Chapter Text
Dave’s never really been one to announce his presence. It makes him laugh when he silently walks up behind someone and they jump when he speaks, he gets a real kick out of it. Quiet movement is what he would consider one of his specialties.
Especially if the aforementioned quiet movement is through Old Sport’s vents.
He’s currently crawling through said vents, making sure his shuffling is almost dead quiet.
He hears a noise to his right, and crawls to that side of the vent. It’s precarious, since he knows this is close to the bathroom, and every little noise echoes through that whole room.
He looks through the slats of the vent and into the bathroom, almost blowing his cover with a gasp.
Sportsy’s in what seems to be the middle of a shower. He’s got the lights dimmed, just enough to be able to see, and is currently washing his hair. Dave doesn’t dare let his eyes dip below his hips, knowing he’s already invading his favorite person’s privacy. How could he look him in the eyes after that?
Oh, but he wants to. He wants to look. Wants to know every inch of Sportsy’s body, wants to..
His thoughts are quickly dismissed. Old Sport moves, leans against the shower wall, and reaches between his legs.
Dave averts his eyes, staring at the man’s face instead.
What is he doing?
He’s probably just cleaning himself up.
The look that crosses his face leads Dave to believe otherwise, though.
Flushed cheeks, either from the heat of the shower or from what he’s doing, furrowed brows, clenched jaw, Dave could go on.
He’s evidently pleasuring himself.
Dave almost moves to scoot away from him, out of this vent, out of this situation, but he can’t bring himself to.
He just watches as the orange-haired man pants, open-mouthed, arm moving faster than Dave’s ever seen it go. Dave won’t lie and say this isn’t doing him any favors either. He feels his pants tighten, but can’t really do anything about it in this position.
And just when he thought the whole scene couldn’t get any better, Old Sport starts making noises. Ranging from little broken moans, to big heaving pants, like he’s struggling to get air around the steam clouding the bathroom.
Dave could swear he hears his name being called.
Maybe it’s just the heat getting to him.
“Dave… fuck..” Sportsy whimpers.
Maybe not.
He legitimately debates announcing his presence.
No, he can’t do that.
That would really fuck up Old Sport’s trust in him. Possibly forever.
He can’t face that kind of consequence.
Jail? Sure. If it was for Sportsy. But not loss of trust.
He blinks himself out of the daze he’s in, and remembers where he is.
Sportsy’s vent. Watching him shower.
And there is nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Please, please, I’m almost there….” Jack cries, voice high and whiny with pleasure. He’s got one arm on the shower wall, forearm braced against the tile to hold himself up. His head presses against the other side of his arm, and the other one… it’s busy.
Dave’s flattered, if he’s completely honest. Jack really feels this strongly about him?
Maybe he won’t mind if he wakes up with Dave next to him tomorrow…
No, that’s not a good idea. He’d never be able to get back in here.
Well.. he would, but he wouldn’t be welcome.
Is he welcome now?
Jack sinks to his knees in the shower, arm sliding down the wall with him, and furiously strokes himself now, evidently very close to coming.
Dave won’t lie, he’s close to doing the same thing here in the vents.
He can’t, though. Not in this position. That, and it would also reek.
He gets lost in thought for a moment, trying to work his way around both of the downsides.
Jack tips his head back into the shower stream, washing the fresh sweat off his face. His breathing is a little more even now, and he seems more composed.
The realization hits Dave a second too late.
He fucking missed it. Old Sport came, and he wasn’t paying attention.
He’ll never know if Jack said his name, or, or looked towards the vent, [why would he?] or how he looked when he finally climaxed.
Dave could punch something.
He’s fuming.
[my god, I fuckin’ missed it!]
Jack turns around in the shower, and stands, cleaning himself up. Dave sees him look a little regretful, for a moment, and then mutters something to himself. Dave doesn’t quite catch it.
He turns off the shower, and wraps himself in an orange towel.
Dave has to suppress a laugh. Is everything he owns orange?
He has another towel, for his hair, but this one is stained orange instead of made orange.
[probably from his hair dye.]
Jack gets dressed quickly, throwing on boxers and a bathrobe. The boxers are white, Dave notes. The robe is brown. He walks to his bedroom, and just out of Dave’s sight.
Dave begins to crawl through the vents again, making his way to his beloved Sportsy’s room.
He wishes he could crawl there faster, but it would be too loud.
