[Dave's eyes widen when he gets it, then soften, and he looks away before they can start to tear up again or anything, sniffs a little bit. He manages his most normal voice possible.]
Just get under the covers already, dumpass. I'll be there in a second.
[He disappears from the gap, but doesn't let the door go. After a moment, the mussed fluff of his hair and the tip of his nose reappear, and he adds in a small, sincere voice:]
...Thank you.
[This time, he retreats for real.
Peeing happens and then pants--Wart picked pajamas for Dave, for which he is both grateful and oddly annoyed about, because it implies Wart doesn't think he's going to do anything else today but laze around in bed and shiver off the shakes, but also they're comfortable and warm--and pulls the long-sleeved tee on, too. He's probably going to overheat egregiously, but he doesn't care, he wants to be fucking unreachable through the strata of clothes and blankets. Clothes and blankets and Karkat. God, the dude doesn't deserve this carnival of utter shit.
By the time he comes out (it takes no time, Dave doesn't want to keep Karkat waiting, but also he washes his hands because he's not gross), he's worked his way far enough back up the emotional echeladder to recover shame in full. Even as he pads his way to the bed, he can't quite make eye contact. Still can't apologize, either. Dammit, why does Karkat have to be so...
So good. To him.
It isn't fair.
He stops beside the bed and doesn't know what to say. Why does Karkat even want to be tied to a comically shattered piece of shit like him?]
Do I have the right to say sorry back yet, or am I still in the unapologetic doghouse, banned from acknowledging my sweet, sweet shame.
[The acceptance is so far from what Karkat had been expecting that he flinches, then glances up. Dave is... god, and thanking him, like he's done anything deserving of thanks, what the fuck. He's too stunned to call out this aberrant behavior for what it is, much less try a "you're welcome," because that would be fucking normal, but there may be the start of a disbelieving smile on his face when Dave peeks back again. It's really okay? It's okay.
... Cool.
Fuck, did he actually just think—whatever, Dave told him to get under the covers so under the covers he'll get. Karkat is keenly aware of the dampness of his sweater, though, along with the fact that he should probably do something about that, so before actually getting into the bed, he quickly changes, too. Warm, dry pajamas for both of them. Good.
He's only just gotten around to pulling back the covers when Dave emerges again, and more easily this time, he looks over once more, his smile reappearing... and then fading because what in the name of that human red chimney asshole is Dave even talking about. Sorry? For... god. Fucking. Dammit.
Karkat sighs, drops his gaze to the fluffy red blanket he'd been not-fondling, and tries to ignore the twisting sensation in his repulsive human stomach. If Dave is still bringing it up, then he can't really dismiss it, can he? Even if he really fucking wants to.]
Tell me how any of that was your fault, Dave, and I'll listen. But... I mean, I guess I can understand why you'd think it was. Because you're stupid.
[... How was that not dismissing it again? Argh, he's always so fucking terrible at this. How can he stop Dave from blaming himself for something he had no control over?]
[Dismissive or not, that happens to be the magic combination to get Dave both to look at Karkat and to shut his mouth, to eschew arguing his point. How do you protest "Because you're stupid," said in such a matter-of-fact tone? Like, words like that, they just feel normal. It's good. Like Dave's not irreparably broken, like this is all merely some facet of some incontrovertible Dave-ness that Karkat knew about when he signed up for this, even though Dave knows that can't be right, who the fuck would agree to the maggot-ridden horseshit of the last half hour?
He stays still for a second, as if an answer will strike him, but then just crawls into the bed with a little huff, lies on his stomach and pulls the covers all the way up to his ears.]
Well, it wasn't your fault, either.
[That much is fucking true. He doesn't like Karkat trying to blame himself for not being there, refusing to let Dave take responsibility for his own fucked-upness. Like...like Dave is some kind of natural disaster that can be measured and gauged and prepared for but can't control itself. Like Bro messed him up so badly as a kid he'll never be able to manage his own feelings like an adult, like all he'll ever be is the result of what Bro did to him.
Fuck. Bro.]
...Or--or Dirk's. [The name feels downright wrong to say aloud, and Dave cringes a little without realizing it, like he could somehow get away from the sounds of his own mouth. He clears his throat, though his voice remains at about half-volume.] He didn't do anything.
