Chapter Text
“Alright, I’m coming up.”
“Yo, Karkat-“
“So what happened after he climbed up the tower and rescued her?”
“Shhhh.” Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and this STRIDER ASSHOLE has no idea how to observe polite movie-watching etiquette. You are this close to violence.
Julia Roberts smiles luminously, radiant against the building’s peeling facade.
“I just-”
Your nails dig into his arm. “SHHH.”
“She rescues him right back.”
“So you know how to slow dance, right?” Dave blurts inexplicably, right as lips meet onscreen in a vibrant crescendo.
“I-“ You choke on a handful of popcorn and blink at him in panic, coughing and waggling your hands around. “Why- what prompted that random fucking inquiry? Were you planning on recreating that- that piano scene?”
God, that was such a stupid thing to say. They don’t even slow dance, really, just artistically vague draping, but you’re thinking about Dave now - guitar fingers and a sort of lanky grace - and how easy you could fold him over something, and-
He winks. “Only if you’re up for it, Karkitty.”
Steam billows from your face. Thunder crackles. “Eat shit.”
“But really-“
“Strider,” you cut in, trying to stay calm. “What, exactly, does this have to do with the movie?”
“It doesn’t-“
“Then shut your chutehole and let the screen schoolfeed you, dimwit.” You shoot him an assessing glance, attempting to decipher his expression. “You said you would.”
He had. Actually, when he noticed you sulking around earlier and pulled the excruciating details out of you, his exact words had been:
“Some Tinder d-bag dipped on you? Really? … Jesus, what a dickbag. I’ll watch your damn movie.”
And then he genuinely sat down next to you on the loungeplank - close enough to feel his warmth radiating across you, far enough to be respectful - and watched the film, occasionally commenting about how creepy the love interest was but remaining sincere. He stuck through it. He prodded you when you cut your monologues off and demanded you finish.
He’s behaving like a perfect date, and it’s fucking insufferable. You’re almost glad to have the excuse to escape, before your addled pan gets confused and you end up jumping him.
Not that you would m-
Yes, you would mind, shut up, pan.
Sexual repressi9n can lead t9 c9mmunicati9n issues and struggles with interpers9nal relati9n-
Shut the dunderhell up, brain Kankri, who the hell installed you and where can I find them.
Dave’s still talking. “And then he did this, like, disco-style dip? I could never, but goddamn, Grandpops Harley is sick.”
“Strider, look far and wide, yon and hither. Really rotate your shades-clad ganderbulbs, taking in every detail of our surrounding climate.”
He looks at you expectantly, lips curling up like he’s eagerly awaiting your insult. “Why?”
“So you can help me locate my last fuck to give.” You finish, and it’s childish and lame but it sends him into paroxysms of laughter anyway.
“I’m dead. I’m eviscerated.” He tries to deadpan, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Don’t spend your last fuck on me, dude, I’m a goddamn lady and I want a ring first.”
“You’re a goddamn cabbagefucker is what you are,” you mumble, and he cackles right in your ear. “Jegus, calm down, it’s not that fucking funny.”
“You’re so cool, man,” Dave snorts, breath warm on your face. “Holy shit. You’re like two feet tall and you’ve got all the rage of a fucking titan, like, that one who held up the Earth in mythology, only it’s all compressed into a high concentration per square inch because you’re fun-sized.”
You glower. “Did you just compare me to greek gods just to call me short?”
“Titans. And if I say yes, will you dance with me?” He asks.
Crossing your arms, you furiously fight back a blush. “Why- In what world would that make me want to dance with you, of all the cerebrally-disadvantaged-”
“Because it’s awesome,” the tall asshole tells you earnestly. “You want to die on every hill, and you just called me a cabbagefucker, it’s sick as hell and I wanna be all up on it. Hey, KK, if you were a vegetable, guess which one you’d be?”
“I’m not answeri-“
“A cute-cumber,” he says, entirely straight-faced, and it’s so ludicrously unexpected you can’t help laughing back, undignified, snorty little chuckles.
“…What the fuck was that?”
He flutters his eyelashes at you. “You’re radishing.”
“No-“ You wheeze.
“Radishing, like, ravishing, you get it, right?”
“I can’t-“ You hiccup, chortling. “Strider, Jegus, how does anyone find you cool? My ribs hurt, you asshat.”
“I’ll stop if you dance with me.”
“Why do you want to dance so badly?” You manage, trying and failing to reapply your resting bitch face.
Strider nudges you with his shoulders. “Maybe I just want to smother myself in your manly embrace, hot stuff. Or maybe I think we should practice so we don’t get outdone by a geriatric former pinup model.”
