A/N: Tis the beginning of a probably unending story of John/Dave one-shots. Some will be... indecent. Some will be fluffy. This is just one of my many ships in Homestuck. Let's not forget we're all trash here. Much love. -kyle

The sun isn't even out yet. It has to be like, midnight, mainly because you feel like you haven't slept a bit. You groan and glance over at your alarm clock and groan again, louder this time, and fling your sheets onto the floor. There is a very annoying and very incessant tapping on your window, and you're just going to have to figure out what the hell is interrupting your beauty sleep at such an uncool hour. You throw your window open with a grunt—it likes to stick—and glare down at the idiot who is about to face your wrath.

Oh. It's just John.

"What do you want, Egderp?"

"Rose won't text me back." He called up. Even though he had to raise his voice to be heard, he sounded like he was still trying to be quiet. Good thing, too. If Bro caught you talking to some dude—he knew John, but that was irrelevant—this late at night through your window, he would never let you live it down. He would call you Juliet for the rest of your life. You couldn't handle that; it wasn't cool at all.

"Did you think to check the time, dumb fuck?" You lean over the window sill and hang there, dangling over the edge. Though it's kind of hard to see him, you can tell that John is shifting from one foot to the other. You can practically smell his anxiety. He's so easy to read. "What do you want? Seriously, it's not like I need any beauty sleep, but damn it, dude."

"Can I come in?"

If you weren't hanging out of the window, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear him. You sigh really loudly and push yourself out of the window, close it, and head downstairs. You have to skip two steps near the bottom because if you stepped on them they would creak loudly. And if you stepped on them, it was like little alarm bells went off inside Bro's head; he would come flying down the stairs with a different weapon every time. You wondered where he got stuff like that, but you figured he did it for ironic purposes.

Man, your brother was weird a fuck.

John was already standing at the front door when you opened it. "Everything cool?"

"If by 'cool' you mean totally not cool, then sure."

You close the door behind him with a grimace and gesture for him to walk to the kitchen. You were thirsty and had a feeling whatever he was going to say was going to take forever, so the kitchen was the place to be. He climbed onto the counter and watched you pour yourself a glass of milk with a small smile on his derpy face.

"What?" You take a big gulp of the milk, watching him with squinted eyes. "It builds strong bones. How do you think I win arm wrestling matches with you all the time?"

"I figured it was because I wasn't cool enough to handle your strength." He laughed, shaking his head. "But we'll go with your reasoning. It makes more sense."

"Of course it does, I'm Dave Strider." You scoff, rolling your eyes as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

It was.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

John lost his smile immediately and began wringing his fingers like they were full of water or something. Okay, bad analogy. Anyway, he looked really worried. You set your cup of milk down on the counter and jumped up beside him, turning so you could look at him properly. He didn't turn, which was weird, because John was a 'follow the leader' sort of guy. He usually moved the way you moved unless you told him not to. Something must be seriously wrong.

"Spill it, Egderp."

"It's actually not really that big of a deal." He said quietly, refusing to look at you. "It was just—I was thinking about it earlier and I couldn't not talk to you about it. It's not bad, I guess, but it makes me feel stupid because you probably—never mind."

"I probably what?"

He looked at you, and he looked really embarrassed. To be honest, you were embarrassed for him. Whatever he wanted to tell you was obviously important, at least to him, but he couldn't spill it out because he probably couldn't find a good way to say it.

"Try acting it out."

His cheeks flushed bright red. "What?"

You raised your eyebrows, curious about his reaction. "I said, try acting it out. If you can't tell me, show me."

"Oh, Dave, I don't know about that you know I'm not very good at Charades—"

"I wasn't asking you to play Charades, idiot, I was asking you to show me what you're talking about. I can't read your fucking mind, John. I might be cool, but I'm not that cool." It pained you to say that. You sighed and pressed your forehead against his shoulder, closing your eyes. John was the only person you could do this with without him questioning your motives. It was nice. Of course he was the only one you liked enough to be this chill with, too. "It's too late for this shit."

"I guess without the shades you can't keep your cool, huh?" John teased, poking you lightly on the cheek. "Want me to go get them?"

You sit up suddenly, feeling even more suspicious. "You won't tell me what's going on with you but you'll volunteer to brave the stairs, go to my room, plunder about in that disaster area and find my shades, all the while trying not to wake up Bro—who I should probably add—is a light sleeper and probably already awake and waiting for the perfect moment to strike."

"It sounded a lot easier before you threw in the obstacles." John muttered. "I don't think I've ever been in your room."

"I'm afraid my socks are carnivorous. They might eat you."

John nodded slowly, still frowning. "I don't know how to tell you."

You want to slam your face against a wall right now. "I told you, Egderp, show—"

Before you could finish your sentence, John spun around on the counter and pressed his lips to yours. You threw your hands up in shock, staring up at him. His eyes were shut really tight and holy shit. You didn't know Egderp could kiss. Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit. You wanted to lean into it, push him up against something, anything, but at the same time you wanted to lean back and give him the crazy eye like—

"Bro. No homo."

But you didn't do that, but you also didn't move, but even with all the things you weren't doing, you were kissing him back. John had to have gotten practice from somewhere, because hot damn, your tongue was having trouble keeping up. But you couldn't think of that right now. One of his hands touched your waist and something inside of you snapped. You grunted and slid off of the counter, pulling him along with you.

"Dave?"

"Shut up, Egderp."

