Author's Note: A short Pepsicola Drabble I wrote a 2 am for Maia 3
"Wow... Dave... You're really going all out, huh," you mumble, surprised at the young Strider's determination.
"Hell fucking yes, man. Anything to make my best bro happy," he sets a vast array of crayola markers in front of you. "And if anyone is gonna fucking color your cast, then it better be me. Besides, you chose a lame color like blue," you can practically hear his eyes rolling as he picks up a red marker and starts drawing on you.
"You have to leave room for Rose and Jade though," you remind him. Dave acknowledges with a frown and continues his work. You sigh and lie down fully on his bed, looking up towards the ceiling. With your other hand, you take off your glasses and lay them on your chest so you don't forget them and crush them by accident. Dave's fingers brush up between your arm and the cast and you jump a bit, getting a chuckle from Dave. "What're you doing?" you ask, looking down towards Dave's work. However, you forgot you'd taken off your glasses and you can't see jack shit.
"Drawin' a SBaHJ of course," says Dave, concentration straining his voice. Through the blur of your shitty vision, you swear you can see part of his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in intense concentration.
"Dave I don't want one of your stupid comics on my arm. They make no fucking sense, man," you groan, your head flopping back down on Dave's pillow. You try not to inhale, but Dave's pillow smells so strongly of him that you just can't help yourself and you hope to god that Dave is too concentrated on the comic on your arm to notice.
You suddenly feel a soft, cold wetness on your arm and you bolt up. "What the hell?" you say, ripping your arm away. Dave start's laughing and he stands up. You fumble for your glasses, putting them on your face while poking yourself in the eye and look at Dave's "master artistry". On account that you had broken your arm after falling down the stairs, Dave's comic really was ill-humored and you send him an irritated look.
"I warned you about the stairs bro, I told ya," chuckled Dave, sitting next to you on his bed.
"You know, it really kind of hurt. You could at least not be a dick about it, Dave," you grumble under your breath. You look at your forearm and you see a bright red streak where you must have pulled away from the marker. "What the hell man? Why are you drawing on my skin?" you ask, rubbing at the surprisingly stubborn marker.
"You said to leave room for Jade and Rose, so I did. But I'm not done drawing, so I'm just gonna draw on you," he leans over, marker in hand and continues making squiggly lines on your forearm. The cold marker on your skin sends shivers through you and you protest, pushing his arm away.
"Aw come on, we can't do anythin' else now that you're incapacitated and stuff," grumbles Dave, pouting beneath his shades.
"But it's cold and I don't like the feeling of those markers on my skin!" you groan.
"Too fucking bad," Dave puts the marker in his mouth and then scoots up, trapping you beneath his legs as he puts your arm on your chest and continues to draw. You feel your face flush and you quickly look away, choosing to just deal Dave's strange insistence. Your legs go numb and you force them to relax. Dave lets out a content grunt at your submission and drops on top of you, finishing another Hella Jeff. It's quiet for a while and all there is is the soft inhale and exhale of Dave's breath, your slightly strained breathing, and the swish of the marker on your skin.
"Will this come easily?" you realize your slip of tongue and immediately fidget and panic. Dave looks up, a single eyebrow raising above his shades. "I-I mean will this come off easily!" you stumble, your cheeks pink from embarrassment.
"It's crayola, dude, you should be fine," he said, unable to help the smirk on his face.
"Can you hand me a marker?" you ask suddenly. Dave now raises both eyebrows at you.
"Cuz I'm bored from being the only one being drawn on," you say quickly. "And I want the blue. Because blue's fucking awesome, dude," you say, defending your favorite color valiantly. Dave hums and you can feel the purr against your chest.
"Fine, but only because you're disabled," he mutters, rolling over slightly and pushing down on your stomach and making you hiss out curse words. He fumbles for the blue marker and then rolls back over, handing it to you. "Just don't fuck up my beautiful skin," he warns. You laugh because you're right handed and that's the arm you broke. There was no way that you couldn't fuck it up. But it serves Dave right for drawing SBaHJ all over you.
Dave goes back to his work, pulling up your sleeve to fit a crudely drawn text bubble. You hesitate in drawing on Dave's left arm but finally put the marker onto his skin, struggling to draw Bill Cosby with your non-dominant hand. Dave shivers on top of you. "Damn, those are cold," he mutters, goosebumps rising on his arms.
"Told you," you grumble, coloring in Bill's hair and horridly missing the lines. There's more silence as you both focus on coloring. Dave's breathing then halts for a moment. You stop coloring and glance towards him.
"John you wouldn't mind if I took off your shirt, right?" he asks. There's an almost unnoticeable edge of worry in his tone. You deadpan him in dubious disbelief, wondering if he was serious.
"I'm sorry?" you feign confusion.
"I'm outta room and my comic's not done yet. Lemme use your stomach," he says, pulling at the hem of your shirt. The blood rushes to your face and you shift uncomfortably under him. "If you don't answer I will take that as a yes," he says, shimmying your shirt above your belly.
"Fine!" you snap, blushing fiercely and refusing to look towards him.
"Okay, lift your arms, I'll be careful not to ruin my art," he says with a smirk, gripping your shirt in his hands. You give him an annoyed, flustered look but comply, lifting your arms above your head. Dave pulls the shirt up and shimmies it up closer to your face. You can't see, but you feel him move up closer to you.
"Dave, what are you doing?"
"I can't get it off from where I was sitting," he answers curtly, his voice closer to you than before. He pulls your shirt over your cast and then quickly removes it from your other arm. Leaving you utterly embarrassed, and shirtless. "You look pissed, John, is something wrong?" the shit-eating grin on Dave's face made you want to punch him.
"You're so fucking weird, Dave, jegus," you groan, unable to look him in the eye, hiding your distressed look with your broken arm. Dave was silent for a moment. Then you felt marker on your stomach. "Dave!" you yell, exasperated that he's still trying to finish his fucking comic at this point.
"Don't look yet," mumbled Dave, holding onto your cast and shoving it back towards your face. You can feel him writing something on you, but you're unable to make out the words. The second word is closer to your chest and the third you feel all the way up on your chest.
"D-Dave!" you feel your ears burning and you're now trembling in pure embarrassment. Dave is silent aside from the click of the cap on his pen. He doesn't say anything, though you assume that he is done with his "comic".
"Well?" Dave's voice is thick and choked. You lower your arm and look at him. From beneath his dark shades you can see a glowing red on his pale cheeks and he isn't looking at you. A tight grimace pulls his mouth into a grim line. You're almost scared to look down, but you do. And you see the shakily-written, upside-down letters scrawled out across your torso.
"Fuck, Egbert, just say something," he snaps, his face a whole new shade of pink as he turns to you. You sit up, narrowing the distance between the two of you.
"I love you too, Dave," you breathe before pressing a chaste kiss to his pale lips.
"About fuckin' time," he growls, grabbing you by the back of your hair, pulling you towards him so sharply that both of your glasses knock together with a clack. But neither of you even notice. And you have to admit, that while your favorite color is blue, you quite enjoy Dave's current shade of red just a bit more.