Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Feed me."

"Sorry bro, airplane's stuck on the runway."

"Then take a choo-choo train."

"Derailed in Oklahoma."

"Whoa, tragic. Hijack a semi."

"Dave, for the last time, I'm not feeding you. Get up and get it yourself."

"Uh-oh, heads up, I feel some waahs coming on. Brace for impact."

"I swear to god, one of these days, I'm gonna suffocate you in your sleep."

"I love you too, babe."

"Bluh."

Dave Strider, master of the poker face and shrugger of shoulders, was acting flippant as usual, but John Egbert knew better.

Dave was weird about food. He treated it like it was worth more than it cost him. For example, if he bought a three dollar bag of bagels, he would eat them one-half at a time to make it last twice as long. Mac and cheese always got mixed with a bag of plain pasta to thin out the little packet, never mind if that made it taste kind of bland (he would counter this by adding a shit-ton of pepper, which always made John scrunch up his nose with the urge to sneeze). He drank tap water, mostly. Lots of cheap tea. Every once in a while, he would treat himself and buy a jug of generic brand apple juice, and water it down a little. He never bought coffee or soda, and he treated pricey energy drinks like they were poison. He ate lots of eggs, bananas, and other cheap, high-calorie foods. He used to eat his weight in peanut butter, but gave that up when he moved in with John. 

This whole "feed me" thing... He wasn't actually trying to get John to do it; he was just talking because he needed to talk, all the time, and he needed John to talk back, all the goddamn time. John loved it (usually), but sometimes he got worried too. He knew that, if he actually did do what Dave was asking, Dave wouldn't react like normal. He wouldn't revel in the stupid irony of being spoon-fed by his best bro; he would just get awkward. Because he was weird about food. He had to pick and choose what to eat by himself, because if someone else made the decision for him, he lost his sense of control and that freaked him out.

John had no idea Dave had this "thing" when they first moved in together, so he had made the mistake of buying a cart full of junk food, thinking that they would christen the new apartment by trashing it, but Dave hadn't looked excited; he had just looked sick. After that weirdly tense week, John took Dave grocery shopping with him and he made sure to just watch this time. It turned out that Dave ate a lot healthier than he expected, and literally bought just enough to survive. After a while, John felt a little guilty and sort of started to do the same, though he tended to stock up more than Dave did.

Every once in a while, John would get sick of cooking and bring home an extra large pizza with a bunch of garlic sauce cups and Dave would lose his fucking mind. John started to suspect that stuff like that — pizza, takeout, milkshakes, whatever — were practically treats to him. Dave didn't talk about it and explain why, but John wondered if junk food and other frivolous things only came into the Strider household as rewards.

After a few weeks of living together (and they were awesome weeks, full of video games, procrastination, and easiness; turns out this was the best decision ever), John started to pick up on more of Dave's odd habits. Dave did laundry as sparsely as possible. He fully utilized the sniff test and, if a shirt passed, it got worn twice. He had a lot of underwear to prevent having to wash as frequently. Luckily, he didn't ever smell that gross. Just sort of like deodorant and dirt or something. It was actually kind of nice, familiar, and he never skimped on showers. They were always fast, five minutes or less, but he took one every day.

Strangely, he seemed to be okay with spending money on things he wanted. One time, when they were poking around and goofing off at a local swap meet, Dave had found some guy selling an old view camera complete with film holders, lenses, a case, and even a box of a hundred sheets of film for three hundred bucks and he nearly shit himself. Before he had a chance to run away, John had convinced Dave to let him front the cash, and he agreed immediately. Dave went through the box of film in less than two weeks, ate nothing but ramen for four, and John had never seen him so obnoxious (i.e. happy).

When it came to stuff he needed though... he continued to cut as many corners as possible. It seemed to work out okay, and John tried not to pressure him, but sometimes he wanted to shake Dave and remind him that it was fine, John had a lot of savings and inheritance money, and Dave didn't need to worry about anything. He didn't shake him though. He just sighed to himself and kept his mouth shut.

Then one day Dave's sneaker ripped. It was one of those nasty tears, right along the rubber sole from the arch all the way back to the heel. He had caught it on his bike somehow and it ripped straight through the weathered fabric. He came home sullen and dark, emanating an aura of don't fucking talk to me, and John watched him out of the corner of his eye as he yanked off the offending shoe and glared at it. It was kind of a funny image — he glowered at it like it was his arch enemy or something, oh man that was a terrible pun, file that away for later — but at the same time, it was kind of unsettling. After a few minutes, Dave stalked off to his room without a word and stayed there for the rest of the night. John left him alone.