You turned around suddenly, making John run into you. You pushed him against the nearest wall and began kissing him again, and he happily obliged, his hands returning to their previous position before you had so rudely interrupted. Unable to repress a smirk, you grabbed his hands and laced your fingers with his, pressing his arms against the wall. You broke away from the kiss and pressed your lips against his jaw—trying to ignore the fact that you had to stand on your tiptoes to do this—grazing his neck with your teeth and reveling in the feeling of him shuddering beneath you.

"Dave, don't—"

"Jesus, Egbert," you muttered, biting his neck a little harder with every word. Breath hissed out between his teeth and his hands gripped yours so tightly you figured you didn't have very long before you couldn't feel them anymore. "I didn't know you were so sensitive."

He lifted his leg a little—he didn't have to lift it very high—and pressed it against your crotch. You masked what could have been a moan with a laugh and look up at him, smirking. "What a dirty trick."

"This is a two player game." He said breathlessly. "I'll win this one."

"Damn straight you aren't." You mutter, releasing one of his hands to pull at the hair on the back of his head. He winced, but didn't complain. "You'll be hard-pressed to try, Egderp."

With his free hand, John pulled you closer and slid his hand underneath your shirt and teased the elastic of your boxers. Frozen, and not really sure what he was doing, you stood still until his lips found yours again. These kisses weren't like the others—hot and fast like the hormonal and inexperienced teenagers that you two were—but slow and sweet, like trying to melt chocolate or something.

Okay, bad analogy (again), but it made sense to you. John released your other hand and reached up to rest it against your cheek. Your eyes widened a little, and without thinking, you leaned into his hand and fought to keep your eyes open. Still very much aware of the hand that was half in and half out of your boxers, you grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and decided stupidly that yeah—

This idiot was probably going to win.

Without needing to look, you tugged him in the direction of your living room, each step motivated by muscle memory. Feeling the edge of the sectional press against the backs of your knees, you tug sharply at his shirt and fall back against the couch. John yelps in surprise and you can't help but laugh, even though he was actually heavier than you'd anticipated and it'd kind of hurt.

"Dude, you sounded like a little girl!" You gasped, glad for the excuse to laugh because otherwise this would have made John feel bad. He hated hurting people. He was weird like that. "And the expression on your face was priceless!"

You smirked up at him and he smiled back you, but it wasn't the kind of smile you'd expected from him. You expected it to be an embarrassed smile, or something like it, but it was different. You didn't know how to explain it, and it made a little uncomfortable lump settle in your throat. Holding both sides of your face, he leaned down and kissed you again, just as tenderly as he had before, but impossibly softer. It was so chaste you could almost believe it hadn't even happened. His lips were like a barely there breath on yours, and it was that little show of affection that took your breath away.

Your chest hurt—of course it could still be your lungs—but you were pretty sure it was hurting somewhere on the upper left side where your heart was supposed to be. Of course you never had paid any attention in science class. It wasn't your favorite subject, so you could easily be wrong. You were also pretty sure they had never taught you about the reasons why your heart could totally just start hurting while you were making out with someone. This is so uncool.

"Did I show you well enough, Dave?" John whispered, his lips still ghosting across yours.

You swallowed hard, staring up at him wide-eyed. "John… you… did a very good job."

"At a loss for words, Strider?" John chuckled. "Are my kissing skills that good?"

"S-shut up!" You stammered, your face burning. "I'm too cool to be speechless."

He laughed, his hands moving from your face to rest on your sides. He pushed up your shirt, pressed his hands against your stomach, and ghosted his fingers lightly over your skin. You close your eyes and sigh, reveling in the feeling of his soft hands exploring your body. He whispers something unintelligible in your ear, and for a second you're really confused, but then you feel him palming your dick through the fabric of your boxers and suddenly you understand.

"John—"

You interrupt yourself with a quiet moan, your hips rising into his hand in the hopes of gaining a little more friction, but his hand disappeared as soon as you moved. You cursed yourself for the whine that escaped from your mouth and opened your eyes to glare up at the idiot who was teasing the shit out of you. When your eyes met, he looked extremely shocked, and rightfully, too. That little whine thing you had going on was just pathetic, even for you.

Wait.

"Dave… that was…"

"Don't you dare."

John's lips quirked upwards into a smirk. "Actually kind of hot."

For a brief second, you're stunned into silence. "Are you fucking kidding me? That was the most pathetic sound I think I've ever made in my entire life. I don't think I sounded that pathetic even when I was a baby. Jesus Christ, John… are you into that shit?"

You were just fucking with him now, but he looked pretty willing to play along. He grinned and his hand returned to your crotch with a renewed vigor. You inhaled sharply between clenched teeth and grabbed a fistful of his hair so you could kiss him again. Really it was for insurance purposes; it might help prevent those pathetic whining noises again, but it was kind of like a buy one get one free kind of deal. John was a great kisser. Like a really great fucking kisser—of course you didn't really have anyone to compare him to—to the point where it was difficult to even describe it, and so you figure you're just going to let the poor readers try and imagine just how awesome it really is.

You're very cruel.

"Fuck."

"What the hell are you two doing on my couch?"

"Fuck!"

You sit up, pushing John away and straightening your clothes. Bro stands about five or ten feet away from the couch, watching you and John try and stammer out an excuse with a stern expression on his face.

"We were just—there wasn't—and I was—"

"You know that's what bedrooms are for, right?" The stern expression dissolves immediately and he turns on his heel. "But don't think I won't have a few choice words for you in the morning."

You fall back against the couch in relief, your whole body feeling extremely heavy. John leans over you again, and with a red face and embarrassed smile says—

"Wanna finish this upstairs?"