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“D’ya ever think about what our wedding would be like?”
Jack blinks down at Dave, who’s staring into empty, pressed against Jack’s side.
“We’ve already gotten married, Dave.”
“Yeah, I know,” warm breath draws along the side of Jack’s neck as the sheets shift under them, “but I mean a real wedding.”
The corners of Jack’s lips twitch, biting on nothing to keep his smirk swallowed down. “Oh, was the Vegas wedding not real to you?” Jack’s hand moves, sliding up through Dave’s hair to scratch the top of his scalp. Dave leans into it. “I’m hurt.”
“No, I mean– y’know, a wedding with flowers and shit. A big stained glass window, an asile for you to walk down, friends and family in the chapel pews–”
“What friends and family?” Jack breathes the words with a laugh attached, but Dave huffs, pressing his face into Jack’s stomach. Jack can feel his face scrunch through his sweat-thin shirt. He frowns, scratching behind Dave’s ear. “I mean, we could invite Matt, I guess, but–”
“Forget it,” Dave shifts up, presumably to slip off the bed. Jack’s eyebrows furrow, and his hand slips down to Dave’s shoulder, the other holding his weight as he sits up. The pressure isn’t a lot–Dave’s stronger than him, he could easily leave if he wanted–but he stays, knelt there on the edge of the bed.
“Hey, I didn’t mean… I wasn’t trying to be an ass.” Dave’s cheek caves in, presumably chewing on it. Jack leans up further for a better view of Dave’s face, shaded by the strands of thin hair that slip from his bun. “Talk to me, man.”
“I thought it’d be nice,” Dave murmurs. “I know it’s cheesy. We’d never be able to rent out a chapel.”
“Well, you don’t know that.”
Dave stares pointedly at the bridge of Jack’s nose, sending it a look. He gestures at the motel room they melt in. Wallpaper peeling in the heat, curtains with a sticky brown staining the bottom.
“We could sell all the jewelry you steal for me–”
“No!” Dave jerks his head up, then, hands moving to sandwich Jack’s free one. “No, we don’t have to, I–”
Indigo dusts his cheeks and nose, then. The hand on the top of Jack’s hand moves down to fidget with one of the rings dotting his fingers. Jack lets it. It’s an older one, iron with a dark coloration on the inside, a residue of sweat and dirt.
“I like giving you nice shit. I wanna…” Dave huffs. “I wanna spoil you, sportsy. I wanna spoil you rotten. I wanna give you the best gold that Vegas has to offer. I want everyone's eyes to hurt when they look at you, everyone's except mine.”
Jack’s own face heats, a bit. Dave’s chewing on his bottom lip, roughly running his top teeth back-and-fourth along it. Jack leans up and presses their foreheads together, before pecking the corner of Dave’s mouth.
“I’ll happily go along with that. I keep all your gifts, man.”
“I know,” Dave murmurs, leaning into Jack. Their legs fold onto each others, Dave fiddling with the rings on Jack’s hand, the other rubbing circles into Dave’s knee.
“Do you think anywhere will hire a pair of zombies?”
“No, sportsy, you don’t–” Dave frowns, eyes lidding in the way they do when he’s trying to match the words bouncing in his vision up just right. “We don’t have to do the wedding. Another wedding. We’re already married, legally.”
“I said that. You got upset.”
“Yeah, cause– I… I like talking about that stuff. Imagining it.” Dave’s fidgeting moves to Jack’s fingers themselves, gently sliding the pads of his own along the sides and moving them around each other. “What it’d be like if we were normal people. If we met before… Iunno, if we met before Henry died, I guess. Things were better then. You’d like him, if you’d gotten to meet him.”
I didn’t, Jack wants to say. I met him and I didn’t like him.
“If things were normal,” he breathes instead.
“I see your scars, sportsy,” Jack knows he does. He stopped bothering with makeup by the time they left Bakersfield. “And I don’t… I don’t know who you’ve been. I don’t know your past. But I know the person you are now. I know you. And I think, that if the you I know and–” Dave snaps his jaw shut, exhaling. “If the you I know was once the you from the past, then, we could’ve been a pair, before.”
Dave looks up, suddenly, then, eyes desperate, sketched at the bottom. “Am I making any sense?”
Jack takes his hand from Dave’s knee and slides it along his cheek. His thumb glides over the sketch dragging his eyes hollow. The motel is hot, his skin is sticky with residual sweat, hair clumped in thick sections, but– he’s warm, distinctly. His chest is tight with emotion, throat clogged.
“I would’ve loved to know you, Dave.” Dave’s eyes widen, briefly, before creasing, something wet dancing along the edges. “I… They would’ve loved you. My family.”
The lie feels bitter in the back of his throat, like vomit, or blood. Dave’s smile makes him swallow it down.
“God, sportsy,” Daves breath is hot against his face, lips inches from the tip of his nose. “We would’ve gotten an apartment, together. Somewhere a drive away from Vegas. We’d spitroast hookers every fuckin’ night.”
“Maybe not every night,” Jack laughs.
“Every. Night.”
Dave smirks, pressing a kiss to Jacks nose. Jacks eyes slip shut.
“I don't know. I’d like to just be together, some nights.”
He can feel the way Dave’s face burns hotter, if that were somehow possible. Every part of Jack burns, his heat intermixing with Dave’s. His chest, his stomach and face. He’s melting. Dave’s cupping his face with large hands that could snap his neck with a single pull, but instead push his hair back and kiss him everywhere except his lips.
“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Dave,” Jack grunts as Dave pushes him down, so his upper back is lent against the pillows. Dave’s eyes glint with something soft as he kisses the bottom of Jack’s jaw, down to the base of his neck, before flopping down, weight solid above Jack.
“Hey, Jack,” Dave groans into Jack’s chest, “No homo, right?”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Jack cackles, shoving Dave’s head without merit. “I fuckin’- I love you, man. No homo, all homo, whatever you want.”
Dave doesn’t say anything, but his arms wrap around Jack’s torso and pull them impossibly closer to each other. Their legs interlock, all skin and boxers and sweat. Jack silently goes back to scratching Dave’s scalp.
He closes his eyes before he can imagine Fredbear’s disappointment.