a reply back feel like an eternity. You actually jump when your
phone vibrates in your hand, and you read the screen hungrily.
"miss me?"
The dorky grin that breaks out on your face threatens to wrap all the way
around your head. You press the heel of your hand against one eye and just
smile helplessly. He's so effortlessly forward while you spend every second
planning out what to say. You wish you had even half of his natural charm so
you could try to keep up. Your heart hammers in your chest as you stare at the
message, wondering what the perfect answer would be.
You decide on "maybe..." and hope that the implied yes is obvious enough. After
a thought you decide to press your luck and add "why, do you miss me?"
You bite your lip and jiggle your leg anxiously. Earlier you had been so sure
Bro had forgotten you, and now here you are blatantly text-flirting. It's a
wonder you're not suffering from emotional whiplash. Another few minutes pass
and your screen lights up again.
"its possible."
You snort incredulously, but figure you can't blame him for being cagey since
you started it. After opening up the window to reply you slowly realize Bro's
last statement didn't really open up a whole lot of room for conversation, so
you nibble your lip and fret over how to proceed. Now that you're talking to
him, you realize you miss him more than you thought you did. There's a heavy
weight in your chest that's pushing you forward, tempting you to be direct for
once in your life.
"so... is it possible we could hang out again soon?"
After you send that one you have to set down your phone for a minute and pull
yourself together. You're so nervous you don't even want him to answer. You
doubt you'll have the courage to even check your phone after that huge leap you
just made, so you go downstairs for a bit to get yourself a drink and you take
as long as possible.
When you come back upstairs you snatch your phone up immediately.
"how's tomorrow sound"
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     Before you dive in to this chapter, you should totally check out
     these two awesome drawings that Renaris did from previous chapters!
     As always, thank you so much for reading!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
On Friday morning you make a slightly bigger show than usual of rushing around
the house getting ready for school. You only sit with your dad for breakfast
for a few minutes before excusing yourself to get dressed. When you come back
through the hall, he's taking a moment to straighten his tie in the hall
mirror, his briefcase waiting at his feet.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drop you off today? I'm running behind as it
is, a few extra minutes won't hurt," he offers one last time, apparently hoping
you'll be as enthusiastic as he is about extra quality time.
"Dad, I'd be like half an hour early!" you protest, grabbing your backpack from
by the door and shoving yesterday's homework back inside. You sling it over one
shoulder and hover near your father awkwardly.
Your dad just rolls his eyes and places a charcoal grey fedora on his head
before bending to pick up his briefcase.
"And what a horrible proclivity that would be to adopt."
You just snort and let him ruffle your hair on the way out. You wave at him
through the living room window as he climbs in his car, and watch as it drives
out of sight. Slowly, you set your backpack back down by the door.
You go upstairs to your room and stand there absentmindedly for a while, a
nervous tension growing in your chest. You climb on your bed and push your
curtain aside to look down at the street below. After a while the familiar
squeal of school bus brakes fills the air, and you see it stop at the usual
spot and let the neighborhood kids pile on. You watch it drive by and then flop
back onto your bed.
You can't believe you're actually skipping school.
You read back through your texts from last night to pass the time. Bro had
asked you if you were coming home with Dave again, but you replied that you
felt like it was out of line to ask Dave to hang out if your intention was to
see Bro. That's when he suggested laying out of school for a day, and you
didn't want to seem lame so you agreed. Your dad would be working late and Dave
had a detention to serve, so it's a rare opportunity to be with Bro that you
wouldn't pass up anyway.
Now all that's left to do is pass the time until it's a reasonable enough hour
to ride your bike over, since you highly doubt he'd be thrilled if you showed
up at 7am. You try your best to go back to sleep but the butterflies in your
stomach won't let you rest. Around noon you finally give up and jump out of bed
where you had been lying fully dressed.
You inspect how you look in the hallway mirror before setting out, and wish you
hadn't. Your thin face is ghostly white and you have dark bluish purple circles
under your eyes that your oversized glasses barely hide. Your black hair is an
unruly mess that you try futilely to flatten with your palms, and your lips are
very obviously dry and cracked. You go back to your room and spend a good ten
minutes looking for chapstick. You wonder if you should change your clothes,
because your outfit makes you look scrawnier than usual.
The more you fuss over your appearance the more nervous you get, so you finally
force yourself out the front door. You unearth your old bike from where it's
buried in the garage and set out, wobbling a bit in the driveway before you
pick up speed. It ends up being quite a longer trip than you had estimated, and
by the time you arrive you're completely out of breath and sweaty, so you
collapse on the front steps for a minute so he won't see you all shiny and red-
faced.
You don't knock, you just pull your phone out of your pocket and send a text
letting Bro know you're outside and then fiddle with your shoelaces nervously
while you wait for him to come to the door. Your heart skips a beat when you
hear the knob turn, and you stand up hurriedly when he opens the door.
You weren't prepared for the sight of him freshly showered, in nothing but beat
up jeans low on his narrow hips and a towel draped over one shoulder. His
shades are missing and he's uncharacteristically clean-shaven. You've never
seen his hair any less than perfectly styled but now it's wildly tousled and
still wet, the front just barely able to brush the tops of his cheekbones.