The next morning, he saw Dave pull on those same sneakers, but the one that had ripped now sported a strip of duct tape. When John took a second to think about it, he wasn't sure if Dave even owned another pair of shoes. All he could remember were those filthy red Chuck Taylors. He figured it was a temporary solution until Dave got another pair.

Turns out, it wasn't. Dave still wore that same pair every day.

Days turned into weeks, he still wore those same trashed sneakers, and John decided he didn't like seeing them anymore. Well, they were sort of cool, he guessed; they definitely looked carelessly apathetic, which seemed to a part of Dave's crafted image, but... It was kind of sad too. For some reason. John couldn't really think of why, but he felt weird knowing that Dave was wearing shoes that were basically garbage. After a month of seeing that strip of duct tape slowly start to fray and crease and become one with the left shoe, John decided to surprise Dave. He looked up the size when Dave was in the shower and bought a new pair, same color, same everything. The next day, he gave it to him with a huge grin.

Dave just stared at the box in silence and John suddenly wondered if he did the right thing.

"You didn't have to..." Dave started and then trailed off. John snorted and raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah I kinda did," he said and gestured to Dave's feet.

"These're fine."

"Dude, Lefty's falling apart."

"Lefty's a fucking trooper, thank you very much. 'Sides, it's just a flesh wound."

"Uhh, yeah okay, maybe in post-apocalypse land where all shoes suddenly vanish or get eaten by bears or something. You seriously needed a new pair. Seriously."

"Egber-"

"Shut up, Dave, jesus, just have your shoes and wear them too."

Dave shut up, but suddenly things were distant. Dave scrunched up his eyebrows a little and John realized he hated the shades that he had given him, because they were unfair; they hid a lot, and John was okay at reading Dave's face around the frames, but not perfect. He had no clue what Dave was thinking, if he was happy or pissed, grateful or insulted, and that sucked. That sucked because he thought that it would cheer him up, but apparently he didn't know Dave as well as he thought he did. And that just really, really fucking sucked ballsacks. He wanted to know everything about Dave, wanted to make him happy, and suddenly he didn't know how.

So he scratched the back of his neck and huffed a falsely happy-go-lucky, "All right, well I gotta get back to work, so..."

He got a short "yeah" in return and when he turned around to walk back to his room, he felt the speed of his thoughts start racing. He shut the door behind him and went straight for his phone.

Right. Whatever he wanted. Okay.

Better figure out what that was.

Chapter Text

John didn't really know what to expect the next morning. It was an unintentional, unwanted stalemate: John bought the shoes, Dave took them, and now neither of them knew what to do. John couldn't take them back, but if Dave was uncomfortable wearing them... well, they were awkwardly screwed either way. Best friends or not, stuff like this was always lose-lose.

In the end, Dave wore them. The first week was weird as hell and he didn't say anything about them to John (and John didn't say anything either), but then they started to get scuffed. After a quiet November rain passed through, he had finally gotten to step in a mud puddle and then he didn't tense up every time he put them on. John let out the two-week-long breath he was holding and finally started to feel relief. One more week went, and the right shoe got it's first crack in the sole by the ball of Dave's foot and then, when they were eating baked potatoes piled with cheddar cheese one night, Dave finally braved the storm.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Thanks."

"You bet."

And that was that.

At least... until John realized something. He liked seeing Dave wear something he bought. He liked watching Dave pull them on, and he definitely like watching him tie the laces. The bows were uneven and loose. No longer white, because when Dave wore shoes, he fucking wore them, kicked the shit out of them, and then put them back on for another round. They acquiesced to him, they broke and molded and creased, fading, staining, bending. The transition was completing itself; no longer foreign and clean to Dave, they now belonged to him, they were his.

But underneath the bent and weathering surface, underneath the laces pulled taught and the toe's softening ridges... they were still John's.

They were his because they were bought with his money, they were passed to Dave from him, and they had replaced the old pair. John felt a sort of satisfaction whenever he saw those Chucks on Dave's feet, further wearing down the hem of a pair of slim jeans. He felt pleased. He felt... important, except it wasn't cocky, it was just... it made him want to buy more things, to see Dave dressed head-to-toe in things that he gave him. He started to wonder if Dave needed a new sweatshirt, or some more jeans because winter was getting colder by the day. Maybe a scarf too? That would be hilarious, and he would totally wear it too, especially if it was plaid or paisley or something equally stupid and double-ironic or whatever... Eh, maybe it was better to start simpler.

