Work Text:
The air in John’s room was thick with the frantic clicking of controllers and the low hum of a desktop fan that was doing very little to cool them down. They were hunched over on the edge of the bed, shoulders bumping, as they navigated a particularly chaotic co-op level.
EB: oh man! oh jeez!
TG: john watch the—
EB: i'm watching it! i'm watching—
EB: ...
EB: i died.
Dave let out a long, theatrical sigh, finally setting his controller down on his knee. He turned his head to look at John, who was now pouting at the ceiling, his glasses slightly lopsided and his dark hair a bird's nest of messy tangles.
TG: truly a breathtaking performance
TG: i havent seen a fumble that legendary since the last time you tried to cook literally anything
EB: hey! it’s not my fault!
EB: the physics in this game are out to get me personally.
EB: it’s a conspiracy, dave. a targeted attack on my gamer honor.
TG: your gamer honor is a myth perpetuated by big ghost and goblin to sell more death screens
TG: you just got played by the system man you’re a victim of the digital machine
The room went quiet for a beat, the only sound being the looping title music from the TV. John looked so relaxed—so genuinely there—that Dave felt that familiar, heavy warmth settle in his chest. It was the kind of feeling that usually made him want to hide behind a wall of irony, but tonight, the vibes were too soft for armor.
TG: hey
John rolled his head to the side to look at him.
EB: yeah?
Instead of a witty comeback or a jab about John’s platforming skills, Dave leaned in. It wasn't fast or flashy; it was slow enough for John to blink in surprise before Dave’s lips pressed firmly against the apple of his cheek.
It was a soft, lingering press of heat that smelled faintly of apple juice and cool evening air. When Dave pulled back, he didn't immediately look away. He just hovered there, his shades pushed up onto his forehead for once, letting John see the slight, genuine flush creeping up his neck.
John’s entire face turned a shade of pink that rivaled a sunset. He let out a tiny squeak, his hand flying up to touch the spot Dave had just kissed.
EB: whoa.
EB: was that... was that a reward for being terrible at the game?
Dave shrugged, regaining a tiny bit of his composure, though he didn't move away.
TG: consider it a consolation prize
TG: it’s a rare limited edition participation trophy for the chronically unskilled
TG: dont let it go to your head dork
EB: too late!
EB: i think i’m gonna need a lot more consolation if we keep playing.
Dave huffed a laugh, bumping his shoulder against John’s.
TG: shut up
TG: pick up your controller