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You lose your pale virginity to John Egbert at a Gamzee Makara party and the thing about Gamzee Makara parties is they don’t ever fucking stop. Literally. You think this one has been going on since school let out on Friday.
But you’re tired of trying to sleep through shitty rap music and stumbling over the stupid clown lying under the sopor keg and you’re definitely tired of hugging the load gaper, so once you think you’ve barfed up all the beer there is to barf and aren’t going to blow chunks all over the sidewalk, you make John take you home.
When you get home, you climb into your recoupercoon, making room for John to climb in with you, because you may have only just slept in each other’s arms for the first time at a shitty clown party, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to do it again and again and again.
He climbs onto his usual sleeping shelf, wiggles down into his sleeping bag, and falls back asleep immediately, hugging nobody but his own damn self.
You do not fall asleep immediately. You are left feeling hollow and just a little worried.
What if sleeping together at Gamzee’s party didn’t do it for John?
Oh god, what he doesn’t want to your moirail--or bropal you guess is the human word--anymore now that you’ve put out for him? Oh god. Who’s going to stop you from slaughtering the entire town if you get it into your head--not that you’re actually planning to slaughter the entire town--not that you’re not not planning to slaughter the entire town--the point is, if he leaves you, there will be no one who can stop you.
You don’t like the person you are when there is no one to stop you.
It was just habit, you tell yourself. That’s why John went to sleep by himself. It isn’t that he hated your sweet pale cuddles, that you’re a horrible cuddler, that you’re a horrible moirail. Bropal. Whatever.
Right?
Maybe everything will seem less terrible in the morning.
--
Morning does improve things, at least a little. You and John end up having a pretty awesome feelings jam about Nic Cage on top of your pile of defunct Nintendo 64 cartridges after watching Con Air together and if you can’t quite summon the nerve to jam about the whole Sleeping Together with him, at least you had a feelings jam. That’s a good sign, right?
You kind of wish he’d shoosh-pap you. You’re actually feeling a little stressed out about this. Except John has never shoosh-papped you--how weird and sordid, you think, to jump straight into sleeping together without shoosh-papping at least once first-- and you’ve hardly had the occasion to shoosh-pap him. John’s usually a pretty calm guy when he’s not dealing with the Batterwitch.
Anyway, John fistbumps you before taking off and you try to distract yourself from worrying by killing everything in your path in Grand Theft Starship: Alternia Prime.
(For some reason, culling whores to get your money back after you heal is not nearly as theraputic as it usually is.)
--
Then you get back to school and everyone is talking about how you and John made it at Gamzee’s party--well, the other trolls are, the humans are just bitching about how sickeningly sweet your mad cuddles were, but fuck them.
You bask in their attention, because yeah, you landed that hot piece of doof, you are the pale stud, it is you. You even brag about how cuddly your boy is in the locker room, although both Kanaya and Terezi shoot you dirty looks when you do.
Which is kind of ridiculous of both of them, because you and Kanaya broke up because she wanted to be in a different quadrant altogether and it’s not your fault that Terezi spent two years nursing a palecrush on you. You’re a dangerous bitch. If that means you collect palecrushes like Karkat collects terrible romcoms, so be it.
(Man, Terezi looks kind of sick. You’re surprised she even came to school today.)
You wait until the rest of them leave to approach Nepeta. You hate having to do this, but you have to talk to somebody and you can’t talk to John, he’s the whole problem! So it’s either Nepeta or Karkat as the resident shipping gurus and you sure as fuck aren’t going to your kismesis either.
You engage in some roleplaying shenanigans as a hungry spider before getting down to business. “It’s about what happened at Gamzee’s party,” you say.
“Aha!” says Nepeta. “It was your furrrst time, wasn’t it?”
You stare at her. She makes one of those cat grins of hers. How the fuck does her mouth move that way?
“And if it was?” you say, trying to keep your voice casual.
Nepeta says nothing, just smiles the stupid cat smile.
You look to make sure no one else is there to hear you, then lean in close. “I don’t know if he liked it. We haven’t done it since.”
“Ohhhh,” she says, breathing out softly. She jumps on you--suddenly, unexpectedly--and you sway a little to keep from falling over. She licks your nose. “Poor little spider. Maybe he’s shy!”
You blink. “Do you really think that’s it?”
Nepeta nods. “You two are purrfect for each other. I bet he’s scared to make the next move, so you should make it for him.”
Right! You’ve got this in the bag. “Should I start making plans for a school shooting?”
Nepeta cocks her head to the side, her expression thoughtful. “Mmmm, no. I don’t think pulling things just to get your moirail’s attention really works, especially if your heart isn’t in it. Look at what happened with Eridan and Feferi!”
“Good point,” you say.
“Let me think,” Nepeta says and then she’s very quiet for the next few minutes. You end up sitting down on a locker room bench, Nepeta sprawled out next to you.
You hope she’s got an idea, because you have no fucking clue. You may have a copy of pretty much every work of pale pornography in existence on your husktop, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.
“AHA!” Nepeta cries, throwing herself on you again. This time you are even less prepared and you end up falling off the bench.
“Owwwwww. Damn it, are you trying to get fed to my mom? That floor is cement, you know.”
Nepeta ignores your threat. “Vriskers! I have the most purrfect idea! You’re going to take John on roadtrip!”
You stare back up at her, still perched on the bench. Stupid catgirl didn’t even lose her balance. “That sounds like one of those stupid tips from Troll Cosmo.”
“Yeah,” Nepeta says smugly, “and they work too. Equius loves--”
“Gah! Too much information! Fine, fine. Roadtrip it is. I guess.”
“Don’t worry,” Nepeta says blithely. “It will work purrfectly. I’m absolutely certain.”
