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In the shifting glow and mellow sounds of an art documentary, Dave glances up from his desk planner to make sure his students are reasonably trapped in the thrall of class movie day, then looks back down. His pen has absently tapped a growing black ink spot next to the day of December 3. At the bottom of the page, no time slot assigned, is a tentatively scratched word, faint with hesitation: “birthday”.
It’s hilariously unincriminating, because it is actually his birthday on December 3—it’s his thirtieth, and under any other circumstances that might be the thing that’s fucking him up, but looking at the word on the page makes his heart palpitate for reasons other than the unrelenting progress of time and his own mortality.
Inevitably, his eyes are drawn to the eternal source of his consternation. Dirk is not watching the movie. He’s watching Dave, and Dave is half surprised that his eyes aren’t glowing in the dim light like the demon child he is.
His phone buzzes next to his hand.
You’re really phoning it in today.
Feeling preoccupied for some reason?
no texting in class
Hold on, I have a question for the teacher.
fine what is it
Cut or uncut?
“Do I need to take your phone again, Mr. Lalonde?” Dave says loudly.
“No, sir,” Dirk replies in a roguish tone and Dave can nearly hear the eyebrow rise on his face through the snickering of the rest of the class. “I’ll be good.”
Dave makes eye contact with him and then places his phone in his desk drawer with an exaggerated movement. Thankfully, it doesn't buzz again before the bell rings, when Dirk slowly gets up from his seat after all the other students have filed out.
He waves his phone at Dave before sliding it into his pocket and sliding over to the desk. “You never answered my question.”
Reflexively, Dave double-checks that the classroom is empty before answering. “Shit, I sure didn’t.”
Dirk looks unfazed, a smile creeping at the corner of his mouth. “Wanna just show me instead? We could lock the door.”
“Dirk.”
“Dave,” Dirk replies, obviously relishing the way the name feels on his tongue. He leans casually against Dave’s desk, looking way too good in his tie and slacks. “What is even the point of us having a free period together if we aren’t using it to make out on your desk?”
As was definitely Dirk’s design, that sets off the tiny film projector that’s always cued up inside Dave’s brain, waiting to play smutty movies and torture him. He titles this one “Statutory Delights” and lets it play a touch too long before physically shaking himself to shut it off.
“Yo, Dave.” Dirk is already snapping his fingers in front of Dave’s face. “Jesus, did you just start dissociating at the very thought of kissing me?
Dave slaps his hand away. “You should really call me Mr. Strider at school.”
“You aren’t going to like it any better, I can pretty much guarantee that,” Dirk replies flatly, scooting a little closer. “Or maybe I’ve been reading it wrong all along and you’re actually into the whole teacher-student dynamic.”
He puts his palm on Dave’s open calendar in a way that is clearly calculated to seem accidental and has the audacity to act innocently curious when he looks down at his hand. When his fingertips caress the ink splotch next to December 3rd, Dave tries to slam the planner shut on Dirk’s fingers, but he pulls them away just in time.
“Big birthday plans, Mr. Strider?”
“Fuck you,” Dave says casually, and immediately regrets his choice of words.
Dirk smiles wolfishly. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
==>
Dave eyes the refrigerator door with trepidation, reasonably sure there is nothing behind it that won’t make him horrifically ill were he to eat it. His thoughts wander to the stove, and the memory of Dirk there, cooking for him, makes him feel some kind of way.
He sighs, pulling a magneted stack of takeout menus from the fridge, and starts to flip through them.
What option requires the smallest number of interactions and involves the least amount of judgment for his disheveled nap hair, 8 o’clock shadow, and unwillingness to change out of his threadbare PJs?
Hunger becoming mildly desperate and nothing sounding good but the greasiest and saltiest of bullshit, Dave is leaning heavily towards the siren song of a McDonald’s drive thru in pajama pants. He wouldn’t even have to put on shoes. Ronald ain’t judging.
