Work Text:
It happened on a cozy afternoon— Jack was settled with his head on Davey’s shoulder scratching out a rough portrait of something unidentifiable whilst the taller boy read peacefully.
Jack was never a great reader— the words blurred together into a big mess, and they swirled around his head taunting him. It had taken almost two decades of his life to realise he had dyslexia, and that he wasn’t just being lazy. Sometimes he still felt stupid every time he saw Davey reading those huge novels easily, or knowing all those fancy words, and it took him right back to all the shame.
However, Davey had been helping him. That boy was just the sweetest, and Jack was just so damn lucky to have him as his best friend, and his roommate, at that.
Jack mentioned once that he needed background noise whilst working— his brain needed constant stimulation whilst he was working, but not a distraction. Watching a movie or show was useless— he would end up missing the storyline in his hyperfixated state, so it was pointless, and it was distracting anyway. Music was okay, but listening to music made him want to get up and move, and that wasn’t something he could do in their cramped whitewashed dorm room.
So, it came as a surprise when Davey offered to read to him one day. They started with the classics (at Davey’s insistence) and developed a routine. Every Monday after Davey’s Am Lit class and Jack’s studio hours, they would sit like this on Davey’s bed, Jack sketching or painting or whatever whilst Davey’s beautiful voice conjured stories and filled Jack’s head with pretty colors.
It was cute, honestly, the way Davey got so passionate. When they read Peter Pan, Davey was practically vibrating with theories, and Cinderella was, in Davey’s words, ‘a cautionary tale of neglect’ and inviting Jack to peek into the subtext of whatever adventure they went on together. So they laughed at Gatsby and Daisy’s pathetic reunion, winced at the grisly suicide of Rufus and his treatment of Leonora in Another Country, and sobbed at Beth’s death in Little Women. (Jack looked aside at the tears seeping out of Davey’s eyes; he was getting a little tearful himself, anyway.)
They were making their way through what Davey proudly called ‘The Classics’ now, dog/eared yellow paperbacks that sat under his bed like some people would keep jewellery or cash. Davey kept his books. They were special to him, and Jack felt special through association.
Jack wondered idly— when did the books start reminding him of his and Davey’s relationship? It seemed to him that every book was handpicked for that exact purpose, Anne and Gilbert and Maia and Finn looking on and laughing. Just kiss the boy already, Jack, why are you so goddamn stupid?
They were reading something different today: The Outsiders by S.E Hinton. Jack liked it, so far, and he couldn’t help himself from idly sketching the characters while he worked. Short, sad-eyed Johnny. Like a kicked puppy, the author said. Ponyboy, Sodapop and Darry Curtis. (He didn’t believe at first when Davey said their names.) He related to them, vaguely. What he was enjoying more than the book was the way Davey’s mouth was curled up in a little half-smile, clearly happy. It was one of his favourite books, he said.
Whatever makes Dave happy makes him happy, anyway. Soon enough Davey starts on the facts, adding little tidbits of knowledge for Jack like he was tossing treats to a dog. Jack was happy to be Davey’s dog, as long as he kept getting read to.
‘You know, the author of this was a teen when she wrote this. It was based off of her own experiences when she went to high school in Tulsa. Real gritty, right?’ And ‘It was adapted into a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio in it!’
It was cute, how he knew everything like this. His eyes glimmered, and he was just so happy here, sharing his favourite book with Jack. And of course, Jack had to ruin it.
They had just gotten past the train scene; Johnny letting Ponyboy sleep on his lap, both of them weary from the murder they had just committed. When they got to the church, they slept on eachother. It reminded him of the start of his friendship with Davey: two small, scared little boys finding comfort in one another. There was the problem, again; the two were awfully close. Not just him and Davey, but Johnny and Ponyboy too. It seemed a little.. well. It could be explained through a strong platonic relationship, but a bond like that.. Jack knew from his relationship that a bond like that…
‘This book is so gay, Davey.’ He mumbled, half asleep in the crook of the taller boy’s shoulder. Whoops. Did he say that out loud? Why in those choice of words? That was an inside thought, Jack.
Davey sputtered, messily dog-earing the book as he turned to fix those gorgeous blue eyes on Jack. And god, they were blazing. He must have struck a nerve.
‘Gay? Gay? Jack, it’s homoerotic subtext.’
‘Homo.. what?’
‘Homoerotic subtext. A lot of classics have them.’
‘What.. but wouldn’t they, ya know, get put away for writing shit like that?’
‘That’s why it’s in the subtext, Jack, god. In fact, many people quote The Outsiders as a notable example of nominally queer literature.’
‘Nominal… Davey, man, ya gotta translate.’
‘Oh right sorry. English major.’ He pointed to himself and ruffled a sheepish hand through his curls, and god, Jack was so in love.
‘Well obviously, you have your token queer literature. Giovanni’s Room, The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Maurice, and other early radical queer books like Annie On My Mind. Then, there’s books that are possibly implied to be queer. We don’t know- that’s what Tumblr’s for, I guess. But I know some people ship them together. Johnny and Ponyboy, at least.’
‘But, wouldn’t they get punished for that or something?’
‘I mean, yes, but although writing queer literature could have certainly gotten you in trouble, that doesn’t mean people didn’t write it.’
‘That makes sense, I guess.’
