Archive of Our Own

Dirk Strider is sitting in his workshop, tools in hand, fastening the screws of his latest creation. It’s a robot, as usual. A metal being with no personality, no name, no purpose but to be entertainment.

He used to make robots with a purpose, robots who tracked Jake down and beat him up. Someone of lesser intelligence might assume the purpose of this was to torture Jake, to give him a hard time. Meanwhile, someone of a higher intellect would understand and recognize the clear signs of violent, impressive courtship.

And it worked. It worked really fucking well, in fact. Dirk had him wrapped around his finger. And as a bonus, the robots trained Jake to be better, to be stronger. Someone worthy of his infatuation.

Dirk huffs as the last screw is in place. Jake English is still wrapped around his finger, in one way or another. He’s one slippery eel, though. And right now, they’re not exactly on speaking terms.

It’s stupid, it really is. Usually when they fight, It’s over adult stuff that is fully understandable to fight over. But a few days ago…well, even Dirk can admit that things got a little childish between them.

They’re experimenting with TV-together, co-hosting a show that hasn’t yet received a solid name. It’s about wrestling and swordsmanship and Jake shoving his ass up the camera lens and, well. It’s been fun this far. Mindless entertainment, something that passes the time and makes them money they don’t need. But a few days ago, they got into an argument about it. Over outfits, out of all things.

Jake wanted to go properly into the wrestling direction and get them some official outfits, those really tight colorful ones with motifs and fabric so thin that you can see every little fucking detail through them. The thought of Jake in one of them was admittedly very appealing, but Dirk refused to wear one outright. Not that he’s insecure or anything, hell no, but he doesn’t want to look like a pansy on tv. Jake can pull it off, everyone knows he’s Dirks’ anyway. But Dirk…ugh. No.

They had fought about it, Jake arguing about what the bloody swoshgoggling difference was or some bullshit like that. And Dirk had simply put his foot down, and calmly explained that the difference was that Jake wanted to wear one, and Dirk wasn’t going to, end of story.

He’s a man of few words. He doesn’t need them to dictate or communicate, his presence alone is assertive enough, and Jake needs to understand that. He must understand that at this point.

So now here they are, a small argument turned into a disrespect of assertiveness and boundaries later. Not talking. Or at least Dirk thought they wouldn’t be talking.

There’s a sudden notification lighting up his phone, laying on the desk in front of him. He doesn’t even consider the possibility of it being Jake as he picks it up. He assumes It’s Dave or Jane or Rose or…

But it isn’t. It’s Jake.

Dirk straightens in his chair, letting go of his tools as he feels some slight irritation mixed with the familiar thrill of banter swirling in his chest.

Jake texted him yesterday after they parted post-argument. Dirk didn’t answer. Now usually when that happens, Jake takes it as a challenge; who can ignore the other the longest? Maybe he’s finally realized that It’s no use, and that Dirk will always inevitably win?

Dirk reads the message on screen. It’s short and sweet, five small words. An invitation.

Why don’t you come over?

Dirk hates it. He hates the way Jake so obviously toys with him, and the way he responds to it almost immediately. There’s a chill shooting down his spine, a thrill of excitement and pleasure. Sharp like a deliciously hot knife against the core of his being.

He can’t deny it, he knows himself all too well. Jake English is, and will most likely always be, the fire under his ass. The thing that pushes him to keep going, to keep working, to always be alert. And Dirk fills the very same purpose for Jake; something he can play with, something that challenges him, that pushes him to be better.

So Dirk leaves. He drops what he’s doing and leaves, only taking a jacket and his phone with him on the way out.

With the amount of shit he has stored at Jake’s obscene mansion, he hardly ever has to bring anything with him when he goes there.

It only takes a few minutes, ten or so, for Dirk to be outside of it. It’s huge, towering, and yet Dirk never feels small in It’s presence. Never. He knows what Jake is hiding with his huge mansion, his huge ships and his huge everything. He’s hiding insecurities, human emotions and flaws, doubts and fears and cowardice. All those things he can never hide from Dirk.

He’s seen it all; the bad, the ugly and the beautiful. Because despite all his flaws, Dirk has to regretfully admit to himself when Jake opens the door and beams at him, that the man is very beautiful.

And It’s stupid, It’s absolutely idiotic. Because Dirk, well. He isn’t perfect, far from it. But he’s striving for it, fighting and working and building and perfecting to reach that state. The state of a god. And Jake isn’t.

That’s why he needs Dirk, after all. He craves him just like Dirk craves Jake, to be trained and instructed and yelled at and challenged. To be paid a precise, sharp kind of attention only Dirk can give him. It’s an itch Dirk has purposefully created within him, one only he can scratch.

“My goodness, Dirk! I thought that was you coming down the lawn. The gardener has mowed it to perfection, hasn’t he?” Jake says, flashing his white teeth at him as he lingers at the door, looking down. Dirk Is standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, shades right on point. He isn’t taking the ten necessary steps up the stairs and into the mansion, and he merely nods at Jake’s greeting. Jake swallows.

He knows what Dirk wants. An apology, a sign of relenting, of submitting. Dirk has to suppress a smile.

Your move, English. Will you really relent so easily, without a fight?

“Well, don’t just stand there, old pal.” He says, tilting his head to the side, smile and green eyes softening. Loving, private despite the distance and huge marble staircase between them. “Come on in.”

Fuck. Dirk has trained him good. But he’s not quite on Dirk’s level, not yet.

“You know what I want, Jake.” He says, his voice low but still strong enough for Jake to hear despite the distance. He clears his throat.

“To come in?”

Ah. Playing dumb. Jake English’s favorite hobby, for sure. Dirk lets the corner of his mouth twitch, only a little bit.

“You know that’s not it.”

Jake settles for irritation instead of idiocy, crossing his arms and huffing in that indignant, fancy way he always does when he’s displeased and he wants Dirk to know it.

“Well, my dear pal, you can’t very well expect me to read your very impenetrable mind, stubborn as it is!”

Dirk scoffs. “Alright. If you’re gonna be difficult about this, then I’ll leave.”

And then he simply turns on his heel and walks away, strides confident and non-stopping.

A regular person would think he was bluffing, that he wouldn’t go back home after coming this way, that he would tease Jake a little but then turn around with a smile, laughing as he enters the mansion.

But he’s not bluffing. Dirk knows it, and so does Jake. They both know that Dirk is immovable and stubborn as a mule when it comes to petty things like this. They both know he revels in reacting to them, in seeing Jake hesitate and falter, not quite knowing whether he’s joking or not… it gets him the fuck off.

So, when Dirk turns to go, and makes a gesture as to fly away again…Jake stops him. Because they both know he would. He has done it before. They’ve both done it before, left each other and cut all contact for a while over petty little things.

But Jake isn’t off right now, evidently. He’s in the mood for a challenge, an adventure. He’s in the mood for Dirk.

Interesting.

“Wait! Wait a moment, chum!” he shouts, and Dirk freezes in his movements, just like that. Because as much as he likes to deny it, English has him in the same steely chokehold that Dirk has him in.

After all, Dirk is in the mood for Jake, as well. They both know it. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

He doesn’t turn around, he simply stands with his back to Jake until he reaches him, putting his hand on his shoulder. Dirk has the pleasure of shrugging it off, of seeing Jake’s face fall slightly as he rounds him to stand in front of him.

He is ridiculously handsome, Dirk can’t help but observe. Such a waste of energy really, to think it every time he sees him. And yet he thinks about it each time, without fail, no matter how mad they might be at each other.

His black, short hair is a little messier than usual, and his glasses are a bit greasy with fingerprints and mud from some side-mission he’s no doubt been on. His skin is tan, a light brown like tree sap and leather. He looks constantly sun kissed, even when the sun is nowhere in sight. He looks warm and earthy, and his eyes reflect the leaves on the trees, the lush green of the jungle he used to live in.

It’s a real pain for Dirk to keep himself in check in these situations, but he has to. He’s better than giving in to his human desires immediately. Besides, the giving in is always that much more pleasurable if he waits and teases, plays with Jake until he can’t take it anymore. That’s truly the best version of him, aching and tired and desperate.

“I… I understand you want an apology.” Jake relents, and a pleasurable sense of electricity shoots down Dirk’s spine.

“Right.” Dirk says, giving him the privilege of a reply.

“Right.” Jake replies, itching the back of his head. “It’s just- sometimes you’re a tad difficult to read, old pal! It’s- well really I must be a nitwit, because I didn’t understand at all that this- the thing about the suits-“ he sighs, shaking his head. “Well, shucks darn! I gather I’ve hurt you, Dirk, and I am awfully sorry about that! It was never my intention to-“

Dirk raises his hand to stop Jake’s rambling, shaking his head.

“No need to get worked up.” He says, so very gracefully. “Just sorry is fine.”

The relief on Jake’s face is only half fake, Dirk can tell. He likes these little mind games just as much as Dirk does, but they can be a little annoying sometimes when they start before they’ve even gotten inside the door.

Still, that makes them all the more fun in Dirk’s opinion. He’ll play nice for now, though, to reward how quickly Jake came to his senses and apologized. Usually it takes a lot longer.

“Then why don’t you come in! Just for a little while, of course. A little bit of jolly good quality time between…friends, right?”

The hesitation before the word “friends” isn’t lost on either of them. Dirk is very careful not to show anything, not to reveal a thing. No feelings, no thoughts. Not a care in this new, fucked up world they’ve created.

“Sure.”

“Splendid!” Jake replies, putting a hand on Dirks’ shoulder. He doesn’t shrug it away this time. “Then let’s go! I’ll have a glass of brandy poured for you in no time, buckaroo.”

Dirk wrinkles his nose but follows close behind Jake as he starts walking back towards the mansion with a usual English spring in his step.

He knows damn well that Dirk doesn’t drink brandy, or any kind of alcohol for that matter. He’s got too much self-respect to taint his thoughts and behaviors with that junk, to succumb to the powerful thing called addiction. Not that he would become addicted, were he to taste it. Oh no. He’s too damn smart for that stuff, just like he was too smart to be affected properly by that god awful cherub candy during sburb.

Jake’s mansion is huge as always, decked in polished marble floors and pillars and rugs the sizes of tennis courts. Expensive, huge plants in hand-painted vases line the walls, and their steps echo hauntingly in the big space.

It’s all way too dramatic for Dirk’s tastes. Though he supposes it reflects Jake himself, with his fondness for dramatic flair, and so Dirk also has to admit that his tastes may be a little more dramatic than he would like. He definitely has a taste for Jake, after all.

They go to Jake’s gigantic sitting room, where they usually hang out during special occasions like these. Occasions of retaliation, of Jake begging for forgiveness with his eyes and his body while Dirk slowly melts for him.

It’s going to be interesting to see how long it will take for Jake to melt him this time.

Dirk is swiftly placed into a red velvety armchair, Jake’s big, firm hands playfully pushing him into it. He lets himself be swayed, lets himself sit back onto it just to humor him.

“Make yourself comfortable, old pal, and I’ll get the brandy!”

Dirk nods, humors him once again. Jake will have to be an exceptional host in order to make up for all the kind humoring Dirk is doing.

Left alone in the study for a brief moment, Dirk looks around, scanning his environment. A gently burning fire in the hearth, a rug with intricately woven patterns in reds and golds. There’s a stain on that rug, one Dirk helped put there and then refused to help remove. Jake was scrubbing it for well over half an hour, on all fours, swearing and complaining about how expensive the rug was and how he could be so stupid as to not put a tarp over it before they “indulged”.

God, Dirk really hates it when he calls it that. Sex. Jake speaks of it like It’s nothing but an indulgence, a weakness to cave to. A desire that you try to resist, but then fail to. He always treats their “indulgences” like they’re mistakes, like they shouldn’t have happened, that they’re a result of neither man being able to control himself. And Dirk hates it, he hates the implication that he’s lost control, that he’s somehow so deliriously horny for Jake that he somehow lost control of his bodily autonomy. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

Dirk is a good person. He’s a powerful person. He has control over himself like no one else. All he does, every choice he makes, every action he takes…It’s all deliberate. He’d never give in to a desire he didn’t want to, not even when it comes to his weak spot; Jake.

He desires Jake sexually, of course he does. A lot of people do, It’s not strange. He’s pretty much the perfect man, at least at a first glance. His dark features, his tan skin smelling of campfires and silken sheets. Two worlds colliding, the free spirit and the luxurious. The dark upper lip, the lighter and fuller bottom one. The forest green eyes, so happy and so hungry and so sad, so expressive and so closed off at the same time. The mole on his throat, the one Dirk likes to kiss and sometimes leave teeth marks around. The way he always touches, pulls him in, lingers in his looks and his fleeting strokes and prods. And his body, muscly and full and filling, soft and hard at the same time, curvy where Dirk’s is bony and formless.

Jake really is the perfect man at first glance. Ridiculously handsome and charming, with an award-winning smile to boot. But he isn’t perfect, and Dirk knows it. And at the end of the day, that’s what does him in. That’s the poison. Because although Dirk appreciates Jake’s masculinity, his beauty and ridiculously attractive ways, he wouldn’t have gone for him if that was all there was to him. No, the thing about Jake. that has Dirk firmly by the balls is his flaws, the things that make him into a shitty God.