The doorbell, as if precognitive, rings. He’s only half surprised this time to find Dirk on his doorstep, holding a greasy paper bag and a 20 oz. soda cup.
“Delivery,” Dirk declares with a lazy, confident grin.
“Thanks, dude,” Dave says brightly. He takes the food, slaps a five-dollar bill into Dirk’s empty hand, and slams the door in his face. The expected buzz from his pocket comes seconds later.
Aren’t I supposed to be the immature one, according to you?
jeez
fine
He opens the door again. The teenager on the other side of it is looking significantly less pleased with himself. Dave laughs, not unkindly. “I’m not sorry, dude. You were asking for it.”
“Are you gonna let me in?” There’s a slightly plaintive note in Dirk’s voice, though he’s clearly trying to play it cool.
“No! You know the rules, Dirk. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”
“The rules said nothing about hanging out at your place,” Dirk argues, taking the fact that Dave hasn’t slammed the door on his face a second time as a positive sign.
“The rules absolutely do say that,” Dave retorts, pulling out his phone and scrolling back through texts. He holds it up. “Like verbatim.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to your terms, bro.”
“I’m the grownup, bro.” Dave crosses his arms over his chest, signaling that he will be taking no shit. “Your agreement or lack thereof is pretty irrelevant until December 3rd, at which point we can discuss a different arrangement. I’ve been very clear about this.”
“I’ve been very clear that I’m unhappy you changed the fuckin’ established rules of engagement on me.” Dirk mirrors Dave’s posture. “What happened to ‘nothing past first base’? You aren’t even letting me play anymore.”
“I thought better of it.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You’re welcome to think so. Go home.”
Dirk pirouettes to a different tactic. “My dinner is in that bag too, Dave. I thought we could eat together, you know, like an actual goddamn couple.”
“Oh don’t pull that guilt BS on me. You can have your food if you want it, but I’m not letting you in.”
“Come out here with me then.” Dirk gestures to the stoop. “So we can have dinner and discuss how I’m supposed to spend time with you while you are in constant terror that mere proximity to me might cause our dicks to spontaneously touch before I’m eighteen.”
“Because eating burgers on the floor outside my front door with a teenager would totally not look weird or suspicious.”
Dirk shrugs like he doesn’t see the issue, which he probably doesn’t, because he is the worst. “If your neighbors are the spying kind, they’ve likely already seen a teenager go into your apartment twice. And I stayed the night one of those times,” he says logically, though his persistence in continuing to argue is a little telling. “Anyway, if my mouth is occupied with a burger, I’m not going to be using it for… other things. At least not concurrently.”
“Reassuring,” Dave says flatly, but he feels bad. Dirk seems genuinely stung, and he may be acting like a brat, but Dave suspects that’s because he’s feeling rejected. He sighs. “There’s a park a couple blocks down. We can eat there.”
Dirk immediately perks up, rocking on his heels while he waits for Dave to get his keys and change into less grungy clothes.
“Wipe that smug look off your face,” he says as he walks past, shoving the paper bag into Dirk’s chest. He can carry it. “I just took pity on you.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get,” Dirk replies contentedly. Dave can practically feel the eyes on his ass as Dirk follows shortly behind.
“Why is there only one drink, by the way?” he drawls, shooting a look back at Dirk. “Are we sharing? Gross.”
“Dave, my tongue has literally been inside your mouth.”
==>
“Where do you even put all that food? I could bench press you with one hand.”
“Bragging isn’t sexy, Dirk.” Dave takes a sip of his coke, looking askance at his companion over the top of his shades. “No matter how subtly you think you’re doing it.” Putting the lie to his dismissive tone, his eyes stray to Dirk’s broad shoulders, then his arms. The prep school blazer is draped carelessly over the back of their booth, and his thick musculature is more than evident through white shirtsleeves.
