Work Text:
ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]
EB: daaaaaaaaaaaaave.
TG: yo sup
TG: hankering for a piece of this hot man meat i see
TG: well maybe ill give you the time
TG: if youre cute that is
EB: dave quit fake-flirting for a sec and listen!
EB: i just realized something. i've known you for like four years but i still have no idea what you look like!
TG: im whatever you want me to be bby
EB: hehe, you're funny! it'd be nice to put a face behind that cool red text, though.
EB: i mean, how do i know you're not some creepy old man?
EB: dad told me those people exist all over the internet and that i should be careful.
TG: same to you egbert
TG: i mean what kind of person has a name like egbert, not a 16 year old thats for sure
EB: 15!!
EB: i turn 16 in two months, remember?
EB: you are a terrible friend, forgetting my birthday. internet friendship revoked.
EB: hehe kidding!
EB: no but what do you look like????
TG: why the sudden interest
EB: um...
EB: no reason. just curious!
TG: you dont want to know dude
TG: one eyeful of this glorious visage and your face will melt off
TG: like that nazi in indiana jones
TG: but if youre willing to resign yourself to this fate then fine on one condition
TG: you respond in turn with pix of your own
TG: wanna know who im dealing with here
EB: okay dave!
EB: ive got some pictures dad took of me on the camping trip last weekend, so perfect timing.
EB: buuuuuut you first!
TG: sure thing bro
TG: just a sec
turntechGodhead [TG] is now an idle chum!
> Just take the fucking photo already
You wish. Photography is an art. This guy is your best goddamn internet bro ever, so he's gonna get the best first impression you can give him. Expertly-crafted lighting, maybe photoshop that sucker up a little. Perfection.
...No, fuck it, you're just gonna take a picture of yourself in your bathroom mirror and upload it unedited. Because that's ironic, right? Maybe hold a sticky note that reads "hi john" in your mouth for added irony.
It's easy.
Why are your hands shaking so much.
The truth is: you pretty much knew that this would happen one day, and it's time you confront the fact that you have a stupid crush on your best friend and you don't even know what he looks like. Part of you hopes that he turns out to be some fatass basement-dweller lying about his age or something so you can put your mind at ease.
You don't know what you would do if he wasn't.
turntechGodhead [TG] sent image hereyougoegbert.jpg
TG: there
TG: here i am prostrated before you like a fucking 4chan camwhore
TG: hope youre happy
EB: hmmm...
EB: oh! you're wearing the shades i sent you!
TG: yeah didnt i tell you
TG: those shades are part of me now
TG: their meaning has been divorced from anything related to ben stiller and has transcended the levels of irony to become awesome
TG: shit never leaves my face
EB: too bad i can't see your eyes though!
EB: rose always says you're super protective about your eye color for some reason.
EB: anyway here!
ectoBiologist [EB] sent image 0208_12.jpg
TG: aight
TG: time to get my ogle on
> Get your ogle on
It's not...
...bad.
The first thing you notice is the buckteeth, covered by braces. You remember him complaining about frequent painful trips to the orthodontist. The rest of the details fall into place, hints from previous conversations forming a mental image: the messy black hair, the pale and easily sunburned skin, the decidedly unironic square glasses.
The blue eyes.
He's standing on the shore of some lake, surrounded by breathtaking mountain scenery that you're not paying any attention to. He's got a backpack on-- is he a boy scout? You forget. A plume of smoke to the side of the image indicates that his dad is the photographer, which makes you feel kind of guilty and you don't know why.
You realize, to your deepest horror, that he's actually cute. The thought does funny things to the pit of your stomach.
EB: dave?
EB: hellooooo, dave?
EB: did the pic send? i can send it again if it didn't.
TG: nah it sent
TG: just taking a moment to bask in the rays of glorious derp
EB: aw geez, sorry it's such a bad photo, there are like no good pictures of me seriously.
