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Your name is Dave Strider and you swear you've never been so hard before in your life.
Bro warned you.
He told you, dog.
About dumb hormones and morning wood and how it was going to be embarrassing and it was going to keep happening. You've been trying to ignore your boner for a good fifteen minutes now and it doesn't get any softer and it doesn't help that John is one of those guys who rolls and shifts and tosses and turns in his sleep and his hand keeps brushing over your dick and he's practically on top of you.
You had a sleepover with John and now it's 9 in the morning and it's way too early but you are so hard and you don't know what to do about it.
You try to slide out of your bed but John's latched onto you like you're his teddy bear or something and he just presses his face harder into your stomach and mumbles in his sleep when you try to move.
You wonder if you should wake him up, and you're about to do it when you realize that you have a boner and he's laying with his body pushed against yours and he'll notice it if you wake him up and he probably wouldn't look you in the shades for a year.
Then he rolls a little in the bed and his thigh is seriously pressing right up against the bulge in your pants and you have to actually bite your lip to hold back the little noise you want to make.
You ever-so-tentatively grind up against John's thigh and gasp, then do it again, harder.
Oh.
That feels good.
Guilt doesn't occur to you as a thing you should be feeling as you continue to grind against him, slowing down quite a lot and really just enjoying the feeling. His thigh rubs against you in just the right way and you're pretty sure you made that sound out loud just now, oh fuck.
He's mumbling and shifting and with each shift his thigh presses against you again and you have a hard time keeping quiet because this feels really good and you don't want to make any more noise, especially when he's making noises like he's gonna wake up.
He can't wake up while you're doing this.
So you try hard to keep still.
It doesnt help that he's trying to shift around more and his thigh keeps pressing against your crotch.
You take deep breaths and try hard to shut up and your breaths turn to panting and you're really regretting the decision to sleep in the same bed as your best friend.
You should've just assumed this would happen or something.
He settles down, stops moving so much, and you resume rolling your hips, sighing at the feeling, feeling yourself slide close to the edge and then stopping, bringing yourself back.
You're going to enjoy this while you can and that means not coming five minutes in.
You stop, lay still, calm down, think unsexy thoughts.
How long have you wanted John Egbert to be yours?
Too long. But he's straight.
You feel guilt gnawing at the back of your mind, then tell yourself that he's asleep and he's not gonna remember and what does it matter if you have a bit of harmless fun for once.
That shuts the guilty part of your mind up and you start to push against him again, wrapping both legs around one thigh and practically humping him.
This time, when you get close, you don't stop. Fuck stopping. You don't want to stop. You don't care if you come.
Then you're panting, gripping your comforter tightly in both hands, face burning red.
Your name is Dave Strider and you have just humped your best friend through your clothes to the point of coming in your boxers. You have never been more embarrassed. You roll over, shifting as far away from John as you can, and wrap yourself in the blanket, not quite giving a shit that your clothes are sticky against your skin, and force yourself back to sleep.
Your name is Dave Strider and you don't know if you can face your 'not-a-homo' best friend ever again.
When he wakes up, he wakes you up, too, and he seems to be acting like nothing happened. No, as far as he's concerned, nothing did happen. You're still incredibly embarrassed and you avoid eye contact all afternoon until his dad picks him up that evening, and you say you'll talk to him on Pesterchum but you won't.
You avoid John as best you can. You're pretty sure he didn't wake up, sure, but you fucking dry humped your best friend until you came in your boxers like a teenage girl having her first time and you're more than a little bit embarrassed.
You sign out of Pesterchum as soon as he signs in on Saturday night, then do the same on Sunday, then skip school on Monday because you don't want to risk seeing him at lunch or in class. Bro doesn't believe you're sick, but Bro is also running late for work and doesn't have time to fight with you, so he leaves you in bed, flipping you off and letting you know you'll get in shit for this later. You don't care much, because you can't face John or Jade or even Rose--especially Rose.
You do the same thing on Tuesday, and Bro is running late then, too, so you're free another day. When he gets home from work he asks what the fuck is up and you shrug and tell him you don't feel well but he knows it's bullshit.