Edited (There was extraneous punctuation and I am a perfectionist) 2016-06-20 14:12 (UTC)
Karkat snorts but doesn't give voice to the (many, many, so many) protests he can think of to that particular bout of flatulent stupidity, instead climbing into the bed too and, because he's too fucking worried to feel self-conscious, immediately latching onto Dave's side again. He's not quite hugging him yet, more because he doesn't want Dave to feel trapped than because he doesn't want to, but he's definitely invading the fuck out of his personal space. Get used to it.]
Dirk isn't Bro. I know.
[It shouldn't need to be said and Karkat is more than a little worried about how Dave will react to hearing that name out loud, but he's hoping it will reassure him to have some kind of confirmation. Dirk isn't Bro. There's no need to be afraid.
... Fuck it, he's hugging Dave now.]
It's okay. Just get some rest? I'm here for as long as you need me.
[Whenever Dave needs him, even if he doesn't realize it. Karkat won't fuck up like that again.]
Dave thinks about saying it. He's not sure he wants to, when it's so...not needy, though it is, but in need, desperately; when he thinks Karkat wouldn't deny him anything right now, and it wouldn't--it can't be fair to ask for something so enormous, not when Dave himself doesn't understand what the asking would even be for.
Karkat didn't give "sorry" back to him yet and he already used "thank you." What does Dave even have if he doesn't have words? Nothing. His sword, his act, he left all of that on a stone slab on LOFAF, fading away as swiftly and unstoppably as his life had, leaving him the ghost of what Bro had made him.
No. Stop.
Dirk isn't Bro. Bro isn't here. Karkat's here, right here, and after a second to swallow, Dave lets go of the bedsheets, slips right through Karkat's arms to disappear beneath the covers completely, and folds himself around Karkat instead, bumps into his chest.]
Okay.
[He shifts so it's his ear pressing against Karkat's chest, so he can hear the rise and fall of his breathing or even his heart.
Dirk didn't do anything, and Bro's not here. But Dave will never stop watching for him now, never stop waiting for that shitty sneaker to drop, never forget that there's no such thing as safety.
But Karkat's here. If...if Bro does come, either Dave will be ready and that'll be fine, or...Karkat wouldn't even let Bro get near, would he. Bro doesn't go up against straightforward aggression, that's not his M.O., and if Karkat says he's not wanted...
Dave lets the muscles of his back and neck relax, slowly, curled into Karkat's shirt. He breathes out.]
We can watch TV.
[He doesn't want to sleep. Not when the aftertaste of fear still sits so sour in his throat. He doesn't want that kind of quiet.]
[He'd assumed the worst when Dave slipped away from him (because of course he did, when does he not fuck up?), so while he's quick to welcome his moirail back, petting his hair and arranging the covers more comfortably around them both, it takes Karkat longer than it should to find his voice again. Dave is still here. Everything is fine. Completely. Fucking. Fine.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to pretend that Dave couldn't completely destroy him with a word. Dave is here, Dave is safe, Dave isn't going anywhere. Calm down, for fuck's sake.]
Do you want me to read to you?
[The question is more careful than it needs to be, especially considering how many fucking hours they'd spent doing the same thing on the meteor, but Karkat is still feeling grossly uncertain about pretty much everything right now. With Dave settled on his chest, the world seems like it's starting to fall back into place again, but for as long as Dave is like this, unstable and in need of comfort, he can't lower his guard. He can't let Dave decline to that point ever again.
Maybe reading to him would be a good idea right now. All of his books are piled haphazardly around the other bed, but there might be one within reach that's suitably awful by Dave's standards to take his mind off of things. Fuck Karkat hopes Wart hasn't vanished somewhere so that he can ferry one over without either of them having to move; he is not leaving Dave right now.
... And, since that's decided—]
Because I'm going to fucking read to you. You said it was my choice, so that's what we're doing. Deal with it.
[Dave breathes a faint laugh into Karkat's chest. It's not really mirth or anything, but more like relief. Karkat's bossiness is good. It's normal.]
Sir, yes, sir. Dealing.