Oh, that did it. The blood drains from your face in sheer perplexity. “…Grandpops Harley…?”
“I mean. Hear me out here,” Dave starts, and you shake your head reflexively.
“Look, Strider, I don’t-“
He barrels on gleefully. “I know he did pinup once, but I think it was probably the novelty. He showed me a calendar where he was Mr December once as a kid,” Dave reminisces fondly. “It was so bad, I was like, twelve, and there was just this almost-naked moustached dude from the 80s and it was Jade’s fucking grandpa, and he thought it was totally normal. Let me tell you, young Dave had some unfortunate revelations as a result.”
You squint at him in abject confusion.
“I mean sexually,” he adds, like that’s what you’re confused about.
“…I did not fucking ask at any point.”
“Probably for the best,” Strider agrees quickly, clearing his throat. “My point is, let’s figure this shit out together, bro. We’re doing this. We’re making it happen.”
“You are bizarre to an almost impressive degree,” you tell him firmly. “Genuinely, I want to study you, like a scientist with an impossibly obnoxious specimen. Also I’m never going to be able to look Jade’s grandfather in the eyes again. If I agree to dance with you, will you shut your soul-destroying volume cylinder and actually try?”
Strider grins. It’s not a yes.
You sigh. “Do you even know how to do this?”
“Yup.”
“Slow-dance?”
“You know it.”
You squint, taken of-guard and wary. “…In public?”
“Absolutely, homeslice.”
“Don’t ever call me that again,” you order, and he rocks a little closer, smiling wider.
“Noted, Rear Admiral Kittycat.”
“…Why Rear Admir…” you break off, coughing, when he wiggles his eyebrows and peers lasciviously at your… you’re gonna say back. “Nevermind.”
“Seriously, bro,” he cuts in, charitably not mentioning the sudden crimson of your face. “I can dance. I can boogie. I am a veritable treasure.”
“Strider, have you ever even been to a wedding?” You ask bluntly.
“Actually, yes. I had an ex girlfriend who dragged me to her cousin’s wedding to upset her parents.” He smiles kind of crookedly as he remembers, god he’s pretty, and it pisses you off so much your voice comes out two levels louder than appropriate.
“Wow. Sounds epically ironic and hardcore.” You sound like a raging douche. You are a raging douche.
“Uh. No, not really,” he continues, sending you a weird look. “Her dad called me redneck trailer trash and asked if I believed in evolution. She thought it was hilarious.”
“…oh.”
“Yeah. It became very quickly obvious that she only brought me to cause drama, and I guess it would have been funny, but she didn’t exactly tell me I was walking into that situation, you know?”
“She sounds like a bitch.” You mutter.
“Sorta.” Dave agrees, and even though his voice is completely calm and unaffected, his lips are a thin, hurt line.
A rush of something hot and protective runs through you. “…dancing?”
He snaps back into motion, gesturing. “Right! Right, right, so I figured, you seem like the type to practice shit, right?”
“Yes, I would identify as a being with the minutest modicum of common sense, thank you.”
“So I thought maybe you’d want to practice dancing before the rehearsal.” He finishes, and your bloodpump hammers.
“Now?”
“Why not?”
You pause to make an excuse, then falter. Sollux is, improbably, out today, and you don’t have plans, and you’re both in close proximity and not currently experiencing anything to stop you. You could say no, but…
Fuck. Curse your soft, melty pan and the tragic tilt of his mouth.
“Fine,” you concede reluctantly. “But if you pull out your stupid irony thing, I’m going to step on your foot.”
Dave grins down at you assessingly. “You’re teeny, dude. Can you even reach my- Jesus! I stand corrected!”
You generously hop off his foot. Yeah, you might be at least a head shorter than the human, but you’re wider and heavier than him, at least. “That’s what I thought, nooksucker.”
“Wait.” He blinks at you. “So, like, nook is troll pus-“
“No- shut up!” Your voice cracks. You hadn’t even considered what his stupid accent would sound like shaping that word, and it’s not even that obscene, you’re such a creepy virgin, but but but-
“What?”
You fumble for cover. “I- I just- I meant that in the most abstract of terms, you monumental, colossal dumbfuck. You’re such a dumbfuck, they can see you from space, that’s why alien civilisations haven’t contacted us, they just see your bulbous batshit protuberating through spacetime and say, fuck, let’s avoid that blonde douche and his incredible buffoonery- ”
“Hey, okay, sure.” His shades glint. “But just so you know, I wouldn’t consider nooksucker an insu-“
“Agh!” You clap your prongs over your aural shells, face burning. “Shhh!”