Dirk’s eyes laugh at him. “No? School me harder about what’s not sexy, Teach. I’m here to learn.” With an easy movement, he loosens his tie and pops open the top button of his shirt. Dave tries and fails not to stare at the newly exposed skin.
Dirk doesn’t comment, but when Dave tears his eyes away and returns them to Dirk’s face, a truly punchable smirk is waiting for him. Is wanting to punch a student better or worse than wanting to kiss him? He’s distracted from pondering that question by the unmistakable sensation of a foot nudging his ankle, pushing his pant cuff up his calf. Jesus. He jerks his leg away.
“Weren’t you wearing hightops? How did you even get one off without using your hands?”
Dirk sucks noisily on his straw. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“So you’ve told me.” The foot starts creeping up his ankle again. He stomps on its toes and stands abruptly. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Without even a flinch at the attempted toe murder, Dirk looks at Dave’s now eye level crotch with zero subtlety, then up to his face. He tilts his head in acknowledgement, eating a fry in a way that is borderline indecent. Dave leaves without comment, Dirk’s mocking laugh burning his ears.
He’s just zipping up his fly when he hears the door creak open. He’s barely turned around to look before Dirk is on him, backing him up against the wall.
“I can’t believe this is what it has come to,” Dirk says in a low, amused voice entirely devoid of disbelief. His arms come up to cage Dave as he leans in. He tastes like salt and fryer oil when he catches Dave’s mouth and parts his lips with an aggressive tongue. Dave lets him continue for several seconds—okay, minutes—longer than he should before setting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back firmly. Dirk leans on his palm with firm pressure, refusing to step back.
“Dirk,” Dave says warningly, but his voice comes out breathy and he can feel the flush in his cheeks.
Dirk replies with a hum, gently challenging the warning with a raised eyebrow as he starts to put a little more pressure on Dave’s hand.
“Dammit.” Dave wraps a hand in Dirk’s tie and yanks him back into the kiss.
The sound Dirk makes in the back of his throat is victorious. Dave punishes it with a hand pulling hard on his hair and gets shoved back against the wall for his trouble. Dirk is sucking and biting his way down the side of Dave’s neck when the door creaks again and Dave’s heart leaps into his throat. He shoves Dirk away, not fast enough so it looks like they’ve been doing anything but making out in a fucking McDonald’s men’s room, but he turns to the urinal anyway, like he can pretend he’s just here to piss.
The stranger who came through the door doesn’t seem to give a shit, but Dave is keenly aware that though Dirk doesn’t really look like a minor, he is unmistakably wearing a school uniform, and his cheeks burn with shame.
Dirk goes to wash his hands and Dave hates himself a little when he glances over and makes eye contact in the mirror. His blush only gets worse as the corner of Dirk’s mouth curls up and he straightens his tie, and Dave has to look away and rush out of the bathroom because he just looks way too good.
==>
It’s another art documentary day, but Dave has a valid excuse this time. Or so he tells himself.
They’re on a half day schedule, right before Thanksgiving break, and he’s a good teacher, but he knows it would be ridiculous to expect anyone to focus on their projects in the face of turkey coma vacations.
Movie again? You’re really losing your edge, Dave.
its a half day no one would be focusing anyway they just wanna get home and start their break
case in point motherfucker
put your phone away
Hold on, I have a question for the teacher.
absolutely not we arent doing this
You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.
i have a pretty fucking good idea
Are you going to miss me?
Dave starts to type ‘no,’ then looks up and sees that Dirk is watching him with a cute half smile on his face. It makes his stomach flip over in the dumbest fucking way. He chews the inside of his cheek and turns back to his phone.
like you wont be outside my apartment every damn day trying to talk your way in
Hey now. I haven’t tried that shit in, I don’t know. Ages. So long. At least, like,
Four days?
really admirable restraint
my apologies
Thanks. Feels like a fuckin’ lifetime, honestly.
feels fuckin suspicious honestly
Hmm.
like youre trying to stockpile goodwill for something you want
and historically things you want have been largely restricted to a single specific category
Hmm.
stop saying hmm
Sorry, I’m just listening to your extremely interesting theory of my behavior and wondering what conclusion you have come to.