It’s his cowardice, the way he always pretends not to understand things just to avoid having to face the consequences of his actions. The way he avoids others’ emotions like the plague, the way he lies and flees as soon as things get serious. The way he can be unpredictable and yet so painfully predictable at the same time. The way there’s always the slightest tint of a pattern in his toxic, avoidant behavior, and yet he never fails to break that pattern and surprise Dirk, over and over again.

That’s what happened this morning, when he sent Dirk a text. Dirk had thought with all his being that Jake would wait at least a few days before trying to contact him. Either that, or he would ignore Dirk for so long that he would eventually contact Jake instead, bored out of his mind and fully aware that Jake was waiting for him. Never had he ever texted Dirk again as fast as he had this morning, and It’s so stupidly fascinating.

Dirk wouldn’t consider himself easily surprised or impressed, not at all. And yet English always manages to keep him on his toes, to take him by surprise in ways he never expected.

Jake is static, independent, avoidant. A coward, non permanent. A toy, entertainment. And Dirk hates it how he craves him sometimes, craves him like a gulp of fresh air in the midst of all the existential shit that comes with being a god. And he chooses to act on that craving, chooses to treat himself to it now and again. He doesn’t give in or indulge in the way Jake always suggests. He chooses to act on his desires.

After all, Dirk is strong where Jake is weak. A perfect, sharp complement.

Jake returns to the sitting room before long, carrying two glasses and a bottle full of brandy. Dirk grabs a glass and lets Jake pour into it, knowing fully well he won’t do more than sip slightly at the disgusting liquid.

He knows what this is, anyway. It’s a peace offering, and it will remain that way whether Dirk drinks it or not. His acceptance of the offer lies in him accepting the glass, of putting it down on the small table beside his armchair, not in drinking it.

And that’s why Jake looks so pleased when he accepts the glass, when he tilts it against his lips and drinks a tiny sip, looking up at Jake over the rim of his shades with eyes that match the brandy.

Jake pretends not to the affected by the sudden showing of eyes, or the way Dirk licks the rim of the glass and stifles a frown at the disgusting rich taste of it. He pretends not to be affected, but Dirk knows better. He knows Jake loves the color of his eyes, and how they represent the things he loves most; his stupid whiskey and brandy collection, the leather backs of some of his more expensive rifles, the honey he pours in his morning tea. He knows Jake loves it, and he’s terrible at hiding it, what with his tongue darting out and wetting his bottom lip and his eyes lingering on Dirk’s for a moment too long.

Jake looks away, clearing his throat before pouring his own glass and putting the bottle down on the table belonging to his arm chair. He sits down opposite Dirk, smiling at him, throwing one leg over the other.

He’s being tempted, tempted to indulge. And Dirk isn’t doing a thing to make it happen. He’s simply existing, a temptation that is doing nothing to tempt.

“Well.” Jake says, pretending not to be checking him out by letting his eyes drift into the fire. “I am so very glad you are here, friend.”

Dirk doesn’t reply, but he allows himself a tiny smile. There’s humor at hearing the word “friend”, even though there shouldn’t be. After all, they both agreed on It after last time their attempts at a relationship crashed and burned. Friendship is a strong emotion, after all, and of course they can settle for it. It’s enough, it’s so very filling.

At least, Dirk knows he can. He’s not planning on breaking their decision to just be friends, a decision they’ve made many times. He’s never broken it, not a single time. It’s Jake that gives in every time, without fail. A pattern he’s not yet been able to break.

“Anyhoo, how have you been lately? I know we met just yesterday when things ended sourly, but well…we haven’t been able to talk much about things as of late, have we? It’s been so…busy with the tv-show and tricks and tribulations! I haven’t heard about the progress of your robots in forever!”

“As if you care.” Dirk says. It’s meant in a lighthearted, joke way but of course Jake sort of deflates a bit in his chair. Dirk clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Just kidding. It’s going fine. They’re working better and better.”

Jake perks up a little again. “Ah! Should I be nervous, then? I did think they worked quite well back in the day when you sent that robo-replica of yourself to train me. You mean to tell me they are even more efficient in manly combat now?”

He smiles nervously at Dirk before taking the smallest of sips from his brandy glass. He can hardly hide the grimace that spreads across his stupidly handsome face, and Dirk snorts.

“They’re way better than they were back then, trust me.” He nods towards Jake’s glass. “Why do you drink that stuff, by the way? You don’t like it.”

Jake looks aghast. “Why, of course I do! I’ll have you know, brandy is the drink of true gentlemen and adventurers, and it suits me just fine!”

“I wasn’t talking about it suiting you, I was asking why you’re ingesting something you don’t like.” He says, making a point by putting his own glass down on the small table beside the chair. “Why sully your body with alcohol if you’re not even enjoying it?”

Jake scoffs, and rolls his eys in that way that never fails to piss Dirk off.

“Well, aren’t you a puritan all the sudden.”

“All of a sudden.”

Jake scoffs again. “That’s Jane’s job, you know. Correcting grammar.” He looks into his glass, sloshes the liquid in it around, watching it swirl. “Or at least it used to be. She’s…very busy nowadays, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Dirk replies.

There isn’t much to say regarding that matter. Jane is and has always been the leader type, it has been clear to see. So, Dirk isn’t surprised she has pursued a career that could, and ultimately will, procure her a leader position. It’s her destiny, her purpose. Just like it is Dirk’s purpose to build, improve and train robots for the future to come.

Each and every person has a role to play, even Jake. Even though his role is as trivial as being pretty and owning space vessels. Oh well.

“When did we all get so grown up?” Jake asks, almost to himself. There’s a distance in his voice, as if It’s being carried away out of the room, out into the darkening sky outside and out into space and the memories made there.

“Ask Dave.” Dirk answers. “He’s the knight of time.”

Jake snorts, and takes a mouthful of brandy, sloshing it around in his mouth and grimacing as he swallows it down. Dirk wrinkles his nose, and turns his gaze into the fire.

Thank god they’re only friends at the moment, or else he’d have to kiss him with the vile taste of brandy in his mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. Disgusting.

“How do you feel about her?” Dirk asks suddenly, breaking his train of thought. “Jane, I mean.”

Dirk turns to look at Jake, just as he furrows his thick eyebrows.

“What? Janey?” he clicks his tongue, looking over at Dirk. “I uh, what japery are you pulling now, pal? She’s my friend, of course.”

“Is that all?”

Jake looks aghast again. He’s very good at doing so, what with his eyebrows shooting up and his green eyes opening widely as he rears back. It’s nothing short of him clutching his non-existent pearls.

“Why Dirk, my good fellow, if I didn’t have such a good head on my shoulders I would almost think you are jealous!” he quirks a brow, a smile creeping into his features. Dirk remains perfectly neutral. “Are you…jealous?”

“Course not.” Dirk replies, because It’s the truth. He hasn’t been jealous of Jane since he was a dumb teen with a dumber crush, before he found his footing and his purpose in the world. He’s merely interested at the prospect of Jake and Jane together. After all, he knows her feelings for him are still strong as ever, despite her denying it to him these days.

“Then why are you asking?” Jake asks, taking another small sip from his glass. “Are you trying to set us up?”

“I’m just asking a question between friends.” Dirk replies, shrugging. “If you don’t wanna answer, that’s fine.”

Jake settles back at that, looking at him for a moment, seemingly gaging whether or not he’s speaking the truth. After a few moments, though, he seemingly decides to drop it, and puts down his almost-empty glass on the table with a thump.

“Well then, buddy. Do you want to peruse my extensive rifle collection?”

Dirk stifles the urge to sigh, and nods.

He’s seen Jake’s stupid rifle collection hundreds of times. It rarely changes, save for the occasional, rare moments when a new gem is added. This time, Jake has been sent one by a fan, an original rare thing that apparently predates the old city bell tower.

It doesn’t interest Dirk in the least, but he hums and nods along when Jake yaps on and on about the rifle, It’s remarkably silent shots, It’s incredible accuracy and It’s smooth, carefully carved, polished body.

Later, when the torture is over they eat dinner in the kitchen. Meat and potatoes, prepared by Jake’s personal chef. Jake continues talking, as he always does, and Dirk listens, nods, watches, replies when he deems it necessary. It’s all rather nice, calm and normal. Two friends having dinner, no hint of anything untoward or scandalous happening.

“Did you like the food?” Jake asks while wiping his mouth with one of the fancy napkins on the table. He doesn’t dab his mouth like a fancy prick, though, like someone may have expected. No, despite the fact that Jake English loves to surround himself with treasure and riches, the fanciest of the fanciest, he himself will always be wild. Savage, an adventurer at heart. It’s a quality Dirk admires, the ability for Jake to remain himself in any room, any setting without even being aware of how much he stands out because of it.

“Yeah. It was good.” Dirk replies, wiping his own mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t need some fancy fucking napkin. He’s not a baby.

“Marvellous!” Jake beams, and lets his smile soften, deepen. His eyes are meeting their own reflections in Dirk’s shades, and then they dart down to his lips, only for a second, before returning to his shades again.

It’s barely noticeable, and yet Dirk notices. He always does.

“Then uh, what do you want to do now?” he leans in slightly, nervously, fidgeting with the silverware on his plate, smoothing a wrinkle in the tablecloth. “I hope you aren’t planning on returning home so soon. It is getting late, I know, but you could always stay the night, couldn’t you?”

Dirk lets a huff of air escape his nose as he feels his dick stir in his pants and irritation stir in his chest.

Jake fucking English. Is he seriously this desperate already? They’ve been arguing for what, a day or two? And they called their last little “tousle” off less than two weeks ago. Usually they can go for a few months at least before anything of note happens between them like this.

It’s so annoying how enticing Dirk finds this change of pace. He can’t lie to himself about it, either. After all, he knows himself better than anything else. Denying things don’t make them go away, thinking any different would be stupid and weak.

“We can watch a movie and see how I feel after.”

An invitation. He lets it slip out, too easy and too kind. And Jake eats it up. His nervous smile dissolves into something confident, something almost smug as he nods and scoots his chair out, adjusting the pants of his legs where they have wrinkled.

Fuck.

“Well, let us go to the cinema then, chap!”

Dirk follows Jake as he goes, irritation and lust itching under his skin.

Jake truly is a weak point for him. A flaw in his programming. He doesn’t affect him to a degree where Dirk loses his self-control, oh no. Nothing could ever affect him in that way. He’s in perfect control of himself, always. But there’s something about him, something about his being and his looks and his stupid ways that keeps tugging at him, keeps drawing him in. And Dirk seldom sees the point in refusing.

And so, they end up watching a movie together.

When Jake said the word “cinema”, he wasn’t lying. He has a whole room for watching all the shitty movies he likes, with fancy massage chairs and surround-sound galore and of course, a big silver screen to top it off. There’s also a drawer full of snacks and a fridge stacked with all kinds of fizzy and non-fizzy drinks, always stocked and ready.

The first time Dirk set his foot here, he felt…strange. Going to the cinema was never something he was able to do as a kid, along pretty much everything else. Life stuck on a platform on the ocean of a post-apocalyptic earth wasn’t exactly eventful, unless you made it eventful yourself. Dirk certainly did his best, but there was only so much a guy could do in a living situation like that.

So, yes. He has to admit to himself that although his first visit to this cinema had felt strange and out of place, he had been impressed. He was young, of course, merely 18-19 something. But still, he was a little too excited inside, even for that age.

He is excited now too, but for a whole lot of different reasons. He’s excited about the way Jake’s pants clings almost scandalously against his thighs and his ass as he sits down in his chair, how he corrects his glasses and starts pressing controllers to turn the projector on.

Dirk wants him like he wants fucking air, and It’s so pathetic. It really is. He’s got to work on his restraint, on refraining, on focusing on the robots and ghosting Jake thoroughly. Maybe even blocking him.

His self-control is perfect, it doesn’t sway and buckle for a guy with buck teeth and perfect legs. It doesn’t happen. But the temptation is strong anyway, so strong that it gets in the way of Dirk’s work, of his purpose.

He decides here and now that tonight is a treat for working so hard, a carefully planned indulgence that he will allow. But henceforth, after today he has to work harder to lock Jake out of his life for a little while. He has to focus on what’s important, after all, no matter how delicious Jake’s lips look when he wets them.

Dirk adjusts slightly in his seat. He’s already getting hard, and he’s doing nothing to hide it as usual. Just the thought of what might happen tonight, of how hurt Jake will look the day after when he leaves and announces at the last second that they can’t see each other right now, that he’s busy. The soft pleas that will leave Jake’s lips, the watering green eyes watching him, begging him.

God, It’s going to be difficult to sit through whatever dumb movie Jake is going to pick.

As usual, he pulls out a big drawer from under his fancy seat, full of DVD’s and VHS’s. Adventure films, mostly, along with sci-fi movies usually centering or at least featuring some type of blue alien women. They don’t interest Dirk in the slightest, and so he usually zones out and thinks of other things while Jake drools in the seat beside him. Today however, the movie Jake picks actually doesn’t include any blue women, none at all.

The movie Jake picks is “Indiana Jones and the raiders of the lost ark”, the very first Indiana Jones movie from 1981. It includes a golden idol, archeology rivalry, fighting nazis and a hot, young Harrison Ford. Dirk and Jake has watched it many times, and Jake can pretty much quote the whole thing by heart. Dirk knows this, because he does. Every single time.

It’s an okay movie. They sit side by side just watching it for a while, Jake eating popcorn and mouthing the words, eyes locked intently on the screen as Harrison Ford performs tricks.

