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It takes John a while to find Dave Sprite, but eventually, bird Dave slips up. Or maybe he thinks it’s been long enough and John’s gotten over Dave Sprite digging an obnoxious orange talon right in his heart. The color is obnoxious, not the talon, to be clear. They’ve sniped at each other over the months and months they’ve been stuck on this golden ship, but this time, Dave Sprite has gone too far, and he’s going to pay for that.
John finds Dave Sprite in the bakery, hanging out with John’s Nana Sprite as though he has any right to do that after sending a note as John’s dead dad. With an effort, John manages to keep his tone casual. “Hey, Dave Sprite,” he says. “Could you come with me? I need your help with something.”
Dave Sprite inclines his head, his face expressionless. “Sure.” He turns to Nanna Sprite. “Be back later.”
She waves him off. “See you then, dear. Hoo Hoo Hoo.”
Because this is not a spur of the moment thing, John has a specific destination in mind. Near the bottom of the ship is a storage area, mostly empty, mostly unused. It gets cold down there, and most of the consorts and the Capacians prefer to stay where it’s warmer. John doesn’t mind the cold, and it really doesn’t matter if Dave Sprite minds.
Miraculously, Dave Sprite doesn’t say anything until they’ve arrived. He looks around himself, crossing his arms. “What’s this about, Egbert?”
Although John still enjoys action movies, he’s seen enough to know that saying a cool one-liner wastes time that could be better used. Before he can change his mind (not that he was going to change his mind, naturally), he draws his hand back and cold cocks Dave Sprite right in the jaw.
“What the fuck!” he exclaims, bringing a hand up to his face.
John takes advantage of his confusion to punch him again, this time, knocking the shades off (the shades which look just like the ones John gave him for his birthday so long ago).
“Oh, okay.” Dave Sprite’s sprite tail lashes like a cat’s even as his expression remains blank and his tone remains infuriatingly calm. “This is what’s happening. Fine. Fucking finally.” Before John can blink, a fist makes hard contact with his gut.
John supposes he should have expected such a low blow. “F-fuck,” he gasps. Still, it takes more than that to put down an Egbert! There are some advantages to being an Heir of Breath as well, and he recovers quicker than Dave Sprite was clearly expecting. He snags Dave Sprite’s arm just as he’s trying to float above him and wrenches him down enough to punch him right in the sword hole.
Dave Sprite makes a wounded sound, low and pained, and John feels something he’s not going to call guilt bubbling up in his chest. Then Dave Sprite clocks him in the side of the head, and John sees stars.
However, Dave Sprite’s arm is still in John’s grasp, so John doesn’t need to see to deliver another blow to the sprite’s body. He doesn’t know where he hits, but he feels warm wet on his knuckles and another cry of pain.
There’s another punch to John’s temple, scratches to his face and chest, but he barely feels them, focused on the struggling thing in his hold and laying into it with his other hand. Then they’re on the floor, and he’s on his back, a weight on top of him. He tastes blood in his mouth, and he grabs thin shoulders and forces the body there off of him. He lifts himself up and quickly straddles the other before he can get away.
The motion makes John dizzy, and his hands are occupied with keeping the body beneath his where it is. He looks down at Dave Sprite’s orange splotched face (blood, that’s his blood) and his wide, orange eyes. It’s the most expression John’s seen him make the entire time they’ve been on this ship. They’re both breathing heavily now, and Dave Sprite shifting beneath him makes John realize he’s hard. “Shit,” he says eloquently.
“Yeah, shit,” Dave Sprite returns, scowling. “Get the fuck off me, Egbert.”
His knuckles hurt, and John finds he’s suddenly not as anxious to start swinging his fists around as he was to start with. In fact, now that he’s here, on top of Dave Sprite, his hands orange with sprite blood and getting kind of nauseous from the combination of the blows to the head and what’s happening in his pants, he doesn’t want to fight anymore. It’s not that he’s not still mad, because he is, but this was… this was a lot, actually?
Of course, just because he’s done fighting doesn’t mean Dave Sprite is. “Are we… are we done?”
Dave Sprite’s scowl deepens. “I don’t know; you tell me. I’m not the one who decided to go punching his bro out of the blue.” He shifts, and the wince makes John feel even more conflicted about how good the small movement feels. “Shit, you got me right in the sword hole.”
The word ‘sorry’ is right on the tip of John’s tongue, but he swallows it back. “If I let you up, are you going to punch me again?”
“That’s what I should be asking you.” Dave Sprite struggles in John’s grasp, and John has to bite his lip to keep himself quiet. “You’re the fucking asshole who decided to go to town on me, not—What the fuck, man?” He freezes and his eyes are wide again. “Holy shit, are you enjoying this, or are you stuffing your hammers down your pants now? Jesus.”
Shit. “It’s not my fault my dumb body thinks this is hot,” John complains, feeling his face heat up. Shit. “Just… apologise for that stupid note, and I’ll let you up.”
Dave Sprite blinks. “That’s what this is about?” He sounds even more incredulous than he did before. “That was just a prank, bro, no need to be so fucking sensitive.”
John’s hold on Dave Sprite’s shoulders tightens. “Fuck you,” he says.
“Promises, promises,” Dave Sprite mutters in a low voice that John barely hears. “Fine. I’m sorry.” The words ‘I’m sorry’ have never sounded less sincere. “Now, get off of me.” Then he smiles, a barest upturn of his lips. “Unless,” he makes a deliberate kind of wiggle, “you’d like to get off on me.” A wink.