I feel like your data is a little flawed overall, but
Theoretically, how much goodwill would I need to stockpile, given the assumption that you are correct in predicting what I hypothetically want?
hmm
Dirk audibly snorts, but the other students only glance at him before returning their eyes to the movie.
Haven’t I been good, Mr. Strider?
no
Alright, fair.
I’ve been trying though. Does that count for anything?
i guess
I’ll consider that progress. I really think we need to talk about it though, Dave.
talk about what
Our birthday.
mmmm no i dont think so
why would we need to talk about that
Dave can feel Dirk’s eyes boring into him from across the room, but he stubbornly refuses to look up.
It’s only a week away.
i actually know when my birthday is but thanks for the update
Did you know that it is my birthday too? I’m going to be eighteen.
The arbitrary number that most state governments have decided is when I am actually culpable for most of my decisions as a Real Adult.
no shit
hasnt been on my mind
Do you wanna know what I’m doing to celebrate?
not really
You.
look
i havent made any promises in that particular arena ok
i just said we could talk about it
The bell rings and students file out, ready to start their holiday. Dirk stays in his seat, placing his phone down with intention.
“I think we should talk about it now.”
Dave pretends to be organizing the papers on his desk to disguise his rocketing heart rate. “Do you?”
Dirk just stares at him intensely. The excited sounds of boisterous kids in the hallway heading home comes muffled into the room. “You know the answer to that question. I think I’ve let you stall long enough.”
Tapping a pencil on his desk, Dave chews his lower lip pensively. He’s a little stung by that phrasing. “Let me?”
“Yes, Dave,” Dirk says, low and authoritative. Too casually, he stands up and wanders over. Daves desk is, at least, a physical barrier between them, but it feels as ineffectual as tissue paper against the pull of Dirk’s presence as he leans his palms on all of Dave’s pretend-organized papers. “I gave you space to get used to the idea, but we both know you didn’t really need it. You’ve been anticipating this since you pencilled me in.” He punctuates by looking down at the calendar, the ink stain bigger and the word “birthday” traced over and over, each time faintly but often enough to make it clear as day.
“Oh, that?” Dave says weakly. “That’s just a reminder. Of, um. Of my birthday.”
“Hmm,” replies Dirk with a keen look. He is already much closer, too close, looming over the desk.
Come on, Strider, be a man. Dave clears his throat. “Okay, fine, you wanna talk about it. Talk away.”
Dave almost immediately regrets how blasé his words were when Dirk’s eyes light up dangerously. “You get your birthday off as a personal holiday—I noticed you’ve already put in a request for a substitute for the day.” God, Dave can’t keep anything from him. Of course Dirk would check on that—he’s never been shy before about his definitely expulsion-worthy habit of hacking of the school admin system. His full, gorgeous lips curl up in satisfaction as Dave realizes his expression just proved all of Dirk’s hypotheses correct. “It’s sweet that you think you’ll be back on the fourth, when I’m going to fuck you until you can’t leave your bed even if you wanted to.” He leaves a beat long enough for Dave’s face to flush deeply before he continues. “Which you won’t.”
Dave makes a sound that doesn’t quite manage to be a word. He stares at his desk, tapping the pencil with increasing speed until the tip breaks off. Oops. He sets the broken pencil carefully down on the desk, straightens it, and clears his throat again. “You know, you should really work on that self-confidence problem you have.”
Light and casual, Dirk replies, “I know. Hopefully it will go away on its own when I hear you begging me to let you come.”
“Okay,” Dave says loudly, running over the end of Dirk’s sentence. “I think we’ve talked about it enough now.”
