PSA: last one! i won't be uploading to FFnet anymore after this, i don't much like the formatting and it's way too much work to crosspost it all. I can be found on AO3 or tumblr as affectionatetea, so try there instead.

Thanks so much for reading! And i've gotten some absolutely lovely comments that I've appreciated a whole lot, so thank you oodles to anyone who's left them, you all are wonderful and keep me writing =3= (and i'm really sorry this beast took so long.)

It's been a whole month since your and John's little brotime excursion, and you are ready to tear your hair out by the roots.

John "Blushing Virgin" Egbert can't take a motherfucking hint.

You've utilized every kind of innuendo your excessively overactive brain could fathom. You've insinuated, teased, mocked, and outright propositioned Egbert on just about every outing (each with various degrees of exclusivity and romantic atmosphere, from a group minigolf excursion to candlelit dinner dates), and he continues to be the thickest of oblivious dolts.

You cannot even think of a proper metaphor for how unbelievably obtuse he is.

He's made you resort to using the word "obtuse," for chrissakes.

You hate the word obtuse. It's a stupid word, and under normal circumstances you would refuse to even entertain the notion of using it. (Let alone 'dolt.' You can't even begin to explain that one. You blame it on overexposure to Dorkbert.)

You even had a magical evening of epic bromance where you fessed up about your whole sordid history with Sollux the Heart Mangler. Everything from the early best-buddies-in-the-world stages, which led directly to the wow-we-have-a-lot-in-common-let's-spend-every-waki ng-minute-together honeymoon phase, to the super-close-in-fact-a-little-suspiciously-close that you rocketed through in middle school, beyond the hey-i-might-be-a-little-gay-oh-wait-me-too-but-thi s-doesn't-change-anything-right?-right confessions, all the way to oh-hey-let's-give-a-relationship-a-shot-wait-what- do-you-mean-you-got-a-boyfriend-what-was-i-exactly -then-you-fuckface grand finale, after which began the record-breaking Ice Age featuring miles of frigid tundra that you were still currently frozen in the midst of. You'd covered all the messy, emotional bases (albeit with your usual wit and deflectivatory nature because that is how you roll, along with making up words at your convenience that is a thing you do regularly because fuck english), and he'd given you the "wow, what an asshole!" sympathy rant and accompanying brohug. You'd even nuzzled his fucking neck. And what was his response?

"Don't you feel so much better having all that off your chest, dude? You know you can always count on me to lend a friendly ear, right?" And he'd given you his big, doofy grin (the one that turns your legs to a sort of gloopy mud-like substance which is completely unsuitable for walking) and patted you on the shoulder.

You think you might end up running the moron through with a shitty sword before you ever get him to realize your feelings for him.

You'll try to leave the sword out of the equation if at all possible, though. Holes in abdomens don't make for desirable traits in a significant other, especially when you have a preference for said lover being alive. (Unless, of course, said significant other is a vampire, then it wouldn't matter so much. But to your knowledge, Egbert is fully human, so you'll try to abandon the avenues that lead to stabbing, for now.)

Short of that, the only option left to you right now would be a full-on, face-to-face, dead serious, now-with-90%-more-animu Love Confession. But Striders don't confess outright, shit's just not ironic, regardless of how many sparkles and fluttering cherry blossoms you can work into the mix. Nuh-uh, nope, not gonna happen.

There is no irony to be had in a confession, absolutely none. You would know - you've tried.

(Bro confessions don't count, obviously. You know these things. You are the all-knowing king of social graces and stratagems, it is you. Anyone who says otherwise is blatantly full of shit and should be shot, stuffed, mounted on a wall, and filled with electronic wiring that forces them to sing obnoxious pop songs whenever someone is stupid enough to walk too close. A fate worse than death, by your understanding. No one should ever be forced to endure shitty pop songs for eternity.)

"What do you think, Dave?"

Rose's voice snaps you out of your distressing internal dialogue (thank heavens, you were about to get I Kissed A Girl stuck in your head for the bajillionth time since including it on one of your mixes, and you need that like you need surprise neural surgery for some sudden affliction in your brain. Shut up, you're not at the top of your game these days. You place sole blame for your game's slow and gruesome death on Egbertian persons and their complete social ineptitude and the fact that they haven't fucked you yet wait what).

"I think you're a wily vixen who will take full advantage of my distraction to get me to commit to something that I haven't been paying the slightest bit of attention to," you deadpan, ignoring the scandalized looks from Karkat and Kanaya, who were just animatedly debating something that you're ninety percent sure you want nothing to do with. It was probably about either movies or vampire literature, which are both well ensconced in your don't-touch-it-with-a-ten-foot-pole-in-the-presenc e-of-anyone-except-Rose camp. (With Rose, they'd have to lobotomize you first.) You are so not in the mood for a shouting match with Karkles or a heavily sarcastic verbal smackdown from Kanaya.