Dirk stifles the urge to yawn. He really doesn’t mind watching Ford. He can even admit to himself that he finds him attractive, what with the rugged beard and the intense gaze. However, ogling eye candy is only entertaining for so long, and after a while he’s practically staring blankly into space as Jake mumbles the lines to himself beside him.

He’s thankful, as always, that his shades hides at least part of his boredom.

About halfway through the movie, though, something interesting actually happens. Dirk isn’t paying attention to what is happening on screen, but It’s some sort of fight with running and fighting and swords and whatnot. And in the middle of the drama, supposedly gripped by the suspense, Jake grabs a firm hold of his thigh and squeezes.

Dirk yelps slightly. He can’t stop the sound from escaping him, the sensation of being grabbed by Jakes’ big, firm hand and the electricity that shoots straight into his crotch is just so sudden and so intense. Jake removes his hand almost instinctively, looking at Dirk in surprise as Indiana Jones takes on several sword-wielding hooligans at once.

“Well, I do apologize if I scared you there, Dirk!” he says, giving him an amused half-smile. Dirk swallows.

“Nah s’ cool.” He replies, voice slightly betraying the slight quiver caused by a suddenly racing heart.

Fuck, his stupid idiotic heart and the way it keeps betraying him. It’s his biggest strength and his biggest weakness, simultaneously. As is the fate of a prince of heart.

“Really? Because you did sound a little startled there.” The page of hope probes and teases, smirk growing into the most idiotic, handsome grin.

He’s illuminated by the big screen behind him, hues of tangerine orange and sand yellow from the movie scene playing in his hair. He looks like he’s glowing even though his face is shadowed, green eyes dark and mossy and his teeth a flash of crooked white against his rich, tan skin tone.

Dirk wants those teeth around him, biting, taking and devouring him. And he knows It’s unwise, knows It’s stupid and immature. They’ve gone through this song and dance so many times now that they both look like fools, and yet it never gets old.

And so, when Jake lingers and hesitates for a moment before finally leaning in to kiss him, Dirk doesn’t protest. In fact he does quite the opposite. He kisses back, firm and assertive while holding all his bursting, pulsating desires in check. A perfectly cool and collected version of himself, not quite showing Jake how badly he craves him.

Not yet, at least.

It really is stupid, how Dirk lets Jake toy with him like this, and how he lets himself get swept up into it every damn time. He knows how it will end, can see it from a thousand miles away. They will kiss, be intimate, maybe even spend a few days or in rare cases weeks whispering sweet nothings to each other and making promises they never meant to keep. And then, when all is said and done, one of them gets bored. And when one of them gets bored, the other one pushes, prods, asks questions they already know the answers to. And then It’s over.

It’s the very same sequence of events in different formations. It happens on repeat, a coughing, worn melody that plays over and over again like a broken record.

Their futile attempts at rekindling things should be boring by now. Anyone else but them would have given up at this point, would have admitted to the unhealthy nature of it all and moved on, onto better things, where the grass is greener and such. But that’s just the thing.

It’s not that Dirk nor Jake is unaware of the problems their behavior fosters, of how they keep digging into each other with rusty knifes, coated with the blood of years and years of not quite trying. They are, in fact, perfectly aware of what they’re doing. Despite Dirk’s tendency to avoid the subject and Jakes’ tendency to play dumb, they both know. They both know, and neither man can get enough of it.

It’s not quite love but something close, Dirk muses when Jake’s tongue enters his mouth. It’s the thrill of observing, of acting and waiting to see the reaction, to push and pull and prod when one knows one shouldn’t, just to see what happens. It’s a deep running curiosity, mixed with a hot rushing dose of sexual attraction, of longing glances and touches that twist and burn in both of their guts. It’s sexual and non-sexual obsession, the clawing need to be close, to cling on, to push and sometimes to harm, all just to be a part of each other. To know everything about each other, to be so terrifyingly close and vulnerable one second, only to have it violently torn away the next.

It always hurts, the rejection, the broken promises. And yet it makes Jake’s touch so much more satisfying when he inevitably comes crawling back. His eyes are always so smoldering, so apologetic in a way that makes Dirk shiver and give, open himself up again despite the mess of hurt and sharp anger inside of him. Because he knows Jake won’t care, won’t mind the sharpness and hurt feelings. In fact he usually revels in it, uses it against Dirk to draw a reaction, to see if it will make him snap or scream or come faster.

Dirk can only assume Jake revels as much in their little games of push and pull as he does. He has certainly seen his body react to it before, and judging by the hungry way he’s kissing him now he’s willing to bet he’s getting off on it by the moment.

In fact, he must be especially intriguing for Jake right now, considering he’s not even bothering to pause the movie despite it being one of his favorites.

That’s devotion. Jake English never looks away from a good movie.

Jake’s hand finds It’s way to the nape of Dirk’s neck, stroking the soft hair there as the other finds his waist. Dirk lets himself be touched, melts into it in fact. And fuck, sure. He can admit that the melting is just a little bit involuntary, a little bit out of his control.

It’s something to work on later.

Without much preamble, Jake climbs into his lap, straddling his legs in the big, luxurious cinema chair. Dirk grabs ahold of his thighs immediately, squeezing them, earning a whimper.

Jake is hard against his stomach, he can feel it clearly despite their respective layers of clothing.

How long has he been hard? Has he sat with the feeling for a while like Dirk, thinking of the inevitable outcome the evening will bring? Or did he spring to life now, at the simple touch of his lips?

Dirk sighs into Jake’s mouth, pressing him harder into his chest, forcing him to lay more weight on him, more warmth.

Jake is always so warm, like the green sun itself. He melts Dirk’s pale freckled skin every time he touches it, like plastic against a stove top or candle wax running down the length of a candle, melting from the heat of the flame. He’s hot and green and beautiful, and Dirk can never quite read him. He’s an enigma, so confident and yet so insecure, so honest and yet such a liar. A bundle of contradictions and intriguing mess, a box of wires and parts that Dirk can’t get enough of.

Jake breaks apart from him, to his dismay.

“Well, chap, this really is quite the unexpected turn of events.” He says, breathlessly. A liar.

“Right.” Dirk replies, letting nothing but irony taint his words. Jake scrunches his nose and gives him a rueful smile.

“I suppose…you might think this ungentlemanly of me, to be forward like this.”

“Very.”

“Righto. Well, if you don’t want me to keep up this wretched behavior, friend, then I will-“

Jake lifts his leg as If intending to get off of Dirk’s lap, pretending like he’s all embarrassed and shy and coy about his behavior. But Dirk knows him well enough to know he’s pretending.

Jake is fully aware of what he’s doing, and how It’s affecting Dirk. They’re sitting flush against each other, he must be able to feel it. Besides, he’s not surprised or embarrassed at all about what he’s doing. Dirk has seen him embarrassed before many times, the way he averts his face and his neck flushes, the way he starts using way more strange, british-sounding words and how he changes subject.

No, Jake English isn’t surprised or embarrassed. He’s simply playing.

Dirk’s grip on Jake’s thighs tightens and he forces him down onto his lap again, eyes burrowing holes through his shades.

He knows Jake can’t see his eyes right now, close as he may be. The all but forgotten movie is reflecting in his glasses, he can see the reflection of them in Jake’s mossy green eyes. They’re glossy, too. Hungry and excited and fuck.

“Don’t stop.” Dirk demands, just as hungry and excited and greedy. Jake exhales, letting himself lean onto Dirk’s lap again, his hands finding their way over his shoulders. Touching, stroking, soothing.

“My, Dirk, that is quite-“

His stupid pretty mouth doesn’t get to say much more before Dirk leans forward and kisses him roughly. Jake yelps, but kisses back immediately. They’ve been through this song and dance many times before, after all.

Jake tastes of buttery popcorn and his disgusting bitter brandy and Dirk moans into his mouth, a controlled, low sound that he knows will drive Jake crazy.

That’s how they end up in Jake’s big, fancy velvety bed, clothes being hastily yanked in the lust filled urgency that only teasing of this degree can produce. Dirk on his back sinking into Jake’s millions of pillows, and Jake on all fours above him.

Jake is like a dog in bed, Dirk muses to himself as eager lips bury themselves in the crook of his neck. But not the barky, aggressive kind. More like those big, kind and husky dogs, the endlessly loyal and playful. The ones with powerful jaws and eyes like dark forest lakes. And yet, Dirk revels in the fact that there’s a dangerous side, too. A side which exposes Its white sharp teeth and growls, heaves as if to attack.

Only Dirk can reach that side of Jake, the side that swears and thrusts and pulls his hair, leaves dark bruises all over his body, slaps him so hard he sees stars.

He’s always awfully apologetic after particularly rough tumbles like that, his loyal forest green dog. Those mornings where Dirk can barely sit, the mornings where his lips are bruised and swollen, and his body aches all over with the bone deep twinge of satisfaction. Those are the mornings when Jake would do anything for him, would stab himself in the chest and slowly die at his feet If only he asked for it. The mornings where he bares the heavy weight of Dirk’s urges, his needs being fulfilled and the painful prize for it. The guilt of being an aggressor to an all too willing victim.

Not that Jake doesn’t enjoy it, he definitely does. It’s all too clear and established between them that Jake doesn’t mind biting and slapping and “getting a little extra frisky” as he disgustingly put it. It’s only there’s such a thing as Dirk having to walk in public with his bruises, hickeys, busted lips and claw marks. And although Dirk enjoys people seeing his marks, Jake is always twitchy about it, about what people might assume.

He’s always so damn concerned about what others might think.

“What do you want, chap?” Jake mumbles into the side of Dirk’s neck, before biting down hard. Dirk groans, and grabs the back of his shirt, pulling hard. He’s hard as a fucking rock, and yet he won’t beg or moan pathetically or anything like that. He doesn’t do that.

“Ruin me.” He mumbles, demanding. “Just- fucking bruise me.”

Jake lets out a shaking breath against his skin, and Dirk can feel his dick twitch against the leg he has snuck between his thighs. His teeth dig deeper, breaking the skin, sending shivers of pain through Dirk’s body, making him shudder.

Jake is like a giant mass of musk and warmth, of soft and sharp and wonderfully painful. He’s a liar, someone who avoids conflict in any way possible, a coward who dips if he so much as catches a whiff of emotion from the people around him. He’s got the vocabulary of a wacky adventurer from some odd movie from the 1920s, the maturity of a fucking toddler on crack at times and yet…

…and yet in moments like these, he’s perfect. The perfect man, the perfect person, the perfect lover.

It begrudged Dirk to admit it at first, but at this point he’d be foolish not to. Jake is amazing at sex, at perceiving him in a way that doesn’t feel intrusive or judging, but rather curious and absorbing. Jake is like a sponge, soaking in every little detail, every little twitch of Dirk’s face, everything that makes him leak and twitch and take deep, steadying breaths.

Jake knows exactly what he likes, a personalized lover robot specifically customized after his needs. Dirk could have built one of those, had he needed to. But as it is, his loyal dog of flesh and bone works very well, despite their tussles always ending in disaster.

Dirk doesn’t mind it much, the drama. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

When the rest of their clothes are off and Jake is inside him, Dirk hisses and digs his bitten down fingernails into the sheets, body spasming in pain and discomfort. The stretch of him almost makes him nauseous, because Jake has barely prepared him, barely stretched him just as Dirk has requested. He pushes himself inside forcefully, when Dirk is still screwed tight and unused to him. Dirk loves the burn and pain of it, loves how Jake wheezes at the near painful tightness and heat of him.

“Bollocks, are you okay, friend?” he pants, and fuck is he handsome as Dirk looks up at him. Chest hairy and heaving, sweat already beading at his temple as soft, concerned eyes looks down at him.

Dirk shudders, and purposefully claws a little too hard at Jakes back, knowingly bruising him. And Jake moans and dips his head down onto Dirk’s chest, sinking the rest of the way in as quiet punishment.

“Harder.” He demands, and Jake scoffs.

“Well, darling, I’ve hardly even started moving y-“

“Then get on with it.” Dirk grits out, urgency growing in his chest. He needs Jake to move before he’s gotten used to his width and length, needs to feel the delicious mix of straining pain and pleasure, and how one transforms into the other as his body yields to Jake, and as Jake continues thrusting and bruising him.

Dirk is in control, he always is, there’s no doubt about it. Even now, in a position that most would perceive as submissive he’s still the one in control. Always. Even as he yields, as he takes Jake inside he’s the one making decisions, nudging Jake in the direction he wants things to go. And It’s difficult, nudging Jake to and frow to fulfill his specific wants and needs. After all, Jake has wants and needs as well, and sometimes he can be stubborn as a mule.

And so, as is often the case, they end up compromising. Wordlessly, through actions alone, they both yield to one another, to the others urges until they are a mess of moans and curses and bodily fluids staining Jake’s expensive sheets.

Jake yields by biting and scratching and thrusting, despite Dirk’s body trembling from pain and overstimulation. Dirk yields by allowing Jake to take his shades off, allowing him to look and take in and smile and kiss, be gentle in the midst of all the violence.

And Dirk isn’t a liar. He isn’t stupid, either. He has to admit to himself that no matter how much he enjoys the pain and pushing himself to his limits, no matter how hot he finds his blood staining Jake’s lips and his pain making Jake shudder and moan… what ultimately unravels him is none of those things.