While you stare with your tongue swallowed, he nods you inside.
"I was beginnin' to wonder if you were actually gonna show up," he says in
place of a greeting, shutting the door behind you.
"Well, I didn't know when you'd be awake, so I waited a while."
"Didn't sleep yet, but it's cool."
"What, you didn't sleep at all?" you reply, aghast. You almost ask him if he's
tired, but you bite back the captain obvious statement at the last second. "Why
not?"
He gestures lazily to what you tend to call Cord Mountain, but only in your
head. It's the section of the living room devoted to Bro's DJ gear, which to
you just looks like a half a dozen or so electronic looking squares bristling
with lights and buttons, trailing a tangled web of power cables in every
direction.
"Got myself a new toy, wanna see?" he asks with a grin, like he's happy you
asked.
"Oh, uhm, sure."
He walks over to the table and you follow, trying to be interested in whatever
gadget he's excited about and not get too distracted by the sharp angles of his
shoulder blades embedded in that long back. He lovingly traces his fingers down
the side of a box with an absolutely ridiculous amount of tiny white buttons in
a grid. A white USB connects it to a Macbook propped up on a cinderblock.
"What is it?" you ask, genuinely curious.
"A damn sexy little controller known as a Monome 256," he says, leaning over to
wake up his laptop. There's a smaller box which a touch screen nearby, and he
slides the bar across it, hits a button and then a heavy bass beat starts so
loudly you jump out of your skin. Bro's rests a hand instinctively on the small
of your back and quickly quiets the volume down to a tolerable thump.
"Easy there, mouse," he says distractedly. "Anyway I've mostly programmed it
with percussion loops at the moment, but it's damn versatile," he says. His
fingers fly across it so fast, lighting up the little white buttons and making
them flash orange in patterns you can't begin to understand. The beat layers
and changes with every tweak, and you tear your eyes away from his hands to
watch his face.
You've never seen this side of him before; his brow furrows when he
concentrates and lends his face the regal character of a professional at work.
He catches you staring but you don't look away. You can't. For the first time
in a long while, he's reminding you of Dave.
Bro smirks and drapes a long arm across your shoulders.
"Wanna try?"
"Oh, I shouldn't touch it. It looks expensive."
"You won't hurt her, here," he says and maneuvers you until you're standing in
front of him. He takes your hands in his and moves them over the flashing
buttons. He presses your fingers down for you and plays a pretty simple beat,
but you can't help but grin delightedly. Bro lets go and you mash a few buttons
for fun, but the sound after that is chaos. You laugh.
His hands come to rest casually on your hips, so you pull your hands away from
the Monome self-consciously. You feel the atmosphere change, and you tilt your
face up to look at him over your shoulder. He's ready to meet you when you do,
and he brushes a soft kiss over your mouth that gets your heart pounding. Then
he ruins it by ruffling your hair.
"Be right back," he announces, shutting off the music and closing his laptop so
that it's suddenly very quiet. You watch as he strides down the hall out of
sight, and then you put your hands to your heated cheeks and try to calm down
and remember that you have some pretty serious subjects to bring up today. You
can't afford to get swept up in your feelings again.
Bro strides back into the room tugging a thin white shirt down over his chest,
and you are both relieved and disappointed. He sits down on the couch and
drapes one arm over the back, legs spread wide in the typical posture of a man
who thinks he owns the whole world. He motions you over and you sit down a
comfortable distance away and press your hands between your knees, staring at
them nervously. A heavy silence stretches between you where you are reminded
that despite how intimate the two of you have been, you still have no idea how
to just talk to Bro.
He picks up a bottle of beer that's been sitting on the coffee table for god
knows how long and takes a swig, watching you silently. Several times you take
a breath like you're going to launch into a monologue but you chicken out every
time.
"You worryin' about gettin' caught?" he prompts, looking amused. "You know as
well as I do your daddy'd just give you a slap on the wrist."
"What? Oh, no, I wasn't thinking about that. I doubt he'll ever know I skipped.
He never seems to get home until almost 8:00 lately."
"So what, you don't wanna lose your perfect attendance award at school?"
Your frown deepens, and you start picking at the frayed threads of the couch
cushions. Bro's tone is unusually antagonistic today and you don't want to let
on that it bothers you. It feels like he's making fun of you for your age.
Well, two can play at that game.
"I don't think they even bother with that stuff anymore. But then it's been a
really long time since you were in high school, huh?" you say, forcing yourself
to look at him. He just quirks an eyebrow and smirks and you're satisfied that
you've shut him up, so you let your mock curiosity dissolve into something more
genuine.
"Don't get offended or anything but, how old are you?"
Bro doesn't answer right away, which suprises you. You figured he'd just spit
the answer at you with his typical who-gives-a-shit attitude, but he looks as
if he's deliberating whether or not he wants to open the subject.
"Thirty-one," he says at last, an odd tone in his voice.