Rose smirks at you, and you realize you probably just made a huge mistake. Damn her and the fact that within weeks of meeting you she can predict your every move. Shit ain't natural.

"Actually," she begins pointedly, "I merely intended to see if you had any suggestions for where we might spend our recreational time this coming weekend. I don't believe anyone has prior plans or obligations, so we hoped to make something of an event out of it, and you, as I recall, have claimed to be well informed of all the ideal venues for such an activity."

You parse through the Lalonde-ese with well-developed efficiency, and before you have a chance to think it through, you respond with the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Well, Bro's playing his club this weekend."

"Splendid! I think this suits our purposes marvelously," Rose announces to the rest of the group, receiving an agreeable nod from Kanaya and thoughtful forehead-scrunching from John.

"An evening full of shitty Strider mixes?" Karkat says with a groan. "If your brother's abysmal fusion of horrible ear-splitting horse excretion is anything like yours, then I'm going to have to violently object in favor of preserving what little sanity I have left."

"On the contrary, their personal tastes and original mixing in comparison to the selection they play for the public are quite distinct from one another, or so Dave has told me in previous discussions. I hear the elder Strider's performances are ideal for relaxed enjoyment and, dare I say it, the express purposes of 'shaking your thang.' It has the potential to be an exquisitely enjoyable evening all around, I should think."

"Uhhh," you begin eloquently, rethinking the genius of bringing your new friends (and not-so-secret supercrush, shhh) anywhere near your brother. And a club environment. With dancing and close quarters and flashy lights and alcohol. You don't think you like this plan much at all, actually. "On second thought, no, his music's shit. We shouldn't do that. It was a dumb idea."

Karkat pauses and looks at you, eyebrows drifting upward. This terrifies you. "On further examination, Strider's fervent backpedaling is strangely uncharacteristic and highly suspicious. I've changed my mind, I fully support this plan."

"Rotten traitor," you grumble at him, which only makes him smile. You are so going to get revenge for this. You immediately begin planning how to arrange yourself a solid block of time with full access to his movie collection so you can switch every romcom title with something from John's Best of Nic Cage collection. The resulting explosion should be massive, and totally worth it.

"Ready for a night of movin' and groovin', Dave?"

Jade is entirely too peppy for someone who spends a lot of time around you, you think. You grimace at her, which only makes her smile wider. She gives you a once-over, examining your wardrobe choices for the evening, and frowns slightly. "Dave, you must have something nicer than that. C'mon, where's your clubbing attire? You must have some, don't you work there sometimes?" Jade nudges you with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. It looks completely ridiculous, and also totally adorable. You sigh - there's really no resisting Harley when she wants something.

"I'm ain't trying to impress anyone, we're all just friends chilling at a club. What would I want to dress up for?"

"Don't you play dumb with me, mister. We both know 'friends' does not nearly cover your intentions toward a certain friend of mine whose name rhymes with smegbert!"

You fidget, and then immediately feel stupid and try to cover it up by casually fixing your hair. You fool no one.

You try very hard to keep your cool, and while you would like to think that many years of training with your Bro on maintaining a flawless pokerface in the midst of animosity has prepared you well for this day, you aren't quite sure if you manage it. Harley and Lalonde are tricksy friendses who have an unfortunate proclivity for seeing right through your bullshit with a level of accuracy that is really very annoying. Of course, that's not entirely relevant at the moment, because your calm and collected persona is not, in fact, bullshit. You are totally cool. Ice cold, in fact. Think arctic, with a couple penguins huddling together for warmth. You are that chill.

You don't stare at all when Egbert emerges from his room with a fitted blue button-down shirt that clings in all the right places and shows just a hint of collarbone, his dark grey jeans also fitting a little better than normal (hot damn, Rose must've taken him shopping or something. You are so fucked). Nope, didn't stare at all. (The TV was off and highly reflective. That doesn't count at all, nope. Arctic. Think arctic, Strider, you can do this.)

You all climb into the car, Rose and Jade chattering away the whole time, speculating about what your brother is like, what kind of music he's going to play, who might be at the club. You're up front driving, seeing as you're the one who knows the place, and John managed to claim shotgun. Karkat is wedged in the back corner next to Jade, leaving a small gap between himself and Harley. You'd been informed by John that they managed to talk some stuff through the other day with only minimal yelling, but it seemed like they still had a ways to go. Judging by the way Karkat kept sneaking glances at her, trying to hide the way his ears turned red, and how Jade was speaking slightly louder and more than usual punctuated with frequent giggles, you were pretty sure they were going to be fine.

You arrive at the club with minimal fuss - a couple fingers from assholes cutting you off and getting mad at you for some unfathomable reason, aren't cities great - and park a block from the club. The bouncer recognizes you and nods your whole group in without a word, which you hope earns you some serious points with Egbert 'cause that shit's legit, but have a sinking suspicion that he didn't even notice. Figures.

