Chapter Text
“But Daaaaave. AP Bio homework is bullshit, I tell you. Bull-shit.”
“Okay, but what am I gonna do about it, Eggs?” you sigh. You’re currently laying on your stomach, across your bed, and talking to your best friend and boyfriend, John Egbert. As usual, he’s complaining needlessly about some trivial thing and how he’s in such a bad mood about it and the world is basically going to fucking end if you don’t do anything about it, Dave, because obviously you can do so much to fix his opinions and feelings about homework. It’s not like you have your own homework or anything, baka.
“Don’t call me that, Davey. I’m just gonna give up for the night. Can I come over?” You wince at the nickname. You never should have left John alone with Bro for more than 5 minutes. Bro is like that obnoxious parent who talks about when their kid wet the bed that one time when they were four and shows people all of the baby pictures, all of them. (You totally did not wet the bed, okay, you spilled water all over the sheets. Honest.)
“Sure.” You flip over so you’re on your back, then sit up. “We could smoke if you want.” You vaguely remember having some pot left somewhere in your closet.
“Yeah, okay.” You can hear John going down the stairs and covering the mouthpiece of his phone as he calls out to his dad he’ll be at your place.
Ten odd minutes later, John walks into the apartment (because locking doors is for chumpsticks) and you’re still digging through your closet, searching for your bong through the vast expanse of what Rose (and your Bro) have taken to calling, “The Bermuda Closet”. The name stuck. It was completely accurate.
“Hey, bunghole,” John smirks, standing in the doorway to your room. He tries to enter, almost tripping over all the shit on the ground. He finally makes it over to your bed and flops down on it. “Clean your room, Dave, christ. Someone’s gonna trip and fall and die one day. You’ll be guilty of murder. What’ll you do with the body?”
“I’ll shove it into the Bermuda Closet,” you mumble, just as you pull out your bong. You give a little cheer under your breath. You turn to John and toss it to him, and he lets out a yelp as he catches it awkwardly. “Hey, warn me before you throw shit at me!!”
You sit back on the bed and he leaves the room to get it ready. He comes back with it in one hand, a lighter in the other.
A few minutes later, you’re both lying against the wall next to your bed, passing the bong back and forth and kissing in between hits. And inevitably, you both start feeling so hungry. You agree that it would be a fantastic idea to go and raid your kitchen pantry. So you do.
After much hunting, you find a bag of unopened Doritos at the very back of the top cabinet. John cheers and you sit on the couch and devour them with him.
So kissing is a thing that happens next, apparently. And this isn’t sweet fluffy kissing, either. This is full-blown sloppy makeouts. John tastes like Doritos and pot smoke but you really couldn’t give two shits (you probably taste the same), because John is one hell of a good kisser, if you overlook the teeth. Which you definitely can.
Soon you climb into his lap and straddle him, and Jesus H. Dicks you’ve never moaned like this in your whole life. John reaches down to grab your ass and you rut against his crotch. John moves his hand around to undo both of your pants, and in the moment you think it’s pretty hot that he can do all of that one-handed, the other gripping your waist.
He takes both of your cocks in his hand and begins making quick, hurried, erratic strokes, other hand back on your ass again. You can tell his coordination is slightly off because he’s high, but that really doesn’t matter to you because fuck, his hand is so warm and you want him inside you, holy damn.
You pull away roughly, still bucking into his amazing piano fingers, and bite your lip. “Oh god, John, fuck me, please,” you moan, you don’t even fucking care how needy you sound right now, you’re like, three times as needy as you seem. John gives you a lopsided, mischievous smirk and harshly whispers, “Beg me for it,” licking the shell of your ear. A large shiver goes down your spine and hits you right in the cock.
“Please, John, ohmygod, you f-fuckin’... cocktease, just put it in me, shit..” a somewhat desperate roll of your hips into John’s hand results in a slight tug of your hair from John’s other hand. It’s the Possessive Sexy John that always happens preceding a really good fuck. Oh man.
“You’re being really greedy, Dave. If you’re greedy, I might not give you what you want.” He has that really dominant grin on and your cock is already twitching, aces, Strider, you’re such a wanton toolbag.