"Is that all? Gosh, you look much older," you say, and grin. Now that you can
sense his discomfort, you're in a hurry to let him know you don't actually care
about age. To your relief, he plays along with your jibe and rolls his eyes,
ruffling your hair again. Now that the topic is out there, you feel like it's
the best opportunity to bring up Dave you'll probably get, so you proceed
delicately.
"Wow, so that means you were just one year older than Dave is now when he was
born?"
"Sure was."
You can tell Bro still does not like this discussion one bit, and you think you
probably know why. You almost want to let it drop, but you can't seem to keep
your mouth shut now that it's going.
"It must have been really hard to have to start raising him that young. After
your parents... and everything."
Bro doesn't answer, just casually looks over at his dj equipment like he's
trying to send the message that he's barely participating in the conversation
at this point. The atmosphere seems to get more tense, and you wish he would
realize you're just trying to empathize with him but you're pretty sure he must
think you're being nosy.
"I mean, I know I couldn't do it if someone told me I'd start having to take
care of a baby starting tomorrow. And you didn't even have any other family
members to help you!"
"Kid," he starts with a long sigh. "What's this about? What are you tryin' to
get at?"
You wring your hands miserably. This is pretty much going exactly how you
thought it would go, but you have to do it.
"I'm just trying to say that it must be just... really really hard for you! And
I really do understand your side of things, it's just... everyone is kind of
really really worried about Dave right now," you confess.
"Who's everyone?"
"Well, Rose. And my Dad," you say, and the mention of your father earns a roll
of Bro's eyes that you ignore. "And me."
"So... I guess the point of all of this is that I just want to know what's
going on with the two of you. Why is he so upset with you all the time?" you
add. To your amazement, he laughs and shakes his head.
"What? What's funny?"
"I just find it pretty damn hilarious that you're askin' me because all this
time I was plannin' on askin' you."
"Asking me? You mean you don't know what you're fighting over?" you reply,
dumbfounded.
"All I know is for the past few months his ungrateful ass has been givin' me a
hard time about anything he can dream up and I've had it up to here."
You don't know what to say about that, so you sit and process the information.
The very last thing you expected to come from asking Bro about his situation
with Dave is that he's just as lost as you. Bro runs a hand through his still-
drying hair and makes an exasperated sound.
"He's a damn secretive little bastard, I'll give him that. Can't blame you
about not knowin' shit if he's not gonna have the decency to tell you. Did he
even mention his little checking account to you?"
"No. What about it?"
"I had one set up for him a long time ago in both our names. That way I can
drop money into it every week and he can spend it on whatever the fuck he
wants. Food and shit, I guess. He knows I don't have a lot of time to "run the
household" around here so that's the way it's always been and it's always
worked.
"Oh. I didn't know. I mean, he always had money but I never really put two and
two together."
"Yeah, well. He probably doesn't even think I keep an eye on it. Until now I
never had any reason to because he always blew it all immediately like the
predictable teenager he is, but now he's savin' for somethin' and it's drivin'
me nuts wonderin' what he's up to."
"Can't you just... ask him?" you say, cautiously. Bro laughs again, but
bitterly.
"If you were gonna run away from home, would you admit it to your old man if he
asked?"
"What! You think Dave is going to run away? That's ridiculous!"
"I'd do it in his place. Why shouldn't he?" Bro asks you, looking at you with
an expression so hardened that it hurts you to see it.
"Seriously, he would have mentioned something that big to me if he was going to
do it. I don't think he'd want me to tell you this but... I think he's possibly
saving up money to pay you back with?"
"Pay me back? For what?" Bro scoffs, taken aback.
"I guess he feels bad that you've had to take care of him instead of just
living your own life?" you suggest, and Bro winces.
"In fact, I know that's why. He said something more or less exactly like that.
And he mentioned wanting to start helping pay for his part around here, so I
really don't think that sounds like someone who's going to up and leave."
Bro's expression melts into something so openly relieved that you wonder how
long he's been sure that Dave was going to disappear any day. Your heart aches
at the thought.
You scoot closer, desperate to erase these troubles that run even deeper than
you imagined. You put one hand on his knee not knowing what you want to say,
but knowing that you want very badly for him to hear it.
"Will you try to talk to him about this? I will if you will," you promise. Bro
smirks in that way you've come to learn is more sincere than he lets on.
"You honestly think Dave and I can just sit down and hash this shit out, don't
you? I really wish I could live in your little world."
"I don't see why not," you protest stubbornly, and he presses his thumb over
your mouth.
"Hush, kid. You did your best, and I appreciate that, but there's more shit to
this than I want you to understand. Do me a favor and leave it alone from now
on. It's not your job to take care of us," he says, and you frown. The two
Striders always seem to be echoing the sentiment that you just can't
understand, but you do understand. You see more than the both of them even
realize that they show. It's so frustrating. He laughs at the look on your
face.
"Look at you. You're not gonna let this go until you're good and ready, huh?
You're stubborn enough to be a Strider, you know that?"
You don't know whether to be insulted or proud, so you're both.