It's on Wednesday when you roll over and pull the covers over your head that Bro comes into your room, grabs you by the ankles, and literally drags you from your bed. "You're going today, little bro. Don't give a fuck if you're 'sick,' that's bullshit. Get dressed."
You can't avoid it anymore so you pull on a long sleeved shirt and wiggle into a pair of jeans and resign to your fate of spending a day on the very edge of having a pokerface and not having one at all. Many days, probably. This is going to be the opposite of fun.
You're pretty casual about it as you walk into your homeroom class and drop your bag beside your desk, which is in the back corner. You're here before John, and you silently hope that he won't show up today.
You've got no such luck, though, and he walks in and sits himself down in the seat in front of you, immediately turning around to chat before the bell rings.
"Dave, where've you been?"
"I dunno. Around."
"I mean, you've been offline and stuff since Saturday."
"Yeah I dunno just... Hanging out with Bro and stuff."
John looks a little bit confused, but he shrugs and turns back around to face forward as the teacher walks in, ready with a boring-as-usual lesson. First period math has never claimed to be fun.
The class ends and you rush through the hallway faster than John can keep up, not stopping for anything. You don't care that you're going to your second period class with only your math workbook, you need to get away from John because you can't look him in the eyes after what you did.
You feel disgusting, and you somehow manage to avoid him all day--even at lunch, to your own surprise. You haven't spoken to anyone all day. You don't trust yourself to speak to anyone because you just know you'll embarrass yourself so you avoid speaking to anyone and when you have to speak to someone you keep your answers short, one or two words at the most.
It's when you go to the bathroom at the end of the day, just before starting your walk home, that John corners you and you swear you are going to have a heart attack. You mostly enter the bathroom to avoid chatting with the other boy at your locker, planning to wait until he's sure to be gone, but he follows you and your plan has completely failed.
Once the bathroom is empty except for the two of you, he looks over at you. You're standing at the sink, washing your hands, despite not actually doing anything in the long time you spent in the bathroom stall.
"Dave."
"Yeah?" Your voice cracks despite the attempt to sound nonchalant.
"I wasn't... Sleeping the whole time on Saturday."
Your face gets hot when you remember it, remember how it felt before the guilt set in.
"Oh." That's all you really have to say to him and you start to walk away, thoroughly embarrassed and sickened by yourself.
"No, Dave, I, um... What I meant to say is- is that maybe I liked it a little more... Than I'd like to admit?"
You stare at him. Did John Egbert just admit to enjoying the fact that you dry humped him til you came?
"Dave, quit staring at me like that, I just... Um."
His face is just as red as yours probably is and, instead of just averting your eyes and keeping up the illusion of continuing to stare at him, you look towards the floor.
You don't miss the semi-obvious bulge in his pants.
Oh.
John Egbert has a boner because of you.
Oh.
He's staring at you and you don't think he misses the bulge in your pants, either, because his eyes are practically trained on it and you'd almost say that you could see the desire on his face except that sounds fucking stupid.
"Maybe I'm not... as straight as I thought?" It's almost like he's talking so he can avoid looking straight at you and you don't blame him. You take a step towards him and another and another, and then you're only about a foot away from him. You move slowly as if you're gonna scare him off and your hand rests on his cheek.
"So, maybe you're saying you wouldn't be totally horrified if I..." You trail off, then stand on your toes and press your lips to his in a kiss that's gentle and almost chaste. Your lips don't part and your tongue doesn't move from your mouth, and you refuse to make the first move because if he wants you so bad he can do something about it himself.
You're surprised when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, kissing you back.
John Egbert is actually kissing you.
In the boy's bathroom at school, yes, and that makes the situation lose all ability to be romantic, but John is kissing you.
How long have you wanted this?
If this is some sort of elaborate prank you're going to kill him.
When his lips part you find yourself pulling closer and pressing your body to his, and then he pulls away, letting out a nervous laugh, and you feel your heart pounding because he's gonna start laughing and pie you in the face and go, "gotcha!" or something and it's gonna hurt more than he knows it will.
