Dave's Red Eyes

Dads and Dinner Dating

[A/N: I was going to make the last chapter make more sense, but seeing as I had a few minutes left of 4/13, I had to cut it short so I could feel a sense of accomplishment. So back on track with the main story ^~^]

Johns POV:

You're not quite sure that you're ready for tonight. You've hung out with Dave many times, kissed, been close to, ate. But not dined. Unlike you, a Strider has swag, which means that you lack it desperately. Of course, you have table manners, you were raised by none other than Dad.

Although you doubt that Daves expectations will be high, you still find yourself attempting to groom your mess of ravenous hair, but you stop when you realize that your dad might get onto you about looking so nice. You weren't in the mood to explain to him why you're combing your hair to go to Daves.

It's almost six thirty, and you're not ready to leave yet, but you had already promised the Striders that you would be over around this time, and although it's highly unlikely, there's always that possibility of Dave being nervous like you.

Quickly you brush your teeth, grab your packed bags, then raced downstairs and called to your dad.

Moments later, you could hear his keys rattling as he picked them up, then his footsteps got louder and louder until HOLY SHIT YOU OPENED THE DOOR AND RACED TO THE CAR BECAUSE FUCK HIS SLOW PACE.

"Woah, slow down, please, son." Your father remarked, walking out of the door, himself, and unlocking the car.

You nod. "Sorry, Dad!" Then you throw your bag in the backseat, and sit next to your father up front.

"So, how was school?" The man in the white hat inquired as he started driving down the street.

"Eh, it's better than nothing, I guess." You reply. Today was not much better than a few minutes ago; you were nervous, even when you and Dave were walking hand in hand, or secretly kissing behind corners and under staircases. You must admit, you were most relaxed during those times, but as soon as he left your presence, butterflies would flare up in your stomach, and you'd be jittery in every single one of your actions that you made.

"Do you have any homework for the weekend?"

"Just to do some research, but that shouldn't be long."

"You got any girlfriends?" He said in a teasing voice, as if knowing you didn't.

Haha, yeah, Dave's your girlfriend. You almost said that out loud, but you were afraid he'd take it seriously. "Yeah, like five." You giggled. It's okay if he thinks you have five girlfriends. He will just feed them sweets.

Your father laughed, a little too loudly. "Good one, son. You didn't even have me for a second."

"Hey!" You almost shout in defense. "I could get girlfriends!"

"But five?"

You bite your lip.

"I'd say the closest thing you have to a girlfriend is young Mr. Strider over here."

Your heart. Fucking. Stopped. You stared at your father, he glanced at you as he drove. "You okay, John?"

You try to find words. Oh, how you search! Finally, you manage to get out a whisper. "Dad," he glances at you again, and you've pressed yourself to the side of the car. "No homo."

Again, he laughed. "Yes, son, I know."

You still bite your lip. Phew! You barely bit the bullet there. But then an idea comes to mind. "Well, dad, what would umm...what would you do if I was...you know...gay?"

"Hmmm..." He mumbled. "I don't think that I'd do anything. You're my son, aren't I supposed to love you unconditionally?"

Your eyes are wide, but tearing. So much just came off your chest, off of your mind, and it felt SO good. Now, you felt better about going to dinner with Dave, even though you were still weary on the subject.

Your dad cast another glance at you. "You okay, son?"

"Yeah dad," you respond, "I'm great."

======>

Now, you're in the Striders vehicle. Dirk and Jake had fun messing with you as they claimed they were helping you get ready, but in actuality they were having fun picking at the fancy teal suit they got for you, and you make a point to think that it would look nicer with the slime ghost on it. Dirk actually tried messing with your hair, but then gave up after a good while, claiming that it was a mess and completely hopeless.

Dave was next to you, and you went to lean on his shoulder when it was all but quiet except for Dirk and Jakes chatter about some sort of a rematch with swords. You think it had something to do with Jake winning some stupid game.

Dave, himself, was wearing a slimming red tux with black pants and dress shoes. You can tell that his hair had been touched by Dirk as well. His sunglasses were still present, like they always are.

When you arrived at the restaurant, each couple asked for a table for two. Yes, you got some weird stares. Yes, there were teenage fangirls giggling your way and probably shipping you hard. You don't mind it, cause you're really a couple.

The restaurant was dim and really fancy. Chandliers hung candles from the freshly painted ceiling, replicas of famous paintings would hang on the walls that were covered in a golden color of wallpaper with fancy swirls as decoration.

Dirk and Jake sat a little ways away from the both of you, but they paid you no attention and you paid them none. Everyone was dressed up and fancy and you felt so out of place compared to your usual school, home, and Dave's.

You picked up your menu, Dave did so as well, and your eyes widened at the prices. "Damn, Dave! How can afford this?"

He shrugged. "Bro makes smuppets. There's apparently a lot of money in making bedroom toys."

A giggle passes your lips. Apparently there is.

"You look good. Tonight." Dave comments, then a blush appeared on his cheeks, below his shades. "Not that you don't always look good, but um...I mean your ass looks good in a tux."

"Thanks, your ass looks good too!" You reply, staring at his cold glasses. "But like...how can you even see in here?"

"I can't, really." He tapped his glasses and sat back against the leather booth.

"Are you sure you don't want to take them off? Only I will see them." You reaaaallly want to see his eyes again. They're so beautiful and you can never get enough of them.

"Yeah, only you and the waiter." He seemingly refused, his freckled face turned to face the wall.

"The waiter won't care, please Dave! Your eyes won't hurt-it's not bright enough."

He looked like he gave it some thought, and sat up again. "Alright, but only for you."

Your heart jumped. Fuck yes fuck yes fuck yes. He gripped the sides of his aviators, and then pulled them off and tucked them into his shirt collar, blinks a few times, leans his arms on the table, leaning his chin on his hands, and stares into your blue orbs.

Your mind is screaming in joy, your mouth is stuck in a grin and you look into his eyes, his gorgeous, firey eyes. Once again you can see his whole face, freckles, eyes, mouth, nose, and everything except his forehead which is covered by his blond locks. Only a single gasp of admiration that sounds like, "Woah," left your mouth.

You have only had one look at his face once before, and that's when you were kicked out of his apartment. Sure, yeah, you have stared at his Christmas gift pictures countless times before, but it's not the same. He's way more beautiful in real life.

"Are you happy?" He asks. You slowly nod, still taking in every bit of him. "Good. You know, I don't take my glasses off for just anyone." Yeah, you feel like you know that better than anyone.

"Dave." You say, and he raises his eyebrow. "You're like an angel."