John bought him a hoodie and just passed it off as a two-for-one deal, showing him the one he got for himself (more lounging-around clothes, he could always use more of those). Dave rolled his eyes, but accepted it and when December crept in through their walls, he wore it over a long-sleeved shirt. John teased him about it because Dave could never handle cold weather, not even when he was bundled up like a fragile glass gift in overseas transit, but when John saw the plain grey hood pulled loose over Dave's tangled blonde hair... he didn't want to look away. It looked right on him. Plain, but effortless. It fit well. Didn't drown him in fabric too much. It looked good with the sleeves pushed up by his elbows as he flipped eggs in a little pan.

Seeing Dave in stuff that he bought instilled something like a new addiction in John, exciting and dangerous, and he wanted to keep experimenting. Dave looked good in clothes, like they belonged on him. He could pull off pretty much anything, even though he usually only wore jeans and t-shirts because of his spending habits. But he totally would look great in more cohesive stuff, nothing too flashy, but organized. Thought out. And maybe even...

Damn, would he look good in a suit.

And he needed a new pair of headphones, the cord on those was kind of getting chewed.

Maybe a new computer too? His music software probably wasn't up to date.

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh shit oh holy shit on a fucking stick, why do I want to spend all of my money on Dave. Why. What. How does that even make any sense?

Okay. Slow it down. Back off. You'd freak him out, remember?

Don't freak him out.

John put it out of his mind for a few days, focusing on finals and studying and not-failing (not like that was ever an issue; classes came easy to him), but then he started to think about Christmas. It was coming up fast and it would be the first one that he and Dave spent just together in their apartment, unless...

"Oy Dave, are you going back to Texas for Christmas?" John asked as he flipped the pages in a textbook. Dave answered from his spot on the couch, laid back with a book resting on his chest, face-down and forgotten.

"Nah. How 'bout you? Off to see the pops?"

"Hmm, I don't know..."

"Why not?"

"Probably shouldn't leave you all alone, should I? You'll burn the complex down."

"Can't tame these flames."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll stay too, then."

"Cool," Dave replied and then it was quiet. John didn't know how to read it, and that bugged him. He wanted more from Dave. There was stuff hidden underneath the casual deflection, something more... well, more something. John didn't really know what, and he didn't even care. It was enough to yank him back, to make him want to stay until he dug it out. 

He wanted to spend winter break with Dave, maybe go see some movies or comb through a record store with Jade and Rose, and then go back home and force Dave to treat himself to gingerbread and winter stouts. He wanted to surprise Dave with some really cool present, like a new subwoofer or a better synthesizer, stuff that would make his remixing that much more badass. He wanted Dave to say yeah dude, you should totally stay, we'll roast some fucking chestnuts and you know that all I want for Christmas is you.

John paused and blinked, staring at the back of Dave's head like it was suddenly monstrous and foreign.

Welp. 

That was a thing that I just thought.

He faceplanted into his textbook.

Great.

Chapter Text

On top of being completely blown away by that stunning revelation, John felt his newfound addiction spread in him like an infection, taking over bit by bit until he itched with the need to drown Dave in a mountain of stuff.

It wasn't even that John wanted to spend his money on Dave, no. That would have been too simple. Wanting to spend money on his friends was pretty normal; he took them out to lunch, exchanged gifts, showed them how much he appreciated their company. He gave little things to Jade and Rose all the time (especially Rose; they had a thing going where they tried to see who could out-cheese the other, which landed John with a somewhat compromising collection of sentimental gifts that she satirically made with the arts-and-craft kits that he sent her, and she had way too many 80's era mixtapes to be considered healthy; John was simply the best there was at cornball playlists), but with Dave...

Buying things for him felt totally different. That was partly due to the fact that Dave had a hard time accepting anything for no reason (especially if the price crept over a comfortable amount, which was somewhere around twenty bucks for him), but it was mostly due to the fact that it gave John a kind of edge over Dave. It was as if he was taking over, marking his territory or something. Sure, anything that Dave owned got broken into and changed to suit his tastes, but when Dave wore things that John gave him, it was like he was showing the world that part of him belonged to someone else.

Which was so stupid, how the fuck was anybody else supposed to know that? They were just clothes. It wasn't like they were branded with giant letters saying, "I am partially owned by my best friend, John Egbert," but John's brain was a terrible listener and he knew where the clothes came from, and therefore he was constantly reminded of Dave's lack, and this all started to culminate in wanting to assert his ownership not just partially, but completely.

And that made him come to a grinding halt.

Hahaha, wow. What. The actual. Fuck. That's kind of messed up, self. Like, seriously? Ownership? He's a person, not a thing. And also your best friend, and that's definitely creeping into stalker territory. Kinda gross.

Like, remember when he dated that one chick with the lip piercing? She texted him all the time. He freaked.

And that other girl who tried to get him to listen to a bunch of campfirey folk bands. She was super cool, but kept burning him CD's, like a couple dozen at least. Remember how fast he got the fuck outta dodge?