TG: nah man it's a good picture
TG: its just your face i guess
TG: its really special
EB: gee, thanks. :/
EB: as long as we're trading insults, you're not so hot yourself!
EB: are those freckles?
TG: of course im not hot im cool
TG: so cool
TG: and yes no shit sherlock those are freckles
TG: happens in texas sometimes, with the sun and all
EB: they're funny!
TG: your face is funny
EB: fine then dave! you asked for it!
ectoBiologist [EB] sent image 0208_6.jpg
TG: wait how is me saying your face is funny asking for more pictures of you
EB: because, you said my face is funny!
EB: and also because shut up.
TG: i cant wait to see what lies behind this opaquely numbered file
> Inspect closely
It is, in fact, another picture of John fucking Egbert. What did you expect? He's climbing up some sort of rock here, and he must have lost the backpack or left it somewhere because he isn't wearing it in this one. He's looking over his shoulder at the camera, an expression of surprise on his face.
His ass is in plain sight. Like, front and fucking center. Goddamnit, he's gotta be doing this on purpose.
TG: i can barely see your face here
TG: what is this some sort of a joke
EB: dad snuck up on me for that one!
EB: he was all "hey john, look!" and when i turned to look, bam! suddenly cameras.
TG: a sob story
TG: i think im tearing up a bit, gonna ruin my keyboard
TG: im just so struck by your beauty egbert
EB: i thought you said i was funny looking!
TG: yeah but its a funny look after my own heart
TG: the kind of funny look that youd paint on the ceiling of the sistine chapel
TG: that kind of funny look
EB: what? i'm so confused, dave.
EB: i mean, your metaphors are usually confusing, but this one's especially weird!
TG: im just overcome with emotion ok
TG: but i cant show it on my face so the only way i can convey it is by increasingly convoluted similies
TG: anyway brb gonna take some more pix
TG: hot pix
EB: MORE photos of yourself, dave?
TG: yeah well you sent me one more didnt you
TG: gotta even up the score
EB: hahaha ok!
EB: i'll be waiting!
EB: don't take so long this time, ok?
TG: no promises
> Consider your options.
You seem to recall there being programs online that would automatically photoshop any picture nakedwait why the hell are you thinking about that. That's not even ironic. That's just fucking sad.
You contemplate the message that you want to send with this picture. Is there any way you can subconsciously convince him to send you more pictures of himself, each more suggestive than the one before? Maybe if you do, he'll follow your lead. Maybe that's a terrible idea and he'll block you and never speak to you again. Friendship terminated.
You hold the camera up above your head and look upwards.
turntechGodhead [TG] sent image idontknowhowthisturnedout.jpg
TG: i dont know how this turned out
EB: yeah, i figured.
TG: didnt even put it through a lick of photoshopping
TG: all for you egbert
TG: express delivery choo choo
EB: it's really blurry...
TG: shit
TG: youre right it is
TG: trial 2, dont get your panties in a twist ok
> Ok there's such a thing as caring too little
Yeah, you really should have thought of that.
This time you're not going to try the myspace angle thing again. That was an experiment, productive in that it proved what you already knew: that it's a terrible way to take a picture.
You're determined now, though. You have a mission, a battle plan. You're pulling out all the stops, rounding all of the bases, the ball is in your court and you're sinking this hole in one.
You take the camera to the bathroom again.
turntechGodhead [TG] sent image duckface.jpg
TG: well tell me egbert
TG: am i a sexy girl
EB: oh yes very sexy!
EB: i can see the sexiness on you! alllll over you!
TG: ok then
TG: pay up
EB: what for?
TG: youre down three to two its your turn
TG: pics or gtfo
EB: ugh but dave, i don't have any pics left of me from the camping trip!
EB: no good ones at least.
TG: well then
TG: you got a camera dont you
EB: yeah, but i don't know where it is exactly! i'd have to ask my dad.
TG: well do so
TG: im waiting
EB: what if i don't?
