Because friendship fetish. Friendship fetish is why.
Slash - Dave/John - Post Sburb?
Your name is Dave Strider and today is the fifth anniversary of your annual visit to Maple Valley, Washington.
Five years ago, your best bro in the entire world had convinced his dad to drive the two of you two and a half hours out for a day at the beach at Ocean Shores. It was like Egbert had forgotten you live in Houston and it's only a an hour away to the nearest beach. But it's Egbert, and you didn't really mind anyway, because it's endearing in his own dorky way. The water was so cold you could hardly stand in the surf with your shoes off, but you and John do it anyway, because, fuck, you're thirteen and with your best bro in the conceivable universe, and it's the first time you've really been around each other. Sburb doesn't count, as meeting in that game under any circumstance meant something horrible was going to happen to one of you. So you enjoyed your time with John at his shitty, cold, west coast beach until Dadbert told you it was time to get back home.
So here you were. That same beach, with your same best bro, just five years later. Of course, it was John that drove you here this time (ironically in that same white tin can he calls a car), but it's pretty much the same deal.
You're walking in the icy surf, chucks stuffed with your socks in hand, a little bit ahead of John. He abandoned his dingy yellow Vans long since stepping onto the sand, somewhere near the parking lot, and was walking in a fashion that made the chilled water splash more than normal. Some things did change, you suppose, but the beach visits never really did, in the long run. You feel like a kid again, and it's quite obvious that John shares the sentiment, and for a moment, it's nice.
It's nice except for this feeling gnawing in your chest like a fucking alien that wants to pop out of your chest like a hot piece of toast, but it decides its too goddamn comfortable inside so it just stays there like an asshole. You can't put your finger on it, but it's important, and you want to say it, but there's something holding you back.
Then John says it for you.
"Dave, are we in love?"
You stop walking, and John runs into you.
You turn around and even though he can't see it, your eyes are wide, and John, in the meantime, rubs his nose.
"In love?" you ask, eyebrows visible for once, raised well above your beloved Ray Bans.
John looks abashed, and certainly a little hurt.
You didn't mean to say it quite so harshly.
"I... Dave, do you think we're in love? I mean, we've been best friends for a really long time, and you're always there for me, and we talk all the time, even when you're working and I'm supposed to be in class, and even when Jade kinda fell off the map for a while there, and Rose was having all those problems at home, we stayed really close! And you come up here every summer, like clockwork... I don't even have to invite you, you just come up! You're always there for me, and back when we were fourteen..."
"Woah, woah, hey, let's not bring that up, dude, not cool," you interject, hoping John will shut up before he brings up something that was better left to being forgotten forever.
It doesn't work.
"...You kissed me, Dave. You kissed me and you let me kiss you back. Hehe, practicing for a girlfriend my ass, Dave!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, and suddenly you feel the urge to dive into the fucking cold, salty-ass Pacific and drown yourself before Egbert brings up anymore physically painful memories.
Not that they weren't... pleasurable memories, yes, but embarrassing none the less.
"Dave, best bros don't watch movies together, spooning on a couch; they don't kiss each other, they don't come to visit every year when they live thousands of miles apart," John says, looking you (as far as he can tell) in the eye (you actually do make eye contact, but John will never know).
He takes your hand, and brings himself close to you so your toes are touching his, and dammit, yes, his mouth really is temptingly close.
Focus, Strider. Focus!
"Best bros don't go for cliched long walks on the beach around sunset."
Your cool facade is slipping dangerously fast, and it's goddamn Egbert who's causing the meltdown.
John looks at you for a moment, studying your failing poker face with a mixture of amusement and worry.
Perhaps he thinks he's broke you.
He lets go of your hand, and takes a step back, and you subconsciously flinch, because you don't want him to go.
"Well, then... Dave, if we're not in love, do you wish we were?" he asks, and he's being very earnest.
It hurts a little, how honest he can be.
It takes you a moment, but you manage to say it.
"All the time."
You pause for a moment, hoping that was the right thing to say, because it's true, first of all; and then you decide to say it again, for good measure.
"I do, all the time," you admit, and it feels great to say.
John doesn't make any movements for a second, but you can see it in his blue eyes before he practically leaps into your arms.
He's grinning like Nicolas Cage had just driven up to his house and stood outside his window, holding a boombox blaring "How Do I Live" in the rain, except it's not Nic Cage that's got him grinning; it's you. You're the reason he's grinning like this, and you're grinning too. John removes your shades, and you allow this because you know from this point on in the evening, it's just going to be sloppy make outs. You pitch your shoes into the sand, and bring your face to John's, and this time, you make real eye contact.
You kiss each other again and again, and it feels so good, probably because it was such a long time coming.
When you finally break apart, John buries his smile into your collarbone.
"I'm really glad we're in love," he said, sounding a little muffled and even more relived.
You smile too, and let your cheek brush against the top of your best bro's head.
"Yeah, me too."
Your name is Dave Strider, and on the fifth anniversary of your annual trip to Maple Valley, Washington, you realized you were in love with your best bro.
Because you were all along.
I. I am sorry.
So Dave/John happened and yeah.
SO THIS STARTED OKAY AND ENDED ALL POOPY.
R&R's never necessary but always appreciated.