If you haven't read Not Like the Movies, I suggest you do that or this ain't gonna make any sense seeing as this is the sequel. I'm thinking this will be the end but who knows.
It seemed as though he had just forgotten about the previous summer. Like he forgot how he took your virginity in a hotel room on a beach. He seemed to just get happier with his girlfriend, which meant a dry spell for you. In the six months since you'd been back from the beach, he'd kissed you once, and even then you practically had to beg for it before he did.
It made you feel vile, easy, and useless the way you were pining for him harder than ever before and he was just about ignoring you. You knew something had to change. You couldn't allow yourself to live like this. You had to forget about him, if only momentarily. You stopped going over to his place, texted him less, and focused a lot more on your own life and your other friends. You kept him and the dirty little secrets of what you'd done in the past, finally doing something for you.
And it was because of all that, you suppose, that you noticed him. This moderately attractive, older guy you knew from school who you occasionally talked to. It was because of your new focus on everything but Dave that you were able to see how great this other guy's eyes were, how funny he was, and how you couldn't stop smiling when you talked to him.
You had a dream one night about him and when you woke up you knew it was time to make a move. You set your sights on this older guy and while you knew he was kind of out of your usual league, he was an embodiment of everything you never knew you looked for in someone else. So when it seemed he was mutually as interested in you, you thanked your lucky stars and finally got around to asking him out.
When he said yes, you couldn't help it; the first person you thought to text was Dave. You were freaking out and really wanted to share the good news. After about a month and a half of flirting you had finally managed to snag someone way out of your league (in your opinion anyway). You sent over your excited message, ready to elaborate and tell your best friend all about it.
But, as always, he managed to surprise you with his response. He texted you back moment later saying his girlfriend had dumped him the day before. Definitely not the reaction you had expected. Of course at this point you felt bad; here you were trying to brag about your romantic luck while he'd ended up on the wrong side of the war that is young love. You switched gears; immediately turning into the sympathetic best friend, there for him to rant to. You let him tell you about it that Friday afternoon as you walked home, all the while rather shocked. You'd had the impression they were doing just fine but now suddenly she'd dumped him? That didn't seem quite right.
The whole situation was made even worse when he explained that she'd left him for some pot-head kid straight out of juvy, and ever since it happened he hadn't been eating. This really got to you because it just wasn't like him to react so intensely to something like this. He was really broken up about it. It was then that you knew you had to see him the next day. You owed it to your friend to be there to comfort him when he needed you.
All night you marinated on the information, thoughts of your own recent good fortune far from your mind. You resolved not to take advantage of him, but you'd be there for whatever he needed.
Just as you planned, you went over to his place the next day. His brother opened the door, tipped his hat and using as few words as possible, told you Dave had been locked in his room for about a day. He went out a little while later, leaving you to look after Dave. You knocked on the door to Dave's room, murmuring softly that it was you and for him to open up.
At first it seemed like there was no response to your knocking, but after a few moments of silence, the door opened to reveal Dave standing there, shades off. He looked awful; there were bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and they were red where they shouldn't have been, partially from some past crying and partially from his taking up smoking again. His moved aside for you to come in, and as soon as you did it wasn't hard for you to smell the weed. This wasn't a new thing, he'd been smoking off and on for quite some time, years in fact. You hated it, especially when he did it in your presence, but he'd been doing so well for such a long time that it caught you off guard to see he'd been getting high again.
"Dave...you know you shouldn't smoke like this..." You started to say, but trailed off at the sight of the face he was giving you. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. It made you sad to see him this upset; it really did break your heart. You silently opened your arms as he stumbled forward into your embrace, letting himself go and crying into your shoulder. It would have been so easy to cry with him, but you didn't; you let him get it out and know you were there. You ran your hand in soothing circles on his back until he'd stopped crying, sniffling a bit before straightening back up.