[He proves how well he's dealing by moving not at all, continuing his unstoppable evolution into a human limpet. It's dark under the covers and all he can smell is Karkat's pajamas, and he's warm. The whole world's just Karkat right now, and that's good. That's about what he can deal with: A universe narrowed to the safe parts, the parts that won't ever hurt him.
Wart, alert to the passing thought in his direction, pokes his head in curiously. It seems he's ushered some of the less mature Pokémon into the small living room/kitchen area (because if they're going to pay this much for lodging, damn if it isn't going to be a suite), but he susses out what's going on quickly enough and psychics the nearest book right over to Karkat.
Dave reaches up to engineer a small fold at the top of the bed covers over Karkat's chest. It lets a little light in and that's sort of unfortunate, but it lets air in, too, and he can almost sort of see Karkat, like this.]
Hi. Requesting light petting, sir. But only if you've got enough hands. Wouldn't want to compromise the mission, sir. [He curls his arm around Karkat again and nestles in.] The mission is book reading. Restricted clearance, top secret intelligence only. Ten-hut.
[Thank god somémon has their shit together in this looneyblock. Seriously, what would they do without Wart?
Doing his best to send a mental wave of gratitude in the Gallade's direction, Karkat picks up the book and begins searching for the first actual page, his hand only returning to Dave's hair once he's located it. This book in particular is... one he hasn't started yet, actually. He would have started from the beginning just to make sure that Dave knew what was going on regardless, but it's still nice to be reading something new.]
What the fuck are you vomiting out your word hole. Shoosh, Dave, or I'll read the acknowledgments, too.
[Or the cast of characters, which he'd barely glanced at, but it's probably not important, right? It sure as fuck doesn't help when reading aloud to someone, nor does the map. Karkat may have to take a closer look later, though. Just in case.
He frowns to himself and wastes a few more seconds finding the ideal position to read one-handed and with his moirail on his chest before beginning. Past Karkat probably should have thought that one through more, but it's too late now and he's not dislodging Dave for a stupid reason like personal comfort.
Anyway. What's this book called again?]
The Captive Prinplup. Prologue. "'We hear that your Prince,' said Lady Jokaste, 'keeps his own harem. These slaves will please any traditionalist, but I have asked Adrastus to prepare something special in addition...'"
[Not that Dave would've really registered being forced to listen to the acknowledgements, but he shooshes anyway. He spends the first few minutes only half-tuned in, eyes closed under the covers, more aware of the sound of Karkat's voice in his own chest than of the actual words he's saying. It vibrates differently against his ear than in the air, and it's nice.
He only starts paying attention when chapter one begins, and the description gives him pause, for a moment. Kinky, he almost says, but he vaguely remembers they're talking about slaves anyway so probably this is just part of the story and he doesn't really want to prod Karkat into an argument, he just wants to listen. So Dave listens, ignoring the hints here and there that ping him weirdly until the snotty blond prince gets all "Restrain him here in the harem" and Dave either has to snort or die on the spot.]
That sounds like a spectacularly shitty idea, man. He's gonna get all sorts of the wrong idea. Those messages are gonna be mixed to hell and not in a sweet jams gift tape way.
[Dave's not saying anything, but, like. Karkat. Bro.
Is he aware he's reading his moirail gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.
Because Dave's pretty sure Karkat's reading him gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.]
[By this stage, Dave isn't the only one with reservations, even if Karkat's are somewhat more difficult to put into words. The trouble is that by troll standards there's nothing wrong with the story at all; keeping people as slaves for any purpose is ludicrously commonplace and, as one might expect, a fairly common trope in certain types of literature (i.e., trashy romance, a.k.a. Karkat's grubloaf and tuberpaste, q.e.d.). From that perspective, of course memorizing the texture of Dave's hair and enjoying the relative quiet of the moment, the closeness, takes up far more of Karkat's attention. Between that and regulating his voice to something not shout-volume because even he can recognize when that might ruin a moment, yes, fine, even an undisputed authority on all things romance like Karkat can miss a few hints. A few.