Dirk huffs a laugh, leaning forward a little more until he’s markedly within easy kissing distance. In a swift movement, he captures Dave’s hand under his to stop the nervous fidgeting. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t start objecting sooner.”
“I’m losing my touch,” Dave says dryly. And his god damn mind. Impulsively, he laces his fingers with Dirk’s and watches as his expression gets impossibly soft.
“Must suck to be getting old.” All of the affection in his eyes is threaded thickly through his voice, even while teasing. He appraises their hands, then Dave’s face with an openness he doesn’t often allow himself. “I’ve been thinking about it constantly,” he says, tangling their fingers tighter. “Our birthday.” He almost sounds vulnerable, in odd contrast with the intense confidence and control he’s exuding. “I want to celebrate you and me.”
He looks young, in a way that catches at Dave’s guilt and makes his heart swell with love and protective feelings. Sweet Jesus, please don’t let him fuck this up. “That’s,” he starts, and stops to clear his throat yet again when his voice catches. “That sounds nice.”
“Cool,” Dirk replies fondly. “Good. I’ve been planning a lot.”
“Okay,” Dave says wryly. “I don’t think I want to know about that.”
“Nah, it’ll be better as a surprise anyway.” Dirk is palpably back on his bullshit as his sweet expression turns sly. “Gives you something to think about over break.”
And for the last seven weeks. And before that. “Thoughtful of you.”
“I just don’t want you to miss me too much,” he murmurs facetiously. But his mouth is close enough that Dave can feel each word. He flashes his canine teeth as his lips curl back. “But you could always call me if you’re lonely.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dave shoots back with a shit-eating grin. “I’m spending Thanksgiving with the Egberts.”
Dirk’s smile sours immediately. “Sounds great,” he says with zero enthusiasm. “I didn’t think Principal Egbert knew how to make anything non-confectionery.”
“Oh, he’s a great cook,” Dave says casually, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve done the holiday with them every year since I was younger than you.” Maybe he should feel bad about deliberately stoking Dirk’s absurd jealousy, but it’s hard to work up the guilt when there’s no basis for those feelings in the first place.
Trying and failing to look like he doesn’t care, Dirk picks up the topic with about as much enthusiasm as he might pick up a dead animal. “We go to Cracker Barrel every year, after Mom ritualistically incinerates the turkey. She brings a hip flask and spikes our root beers while Rose, Kanaya, and I decide which of the old white men depicted in the old timey decor is the most racist based on appearance. Then Roxy usually comes up with an extremely convoluted multiplayer game using the triangle peg puzzle they put on every table and we have to play that hyper-competitively until we’ve made every other sorry asshole in the restaurant uncomfortable.”
“It’s nice to have family traditions.”
Dirk tilts his head in agreement but his brows lift. “Are the Egberts family?” he asks curiously.
“Closest thing I ever had.” Certainly more family-like than anyone he shares DNA with.
Dirk looks understandably intrigued by this new tidbit of information—there is still a lot Dave hasn’t shared with him, won’t share with him any time soon. Despite their already decidedly inappropriate relationship, there are still some things that just feel over the line to discuss with a student. Dave hates talking about that bullshit anyway, with anyone. For an uncomfortable moment, it feels like Dirk is going to push the subject, but apparently he thinks better of it. “Cute how we are both adopted,” he jokes.
“Adorable. Are you planning to kiss me anytime soon or just keep quizzing me about my family history?”
“I’m thinking about it. Come closer.” As if to instruct, Dirk reaches over and brushes his knuckles against Dave’s jaw.
Dave shakes his head no, smiling. “You won’t appreciate it if you don’t have to work for it.”
“Damn, Mr. Strider,” Dirk says, eyes lit up with interest. “It’s break now, you ain’t have to keep teaching me.”
“I’ll always be your teacher, Dirk.”