"Come on, let's watch somethin'. Today was supposed to be fun, remember?" he
asks, standing up from the couch to punctuate that the conversation was
officially over. You catch the end of his shirt in one fist before you even
realize you reached out for him. You probably look as surprised as he does.
"Then kiss me again?" you ask, a flush rising to your cheeks. After facing the
conversation you've been dreading for weeks you're feeling a little invincible,
and since you saw him open the door you've been wanting him so badly. You're
not going to wait any longer.
He doesn't make any smart remark, thank god. He sinks back down onto the couch
and puts an arm around your waist to pull you against him, and when your lips
meet emotion wells up inside you and spills over. Words that you know are a bad
idea sit at the tip of your tongue. You bite them back.
You run your hands over his smooth face and down to his broad shoulders,
breathing in the scent of soap and his aftershave. His warm hands slip under
your shirt and up your back, and your skin tingles in their wake. You need to
feel as close to him as possible, so you work up your nerve until you finally
straddle his lap and press up against him, fingers clutching at the fabric of
his shirt. He makes a sound that's nothing more than a low rumble of approval.
"You're really tempting me, kid," he growls when you break apart.
"Kind of trying to," you admit, silencing him with another kiss. You want to
seem sexy and bold, and if you let him get a good look at the blush burning
across your cheeks it'll ruin it. Ever since you were together last you've
spent every moment daydreaming about touching him again, and about him touching
you. At this point you don't care to let him know that you need it.
You press your hand hesitantly against the growing hardness in his jeans, and
he sucks in a breath through his nose and suddenly he's standing up so fast you
almost fall backwards, but he catches you easily and starts carrying you bridal
style to his bedroom. You try not to feel ridiculous, and you forget about the
indignity soon enough when he deposits you unceremoniously onto his bed.
"I was gonna try to behave myself today, and I want credit for that," he
informs you as he tugs your shirt off over your head and roughly unbuttons your
jeans. Your pulse is fluttering erratically, all semblance of courage forgotten
as Bro takes over. His movements are more hurried than usual, and you can't
help but wonder if he's trying to forget the conversation you forced him to
have.
Bro has you completely naked in moments and then he's pushing you back to make
you lie down, parting your knees with his hands so he can look at you. You hide
your face in the crook of your elbow and keep your legs open for him, gasping
when you feel the backs of his fingers brush down the length of your straining
dick.
"Fuckin' irresitable," he swears, sounding almost angry about it. The bed dips
under his weight as he settles between your thighs, clutching your bony hips as
he ducks his head down to close his mouth over your right nipple, flicking it
with his tongue. Your erection jumps and heat flushes all the way down your
chest, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. Just when you don't think you
can stand the sensation any longer he switches to the left, and you start
making noises that you can't hold back.
Bro moves away from your chest, scooting down until he's low enough to kiss the
juncture where thigh meets hip, not seeming to mind the erection dripping
precum pressed againt his cheek. He hugs his forearms around your thighs to
spread them a little wider, and your heart hammers in your chest because you
think you know what he's about to do, and you can only imagine how it will
feel.
He presses a kiss to the very tip of your dick, and you cover your mouth with
one hand, the other holding a shaking fistful of sheets. His hot mouth closes
around you at last and you throw your head back and moan openly, amazed. You
can feel his tongue moving against the underside of your cock as he hollows his
cheeks and pulls back all the way to the tip, creating an unbelievable suction.
You can't stop your hips from trying to buck up into more of that feeling. He
sinks back down to the hilt, unbearably slow.
"Fuck, please, I can't," you babble, on fire all over. He just makes a
thrumming chuckle, and the vibration shoots all the way through you. Another
slow drag back to the tip, and you are begging again piteously, though for what
you're not sure.
"Bro, please," you say helplessly, grabbing at his hair once more. He pulls off
your dick entirely to give you a heated look, his eyes dark with lust.
"Call me Dirk, and I'll give you anything," he swears.
You don't know what to feel at this moment; you don't know if you can even
process that right now.
"Dirk," you sigh, and he swallows you whole so deeply you must be nudging the
back of his throat. He's gripping your thighs tightly, and you try so very hard
not to fuck his mouth. Just when you thought nothing could possibly feel
better, he pulls back and swirls his tongue around the head before closing his
lips around it and sucking.
"Oh god," you moan, feeling the pleasure building fast between your trembling
legs. Dirk is working you in earnest now, swallowing you down over and over
until you can't bear it any longer. The pleasure peaks so sharply it borders on
pain, and you think you may have called out his name as you spilled into his
mouth but you can't be sure. You're shaking all over from the effort of orgasm,
trying to piece reality back together.
Dirk stands back up at the side of his bed, tugging off his shirt in one easy
motion. He never stops watching you as he undoes his belt and lets his jeans
fall to the floor with a loud clink of the buckle. He hasn't been wearing
anything underneath them this whole time, and the thought is too sexy for you
to comprehend.
