The Ace Thing, Chapter Eleven (Homestuck fic)

[nobrandhero]

Read on Dreamwidth under the cut, or over on AO3.

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April 13th has never gone by so slowly. It should be a fucking crime for schools to not give free absences on birthdays, especially when it comes to the big twenty-first. If John wasn't so nervous about his grades, you'd have told him to skip anyway.

You flashstep to the door as soon as you hear his key fumble in the lock. He's barely taken a step into the apartment before you've snatched him off his feet. He lets out a startled yelp but it turns to a laugh.

You press your forehead against his. "You're late, asshole."

He snorts. "Is that any way to greet your boyfriend on his birthday?"

"Nah." You walk him over to the futon and drop him onto it, leaning over him. "This is." You kiss him, settling in against him as you up the intensity.

He melts against you, eyes closed. "I just meant that 'happy birthday' is a little more traditional, jackass," he says when you stray from his lips to work at his jaw.

You smirk, making sure to focus on the areas he likes best. You nudge him away whenever he tries to return the favor -- like hell you're letting him do any of the work on his birthday.

After a while you sneak a glimpse at your phone to check the time, because you're a romantic fucker like that. "John," you murmur, keeping your lips against his skin, "we oughta head out."

He groans. "But I only just got back. And this is good."

"Of course it fucking is." You nuzzle at his throat. "But we can do this whenever. You only get one shot at a twenty-first birthday drink."

"Sounds overrated." He wraps his arms around your head, holding you against him.

You laugh. "We'll pick up where we left off when we get back, okay?"

He loosens his hold. "And we'll marathon movies?"

"At the same time as sucking face?" You smirk. "You better fucking believe we will." You catch his wrists and pull him onto his feet.

It doesn't take more coaxing to get him out the door. You're not gonna risk taking the car, but you're in no mood for The Taxi Experience: Now With Extra Honking either, so you just walk him to a decent bar five blocks over. It's dark and small, but also just the right mix of divey and classy.

John gazes around with curiosity, taking in the neon beer logos on the walls and the specials written in chalk behind the bar. You lead him to a two-person table, complete with uncomfortable bar stools, and tap him with a menu when he's not paying attention.

"So what should I try?" he asks after only a glance at the exhaustive drink list.

"Doesn't matter. Go for whatever you're curious about. Just don't get a beer."

"Why not?" he says, but his gaze is already skipping the beer section.

"Because I've served you better ones at home. Bars chill their shit and dilute the taste." You nod to the waiter who stops by your table just as you finish your blatant insult to his place of employment. You give approximately zero fucks that he probably overheard.

You order a pizza to get started as John's pulls out his wallet to show off his newly relevant driver's license. He orders an appletini and you facepalm.

He frowns at you. "What?"

"Nothing," you say before ordering a screwdriver. It's basic, but the last thing you need tonight is to get drunk and you know exactly where you stand with vodka.

As the server leaves, John looks to you with almost a pout. "You said go for whatever!"

"So you went with a girly drink? D'you know how much alcohol goes into those things?"

"Dave said they're good!" John's frown lessens. "I guess he'd be biased though."

"You asked Dave for recs and he told you to try an appletini?"

He snorts. "You don't know about Dave's love of all things liquid apple?"

Your mouth twitches as you fight off a scowl. "It'd be kinda hard to miss all the juice cartons he left lying around the apartment, even for me," you say, keeping your voice even.

(Never mind that you didn't notice. You just found empty bottles squirreled away in Dave's closet after he moved out. Some of that shit had expiration dates from at least five years ago. It's just a theory, but you highly suspect that maybe, just maybe, Dave likes AJ and you were just too fucking self-absorbed throughout his entire childhood to realize that's why juice disappeared so fast.)

John drops his gaze. "Sorry," he murmurs.

You shrug. "Hey, whatever. This ain't a bad place to learn how you react to the strong stuff. Better than at a frat party without your boyfriend around to watch your back."

You're spared further awkwardness as your drinks are on the table in no time. John splutters a little at his first sip but gives you a thumbs up. You roll your eyes and work on your own drink.

John must find appletinis palatable enough, as finishes his first glass by the time the pizza arrives. You order him a refill on automatic, raising your half-finished glass in a toast as soon as he has liquid to match. The food is greasy and messy and fucking perfect aside from the number of napkins needed to spare your fingers from turning orange.

"Best thing about bars is how cheapass the food can be," you say as you pull over another slice. The cheese practically oozes off the sides and you scoop it back on the crust. "Remember that if you're ever low on cash: bars make their money on overpriced booze."

"Why the fuck are you worried about where to find cheap meals, Mr. Pornlord?" John points an accusatory piece of crust at you before popping it in his mouth.

"Less money spent on food means more money spent on booze. Learn basic math, Egbert."

"Maybe my classes would be easier then, huh?" he mumbles around his glass, downing the rest of it. He shudders as he sets it back on the table. "Speaking of numbers, can I get another?"

You nudge his arm. "Yes, you can get another, dumbass. Go crazy."

By the time he's finished his third drink and ordered a fourth, you're starting to wonder if you should have put down ground rules. "You're gonna get drunk, John," you say, picking off a pepperoni from the last slice of pizza neither of you seem keen to actually eat.

"No, 'm not."

"You already sound tipsy."

He points at you. "Your face already sounds stupid."

You shake your head, polishing off your second drink to John's fourth. The little asshole manages to order a fifth before you nab the check and is especially stubborn about not drinking the ice water you order for him. You're not even buzzed, but it's a miracle he doesn't stumble when he stands.

You keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders when you're back on the streets and he's too drunk to take offense at being coddled as you walk him back to the apartment. At least he's a cheerful enough drunk, if a stupid one. He laughs at nothing and headbutts your shoulder. You're still relieved when you're able to drop him onto the futon.