"It helps me, you know? There's just nothing to do but get high, so I smoke until I don't have to think anymore until she creeps back in and I have to get high again," he explained in a weak and cracked voice, walking over to sit on his bed. You sighed and sat next to him, wondering how on earth this girl could have affected him this much; brought him down to the point where all his stoic walls had vanished. You kiss the top of his head lightly and hug him once more, telling him it's going to be okay, it's going to be alright. He clutched at your back in a tight hug, clinging to you. It was clear his mental state was at an all time low.
The hug lasted a moment, though not as long as before, the reason for this being Dave shifting. He began to fidget and move his arm, bringing it around to rest on the front of your shirt over your stomach, his face moving in so that his nose was in your hair, mouth near your ear. His hand began to creep underneath your shirt and you knew what he was thinking.
"Dave," You said, a warning in your voice.
"John...please?" And you might not have let him but you could hear the plea in his voice and you just couldn't say no. You nodded, allowing him to have this, hoping that maybe this once you could make yourself useful and use your body to help him.
He stripped off your shirt and ran his hands down your body in such a desperate and needy way you were sure that he was using you as a replacement for her, that at any moment he'd say her name and not yours, pretending you were who he truly wanted. You were ready for it; so long as it helped him you would gladly volunteer to be his stand in, a mere body he could use to feel better.
In a matter of minutes his shirt was gone as were your pants, and you laid down in his bed in nothing but your boxers, Dave kneeling over you, kissing you fervently. You unbuttoned and unzipped his pants but didn't remove them, not knowing if he wanted them off yet. He didn't take them off himself because his hands were preoccupied at your waist, one slipping into your boxer shorts and pumping you to full length before removing the restraining fabric altogether.
He requested then that you get on all fours. It was a little demeaning to do so but you complied anyway, feeling rather like a dog. You guessed it was because he wanted to penetrate you but didn't want to see your face, further supporting your substitute theory. You could no longer see him, but you heard the sounds of his pants hitting the floor, a drawer being opened most likely for lube, and the sound of him jerking himself to suitable hardness. He started to prepare you and you hoped he'd be gentle when he entered you even though he was upset right now. It had been awhile since you'd done anything and you weren't really ready for something rough just yet.
When he'd removed his fingers and lined his lubed up cock at your entrance, you took a breath. When he pushed in, it was quick and efficient, but he still paid mind to wait a moment before moving. When he got into it, he grasped your waist as you tried to hold your position by resting on your forearms as he thrusted in and out of you. His pace was steady and surprisingly subdued, so it didn't hurt as much as it could have for you.
What had started out as a silent endeavour turned verbal as he slid past your prostate and you let out a sharp gasp which turned into a moan as he did it again. He slipped into his old habit of talking during sexual activities (he used to always ask you embarrassing questions when you had fooled around in the previous year) and began asking you if what he was doing felt good. He only asked so he could hear you say it because your moans were a big hint of what felt good and what didn't, he just got off on hearing your weak confirmation.
He used his free hand to tweak your nipples and jerk you off until you eventually couldn't take it anymore, hit your climax and came over your stomach and his sheets. Your body spasmed and squeezed him and he groaned your name and shortly afterward met his own release inside of you. What surprised you most was that it was your name he said, you he'd been thinking of. Maybe then you weren't a substitute after all. He was visibly exhausted, but even so grabbed one of his shirts from the floor of his messy room and wiped your stomach with it before crashing on his bed, breathing heavily. He'd used the last of his energy at this point.
You rose and pulled your boxers back on, ignoring the sticky feeling you had. You were pretty sure his cum would leak out in a second or so. Just as you were about to walk away from his bed, he weakly grasped your wrist.
"John...thanks," he whispered before closing his eyes. You pulled his blanket over his naked form and headed out to his kitchen, doing your best to mask your limp while he could see you. You knew the fridge was a waste of time, but you were able to find a can of soup in the pantry cupboard. You made the bowl of soup and looked around for a spoon, cleaned the one you found, and placed it in the bowl. You put the bowl on a saucer you'd found on the counter and brought the food back to Dave's room.
