The Same Old Conversation { Davekat }

1 - you think you hate him

(This is also on AO3! Same username ^^)

You're not pining over him, no. You're not one to stare oggle-eyed at someone and play up the whole "puppy love" trait anyway, so it's a bit easier to deny any and every feeling and thought about Dave Strider that flashes through your mind. You're not entirely sure when you became aware of these little wanting pangs in your gut or the pesky inner monologue that frequently filters between spouting intense self hatred and embarrassing thoughts about this strange boy you live with, but you sort of wish you never even come to terms with it. Scratch sort of, make that really. Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are royally fucked. As in, someone-please-shoot-me-and-throw-me-down-the-stairs-like-in-one-of-Strider's-shitty-comics fucked.

All of these thoughts are coming to your head not five minutes after waking up, so you know this is getting bad. Covers rustle as you kick your way out of bed and onto the cold wood floor, a few choice words leaving your mouth softly as you wrestle on a shirt. Ah yes, winter in a barely heated apartment, you're so fucking warm. The shirt is still oversized on you, which is shameful really considering it's from a summer camp you attended when you were fourteen and it still reaches halfway down your thighs. It's not like you can control your genetics anyway! You were small then, you're still small now, and there's not a lot you can really do about it, even if it does piss you off to no end. "Camp Funtree!" the ragged thing reads, a cheesy smiling sun and overly-cartoonish children forever preserved as a reminder of the hell that was the summer before 8th grade. That was where you met Dave, actually. The kid was a huge fucking dork, sauntering into the mess hall with horrible I-want-to-look-like-a-scene-kid swoopy blond hair and shitty triangle shades. Like, Gurren Lagaan style, but worse. You knew you would despise him from the moment you saw him, and yet here you are, 5 years later with the worst crush of all time on captain shitty-shades. You remember not becoming friends with him until you absolutely had to, which is to say you got fed up with shoving him away every time he tried to approach you and just letting him do his thing. It was then when you learned he was actually sort of okay sometimes, when he could get his mouth to stop running for one minute and listen. That was also when you learned that he wasn't exactly a normal kid. Sure, no one really is, but you're talking really abnormal. Dave Strider was a demon, with wings, fangs, and a bloodlust to match mythical creatures that gave you nightmares when you were small. He told you he had horns and a tail too, and maybe he'd show you at some point, but the summer was almost over. You got his number and Pesterchum before you left though, and that's how you even kept in contact all these years. And now, you're roommates together in college. Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea again? Oh right, you didn't know how ridiculously attractive he'd gotten. God fucking damn it.

Hey, the only small win in a morning of exasperation was that Dave wouldn't be up yet, the demon was not exactly a morning person. You wrap your shoulders in a thin blanket and emerge from your room, checking the hallway for him. Fuck fucking yes, he isn't up yet. You start shuffling to the kitchen, all the while cursing the cold floor on your toes. You nearly make it too. The only warning for what's to come is the smallest rustle before, 'WHACK,' have your morning face full of black demon feathers you piece of shit. Dave's wing is blocking your vision, you're disoriented and you can't fucking move, and like the total fucking dolt you are, you stumble. You can already feel his arms pulling you up and holding you a little too close before you even start to fall. You sigh. There he is, feathery asshole supreme that makes your heart stutter and your stomach jump. Just to make things even better for you, he's not even wearing a shirt. Fuck your life.

"Well great, now I'm literally falling for you, eh Vantas?" God damn it, here he goes. Dave is a huge flirt, he does it to everyone, especially you. He knows it pisses you off (and makes your face about the same temperature as a fucking fireplace) so he plays it up all he can.

"Fuck off, you once said you'd fall for a piece of shit if it meant you got something out of it. Kindly get your shitty wings the fuck off of me and let me go make coffee." You fucking hate your body size, it means he can overpower you like nothing. Dave only laughs when you try to push away from him, his wings enclosing the both of you and leaning in closer.

"Why don't you just stay here with me instead, hm?" He croons, keeping a pale complexion and a shit-eating smirk on all the while.

"No! Get the fuck off and- argh. Okay, fine. You fucking win, happy?" Finally stopping your struggle, you resign yourself to being pulled against the demon. He stares at you a moment, apparently very amused by your red-faced struggle before releasing his grip, feathered appendages folding neatly on his back. Turning to leave, you flip him off one last time before - holy shit. Arms wrap around you, from behind this time. Dave's slunk his arms around your chest firmly, and you can feel hot breath puffing on your neck. You shiver.

"If I let you go will you make me food and coffee? Remember, cream and sugar." Fangs brush across your neck ever so slightly, and you lean away to avoid a one-way ticket to boner-ville.

"If you stop fucking m- If you stop fucking around with me, maybe." You glower, twitching in his grasp.

"Heh, that's not a yes..." He tips your chin up with a finger, running it feather soft down your neck in a way he god damn knows makes you shiver.

"You gonna do it or what?"

"Ngh, fuck you. What if I don't? Ever considered that?" He quirks an eyebrow and trails his finger back up to your chin, leaning closer.

"Mm, you'll just have to find out." He knows what he's doing, he knows how hot and bothered you're getting over this, and he's fucking laughing at you. Your hatred grows further when he bites your nose sharply (friendly reminder that his teeth are somewhat pointed, one of his demonic qualities) and finally fucks off, leaving you to be red faced and way too turned on for this shit. With a steadying breath, you finally make it to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee, and distracted as you are you nearly manage to pour salt into your steaming cup. Cursing, you go to start some toast instead. Too bad you fucking burned your hand on the hot metal taking it out though. This time your louder scream of "FUCKING FUCK THIS TOASTER IS A PIECE OF SHIT GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" calls Dave back into the kitchen. He's fully clothed, thank God, and he's on his phone now; Facebook from what you can see on the tiny screen. Running your hand under cold water for a moment and then just sucking on the burnt fingertip, you thrust clumsily buttered toast under his nose and scowl.

"Here's your fucking food you piece of shit. I have to make more coffee though." Dave's stoic gaze shifts to you and he puts down his phone down, a well-used smirk crossing his features.

"Aw, did wittle baby Kawkat buwn his finger?" He elegantly places the plate down on the table before pulling you close and pulling at your hand. You don't know what he's doing until it's too late, and he's sucking on your finger with that horrid seductive gaze you can nearly feel through his shades. Like the tease he is, he unlocks his phone again (you observe the lock code is 0413) and sits idly texting, all the while making obscenely loud sucking noises. You yank your hand away, but he still knows he got to you, damn it. Munching on an innocent piece of toast, the demon strikes up a conversation again.

"Mm... what're you doin' today Karkles? Sadly, I have class soon."

"I have creative writing at ten, why're you asking?" You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

"Geez, don't get all cagey on me. I just wanted to know if you were gonna be home today or not."

"Well, I mean, I have that and psychology at four, so I'll be home by about six. Not a late class day."

"Cool. Oh, and by the way, I won't be home until late. Don't expect me until two or three in the morning." You nearly spit out your new coffee.

"Why that late?"

"Don't ask, just a heads up that you're on your own for dinner tonight." Strider stands and tosses his plate in the sink before continuing, "Just fun shit." Deciding to go get dressed in something other than boxers and an oversized t-shirt, you flip Dave off elegantly and retreat into your room.