Work Text:
You pull the strings the wrong way again and it all unravels between your fingers.
'Flipping fiddlesticks! This is terribly difficult Egbert, would you kindly show me again? I swear I will get it this time round' You tell him, frustrated at yet another failed attempt.
John laughs and plucks the long blue yarn from your tangled grip, winding round his wrists and twisting it into position. He loops it round his middle fingers, connecting his hands and hold them out to you.
You had wandered in earlier after a wonderfully refreshing nap to find Egbert and the two Striders lounging in John's room, stretched out in various positions on the sofa that spans one of his walls. He has a TV opposite and Dave and Dirk were engaged in a game of Halo 2 - By the look on Dirk's face it was quite the battle because both of them were rigid, fix in their positions with their eyes trained on the screen in front of them - while John sat with his legs hanging over the arm, twining something round his fingers. Your curiosity had been peaked by the careful winding movement of John's hands, and you walked closer, wanting to see what the devil he was doing. John had looked up and grinned, blue thread shaped between his fingers. A shift in grip and John was holding a smiley face hands. You stared amazed as the face became a teacup, a cat then little square house.
He laughed at your expression and said 'It's called cat's cradle, Jake. Do you want me to show you how it works?'
You did. And 10 minutes later you were discovering how exceedingly taxing weaving thread into patterns was.
John indicates where you need to pinch with his pinky fingers and you catch the string between your thumb and forefinger, pulling over and under then up-
Aha! Success!
You grin, letting out a triumphant sound of victory and hold your fingers aloft, John laughs at you and waves his hands, motioning for you to lower them again. He shows you the next few moves slowly, exaggerating the paths you need to take, gradually speeding it up until you can do it relatively quickly.
The string creates lovely symmetric patterns between your fingers, John's slim piano hands connected to yours by blue threads and you are so pleased.
Then Dave throws down his controller in what appears to be disgust, it thumps against the pillow as he stands, scowling. Both Striders are awfully sore losers, and losing often involves the throwing of game sets, controls and boxes, sometimes at someone's face. It's clear who lost this game. You see Dirk grinning out the corner of your eye and you sigh. They are also positively insufferable when they win.
Dave sidles over the two of you, visibly smarting from his loss, and rests his wrists on top of yours and John's heads, leaning over your string-joined hands.
'What are you two dorks doing?' He asks, his face taking up the field of your vision as studies he your patterns. How awfully ungentlemanly.
'Cats cradle dude, you wanna go?' John tells him wiggling his fingers thoughtlessly, you almost lose the grip you have on the threads wrapped round them. Dammit.
'Nah, I might get nerd germs. They're really contagious you know, I could already be infected. You two are literal frothing hives of dorkiness ' He shoots, smirking as he dodges the kick Egbert aims at his shins, his weight lifting away from you before laying down next to Egbert on the couch, shoving both set of hands out the way and placing his head down in John's lap.
'Dave, dude, we are doing something, go sulk elsewhere you big, dumb baby!' Egbert exclaims, untangling his fingers and grabbing Dave's shoulders.
'No. You were doing something. Now stroke my hair, Egderp.' Dave demands, eyes sliding closed as he snuggles deeper into the warmth of his boyfriend.
Nobody said Striders weren't high maintenance.
Clearly Dave is not going anywhere and John smiles apologetically at you, one of his hands already moving to card through his Strider's silky hair. As annoying as they are, they are absolutely irresistible and more often then not find yourself bending to Dirks wishes - especially when he give you the puppy eyes. You are such a gentleman. When Dave's famous deadpan begins softening under the touch and you decide you can learn more later.
You reach out and stroke John's messed up hair away from his face then squeeze his arm in thanks, the blue thread still wrapped round your forearm as you shift backward. You stand up, sliding off the sofa and cracking your back as you stretch. You had maintained a hunched position for longer than you had thought, ouch. Dirk is still messing around on the xbox and you walk over and curl up next to him. He lifts his arms so you can hook your legs over his knees and he can rests his arms on your thighs. You can feel the tendons working in his wrists as he flicks the buttons on his controller. He has nice wrists, you note absently, honed and slender, strong from years of swordplay.
You twist the string through your fingers, winding it into the one solo pattern John managed to teach you. This cat-cradle business is extremely therapeutic. Dirk glances at you when you nudge him with your elbow a couple of times and you hold your fingers out, tipping them so he can see the pattern. It's not as good as John's and there are a few strings loose, but there is a happy face in your palm. Heck yes, you Jake English are wonderful.
Dirk smiles gently, just a little tug of his lips, and pauses his game to take the string from you, carefully unwinding it from your hands and arms. He does this complicated little twist with his fingers, catching the blue thread between them and raises them for you to see.
There is a perfect little heart in his hands.
Your heart thuds against your ribcage. Why is he so utterly astounding? Is there anything he can't do?
He leans forward and kisses you, snickering at your stupefied face, then shakes the thread from his fingers, placing it back into your slack palms before returning to his game.
'Huh.' You huff. You have gone awfully blank with shock, but you can feel a blush rising on your face. Dirk gives you a sideways look and laughs. Like he hasn't blush before! You punch him in the arm and bury your face in his neck, good god you are feeling a trifle flustered right now. One of his arms wraps round your waist, pulling you comfortably into his chest and he kisses the top of your head, before returning to his game
You can hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, strong and steady and terribly alive.
The thread is water-silk and warm when you loop it round and round your wrist.