Setting the soup down on his bedside table, you nudged him awake. "Hey Dave. Get up, come on now. Eat this," you coaxed. He roused but didn't look like he was going to eat the soup, so you gave him a stern expression and instructed again. "Eat it now, Dave." He raised an eyebrow at you but surrendered, taking the saucer off his bedside table and having a spoonful, and after a few spoonfuls started to down it like a starving child. You watched him eat, and when you were sure he wasn't going to throw it up, you figured he'd be fine. He laid back down when he had finished the soup and motioned for you to come lay down with him but you just shook your head. He was fine now, he'd be okay.
"I'm gonna leave, you just get some rest," you told him as you started getting dressed. When you had all your clothes on, you took his empty soup bowl and saucer and put them in his kitchen sink. You went back to take one last look at his relaxed form in his bed before closing his room door. You left his house satisfied that you'd done all you could (and with a serious pain in the backside). He let down his façade, his cool, feel-no-pain act for you and you took care of him because in some way, you really did love him.
Dave's decisions had always been a bit of a mystery to you, but this one downright pissed you off. Not two days after you had spoken (and had sex) with him, he'd gotten back together with the girl who had caused him so much anguish. You really tried to comprehend the logic behind this, but it seemed so idiotic, you had to stop thinking about it before you strangled someone . Normally you could be open minded. Normally you didn't much care what he did. But right now you were just furious, point blank.
It made you mad that he was being so stupid; not two days ago he was crying over this girl but still he let her entice him back in. You were disappointed that she had so much power to break him on a whim and he was going to let her do so. Unfortunately it wasn't up to you. He made his own choices and he had to deal with them.
It's common knowledge that people tend to do shitty things when they're angry; things they wouldn't have done if they had been thinking rationally. You knew it all too well. But at the moment, you didn't give two shits. Things with the guy you'd nearly dated before all of Dave's drama happened didn't quite work out. Shortly after you'd left Dave's place you had called him to tell him you'd changed your mind about getting into a relationship so soon. Luckily for your purposes, he didn't matter.
All you wanted to do was to prove that you didn't need Dave. You weren't dependent on him. Right now he was all the experience you'd ever had but that was easy enough to change. The one guy who could help you out came to mind immediately. He was older than you were by nearly 4 years. You saw him most times when you went to work at a restaurant owned by your older cousin Jade.
He'd gone to your school when you were a freshman, so you'd pass him occasionally. He was pretty hard to miss; reasonably attractive, purple streak in his hair, his neck always covered by a scarf. He had snake bite piercings to give off that 'edgy' look, and frankly he'd been flirting with you for awhile. You'd always pegged it as a joke; just teasing someone younger, but now you decided it was time to see if he meant the things he said. If he did, your plan to spite Dave might just work out.
That evening when he made his usual offer to drive you home, you accepted. You got in his car and psyched yourself into the right mindset by picturing Dave with his girlfriend, no doubt snuggling and laughing at that moment. You chattered on as he drove, eventually drifting the conversation to the time your dad caught you looking at porn. This intrigued him enough to stop the car a few blocks from your house, listening as if what you were saying was actually interesting (though it really wasn't). At some point during your awkward chatter you noticed the bulge in his pants. You reached down to brush over it, curious. At that point the set up was all there; he'd even started telling you about his underwear, which apparently was a sight to be seen.
You asked to see them, setting the ball him motion. He shifted in his seat to pull his jeans down enough to reveal the underwear he had on. He wasn't kidding about them being unusual; it was practically a speedo. You couldn't resist touching and prodding at the material, until the next thing you knew you were staring at his dick.
You touched it tentatively, feeling like you owed him at least a hand job. You told him up front that you weren't very experienced with giving them to other people, but he didn't seem to care. You jerked him off slowly, continuing to babble on about something you found interesting as he reclined his seat and laid back with his hands behind his head, his expression almost smug.
You pace was leisurely so your arm didn't get tired, and he didn't say anything at all until you were in the middle of your story. He interrupted your sentence to tell you to go faster, and you knew he was close. You sped up just like he asked and sure enough, he came seconds later over your hand and his shirt. He took off his ruined shirt and let you wipe your hands on it, then asked you how you felt about McDonald's because he was in the mood for an iced tea. He reached into his back seat and produced another shirt that'd been lying on the floor of the car and pulled it on. You told him McDonald's was fine since it was close and you figured you could wash your hands in there. You were in no rush to get home.