‘I mean, a lot of books have queer subtext, but I think it’s great when books are directly queer, or have multiple types of queer characters, rather than just a singular pairing.’
Jack opened his mouth to ask a question, but Dave interrupted him, looking slightly frazzled and very excited.
‘Well, anyway. It’s something I’m interested in— there are also many playwrights and authors and things that people know that have queer characters or implied queer subtext in their works. Like, William Shakespeare.’
Jack gasped. ‘No?? Not The Bard?’
He laughed, a beautiful sound. Like bells. Church bells. Windchimes. Shut the fuck up, Jack.
‘Yeah. He wasn’t the first, though. There were plenty of others before— it’s interesting, actually. There were several classical queer books written in Latin or Greek and used to teach younger boys classical languages in the days of Shakespeare— that’s likely where he was inspired. Metamorphoses, Vergil’s Eclogues, especially. The latter was one of the notable examples of pastoral queer literature, actually.’
‘So they were just.. teaching this?’
‘Yes, Jackie, they were. With warnings, of course. There’s been queer literature around since literature was invented— folks nowadays just boil it down to Heated Rivalry or more modern novels. But anyway, it’s fascinating. There were plays about it, several impacted by the Greek classical literature these playwrights grew up with. My favourite one is called.. Gallathea, I think.’
‘What happens in that one, then?’
‘Oh, it’s funny. Basically, there’s a big bad Lovecraftian Cthulhu-type thing, and it’s name is Agar, and it eats virgins.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yep. So, it’s Neptune’s monster, and there’s this village that has to sacrifice their fairest virginal girl to Agar every five years or it eats everyone.’
‘Where is this?’
‘Lincolnshire.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Oh yeah, it’s set in England. Just.. a random forest. For some reason they have a sea monster, don’t ask me where they keep it.’
‘Okay..’
‘But anyway, two families dress up their two girls as boys so they don’t have to be eaten.. as you do. Anyway, they wander around in the woods being manly.. and you’ll never guess what they do?’
‘Fall in love?’
‘Spot on, Jackie. Except, they don’t know the other one is a girl. But anyway, some other stuff happens, and they fall in love, and miraculously Cupid shows up and turns one of them into a man so they can get married.’
‘Oh my god.’
‘But yeah, that was the inspiration between Shakespeare’s As You Like It. And also his other plays. There’s been lesbians, sex jokes, gay lovers, gender switches..’
‘But, I thought Shakespeare was like.. traditional and shit? Wouldn’t people flip their shit if their delicate baby kids were reading queer literature?’
‘Of course, Jackie.’ Davey explained patiently. ‘That’s why they only teach the straight ones. Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, Much Ado About Nothing. Of course.. you could argue that Romeo and Juliet has queer subtext too… and we’re not even going to talk about the sonnets…’
‘Davey, you’ve lost me.’
———————————————————————
They sit there, reading and talking until the sun goes down and washes them in orange. Davey reads him the short Giovanni’s Room- sad, the ending. They talk about how (the other) David should have gotten therapy instead of leaving Giovanni, and how Jacques is a fucking creep, and the shock the book caused when it was published, and by a black author no less. They talk about how it would be perfect if instead of Sebastian and the Duchess and Violet and Orsino, the gays were put together instead, and how Orsino and Malvolio can get fucked. They talk about the queer subtext behind Romeo and Juliet, and how Mercutio and Benvolio were totally sleeping together. They even talk about later books, and Davey shares that the first time he read Annie On My Mind he cried, because it reminded him that there are people still struggling with their identity and being told it’s something wrong. They talk, and talk, and talk.
Davey talks, and Jack does too, but mostly he watches. Watches the way Davey smiles, eyes crinkling as he mentions how Elphaba and Glinda were originally meant to be lovers, and how Ishmael and Queequeg were just too good a pair of friends to not be fucking. He notices the way Davey has a few freckles on his face, and he longs to sweep his face back and kiss them. He notices all of that and more, and he aches.
Soon, he’s pushed right up against Davey, trying desperately not to stare at his lips, or his intelligent eyes, or his perfect nose, or anything that’ll cause him to lose control and just kiss this nerd already.
He’s a lost cause— it only takes Davey starting to unpick the relationship between Nick Carraway and Jay Gatsby, and how Nick was a horny fuck desperately in love with Gatsby. It only takes that, and Jack can’t control himself— he props himself up, and presses his lips to Davey’s.
he’s is surprised at first, letting out a muffled sound of surprise against Jack’s lips, but he kisses back, and Jack’s head is full of electricity. Fuck queer literature, this is better!
Davey’s lips are soft, and he kisses great, all gentle and giving.
They break apart, and Jack once again can’t control himself.
‘I love you, David Jacobs. God, I fucking don’t know why, but I do. Don’t you ever talk literature to me again unless you want to get in my pants.’
He giggles, and it’s sweet, and soft, and so very Davey.
‘Jesus Christ, Jack, you really can’t take a hint. I love you too, you berk. Anyway, I think you were offering something…?’
‘Take it back.’
‘Pardon?’
Jack sticks his tongue out. ‘Say I’m sexier than Gilbert Blythe, and I’ll give you whatever you want, gorgeous.’
‘Fucking greedy. Anyway, no-one’s sexier than Gilbert.’