Instead, he grabs your hand and pulls you into a stall and you can see his hands shaking as he slides the lock into place and turns to you, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
"Dave," his voice is barely above a whisper.
"John this isn't a thing that can happen here, what if someone walks in? A janitor or something?"
He ignores you, grabbing your face and pressing his lips to yours again and you have completely lost your ability to give a shit because he turns and then he's pressing you up against the wall of a bathroom stall and kissing you and it isn't helping the situation in your pants whatsoever.
Neither is the fact that he's started to grind against you and you can feel the bulge in his pants rubbing against your thigh and you let out a little gasp that you don't mean to, then he breaks the kiss.
"Dave, I know this isn't really the right place to be doing this--"
"Just don't stop. It's not like I'm gonna be screaming in pleasure or something."
You've given in because you don't want to have to wait until later for this.
He doesn't stop, though, and doesn't say anything in response, but he does do better than just grinding--his hand is pressing against that bulge in your pants and you can't help but gasp again, rutting against his hand, the situation looking a lot like it did on Saturday.
Except this time, it's mostly of John's doing, and not your own.
You press your lips back against his because you don't want to risk moaning out loud, then you press your hand against him, smirking into the kiss when he makes a noise that's close to a whimper.
You start kneading the bulge in his jeans and he whispers your name again and you stop, letting him pull away from the kiss. He doesn't stop moving his hand against you. Unfair. If he was awake for part of what happened on Saturday he should know that you won't last long as long as it's with him.
That sounds dumb, even to you, so you decide not to say it out loud.
"Dave this isn't... We can't do this here."
"John, what is it that you think we're gonna do?"
"Wh... Well I mean, do you want me to... Um."
"If you can't say it out loud we aren't doing it."
"What?"
"If it's something you can't say out loud, we won't do it."
You're surprised you can even speak at this point, let alone keep an even sort of tone.
He sort of half-shrugs and then presses his lips back against yours, and you bring your fingers to the waistband of his jeans, waiting for a slight nod, a whispered 'yes,' anything to let you know you can go ahead.
He lets you know by shoving his own hand into your jeans, being a little bit rough as he grabs onto you. You let out a surprised, choked moan and press your face into the crook of his neck, pushing your hand past the waistband of his jeans to do the same for him. He lets out a moan that's equally as surprised, despite the fact that you gave him more warning than he gave you.
His face is pressed to your neck and he's biting down gently and sucking and god you hope he leaves marks and the thought only shoves you that much closer to the edge and he lets out a little whine against your skin and he's thrusting into your hand and you can't remember a time when you've gotten yourself this hot and a single thought passes through your mind.
Only John can get you this hot.
That's the thought that sends you over the edge, the thought that he's the only one that can do this to you has you coming into his hand and he gasps and moves to push his lips against yours and then he's coming too, and he's a lot louder about it than you are, letting out a loud groan that drowns yours out completely.
Then he's leaning back against the wall, and he's the only thing holding you up. His hand is still down the front of your jeans, and your hand is still down the front of his.
"Just... Just wipe it on the inside of my boxers," you mumble, embarrassment creeping up on you.
"What? Dude, gross." You can feel your face get red. "Why don't we just wash our hands? We're in a bathroom, you know."
Oh. That's right, too.
He carefully pulls his hand out from inside your pants and you do the same, both of you standing there and looking at each other for a moment without either of you moving.
"Sleepover this Friday?"
You almost gasp audibly. Oh, fuck. Yes. Yes yes yes.
"Sure, yeah, I'll ask Bro. I... Don't think he'd have any problem with it."
He grabs a handful of toilet paper with his clean hand and wipes his hand off, then grabs another handful and wipes your hand off, too, since you seem to be a little bit too surprised at all of this to do anything yourself.
He smiles and leans down to kiss you again.
You aren't sure if this means he's 'yours' and you aren't going to ask, either.
He's going to make the first move, because you sure as hell aren't.