And you weren't even doing normal datey things like that; you were talking heavy stuff, like financial support. Dependance. Reliance. That shit's like ten times worse than giving him some music that he didn't care for.

Oh wait, also, one more thing; HE'S A DUDE. You were supposed to want to shower girls in gifts, not your...

Hold on. 

If you were allowed to buy things for girls, why weren't you allowed to buy things for Dave?

John scowled at his breakfast cereal. He rolled things over in his mind, jumbling around in his head like a bingo cage full of cognitive dissonance. 

But wait, remember all the girls you dated? You never felt like this for them. You just bought them normal stuff, like band t-shirts and DVDs. 

You never wanted to... to...

possess them.

You wanted to possess Dave.

You wanted to own Dave.

John pulled off his glasses and tossed them on the table, rubbing a hand over his face to clear the fog. He sat there for a moment with his hands covering his eyes and rethought things. Retraced his friendship. It must have started with those stupid sunglasses. That was the first gift John had ever bought for Dave, and they were expensive (but that had been a fight he was absolutely determined to win, though he would never admit that to Dave), and the thing was Dave wore them all the fucking time. Every day. That must have been it. Seeing those shades every goddamn day; it was a constant reminder that Dave valued them, he cherished them. Right? It wasn't just for irony's sake; he wouldn't take such good care of them if that were the case.

The shoes too... even though he beat them to shit, he wore them every day, just like the shades. He had kept that old duct taped pair, but they sat forgotten in his closet, collecting dust. And that grey hoodie? As soon as Dave got home, he changed into more lazy attire topped with that slightly-pilling sweatshirt and tried really hard not to spill anything on it. 

He scribbled lyrics and notes into that little leather notebook that John had given him (which he said had just been sitting around in his room, even though that was a flat out lie).

He made tea with the infuser mug that John gave him (which he had gotten from his nanna and never used).

He started eating a little more. John purposefully bought too much ground beef, lettuce, bread, and sometimes pretended to buy beer for himself (but got the kind that Dave liked). Dave actually drank them when he felt like it this time, instead of waiting until some arbitrary day that he had rationed out for himself.

It was a gradual process, but by the time Christmas week rolled around, Dave seemed to be completely used to living with John and wasn't as bothered by their financial gap anymore, or at least not as much as he had when they first moved in. Which made John compelled all the more. He just wanted Dave to feel relaxed, to not worry about money. That shit didn't matter, because John could be there to back him up. He wanted Dave to pursue whatever crazy career path he loved, because that would make him happy even if his paychecks were tight. He wanted Dave to feel comfortable with his material possessions. He wanted Dave to feel comfortable period.

He wanted Dave to just be okay being himself.

But most of all...

More overpowering than any of those things...

More overpowering because of all those things...

combined, in a big rush of absolute certainty...

like a tornado

barreling toward him, unstoppable and lethal

I want him. 

Chapter Text

It was simple when put that way, really.

But at the same time... 

so completely not.

Not only did John remember those three little words every time he saw his thin, lackadaisical, bespectacled roommate, but he remembered them at other times too. No, saying that would be a massive understatement; he remembered them all the time, like they were a blinking neon sign in the back of his brain that kept flashing, kept reminding him that he no longer saw Dave as a friend, not even as a best friend, but...

A thing that he wanted.

John already had so much. Decent looks, just-above-average height, nice clothes, a functioning car, stellar grades, a good amount of savings... basically everything. He had plenty already. He had all the basics. 

The thing is... that made the wanting that he felt for what he didn't have that much more obsessive.

And even that didn't quite do justice to what John felt. That made it sound like a material thing, like Dave was just a conquest or something, an achievement, and that was total bullshit. To call Dave just a thing to add to his collection was utterly, fundamentally wrong.

No, no... Dave wasn't another thing... he was...

He was everything.

He was everything that John ever wanted. 

Everything.

- - -

"Whaddya want for Christmas?" John asked, leaning against the counter as Dave fried bacon in a large pan, draped in his Spiderman comforter, looking calm and kind of tired.

"My two front teeth."

"Your two front teeth?"

"My two front teeth."

"That's lame, think of something better, man."

"Don't really care," Dave said and turned the strips over. John watched him and sipped some coffee silently, trying to pick him apart. He was holding something back, as usual, and John didn't really want to fuck around and make him feel worse, but... he wanted to know why. Wanted to understand why Dave had been skulking around more than usual, wanted to know why he seemed to have his headphones on at least eighty-percent of his waking hours lately, why he holed himself up in his makeshift bathroom/darkroom for hours on end without a single word to John.