TG: trust me
TG: you dont want to know what would happen
TG: youd have to repress the memory so deep in your psyche that not even roses psychoanalytic drill can excavate it
EB: ...fine!
EB: you asked for it, dave!
ectoBiologist [EB] is inviting you to video chat!
TG: shit
TG: really
EB: yeah! you have a webcam don't you?
TG: i just
TG: im not sure this is the best idea
ectoBiologist [EB] has canceled the invitation to video chat!
EB: what? why?
EB: you were just now begging for it!
EB: and this is like... an infinite number of pictures!
TG: i just dont think im ready for that yet
TG: sorry egbert gotta put that shit on hold
TG: flip it to the back burner
EB: okay, geeeeez.
EB: later, though?
TG: i think i could manage that
EB: all right!
TG: listen egderp i gotta go
TG: its nothing personal but really i have all this shit to do and bros gonna kick my ass if i dont
TG: stay cool
EB: sure!
turntechGodhead [TG] is now offline!
> Oh god that was close.
You push your wheeled chair away from your computer and frantically unbutton your now tight and uncomfortable pants, all the while thinking I am not about to jerk off to my best friend wait shit yet I am. You're not sure what has you more worked up: the fact that you're finally acknowledging to yourself that those feelings you have are real, the fact that he willingly sent you pictures of himself and is totally ready to send you more, or the fact that he's fucking cute.
You scoot closer to the computer again and call up the second image, the one of him rock-climbing, then you close your eyes and suddenly it's him in your mind, his hand holding you and stroking, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Usually, you're one to draw it out, but this time you just get it over with. You don't make much noise other than a soft groan and a cuss or two. Living with Bro has made you into a motherfucking masturbatory ninja.
You grab a tissue, cleaning up what you can, and locate a new shirt. What you told John wasn't a total lie: you do have some chores and shit to do. All the better to take your mind off things (i.e. him) for a little while.
Then you'll see about this webcam business.
> Be the other guy
You are now John Egbert.
You're sitting outside with your dad's camera, taking pictures of your feet. You don't know why, really. No, correction: you do know why. You're not ready to admit that Dave's the reason behind your sudden interest in photography. No, he may have given you the idea, but this was something you've been meaning to do for a long time, you swear!
You crouch down in the dewy grass and get up close and personal with a dandelion, until your allergies start acting up and you have to run indoors for some Benadryl.
You're feeling better than you have in days, hay fever notwithstanding. Something's telling you to get out and about and to express yourself and to live life because everything is awesome and you don't think this could possibly be related to finding out what Dave looks like, no siree! This sunny mood is simply a seasonal thing. A hormonal thing. The normal kind of hormones, that is! Not the weird-acting hormones, not that you aren't acting weird right now. Um.
This thing about Dave, whatever it was that filled you with the desire to see the so-called coolkid for real. There was something incomparably intimate in sharing photos. You might pour your hearts out to each other (well, that was more of your thing while he just sits and listens), you might be the broest internet bros ever to bro, but the concept of him as a real person with a face is entirely new. And with it comes some funny ideas. Suddenly, even though he's half a country away, the thought of seeing him in person—actually, physically seeing him—is in the forefront of your mind.
Failing that, you think a video chat would be super cool. You don't really get why he freaked out though. Maybe he's not actually as cool in person? No, no, that can't be it. He was probably sitting around in his boxers or something. Yeah, that sounds like something Dave would do. Maybe he wasn't even wearing pants at all—
Your train of thought comes to a screeching, homosexual halt. You shake your head as if were an etch-a-sketch. Why would you care if he was naked? I mean, besides the obvious John-Egbert-is-not-a-homosexual-even-if-his-friend-is-super-cool-and-wearing-those-shades-you-got-him.