You sit next to him. "You rather have some of the leftover cake your dad sent or just start sleeping this off?"

He grunts, struggling to sit up. "We're supposed to go back to messy makeouts."

"Now? You're drunk off your ass, kid."

He tugs at your sleeve. "Back to kissing!"

"A'right, fine." You move in.

"And movies."

You pause inches from his neck and sigh. "What do you want?"

"Ghostbusters!"

You roll your eyes even as you go set up the Blu-ray player. "Sure, why not? Great film for makeouts, with all the demonic possession and giant marshmallow men."

You're expecting to make the first move when you flop next to him again as the movie starts. Instead he jumps you, throwing his arms around your shoulders and going for your throat. He carelessly jams his knee into you, missing a groinshot by four inches up. You cringe on instinct, but he's too busy chewing on your neck to notice.

You massage at his back. "Hey, easy there," you murmur, voice breathy.

He garbles something against your skin but forgets to remove his teeth first. He slows his ferocity, though. His knee slips down, still pressed against you, and you're so used to him avoiding your crotch area as if it might burn him that you're unprepared when his leg brushes directly against it and rests there.

You moan as the pressure settles. This is the closest he's ever come to touching you and it feels amazing. Completely wrong, but amazing.

"John..." Part of you wants to stop there, hates what you're about to say, but that part of you can go die in a fire. "Move your goddamn leg."

He grunts, glancing down. His face turns red and he yanks his knee back with an embarrassed yelp.

You relax once the pressure's gone, but the relief doesn't last long. Your body's already gotten the wrong idea. You make to get up. "I gotta... detour to the bathroom a minute... or ten."

He launches after you, grabbing your arm. "No no no, don't go!"

"I gotta, dumbass. You don't even know what you just did to my libido."

"Then... what if... what if we..." John swallows, hesitates, then looks you straight in the eyes with a determined expression. "What if we fuck?"

"What?"

"We can have... we can have sexual intercourse. That way you can stay."

You stare at him. You can barely even process what the fuck he just proposed, let alone formulate a reply. You shake your head. "Say that when you're sober and I'll think about it."

He tugs your sleeve. "But I said it's okay! Just don't go."

"John, you can't handle brushing your knee against my fully clothed dick. You ain't ready to lose your virginity."

He whines and clings to you. Forget any previous claims: John's fucking awful when he's drunk.

You groan. "If we call it quits on the makeouts, I'll stay, okay?"

He nods and leans into your shoulder. You just lie back against a pillow and try to think of the least sexy images you can conjure to kill the arousal.

You're both quiet for a while. "Are you mad at me?" John says.

"I'm gettin' kinda exasperated here, but no, I'm not angry."

He presses his forehead against your neck. "But you never wished me happy birthday."

You pet the back of his head. "Because it's cheesy and you already know the sentiment's there."

"How would I know that?"

"You could try paying attention to context and-" You shake your head. "I'm trying to talk logic to a drunk." You kiss him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, John. You idiot."

He relaxes. "Hey, Dirk?" he murmurs, staring into space.

You glance over. "Hey, what?"

"You ever think about having kids?"

You grimace. "Fuck no."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't fucking want any and I already spent the last twenty-one years fucking up with the one I've already got."

"Oh." John hums. "You'd probably do better this time."

You groan. "John, we don't have sex for your sake and we don't have kids for my sake. Them's the rules."

"We can have sex."

You shove him. "No, we damn well can't, dipshit, not when you're fucking drunk. Go to sleep."

"But the movie's not over yet!"

You sigh and pull him over so he's lying on your chest and can stare at the screen from the safety of your shoulder. You cannot fucking believe he can be this drunk yet this unable to fall asleep, but he finally goes limp half an hour into the next DVD. You fall asleep to Nic Cage stealing the Declaration of Independence playing in the background, your drunk-off-his-ass boyfriend acting as your blanket.

* * *

It has never been more pointless to wake before John. You can't fucking move without dislodging him, but you want to let him sleep in as long as possible, after how much he drank. When he wakes an hour later, his brow furrows in pain before his eyelids so much as twitch. He lets out a tiny groan to signal he's fully transitioned into hangover mode.

You slide him off you, settling him against the pillows, and head for the kitchen with as little noise as possible, closing the blinds as you go. You return to John's side with a bottle of water, two ibuprofen, and a piece of bread. You nudge him.

"Dirk?" he says, voice weak and groggy.

"Welcome to your first hangover, kid." You push the water and pills at him. "Drink up."

"It hurts."

"Yeah, I know." You nudge him again and he finally sits up enough you trust him to swallow without choking. "Least you're not vomiting."

"Mm," he mumbles around a gulp of water. You pass him the bread next. He makes a face at it but trusts that you know what's best and nibbles at it.

"So you remember everything okay, or did you blackout?"

He pauses to consider it. "I think..." His face burns red and he glances away. "I think I remember it all."

You nod. You're a little surprised that you don't feel much disappointment at the confirmation that his drunken attempts at giving consent were bullshit.

"Dirk?" he says, still blushing.

"Yeah?"

He nibbles on the bread, not meeting your gaze. "You're the best goddamn boyfriend."

"You're damn right I am." You wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Last night was just common sense though."

He nods, relaxing against you even as he says, "Oww," under his breath.

You wait for him to finish his water before addressing the other hungover elephant in the room. "Hey, John?"

"Hey, yeah?"

"Please tell me it was just the alcohol talking and you're not actually set on having kids."

He frowns as he takes another long sip of water. "If you can live without sex, I can live without kids." He smirks. "Besides, no adoption agency in their right mind would ever give you custody of a child."

You lightly shove him.

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