"You all right?"

Dave glanced over with slightly knitted eyebrows and then let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to the food. "Yeah Eggs, I'm peaches and cream."

"Lyyyyying," John replied with a sing-song voice and Dave snorted, setting the bacon on a paper towel smoothly. He moved like water.

"Beeswax."

"Dude, it's totally my beeswax. In case you forgot, you're kind of my best friend. If you wanna get technical, I sorta, kinda, actually do care about you."

"Aww."

"Fuck off, Strider, you are such an ass."

"I'm fine, dude," he replied calmly and held out the plate to John, who rolled his eyes and snatched a strip. "Just don't want anything. 'Sides, you got me the shoes and other junk. I'm already swooning."

"Yeah, but come on. It's Christmas. It's like... breaking some universal law of science if I don't get you something sweet."

"You've gotten me enough."

John took the hint and shut up about presents, but he didn't forget about it. He just ate breakfast, chatted about other stuff like the classes he signed up for and was dreading and listened to Dave ramble about how shitty Pitchfork's reviews were lately (always), but it stewed in the back of his mind. He didn't have any clue where to start. What did Dave want? What did he need?

What would make him happy?

BLUH TOO HARD, he's impossible, stupid jerkfacey moronbutt, John thought grumpily and vowed to revisit the problem later. Besides, today was officially no-worrying goof-off day, and he and Dave had a group date with Battlefield 3, clearance priced pumpkin bread, and laziness. John successfully kept his annoyance and fussiness to himself, even though every time he looked at Dave he just wanted to do something lame like... like pick him up and hug him or something, god, he was so fucking dumb and stupid and stupid and dumb, and John wanted to keep him forever.

To make matters worse, John woke up the next morning with a new addition to the downward-spiraling problem, and he turned over to get it over with, grunting softly into his pillow, thinking stupid, stupid, dumb, stupid over and over and over until it passed. Arrrgh. Fuck. Damnit. Shitballs. Son of a stupid asslicking... Dave. Dave dave davedavedavedaveDAVE. 

DAVE.

- - -

What seemed like seconds later, it was December, 24 and John had nothing for Dave, and he was about to rip his hair out of scalp. He nearly vibrated with the need to run up to Dave, take him by the shoulders, shake him violently and scream, you blasé son of a douche-sucking-gonads-for-brains, just stop being an iceberg for ten seconds and TELL ME WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT FOR CHRISTMAS, AAARRRGH.

It was totally and completely futile, pointless, and too-late and John was both pissed and kind of feeling cock-blocked in a weird way. Not like sexually, but... gift-givingly? WHATEVER, in any case, he had clearly built up an absolute complex for Dave over the past several months, and had pretty much had enough. The closer the clocked ticked to midnight, the more frantic he felt and then...

You know what? No. I don't even care. I don't even care! I want Dave Strider and everything about Dave Strider, and who gives a shit, who even fucking knows shit, that's right John, nobody. Okay, probably Jade and Rose, but they didn't even count, they were like your sisters anyway. Yeah, they were gonna tease you for like the rest of your life, but what else is new, John? What else is fucking new? Nothing. Nothing is new, nothing changes. Nothing.

You want him... I want him, and I've always wanted him. Okay, so maybe it wasn't always like this, but it obviously built up to this and nothing changes, he's just Dave and I want Dave and I need Dave and...

"Let me buy you a present."

Dave stared at him from his position on the couch and raised a single eyebrow, slowly returning, "Excuse me?"

"Dave, I'm gonna die, just let me get you something, holy fuck."

"Egbert... what are you?"

"I'm your best friend and you are so stupid, and I need to buy you something, anything, jesus fucking christ," John ranted and walked over to pull Dave off of the couch by his arms, and he laughed as Dave spluttered and stared with a completely baffled look on his face.

"What the... Egbert, holy shit, when the fuck did you crack?"

"Weeks ago, months ago, Dave look at me."

Dave looked at him, clearly unsure of who he even was anymore, and that was kind of hysterical, but no time for that, John was on a mission.

"Take those stupid fucking sunglasses off."

Dave took them off. He looked kind of caught in between laughter and terror, and hoooooly yes.

"Stop worrying about money."

"What?"

"Just stop, Dave. Stop. I've got your back now, always, forever, okay?"

"Egbert, wha-"

"No no no, shut up, just listen to me," John said quickly and held up a hand, shaking his head vigorously. "Let me take care of you."

Oh my god his face is priceless, save this memory forever. Dave was speechless and it was perfect.

"Okay, dude?"

"I-"

"Let me support you."

"You are-"

"Let me spoil you."

"-completely off your... fucking rocker, Egbert, fuck."

