Notes from Mama Lobster: Welp. Sexy time. Bringing back Jade, and trying to keep it tasteful.
Some Nights
== Jade: enjoy dinner
On nights like this, you are an optimist. The air in your apartment feels a little cleaner, Dave's dry chicken smells a little better, and his pale blond hair feels a little softer against your face. Work isn't an issue for you today, you don't mind coming home dirty and sweaty because Dave just hugged you anyway.
Not before he tells you that you smell like week-old puppet ass, though.
He's been writing again. He has a script for you, one that he's so very, very excited about. Of course, he'd never say as much, but you can tell by the way his voice raises just a little bit as the vaguely humorous metaphors slip out. After dinner you'll read it, you promise. It's been a long day at work and you're tired and hungry.
Dave rubs your feet for you. He hates feet, unless they're yours. "Feet attached to sexy legs like this are ok." He smirks at you and runs his hand up your shin. You are far too ticklish for that, and when you jerk you kick him and knock his glasses off. That's ok. He just snickers and grips down tighter around your calf. Your foot left a little smudge of mud on his cheek that you have to wipe away. It was covering his freckles.
You run a hand through his hair, grabbing and pulling him towards you. He tastes like cigarettes and too much garlic, and right now that is the perfect flavor. Tonight there is no alcohol on his breath, and you feel optimistic again.
He pulls you close, resting his head on your shoulder and offers muffled apologies about his behavior, about how he's treated you, neglected you, and made you afraid. He's just so sad in that moment that you can't do anything but forgive him. You make him promise to quit using, to go to a meeting, and he agrees. He knows he has a problem.
Cautiously, he confesses that his flashbacks have been getting worse lately, and he doesn't know how to control them. You suggest talking to Rose, and ask what you can do to help bring him back when he's having trouble. He says he doesn't know, but that whatever you do can't be startling. Approaching him slowly and talking helps sometimes, and you promise that next time you'll try it.
He smiles and kisses your hair, mumbling something about you being able to save the world again. You laugh, telling him to just give you the stupid script before you tell John what a sap his best bro really is. He bites your ear playfully before pulling away, handing you a USB drive to check out when you have the chance.
But you really do need to shower. Honestly, you both can barely stand the smell.
The water feels good against your back, stripping off the sweat and dirt that come with a hard day's work. You can finally release your hair from the tight braid you have to keep it in, allowing it to soak up the water and spill down your shoulders.
On nights like this, you wonder how you were ever not an optimist. Of course things will be all right. You have a great home and hot water over sore muscles, and your feet still tingle from the lavish attention they received earlier. Nothing could possibly be wrong with this.
A long arm snakes behind your back, carrying a giant fluffy towel, and another reaches behind your knees. Dave only sweeps you off your feet on special occasions, and you wonder what he has planned behind that poker face of his. You whine about being wet and naked while he is dry and fully clothed, but he doesn't care much. Neither do you, to be honest. You just like the smirk he makes when you pout.
He throws you onto the bed unceremoniously, crawling over you with eyes half lidded and heavy breath. He hasn't wanted you like this in a long time, made you feel beautiful and admired and ready. His mouth works the sensitive flesh around your neck as he presses inside you, whispering about how amazing you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to have you by his side. You don't need to hear any of it, because you can feel it in the way his body moves. You claw at his back and gasp, pressing your chest against his and losing yourself in the pleasure of his touch. He growls your name into your hair as he shudders, your muscles tensing around his in a shared release.
Dave smiles at you before collapsing into your chest, shaking and clutching at you as you stroke his hair. The pleasure begins to fade to a soft satisfaction as his breathing evens, his body heat becoming a blanket waiting to ease you into sleep. His fingers reach your own to lace together; you kiss the base of his neck.
Tonight you are an optimist. Everything in the world is beautiful; everything will be all right, because you are in love.
== Jade: make your own dinner
The lights are off in the apartment when you come home this time. Everything is off, in fact. It's pitch black.
Dave forgot to pay the electric bill this time.
You move further into the apartment, where one lonely flashlight illuminates a hunched over Dave Strider. He sees you enter and rushes you, holding on to you too tightly. He says nothing about your sweat or smell.
Dave laughs, but the noise is not happy. It's closer to frightening than anything, you think. He spins you again, a hand on your waist as if you were dancing. There is no romance in it; the spin is too fast and too harsh. You are dizzy and tired and want to sit down, and having the room spin about you is making your empty stomach feel sick.
Dave seems happy, but you know better. He has his glasses on still, here in the pitch darkness. You aren't sure of how he can see anything at all, but you have a vague idea.
"Let's fuck" Dave practically shouts it at you. He's still grinning, and before you know it he has you on the couch.
You kind of want to cry. He's scaring you.
You tell him you have a headache, and he calls you a bitch before lying down alone. You ask him gently about the electric bill, but he mumbles something incoherent and turns his back to you.
You try to touch him, and he grabs your hand and pulls.
"If you're not gonna fuck me, at least don't die on me" He growls. His face is so close; it's making you nervous again. He throws your hand away and pulls a blanket over his shoulders. The mirror and razor on the coffee table glint as the small light of the flashlight hits them.
You retreat to your room, because what choice do you have?
Dave has nightmares that night. You approach him gently, making sure not to surprise him as you speak what you hope are words of comfort, something to bring him back to the present. You voice doesn't seem to reach him, he's too busy being thirteen years old and watching his own death. You have to be extra, extra cautious when you take his hand, making sure not to startle him. He seems ok with this, realizing that you are here with him, so you wrap him up in the softest embrace you can manage. He shakes like a child against you, still growling low in fear from time to time.
Your heart aches in your chest as your own tears start to fall. You panic right there with Dave in your arms, and all you can do is hope he doesn't notice as he continues to fight with enemies who aren't there.
On nights like this, you wonder how you ever could have been an optimist.
More notes from Mama Lobster: There's a raunchier version floating around my laptop, and if there's some aching gap in the fandom that only DaveJade smut can fill maybe I'll post it later.
To everyone reading... I love you forever. All of you. Yes.
Named for Some Nights by Fun.