He watches Jack sleep now, chest rising and falling gently under his blanket. He’s on his back, with a sleepy little grin on his face.
[I could watch this fucker sleep for hours.]
Dave props his head up on his hands, kicking his legs back and forth despite being in one of the most cramped vents in the house.
He would know. He’s been in all of them.
[I mean.. Jack is asleep.. I could probably get out of the vent now…]
He thinks, and then overthinks it. Could he really get away with that again?
Well, he’s done it five times now.
And each he’ll remember dearly.
The first, by far the scariest, he’d been too scared to actually stray more than a foot from the vent. He’d just watched quietly. Jack had twitched too much to reassure Dave that he wouldn’t wake up.
The second, he’d been confident enough to sit by the bed, chin gently resting on it.
The third, he’d actually managed to brush a lock of hair out of Jack’s face without waking the sleeping orange man.
The fourth, he’d somehow been able to hold his hand, limp with sleep and exhaustion. He’d cherished every second, feeling Jack’s fingers twitch every so often as he dreamt.
The fifth.. well, that was tonight. And as of now, he’s dragging himself out of the vent to sit by Jack’s bed again. Jack’s dreaming, evidently, judging by the rapid movement of his eyes and the subtle twitches of some of his smaller muscles. The pinky was the most noticeable, almost having a little rhythm. Dave watched it, mesmerized. His knee also moved occasionally, flexing at an odd angle.
And then Jack decided to roll over.
Dave nearly shits himself in terror, broken out of his little daydream. He couldn’t even tell you what it was about now, just that he needed to get under Jack’s bed in case he woke up.
Sitting under the twin bed, he caught his breath, and listened to the man above him.
…
…
No noise.
[is it safe to come out?]
…
…
[okay. Fuck it. #noregerts]
He crawls out from under the bed, and looks at Jack once more. He’s on his side now, face half mashed into his (yet again) orange pillow. The blankets have slipped down now though, and revealed something Dave hadn’t picked up on before.
He’s cuddling a purple pillow.
The same shade as Dave’s skin, for the most part. Dave holds his hand up to said pillow, and yep, it’s almost a perfect match.
And it’s soft. Jack nuzzles into it a little bit, in sleep. He wraps his arms around it tighter, and Dave swears his heart would either be melting or beating right out of his chest if he had one.
Well. If he had one he would’ve given it to Sportsy long ago.
He reaches out again, closer to Jack’s skin, specifically the skin of his hand, and brushes it. Just to test how deep of a sleep he’s in.
That’s all it is.
And when Jack doesn’t move, Dave carefully, gently puts his hand in his own. He can’t help but smile a little, looking down at Jack’s sleeping face. He’s so pretty when he’s not yelling at people.
People being Dave.
‘Dave, stop throwing Foxy off the stage!’
‘Dave, stop kicking BB!’
‘Dave, I swear to god, stop luring kids into the saferoom!’
Maybe he has a point with that last one..
Whatever.
Jack blows a sharp breath out of his nose, and furrows his eyebrows.
Dave cocks his head, wondering what he could be thinking about.
“Davey…” he whispers, almost incoherent but enough to scare Dave into thinking he might be awake. “Mm…”
[is he dreaming about me?]
“Dave-y.. s’gonna.. be okay. Jus’.. get some sleep..” he slurs, words barely comprehensible.
Dave’s already a little thrown for a loop, but when Jack moves to hold the pillow tighter, like a hug, and squeeze his hand at the same time, he’s almost on the verge of tears.
Yeah, maybe Jack yells at him. But if this doesn’t prove he really cares about him, then what will?
“He.. he was bad.. but.. doesn’ mean you are.” Jack says, murmuring reassurances into the pillow. “You’re good. Your’so good.”
[henry? Does he mean Henry?]
Dave bites his lip.
[is he having a dream about me, in a sad way?]
Jack nuzzles the pillow a bit more, before eventually drifting off completely. No more movement, save for the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, but Dave’s not forgetting what he said a moment ago.
He has to leave.
He has to.
Jack will hear him cry, and then he’ll wake up, and then it’ll all be over.
He can’t take that.
He gently moves his hand out of Jack’s, trying not to wake him.
Jack squeezes one last time, as if he knows Dave needed it.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Sportsy.” Dave whispers.
…
He crawls back out of the vents. He’s outside now, the cool night air a shock to his tear-dampened cheeks.
[how am I gonna face him at work tomorrow?]