He crawls back over you and you tangle your legs around his waist
instinctively. His erection is hot and pulsing against the back of your thigh,
and he takes one of your legs and hooks it over his shoulder, bending it back
until your flexibility is at its limit. He kisses your calf and thrusts against
your skin unashamedly, and you can't help but blush all over again because it's
such a close pantomime of what he really wants and you both know it.
After a moment he lets down your leg, takes his shaft in his hand and pumps it
roughly. You watch raptly, arousal already prickling at your skin to see him
touch himself in this manner, his eyes half-lidded and brow furrowed in
concentration as he studies your body with a gaze hot enough to sear. Your
fingers ache to reach out and touch him, but before you can he's coming in hot
streaks over your stomach with only a shuddering breath as warning. You gasp at
the foreign feeling of it, lifting a hand to touch where it was cooling quickly
on your skin, but you think better of it.
Dirk stretches out on his back beside you, catching his breath. You smile to
yourself as you think his name over and over again. You always knew what it
was, but no one seemed to be allowed to call him that so you certainly never
did. Now it feels like a gift that he's given you, and you treasure it.
With a glance at the clock you shimmy out of bed and pull on your jeans
quickly, holding your shirt in one hand until you can get to the bathroom to
clean up. Bro props himself up on his elbows to watch you.
"Rushin' out on me, kid? A proper gentleman would at least cuddle for five
minutes," he drawls, amused.
"Oh, well, it's almost 4:00 so I kinda need to scram before Dave gets out of
detention, don't I?" you say, laughing nervously.
"If you say so," he answers, and you don't stop to think about that. You excuse
yourself to the hall bathroom to run a washcloth over your sticky abdomen. When
you come back to his room he's already dressed again.
"I'll drive you home."
"You don't have to! I rode my bike here, anyway."
"I'm drivin' you home," he says again, sternly. "You can just throw your bike
in the back. I couldn't figure out why you wouldn't let me pick you up in the
first place.
"Alright, alright! It's not a big deal. I just figured your truck is, uh, kind
of loud and Dad might have still been around, I dunno."
He walks with you out to the truck and hefts your bike into the bed with one
hand while you look around suspiciously.
"I hope you don't think Dave's gonna pop out from behind the bushes. It's not
like his lazy ass is walking home from school, you know. I'm picking him up."
"Oh. That makes me feel better, then."
He gives you a look that you can't quite interpret.
"What?"
"Would it be so awful if he knew you liked me?"
You're taken aback, and you laugh thinking it must be a joke, but stop when his
face remains passive.
"You're serious," you deadpan. "Wasn't it your advice to avoid blowing my
friendship with Dave in the first place? Do you really think he'd ever speak to
me again if he knew about us?"
"I think he'd get over it."
You still can't be 100% sure that Dirk isn't trying to mess with you, so you
just shake your head.
"Well, either way I don't think I can handle it happening just yet. For now I
just wanna get home undetected, okay?" you ask gently, watching his expression.
He just shrugs and opens your door for you before walking around to the
driver's side.
"Have it your way. But trust me kid, you're not gonna want to have him find out
on his own."
Chapter End Notes
     I finally got his name in here. Small victories!
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Summary
     Oh wow, I can't thank you guys enough for waiting so patiently. Thank
     you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages. They gave me a lot
     of encouragement at times where I needed it the most. <3 There's a
     lot of nice things to look at since the last chapter was posted!
     Renaris, FastPuck, N4ut, and PistolWishBrony all chipped in to make
     my life a little more amazing, so please take a look at each work if
     you have a moment to spare.
You wake up on Saturday due to a distant rumble of thunder and look outside to
see the sky is the unfriendly color of steel. Wind is starting to pick up and
toss around the branches of the big tree in your front yard, still bare from
winter. There's no rain yet, but by the looks of the clouds it won't be a long
wait.
You kick off the covers and go downstairs, checking your answering machine one
more time in paranoia. You deleted the message the school left for your dad on
friday and you know they won't be calling on the weekend, but you can't help
but try to be overly cautious. You hope they won't keep trying for very long,
but If worst comes to worst and they get a hold of your dad, you'll just have
to tell him you ended up staying home all day sick and were afraid to tell him.
Speaking of your dad, you go into the kitchen and discover him sitting on the
back doorstep, turning his pipe over in his hands and watching the sky. The
sound of you yanking open the fridge makes him turn his head.
"Aha, there you are. You've certainly become quite the late sleeper, haven't
you?" he asks, scolding you in the mildest manner possible. You shrug
noncommittally, wanting to avoid the topic. You pour yourself a glass of orange
juice and gravitate towards him.
"What are you doing out here?" you ask, stepping outside. The cement of the
stoop is cool against your bare feet, and you cross your arms against your
chest to protect yourself from the chill wind.
"Cold front's been moving in," he answers, tamping down the loose tobacco into
the mouth of the curved wooden pipe. "Looks like a bad storm is coming."
You squint at the grey horizon as if you could read the weather patterns, but
clouds just look like clouds to you. The two of you are quiet for a moment
while your Dad shields his pipe with one hand and struggles to light it.
"You have any plans for the day?" he asks you, popping the stem into his mouth.