"Please. Please. Just let me, dude. You're killing me. Please."

Say okay.

Just say okay.

That's it!

That's what I want.

That's it, Dave.

That's it.

Chapter Text

"It's... not that simple."

"Yes it is."

"No, no John, it's fucking not. Do you know what it's like to go a month without heating, sitting on your ass and breathing on your hands like it's fucking Russian winter in your sheets, so that you have enough for a toilet that flushes? Do you know how it feels to plan an hour ahead because you've got two wheels, not four? Do you know how much it blows to rely on fucking food stamps?"

"No, I don't."

Dave paused and blinked twice, but John continued before he had a chance to collect himself.

"I don't know. I don't. I can't even imagine it. I can't because I've always been set."

"Uh..."

"Dave, I have everything. I know that. I'm lucky, I'm lucky as fuck, but you're not listening, you never listen, you just put on your headphones and disappear, just listen to me, I want to share everything I have with you."

"John, what the fuck are you-"

"I want you, you giant ass."

"You what?"

"I want you, man, I just... God, you drive me up a wall sometimes, and I can't... can't get enough of you. I just can't, no stop, you are not allowed to talk," John said sharply as Dave opened his mouth to fight back, but he was having none of that. He took Dave's head in his hands and dragged him close and his guts churned and his heart thudded as he felt Dave's breath puff against his face. Dave slapped his hands against John's chest and then left them there, about to push him away, and yet he stayed put. Good. John had more to say.

"Dave, listen to me."

"What."

"I have everything that I need, I do. But if you left, if you left me, I would have nothing," John said firmly but quietly and Dave exhaled sharply and his face contorted ever so slightly. "I have everything I need, but that doesn't even matter because that not what I want. Okay? I want you, and I want you to want me."

"No... Don't John, don't you da-"

"I need you to need me."

"You are dead to me, John Egbert, you are dead-"

"I'd love you to love me!"

"-urder you, why did I ever move in with you-"

"I'm beeeeggin' youuuuu to beg me, oh shit, that's actually kind of true..."

"I give u-" he muttered and then stopped. "What?"

"Uhh..."

"You're... fucking kidding me."

"Uhh! Umm! Yes? No. No, I'm not really, I'm sort of..."

"Fucked in the head?"

"Yeah, that one."

Dave fell forward and dropped his forehead on John's shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. John's face pulled back in a sheepish grimace and he sighed heavily before joining in and waited a few seconds, one two three four five... and then he wrapped his arms around Dave's chest and just sort of stood there for a minute. Dave snorted, John chuckled carelessly, and then Dave tightened his arms around John's neck and John wanted to scream YES VICTORY, I am literally the luckiest man in the world, I am king.

"Let me spoil you rotten, man."

"Why."

"Because."

"Because why."

"Because you don't deserve a shitty life and I don't deserve a rich one."

"You're fucking terrifying, you know that?"

"It's occurred to me recently, yeah," John said with a flippant laugh but then he fell into seriousness. "Is that a no?"

"Dude... jesus," Dave said roughly and then sort of headbutted John's shoulder and then kicked him and they stumbled a little bit, John laughing, Dave snickering, but they didn't let go. They just stayed locked, hugging, breathing. Dave took in a slow breath and then spoke, "You know who's dumber than me? You. You must have some wires crossed if you seriously think I don't ever listen to you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Spill. Fair's fair."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I'd rather you fuck me."

"Jesus, Egbert," Dave huffed and John chuckled softly.

"Too soon?"

"I don't know."

"Sorry."

"S'okay."

They paused again, just stood there, silently, breathing and it was past midnight and everything was way too quiet. Dave was still too skinny; John could feel his ribs through his back, could feel his spine through the grey sweatshirt. But he was warm, like a portable furnace, burning fire and full of energy and John was baffled that it had taken him this long to see how hot Dave was. He had a sort of generic attractiveness to the rest of the world, but to John everything about Dave was a switch-flipper; from the brownness of his eyebrows, to the freckles on his nose, to the nicks and scars on his sword hands, to casual drawl of his husky voice. It was all his fault that John felt this way, because he was too perfect not to fall in love with.

Too fucking perfect for words, and too stupid to ever say the right ones. Whatever. If the road to hell was paved with good intentions, then the road to heaven wasn't paved very well at all; it was full of potholes and speed bumps and, all things considered, that was just fine with John. It just made him feel luckier. 

"I listen to everything you say, John, everything. Just... you're dense if you think I don't. But you're too much."

"How so?"

"Tanned little rich boy with a pair of Oliver Peoples and a fucking Steinway in our living room... don't even try to tell me that's not intimidating as fuck."