It's a lot harder to ignore the potential awkwardness of reading what he's reading when Dave interjects with a comment like that, and after a too-long pause where Karkat does nothing more than stare at the last few lines and wonder what the fuck his moirail is talking about, he blanches, whips the book shut, and flips it over to inspect the summary written on the back. "Damen is a warrior hero who blah blah brother seizes power blah blah sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a" oh motherfucking hell.
Groaning, Karkat reopens the book to the page they'd left off, slaps the whole thing over his face, and slumps in place as much as physically possible for someone who's already lying down. How the fuck had he not. ARGH. Is he fucking braindead??]
Dave, if you pity me you'll agree right now that that didn't just fucking happen.
[The words are muffled but still intelligible, and if it weren't for how much it would probably hurt his cartilage nub, Karkat would probably follow them up with a facepalm x2 combob and then maybe defenestrate himself. Because.]
[Dave shifts under the covers so he can rest his chin instead of his ear on Karkat's chest, one arm slung around him, the rest of his body kind of at a diagonal across the bed so he's not twisting his neck weird.]
What didn't happen? We weren't doing shit. All I remember's being all cuddled up here discussing the fact that I can rec you plenty more works in that genre written way better than that one. 'Cause, you know. I work in a bookstore. I see the staff picks.
[And he's been supplying Penny with age-appropriate and educational literature for months, now. His recommendations may tend more towards ladies-on-ladies adventures than anything else, but it's not like Karkat will care, right? Dave doesn't even understand why trolls even have a sex binary, it's not like they use it for anything but telling people not to play games for girls.
He's almost content to let it stay there, but then a series of quick little breaths, like a burst of near-soundless machine gun fire, escapes his nose. Dave buries his face in Karkat's shirt but he's grinning, and--oh. Oh, he's laughing.]
"Pellucid blue eyes." Who fucking wrote this garbage, are they serious. I'd almost believe it was Rose except there's not enough goddamn beard-fondling or wrinkled assholes in dresses. Let me see that.
[He reaches up through his breathing hole and makes a grabby hand.]
[Oh fuck no. Karkat may not be fast or even very coordinated, but with Captive Prinplup already on his face and Dave in a significantly disadvantaged position, he just barely manages to swipe the book away in time and hold it just out of reach. Uh, for now. Dave's arms are still longer than his, but he's starting to sit up a little to try and compensate.]
This series was highly recommended! Shut the fuck up, Dave, it wasn't that bad.
[Except for the part where it's really not the kind of thing he'd read to Dave and especially not when his feelings for him are—it's just not something to read to Dave, okay?
His face is as red as it gets, at any rate, and he may just be contemplating hurling the offending book across the room if it weren't for the fact that he still wants to read it. Now that he knows exactly which book Wart had had picked for him, he's remembering how much blackrom potential he'd envisioned the first time he'd heard about it. It's written by a human, which probably means he's doomed for disappointment, but it's still his book, goddammit. End of literal story.]
Why were you looking at staff picks for romance?
[When in doubt, change the subject. Also, no he is not differentiating genre much besides romance and, uh, something about the rating. Because. He's seven sweeps old, this is normal.]
[Foiled, Dave just lets his arm flop back down across Karkat's shoulder and turns his face cheek-side to soft pajamas again. He is boneless as a fish fillet and feeling a lot better, if still painfully embarrassed and kind of brain-muzzy. Anyway, moving is stupid. Getting up is not a thing either of them should do, ever, obviously. He's not uncomfortable enough to remove himself from the space heater that is Karkat.]
Morbid curiosity, obviously. When do I ever pass up an opportunity to annihilate my own brain cells with the hottest new sewage, do you even know me.
[He taps one finger against the sheets for a second, then adds in a mumble:]
Also, I've been trying to help Penny with. Things. That's strictly off the record, though, okay.
[He trusts Karkat, of course, but he doesn't want to spread his friends' personal shit all over the goddamn place (except, of course, when it's hilarious, but this is not the case). But Dave would be flabbergasted if Karkat hasn't seen what's going on with D.J. Single Cent and her best friend, anyway. Completely gobsmacked.]
[Karkat is distracted and therefore not entirely up to speed, but with the game of keep away concluded already, he relaxes enough to focus on the conversation. Helping Penny with... ah.]