"Nuh uh," you say regretfully.
He gives you a fatherly grin through a thick puff of smoke. You hold your nose
theatrically, but you're so used to the pungent scent of his pipe tobacco now
that you hardly notice it.
"Great! It's been a while since we had any decent time together. What do you
say to helping your old man around the house a little?"
That sounds about as fun to you as spending the weekend at school, but his
enthusiasm is contagious so you smile and nod.
As it turns out, the most you actually help is to stand there and hand your dad
whatever he needs as he installs storm windows outside and fixes the wobbly
rail on the front porch. When you point this out to him he just smiles and says
you're the best tool-hander he ever met. You roll your eyes and try not to feel
pleased at his ridiculous compliment.
You sit on the front steps and watch him hammer nails for a while, trying to
pay attention to his chatter but your mind keeps wandering. You find yourself
noticing all the grey in his thick dark hair that you swear wasn't there last
year. There are patches of it around his ears, leading into sideburns that are
almost completely silver. Your stomach does a weird flip, and you have to
reassure yourself your dad is still a pretty young guy. He's not even 50 yet.
Suddenly your cornball dad and his pointless chores don't seem so silly to you,
and when he straightens his back and declares a job well done, you even give
him a hug. He doesn't question it; he just laughs and gives you a one-armed
squeeze. You feel a wet drip on your arm and you look up. The rain that's been
holding off through the afternoon is starting to patter all around you.
"Looks like we finished just in time," he says, nodding towards the door. "Come
on, let's get inside."
You both hurry indoors and your dad puts away his tools nice and neat in the
hall closet before excusing himself to wash up. You sit on the couch in the
living room and watch the rain start to come down in buckets. When your dad
comes back to see you still waiting around for him, he seems surprised you
haven't taken the opportunity to escape that he gave you.
"Well, kiddo, I guess that's about it for today. What would you say to me
getting dinner started and afterwards we can watch whatever movie you'd like?
Or have I stolen too much of your Saturday already?"
"I'd say that spaghetti and Rocky would make this the best Saturday ever!"
"Well, it's settled, then," he says, laughing.
A little over half an hour later, the both of you are well fed and settled in
front of the TV. The storm outside is in full force now, and the rain and
thunder are so loud you both actually have to speak up a little to be heard.
"I can't believe you've never seen Rocky!" you cry, waving the remote for
emphasis.
"Well, I'm not much for keeping up with modern pop culture," he answers,
defensively.
"Dad, it came out in '76!"
"Hm. Don't you have anything nice with Fred Astaire we could watch?"
"No! Trust me, this is a great movie."
"What's this about again? Boxing?"
"Please! It's about a bum with a heart of gold that gets a one in a million
shot to show the world what he's made of!"
Your father just chuckles and leans back in his easy chair.
"Well, I guess I'm sold."
Lightning flashes especially bright as you press play, and your dad flicks off
his desk lamp. The thunder is so constant now you keep having to edge the
volume up higher, and you start to wonder if maybe the power will go out.
"John, pause it for a quick second will you? I want to dig up some candles just
in case," he says, as if he read your mind. You pause the movie and jump up to
go get your flashlight, and as soon as you do you hear a knock at the front
door.
You and your dad stop and look at each other as if to double check you actually
heard it. It's completely dark outside and the rain is pouring in rivulets down
the windows; who would be knocking on your front door?
After just another moment you hear it again, a little louder. Your dad reacts
first and crosses to the front door to pull it open. A completely drenched Dave
stands on your doorstep, rain streaming down his hair and clothes and dripping
off his shades. For a second it's so unexpected it's like no one knows what to
do, and then your Dad's good manners come to the rescue.
"David, look at you, you're soaked to the bone! Come inside, quickly!" he says.
"Hey, s-sorry about this," he says, teeth chattering as he steps inside,
hugging himself tightly. He's not even wearing a jacket, just his broken record
shirt that's mostly transparent and clinging to his shivering form.
"John," your Dad says urgently, and you snap out of your surprise. "Go get
David some towels, please."
You hurry to the bathroom, your brain racing to catch up with the situation.
Something weird must be going on for Dave to show up like this, and you're
afraid to find out what it must be. A voice in the back of your head suggests
that it can only mean one thing. He knows.
As you hurry back with an armful of fluffy white towels, you hear your dad's
scandalized voice.
"Youwalked?"
"Yeah, it's not a big deal, though. Ugh, sorry, I'm dripping all over the
carpet," Dave says, his voice a little too casual.
"Don't worry about it, it'll dry," your dad says kindly.
You hand over the towels to Dave who takes them and just stands there, holding
them. The room falls silent again as if everyone is reluctant to approach the
dangerous topic at hand. Finally your dad speaks up in a manner that suggests
he'd tried and failed to keep from asking.
"David, what happened?"
You can tell by the way Dave hesitates he is weighing the situation on his mind
before he decides how to answer. When he does, his voice is measured.
"I had a fight with Bro. Is it alright if I stay here... for a few days?"