You stop when he doubles over cackling, clutching his knees, and sends you this look - this totally unguarded and expressive smile, thin lips curled, rounded teeth exposed, sincerity - that paralyses you in place. “Okay, I’m stopping.”
“…good,” you manage, hearing the blood roar in your ears. It only gets louder when he holds out a hand.
“May I?”
“May you what?”
He sighs, imitating a put-upon demeanour. “Wow, kitty, I thought you were into romance. I’m supposed to be all Mr Darcy up in this bitch, you know?”
“Mr Darcy…” you pause, considering. “That’s from that, uh, that famous human novel, right? I haven’t seen that one, yet.”
Dave draws back, mouth opening an inch in a devastating display of emotion. “You haven’t seen Pride and Prejudice?”
“Eridan usually picks the human ones, and he’s less about human history ‘cause it’s ‘a cesspit of gross shit’.”
“Alright, well, he’s not exactly wrong but I need you to see pride and prejudice, dude, I saw it when I was like 8, John’s dad loves it, and when Colin Firth burst from that lake in a see-through shirt, I knew I was down with dude, man.”
You stare. He stares back docilely. You are not going to give him the satisfaction of asking.
Yes you are. “Wh-“
“I mean sexually,” he inserts again, and you hiss and glare.
“Again! I did not ask!”
“You were going to,” Strider says casually, and you kick his shin. It’s shapely and muscular. Your foot hurts now.
“Why do you have so many anecdotes about attraction to men being an astonishing revelation at a young age? Isn’t that normal?” You spit, rubbing your poor foot as you hop.
“Dude, you grew up on Earth, you know about homophobia,” he dismisses, and for a second, his face looks tight and drawn. Then he’s back to his usual vivid facade, so quick and smooth you almost don’t notice at all. “Anyway! Not the point, the point is that you’re missing out. Actually, the point is, get up, let’s get down.”
“I don’t-“ you push fully upright, already feeling off-balance and awkward. “Listen, fucko, don’t expect me to be-“
Dave’s hands land on your bristling shoulders, and your mouth snaps shut. He’s a little warmer than you, but fairly equivalent body temperature - and maybe that’s why you surround yourself with humans, even though they have awful taste in films. They’re just as biologically weird to a troll as you are.
“Karkat, my man. My troll. My worm on a string. Listen, we’re gonna crush this shit,” he tells you, mouth twitching up again when you don’t look reassured. “…And on the plus side, the worse we are at dancing, the more snarky comments for the snarky broads in white, yeah?”
“Whatever,” you mumble. “…Someone leads, right?”
“Yeah, it’s basically just the person with their hand on the back versus shoulder. You want to try?”
You suppose you will, even if you have little to no real-world experience with slow-dancing - oh, other than a truly excruciating teenage prom experience, where Kanaya, being lovely and statuesque and approximately seven feet tall, attempted to imitate a pal-jig and crushed your face directly into her rumblespheres. At least she thought it was hilarious.
Well, at least Dave isn’t the size of a Chrysler Building and/or in possession of eye-level cleavage. Gingerly, you reach for his waist, flinching when his breath hitches. “Sorry-“
“What? No, it’s-“ He moves your hand back to his waist and keeps it there, covered by his own, a warm and comforting weight. You stare at his clavicle. Goddamn Dave Strider and his goddamn shirts that fit him like they’re angled 30 degrees to the right. You don’t need to see his bird-bone strength, the flexing tendons in his neck and the scattered bronze freckles that multiply further down.
You can feel his eyes burn into your hair. “You good?”
“I’m fucking immaculate, Strider, I just don’t feel the need to scream my every passing thought into the void of other people at all times.”
You’re being an asshole, and you both know it - why is the light weight of his fingers on your shoulder enough to have your stomach sinking down to the floor? - so it’s extra annoying when he laughs. You can feel the sound working through his throat, and he’s so close, and-
“Okay.” You say abruptly, and he startles like you interrupted a daze. Great work, Vantas, you haven’t even started yet and your partner’s already bored. “Okay, so-“
“You really just have to rock back and forth,” he tells you. “If you’re nervous, you can always just bearhug someone on the spot, but this shit is cool, cause-“ he squints at you for a second, shifting his weight, and your survival instinct kicks in just as he pulls back, laughing, to tilt you around-
“What the fuck, Str- agh-“ and suddenly, you’re spinning, attached to reality only by the death grip you have on this asshole’s fingers. You flail and your spare hand catches his glasses and he squawks and everything is blurring- “Fuck fuck fuck fuck-“
When Strider releases you, you clutch your knees. “In what world-“
“Holy shit, I cannot believe that worked,” he tells you, words buzzing with glee, and you look up just as he slides his shades back into place.