> Stop thinking about Dave naked
You try! You give it a good, honest effort, but it's one of those thoughts that worms its way into your subconscious and builds a nest there and raises its little baby thoughts. One of those baby thoughts is that Dave looks a little bit like Nic Cage except not even remotely. Another thought is that, for all your mutual teasing, you're pretty sure that Dave isn't gay. Or, well, even if he was, how would you tell? You're not the expert on homosexuality. You should ask Rose, only Rose would see right to the heart of the issue and you'd never ever ever live it down.
You sit down in front of your computer and connect the camera, downloading another 50 pictures on top of the 75 or so that you'd already taken earlier. You think you could really get into this photography thing! Maybe you could take a photography class in school. Did they offer those? Dave would probably think it was cool if you told him. Or maybe he'd just call you a simpleton for thinking that school could teach you anything about art. Dave can be pretty pretentious sometimes, you think! But that's okay, because it's Dave and because it's all a part of the irony thing.
You ponder not signing into Pesterchum, at least until you've got what you've started to refer to as "the dave problem" sorted out in your head. Your internal voices are at war, though. Brain-Rose is spouting tons of pseudoscientific, psychoanalytical bullshit using long words like "repression" and "latency;" Brain-Jade is squealing like a fangirl at the idea of you two getting together like two characters in her yaoi mangas.
Brain-Dave just tells you to man the fuck up and sign on to Pesterchum. So you do.
He's online already, as usual. Normally, you would message him without hesitation, but in light of recent events, you feel kind of strange. Your stomach turns over as you move your mouse towards his name, and you hesitate.
Well, this could be kind of awkward.
You're going to need some space to rethink things a little, maybe. Just... give it time. If you can stop thinking about it, maybe it'll just go away—
TG: sup
Oh shit.
TG: hellooooo
TG: earth to egbertia come in egbertia
TG: am i gonna have to like
TG: call your phone
TG: because you gave me your phone number once, dont make me use it
TG: this is a dangerous weapon i have in my hands
TG: could post it on the internet and say its the phone sex hotline
TG: what about that eh john
TG: i know youre there cmon
EB: i'm here...
TG: oh good
TG: see i was starting to get worried
TG: i mean who the fuck signs in to pesterchum but then pretends not to get my messages
TG: fucking uncouth
EB: sorry dave!
EB: you... seem really worked up about it!
EB: haha.
TG: what have you been doing for the past day
TG: something terrifically interesting i expect
EB: umm...
ectoBiologist [EB] sent file 0216_39.jpg
TG: john i cant even tell what im looking at here in this fleshy expanse here
EB: it's my elbow!
TG: right
TG: i guess i can sort of tell if i squint
TG: enlighten me, what is the deep meaning behind this
TG: obviously youre trying to tell me something here
TG: is your elbow indicative of the burning lust you feel for me
ectoBiologist [EB] sent file 0216_63.jpg
TG: wait you didnt even answer my question
TG: anyway what is this
TG: looks like you scribbled on a carton of milk
EB: it's malk! hehe.
TG: i hate to tell you this but neither of these photos will count in our war
TG: i mean this isnt even a picture of you
TG: if you want to counterattack youre gonna have to break out the big guns
TG: because my guys are wearing bulletproof vests
TG: light artillery aint gonna slow em down
EB: well i think it's time you showed me something of you!
TG: what did i just say egbert
TG: but fine if you insist
TG: id be up for that video chat now
EB: oh.
EB: um... do you think that could wait, dave?
TG: nope theres pretty much no way were not doing this right now
TG: what happened to your enthusiasm egbert
EB: i, um...
EB: fine. but don't blame me for being totally awkward!
TG: just relax bro youll do fine
turntechGodhead [TG] is inviting you to video chat!
> John: Say yes already.
His timing could not be worse but you click "accept."
After a few moments of "initializing," the video goes live. Dave strider is looking back at you, in the actual flesh, and even though he's half a country away you feel like you could reach out and touch him and stroke that soft-looking hair and lift those shiny black sunglasses off of his face and--
"Egbert? You can hear me, right?" he says, and oh he has a southern accent. You should have expected that but it still catches you off-guard. You didn't even think you liked southern accents but maybe, oh, maybe that could change.