You Bro is on stage performing already when you arrive, so introductions will have to wait until after you are at least mildly intoxicated, which you think is for the best. You lead everyone to the bar and order a round, hoping you don't do anything irreparably stupid tonight.

But that's when you see Sollux approaching the bar out of the corner of your eye, and you bury those hopes six feet under.

Fucking Lalonde.

"uhh... hey."

"Sup," you reply after a pregnant pause. That pause was 8 months in and showing some serious signs of swelling. You haven't looked up from your drink yet, and every one of your friends seems to have evaporated from the vicinity, probably to make their way to the dance floor.

You try to mentally brace yourself, fortify the troops, deploy rations, prepare for a long winter.

Sollux shifts his weight uncomfortably, scratching at the back of his neck and avoiding your face. Or anything above knee-level, really. He seems to be quite content inspecting the tiles of the club, although how he can even see them through the fog and smoke is a mystery. You suspect he maybe isn't actually looking at the floor.

"So, it occurs to me... well, a certain nosy troll that can't keep his fuckin' nose out of other people's- I mean." Sollux flicks his gaze up at you for an instant before it slides off to the side, and he shifts from foot to foot anxiously. You can see where the heat and humidity of the club has caused his shirt to cling to his neck and sides. You would put him out of his misery, but you have to admit you don't hate the squirming. After the pathetic show you put on for him on more than one occasion, you think it's his turn to make an idiot of himself. So you wait, and let Sollux force the words out.

"I just-" Sollux cuts off again, grunts loudly in frustration, sighs, and runs fingers through the hair, finally looking up at you. He holds your gaze this time, steeling himself.

"I was a dick. And it was really, really shitty of me. And I kind of didn't know how you - y'know - but I also did, and I was a moron, and an asshole, and I should've said something instead of just - and I'm s-sorry." He trips over the word, but manages to get it out, and it even sounds genuine.

That's saying something, with Sol.

Something in your chest loosens, and huff out a breath that's been lodged in there for a really, really long time.

Pretty sure a museum would accept it into the archives at this point.

Oh yeah, Sollux is still talking. Whoops.

"I, uh. Well, you're a lot more fun to hang out with than Eridan is, the guy is a complete loser, and, well. If- If you, y'know-"

"We're good, Sol," you interrupt him, laying a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You can stop fellating at my feet now. Apology, shitty as it was, accepted." You pull your hand back, smacking the side of his head for good measure on the way.

And you mean it, too. You know Sol, how he despises this kind of conversation with every fiber of his being, and he wouldn't be here if he didn't mean it.

That's all you needed to hear, really.

Sollux's head droops in relief, his whole posture relaxing as he lets out a breath. He gives you his half-smirk that you know quite well (and still makes your gut squirm a little, if you're entirely honest, damn that boy and his attractive face) before he frowns suddenly, holding up a finger.

"No more rapping, though. Your raps are shit, and I will not be subjected to them any more. Ever."

"I think you mean the shit, and you're one to talk, you can't hack worth a fuck. You never even uncovered any top-secret government conspiracies, there had to have been a ton. Like at least twelve, and you didn't even find one. What a load of bullshit."

He punches your shoulder lightly, his grin even wider now, his crooked teeth poking out over his lip in the silliest and most endearing of ways, before leaning in close to your ear. "But, uh... I'm gonna have to put my foot down about one thing, Strider," he says conspiratorially into your ear.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to end our little tryst." You shove him away roughly, and he steps back with the momentum, spinning to walk in the opposite direction, cackling annoyingly. He laughs at you over his shoulder, and just before he disappears out of earshot, calls out, "Afraid I'm reserved."

You can't help but smile, glad to have your bud back. You really hated being on bad terms with him, and over something like this. You vow to yourself never be that dumb again.

And on that note, you feel a swell of determination and purposefulness. Things with Sol are finally normal again, but there's one thing left to do before you can call it a successful night.

You, Strider, have a dork to seduce.

You let loose and dance for a while, in a loose circle with Jade, Rose, and John. Jade eventually breaks off to dance on the other side of the floor with Karkat, and then shortly after Rose joins Kanaya at the bar, leaving you and John alone.

It was significantly easier to ignore him (and that fantastic ass, goddamn Rose knows how to pick out clothes) when there were other bodies in between you.

Now that it's just the two of you, the tension is rocketing up to cloud-level heights of strangulation power.

And judging by the way John is shuffling around, his arms drawn close to his body and his gaze flicking all over the room and yet suspiciously avoiding yours, he can feel it too. You decide it's about time the tension took a swan dive into the land of broken and irreparable annoying social phenomena.

"Hey, John-"

"Dave, I have been avoiding you!"