Your stomach is doing nervous flips now, and you are staring as hard as you can
at Dave's profile while he looks at your father, but his expression is
unreadable.
"Of course, you're welcome here for as long as you need," your Dad says, and
his voice is growing so soft it's beginning to border on pity. "John, take him
upstairs and see if you have something that will fit him before he freezes to
death."
The two of you go to your room in silence, and its not until you've closed the
door behind you that you realize you haven't spoken a word to each other. You
lean back against your door and really look at him, taking in how tightly
strung he looks with his bony shoulders hunched and his head down.
You realize that this feels different than a confrontation, and once again
you've been worried about your little secret instead of being there for Dave.
You feel sour on the inside.
"This is weird, right? I'm sorry all this shit keeps making things so weird,"
Dave says suddenly.
"It's not weird! I mean, well... It's just weird in the way that it's ... not
expected," you say gently, fumbling desperately for the correct thing to say.
"No, it's really awkward and weird and I can tell you don't want to have to
deal with my constant drama and I honestly don't blame you. Don't force
yourself to talk to me about it. We can ignore it."
"Give me a little credit, Dave! I'm not forcing any of this. I really honestly
SERIOUSLY want to know what's going on," you answer so vehemently you think it
actually breaks through to him because he doesn't respond right away. Sensing
victory, you relent and go to your dresser and pull out some pajama pants and
an old shirt you can only pray are long enough to fit him.
"Go change, and when you come back you can tell me all about it," you say,
pressing the clothes into his hands. He's watching you intently from behind his
shades; you can just tell. He seems almost relieved to be defeated.
"Alright, man. If you say so," he mumbles, and slinks off to the bathroom. You
make sure the door is shut before you grab your phone and check to see if Dirk
has messaged you, but there's been no word of him since you were texting back
and forth last night.
You start tapping away a quick message but stop when you think about it. Dirk
might be furious right now and you have no idea how he might react if you tell
him Dave is here. In fact, it would be mostly just a slap in the face for Dave,
whose first instinct was to come to your house as a safe harbor. You put your
phone away immediately.
You can think that through later. Right now, Dave needs to be your first
priority.
He's taking a bit longer to change than you expected so you busy yourself with
tearing apart the house for spare blankets and pillows until you have a nest on
your floor so comfortable you'd consider trading your bed for it.
When Dave comes back into the room the tension evaporates for a moment because
though the shirt fits him fine, the blue plaid pajama pants you lent him fall a
few inches above his knobbly ankles.
"Shut up, Egbert."
"I didn't say anything!" you protest, voice trembling a little with the effort
of suppressing laughter.
"It's not my fault you're a damn hobbit."
"Hey! I am not short! I'm taller than a lot of people!"
"A lot of short people."
"No! Taller than people who are average height. You're just freakishly tall and
you are lashing out at me for it. That is really uncalled for, Dave. Especially
since you look so great in capri pants."
Dave just shakes his head and for the first time since he showed up the corners
of his mouth threaten to twitch upwards. He moves over to inspect your hard
work and kicks pillows around until he's satisfied. When he sits down in his
makeshift bed, it tugs the hem of his pants even higher up his hairy legs. You
sit in your computer chair and swivel back and forth, waiting for more
conversation to happen, but Dave stays quiet and you can see that he's gotten
lost in thought.
"So, uhm, do you want to tell me what happened? I don't mean to sound pushy or
nosy or anything but it sort of sounds like you think I don't care and I don't
want to let this go," you admit.
Dave threads his fingers together and sits staring into his upturned palms.
"I never said I thought you didn't care," is all he manages to reply.
"You kind of seriously hinted at it!"
"No, I assumed you didn't want to deal with it. I don't even want to deal with
it. Cut me some slack, I'm not good at hashing shit out like this."
You pick at a stray thread on the hem of your pants until it's three times as
long as it was. Talking to Dave is just as difficult as talking to Dirk, even
if it's a lot less scary. The two of them share an unbelievable knack for being
stubborn and evasive. Dave must decide to go easy on you, because he's finally
the one to break the silence.
"He told me to get out."
"What?" you ask, trying to keep from sounding incredulous. This clashes so
intensely with what you learned just yesterday, but you can't let on how much
you know. "Why?"
Dave snorts and shrugs, but comes right back with an answer.
"Because he's a giant controlling bastard who can't stand it when anyone else
starts keeping secrets?"
"You're keeping secrets?"
"Relax, it's not even really a secret. He got all pissy because I've been
saving money behind his back," Dave says sardonically, making a big show of the
air quotes used for those last three words.
"But what are you saving for?"
"I don't know, the future? You saw us fight over the stupid water bill. It's
like that all the time at our house but God forbid anyone dare say something
about it, or do something about it like actually manage their money well. Then
you just get called a whiny bitch or a sneak. It's so stupid," Dave says, his
voice heating up as he goes.
"And you know what else?" he continues. "He's the biggest fucking hypocrite
because there is NO ONE more secretive on this planet than my stupid brother.
But what happens when you call him on it? He pitches a fit like a fucking five
year old. God, his temper is embarrassing."