It’s Jake thrusting in hard, moaning loudly and locking his gaze to him, their eyes meeting. Forest green and brandy orange, unprotected and vulnerable.

“By Jove, you’re a beauty.” Jake half whispers, half sobs.

And that’s it. Stupid and embarrassing as it might be, that’s it. Dirk comes harder than he has in a good while, skinny legs tensing around Jakes’ middle and long fingers desperately clawing into his already bruised and bleeding back. And Jake, his big loyal dog, sunkissed and sweaty and so disgustingly beautiful comes right after him.

*

Jake English wakes up with a wince, coiling into himself and rolling onto his side as the sting of the bedsheets against his bruised back makes him shudder.

He must be properly daft to continue doing this to himself, to continue subduing himself to the wild, rosy thorn bush that is Dirk Strider. And yet It’s awfully tempting, and adventure only the headiest of adventurers would ever dare to embark on.

He rubs his eyes and blinks them open, wincing against the light of morning streaming into the room. He was too distracted by other things the night prior to remember to close the blinds. Dirk is still asleep though, scratched up back turned against him and thin shoulders rising and falling at a steady pace. Jake lets a smile creep onto his lips, sighing softly as his tired eyes roam over each violently red scratch mark on Dirk’s back.

He’s so thin, Strider is, each knobby protrusion of his spine visible through his pale skin. It feels rather like wrapping paper sometimes, his skin. It’s always so frail beneath Jake’s fingers, and so easy to break and bruise.

Jake stifles the urge to reach out a finger, to touch him and his soft, tousled blonde hair. It’s usually so perfectly styled and sprayed, forced into violent spikes that urge people to stay away. Dirk is nothing but a bundle of sharp edges, cold and hard and difficult to reach. Well, for anyone except Jake.

Jake succumbs to his urges, as he so often does, and places a chaste kiss to one of the gnarliest of Dirk’s scratches. It’s swollen and scabbed, a thick long streak that goes straight across his bony spine. He expects Dirk to twitch and shy away, maybe groan in his sleep. But no.

With a sleepy shudder, Dirk presses into the faint kiss, moaning filthily.

“Jake…” he mumbles, clearly not fully awake. He’d never let his guard down like this, if he was.

Jake leans back, expecting his strange, banged up lover. He truly is a sight to behold, even though he currently looks like he’s been in a fight with a gang of racoons. He’s such a personality, such a cool and collected chap… and yet he’s so fragile at the same time. A sharp, pale thing, bony and aerodynamic like a hawk. He really is quite birdlike, his Strider.

Without further meddling and gushing, Jake gets out of bed to fetch them both some morning coffee. He drinks his with a dash of cream and sweetener, meanwhile Strider drinks it pitch black and bitter, treating it like mere fuel. He has a tendency to treat food that way, like It’s nothing but fuel, something he has to put into his body now and then to survive. He’d most likely be happy with eating nothing at all, if it was an option.

It’s strange to Jake, to view something pleasant as mere formality. Jake himself loves food, different kind of dishes and desserts that Jane sometimes makes him, the buttered popcorn he fancies to eat while watching movies, the sherry sweet cocktail he sometimes drinks when he’s feeling especially blue. But he supposes It’s nothing more than another difference between them, another fact pushing them to opposite ends of a spectrum.

When he returns after a few minutes in the kitchen with two cups of coffee, Dirk is awake, sitting up in bed, waiting. He hasn’t put his shades on though. A good sign.

His whiskey colored eyes meet Jake when he walks in, and Jake smiles at him, lets his eyes roam over him and his bruise-covered body, his messy blonde hair and the slight bags under his eyes. He’s positively glowing in the morning light, a creature made of bones and paper, hard and rough and yet so fragile.

“Well good morning, my good fellow!” Jake says cheerily, giving the cup with tar colored coffee to Dirk, who accepts it.

“Mornin’.” He mumbles, voice still gruff with sleep and the aftermath of too much hooting and hollering the night before. Jake sits down beside him, sipping his own coffee. His eyes lock onto a particularly dark bruise on Dirks’ arm as he sips away.

“Are you in pain, darling?”

“Mnh. A little.” Dirk grumbles, clearly not in the mood for conversation. Well, be that as it may, Jake is set on making sure he is fine. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

“Where? Would you like me to fetch a cold compression, chap?” he nudges Dirk slightly with his elbow, careful as to avoid his wounds. “Or would you perhaps allow me to kiss it better instead?”

It’s a dangerously domestic suggestion, Jake is aware. But surely it can’t hurt? They engaged in some rather invigorating coitus just the night before, after all. What are simple kisses really, in the face of that?

And yet, despite the very logical reasoning behind Jake’s question, Dirk flushes like a rose in bloom at his suggestion and chokes slightly on his coffee. Jake goes to dunk his back helpfully but stops himself just in time when he remembers the scratches.

Dirk’s affinity for scuffling during sex really can be a bother, sometimes. Especially in the aftermath.

“Apologies! I didn’t mean to startle you, chum, I simply-“

“God, Jake just-“ Dirk interrupts, coughing and wincing as he accidentally leans against the headboard with his back. “Ugh. We just. Need to talk, before you say shit like that.”

Jake furrows his eyebrows. Talk? What is there to talk about, really? They’ve been here so many times before, tried to have this conversation a million times. They’re friends, they’re lovers, then they’re nothing. Can’t they just be…both? At least for a while, friends who have occasional tumbles in the hay together. Is that so bad?

“What would you like to talk about?” Jake asks. If Dirk is going to put him through some long winded, boring speech about how he can’t do this even though he very willingly broke their arrangement the night before, he’d better be clear about it.

“You already know what I want to talk about. You’re not stupid.”

Jake all but flinches at the word “stupid”. He’s been called it far too many times, and he does not care for it. Even though Strider said he isn’t stupid, he’s smart enough to understand that it challenges his intellect nonetheless. A clever roundabout way of suggesting that if he doesn’t agree with Dirk, he is in fact stupid.

“Well!” Jake says, offended. Dirk doesn’t look at him, he just continues sipping his coffee. His bony shoulders are slumping, his whole posture is tense and although he is annoying Jake at the moment, he certainly is a good lucking fellow all covered in bite and claw-marks like that.

“I’m not stupid, I merely refused to presume!”

“Refused to presume…” Dirk mutters, mocking him into his coffee cup. “We’ve had this conversation many times Jake. You know what’s coming.”

Jake glares daggers at him as he sets his coffee mug down on the bedside table, turning to Jake and leaning on one arm, head lulled against his shoulder. He’s trying to look nonchalant, despite the obvious tension in his limbs.

“We fucked, Jake. We said we were gonna be friends and nothing more, and then we fucked. Crossed a boundary. So now, regrettably…” he shrugs. “Before you get all kissy and cuddly we have to talk about it.”

“About us…fucking, as you so disgracefully put it?”

Dirk snorts, and shakes his head, dragging a hand across his tired face. “Jesus Christ, English.”

“What?” Jake feels indignation rise in his chest. What does Dirk think he’s playing at, presuming that he knows what he wants to talk about! Of course, Jake could assume It’s what they are, how their relationship might look like after this. But he doesn’t want to! He shouldn’t have to “know”, Dirk should be able to tell him, to guide him!

“Just…forget it for now, k?” Dirk sighs, and lies back against the pillows behind him, reaching for his shades and putting them promptly on his face. Not a good sign.

Fuck.

“Dirk?”

“No.” Dirk states simply, and there’s a terrible feeling of irritation and guilt in Jake’s guts.

What did he even do? He simply wished to communicate, for Dirk to say whatever it was he was going to say without trying to slither it out of Jake through mind games and irony or whatever it is he keeps doing. Is that really so much to ask?

They sit in silence for a little while, drinking their coffee slowly and bitterly. After a while, Dirk breaks the silence.

“Wanna play chess?”

Jake furrows his eyebrows. “What now?”

“Chess.” Dirk repeats, raising his eyebrows above the line of his shades as if to suggest that Jake should have his ears checked.

“Oh. Yes.” Jake replies awkwardly, taking another sip of his coffee while deciding that sure, Dirk can have his silly game of chess. “Sure, we can play.”

Dirk nods. “K.”

After a while of awkwardly sitting side by side in bed, Jake puts the coffee cups on a tray, carrying them out to the kitchen. He would almost think Dirk is trying to stall with his game of chess, that he’s trying to distract Jake so that he won’t think about the conversation to come, only to later attack him with it. But really, why would Jake ever assume such a thing of his…well, his friend? It is only unfair. He probably just wants to play for fun’s sake. Yes. That must be it.

And so, they play chess together.

Jakes’ stationary, fancy chess set complete with a mahogany table and chairs is placed in his atrium. He had the atrium built as a transitional space between the mansion and his huge, glorious garden. He did it both because he himself finds the space quite beautiful and airy, but also to please his grandmother/granddaughter/daughter/friend Jade Harley. She has no such space now that she lives with Dave and Karkat, except for their tiny suburban garden, and so she comes here when her fingers are feeling particularly green.

The atrium is huge, with several floors filled with plants and life, with everything form butterfly farms to flowers to fruit trees and planter boxes full of greens and berries. Jade, along with five of Jake’s hired gardeners, has truly turned this place into an indoor jungle, hot and light and cozy. Truly the perfect place to play some chess with a chum.

Jake leans on his hand and watches as Dirk makes his next move. Or rather, he isn’t really observing the move itself, but more so the player.

Dirk has slicked back his spiky hair as usual, and put on a shirt. Despite the shirt, though, Jake can still see bruises and bitemarks decorating his arms as he moves the pawns, evidence of their nightly activities. It is ridiculously attractive, really.

Although Jake’s opponent is currently wearing his trademark shades, his head is tilted in such a way that Jake can catch a glimpse of his eyebrows and eyelashes as he looks down at the miniature battlefield in front of them. They are both fair, like his hair, barely visible against his pale skin with the light streaming down on him from the atrium’s glass ceiling.

Gosh, if he wasn’t such a stubborn, complicated fellow Jake could ravish him once again on the spot. Then again, if he wasn’t who he is, Jake might not want to ravish him at all.

It’s truly an advanced procedure to want Dirk, no doubt about it.

“Your move.” Dirk grumbles, interrupting his thoughts.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Jake replies, realizing he’s been zoning out slightly, judging by the amused look Strider shoots him over the rim of his pointy shades.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, nothing important.” Jake replies. Dirk snorts, and presses his shades further up his nose, completely covering his eyes again.

“If you say so.”

A few moves later, and Dirk has him exactly where he wants him. Check mate, the match is won. And not that Jake isn’t competitive, but he’s thankful that Dirk won considering the mood he was in earlier in the morning. Strider is a terrible loser, despite trying to hide it. He gets all twitchy and defensive and coiled tight like a spring, and then…well, then he usually leaves.

Jake hates it when he leaves. He hates to see him go, to watch him walk away not knowing when he will get to touch him and hold him next. But at the same time…

Well, at the same time he must admit that it does make their occasional dalliances all that much more thrilling.

“Say, chap…” Jake says after Dirk has sat back from the match, a satisfied victor. “Would you be interested in going for a swim?”

Dirk’s eyebrows shoot up. “In the pool?”

“Yes.” Jake confirms, nodding in agreement.

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit.” Dirk argues, but he doesn’t sound disappointed or inconvenienced. Oh no, not in the slightest.

“Well, It’s not a problem. You can borrow one from me.” Jake says, smile widening. “Or…well, you could always just…forgo wearing one entirely, if you would be so inclined.”

Dirk actually laughs at that, his sharp teeth flashing while he smiles and lets huffs of laughter escape through his nose and shake his pointy shoulders.

“Shameless, English.”

“As always.”

That is how they end up swimming together in the huge atrium pool, naked.

The atrium pool is located in one shielded off corner of the atrium, surrounded by plants and comfortable sun loungers. The sun streaming in from the roof windows makes such pretty reflections in the surface of the water, and makes the pool look more like a fresh mountain spring than anything else.

Jake swims for a bit, but then gets up on the edge of the pool, sitting and dipping his feet in the water. It feels rather strange, sitting stark naked like this, but he wouldn’t trade his point of view for anything in the world.

Dirk looks rather like a fish in the water, a creature that is clearly in Its element. He claims to dislike the stuff, considering he grew up surrounded by it. And yet it fits him so nicely. The boneless nature with which he swims, the way it makes his usually stiff and pointed limbs look fluid and almost majestic.

He swims back and forth, on his stomach and on his back, showing off all his darkening bruises and all the pale stretches of his skin, including his shoulder where his tattoo is located. Jake can’t help but glance at his own shoulder, where a matching tattoo resides. His relationship with that tattoo is almost as complicated as his relationship to Dirk. It’s something that ties them together, no matter how far apart they may be.

Eventually, Dirk swims over to Jake, peering up at him with curious, amber colored eyes.

“Are you done already? Get back in.”

Jake smiles. “I will. I just rather enjoy watching you swim, darling.”

Dirk shudders at the nickname but doesn’t say anything about it. Jake can never quite tell if the occasional shudders mean he enjoys it or dislikes it, but judging by the way his eyes flicker briefly in between Jake’s legs, he could assume It’s a positive reaction.

“Damn. Freaky.”

Jake snorts, and spreads his legs a little further. After all, what harm could a little temptation ever do?