You are not a hundred percent certain she isn’t trolling you--especially since every issue of Troll Cosmo has a little sticker on it that says Buying this magazine revokes all Cosmo Magazine's liability for injuries and deaths that may potentially occur from following Cosmo Magazine's tips and some of the other tips you’ve seen involve rubbing ice and chili pepper on your moirail--but fuck it. Might as well try anything.
“Whatever. Hey, do you know where I can steal a car?”
--
It takes you four days to steal the car and you’re glad it didn’t take any longer, because you can feel John pulling back from you. You can tell there are things on his mind, but he absolutely refuses to jam with you, even after you build him a pile from the shit in his pranking chest and practically every pillow in the house.
It’s a pretty damn good car, if you say so yourself. A giant whale of a classic muscle car, with fins and a convertible top and all that good shit. The kind of car that a rich troll with only one quadrant filled would buy for himself to feel big.
Eridan will never miss it. He’s got like fifteen other cars in his garage, anyway.
You skip school on Friday in order to pack up all your shit--and his as well, since you’ve got the Egbert house key--and are waiting outside the school as soon as the final bell rings.
John’s so much in his own head that he doesn’t even notice you. Feeling like the bottom of your stomach’s fallen out, you put the car into drive and follow him. “Going somewhere, stranger?” you call, once you’re about a block from the school.
Man, he’s funny when he’s startled. “Vriska? Since when did you have a car?”
“Since this morning,” you say airily. “Get in.”
The top’s down so he doesn’t even bother opening the door, just scrambles over the edge of the car and tumbles into his seat.
“Why are there suitcases in the backseat?” he asks.
“Because,” you say, “we are going on a road trip. Don’t worry, I left your dad a note about it.”
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Don’t know!”
“When are we coming back?”
“No fucking clue! It’s not like we have school next week, anyway.”
“We don’t?”
“Spring break, dumbass!”
“Oh,” he says. “Right.” He eyes you suspiciously. “Vriska, did you steal this car?”
“Do you want to know the answer to that question?” You grab a bag of Gushers from the box between you and toss it at him. “Come on, John! Live dangerously!”
He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Sure. Why the fuck not?”
--
Troll Cosmo was right. Somehow--you have no fucking idea how--they were right. You and John get thoroughly lost, but that’s okay, because when you get tired you just end up parking the car behind a billboard and cuddle up together for the night. You and John Do It for a second time and it’s even better than the first time was. You sleep so fucking well in his arms that you can hardly believe it.
Maybe you should try the thing with the ice cubes and the chili pepper and the carousel.
… okay, probably you should wait a while. You don’t think you and John are ready to be that kinky.
So you wake up together--so awesome--and then you end up finding breakfast at some random roadside cafe and you let John drive today because you trust the fuck out of him and even if anything happened, it’s Eridan’s car not yours. So you end up just following directions from whichever roadside attraction billboard looks coolest, which means you end up visiting a lot of random extremely huge things in the middle of nowhere--including The World’s Biggest Recoupercoon--but you don’t really mind, because you’re with John. Who you slept with all last night and tonight you’re going to do it again and maybe if you’re lucky you can pull over for a quick little nap together tomorrow afternoon.
On a picnic blanket.
Or maybe a pile of skulls.
Romantic as shit.
You trade back driving near the end of the night, so John can check Pesterchum on his phone. You haven’t decided if you want to sleep under the stars again--because that was pretty cool--or if you want to try it in a recoupercoon or a human bed. You turn your head to ask John, but it looks like whatever he’s talking about to Dave is pretty intense.
When he’s done, he tells you he’s pretty hungry, so you find a diner to eat at again, even though the expression on his face makes you want to build him a cheesy souvenir pile instead. You touch his shoulder. He shakes it off.
Oh fuck. How did you mess things up now?
He looks kind of sick as he sits with you, waiting for your food to come. “John,” you say quietly. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Joooooooohn,” you repeat, stretching the syllable eightfold. You grab one of his hands. He doesn’t shake you off this time.
Then, slowly and deliberately, his free hand makes the gesture that you’d given up on ever getting from him.
Oh. Oh.
Your two fingers make the other half of the diamond.
--
“Wait,” says John. “Did he just shoosh-pap that other guy in the middle of a murderous rampage?”
“Yep!” you say. “And now they’re going to sleep on the pile of corpses. Isn’t it awesome?”
John shakes his head. “Troll pornography is weird.”
You laugh and hug him. “You mean awesome, right? Pale pornography is the best. It’s even better than black pornography.”
“Those aren’t real corpses, are they?”
You shrug. “Who the fuck knows! I’m sure if they are, they were on the culling lists anyway. Relax. I’m not going to make you do that.”
“Really?” he says.
“Well,” you say. “Not with real dead people. I bet we could use some dummies or something, though.”
John grins. “I guess that could work.” He lays his head on your lap. “Hey, I’m sorry about the last week. I was a huge dumbass for thinking I’d slept with you instead of just slept with you.”
“Hey,” you say, “there is nothing just about what we did together. You took my pale virginity, John Egbert.”
He laughs. “So do I have to pale marry you, then?”
You grin and tickle his stomach. “Oh hell yes. And pay my lusus eighty-eight caegars for my palebride price.”
“What if I don’t have any caegars?” he asks.
“Then tomorrow,” you declare, “we rob a bank!”
John laughs. “Okay, sure. Hey, close your eyes for a minute, okay?”
You close your eyes. “Hey, John,” you say after a couple seconds. “You do know my eighth eye can see through my eyelids, right?”
“Wait, really?”
“No. I was just fucking with you.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool.”
“Can I open my eyes again?”
“Almost.... now!”
Your blood-gusher may just burst from your chest with the amount of diamonds that are fluttering around in it. In this shitty hotel in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, using pillows and blankets and complementary towels, John Egbert has built you a pile.