Things. Romance? Dave, are you—
[Snrrk, wait, hahaha oh god is he serious. Karkat is trying not to laugh, really he is, but a snicker escapes him anyway because holy fucking shit, Dave helping someone with their romantic troubles? As for Penny, well... yeah, it's kind of obvious what's going on there.]
Dave. Bro. Are you sure you got this? Because, okay, it's one quadrant, but human romance is still pretty fucking complicated.
[And Penny's... he's not sure, exactly, but he knows enough to worry.]
[Time to reach up again and push with embarrassed grumpiness on Karkat's face. Congratulations, Karkat, you are pale-dating an actual human feline.]
Um, fuck you kindly, dude, I know how human romance is supposed to work. [In a lower mutter:] Just 'cause I never dated a human...
[Grumbling, he puts his head back down on Karkat's chest and sighs.]
Look, she's just, like, sheltered to a stupid degree, okay? When we first talked about it, she didn't even know that that was a thing. I mean, girls being attracted to other girls. Nobody ever told her. So I can at least address the fucking basics, like, you know, that kind of shit being okay and probably wonderful, I don't know, I'm not a girl who's attracted to other girls, it's a little outside my realm of experience.
[But someone's gotta be Rose around here, and he's genetically the closest thing they've got.
Besides, he may not be a girl attracted to other girls, but...well, anyway.]
And it's not some huge travail for me to glance through the gay YA shelf to find books that don't paint same-sex romance as some kind of, I dunno, end of the world huge deal, I guess. I'm just making sure she doesn't run into discouraging shit, I'm not priming her to be sassy girl teen human Casanova or anything. I can handle that much.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action
Just get under the covers already, dumpass. I'll be there in a second.
[He disappears from the gap, but doesn't let the door go. After a moment, the mussed fluff of his hair and the tip of his nose reappear, and he adds in a small, sincere voice:]
...Thank you.
[This time, he retreats for real.
Peeing happens and then pants--Wart picked pajamas for Dave, for which he is both grateful and oddly annoyed about, because it implies Wart doesn't think he's going to do anything else today but laze around in bed and shiver off the shakes, but also they're comfortable and warm--and pulls the long-sleeved tee on, too. He's probably going to overheat egregiously, but he doesn't care, he wants to be fucking unreachable through the strata of clothes and blankets. Clothes and blankets and Karkat. God, the dude doesn't deserve this carnival of utter shit.
By the time he comes out (it takes no time, Dave doesn't want to keep Karkat waiting, but also he washes his hands because he's not gross), he's worked his way far enough back up the emotional echeladder to recover shame in full. Even as he pads his way to the bed, he can't quite make eye contact. Still can't apologize, either. Dammit, why does Karkat have to be so...
So good. To him.
It isn't fair.
He stops beside the bed and doesn't know what to say. Why does Karkat even want to be tied to a comically shattered piece of shit like him?]
Do I have the right to say sorry back yet, or am I still in the unapologetic doghouse, banned from acknowledging my sweet, sweet shame.
action
... Cool.
Fuck, did he actually just think—whatever, Dave told him to get under the covers so under the covers he'll get. Karkat is keenly aware of the dampness of his sweater, though, along with the fact that he should probably do something about that, so before actually getting into the bed, he quickly changes, too. Warm, dry pajamas for both of them. Good.
He's only just gotten around to pulling back the covers when Dave emerges again, and more easily this time, he looks over once more, his smile reappearing... and then fading because what in the name of that human red chimney asshole is Dave even talking about. Sorry? For... god. Fucking. Dammit.
Karkat sighs, drops his gaze to the fluffy red blanket he'd been not-fondling, and tries to ignore the twisting sensation in his repulsive human stomach. If Dave is still bringing it up, then he can't really dismiss it, can he? Even if he really fucking wants to.]
Tell me how any of that was your fault, Dave, and I'll listen. But... I mean, I guess I can understand why you'd think it was. Because you're stupid.
[... How was that not dismissing it again? Argh, he's always so fucking terrible at this. How can he stop Dave from blaming himself for something he had no control over?]
action
He stays still for a second, as if an answer will strike him, but then just crawls into the bed with a little huff, lies on his stomach and pulls the covers all the way up to his ears.]
Well, it wasn't your fault, either.
