Dave's Red Eyes

Hot Dayum

  Johns POV:

The movie finally comes to an end, and you could not be more grateful. If this particular horror film had better actors, like none other that Nicolas Cage, then you might have actually payed more attention to the film, particularly the end. You had made yourself comfortable, curled up at Dave's side, your hand grasping his arm tight from the horrors you just witnessed. Okay, usually you're fine with a horror movie or two. But the last time you watched a horror movie, you began to notice some strange things that everyone but you is certain that you were hallucinating.

Your foot presses against the couch cushion next to where you and Dave are, giving your leg some stability. Dave turns off the movie as the credits roll, reaches over the arm rest, and turns on a lamp, causing your eyes to adjust with a slight pain.

"Not that I don't find this flattering as hell, but I kind of need my arm, there, Egderp." Dave says casually as you notice his struggle for usage of his arm as you grip it more tightly than Mufasa did to that cliff. You release him and you both rise from the couch. You stretch while he walks over to his bag of whatever he thought would be ironic enough to bring over to your house.

He pulls out red pajama pants with, of course, his signature broken record, and a white t-shirt with red turn tables on them.

"I thought you didn't wear pajamas?" You question your friend.

Your friend in question replies, "Dude, it's like negative eighty degrees around here. Do you think I'm gonna show my skin and turn into a fucking Strider Popsicle? I mean, I'd be cool as hell, but I'm from Texas, so my ass needs to stay flaming."

You nearly laugh, but you're stopped. By something you couldn't imagine. Only in your dreams could you find this ever to happen, but in reality?

Dave Strider, aka your best friend, aka the guy you have a crush on, drops his pants to reveal white boxers with multiple tiny records on them. At the same time, he throws off his shirt, and next thing you know your crush is practically naked. Or, practically in a swimsuit about ready to take a dip, but HOT DAYUM did you not see this coming.

His pale skin has freckles everywhere, he's not over-muscled for a sixteen year old male, but he definitely has some good shapes to him.

You almost stutter, but then you manage to find clearity in your head long enough to think as straight as you can, and force yourself to stop staring at your best friends body and go upstairs to your room to change into your own PJ's.

Once you've closed the door, you can hear your heart beating fast, and you're pretty sure it could wake your dad up. You quickly change into your own blue sleepwear and rush downstairs, not caring that if anything woke up your father, it would be your recklessness.

Normally, you'd sleep in your room, but since you accidentally managed to break your most valuable electronics with a hammer, you decided that the living room was more entertaining. Dave has his sleeping bag pulled out (Dirk orange). You open a closet door, grab your own sleeping bag and a few covers to make the winter air of Washington even more bearable for your Texan friend, and go back to the TV area, where Dave had set his bag up. You had almost thought to make a prank against him, but you figure you'd save your prank for when he's least expecting it.

Walking into the room, you instantly throw covers onto his head as he mumbles against it. "Here, for your petty southern intolerance of the cold." You tease him.

"Fuck off." The blond replies, setting a pillow against the foot of the couch and angling it so he can watch TV well, even though it's about three in the morning and you're both pretty much done with watching anything for the night. "Besides, it's not like you couldn't handle all the heat that I can."