A lot it turns out, because as soon as he does, Dirk’s eyes widen dangerously. He grabs Jake forcefully by the thighs, and pulls hard, making them both tumble down under the surface of the water. What follows is a struggle of swimming, grabbing, accidentally swallowing water and making out messily and desperately.

And then, Jake is promptly shoved onto the ledge of the pool again with Dirk still in the water, head shoved between Jake’s legs and his cock deep in his throat.

It’s always quite the rollercoaster with Dirk, and Jake enjoys every little minute of it.

“Mngh, fuck, you’ve got quite the skilled throat there, bucko.” Jake half-moans, half-praises as Dirk takes him down his throat over and over with amazing composure. And sure, he’s done this many times before but it was a while since last, and he’s always been scarily good at it in Jake’s opinion. Not that he has much to compare with but still.

Gosh darn it, Dirk looks so pretty between his thighs; blonde hair darkened by the water and a pretty pink flush in his cheeks. He’s touching himself underwater, Jake can see it by the way his arm is moving and how his breath keeps hitching around his length.

“Fuck- don’t even think about coming in the pool.” Jake warns, moaning as Dirk’s throat tightens around him. “It’s- well It’s a hell of a cleanup. Last time-“

He’s cut off by Dirk biting down slightly, causing a slight sting of pain and panic to wash over Jake. He pulls Dirk’s hair, making him moan loudly around him.

The bastard then opens his eyes, tear-filled and dark with desire, and meets Jake’s. And he just looks so beautiful down in the water, naked and glowing and filthy between Jake’s thighs. So Jake spills down his pretty throat, rocking his hips forward so that his hip bone knocks against Dirk’s cheek. But it doesn’t matter. Dirk is such a good sport, swallowing him down easily.

As soon as Jake is done and Dirk pulls off, Jake pulls him up out of the water despite post-orgasm relief making his arms tremor. Dirk is so light, so easy to lift and toss around. He usually gets all hissy about it, but now it seems to be fine.

Wet, dripping and naked, Dirk sits in Jake’s lap and lets him touch him gently, lets him kiss all over his neck and wrap his fingers around his length. His dick is slightly smaller and thinner, Jake silently notes. He’d never share the observation with Dirk, though, seeing as he would undoubtedly take offense.

Dirk unravels in his arms as Jake jerks him off at an almost torturous pace. It’s rare that he lets himself be touched like this, gentle and personal, and Jake is enjoying it quite a lot. It’s adorable how he tries to hide and stifle his moans and whimpers in Jake’s neck, and how his body rocks into the movement of his hand, trying to make him go faster.

It doesn’t take long before Dirk comes, long and hard and with his teeth digging into Jake’s trapezius muscle by his shoulder.

When they’ve both calmed down, they lay down on one lounge chair each, wrapped in big fluffy towels. It’s strange how Dirk can look so incredibly pointy, even wrapped in something so soft.

He’s got his shades on again, and his hair is drying. He’s on his back, face turned towards the big ceiling windows, eyes presumably closed.

He runs cold, Jake has noticed. Especially after a bath. He’s wrapped the towel tight around himself, and his bottom lip is shaking slightly despite him trying to restrain it.

“You’re staring.” He says in a with a level tone. Jake blinks but doesn’t turn his eyes away.

“You’re very perceptive, aren’t you my dear?”

Dirk stiffens and wraps the towel tighter against himself, as if protecting himself from something. Fuck.

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between them, a silence thick and soppy with tension. At last, Jake clears his throat.

He enjoys being with Dirk, he really does, but he can be so gosh darned complicated sometimes, and It’s always seemingly out of nowhere to boot!

“So…what have you been up to lately?”

Dirk’s lips purse together in that way they always do when he thinks Jake is being an idiot. Jake doesn’t care for it at all.

“Not much.”

“Oh really? I always picture you as quite a busy fellow, when I’m not there. You always seem to be tinkering away at your little machines and some such, don’t y-“

“Do you love me?”

Jake chokes on the last unspoken word of his sentence, coughing violently to try and stop spit from going down the wrong pipe.

“S-sorry?” he manages, between the coughs. Surely he can’t have heard him right…?

“Jake you heard me, I know you did.” Dirk says. His voice is strange, distant, resolute. “Answer my question.”

“By Jove, Dirk, It’s quite a-“

“It’s a simple yes or no answer which there is no way to weasel yourself out of. So just…answer.” He takes a shallow breath, letting it escape through teeth. “I promise I won’t get angry.”

Jake swallows. “If I…say no?”

Dirk huffs, shaking his head. “You’re trying to goad what answer I want you to give me. Don’t think I can’t see that, English.”

Suddenly, Jake is feeling quite defensive. What is up with Dirk today? Why is he so incredibly cold suddenly, when he was just stark naked and whimpering in Jake’s lap? Why can’t anything ever be simple between them, why does this…feelings business always have to come in the way?

Jake doesn’t understand it one bit, frankly, but Dirk always seems to assume he does. He assumes that Jake is smarter than he is and well, It’s quite nice of him but it annoys Jake to no end. Why is he always suspected of possessing knowledge about everything all the damn time?

“I’ve done no such thing! And you know blasted well that it isn’t a simple yes or no question, my dear-“

“Don’t call me that.” Dirk hisses. He sounds like a wounded animal. “Don’t call me that unless you love me.”

“Well- I-“ Jake quiets, shaking his head.

This is just unfair. They’ve been fraternizing for years at this point, going back and forth between lovers and friends and sometimes even enemies. They’ve had enough failed attempts at a relationship by now to admit to themselves that casual sex and occasional cuddling is the only viable way to go, in order to keep their friendship intact. Or at least that’s what Jake thought they had admitted to themselves. He had never imagined that Dirk would try to pull any stunts like this anymore.

“Look, man.” Dirk mumbles after a moment of silence. “You just have to answer the question.”

Jake shakes his head. “It’s- It’s not a yes or no question, Dirk! Love is…Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, It’s complicated!”

“Did you just quote one of your shitty romance books?”

“Besides the point!” Jake replies, indignant. “It’s- I do love you, as a close friend and as my bro.”

Dirk stiffens further, if that’s even a possibility, and looks like he’s in physical pain.

“Okay.”

“I’m not finished, chap!” Jake closes his eyes and rubs his temples, contemplating. This is such a shitty position for Dirk to put him in. Why does he even care about the answer, It’s not like he loves Jake!

The thought hits him like a brick to the head, and he stops, looking up.

Is there a possibility, remote as it may be, that Dirk actually does love him? Is he presumptuous to assume that he doesn’t?

At the speed of light, his brain starts working through every interaction, every time they’ve kissed or spent time together or had sex and Dirk has muffled his name in the crook of his neck… every glance, every text, every time he’s caught him looking and he’s flushed and turned away…

Sure, okay. There seems to be some solid evidence that Dirk might be in love with him, or at least like him more than as a nice, simple friend that he sometimes has his ways with. Alright.

But then there’s also compelling evidence for the opposite, evidence that no such thing as love could ever bloom between them. The evidence in question is that it is Dirk Strider that the matter concerns. Dirk Strider, the most stone cold, unemotional and rock-solid dude Jake has ever met.

And so, he decides, no. Dirk doesn’t love him. Dirk doesn’t concern himself with matters of the heart, despite being of the heart aspect. Perhaps that is why he doesn’t concern himself with it; he knows it all too well and is too intelligent to mess with it.

“I… you don’t love me, do you?” Jake says, slow and calculated. Yes, this is the way to go, to the direct the question back to Dirk, call him out on his hypocrisy. How dare he ask Jake something so personal and obviously ruinous while not being able to confidently answer himself?

“Hell no, do not direct the question back to me.” Dirk replies, his face as rock hard as always. “Hell fucking no, dude. You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?” Jake exclaims. “The same thing you’re doing to me?”

“It’s not fair.” Dirk says, shaking his head. “I asked first. If you respected me, even a little, you would be able to give me an honest answer.”

“How is it not fair that I ask you the same question you ask me?”

Dirk takes a deep breath, as if Jake is really getting on his nerves. Jake has no fucking clue how in the bloody hell he is getting on Dirk’s nerves and not vice versa. Dirk is the one that brought up the blasted question to begin with! And not to mention now that he thinks about it, the question itself is clearly meant to be a trap anyway. A trap with no way out.

“You know what, Jake?” Dirk gestures between them, cool face now contorted with irritation and something else, something painful. “This is answer enough, okay? You not being able to answer the fucking question, you deflecting it towards me instead? Not fucking cool bro. Just say you don’t love me and be over with it, instead of torturing me like this.”

And then, sudden as a flash he stands up, the towel wrapped tightly around him, shielding his delicate bruised flesh from sight. He looks bruised in more ways than one, now.

Jake stands up too, just barely managing to keep the towel wrapped around his hips in the swift motion.

“Dirk-“

“I’m leaving.” He says, short and direct like a bark or the beat of a drum. “It’s- I need some time away from you, right now.”

“Oh, come on!” Jake shouts after him as he stomps away, snatching his clothes from the side of the pool on the way. “Dirk, we- we hardly even- come back!”

“You had your fucking chance, English. I can’t do this again.” Dirk replies, his words sounding faint and echo-e in the atrium. And then, with the opening and then slamming of a door, Dirk Strider is gone. A slippery eel in Jake’s hands, only allowing itself to be held and vulnerable for such short periods of time.

Jake stares after him for a while, hoping that he’ll return while knowing he won’t. After all It’s always like this with him; sharp and sudden and violent, an orchestra suddenly bursting into the finest, loudest tunes and then stopping abruptly, without warning.

If Jake could describe Dirk Strider in a few select words, it would be beautiful, dangerous and explosive. And an adventure. Always an adventure.

Jake sits back down heavily on his longue chair, looking at the wet spot beneath the chair where Dirk just laid. Pool water, gathered in a single puddle, the only proof of his presence.

God, he was naked in his lap only moments ago, and he had felt so vulnerable and so close. Was it perhaps that intimacy that triggered him to ask that blasted question? Or was it just one of his games, a way to start a quick exciting kerfuffle?

Yes, Jake decides. That has to be it. Dirk just wanted to pull him around a little, to test the boundaries as he so often does. It’s a way to keep Jake on his toes, to make sure he never quite knows where he has him.

Typical Dirk, always the destructive type.

Quietly, Jake goes back to the warmth of his room and changes into his clothes there, only shortly glancing at the still unmade bed where Dirk had spent the night. Do the sheets still smell like him; like metal, leather and tangerines? Or does it just smell like Jake’s laundry detergent?

Well, Jake ponders. There’s only one way to find out.

A while later, when about an hour of walking to and frow, talking to cleaning and cooking staff and trying to watch a movie, Jake gives in and tries to give Dirk a call.

To his absolute lack of surprise, Dirk has blocked him.

It is a bit thrilling when this happens, Jake has to admit. It always releases this feeling of anxiety and uncertainty in him, a feeling that makes him twitch and fiddle and pace, something he never does otherwise.

The anxiety entices him, interests him. It’s incredible and terrible in equal measures really, how much Strider truly affects him.

*

A week has passed, a week since Dirk walked out of Jake’s mansion and blocked him as soon as he set foot outside the door.

It was such a gratifying, lovely feeling to press the block button for the hundredth time. And for the hundredth time, Dirk swore over the fact that Jake had actually managed to hurt him, more than physically.

He had a plan, damn it. He had a perfect plan of screwing and then leaving, watching Jake’s face crumble as he announced his departure in the morning. But then…

…well then Jake had to go and ruin it all.

Jake English has a way of doing and saying the most soppy, domestic disgustingly sweet shit, only to then pretend to have no idea what he’s doing. And It’s so obvious he’s pretending too, It’s infuriating. And what’s even more infuriating, it actually hurts. And Dirk just…lets him. Every single god damned time.

He’s not in love with Jake, he just isn’t. But he’d be stupid to deny the fact that he’s infatuated, obsessed if he feels like being dramatic about it. And to his own anger and shame, that obsession makes it way too easy for Jake to run him over, to take one look at his heart, stomp it into the ground and then claim he didn’t see it.

So yeah, his plan didn’t work. Instead, Jake gave him coffee in bed, and Dirk caved like an idiot and fucked him by the pool. Not only that, he wore his heart on his fucking sleeve, basically placing it beneath Jake’s sole to be trampled. A disgusting gush of blood against the atrium floor.

“Do you love me?”

The question still rings in Dirk’s mind now, a week later. An embarrassing reminder of his biggest flaw, of a sore spot constantly present inside him, even as the physical evidence of Jake fades away.

He wants Jake to be obsessed with him, to be just as taken and swept away by him as he is. But worst of all, the most embarrassing and frankly disgusting part of it; he wants Jake to love him.

He doesn’t know why. It’s horrible, gut wrenching. Make’s him want to jump off a fucking building, frankly. But it’s a fact nonetheless. He wants Jake to love him, to obsess over him, to observe him and scrutinize every little freckle, every little mole and hair on his body.

He yearns to be perceived, for Jake to eat his body with his eyes and his hands. To accept his heart and chew into it, coat himself in his viscera and blood while mumbling frantic I love you’s into his bruised skin.

Fuck, Dirk wants it badly, and he has no idea why. It must be some weak, infantile part of him, the part of him that took damage from the isolation of his childhood. The part that yearns to be held and consumed by love, to be perceived by eyes that weren’t there as he grew up.