Dirk’s lips part slightly as he breathes out his desire in a soft, protracted, “Fuck.” He is in control of his hungry hormones enough to take the initiative though, and hooks a finger into the collar of Dave’s button-down. He tugs to draw Dave closer, nearly forcing him from his seat, then jerks his head in the direction of the supply closet. Dave can hardly object to more privacy for his fireable offenses, even though it occurs to him that it will give Dirk freedom to go farther than Dave might want him to go just now. He follows willingly.
As soon as the door is shut, he’s pushed up against it, but the kiss he expects to follow doesn’t come. Dirk stands close, lacing his fingers with Dave’s where they hang at his sides. Dave leans in to kiss him, but he leans back, a smile just barely tugging up the corner of his mouth. He presses Dave’s hands against the door and slowly slides them up until they’re pinned over his head. Irritatingly, Dirk is taller enough that he can stretch Dave’s arms all the way out and still keep a generous bend to his elbows.
“You’re too tall,” he says, and immediately regrets it because he sounds more turned on than annoyed.
“Seems like you could still reach me.” Dirk’s carefully controlled expression is partially negated by the encouraging squeeze he gives Dave’s fingers. “If you try.”
“I wasn’t expressing a logistical issue. It just pisses me off. But yeah, I probably could,” Dave admits. “If I wanted to.”
“I don’t think you have a choice, because I’m not letting you go for nothing.” Dirk leans in bodily, each point of contact like electricity along Dave’s skin. “I’m cool with standing here until the clock strikes midnight on the third and then fucking you right against this door.”
Dave swallows hard. “I don’t know,” he rasps. “I think your arms might get tired.”
“Do you think?” It is a flex, both verbally and literally.
“Mmm.” Dave tries very hard not to stare at the incredibly gorgeous arms hanging out to either side of his face, straining at the seams of the sleeves covering them, and Dirk laughs at him, but not meanly.
“Someone once taught me that you won’t appreciate something you don’t work for.”
“Sounds like a great teacher.” Dave tugs experimentally at his wrists, but Dirk’s grip holds fast, which just sends a bolt of heat straight to Dave’s groin. Fuck.
Dirk hums and raises one dark eyebrow. “Yeah, I have a big fuckin’ crush on him. I’ve been trying to get with him for almost four years.”
“How is that going?”
“Actually, surprisingly successfully,” Dirk says as he leans in again, close enough to just barely skim their mouths together—mere millimeters of distance very deliberately separating them. “I’ve got him pretty much where I want him now.” Dave would rather headbutt Dirk than kiss him after that line, but his body seems to have other ideas, because he stretches forward automatically, trying to catch Dirk’s lips. He catches air instead as Dirk simultaneously, meaningfully shifts back. Dirk’s mouth is still right there, close enough to make him ache, humiliatingly trapped and unfulfilled.
“Asshole.” Dave tries again, but Dirk is holding himself just out of reach, even when Dave strains at his pinned arms.
“Do you want something, Dave?”
“Just off the top of my head, I wouldn’t say no to kicking you in the dick.”
“Is that still considered first base?”
Dave snorts. “I think it’s a whole other sport, dude.”
With a thoughtful tilt of his head, Dirk pretends to mull it over. “Actually, I’m pretty sure kickball still uses the base system.”
Dave shrugs. “Being as you’re the one who’s like twelve years old, I guess you’d know.”
“Sick burn, dude,” Dirk retorts flatly, eyes rolling back in exasperation. “I hope your skin is okay, I feel like there was some statutory splash damage on that one.”
“Nah, I’ve learned to dodge,” Dave replies with an easy grin.
“Not that well,” Dirk says and quick as anything catches Dave’s lips with his own. Like he wanted to dodge that. Dave pushes back hungrily, not even trying to play it cool. Dirk pinning him to the door, teasing him, even the ragging on his shitty insults has him so hot that he’s halfway to calling it “close enough” and letting Dirk do him right here in this dusty-ass closet. Good thing Dirk can’t actually read his mind, despite giving off that impression on more than one occasion, or he’d be literally fucked.