"Y-yeah," you say, voice shaky as all get-out. You're terrified that it will crack or sound incredibly stupid or something.
"Oh. Well, that's good at least," he says, and then he hesitates. You realize after a second that he is actually tongue-tied, that all the rapidfire coolness doesn't translate to real life, and that Dave seems just as shy about this as you. You can't quite tell but you think he's looking away from the camera, not wanting to make eye contact.
An awkward silence prevails. Finally, he breaks it.
"Sooo..." he drawls, "now what?"
"I was, uh. Was wondering the same thing, actually." You never get tired of talking with him over text but now that you're suddenly face-to-face you have nothing to say.
"We could start with, like... the weather. How's the weather."
"The weather? Uh, it's nice," you say. "I was outside, um, earlier. Taking pictures. But there's lots of pollen so I can't stay out very long. Um, what about where you are?"
"Hot." He replies almost immediately. "So hot, Egbert, it's unreal the heat this day has got." Wait, did he just reference his own comic? As smooth as it sounds over text, it doesn't have the same ring to it in real life. Kind of dorky-sounding, actually, only you amend that in your head because Dave Strider isn't dorky, he's anything but. You're the dork. You thought you had that established.
You chuckle a little. "Yeah, 'fuck, I'm falling down all this hotness.'"
"What?"
"Um, it was a reference? To your comic?" You belatedly realize that what you said was more than a little suggestive. You mentally facepalm before realizing that you actually, physically did just facepalm.
"You okay over there?" Hearing Dave voice concern is weird, you decide, but at the same time, it's strangely thought shoved into a pit of burning fire.
"Y-yeah, it's just, I don't know. I had a thought, that's all." Stupid stupid stupid STUPID. You kick your own ankle under the desk until it hurts and you stop.
"Oh well geez, now you have to tell. Can't go about repressin' that shit. C'mon, Egbert, spill." This is more like the Dave that you know.
"Do I have to? It's kinda personal," you whine.
"Since when has that stopped you before?" He's got a point. Your internet friends know more about you than anyone else, including your own dad.
"Um. Well, uh. Okay. I was just kind of like, upset because when I said 'hotness' I didn't realize it would be so awkward until after I said it and it probably sounded like I was flirting with you which was totally not my intention, I swear, not that I meant to flirt with you because I'm terrible at that sort of thing and it would just be super embarrassing even if I wanted to after I realized that I kind of did. Um." That came out a little faster than you intended.
Dave looks completely surprised. You're not sure you will ever get used to seeing him emote. An awkward silence presides.
"Well," he says finally. "Wasn't expecting that."
"Expecting wha-at?" you ask, and oh shit your voice just cracked. Too late, your hands fly to cover your mouth.
"This whole... feelings jam. Am I right, Egbert? Feelings?" He raises one eyebrow. You wish you could do that.
"Uh..." you bite your bottom lip."Kinda. Yeah."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain photo exchange that happened yesterday?"
You shift nervously in your seat. "...Please don't be mad at me."
"Why the fuck would I get mad? Especially since I was kinda," he hesitates, "thinking the same thing. John."
You feel like you just swallowed a bowling ball. You try to say something in reply, but all you can do is mutter incoherently. Dave takes advantage of your stunned silence to interject.
"Egbert. I want to see more of you." Something about his voice does weird things to your head. "Would you... be up for that? I totally get if you're not, bro, but if you are, let's... do this. Let's make this happen."
You study him on your computer screen, all blonde and lean and you can just barely see the hint of his eyes behind those glasses. His shirt is tight against his body. What are these thoughts.
You avert your gaze from the computer screen and, barely perceptibly, you nod. Dave smirks, gestures for you to hold on, then gets up and crosses his room to close his door and lock it.
Holy cow.
Dave settles back down in his chair and appraises you, smiling. After a moment you realize that you should probably parent-proof your room too, because even though your Dad's away at work you can never be too careful. You lock your door and, after a thought, close your blinds. The room darkens.