God, It’s pathetic. If he could just remove that part of himself he would, in a heartbeat. No pun intended. But he can’t. It’s a part of who he is, no matter how much he hates it.

And so here he sits, a week after blocking Jake and still just…fucking thinking about him. Yearning for him. Needing him. And worst of all, It’s interfering with his work.

There’s a smaller robot he has been working on for months, a metal thing which serves as a test-miniature for a big one he’s planning on building in the future. But It’s just…not working properly. He’s tried everything; changing batteries, rewiring, loosening and fastening screws, changing parts. But nothing is working, it remains stiff and slow and can only move for a few minutes at a time.

He’s never had this much trouble with a robot ever, and something annoying at the back of his mind is whispering to him that it has to do with Jake.

His phone buzzes suddenly, and he swears under his breath, putting his tools firmly away on the table and deciding to call it a day. He checks the time.

Fuck, 2 am already. Who the fuck is contacting him?

He picks his phone up, and sighs as he sees the chumhandle. tentacleTherapist. His very own daughter. Of course.

With a growing feeling of doom, he opens the chat.

TT: Hello father.
TT: Uh, hi.
TT: Have you sinned?
TT: Haha, no.
TT: Although I can see why you would think that.
TT: I will be short since I'm assuming you are most likely working.
TT: Yeah I am.
TT: What do you want?
TT: I'm just checking in.
TT: You have been unusually quiet for the past week, even for you.
TT: Has something of interest happened?
TT: Something of interest?
TT: No.
TT: But something nonetheless.
TT: Is this "something" perhaps related to one Jake English?
TT: Why do you want to know?
TT: Is married life really so dull that you need to write to me for gossip?
TT: My marriage is fine, It's yours I'm concerned with.
TT: I don't have a marriage that I'm aware of.
TT: If you say so.
TT: I only mean well, dear father.
TT: What's with the father talk.
TT: I thought we agreed it was kind of weird.
TT: I find it a little amusing in this context, is all.
TT: But that is besides the point.
TT: You have been quiet for about a week.
TT: For as long as I've known you you've only been quiet in relation to matters concerning the heart.
TT: Matters that concern your aspect, so to speak.
TT: You know damn well my aspect has nothing to do with romance.
TT: Whoever said I was speaking of romance?
TT: Well, perhaps that's the correlation you draw between your own heart and the afformentioned English.
TT: And considering English and romance seems to be on your mind at the moment
TT: I assume something has happened between the two of you.
TT: Is it something you wish to discuss?
TT: There isn't much to discuss.
TT: We're off.
TT: Yes.
TT: But I was under the impression that you had been for quite some time.
TT: I assume the sudden silence and sheltering from the outside world means that you weren't "off" for a brief time recently?
TT: Pray tell, how long did you two last this time?
TT: As I said, there isn't much to discuss.
TT: And frankly there isn't anything juicy to sink your teeth into anyway.
TT: You already know all there is to know.
TT: Oh really?
TT: I heard from Roxy that Jake has been awfully quiet too.
TT: He apparently refused an offer of a movie night.
TT: Very uncharacteristic of him, according to her.
TT: And how does that relate to me?
TT: Dirk.
TT: You know exactly how that fact might relate to you.
TT: Nah.
TT: None of my business.
TT: He wants nothing to do with me and I want nothing to do with him.
TT: Oh?
TT: Not even as friends?
TT: Then something extra dramatic must have happened between you.
TT: And I thought Dave was being dramatic when he warned me about your mind games.
TT: Well played, Lalonde.
TT: Thank you.
TT: Now that we have that out of the way.
TT: Is there anything you'd like to discuss?
TT: No.
TT: I have work to do.
TT: Sometimes I do see the similiarities between you and my brother all that more clearly.
TT: Very well.
TT: Good luck with your work then.
TT: And do tell me how things develop.
TT: With my work?
TT: Yes.
TT: That too.
TT: Goodbye.

Well.

Rose Lalonde is one slippery eel, and there’s no question where she gets it from.

With a sigh, Dirk leans back in his work chair, stretching his back and cracking his knuckles and neck. He feels stiff as a board, what with having been bent over his desk all day. And all night. And all week.

God, he really has been a social recluse lately. Not that he’s usually all that social or anything, but he tries to answer the occasional pester chats at least. Jake has really thrown him for a loop this time, and people are starting to notice.

Suddenly, embarrassment is burning in his cheeks. Hot and intense and unrelenting, terrible and sick and cruel.

He’s so disgustingly weak. This feelings bullshit is so beneath him, so beneath what he does and his ultimate destiny. He hates the fact that he can survive being decapitated, survive sburb and survive growing up all alone in the middle of the ocean, and yet…

…and yet this one single, measly little roadblock in the form of a loyal, dark dog stands in his way, only growing closer by the minute. And worst of all, Dirk can’t make himself run over it. He just…can’t. He’s never been able to, even back when the dog was a puppy.

He knew already when they were 13 that Jake was going to be nothing but trouble for him. He already knew his attraction to him went well past the lines of friendship, and that fact alone didn’t scare him. It may have disappointed him slightly, if anything, but it wasn’t anything more than that. Not until he saw a picture of Jake, anyway. Then he truly knew it was over.

Tan skin littered with scars from a life of learning to take care of himself and living in the jungle, dark hair and perfectly thick eyebrows, stupidly attractive buckteeth and eyes as green as a tree stark full of chlorophyll can get. Fuck, Dirk wanted to devour him on the spot, even back then. And so, now as he looks Jake in the eye as an adult…well he still wants to devour him or rather, to be devoured by him (another point of conflict of annoyance within himself). But that’s not all; there’s affection too, misplaced deformed and bittersweet affection that he can’t seem to place.

It isn’t love, It’s obsession. And It’s…well, It’s intense. Six mugs of coffee, days without sleep and ignoring pesterchums intense. Waking up with Jake’s name on his lips when he does sleep, either sobbing or coming or both, intense. And It’s annoying. It’s disruptive. And most of all, It’s his own body mind and soul betraying him, torturing with just how human it is.

It’s the most wonderful, sickening irony of all, how his biggest flaw is being human. Being human and experiencing the very human emotion of obsession, of infatuation. Of lo-

Dirk stops his traitorous brain right then and there, stifling more of the useless slop it tries pumping out. He needs sleep, to clear his head. Anything else than just sitting and thinking.

Frustrated, Dirk stands up suddenly, knocking over the gangly wooden stool he has been sitting on. It’s hard and uncomfortable and always makes his ass go numb when he sits on it too long. With only a moment’s hesitation and furious staring and breathing, he picks up his phone with a certain set irritation, the kind only reserved for Jake-related crises like these.

He shouldn’t unblock him, he really shouldn’t. Jake is an infected itch he shouldn’t scratch, and yet he can never resist. Fuck.

Dirk breathes, steady but heavy, palms sweating as he’s gripping his phone with desperate fervor. God damn it.

Since his brain has to be such an honest, stinking traitor, he’ll admit it to himself. There’s nothing else to do, only weak cowards would deny the obvious about themselves, simply because they dislike it. And Dirk isn’t a weak coward. He isn’t. So he’ll admit it:

He’s obsessed with Jake English, a fact he’s been aware of for far too long. He’s obsessed with Jake English, and he can’t resist him.

There it is. He admitted it. He’s not in control here, not fully anyway. Jake isn’t some forbidden fruit he chooses to partake in now and then as a reward and a distraction, oh no. Jake is a drug that keeps pulling him in and makes him do irrational things like letting Jake hold him gently and demanding a confession with tears in his eyes.

Jake is a full on addiction for him, and addiction is a powerful thing.

Swearing under his breath, Dirk goes into his contacts and into his blocked list. He’s sweating like a fucking pig now, and it annoys him more than anything.

It’s just Jake, for fucks sake. They’ve known each other for such a long time, gotten together and broken up a thousand times and gotten into arguments countless more. They know each other inside and out at this point, and yet Dirk’s treacherous human body is nervous. So much so that he’s almost shaking.

It must be withdrawal symptoms because of this so-called addiction, there’s no other logical explanation for this embarrassing display.

With a final, especially rude swearword and the press of a damp finger against a phone screen, Dirk unblocks him and waits.

He doesn’t expect a lot of notifications to pop up. In fact, Jake has never been one to call and spam text and apologize through the screen, it has been more of Dirk’s thing. Jake himself is more of a traditional man, yelling outside of windows and purchasing expensive bouqets of flowers. But despite this, Dirk had expected at least some phone calls and messages, maybe a sorry or a “ttyl” or anything. But no.

Dirk has one single missed call from Jake, and It’s dated to the day when Dirk left him, in fact about an odd 10 minutes after he stormed out.

Jake called him once to check if he was blocked and then didn’t even attempt to contact him again. Is that really how little he cares?

Dirk feels a new emotion rise within him, one way more welcome than the feelings of shame and desperation he has been wallowing in for the past week. In fact, he feels relief wash into his chest along with the rage, relief of finally feeling angry, of finally thinking about Jake’s stupidly attractive face and feeling anger, betrayal.

There’s no way that absolute scumbag has held Dirk, whispered sweet nothings into his hair while he thought he was sleeping, held him so fucking tenderly and apologized over and over again, all for it to mean…nothing. He can’t have survived sburb with him, claimed that he dreams of him during the periods they’re apart, said that he wanted to do a tv show with him because it would allow them to meet each other every day… he can’t have lied about that, can he? There’s no fucking way, it has to mean something, something small, anything.

Dirk closes his phone and clenches his fists tightly, quietly thinking about his next steps. They’re going to be dramatic and stupid, he knows they will, but he has to do something. He can’t just wallow in his room anymore. He has to let Jake know just how fucked his behavior is, how much of an absolute ass he is for playing with Dirk in the way he has.

With newfound rage-fueled determination, Dirk gets a move-on. He moves like a flash of light, storming through his house, taking a quick shower, changing into clean clothes, straightening his back and combing back his hair that he’s been neglecting to style for the past week.

He has to confront Jake, and he has to do it now, in the middle of the night. There’s not a fucking moment to spare. Jake has to have a good explanation to the way he’s been treating him, or he’s gone. Forever this time.

Yeah, that’s the way this is going to go. Either Dirk gets a good, committed dog or he gets nothing. That’s life.

With one last glance at his robotics station as he passes on the way out, Dirk leaves his house, flying into the air in the direction of Jake’s mansion with excitement-tinged rage in his chest.

English is about to get one hell of a talking to.

When Dirk arrives at Jake’s mansion, he has managed to cool down just a little. The night air was cold and biting on the way here, he can feel heat radiating from his bony cheeks.

The mansion is a big, looming thing in front of him. It’s so stupidly grandiose and so Jake that it almost makes him sick. It’s white façade is lit up by strong fancy lights, and the huge staircase leading to the front entrance is draped in a red carpet.

Dirk has seen it all so many times it barely registers in his brain, and he runs up the stairs with determination burning behind his shades, shoes firmly planted on each step. As he reaches the top of the stairs and the huge, oak door there, he stops. Contemplates. Stupid thing to do, really. If he hadn’t contemplated, he could at the very least have blamed his actions on thoughtlessness. But no.

He stands at the top of Jake’s stairs, staring daggers into his front door and contemplating, weighing his options carefully.

He could just turn around and go again, forgo this confrontation entirely. Be the bigger man and drop Jake once and for all, without the sting of rejection weighing down his pride. He could finally be an adult and deal with his weakness, his addiction by grabbing it by the throat and squeezing until it stopped breathing. He could decide here and now to be a better person, to focus on the important things in life like robots, swords and his friends, those willing to put up with him despite his difficult ways.

He could do all those things, and yet he doesn’t.

Dirk Strider is standing at the barrel of one of Jake’s guns, contemplating on whether he should play Russian roulette with it, to see if It’s loaded. It’s stupid, and It’s nonsensical and it isn’t love, damn it, but something close.

And then he knocks. No, he pounds on the door. And there’s silence, aside from the howling of the wind and the loud buzzing of cicadas. And he pounds on the door again, this time accompanied by Jake’s name. Silence. And then footsteps, loud and fast and clumsy and distant, echoing in the big halls of the mansion.

Dirk steps back, swallows down the last of his pride, feeling shame rise in his chest.

He contemplated against this, he concluded within himself that this was stupid, idiotic, childish. And yet here he is again, a relapsing freak on the doorstep of a fool. How pathetic.

Jake fiddles with the lock and swears on the other side of the door before finally being able to open it. And fuck, if Dirk’s thoughts aren’t blown right out the god damned window at the sight of him.

He’s newly awake, no glasses and squinting tired eyes searching Dirk’s features, unseeing. His black hair is messy and out of sorts, the imprint of his pillow plain on his rosy, tan cheek. He is wearing nothing but an open bathrobe and boxers, and he pulls it tighter around himself when he seems to realize who he’s looking at.

“Dirk?”

“Hello, Jake.” Dirk says, voice completely devoid of friendliness. Jake swallows, and rubs his eyes, clearly too tired for this.

“Dirk It’s…It’s all but 2 am, what are you doing h-“

“I’m putting an end to this.” Dirk says, feeling his heart race in his chest.

Jake’s eyes open, and suddenly he looks wide awake, green eyes vibrant in the porch light. The cicadas are suddenly singing so loudly, a choir of warnings.

He’s so pretty.

“W-what? Dirk, what- I don’t-“

“We can’t keep doing this, man.”

