Work Text:
“What do you think they’re doing?” Dave asks in a tone that almost manages to sound offhanded and disinterested, until his voice cracks on the last cluster of syllables and betrays him. Instead of waiting for an answer, he attempts the impossible task of nonchalantly pressing his ear against the wall between Dirk’s bedroom and Rose’s. The walls are not particularly soundproof but Dave must not be hearing whatever it is he was hoping to hear because he almost immediately gives up and thumps his temple against the wall over and over, like a woodpecker trying to drive an insect out of a tree. The drywall refuses to give up any information so he eventually gives up too, before he can concuss himself. Dejected and slightly sore in the face, he huffs, then groans, then gradually shifts to emitting loud, melodramatic wails and moans of boredom.
It's beyond disruptive and goes on for at least three minutes before, apparently catching some form of noise coming from the other room, Dave instantly shuts up and snaps to attention. Listening intensely, he narrates his findings to Dirk, who has been pointedly ignoring him from across the bedroom: “Rose is laughing again.”
It has been almost half an hour since Dave graced Dirk with his uninvited and increasingly hysterical presence. Looking up from his sewing machine, Dirk's expression contains all the genuine disinterest that Dave is sorely lacking. He speaks through the pin dangling from his lips, unable to be assed to remove it. “Sounds like they’re having fun,” he says.
Dave dismisses that suggestion with a despondent grunt before flopping face down on Dirk’s bed and sighing loudly into his pillow. The mattress creaks and squeaks in protest as he kicks his legs like a child throwing a tantrum, but the whining of the bed is a new enough of sound in the room to distract Dave from his eavesdropping. He spends the next handful of minutes obnoxiously bouncing on the straining bedsprings and ranting at Dirk in muffled monotone.
“Shit man,” is Dave’s opening statement. He follows up with few particularly hard thrusts of his hips, making the mattress squeal hideously before settling into a softer squeaky rhythm that he can spew words over. “This thing is goddamn Flintstones worthy. I see how you’re playin’ now, telling all the boys that you can make a bed rock when in actuality your bed is a literal concrete slab and they just got fucking duped. Stone cold, dude. Pun absolutely intended. For real though, I don’t even feel any springs in here, it’s like solid granite the whole way down. Lay me down on a bed of pure spinal devastation. How do you sleep like this?” He pauses just long enough to roll over on his back and inhale. Bouncing and talking at the same time apparently makes him run out of breath faster than normal, so he stops bouncing. “Oh damn that’s right, you don’t. You know, maybe you’d actually stand a chance at catching z’s if you plushed it up a little. How can a guy that spends so much time tryin’ to make me squeeze foam asses to determine the ‘appropriate amount of suppleness’ or whatever not give a shit about his own mattress. That’s incredible.”
Maybe Dirk should have replied to the stream of bullshit or attempted to cut it off at some point, but he didn’t. Unfortunately, Dave takes his silence as an opportunity to resume angsting over the Lalondes. “You think they’re watching something? I don’t hear any tv sounds, so probably not. What the hell would they watch anyway, do they even have things in common besides like, cats and booze?”
If Dirk could only speed up the production of this smuppet, he would peg Dave right in the face with its appropriately supple bottom. The horrified silence that would follow might be a step backwards in Dirk’s long-term plan of helping Dave chill out around puppets but it would at least get him off this topic. Honestly, Dirk gives negative shits about what Rose and Roxy chose to do behind closed doors and wishes Dave could at least pretend the same. “Hey, an idea: if you’re so concerned, why don’t you check on them?”
“Bro,” Dave begins seriously, like he’s about to lay down some mad facts about why that was a terrible suggestion, while Dirk waits expectantly for him to finish the sentence.
“C’mon, man,” Dave continues instead, somewhat like a car failing to start. “Seriously, dude,” he tries again and then doesn’t say anything more for a solid 60 seconds, worrying his lip and glancing nervously at the wall three times in quick succession. As he opens his mouth for a fourth attempt, an unmistakable ‘think about it, dogg’ developing on his lips, Dirk cuts him off.
“Right,” Dirk says as he stands up from his sewing table and plucks a thread off of his shirt as he starts towards the door. “I’ll be back.”
In an instant, Dave is behind him, anxiously bobbing at his shoulder. All the frantic energy is starting to put Dirk on edge too and he would much rather Dave have remained on his bed, continuing his histrionics until he returns with uninteresting answers to a question that Dave doesn't and shouldn't need to know. He deeply wishes Dave could be satisfied by the obvious knowledge that whatever Roxy and Rose are up to is none of their fucking business, that they should be extending the same courtesies regarding privacy that they themselves expect. Dirk goes to say this but Dave is already deep in his own head again, and talking.
“No, wait, I’m coming with you," he says. "I have a fucking conscience, I can’t send you alone on a mission that I know you won’t survive without backup.”