"Okay, dude. If... if anything I ask you to do makes you, like, uncomfortable or anything, just... say so and you don't have to do it. Okay? You ready?"
"Ready," you rasp with your suddenly parched-as-the-Sahara throat. Your palms are sweating and you wipe them underneath your chair.
"Can you," he starts, "take off your glasses for me."
"But then I won't be able to see!"
"Just humor me for a second here."
You reach up and gently lift your glasses off of your face with shaky hands. The world goes blurry. After a few seconds, you hear his voice tell you "okay, you can put them back on now."
You blink as your eyes readjust. "What was that all about?"
"Just wondering how you would look with contacts," he says. "I decided that you're cuter with the dorky square frames, though."
It's the first time he's actually called you cute, and holy shit you did not know you wanted to hear that as much as you did. "Does this mean I can see what you look like without your glasses, too?" you ask.
"Hah. No. Not yet, anyway. Maybe if you're good." That voice again. "Now. Let's see what's going on under that shirt. C'mon."
"Uh, Dave, I don't know, I don't really think I'm actually. Um. All that, you know." You gesture vaguely towards him. "...Attractive."
"I know I told you you could say no to anything, but geez, Egbert, now ain't the time for a self-esteem crisis. Let's say goodbye to mister slimer over there." You swallow nervously, but then seize hold of the bottom of your tee shirt and lift it up over your head.
You look back at Dave. He's studying you and smiling and you think he might have just licked his lips a little? Such a tiny thing has no right being as sexy as it is.
"Damn, John. The hell did you think you were hiding?"
"It's just, I'm not," you struggle for words, "...toned. I guess. Dad feeds me all this cake and I'm not, like, that into working out or anything, so..." you're babbling, and you know it.
"What if I told you," Dave says, "that not everybody has to be chiseled from marble in order to look sexy? That some guys actually prefer, say, less-defined muscles. For fuck's sake, John, you're not even pudgy." He licks his lips again. "Now turn around. I want to see all sides of you."
You look over your shoulder to watch the screen as you rotate your body obediently. You wish you could see more of his eyes to know where he was looking. He says something, but you don't think it's a word-- something like "mmmmm," maybe. You return to your regular seated position.
"Are you gonna take off your shirt?" you venture.
"Depends, Egbert. What's the magic word?"
"Please," you say, perhaps a bit more forceful than necessary.
"Well, since you asked so nicely," he says, fingers sliding underneath the hem of his long-sleeved tee. "You watching closely? Better be taking notes on this shit, Egbert, there'll be a test on this later." He slowly, s l o w l y brings it up over his lean stomach, built up through hours and hours of rooftop swordfights and whatever other physical trials his Bro put him through. He manages to get it over his head without disturbing his sunglasses (too bad), and slides the narrow sleeves off of his arms. Somehow, those arms are the most interesting and you can't stop looking at them-- the almost effeminate taper to the wrist, the powerful biceps that shift every time he moves.
Dave notices your wide-eyed stare, because he asks, "like what you see?"
You try to say something, realize that your mouth is filled with saliva, swallow, and try again. "Guh. Yes. Yes, I re-ally do." Your voice cracks again but you barely even notice.
"Good. Now keep thinking those thoughts," he says, "and take off your pants."
You jolt and sputter in surprise. "Wha-- you mean it? My... the whole thing?"
"No, John, only half of your pants. Yes the whole thing. You can leave your boxers or whatever on underneath, if you want." You're still hesitant. It's broad daylight, after all, and you're not used to being entirely naked in front of your computer even when you normally jerk off. The vulnerability of it is simultaneously both unnerving and arousing.