To his own irritation, his voice is shaking. But it doesn’t matter. Jake looks scared, shocked devastated, and It’s just too good to stop. It’s too late for that, anyway. It’s now or never, all or nothing. Dog or no dog.

“Please, come in so that we can talk about this! I just…ugh.” Jake rubs his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I just woke up, for heaven’s sake! I need time to-“

“You’ve had a week.” Dirk interrupts again, standing firm and tall as ever, careful as to not show anything on his face. “And you’ve had several years before that week as well. We’ve had this conversation over and over, many times, and you’ve never given me an answer. But I need one, Jake, and I need it now.”

Jake looks at him, squinting, no doubt trying to read any emotion on his blurry face.

“Chum, It’s- I’m tired, can’t you come in and sleep and then we’ll take this conversation in the morning?“

“Do you genuinely think that will end well?” Dirk asks him, brutally honest and unfeeling. “Do you?”

“I-“

“I know you don’t, Jake. You know exactly what will happen.” He takes a step forward, sizing Jake up, chest out despite the fact that Jake is taller. He looks really small right now anyway, hunched in his bathrobe with bags under his eyes. “We’ll fuck, and then we’ll wake up in the morning and I’ll try to talk to you. Then you’ll refuse to talk, and I’ll leave, like always. Sound familiar?”

Jake winces, clears his throat. “Look, pal, I realize we’ve made…somewhat of a pattern together, and that uh… that pattern might not be working as well as we’d like.” He tries a trademarked English smile, but it looks bleak and dishonest under the scrutinizing nature of Dirk’s stare through his shades. “As I said, though, I am tired. And I’m sure we’d both be in better shape for this the morning.”

“Oh, I’m tired too. I’ve been tired for a long fucking while.” Dirk hisses, and tenses like a screw being pulled tight. He raises his hand, and points his finger harshly into Jakes’ exposed, hairy chest, pretending like the feel of it doesn’t make him weak in the knees.

“I’m fucking tired of chasing you around, of you holding me, fucking me, being so incredibly close to a relationship – nicknames and all – only for you to then just drop me!” he takes a shaking breath, taking in the pleasure of Jake’s shock at his words, his mouth hanging slightly open and his green eyes staring at him in pure disbelief.

“I’m tired of being used like a plaything, Jake. Tired of you tricking me into having sex with you by flirting with me, by touching me when you know damn well that It’s more than that for me!”

There. There it is, the confession that might make or break it all. The confession that it isn’t just sex, it isn’t just two buddies who sometimes fuck.

Dirk is staring daggers at Jake now, sizing him up, daring him to break his heart one final time, to deal one final blow.

And Jake crumbles like he’s made of sand. His posture slumps, his face contorts to something pained and he clutches at his bathrobe, pulling it tighter.

“Dirk I…honestly I don’t even know what to say.” He says. His voice is suddenly so infuriatingly frail and soft, and it pisses Dirk off worse than anything. He isn’t the fucking victim here!

“Well you better say something, English, or I’m leaving right now.”

Jake closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. There’s tears forming in his eyes as he opens them again, and Dirk stifles the urge to snarl.

This manipulative motherfucker.

“I…I didn’t realize you felt I was using you, I really didn’t! I was very much under the impression we both wanted to uhm, have relations with one another! Very enthusiastically, to boot!” he shakes his head. “I never meant to- gosh, you must think me a monster, Dirk! I am so very sorry, I never realized-“

“You never realized?” Dirk hisses. His anger is at the point of him shaking now, and he has to steady himself against the doorframe, mere centimeters from Jake. Jake breathes, not even trying to hide the fact he’s letting his filthy fucking eyes roam over Dirk’s body, even though he probably can’t see much of it.

“Are you kidding me? Every time we fuck, you try to cuddle and call me nicknames and give me tea and coffee in bed! And every time I pull away and try talking to you about it like an adult! And you never give me any answers, Jake! Never!” he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He can’t get too emotional, the anger has to stay anger and nothing else.

And yet, his voice shakes slightly as he continues.

“And now, what, you’re trying to tell me that you just “didn’t realize” I wanted something deeper than you fucking me? Screw you!”

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t- I mean I’m-“ Jake sighs and collects himself, hand whitening at the knuckles as he clutches onto his robe.

God, Dirk just wants to rip his clothes off this instant. It wouldn’t be hard, he’s got so little on. But he can’t. Not now. He needs an answer first.

“I… I’m bad at talking, you know this…”

“No shit.” Dirk spits.

“I’m not a words man! I just- well, pal, frankly I always enjoyed showing you my affection through actions rather than words! It’s not that I don’t want to communicate with you I just…” he trails off, biting his lip, clearly contemplating whether talking further will just upset Dirk more. “…I think we just communicate and express our…affections in different ways.”

Dirk feels like he might actually explode, right here on the porch.

“Are you. Fucking. Kidding me?” he yells, the furious sound echoing inside the mansion. Jake takes a step back, eyes wide.

“You’re gonna blame years and years of refusing to talk, refusing to answer my questions- you’re gonna blame it on the fact that you like to fucking touch me? Do you realize how shitty that is?”

Jake swallows, before straightening up slightly, sticking out his chin as if he has any ground to stand on in the first place.

“Well, really Dirk, I actually don’t! I can’t very well read your mind, you know? Sometimes it feels like you’re expecting me to!”

“Ooh you f- this isn’t “reading my mind”! I’m telling you clear and fucking straight what I want right now, don’t even try to-“

“No you’re not!” Jake argues. His earlier attempt at playing a victim has been discarded by now, replaced by outrage. “We had a jolly good time together, then you asked me a very serious and pointed question, didn’t give me any time to think through or answer, stormed out, blocked me for a week and now you’re here! It’s what- 2:30 am or something, Dirk! This is anything but clear!”

Dirk takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He can feel tears of rage and frustration build in his eyes, and he would sooner die than let them fall. He needs to cut this bullshit short.

“Alright. I’ll be even clearer, then.” He says, trying to sound level and collected. He’s only betrayed by a slight tremor in his voice. “I’ll ask you again, Jake, now that you’ve had time to think.”

Jake realizes immediately what he’s about to ask, because all rage drains from him, replaced by exhaustion.

“Oh, no, Dirk-“

“Yes. I need an answer.” He insists. He stands firm, respecting himself and his stupid heart for once in his life. Keeping it just out of trampling radius. “I can’t keep doing this with you. I need to know.”

Jake breathes, closing his eyes. He suddenly looks older, the slight stub of a beard obscuring his features in the harsh porch light.

“What happens…if I say no?”

“You’ll never see me again.” Dirk replies quickly, sharply before he himself has even thought about it. Because It’s true.

If Jake doesn’t want all of him this time around, he’s going cold turkey, quitting Jake English once and for all.

Jake takes a shaking breath, leaning heavily against the doorpost. He looks frail again, but this time it doesn’t look fake. Dirk feels something akin to delight rise in his chest at the sight.

“Alright.” Jake mumbles, seemingly brazing himself for the question.

Dirk takes a deep breath. Time to either tie the leash tighter, or let it go entirely.

“Do you love me?”

The question hangs in the air between them, heavy and thick and unwanted, a rude intruder in what would otherwise be a somewhat uncomplicated affair. And Dirk is so ready for rejection, so ready for Jake to just say no or shut the door in his face or try to talk around answering.

But as always, Jake English is an adventure, always full of surprises.

“I…yes. I do.”

He sounds defeated, like Dirk just beat him in a game of chess or ludo. And Dirk just might have.

“What?” he says out of pure shock and astonishment. Jake gives him a rueful smile, eyes watering again.

“I think…I think you heard me, chum.” He mumbles, color rising in his cheeks. “I uhm. I love you. And I want you around.” He takes a shuddering breath, letting his gaze wander over Dirk, squinting. “The thought of never seeing you again It’s…” he shakes his head.

Dirk swallows. This has to be too good to be true, it has to be…

“Are you…are you saying that just to keep me around? So that I won’t leave?”

Jake’s eyes widen, and he straightens up from the doorframe, shaking his head furiously.

“No! No, gosh no!” he exclaims. “No, Dirk, I- I would never!” he hesitates for a moment, before leaning closer, hand finding It’s way to Dirk’s cheek, cupping it gently.

And Dirk lets him. He actually does.

“I love you, okay? And I...I want to try being us again.”

Dirk breathes in, long and slow and calculated, slowly lowering his walls a little bit. He can’t fully relax yet, it’ll take a lot of work until he’s there. But there’s a slight semblance of relief in his chest.

He can’t believe Jake 100%, he’ll probably never be able to after all the shit they’ve put each other through. But hearing him yield, seeing him physically deflate and blush and confess…

Fuck. Dirk wants him, and he wants him now.

Without further hesitation, he leans in and kisses Jake. Deeply, passionately. Jake makes a small sound at the back of his throat, but he doesn’t seem too surprised. He slithers his arms around Dirk’s shoulders, and Dirk’s hands find their way to Jake’s waist, squeezing.

Together, they wobble into Jake’s mansion, closing the door on the night air behind them.

*

Jake English is surprised, and it isn’t’ often something manages to surprise him. When it does, however, It’s usually got something to do with Dirk Strider.

Right now, Jake is surprised at just how gently Dirk is letting him treat him. Usually, their midnight tumbles in the hay are quite ruffian-like, violent even. But now…no. Dirk is letting him take the reins completely, letting him touch him like he’s something fragile, something to treasure and keep whole.

Dirk is laying on his back on Jake’s bed, shades and boxers on and nothing more. Jakes’ bathrobe has slipped down his shoulder, and the whole thing would slip off is Jake so much as stood up. As it is, he’s not standing up. He’s more or less hovering over Dirk on the bed, one knee on the edge of it and a foot on the floor to steady himself.

He lets his eyes roam over Dirk, his thin, bony body and his pale skin. There’s still some bruises and scrapes left from a week ago, he notes with some pride, although they are healed and faded. He doubts Dirk has nursed them very well, he never does.

“You are gorgeous.” Jake says honestly. He can feel Dirk’s gaze from behind his glasses, steely and intense and a burning lump in Jake’s lower stomach.

He quite likes to stare during intercourse, Jake has noticed. Sometimes he keeps the shades on, and sometimes he takes them off. But it hardly matters, that gaze could burrow through anything.

It’s amusing, because it seems that Dirk isn’t aware of just how obvious his staring is. He seems to think that his pointy anime shades can hide his eyes, conceal where he’s looking and for how long. But he’s silly to think that, in Jake’s opinion. Nothing could fully contain his scrutinizing and analyzing eyes, the color of oranges and barley in the sunset.

Most people seem to find Dirk a little unnerving to be around, a sharp pointy presence with the glare of some laser-orbed robot. He almost looks like a human being, but not quite.

Jake doesn’t find that fact unnerving, though. Oh no. He finds it enticing.

He slides his bathrobe off, reveling in the way he can see Dirk staring beneath him, eyes roaming up and down his chest and down towards his obvious erection. He licks his lips, hungry. And It’s thrilling. Oh god, It’s so thrilling to be here again as a pair, both of them together.

Jake has to admit he was a little skeptical at first, to do the whole romantic confession thing again after it has crashed and burned for them so many times. But until now at least, it has been nothing but good fun.

“Darling, dearest…” Jake mumbles, lowering down to kiss Dirk’s throat. Dirk shivers. Jake is fully aware that he’s got quite the thing for sappy romantic nicknames, and that he is very allowed to use them now that he’s answered Dirk’s little question.

“Mhm.” Dirk replies, half-choked.

“Would you remove your shades for me? I want to see your eyes.”

Dirk takes a shuddering breath and nods, and Jake is so close now that he can feel just how hard he is against his hip bone.

“Okay.” Dirk sighs, and takes them off, flinging them off onto the floor. He’s doubtlessly going to be swearing and searching for them in the morning.

“You know, chum…” Jake continues, starting to nibble at his neck now, gently, fervently. Dirk stifles a moan, and grinds into his hip. It’s so painfully tender. “I told you I loved you, and I meant it.”

Dirk lets a half-sob, half-moan slip and he bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood. God, he’s getting off on this.

“You never told me how you’re feeling though.”

Dirk shakes his head fervently, hands finding their way to Jake’s back, scratching hard.
“Darling…” Jake goads, biting down at the crook of Dirk’s neck. “I’ve made my confession, time for you to make yours.”

“Fuck no.” Dirk grumbles. “Fuck no, English.”

“Hmm.” Jake hums. He hadn’t expected Dirk to go down without a fight, he never does.

He isn’t exactly sure how genuine either of their so called “love” might be. For Jake, love is an unnecessarily difficult thing, something that is better left alone and ignored. He much prefers lust and passion, with a side of casual physical affection. But Dirk…

Well, Dirk is a complicated character, to say the least. And so he’s drawn to the complicated, the messy, the dramatic. When he feels passion and belonging, obsession even, he has to name it. And so, even though Jake knows that Dirk loves him, It’s in his own way. For most people, love is something tender, frail and beautiful. A pretty, well loved vase with deep connection and meaning attached to it. To Dirk, It’s something ugly and violent, something stalkerish and obsessed. A clingy thing that only a select few could ever accept or deal with.