"I don't want it to be. It pisses me off that it's been like that, because fuck that. No. I don't give a shit."

"I know."

"You better!"

"I do, Eggs, I do, okay? Shit. I get it," he said, rougher and rougher with each word, tightening his arms and John just wanted him so badly, wanted to keep him all to himself, forever, away from everybody, away from everything that sucked because lots of things sucked and he didn't want Dave to feel any of it.

"Let me protect you. Please."

"Gross."

"You're gross."

"Your face is gross."

"Your face is beautiful."

Dave smacked his forehead against Johns shoulder again and John cackled, squeezing him as tight as he dared and Dave squeezed back and this was the 

best

fucking

Christmas

ever.

Chapter Text

"Sooo..." John said quietly and Dave snorted.

"Trigger-happy, aren't we? Take a dame out to dinner first."

"I've taken you out to hundreds of dinners. That is a fact."

Dave laughed quietly into John's shoulder and mumbled, "Shit, guess you're right."

"Uh... Whoa wait, I'm just messing with you dude," John said and pulled Dave back, shaking his head slowly. "Like I'm not... we can go slow, I mean."

Dave stared at him blankly for a moment and then let out a harsh breath and scraped his fingers through his hair, pushing the strands off of his forehead... leaving them there as he processed. As those red eyes pierced into his, John just stared back and the gravity sunk heavy, it sunk deep and it just felt so new and incredible. Fantasizing about being with Dave was in no way, shape, or form even close to actually being with Dave, and now that the possibility was put right there on the table, it was real. It was a thing that could happen, and it made John's mouth water with fear and anticipation. Years and years and years rushed up and he realized, I can be with Dave Strider. I am allowed to have Dave Strider, and this is happening. It's real.

Dave's eyes flicked to the strings on John's hoodie and then back up, just a split-second ghost of movement, but that was enough for John to realize how crazy this really was, not just for him, but for both of them. Dave inhaled slowly and then said, "You're serious."

John's mouth tugged slightly in a crooked smile and he replied, "Yeah. I am."

"How serious. Just... gimme a ballpark."

"Cheap Trick serious, apparently."

"Fuck off," Dave said with a short laugh and John smiled, but it disappeared quickly and he scrunched up his face in search for the right words.

"I... you... argh, damnit, you just blow my mind, alright? I don't know how 'serious' I am, or at least I can't put it into words. Really fucking serious," John explained and kind of laughed hollowly at the end. He saw Dave's chest swell and he wanted to take. "I really, really want... I just want you, it's pretty basic I guess. Sort of."

"Sort of."

"Well I mean... shit..."

"How long have you..."

"Fucking long time dude, like weeks."

"How mu-"

"Way too much-"

"Scale of one to te-"

"Twenty fucking billion, okay, you know what? Fine, I'll play your stupid game," John said and grabbed Dave's wrists and stared straight into his eyes. "So I have fantasies when I jack off, right? You're the star. It's you."

A grin pulled at Dave's face and he drawled out, "Do my dainty ears deceive me, or did John Egbert just admit to choking the chicken to some sausage?"

"And more."

"Holy fuck, you are serious," Dave said with a breathy laugh and then the smug humor all but disappeared as he stared into ocean blue and he stepped back when he felt himself drowning. John loosened his grip, but he didn't let go.

"Tell me to back off and I will."

Nothing.

"But if you don't, I'm..."

Still nothing, and he stepped closer, heard Dave's breath hitch, and he tightened his grip.

"Slow this down before it goes fast, Dave I'm serious."

"I..."

"I'm not fucking around this time."

"Yeah."

"Dave."

"John, just-"

John stepped forward again and Dave was forced to stumble back and John kept pushing until they were in Dave's room (no... no in John's room, he owned it, Dave just paid rent). John pushed still and Dave kept moving back, silent, eyes flicking from John's neck to his eyes to his chest until the backs of his knees hit his bed and he was forced to drop down onto it. John towered over him, still holding his wrists, and he looked up. He looked nervous and open and ready and sly and so so so very incredibly Dave.

"Safe word," John managed to get out, buzzing with need, so close to breaking.

"Puppet pelvis."

"Eww, yes."

Dave chuckled, god, and John dropped to his knees in front of him, dragging him down and when their lips met, John nearly lost his mind. He didn't taste like much of anything, maybe a little bit of chapstick and a faint trace of gingerbread, but even that was stretching it a bit because he mostly just tasted wet and John felt so fucking thirsty. He slipped his hands underneath Dave's sweatshirt, up his back and the skin was a radiator, so insanely warm and smooth. He was so full of warmth, his back and his face and his mouth, even his teeth, his white teeth were warm and slick. His voice, that had a warmth too, tonally rich and low, even if it was just a hum. For now, for now because John wanted to make him shout. 