[That much is fucking true. He doesn't like Karkat trying to blame himself for not being there, refusing to let Dave take responsibility for his own fucked-upness. Like...like Dave is some kind of natural disaster that can be measured and gauged and prepared for but can't control itself. Like Bro messed him up so badly as a kid he'll never be able to manage his own feelings like an adult, like all he'll ever be is the result of what Bro did to him.
Fuck. Bro.]
...Or--or Dirk's. [The name feels downright wrong to say aloud, and Dave cringes a little without realizing it, like he could somehow get away from the sounds of his own mouth. He clears his throat, though his voice remains at about half-volume.] He didn't do anything.
action
Yeah, does Dave wanna try that again?
Karkat snorts but doesn't give voice to the (many, many, so many) protests he can think of to that particular bout of flatulent stupidity, instead climbing into the bed too and, because he's too fucking worried to feel self-conscious, immediately latching onto Dave's side again. He's not quite hugging him yet, more because he doesn't want Dave to feel trapped than because he doesn't want to, but he's definitely invading the fuck out of his personal space. Get used to it.]
Dirk isn't Bro. I know.
[It shouldn't need to be said and Karkat is more than a little worried about how Dave will react to hearing that name out loud, but he's hoping it will reassure him to have some kind of confirmation. Dirk isn't Bro. There's no need to be afraid.
... Fuck it, he's hugging Dave now.]
It's okay. Just get some rest? I'm here for as long as you need me.
[Whenever Dave needs him, even if he doesn't realize it. Karkat won't fuck up like that again.]
action
Dave thinks about saying it. He's not sure he wants to, when it's so...not needy, though it is, but in need, desperately; when he thinks Karkat wouldn't deny him anything right now, and it wouldn't--it can't be fair to ask for something so enormous, not when Dave himself doesn't understand what the asking would even be for.
Karkat didn't give "sorry" back to him yet and he already used "thank you." What does Dave even have if he doesn't have words? Nothing. His sword, his act, he left all of that on a stone slab on LOFAF, fading away as swiftly and unstoppably as his life had, leaving him the ghost of what Bro had made him.
No. Stop.
Dirk isn't Bro. Bro isn't here. Karkat's here, right here, and after a second to swallow, Dave lets go of the bedsheets, slips right through Karkat's arms to disappear beneath the covers completely, and folds himself around Karkat instead, bumps into his chest.]
Okay.
[He shifts so it's his ear pressing against Karkat's chest, so he can hear the rise and fall of his breathing or even his heart.
Dirk didn't do anything, and Bro's not here. But Dave will never stop watching for him now, never stop waiting for that shitty sneaker to drop, never forget that there's no such thing as safety.
But Karkat's here. If...if Bro does come, either Dave will be ready and that'll be fine, or...Karkat wouldn't even let Bro get near, would he. Bro doesn't go up against straightforward aggression, that's not his M.O., and if Karkat says he's not wanted...
Dave lets the muscles of his back and neck relax, slowly, curled into Karkat's shirt. He breathes out.]
We can watch TV.
[He doesn't want to sleep. Not when the aftertaste of fear still sits so sour in his throat. He doesn't want that kind of quiet.]
Or read a book. Anything you want.
action
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to pretend that Dave couldn't completely destroy him with a word. Dave is here, Dave is safe, Dave isn't going anywhere. Calm down, for fuck's sake.]
Do you want me to read to you?
[The question is more careful than it needs to be, especially considering how many fucking hours they'd spent doing the same thing on the meteor, but Karkat is still feeling grossly uncertain about pretty much everything right now. With Dave settled on his chest, the world seems like it's starting to fall back into place again, but for as long as Dave is like this, unstable and in need of comfort, he can't lower his guard. He can't let Dave decline to that point ever again.
Maybe reading to him would be a good idea right now. All of his books are piled haphazardly around the other bed, but there might be one within reach that's suitably awful by Dave's standards to take his mind off of things. Fuck Karkat hopes Wart hasn't vanished somewhere so that he can ferry one over without either of them having to move; he is not leaving Dave right now.
... And, since that's decided—]
Because I'm going to fucking read to you. You said it was my choice, so that's what we're doing. Deal with it.
action
Sir, yes, sir. Dealing.