“Dave,” Dirk breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s Rose and Roxy, not World War III.”
“Ok, yeah, you’re still green, so you don’t understand what's happening. Take it from a real soldier who was actually on active duty during the worst of the War of the Roses. You don’t just fucking ignore when a Lalonde is cackling behind closed doors because it’s always a sign.”
Dirk walks exactly six steps from his door to Rose’s with Dave nipping at his heels every inch of the way. “A sign of what?”
“Our demise,” Dave says immediately and with conviction.
Glancing over his shoulder, Dirk gives Dave a look because saying ‘I see’ in his most fatigued voice won’t adequately convey just how exasperated Dave is making him feel. He doesn’t understand Dave's weird issue with Rose and Roxy being alone together, but he does understand that Dave is rife with insecurities. This particular problem seems like it could have something to do with Dave’s sordid history of inadvertently incestuous crushes, but, to all appearances, Dave had been doing better at coping with that. Looks can be deceiving, Dirk supposes.
He knocks on the door and Rose doesn't actually manage to get all the way through her ‘come in’ before Dave busts into the room like a socially anxious Kool-Aid man. Dirk calmly follows.
Rose and Roxy are on the floor, talking softly with their heads bowed together, looking the exact opposite of devious with a paperback book tucked between their cozy, cuddling bodies. As Dirk and Dave enter, they simultaneously look up and greet them with identical smiles. Dave loves to tell Dirk that when they sync up like that, they are purposefully pulling “some fucking creepy twin bullshit a la Kubrick.” Maybe that's true, but Dirk has caught Dave unintentionally matching his movements on multiple occasions. It seems more likely that it’s just a genetic thing--Dirk thinks it is kind of cute.
“Howdy boys.” Roxy gives them a lazy wave of her hand. “Whatcha up to? Wanna join our lady pile?”
From the way he shifts back and forth on his feet and looks nervously at Dirk, Dave probably would be diving headfirst into the lady pile if he had done this recon alone. Dirk shakes his head both at Roxy’s question and Dave’s reaction. “Just checking on you two. Dave was worried.”
Roxy’s hands fly to her face. “Honey!” she exclaims in the syrupy, motherly voice that she uses exclusively on Dave. “Awww, you were worried?” she asks, clutching her cheeks and starting to coo. Dave tries not to look mortified, but is unable to keep the flush from further darkening his complexion. “Omg, you lil' sweetheart, why don’t you come over here and let me give you a hug?”
“What are you reading?” Dave demands loudly to cover up his own embarrassment and the sound of Roxy continuing to try to lure him over with pet names and promises of affection.
“Nothing that would interest you, Dave, I’m sure.” Rose’s hand rests on the cover as she smiles with all of her teeth. “Just one of Dirk’s old books.” There is a flash of recognition in Dirk’s eyes and it sends a new rush of panic down Dave’s spine. Dave can’t ask him about it in front of the girls, though it is clear he is struggling with coming to terms with that.
“Hey, speakin’ of anime Satan,” Roxy says, referring to Dirk. “Ro and me kept hearing some weird noises earlier from a general that way direction.” She points at the wall shared by both Rose’s room and Dirk’s. Dave freezes up.
“Yes. They’ve been happening for about fifteen minutes, although they stopped just before you two arrived. Since they seemed to be coming from your room, Dirk, maybe you could enlighten us. What were those very bizarre noises?”
Dave has finally sensed the trap and he surreptitiously elbows Dirk in a desperate attempt to get him to keep his mouth shut. Dirk occasionally claims to be “still learning” how to interpret non-verbal cues since he had little practice with it while growing up. This is apparently one of those learning moments because he completely ignores Dave’s prodding.
“Dave,” Dirk answers and both Rose and Roxy’s pastel eyes light up with the thrill of the hunt.
“Oh?” Rose asks in a lilting voice, a convincing facade of surprise on her face. “The pounding on the wall was Dave?”
With Dave’s elbowing increasing in frequency and force, Dirk nods. “Yeah.”
“The bedsprings all creakin’?” Roxy prompts with a toothy, predatory grin. Rose drums her fingers on her chin in interest and adds in, “The murmurs and moans too?”
“Congrats, you’ve located the source.”
Next to Dirk, Dave makes the tiniest, most distraught noise.
“Well, bro,” Rose’s tongue rolls over the second word like a snake coiling around its prey. “Your audio contributions were greatly appreciated by this audience. They were impeccably timed as well, so kudos. We just so happened to be reading a manga and we reached one of the more-” She pauses, delicately searching for the appropriate word.
“Hot yaoi parts,” prompts Roxy.
Rose accepts that suggestion with an indulgent grin and picks up where she left off. “-When the sounds began. They allowed us immerse ourselves in the story in a way I hadn't thought possible. Everything was much more authentic with that soundtrack.”