Dave's hands started to roam too, from John's shoulders to his chest, but that wasn't right... John pulled back and grabbed the wandering wrists tightly, knitting his brows in thought because he didn't want them doing things, he wanted them...

"Incoming."

"Okay."

"Fuck, Dave, holy shit," John whispered and yanked off his fabric belt, breathing hard, hard, everything was hard. "Take off... fuck, just take everything off."

Dave stripped wordlessly and tossed the clothes out of reach and then sat back down, and John's world crashed around him because Dave was hard too; perfect, pretty, thin and wiry, chest heaving, ready. Done for, I'm done for. I'm done.

"Hands back."

As soon as those arms were crossed behind Dave's back, John tied his belt around them tight enough to stay, and then moved back around to claim Dave again by his his lips, palming himself through his jeans and feeling faint at the thought that Dave was just letting him do things to him, just letting him go, and it was mutual, and all of the years they had accumulated as inseparable best friends pushed the connection into an intoxicating overdrive, off the edge, down and down and down and they were at the bottom, scrabbling around in the dark together.

John moved back to kneel in between Dave's legs and pushed them open, staring, listening to Dave's breathing stutter and rush, and he zipped open his jeans and took his aching cock in his hands, pumping slow and firm. Dave twitched as he watched, wanting to do something, anything, but he knew he wasn't allowed, so all he could do was wait. John groaned and tossed his glasses aside, pulled off his sweatshirt, and then returned to his motions, making sure to growl extra viciously to taunt Dave as much as he could. He looked up to see Dave with a parted mouth, eyes half-lidded but still focused, knees pointing inward, and he stroked himself tantalizingly slowly, just for show.

"Stop me."

"Fuck no."

And that was all that John needed. He leaned forward and took Dave in his mouth all at once and felt proud and satisfied at the deep groan that sounded from Dave's throat. Dave tasted like skin and salt and the best part was that, in one rush of sweet relief, John realized how easy this was, how not big of a deal it was, and how fucking amazing it was, how amazing it felt to stroke himself as he sucked at Dave, swirling his tongue. He had no idea what the hell he was doing, but it seemed to work wonders because he felt Dave double over and smack a forehead against his back. When he felt teeth on his spine, that's when he swallowed around Dave, humming softly, and the sound that burst out of Dave was surprised and so uncharacteristic of him. John was seeing a side of Dave that nobody saw, nobody, no how. This was all for him. Just him. That was it.

He felt everything rush forward. The world curved in around them, private and cut off. John worked faster, edged closer, and he reached up to stroke the length of Dave's cock as he pulled back around the tip and Dave fucking keened. Just a few more licks and kisses and sucks and Dave was nearly choking. That was it, that was it, that was it; John pushed up and sort of headbutted Dave back, moving him so he could stand. As he pumped himself in front of Dave, he stared down dark and possessive and those eyes looked back up at him; he exploded into sound. He saw his own cum drip down Dave's heaving chest and he shoved Dave back onto the bed roughly before reaching down with his free hand to stroke Dave hard and fast, wanting him to follow right now, before he was even finished himself. Dave squirmed and pulled at the bind around his wrists and was repeating something, repeating John's name over and over, breathy and magnificent. His stomach rose and fell and his cock twitched and John wanted it.

"Dave, now."

With a strained and desperate sound, Dave arched his back and pushed up on his toes, coming furiously over his own stomach, into John's hand, out and out and out. After fast seconds, tick tocks full of Dave making open mouthed, incomprehensible noises on end, it fell away, it all fell away, and John collapsed next to Dave, mind blown clean and white. 

They lay there breathing, confused and lost, no grasp on understanding at all. They were two before, regular and plain, and now they were zero. Just worthless and spent and tied so intricately together in this moment that even they couldn't tell the threads apart. The past would always be the past, their history would never change, but now they were new and different.

Except... they were exactly the fucking same.

Eventually, Dave started to laugh and John joined in. John turned Dave on his side so he could undo the bindings and Dave just laughed like an idiot. When he rolled back over, John propped himself up on his elbow and leaned forward to kiss Dave and remind him of everything, to remind them both of the terms, and to remind himself that he was finally whole. He got it.

He got everything he ever wanted.

He grinned down at sight of Dave so debauched and blissful and he felt pretty confident in saying, "Merry Christmas, Dave."

Dave looked back up with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes and he was definitely confident in replying, "No fucking kidding."

And with that they cleaned off, piled on a dozen blankets, and fell asleep next to each other thinking

happy Christmas to all,

and to  all a 

good 

fucking

night.