A/N: My new favorite thing is German!Dave, and I will never get over it.

This is a gift for my friend Ash, who is unforgettableCanine on AO3, and she has some fantastic works, so you should go check her out.

*NOTE* This is a high T-rating; I don't go into too much detail, but there is a lot of implied stuff.

I've had this up on AO3 for a while, and I forgot I haven't put it anywhere else, so, uh. Here.

Ciao for now!

~Webs

Dave isn't exactly... troubled, nor does he usually have issues with processing information, but with a lapful of Karkat and a mouthful of tongue, he finds his brain short circuiting and running around in circles. This definitely wasn't how he'd expected his day to go.

After losing his job at a record shop, John had offered him a simple one at his dad's bakery, just working the counter. It wasn't unlike his old one: talk to customers, offer help, ring up purchases. He easily fell back into routine, smiling and doing his best to cover up his accent. It was an easy job, and he quite enjoyed being around the smell of sugar and flour.

Until one day John had been out, his dad was on a business trip, and a customer called in for a pastry that they didn't have in stock. Frazzled and unsure of how to say "Not in stock" in English, Dave had just agreed and said they'd have it ready when the customer arrived. Thoroughly freaking out, Dave had googled a recipe and tried to make it himself.

He didn't expect to enjoy it. Baking was John's thing. Had been since they were just penpals in fifth grade.

But after successfully delivering the box of danishes (a stupid name) to the weird blind girl who'd come in an hour late, Dave had called John and all but gushed. John had jokingly told him Dave could replace him, and Dave had readily accepted (this English sarcasm was still a mystery).

Things, although having been great before, suddenly turned up, and Dave eagerly threw himself into this new art as eagerly as he'd taken up music. John's dad would teach him everything the blonde could retain in a day, and most nights, he'd either stay at the bakery until late, or buy baking supplies and practice at home. Sometimes he'd show up to work without having gotten any sleep, and covered in flour, and Mr. Egbert would get a kick out of it before sending Dave home to sleep. He only grudgingly agrees when threatened with the sack.

One morning in July, Dave had showed up early (well rested, thank you very much) and was surprised to find someone already waiting. Short, thin, and wearing an Arctic Monkeys band-tee, the gorgeously tan, freckly-redhead was seated on one of the little tea tables in front of the shop, nose in some trashy romance novel Dave's sure he doesn't want to know the name of.

The blonde had paused with a cocked head and a curiously raised eyebrow, until the other had looked up with a small jump. His cheeks quickly colored as he hurriedly stood up and stuffed the book into his back pocket.

"Ahh, lo siento, tengo que dejar de desvanecimiento de esa manera," he said quickly to himself before turning to look up at Dave. "Sorry about that; I didn't see you. Are you open yet?"

"Just 'bout, yeah," Dave had mumbled uncertainly, moving forward to unlock the door into the shop. The redhead had followed him without saying anything, making Dave think he knew John or something, which is evidently true by the greeting Mr. Egbert throws over the counter. "So, uh, is there anything I can get you?" he'd asked the other, setting down his bag and putting on an apron.

"A dozen strawberry bagels," he'd said a bit too quickly, looking away from Dave when he realized he'd been answering before he could even finish the question. "Por favor."

After he'd left, Dave learned his name was Karkat, and he'd decided that the Latino boy was definitely one of his favorite customers.

He hadn't seen him again for a couple weeks, causing Dave to frown at random moments when he'd think about it, worried Karkat had only been showing up for John. But near the end of August, he'd showed up again with the same order of a dozen strawberry bagels. Interested in the strange, ornery man that seems to have known the Egbert family for years, he'd slipped in a raspberry bagel in hopes of throwing him off.

Judging by Karkat's prompt arrival the next morning demanding to know why he'd been ripped off, Dave had succeeded. Instead of the angry complaint to Mr. Egbert he'd been expecting, Dave instead gets a hastily scrawled phone number, and a shy smile worth a million dollars.

Four weeks after Dave had called Karkat for the first time, Dave realizes how much he loves the taste of Karkat's tongue. It's sweet, with just a slightly more... spicy tang that Dave can't quite wrap his head around, so convinces himself the best way to figure it out is more first-hand experience.

So, he's landed himself with a shirtless Karkat perched on his thighs and two half-eaten lemon bars laying forgotten on the coffeetable of Dave's apartment. With his hands settled on Karkat's thighs, he can feel his erratic pulse, hooking behind his knees to pull Karkat flush against himself. He earns a string of soft Spanish swears, breathed out against his lips, as if the other is too afraid of breaking the silence. Which Dave finds ironic, all things considered.

Karkat's blunt teeth pull at Dave's lip while he removes the sunglasses from his eyes by pushing them up into Dave's hair. Karkat pulls away from his lips to just look down at him, blinking slowly before leaning forward to plant gentle kisses to both Dave's eyelids. "Lindo," he murmurs before capturing his lips again.

With a smile, Dave wastes no time in removing his own shirt, and lifts Karkat up as he stands, the Latino latching his teeth back onto Dave's lip as his thighs squeeze Dave's waist, pressing himself harder against Dave as the blonde carts him back towards his bedroom. He moves his lips down to Karkat's throat, sucking a soft mark to his skin as he lays Karkat out on his bed.

Twenty minutes later has Karkat nestled underneath Dave, sheets barely covering their waists so the afternoon light is catching the sweat on Dave's shoulders in a way that makes Karkat smile past the yawn he lets out as Dave ducks down to plant several lazy kisses on the redhead's neck. He starts mumbling quiet words to him that only drives Karkat to the edge of the bed as he pushes at Dave's shoulder and face.

"Mierda, Dave," he groans overdramatically. "No more, or I won't come to the shop anymore." Dave pulls back from his incessant kissing to look down at him with wide, hurt eyes, Karkat opening his mouth as if surprised himself, before letting out a snort and pushing at Dave again. "I was joking, rubio, calm down. I have work, so get off."

"If I understand slang at all, we've already done that," Dave mumbles and starts to nibble at Karkat's collarbones, nosing at the flushed skin until Karkat gives up on trying to sit, flopping down against the sheets and glaring up at him.

"You're lucky you're so cute, or I'd just push you off the bed. You owe me a dozen cinnamon rolls." Dave grins and nips Karkat's lower lip once more.