This is all just sex, basically... Just letting y'all know.

You never thought this was going to happen.

It's been three weeks since John's awkward confession in the middle of your room, all tangled up in cords, and it still feels like one of your idiotic fantasies you'd get off to in the middle of the night, but you know it's not- oh shit it can't be this is way too perfect for you to think up. You know you're smart and a bit more imaginative than you give yourself credit for, but you could never think this up, no matter how desperate you were, and you sure has hell could have never dreamed this either.

Your hands wander down to his sides, mouth in a heated lip lock with his, and you feel his soft, pianist fingers exploring their way down your back and shoulders, making little noises in the back of his throat when you press into sensitive spots. His tongue is tangled with yours, cheeks flushed red and your face probably mirrors his, and he shifts in your lap, moving closer to you, chests pressing together, and shirts rubbing together awkwardly. His lips leave yours, breathing heavily and hands stilled on your shoulders, chest rising against yours quickly. "Dave…?" He asks, voice choked and husky, blue eyes cloudy and cheeks bright red, those faint freckles you always forgot he had noticeable against his pale skin. He clears his voice, and fidgets in your lap- eliciting a sharp gasp from your mouth- then stills, eyes wide. "Um, are we going to…"

"Only if you're okay with it," you answer before he starts stuttering out the rest of the question, hands at his hips, under his shirt just a little, fingers barely caressing against his skin. He gazes at you, at your eyes uncovered, at your lips, your red cheeks, your mouth slightly open, and nods, leaning back forward to brush his lips against yours. His eyes slip closed, and you do the same, hands running up under his shirt, over his soft skin, and he shivers, moving closer, hands tightening on your shoulders.

You've never done this with anyone. You've never had someone so close to you like this, for it to be so intimate and passionate, and you sure as hell wouldn't want it with anyone else. Never with anyone else.

You slip his shirt over his head after you've parted for air, and he ducks his head, embarrassment getting to him before you've even had a chance to get a good look. You run a hand over his sides and ribs again, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his collarbone, smiling and looking up at him. He goes red and covers his face with his hands, and you frown, grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands away. "No, you're not allowed to hide like that, John," you say, pressing your lips to his, softly, for a moment. "I want to look at you."

He gasps as you trail your hands down his chest, kissing and nipping and sucking gently at his neck, feeling him squirm in your lap, his hands a death grip on your shoulders now. "When I kiss you," you murmur against his skin, hands going around to his back, fingers tracing down his spine. "When I run my hands down your back." He shudders and moves to wrap his arms around your neck, pressing his face into your neck, biting his lip. You hold onto his sides and move him back, so you can see his face again, and the crimson that's dusted his face and you kiss him, leaving your hands at his sides, his lips and your lips moving together gently as he tilts his head a little, trying to fit against you the best he could. Your hands move down to his hips, and you pull them forward, grinding your hardened erection against his, the friction from jeans a bit painful. He breaks off to moan a little, opening his eyes and focusing on yours for a split second before you do it again, eliciting another husky sound from his mouth.

"I especially want to look at you when I do that," you tell him, dropping your voice to be softer, unable to break eye contact with him. He moves his hands to the bottom of your shirt and swallows down what you're going to guess is nervousness. You help him take it off, and then his eyes are wandering all over your chest, at your scars from all the fighting with Bro, and he just runs his hands over them, gentle fingers tracing over the faint ridge they make. "Yeah, I know, there's a lot of them."

"They're cool," John says, smiling faintly. Your heart skips a beat, the anticipation of the situation and the position falling to the bottom of your stomach, and you're pretty sure your hands are shaking. You didn't know what you were doing earlier, and you were sure John didn't either, and it makes you feel more secure than it would most people- you weren't the only one new to this. You put a hand under his chin and lift his face up to make eye contact, and smile, bumping your forehead against his. He smiles back, hands still tracing your scars. "Are we going to do this?"

You nod. "When you're ready."

"I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

He gives you a look, caught between being unsure, scared, anxious and excited, and nods once, smiling just enough so you catch his buck teeth. "I'm sure."

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're nervous as shit.

The details leading up to the position you were in right now- or rather, the position both of you were in- were a bit hazy, although you remember there was a lot kissing and touching and it felt really, really good. You never imagined in all those times when you spent a little extra time in the shower that Dave's hands, although rough from years of sword play, were going to be that good at eliciting reactions from you. And now, you surely never thought that it was going to feel this great.