[He proves how well he's dealing by moving not at all, continuing his unstoppable evolution into a human limpet. It's dark under the covers and all he can smell is Karkat's pajamas, and he's warm. The whole world's just Karkat right now, and that's good. That's about what he can deal with: A universe narrowed to the safe parts, the parts that won't ever hurt him.
Wart, alert to the passing thought in his direction, pokes his head in curiously. It seems he's ushered some of the less mature Pokémon into the small living room/kitchen area (because if they're going to pay this much for lodging, damn if it isn't going to be a suite), but he susses out what's going on quickly enough and psychics the nearest book right over to Karkat.
Dave reaches up to engineer a small fold at the top of the bed covers over Karkat's chest. It lets a little light in and that's sort of unfortunate, but it lets air in, too, and he can almost sort of see Karkat, like this.]
Hi. Requesting light petting, sir. But only if you've got enough hands. Wouldn't want to compromise the mission, sir. [He curls his arm around Karkat again and nestles in.] The mission is book reading. Restricted clearance, top secret intelligence only. Ten-hut.
action - i can't pokepun, use your imagination
Doing his best to send a mental wave of gratitude in the Gallade's direction, Karkat picks up the book and begins searching for the first actual page, his hand only returning to Dave's hair once he's located it. This book in particular is... one he hasn't started yet, actually. He would have started from the beginning just to make sure that Dave knew what was going on regardless, but it's still nice to be reading something new.]
What the fuck are you vomiting out your word hole. Shoosh, Dave, or I'll read the acknowledgments, too.
[Or the cast of characters, which he'd barely glanced at, but it's probably not important, right? It sure as fuck doesn't help when reading aloud to someone, nor does the map. Karkat may have to take a closer look later, though. Just in case.
He frowns to himself and wastes a few more seconds finding the ideal position to read one-handed and with his moirail on his chest before beginning. Past Karkat probably should have thought that one through more, but it's too late now and he's not dislodging Dave for a stupid reason like personal comfort.
Anyway. What's this book called again?]
The Captive Prinplup. Prologue. "'We hear that your Prince,' said Lady Jokaste, 'keeps his own harem. These slaves will please any traditionalist, but I have asked Adrastus to prepare something special in addition...'"
[And on it goes.]
action
He only starts paying attention when chapter one begins, and the description gives him pause, for a moment. Kinky, he almost says, but he vaguely remembers they're talking about slaves anyway so probably this is just part of the story and he doesn't really want to prod Karkat into an argument, he just wants to listen. So Dave listens, ignoring the hints here and there that ping him weirdly until the snotty blond prince gets all "Restrain him here in the harem" and Dave either has to snort or die on the spot.]
That sounds like a spectacularly shitty idea, man. He's gonna get all sorts of the wrong idea. Those messages are gonna be mixed to hell and not in a sweet jams gift tape way.
[Dave's not saying anything, but, like. Karkat. Bro.
Is he aware he's reading his moirail gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.
Because Dave's pretty sure Karkat's reading him gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.]
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It's a lot harder to ignore the potential awkwardness of reading what he's reading when Dave interjects with a comment like that, and after a too-long pause where Karkat does nothing more than stare at the last few lines and wonder what the fuck his moirail is talking about, he blanches, whips the book shut, and flips it over to inspect the summary written on the back. "Damen is a warrior hero who blah blah brother seizes power blah blah sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a" oh motherfucking hell.
Groaning, Karkat reopens the book to the page they'd left off, slaps the whole thing over his face, and slumps in place as much as physically possible for someone who's already lying down. How the fuck had he not. ARGH. Is he fucking braindead??]
Dave, if you pity me you'll agree right now that that didn't just fucking happen.
[The words are muffled but still intelligible, and if it weren't for how much it would probably hurt his cartilage nub, Karkat would probably follow them up with a facepalm x2 combob and then maybe defenestrate himself. Because.]
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What didn't happen? We weren't doing shit. All I remember's being all cuddled up here discussing the fact that I can rec you plenty more works in that genre written way better than that one. 'Cause, you know. I work in a bookstore. I see the staff picks.
