You don't remember much of that night, just brief flashes of being in different clubs at different times. Everything passes back and forth like strobe lights when you think about it.
Although, the next morning is perfectly clear.
Dave hadn't gotten you to sleep with someone in six months, but you still recognize the warm comforter and silky sheets of his sex hotel.
You open your eyes with a groan, short and sharp. God, does your head hurt. You're going to have to murder Dave for whatever the hell he put in your drink. Although, you really did have a good time last night.
You think. It's hard to tell. You may or may not have been hit by a car.
You reach out, groping for your glasses as you try to claw through your head into your brain to make the pain stop.
You slip them on and try not to look at the weird geometric patterns on the walls… or are they an aftereffect of the drugs?
You lie there for about five minutes just not giving a shit about anything in both agonizing pain and blissful ignorance of whoever you just drunkfucked.
Eventually you sigh, sitting up - fuck, it hurts - and look over. You hope it's not someone you know.
It takes your mauled-by-a-wildcat mind at least ten seconds to recognize the sleeping form. You open your mouth, but you can't seem to say anything.
The shock of silver-blond hair; the wiry, slight frame; the light, pale tone to his skin…
You're not sure how he roped you into this, or if it was the plan all along, or what, but…
It's most definitely Dave.
And, in your addled state, you're surprised to see why he was able to get you into his bed. The comforter isn't that thick, and you can see his sloped yet strong shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest, the curve of his -
You suddenly realize it may have been your idea, at least partially.
He stirs, and you don't want to deal with this. You just don't. You quickly roll over, tossing your glasses back on the bed table and shutting your eyes. Fuck this shit.
Looking back, that was a really bad mistake. Even if you laugh now.
He pauses for a moment to sit up, groaning something you can't quite hear - you catch the name Sollux. Old friend. Computers expert, on-the-side drug dealer in high school. Apparently he's kept that job.
A second passes and he's curved against you, hand slipping into the lower ridge of your chest. His hand brushes lower as he speaks quietly. "Mmm.. Hey, baby, wanna go another-"
You fight hard to keep your voice in check as you panic, but it squeaks anyways. "D-Dave- Dave! It's me, fuck!" You practically shriek.
He yelps, jumping back. "Jesus- what the fuck, John?! What the actual-" He cuts off midsentence, and you can practically hear it dawning on him. "Oh. My god."
"Yeah, that's what I said." You try not to stutter as you sit up - fuuuuuuuucking hell - and snatch your glasses.
He sits up as well, staring at the far wall.
"This did not happen." You continue, trying not to let on to your little, ah, reaction to seeing about 70% of his slender body at once, and the faint remaining tingle from his hand on your abdomen.
"Y-Yeah, sure. Of course." He sounds weird. His face is flushed bright red, and he's stuttering. You have never once heard him stutter.
"Hey, if either of us should be freaking out, it's me. I'm 'Johnny no-homo' for fuck's sake." You remind him, looking around the room for your blue boxers. "What am I supposed to do now? I don't have a reputation anymore."
He doesn't answer, seeming distracted as he looks off to the side. He's still your best bro. You slightly awkwardly put your arm over his - incredibly smooth - shoulders comfortingly. "Hey, it's all right. No one has to know. Your own reputation is safe. It doesn't mean anyth-"
"But it does." He interrupts you, not looking up. "It means… a lot."
You give him a puzzled look. "It doesn't have to."
"But, I… I want this to mean a lot, John." He covers his face with his hands. "God, I… He told me this stuff was strong, but…" He lets out a slow breath. He looks up at you with those well-hidden, long-lashed, brilliant crimson eyes, and in spite of everything you have to smile at their beauty. You quickly sober up at his expression, though.
"I-I love you, John."
You make another mistake. You think he's joking. You kinda half-smile. "What?"
He shakes his head, standing up, and by god his ass. You're staring at his beautiful body like a fucking idiot.
You realize he's talking. Oh. "...and I never should have brought it up in the first place."
You really aren't sure what's coming out of your mouth anymore. "Well, either I'm gay as hell or you are the most perfect being on this earth right now." You say absentmindedly as you zero in on the contours of his chest. Damn, do you wish you remembered last night.
He looks back, and the moment he turns to face you everything comes into laser focus. "What?" He asks, sounding confused.
"I, eh…" You watch as his eyes grow wide, your words sinking in. Best to say it now. "I love you, too."
"Really?" He sounds doubtful, hopeful, and wishful at the same time.
"You're my best friend, so I know all your flaws and have predetermined that I can live with them. We just had sex, and you told me you love me. And in my eyes you're just about the hottest person alive right now. I think I'm at liberty to say I love you and mean it."
"Yeah, but… Vriska just dumped you. Again. And you're still on drugs. You don't know what you're saying. You're under a lot of stress."
"And you're not? Dave, as far as I know - and trust me, I know you well - the last time you stayed for another round was four years ago, after Terezi got over you. Ever since then you've never been inside a girl's house when she wakes up."
He sits down, simply nodding.
"Look, if you've been stressed out, why didn't you tell me? If you-"
"I just did."
It takes a second for the wave of guilt to wash over you. Your best friend had been stressing out over something that he was afraid to tell you: he's in love with you.
"You're makin' me feel bad, man…"
But you realize - he'd bothered to say the words Vriska never would.
The two of you are best bros. He'd never pull something this serious - not on you.
So you freely take pleasure in hearing the soft, surprised moan as you rub the spot at the base of his neck - the spot you know he likes.
"Bro, y-you don't have to-hnnn…"
You paw at the soft spot on his chest, and he cuts off with an odd humming noise, like he's purring. Damn, it turns you on. You press up against him, hearing him moan softly as you rub and prod at various parts of his skin.
You nuzzle his neck, and he twists to seize your face in his hands, kissing you with a fervor that fully conveys his want- no, need.
You piece the fuzzy, blurry images in your head together and play them out with him over and over until neither of you can breathe anymore.