“John..?” you ask pleadingly. You don’t need to say anything else.
And then there’s that stupid sexy smirk again. “Well,” he nips at your neck and collarbone, “I’m a pretty nice guy. So I suppose I’ll indulge you.” You practically sigh with relief.
“You know what to do, Dave,” he says, looking at you expectantly. Of course you do. You nod, climbing off him and simultaneously slipping out of your jeans and boxers. Walking through the apartment with a huge boner is really no easy task, but you’ll have to manage if you want to do this. First-world problems, much.
Your quest to get the lube is successfully completed and you somewhat hurriedly walk back into the living room, where John is now fully naked and lightly stroking himself. “Fucking finally, Dave, come on,” he grunts, motioning for you to come back over. You pull your shirt over your head and crawl back into his lap.
You start lazily kissing as he pushes a finger inside of you. You flinch a bit at the coldness of the lube, but that’s pushed to the back of your mind when a sudden twist of John’s finger presses up just right against your prostate. But then that fucker barely brushes against it the rest of the way. He absolutely loves to keep you on your toes, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it too.
Finally, John pulls his fingers out and reaches down to wipe his hand on a stray paper napkin on the floor once you’re sufficiently prepared. You grab the lube and stroke him with it too, and before you know it you’re lowering yourself onto his dick. He groans loudly, the first sound he’s made so far.
“Holy shit Dave, you’re so fucking tight and perfect I can’t,” he moans, resting a hand on your hip. You can hear the meaning behind it and it makes you tingle, that you’re his, only his, he loves you and you love him right the fuck back.
Meanwhile you’re over here impaling yourself on John’s cock, and you’re a trembling, moaning, desperate mess. Your face probably looks so dumb right now, John is staring right at you, oh god―but then he kisses your neck, which causes you to lace your fingers with his and whine quietly, which causes him to jerk his hips upward, which causes you to cry out loudly because holy shit that was your fucking prostate oh christ.
You start moving, using your legs to slide up and down, and John meets your halfway by nudging his hips up into you ever-so-slightly and the two of you have built a pretty good rhythm.
He starts whispering some really goddamn sexy things in your ear, and soon you begin to notice your moans getting increasingly louder and squeakier and your legs start getting weak.
“Look at you, Dave,” John says in a low, breathy voice, “You’re practically begging for me.” And it’s true, your thighs are trembling. “You’re mine, Dave. I want everyone to know. Just how should I show them?” He’s trying to keep a steady voice, but you can tell he’s getting close too. “Should I give you bruises, mark you up, baby? Or maybe I should just fuck you so hard you’ll limp, and every time you sit down you’ll remember just who it is you belong to.”
You give a loud, choked moan. Fuck, does he even know what he does to you?? You increase your pace just slightly and splutter out a high-pitched, shaky “G-gonna cum.”
“Good,” John hisses into your ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth. “Cum for me.”
That was too much. With a final weak cry of John’s name, you’re gone, coming in thick spurts on both of your chests. “Cum inside me, John,” you lightly bite his collarbone, whispering breathlessly, “show me again I’m yours.”
Suddenly he flips you over so that you’re pinned under him on the couch. “You are mine, you fucking piece of shit. You’re a goddamn slut for me, aren’t you? Can’t get enough?” He guides your hips upwards and slams into you, and you squeak, covering your mouth to muffle a small moan. His face tells you he’s just about there, so to push him to the edge, you give him a half-smirk and whisper, “C'mon, babe, I want you to fuck me senseless.” He twitches, and then crashes his lips to yours as he finishes.
You’re both panting hard, and your kisses and gestures are much more gentle, more deliberate now. You run a hand through his hair as he softly bumps his nose to yours.
“Hi,” he smiles a little.
“Hey,” you reply breathlessly.
The sound of the apartment door opening makes both of you jump. “Guess who brought pizza for his favourite lil’ br―hoooly shit.”
You don’t even have to tell him twice. “Bro, get the fuck out!” you scream. John’s face is literally a tomato. He quietly whispers a tiny “oh my god,” and covers his face with his hands.
You can hear Bro’s hysterical laughing from the other side of the door. You can already taste the blackmail.
It’s gonna be a long week.