As it is, Dirk seems to be challenging himself to see just how far he can push Dave without using anything but his mouth. He sucks Dave’s lower lip between his teeth and holds it there with enough force to threaten pain, teasing his tongue across it before releasing Dave. Unable to help it this time, Dave chases after Dirk’s mouth, lips parted and seeking.
Dirk’s grip flexes around Dave’s hands and his thigh slides between Dave’s legs. The friction is painfully welcome, making Dave suck in air that Dirk quickly steals away with his tongue. This needs to stop before it gets too far, but Dirk is laying kisses to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck with such intention. It is terrifyingly clear that he was not lying about having a plan; the promise of Dave’s complete annihilation is laid out in the worshipful way his lips work just under Dave’s ear, their bodies pressed together just so.
Dave squawks out a frantic and barely intelligible “Stop, stop,” and Dirk pauses in action, reluctantly pulling his face out from Dave’s collar.
“Just to reiterate,” he murmurs, “in case you need to hear it one more time to be utterly convinced.” His voice is burnt honey, sweet and dark and compelling. “We don’t have to wait until our birthday.” Dirk lightly bites his slightly swollen lower lip in a way that comes across as both seductive and sweetly optimistic, and Dave’s breath shudders out in a vocalized sigh. “You would only be cutting your moratorium short by eight days, and obviously we’re both into it.” His eyes flick down meaningfully.
“What—” Dave flushes, remembering himself as Dirk reminds him of exactly why this isn’t happening. “Oh, that? That’s not—that’s just, um, a roll of quarters. It’s my laundry day.”
Dirk grinds his thigh against it lightly—too lightly—and Dave stifles a needy moan. Dirk quirks one eyebrow like nothing else need be said, which is humiliatingly true, but doesn’t stop him from rubbing salt in the wound anyway. “If it is laundry day, then it’s probably cool if your pants get dirty, right?” He lets go of Dave’s wrists to trace down his chest to the waistband of his slacks, fingers all too eager to start undoing his belt. The responsible adult part of Dave’s brain abruptly clicks into place and he slaps Dirk’s hand away like he’s a child reaching for the cookie jar before dinner.
Dirk makes a frustrated noise and puts his palms up in disappointed resignation. “Fuck. I thought you might actually give in that time.”
“Not sure why, when I’ve been laying down the same hard line approximately every day for seven weeks.” Not that he’s been counting.
“You’ve lived up to your moral code, Dave. You’ve kept me at bay for two months—what is another eight days going to prove at this point?”
“This is not and never has been a negotiation,” Dave says flatly. “No matter how hard my roll of quarters is.”
Dirk’s lips purse like he’s considering whether to challenge it again despite Dave’s words. The turning of the gears as he calculates the cost/benefit of attempting a new argument or pushing a little harder is nearly audible. Dave can see the tension build in Dirk’s jaw before he releases it with a sigh.
“It’s so weird that you keep a roll of quarters in your briefs, dude,” he says with a somewhat resigned snort. “Pants pockets are there for a reason.” Dirk pulls back enough to make an example out of stuffing his hand into one of his pockets, which really only emphasizes the huge fucking bulge as his slacks are stretched over it. Which is, of course, exactly why he did it.
Dave tries and fails not to look at it. “Protects it from pickpockets,” he manages. “Plus that little pocket on the front is so convenient. Just begging to have something tucked into it.”
Dirk looks at him very flatly, unimpressed with the teasing. “Begging is an interesting choice of words, but I can’t argue that it’s smart of you to get used to it conceptually.”
“Jesus.” Dave shoves him away with a hand on his shoulder. “Go home, you smug little shit. Enjoy your vacation.”
“I’ll miss you,” Dirk says, joking tone layered with sincerity. He slides up quickly and ducks his head to peck Dave fondly on the mouth, and it feels very high school, but it makes Dave’s heart flip. “Have a good break, Dave. See you on the second.”