You have to replay John's words in your head a couple times before the meaning finally sinks in.

"I mean, not avoiding you avoiding you, but like. Willfully ignoring a lot of stuff? And I've been reliably informed that it's a dick move and I should man up about it!" John's voice is higher than usual, and it's a bit difficult to hear him over the music. You wave a hand in front of his face to stop the word vomit and gesture for him to follow you, heading for the back door.

He grabs onto the edge of your sleeve as you lead him through the mass of bodies, and you are trying not to read too much into the willful almost-contact.

You lead him out the back into the alley, enjoying the rush of cool, dry air that greets you, and when the door clicks shut behind you both it's finally quiet. There's still a dull thudding that carries out from the speakers inside the club, but it's soft and easy to ignore.

The quiet terrifies you, and it seems your brain has decided it's your turn to babble like an idiot.

"So, you've been ducking my calls, Egbert. Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it, I don't know how I can live without you it's like I've lost a piece of me, save me from the loveliness babe-"

"Dave, shut up!" John punches your shoulder, not quite as lightly as you think the occasion called for, and you snap your jaw closed. Where was that determination you had not half an hour ago? You back up a step and lean against the wall, trying to regain your composure and some of your injured dignity.

John closes up the distance you created with barely a moment of hesitation, stopping right in front of you.

You try to swallow, but your throat is suddenly very dry. You can't help but notice there is very little extra room between John and the wall. You think he's taken the not-avoiding-you thing a little far, possibly.

You'd think it was unintentional, that John just isn't aware of himself and his surroundings like you are, but his face is a bit pink and he's known the whole time what your game was and you're starting to wonder if people underestimate just how aware John is.

"Okay, so, what I wanted to say was... I mean, you're- it's kind of- and I've been, well, thinking, and it seems... sort of- oh, fuck it!"

John throws his hands up in exasperation, fixes you with a really intense stare - his eyes are really fucking blue, and he's still staring, what the hell does it mean - then his eyes drop to your lips, and your stomach evaporates in a poof of oh shit what's he doing oh fuck you know what he's doing oh shit with a sick twisting sensation and then his lips are pressed up against yours.

There isn't much force behind it - you could easily push him away if you wanted to (likefuck you're doing that no way john is KISSING YOU holyshit) and his teeth keep bumping against yours, but then something in you wakes up and you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him up flush against you, tilting your head in different directions until you find a better angle, and then oh shit.

John is just as enthusiastic as you are, and for every adjustment you make he figures out a little more and reciprocates. You both get more insistent and urgent and your skin starts to heat up an vibrate with how much you need more and wow you're actually doing this right now how did this even happen.

You break apart after a lengthy tonsil-hockey session, both breathing hard.

"Sorry it took me so long," John says, grinning, his cheeks dark red and hair a disaster. "I kind of freaked out a little."

He's perfect in every way.

"How dare you keep a lady waiting, Egbert. You're definitely gonna have to make it up to me, there's no way around it. You owe me at least ten million makeout sessions in penance."

"Sorry Dave, I can't accept those terms, I only have half a million makeout sessions to offer. What if I throw in some cuddles, and maybe a handjob or two?" He punctuates the offer with a leg brushing painfully close to your crotchal region, and you nearly choke.

"Fucking swoon."

Rose finds you a few minutes later, liplocked and oblivious to the world, and barely reacts at all apart from a pleased smirk as she drags you both back inside, insisting that you introduce everyone to your Bro and swap saliva later. Kanaya takes developments in stride similarly when she joins you, shuffling up to Rose's side to share a knowing grin. They smile affectionately and make teasing remarks when you give John's ass a not-so-gentle squeeze, causing him to yelp, turn scarlet, and pull you close to him to nip at your neck. Which promptly turns you into putty.

Karkat and Jade are laughing and taking turns messing up each other's hair and arguing about something science-related when they make their way to your group. Jade winks at you as Karkat gets distracted by Kanaya whispering at him, which causes his gaze to flick from her to you and John. He gives you an exaggerated eyeroll, mouthing took you long enough, asshole before Jade steals his attention once more.

The tiny twitch of a smile on his face when your Bro sees you and John is too quick for anyone else to catch, but you see it and groan a little internally.

You wonder if you were the only one who was surprised tonight.

When you all finally leave the club, dropping everyone off and making plans to meet at Rose and Kanaya's the next day, you return home to find a note pinned to the fridge with a message scribbled in Bro's handwriting across it. He hasn't returned from the club yet, he's still got a couple hours before he's done. You crumple up the note and shake your head in disbelief, pocketing the small package that was taped to it.

Congrats, lil man. You're gettin' the D.

Don't forget to be safe.

You cringe at the tiny heart scribbled at the bottom. You don't think the condom will be useful for quite some time, but a free condom is a free condom, and Striders don't waste free shit.