He's leaning against the pillows of your bed, eyes watching you closely, freckles plastered over his nose and cheeks as his hands hold your hips steady, and you brace your hands on the bed sheets beside you, biting your lower lip. "You don't have to, John," he tells you, voice soft and you can hear the concerning tone and feel how his hands shake against your hips, and you swallow down the nervousness, looking down at him. You knew you'd never let yourself live it down if you chickened out now, and you carefully line yourself up with his dick, taking a deep breath and carefully lowering yourself down and dammit did it hurt. You gasp and whimper, hands fists in the sheets, and you look up at him, and he's got his eyes closed tight, and his hands are gripping your hips a bit harder, chest rising and falling erratically. Did you really have that much of an effect on him?

"Dave, are you okay?" you ask, voice shaking, and you move your hands to his shoulders, rubbing his skin gently.

Dave opens his eyes for a moment, looking at you with such a powerful gaze, that you almost melt right there, but his Adam's apple bobs in his throat and he nods, hands loosening up on your hips. "Yeah. I'm okay. You can keep going when you're ready."

You take a minute, catching your breath, trying to get used to the uncomfortable pain, glad that Dave used practically an entire bottle of lube because of his nerves, or you figure it would have been painful. You trace your eyes over his scars, his chest, his flat stomach, and then going back up to look at his face, how he was looking back at you, red eyes fiery and intense, thumbs caressing your hips, drawing little circles on your hipbones. Throwing every care to the wind, every nerve making your stomach bubble weird, you use your knees to rise up , then slowly moving back down, moaning and tightening your hands on his shoulders. His voice picked up against yours, deeper and throaty, and the moment he's all the way in again, you both are panting, staring each other down, every breath in time. "Dave, I…" you start, moving your hips to get comfortable, bringing a small moan from his mouth, and you grow still, leaning down onto his chest and burying your face in his chest.

"John-?"

"Move," you demand, putting your hands on either side his head and tangling your fingers into pillowcase.

You can feel his heart jump in his chest, and how his arms come up around your waist, holding you tightly, his breath ghosting over your skin and he nods. "I…" he sounds worried for a moment, before kissing your temple and you feel him smile against your skin. "Alright," he says softly, moving his arms so his hands held your hips and moving to kiss you once.

And then he's moving his hips, his member sliding out of and back into you almost easily and you're gone, the only thing you're aware of is the friction, and how he fits inside and how painful, but wonderful, it feels, and you're moaning against his chest, hands clawing at the pillow case. Your eyes are screwed shut, mouth open as you pant and groan, and it feels so good, so fucking good. The noises you're making in the back of your throat barely rival with the low, husky moans and curses he's rambling on about, as he thrusts and moves, hands pushing your hips down and his go up. He stops for a moment before flipping spots with you, shocking you a bit as he wraps your legs around his waist and grabs your hips again, looking at you straight in the eye. You see his throat move from swallowing and you're both out of breath and then he leans down and kisses you, tongue running over your lips until you oblige, and part, tangling your tongue with his, as his hands hold onto your hips and he moves out of you and back into you at a slow, steady pace, swallowing all of your moans into his mouth. You move your hands to his back, holding onto him and moaning, gasping and panting when he parts to kiss down your neck, occasionally sucking to leave a small mark, running his tongue over the red splotches in apology.

"Faster-ah-please…" you moan, resisting to scream and moan at him to go deeper, but the second his hips start moving back and forth faster, you're losing it, pressing your hands against him to steady yourself, moaning and whimpering and groaning and making absurd little noises mixed with random words and phrases- "faster" "hard" "oh god" "don't stop please"- and then there's stars in your eyes, and your digging your nails into his shoulder blades and running your hands down, practically screaming. "Oh, fuck, Dave!" You tell him, arching his back and clawing desperately at his skin. "There, oh God, please, there!"

Dave makes a noise in the back of his throat, and his next few thrusts are spot on, leaving your throat sore and your back is aching and you're sure you're going to have to treat the scratches later. His name mixes with your voice, and your voice mixes with his string of profanities, and his hand finds your neglected cock and he's stroking you in time with his crazy, frantic thrusts, and you're doing your best to hold onto your sanity, friction and heat and the sound of his skin on yours and how both of you are breathing so erratically all mixing together and causing your senses to overload.

Then, you're screaming his name, and you're coming, covering his hand and your chest and stomach with your white, sticky release, and he's nothing more than a thrust behind you, filling you with his own and barely holding himself up from falling on top of you, red eyes finding yours as you open them.

He's drenched with sweat, and his hair is sticking to his forehead and he looks disheveled and messy, but he's got the biggest smile on his face, and he's just staring at you as you collect and compose yourself. But, finally, you smile back at him as he pulls out, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down, kissing him and laughing, not even caring that you were sticky and you needed a shower and that you were both exhausted.

All that mattered, right now, was that you just shared the best moment of your life with your best friend- now boyfriend, you think proudly- and you don't think it could get any better.

Your name is John Egbert, and you're the fucking happiest person alive.