A hiss escapes John’s mouth, and he lowers his head, as he struggles to ignore the sensation of Dave Sprite’s movements. “Stop that.”
“I’m literally not the one in control of this situation,” Dave Sprite says, his tiny smile growing into a full blown smirk. “You can stop this anytime you want, and since you’re not letting me up, I guess I gotta assume this is what you’re after.” He wiggles with another wince. “So, what will it be, Egbert? I can last all day, but I’m not so sure you can.” Another wiggle.
This is some kind of weird game of one upmanship Dave Sprite is playing. Because Dave Sprite is not gay—he was dating Jade not too long ago! Well, if he thinks John is going to give up so easily, he can just think again. Gay chicken with a bird boy is a game John Egbert is not afraid to play!
Just as Dave Sprite is shifting, his lips parting to say something else, John quickly closes the space between them and smothers whatever Dave Sprite was going to say with his mouth. For a moment, Dave Sprite goes still beneath him, and John’s certain he’s won.
Then the son of a bitch starts kissing him back. Really enthusiastically. Like really enthusiastically. Automatically, John tries to match what Dave Sprite is doing, shifting himself so he can explore the other mouth more thoroughly, his hands leaving Dave Sprite’s shoulders to wrap around his back. Through the thin shirt, John can feel feathers.
The feeling of Dave Sprite’s movements, his tongue tangling with his, the warm body he’s pressed against, it’s overwhelming, and the longer it lasts, the harder it is not to start moving against the sprite’s body like a dog humping a leg. It’s also really difficult to hold back sounds with his mouth open and his tongue moving around, so he’s making all kinds of embarrassing noises that are thankfully muffled.
When he pulls away, settling back onto whatever counts as Dave Sprite’s pelvis, they’re both breathless, and it occurs to John that, maybe, he’s misjudged this whole gay chicken thing. Like maybe he’s doing it wrong? Or maybe Dave Sprite isn’t playing it after all. Like maybe he’s really—
A pointed shift wrests a moan from John, and Dave Sprite chuckles despite how orange his cheeks are and how breathy he sounds. “What’s the matter, Egbert? Am I too much for you?” He doesn’t say, “Ready to admit you lost?”, but John hears it anyway and bristles.
Was Dave Sprite always this infuriating? And why does John want to kiss him again? Just to shut him up, of course. No other reason. None. “Are you… doing something? I didn’t notice.” The words lack some power because he’s still catching his own breath, but the flash of disbelief on Dave Sprite’s face makes him feel victorious anyway.
“Guess I’ll have to try harder then.” John watches Dave Sprite frown then feels fingers messing with the waistband of his God Tier pajamas, tickling both sides of his stomach, sending another jolt of unexpected pleasure through him. “What do you say, Egbert?” He grins, and John’s mouth goes dry. “Wanna cum in your pants or out of them?”
“I’d like to see you try,” John says instead of something smarter. Like, “Neither, I’m not a homosexual.” That would have been a good thing to say. He has enough time to think, watching Dave Sprite bite his lip, that maybe he should just let the sprite win this game of gay chicken because he must be gay (unlike himself) and isn’t gonna say uncle first, before he can’t think at all because there are hands in his pants. Warm and not particularly gentle.
Dave Sprite is smirking again, shifting again, and John doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else. He’s definitely only kissing him to shut him up. Not because he likes it. And he’s definitely only allowing what’s happening in his pants because… because…
And it feels too good. It’s too much, and he cries into Dave Sprite’s mouth with a shudder. He collapses on top of the body beneath him, ignoring the indignant ‘oof!’ His head is tucked against Dave Sprite’s shoulder and feathers tickle his nose. John feels boneless and comfortable and like he could just stay in this moment forever.
Then Dave Sprite pats him on the back, hard. “Way to go, champ. Right in the pants.”
John’s face is already hot, but he thinks it manages to get hotter somehow. “Shut up.” Now that it’s been brought to his attention, he can’t unnotice the sticky wetness in his underwear. Shit. He drags himself up and avoids looking at Dave Sprite’s face. “I should… I should go.” He doesn’t move.
“Yeah, maybe you should,” Dave Sprite agrees. There’s something strange about his voice, but John isn’t sure what it is. “It’s been real and it’s been fun, but it ain’t been real fun. So how about you just shove off already?” He emphasises the words with a strong buck of what passes for his hips.
It’s so unexpected that John loses his balance and flops over onto his side. “Ouch,” he says even though it didn’t actually hurt. He wonders why Dave Sprite is so angry all of the sudden, but he doesn’t know how to ask when he doesn’t even really understand what just happened. By the time he sits up, Dave Sprite is already, well, John will call it ‘standing’ even if it’s more like floating.
The sprite picks up his glasses and puts them on, his expression as unreadable as it usually is, though his cheeks are still orange. “I’ll see you around.” Again, there’s something in his voice John can’t recognize. “Later, loser.” Then he turns on his heel (metaphorically, because he doesn’t have any heels), and glides toward the exit.
John wants to call him back but can’t find the words because he doesn’t know why he wants to. So, he watches him leave and waits in the cold storage room alone until he’s ready to deal with the mess in his pants. At least that mess will be a lot easier to clean up than this mess he’s made with Dave Sprite.