He drove you there, ordered his tea and then asked if you wanted anything. You told him to get you a vanilla milkshake, so he did. You picked up the order, parked, and then both went inside to go to the bathroom. You washed your hands and looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, feeling awfully easy but somewhat satisfied with what you'd done. As you drove home, he told you about his favourite song and cracked a few jokes, and you were really enjoying yourself by the time you were back in your general area. He pulled over near your house to drop you off, and you started talking to stall for time. You weren't sure why, but you really didn't want to leave.
You asked him if you could kiss him and that must have been the wrong thing to ask because even though he played it off, you could see he got considerably more uncomfortable and more insistent that you leave. You got out and walked the short distance from your house he'd dropped you off at. That night as you laid down in your bed you wondered if that had really been the right thing to do, all in spite of Dave. He was probably never going to find out, and you weren't really sure if you wanted to tell him. You knew in some part of your mind that it'd been nothing more than an awkward one off, and you hadn't even done it right. You should have been coy and sexy, but instead, in your rush to spite Dave, you were honest and nervous, relying more on him to encourage you. He'd been nice enough, until your naive ass asked for that kiss, but here by yourself in your bed, it all felt dirty.
You closed your eyes as you let the night replay in your mind, glad your dad didn't ask about you being out so late. You wanted to apologise to Dave and to yourself, and most of all you just wanted to curl up and cry. So you did. You let yourself cry it out, alone in your room. It was frustrating; Dave shouldn't have been able to control your life like this! What ever happened to not being attracted to him? Just messing around as friends? You knew he was a goddamn prick who idolised his asshole older brother! You knew he wasn't ever going to love you or something equally as humiliating. You knew all of this and yet there you were, making stupid choices and focusing your whole world on him and the shit he did. To be honest, you weren't even sure what was happening. The love you had for him was friendly, it had to be, for your sake anyway. Sometimes, you really just wanted to punch him in the face for being so...no, you weren't going to think it. That'd be too much. Instead you just laid there, quietly sobbing and cursing your life and the mess it had become.
Work was awkward now without the sexual tension. You didn't get anymore rides from purple stripe after that except once when you were desperate and it was raining. He didn't talk to you and sped so quickly you were home in less than 3 minutes.
You never did mention your little excursion to Dave. Somehow you just didn't think he'd care. In fact, you never let him know you were angry at all. Taking a page from his book you just pretended nothing was wrong and you didn't care about anything, burying your real feelings. After all, that was the rule wasn't it? You never talked feelings with Dave. Not about this anyway. You never spoke of what you had going, it was just...a thing. You weren't allowed to cry to him over this. It seemed like that was crossing some sort of line.
So you kept it in and he continued to show you pictures of him and his girlfriend, him and his girlfriend's family, etc. You never had the heart to tell him you didn't care or didn't want to see them. He was your friend and you had to be good to him. You loved him, even if you weren't quite sure in what way yet. Even if it meant you had to suffer in silence and pine away for the days when he wanted you in his lap again. Hoping for those rare times when you could pretend you were together or something equally as crazy because he was so gentle with you, so carefree when he kissed you that someone might have thought it was natural. Like it was something that should happen. But in this rabid game that you always seem to lose, you started to wonder if any of this should happen at all. You can't have him, and because of him you can't have anyone else either. Maybe it was your job to be alone. To be someone's toy at best.
As long as you were good, right? As long as you could be his best friend? That was all you needed. You could keep your feelings to yourself. Until the day comes when you finally break down and give him a piece of your mind, you don't have much of a choice. This is where shit gets complicated.
Just a side note, handjob blow off guy was in fact Eridan (my humanstuck headcanon Eridan has snakebites - fight me), I know I tend to use pronouns instead of names here but yeah and then the guy John had a crush on could really be anyone but if it makes you feel better, you can say it was Karkat.