[And he's been supplying Penny with age-appropriate and educational literature for months, now. His recommendations may tend more towards ladies-on-ladies adventures than anything else, but it's not like Karkat will care, right? Dave doesn't even understand why trolls even have a sex binary, it's not like they use it for anything but telling people not to play games for girls.
He's almost content to let it stay there, but then a series of quick little breaths, like a burst of near-soundless machine gun fire, escapes his nose. Dave buries his face in Karkat's shirt but he's grinning, and--oh. Oh, he's laughing.]
"Pellucid blue eyes." Who fucking wrote this garbage, are they serious. I'd almost believe it was Rose except there's not enough goddamn beard-fondling or wrinkled assholes in dresses. Let me see that.
[He reaches up through his breathing hole and makes a grabby hand.]
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This series was highly recommended! Shut the fuck up, Dave, it wasn't that bad.
[Except for the part where it's really not the kind of thing he'd read to Dave and especially not when his feelings for him are—it's just not something to read to Dave, okay?
His face is as red as it gets, at any rate, and he may just be contemplating hurling the offending book across the room if it weren't for the fact that he still wants to read it. Now that he knows exactly which book Wart had had picked for him, he's remembering how much blackrom potential he'd envisioned the first time he'd heard about it. It's written by a human, which probably means he's doomed for disappointment, but it's still his book, goddammit. End of literal story.]
Why were you looking at staff picks for romance?
[When in doubt, change the subject. Also, no he is not differentiating genre much besides romance and, uh, something about the rating. Because. He's seven sweeps old, this is normal.]
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[Foiled, Dave just lets his arm flop back down across Karkat's shoulder and turns his face cheek-side to soft pajamas again. He is boneless as a fish fillet and feeling a lot better, if still painfully embarrassed and kind of brain-muzzy. Anyway, moving is stupid. Getting up is not a thing either of them should do, ever, obviously. He's not uncomfortable enough to remove himself from the space heater that is Karkat.]
Morbid curiosity, obviously. When do I ever pass up an opportunity to annihilate my own brain cells with the hottest new sewage, do you even know me.
[He taps one finger against the sheets for a second, then adds in a mumble:]
Also, I've been trying to help Penny with. Things. That's strictly off the record, though, okay.
[He trusts Karkat, of course, but he doesn't want to spread his friends' personal shit all over the goddamn place (except, of course, when it's hilarious, but this is not the case). But Dave would be flabbergasted if Karkat hasn't seen what's going on with D.J. Single Cent and her best friend, anyway. Completely gobsmacked.]
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[Karkat is distracted and therefore not entirely up to speed, but with the game of keep away concluded already, he relaxes enough to focus on the conversation. Helping Penny with... ah.]
Things. Romance? Dave, are you—
[Snrrk, wait, hahaha oh god is he serious. Karkat is trying not to laugh, really he is, but a snicker escapes him anyway because holy fucking shit, Dave helping someone with their romantic troubles? As for Penny, well... yeah, it's kind of obvious what's going on there.]
Dave. Bro. Are you sure you got this? Because, okay, it's one quadrant, but human romance is still pretty fucking complicated.
[And Penny's... he's not sure, exactly, but he knows enough to worry.]
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Um, fuck you kindly, dude, I know how human romance is supposed to work. [In a lower mutter:] Just 'cause I never dated a human...
[Grumbling, he puts his head back down on Karkat's chest and sighs.]
Look, she's just, like, sheltered to a stupid degree, okay? When we first talked about it, she didn't even know that that was a thing. I mean, girls being attracted to other girls. Nobody ever told her. So I can at least address the fucking basics, like, you know, that kind of shit being okay and probably wonderful, I don't know, I'm not a girl who's attracted to other girls, it's a little outside my realm of experience.
[But someone's gotta be Rose around here, and he's genetically the closest thing they've got.
Besides, he may not be a girl attracted to other girls, but...well, anyway.]
And it's not some huge travail for me to glance through the gay YA shelf to find books that don't paint same-sex romance as some kind of, I dunno, end of the world huge deal, I guess. I'm just making sure she doesn't run into discouraging shit, I'm not priming her to be sassy girl teen human Casanova or anything. I can handle that much.