“Why.” You ask. “Why did you do that?”
“I googled it, man. Couldn’t have the hot Karbabes thinking I don’t know how to tear up the floor.” He looks so stupidly proud of himself, it’s a genuine effort not to grin back. “I watched a video on how to do a lift as well, c’mon-“
“Hell to the no, Strider!” you put up your hands and back away, scowling as menacingly as possible. “I’m not your crash dummy for this insane human conjugal ritual you’re so obsessed with-“
“Woah. Hey, bro, I’m not trying to-“ Dave’s grin drops abruptly, and your bloodpump drops with it. “Uh. Look, this isn’t- humans, friends dance together. You know, it’d be super fucking uncool for me to just perv- if you thought I was- like, we’re tight like gravy, right? We’re a sick nuptial combo, and it’d be fucked up, if- I’m not-“
“Strider.”
“-Like, uncool, uncool to the max, I’m not some greasy-fingered weeb incel who’s trying to convince an immortal loli alien that humans just fuck all the time, and that’d be so against the bro code, like-“
“Dave.” You interject, and he trails off, shoving his glasses up his nose. “I’m not fucking delusional, alright? I’m under no illusions you’re trying to get in my pants, bulgesucker.”
“Right…” he stares at you for a second, then laughs reedily. “Right. Because us- uh, that- not like that at all. It’s so not like that, it’s- it’s hate that, it’s a divorce from that. That isn’t relatable to the tweens anymore, and-“
Well, of all the things that could top off this humiliating encounter, listening to Strider tie himself in knots talking about how he’d never fuck you is depressingly apt. You clear your throat, tired and pissy and ready to leave. “Okay, asshat. You don’t want to fuck me, join the line. I can slow dance. Are you satisfied yet?”
“Uh.” Strider’s smooth facade snaps back into place, a little less seamless than before. “Sure. Yeah. You’re a freaking aficionado, you’ll be taking on John Travolta next-“
The light at the end of the tunnel beckons, but come on, you’ve got a duty to your people here. “Troll John Travolta, maybe.”
“There’s a troll version of-“
“Obviously.”
“Huh.” The taller guy chews on his lip for a moment. “…Want to show me next time you’re free?”
Now, that’s clearly a bad idea you should nip in the bud. “Yeah, whatever. Consider it my altruistic act of the year.”
“You’re a treasure, Karkles,” Dave sends you another grin, a little tired-looking, and then he’s heading off towards the door, muttering something about gigs and Dirk and real smooth Strider.
You stare after your empty door for an embarrassingly long time once he’s vanished away.
Sollux inexplicably has plans, the next time you go to Dave’s. You’d hoped he could provide a pleasant platonic barrier between you, but oh no, of course not, that would make your life way too easy. Instead, he scratches his neck and looks awkward and mumbles something about ‘plans’, and then you realise he’s dressed like someone who owns a mirror, and holy shit - is it possible that you’ve been so distracted by the whole Dave thing that you’ve missed something very important going on with your roommate?
carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering grimAuxillatrix [GA]
CG: KANAYA
CG: CAPTOR’S WEARING A SHIRT THAT DOESN’T HAVE HOLES IN IT
GA: Oh My
GA: Well Well Well
GA: The Plot Thickens
CG: THANK YOU FOR THAT VERY HELPFUL RESPONSE, O LOQUACIOUS BROAD
CG: WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN
GA: Karkat I’m Afraid I Cannot Elaborate
GA: However, I Think Aradia Is Back In Town Soon
GA: Perhaps The Bookclub Should Meet Up With Her
CG: I KNOW YOU LIKE ARADIA BUT IT’S NEVER A GOOD IDEA TO PUT AMPORA AND CAPTOR IN THE SAME ROOM
GA: They Are Grown Adults Karkat
GA: I Think They Should Be Able To Handle It
GA: Especially If They Intend To Attend My Wedding
GA: Just Be… Conservative With The Details Of The Event
CG: VERY SNEAKY.
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT, WHATEVER
CG: BUT WHEN AMPORA RUINS HIS MANICURE CATFIGHTING MY ROOMMATE, YOU’RE PAYING THE BAIL, OKAY?
GA: I Think They May Surprise You.
GA: Do Invite Dave, Won’t You?
You scowl at your Husktop, face aflame. Snarky meddlesome broads.