“Forreal, babe, you made our frickin’ day.” Roxy cackles and waves the book in the air. If the cover depicting two men clutching at each other wasn’t indication enough, then the title is plenty evocative. Dog Style 3. Dirk doesn’t look even the slightest bit ashamed. “Like, what even are the chances that you and Dirk would be doing the yaoi at the same time as we were reading it? Those are some crazy coincidinks, yo. I was just sayin’ to Rose how you even look kinda like the uke dude.” She opens the book to one of the ‘hot yaoi parts’ and points at a panel with the man in aviator sunglasses having his ass thoroughly pounded by the blond spiky haired one. “See?”
“You’re right, Roxy,” Dirk provides helpfully as Dave quietly impersonates the sound of a balloon deflating. “Dave kind of does look like that.”
“If only you had been so vocal for Dog Style Volumes One and Two.” Rose sighs wistfully, motioning to the small pile of similar manga strewn across the floor. There is not a single one that doesn’t have men groping other men on the covers. “They would have benefited from your incredible voice acting.”
“Maybe another time,” says Dirk, raising an eyebrow at Dave and elbowing him in the ribs. It’s more to herd Dave out of the room than make a pass at him, but he knows how it looks. “Enjoy your literature, fujoshi.”
“Yeah, we will,” crows Roxy with a sloppy wink.
“Thanks for letting us borrow these, Dirk,” Rose says.
“My pleasure.”
Roxy winks again to imply something like ‘that’s what Dave said’, laughs at her own joke, and cuddles closer to Rose as the boys leave.
“You are such an asshole. I can’t fucking believe how much of an asshole you are.” Dave hisses when they are out of the room, breathing down Dirk’s neck as he trails him back towards his room. “You know something else I can’t believe? That you found gay anime porn called Dog Style and were like, 'goddamn, that sounds like something I want to jizz all over. Let's buy the whole fucking series so no page goes unsplooged'." Dave's face hasn’t lost the blush. "Wait what the hell am I saying, I definitely can believe all of that. What I actually, literally can’t believe is that you’d let the Lalondes get their grimy wizard-loving hands on your precious hentai stash. Fuck you, bro.”
"Careful, they might hear you."
"You're dead to me."
Dirk laughs his infrequently heard, wheezy laugh. “Icy, Dave. How am I supposed sleep tonight?”
“You don’t sleep,“ Dave shoots back, indignant.
Dirk gives a twitch of a smile. “Oh damn, that’s right. I don’t.”
------
The next day, on his way back into his room from a bathroom break, Dave notices something on the ground in front of his room. Even from a distance he recognizes the cover of the book. His stomach drops as he approaches and realizes that it has undergone some changes.
He snatches it up and stares at it. Goddamn this family and its genetic predisposition to making edits to shitty books, he thinks. Dave sends off a prayer to Karkat’s troll jesus ancestor that Dirk did not see it before him. In the next second, he retracts the prayer, realizing that if troll jesus is anything like Karkat, he would definitely try to play gay incest matchmaker with human yaoi illustrative manuals.
Dave slips into his room, clutching the book to his chest like a sportsball, with the full intent of putting it into the goal-can after scoring all of the possible points by setting it on fire. As Dave fumbles around in his pockets for a lighter, he hears someone clear their throat from the direction of his bed. He slowly looks up.
It is, of course, anime Satan in the flesh.
Dirk is relaxing on Dave’s bed, looking comfortable in the douchiest way possible with his arms folded behind his head. Dave wants to punch him even before he opens his mouth.
“I already read it,” Dirk says, as if that wasn’t already obvious. “I have to give them credit for accurately capturing what our hypothetical fucking would look like.”
Dave especially wants to punch him now. He pointedly looks at the wall that connects his room and Roxy’s and then looks back to Dirk. Dirk’s response is an arched eyebrow. Dave shakes his head violently and waves his hands at the wall like he’s directing airport traffic. When Dirk shows no sign of acknowledging what is being implied, Dave silently groans and buries his face in the crook of his elbow. Dirk ignores this non-verbal cue too and settles back into the pillows. He looks over his shades, extends his hand towards Dave, and slowly curls his index finger.
Dave is silent for a long time, weighing his options. Finally, he takes a step towards Dirk. He sighs and takes another. It's easier to just give in than continue putting up what would be a hopeless fight. “How do you know it’s accurate?” he mutters obstinately, even as he lets Dirk catch his wrist and reel him in the rest of the way to the bed.
“An educated guess,” Dirk says, giving Dave’s arm a light tug.
Dave presses his knee into the mattress and the bedsprings stay blessedly silent. Nothing creaks, squeaks, or groans as his other knee follows.
Moments later, when the sound of laughter filters in through the wall, Dave doesn’t even notice.