Dave pauses long enough now that you try to think of something constructive to
say, but you end up falling back on your tired old advice.
"Well, maybe instead of "calling him on it" you could just, you know, try to
have a discussion instead? Or something."
"Discussions are something that happens here, John. They don't happen at my
house. We don't all have perfect families where you can talk about anything ,"
Dave snaps, then ducks his head, running his hand through his still drying
hair. "Sorry. I'm just frustrated."
You deflate where you had previously been raring up to be defensive. You come
back with the same thing you were about to say, but your tone is gentle.
"Things aren't really perfect here either, Dave. They might seem that way from
the outside, but there's some things we just don't talk about."
"Like what?"
"Well," you stall, uncomfortable. "Like Mom."
There's a few moments of awkward silence.
"Sorry," Dave mumbles.
"It's not really a huge deal. It's harder for Dad than it is for me. He's the
one who actually knew her," you say, quietly. Then you feel like you're
sounding disrespectful to her memory so you add, "I do miss her sometimes, even
though we never met. But if I try to ask Dad about her he just gets quiet and
smokes a lot for a few days."
"I bet your dad never broke the coffee table over it," Dave says, and when you
look up at him he's got the shadow of a smirk on his face. You don't want to
grin back, but it is pretty ridiculous.
"Did he really?" you ask, a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. "Just
over this money thing?"
"Not exactly. It's more about the sort of thing you were just talking about."
"What, you asked about your mom?"
"And dad, I guess. Or anyone."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it, Egbert. I know your Mom isn't around, but I bet you still hear
from your grandparents. And what about cousins. How many of those do you have?"
"A lot, I guess," you say, that heavy feeling growing heavier the more you
follow his train of thought.
"Yeah. Exactly. There's no way we have zero family out there. Like I said, he's
the most secretive bastard on this planet. I know he must know how to get a
hold of some sort of relative of ours, but he's hiding them from me for some
reason. I told him as much, too, but I guess not in such pleasant words. Then
he said a few unpleasant words of his own, smashed the coffee table, and told
me to get out. So I walked here."
"Wow," you say, lamely.
"Yeah."
"Well, Dad's right. You can just stay here for however long. It'll be like
another ironic sleepover! I'm sure it'll only take a couple days for Dirk to
get over himself."
Dave looks up at you sharply, actually tilting his head.
"What?"
"Did you... did you just call him Dirk?"
All at once your heart skips a beat and a shock of adrenaline courses through
you as you realize your mistake too late. You should be laughing and brushing
it off as nothing but you're just staring at Dave rigidly with your mind
completely blank.
"I... I guess I did?" you laugh nervously, your mouth dry.
Dave's eyebrows furrow just over the tops of his shades, and you feel your
palms grow clammy. No matter how much your mind races, you can't think of any
coverup at all. You luck out though, because Dave just laughs weakly and shakes
his head as if he's too tired already to deal with anything else weird.
"I swear, you Egberts have a total hard-on for trashing Strider nicknames. I
just got the weirdest déjà vu of every single time your Dad ever called me
"David."
You try to laugh with him, but it still sounds strained. Your heart is still
beating too fast for you to act calm, so you do the only thing you can think of
and change the subject.
"Haha! Yeah. Oh, I forgot, Dad made a ton of spaghetti and there's still a lot
left in the kitchen if you want it."
"Hell fucking yes, I do."
Wanting to put as much distance between you and your blunder as possible, you
both go downstairs immediately and you heat up the leftovers for him. You hang
around quietly while he eats with all the grace of a starving animal, since
your Dad doesn't allow you to take food up to your room.
It's already pretty late so all you do afterwards is go back up to your room
and start preparing for sleep. Dave is out like a light within minutes, so you
just lie in your bed for a while and think about everything he told you. It
doesn't escape your notice that the very next day after you assured Dirk that
Dave would not leave home, he did. However, it should hardly count against your
judgement if Dirk is the one who forced him to do it. Your head hurts just
trying to imagine his reasons.
Somehow, deep down, you feel like this might be your fault. You keep prodding
them to talk to each other, but when they do it always escalates. Maybe Dirk
had just been trying to take your advice, only he didn't know how to handle the
conversation so of course they would end up fighting. Now you're thinking of
him alone in that trashed apartment, and you're sick to your heart.
A few minutes later your phone vibrates. You pick it up and look at the
message, and you feel lower than ever before.
"look after him, kid."
You can't bring yourself to respond, because all you can imagine is Dirk flying
into a rage and breaking the furniture. For all Dave sneers about it, you know
it must have scared him. You try to remind yourself that all the details so far
are just Dave's version of the story, however easily you can imagine the events
in your head. You need more information, but for now you're just glad that Dave
is here in the little nest you made for him, and he's safe.
They've both been telling you all along there's more to this than you knew, and
for the first time you're realizing just how true that is. The worst of it is,
you know that Dirk wouldn't react so violently to Dave's accusations just
because he'd dared to say them. You have a feeling the reason he reacted the
way he did, is because it was true.
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