"Hey, John, I'll tell you what," Dave says, sensing your insecurity. "What about you hook your thumbs into those belt loops over there and close your eyes and listen. Pretend... pretend it's me, that I'm over there with you, because that's exactly what I'd be doing. I'd be gently easing those pants off your hips— fuck, yes, that's it— and down around your knees. Sliding them off of your legs. Open your eyes now, Egbert." You do so, and shiver. It's not exactly cold, but you are almost naked after all. Your very prominent erection is visible in your spade-print boxers.
"How do you do that?" you almost whisper. "That thing, with your voice?"
"That? Pff. Bro runs a porn website, you know." He smiles quietly. "I guess you could say it's a family trade." He tilts his head, and you're pretty sure you know what he's looking at.
"Um, Dave, can I, um," you blush and glance at the bulge in your pants, biting your bottom lip.
"Wait a minute. I wanna try something first. Close your eyes again." You do so obediently. "All right. Just, hang on a sec. God. You're... beautiful, Egbert. That's probably the least ironic thing I've ever said, but I literally c-can't take my eyes off you. God, I just... fffuck. Okay." You hear him breathing more rapidly, and while your eyes remain closed, you think you have an idea of what he's doing.
"Okay. So I'm there, at your house. I'd just be... kissing you all over, fuck, I just wanna touch every inch of you, and oh, good call there, John," he tells you as you automatically rub one hand over your chest, brushing a nipple. You moan, a little higher-pitched than what you think is cool, but he responds with appreciative sounds of his own so you guess it's okay.
"All right. We're— fuck— migrating south for the winter. Let'ssss gettothepoint. I want you to— ah— to reach into those boxers. Pretend it's me, okay, it's my hand grabbing you and gently— ohh—" You're tired of waiting, so you free yourself from the confines of the fabric and use one hand to stroke yourself, not bothering to be gentle or slow about it. The thought of being watched, being heard is somehow more sexy than any porn you've ever seen. You don't hold back your moans.
Dave's talking fades, replaced with strings of nonsense and "fuck" and groaning and you open your eyes, taking in the image of him slightly hunched over, just as aroused as you. All of his usual pretentiousness is gone and he's just so into you and you notice that his shades have slid down his nose and his eyes are looking up at yours and they're red, red like his text, so strange and perfect and beautiful and you're lost in the image of him and the sound of his voice as a white haze overwhelms all of your senses. You release with a cry, getting jizz all over your bare stomach and the underside of your desk as you shudder with pleasure.
You return to reality just in time to witness Dave reach his own climax, crying your name as he orgasms. The two of you slump down in your chairs, panting and shivering. It takes a minute for the utilitarian part of your brain to tell you that you should probably clean yourself and your desk before it leaves a stain, and then put on some clothes because suddenly you're kind of cold.
You cross the room, still trembling, and grab a tissue to wipe yourself and the desk as thoroughly as you can. You'll take a shower later, but for now, you want to look as composed as possible. You swap your boxers for another pair and grab a fresh shirt, although you don't know why you need one when the slimer shirt isn't dirty at all. You return to the computer to see that Dave has put his boxers back on but remains shirtless. His shades are squarely in place once more.
"S-so, Egbert," he says, and you can tell he's trying to sound confident but there's a little quaver in his voice. "That was. You were pretty great."
"Thanks. Uh, you too," you tell him lamely. Part of your brain is still reeling from the shock that you literally just cybered with your best friend, but the rest of you is super, super okay with this.
"So what about that sexuality now?" he asks with a self-satisfied smirk.
You consider this briefly. "I'm still not a homosexual, Dave."
"What, really? Then what, do tell, was all that just now?"
"I mean," you say, "I'm pretty sure I'm not a homosexual, but I guess I'm... Davesexual?" You grin.
"All right." He leans back in his chair. "Davesexual. That, I can live with. I'll have to remember that for future times."
"What future times?"
He feigns surprise. "God Egbert, surely you didn't think this would be a one-time thing! I mean. Only if you want to, that is."
"Hehe. Sure," you say. "I think we could afford to have future times. This can be, like, a thing."
"Fine by me," he says.
Brain-Jade throws like a million parties.