And so, although Dirk might seem like a downright creep to most, to Jake It’s plain he’s merely lovesick. He’s so in touch with himself, thinks he knows himself so well, and yet he can’t seem to admit it to himself. Jake supposes it might be due to the definition of love that is known to society at large not lining up with what Dirk is experiencing. In Dirk’s eyes, love is weak and dependent and sappy, while his is a violent storm that happens to be directed towards Jake. And so It’s easier, most likely, to pretend It’s something else. Obsession and admiration and whatever else he might have convinced himself it is.

But Jake knows the truth. How could he not? He knows Dirk inside and out, most likely better than Dirk knows himself, although he would never admit it.

Jake is confident that he can make Dirk realize his feelings, though. Right here and right now. After all, Dirk has an unfortunate habit of letting things be fucked out of him. Secrets, embarrassing admissions…and Jake revels in them, swallows them whole each time.

He leans back and studies Dirk, meets his intense gaze. It’s naked and orange and uncovered, and Dirk looks away, cheeks flushing.

My, he’s so pretty when he’s embarrassed.

“Do you love me?” Jake teases, leaning in and placing the tenderest of kisses on Dirk’s lips, making him squirm.

“Fffuck off.” Dirk groans, attempting to remove his hands from Jake’s back to cover his face. Jake is faster, though, and dives down to kiss him again. Dirk kisses back, surrendering as he lets his body soften just a little.

Gradually, Jake works him to relaxation, the tight coil of his body slowly becoming softer and softer. At last, they’re both completely naked, and Dirk lets Jake stretch him. Tenderly, carefully, to avoid hurting him. And It’s so unlike them, so loving that Dirk comes when Jake inserts his third finger, dick jumping and spilling and completely untouched.

When he’s ashamed in the afterglow, arms draped over his red face and body once again coiled into itself, Jake asks again.

“Do you love me?”

Dirk is so shocked by the question that he uncoils a little, lets one tangerine eye peak through the protective shield of his arms.

“Oh, you’re fucking evil, Jake.” He swears, voice a little shaky.

“I simply wish to know.” Jake assures him, tilting his head to the side and smiling, before suddenly inserting his fingers again. Four, this time. And Dirk comes undone around them.

Before long, Jake is inside of him, moving slowly at first but picking up the pace as Dirk’s attempts at stifling his moans become more futile.

Dirk is staring right up at him, eyes wide, intense and tear-filled, almost as if he’s in awe of seeing Jake above him, pounding into him. His hands are unsure, dancing around Jake with careful little brushes, unsure of where to settle. He’s so used to scratching and biting and hurting that he seems completely unaware of how to act, how to lean into the tenderness and pleasure without turning it into pain.

“Relax, darling.” Jake mumbles, letting his head fall against Dirk’s chest before thrusting harder, moaning. Dirk feels like tight, hot molten lava around him, despite all the stretching. He makes the prettiest of noises as Jake quickens the pace.

“Mhnn, god. You feel amazing, chap. I really do love you.”

Dirk gasps, a sound Jake has barely heard him make before, and shivers the way he usually does when he’s getting close. Jake smiles against the cool skin of his chest, so thin that he can feel the clear outline of his ribcage through it. He slows the pace, and Dirk whines, his fingers digging into Jake’s sides. Jake lifts his head to look at him, reveling at the fact there’s tears wetting his cheeks.

Dirk looks away as Jake reaches with one hand, stroking them away.

“My beautiful lover.” He whispers, earning a shaky breath from Dirk. He can feel his dick against his lower stomach, rock hard and leaking. He lowers the hand, wet with Dirk’s tears, and wraps it around him. Dirk chokes on air, eyes widening and mouth falling open as his head rolls back.

“Holy shit.”

“Do you love me, Dirk?”

“Oh god…”

“Tell me.” Jake demands, hand starting to move slow and hard around Dirk’s length. Dirk moans loudly, legs beginning to shake as Jake picks up the pace.

Fuck, he’s not going to last much longer either.

“Fffuuuck I-“ Dirk mumbles, cut off by his own moan as Jake drives into him hard as his cock keep sliding through Jake’s fist. Jake bites his lip, looking down at him, meeting his tear-filled, intense gaze.

“I- holy shit, Jake, yes! Fuck! I- I love you.” He almost sobs it, eyes locked onto Jake’s, begging him to continue. Harder, faster. He never needs to say it, Jake just knows. And he does as told, loyal as he can sometimes be.

“Mhnfuck. Tell me again.”

“I love you.” Dirk moans, broken and fragile, like a wine glass wrapped in newspaper. “Fuck, Jake I’ve- I always have.”

“Then you’ll come for me.” Jake states, thrusting harshly now. There’s precum pumping out of Dirk in rapid succession, and Dirk nods, screwing his pretty peepers shut.

“Y-yes! Yes, fuck I’ll- oh god-“

And then he does. He comes hard, coating Jake’s hand and stomach with rope after rope of white, his insides wringing Jake out so hard he winces. He’s pulled impossibly tight, every muscle rock hard and tense. And Jake follows immediately after, almost collapsing onto Dirk and his mess while coming deep inside him, drowning himself inside.

It’s so funny, how different they orgasm. Dirk is tense and tight, spiky and curled like a hedgehog or a thornapple. He breathes in tiny spurts, like the air has difficulty escaping his lungs. Jake, however, becomes fluid and limp, relaxed as pleasure courses through him. He breathes as if he’s trying to gulp down all the air in the room.

And they fit perfectly together, two panting figures intertwined. Like yin and yang, their love a heap of tangled chords.

When they’ve both came down from it slightly, Jake laying on Dirk’s arm with his nose in his peck, Dirk takes a deep breath.

“Don’t make me regret confessing to you again, English.” He mumbles, his voice worn. Jake smiles.

“Likewise, old friend.”

*

“Are you sure we should do this, pal?” Jake asks, a slight tone of alarm in his voice. “Not that I want to hide this uhm. This change in our lives, not at all. It’s just-“

Dirk sighs, and looks at him in that steely way he always does when he is of the opinion that Jake is prattling on just a little bit too much.

“They won’t be thrilled when we tell them, we both already know that. But It’s better they find out through us than through ceaseless gossip.”

Jake swallows. He’s never quite liked how you have to almost come clean to the people around you after you’ve started dating someone, almost as if you’re doing something wrong. The fact that him and Dirk’s friends most likely will be of the opinion that they are doing something wrong certainly doesn’t make it better.

“Okay, so let me get this straight…” Jake says, shaking his head slightly. Really, he doesn’t understand why he has to be the one to do this.

“There’s nothing to “get straight”.” Dirk replies, clearly tired of this already. God, why can’t he just do it himself? “You’ll shoot a fast text and tell our friends that we’re dating again and that we have been for two weeks now. Then I’ll help you answer whatever questions they have from my phone.”

Jake purses his lips. “Alright, well I still don’t understand why I have to be the one to do it! You’ve done It all other times, why can’t I-“

“That’s why.” Dirk sighs. He’s sat down on a swivel chair at his workstation, with Jake sat on the worn sofa a few meters away. They’re looking at each other like every sentence is a challenge, and there’s a thrill tinged with irritation going up Jake’s spine.

“What is?”

“The fact that I’ve always had to inform everybody whenever we date.” Dirk bites back coldly. “I’m tired of being the Q&A holder of our private lives. You’ll have to take that burden on this time.”

Jake chews his bottom lip. “Can’t we just…neglect to tell them?”

Dirk sighs and massages the bridge of his nose, sinking even further into his chair. He’s dressed in saggy sweatpants that are almost slipping down his bony hips, and a wifebeater that looks baggy on him despite It’s tight fit. There’s grease and dirt from motor oil and smithing on his arms and hands, and there’s a half-finished robot-project sitting on the desk in front of him.

Gosh, he’s such an attractive fellow this entire thing is honestly worth it.

“We’ve been “neglecting to tell them” for two weeks now. Roxy has already pestered me about hanging out with you several times. It’s either a group chat confession, or everyone painstakingly bugging you about it individually for eternity, coupled with their usual gossip. Pick your poison, English.”

Jake sighs and gives, reluctantly turning back to his computer.

“I’m just not…great with these sorts of things. Brings me out in a sweat.”

“Same.”

They sit in silence for a little while, Dirk with his skinny legs spread and his arms resting on the arm rests of his chair, and Jake anxiously glancing at the “God Tier” group chat in Pesterchum. Then, with a sigh of defeat, he straightens up and moves his cursor towards it.

“Alright then, here goes nothing…”

He opens the chat, and starts typing a message.

GT: Why hello everybody!
GT: Long time no er
GT: Writing?
TG: oh hi jake lmao
TG: wait!
TG: ....
TG: does you being here mean you have something to confess?
TG: it definitely does
TG: are you and dirk kickin the shit again
TG: with each other i mean
GT: Er
TG: you totally are
TG: omg
TG: fuck dude i actually never thought i would see the day
TG: noooo
TG: seriously???
TG: omg
TG: i mean congrats!
TG: but like
TG: ugh
TG: ive been pestering dirk about this and he denied!!!! several times
TT: I didnt want to spoil the surprise.
TG: awwwee
TG: haha
TG: kinda cute
TG: not rly a surprise tho
TG: sorry
TG: yeah no dog youve kinda been through this a million times already
TG: like if jake was a puddle and you were a monster truck you would have ran him over a million times
TT: Nice.
GT: Hey!
GT: I am not a puddle.
TG: like you wouldnt be surprised if like
TG: you ran the puddle over once or twice
TG: but you just keep going
TG: running through it and then backing up through it
TG: and then running through it again
TG: and were all over here like woah dude
TG: calm it with the puddle
TT: What color is monster truck me in this scenario?
TG: oh definetly like
TG: orange and red
TG: like flames
TG: and then maybe touches of purple?
TG: for your god tier
TT: That isn't a very flattering combination of colors for a truck.
TT: No offense, Dirk.
TT: None taken.
GG: hey guys, what are you even talking about in here?
GG: i just got a ton of notifications and i have to say i'm very confused!!
TG: were talking monster trucks
TG: and puddles
GT: No!
GT: We are not!
GT: I am trying to announce something here!
EB: guys
EB: what
GG: omg john!!
GG: youre alive :o
GG: i havent heard from you in so long!!!
EB: uh
EB: no
EB: sorry
TG: man we gotta hang out sometime soon
TG: its been too long
EB: yeah
TG: guys!!!
TG: get back on track
TG: jake is trying to tell us something
TG: didnt we already go through this?
TG: hes just gonna say that he and dirk are bumping bulges again or whatever
TG: or am i wrong?
TT: No you're right.
GG: bumping bulges?
GG: someones been spending too much time with karkat...
TG: hey dude you spend equally as much time with karkat
TG: you pretty much live with us
GG: hehe yeah
GG: Hi everybody!
GG: So rare to see everyone in here.
GG: What's the occasion?
TG: janey!!
TG: dirk and jake are fucking again
GG: Oh.
GG: Oh my.
GG: Uhm.
TG: jane?
TG: u good?
GG: Yeah
GG: I've just
GG: Got a cake in the oven!
GG: Bye!
TG: aww man
TG: awkward
TG: i gotta check on her later :(
GT: Christ on a stick.
GT: This did not go the way i wanted it to.
TG: right
TG: how did you want it to go j dog
TG: did you want everyone to cheer and go
TG: omg i never would have guessed you would get together again
TG: never seen this before
TG: wow
TG: shocker
TG: my eyes are poppin out of their sockets with mad shock
GT: Alright chum.
GT: No need to rub it in!
TG: dude if anyone is rubbing anything in its you and my bro
TG: why do you even have to announce you getting together anymore
TG: we all know it happens like
TG: bi-monthly
TG: which is funny cause youre bi right?
TG: or are you gay?
GT: Who? Me?
TG: yea
TT: We are all very interested to know, Jake.
TG: not rly...
GG: seconded!
GT: Erm.
GT: Well.
GT: I believe we are getting rather off topic.
TG: man i feel you
TG: i used to be all shy about that stuff way back when too
TG: like oh no what if peeps find out i think about balls occasionally
TG: but like
TG: thats all behind me now
TG: im so incredibly woke and progressive now
TT: Debatable.
TT: You still have plenty of unprocessed feelings that you have a habit of continuously flaunting in this and every other chat.
TT: For example, how is it going between you and Karkat?
GG: ooooooo!
GG: heheh
TG: dog thats so uncool
TG: you unairing all my dirty laundry that is
TG: except its not even like dirty
TG: youre just trying to stir drama
TG: within my household
TG: and within this chat
TG: not cool
TG: are you sitting on your bed with all your little therapy papers rn
TG: reading all the mad uncool shit youve wrote about me over the years
TT: No there's no need for that.
TT: I've got it all in my head.
TT: Nice.
TT: Thank you.
TG: jfc
TG: i hate it when you two team up
TG: its like the worst combination of people ever

Jake sighs and leaves the chat, closing his computer. Dirk is still in it, smiling slightly at his phone while reading whatever drivel Dave and Rose might be coming up with in the chat. He doesn’t interrupt, because it really is ever so rare to see Dirk smile.

And then they remain an item. One week becomes two more, the weeks turn into months and before they know it, they’ve been seeing each other for three of them.

They go on dates, small innocent things like strolling along lakes, sword fighting, wrestling, going to the cinema, hanging out with their friends. And it all feels rather normal, rather nice even.

On one such date, they’re sitting on a bench together in a park, watching the ducks waddle by and discussing factors that are different on Earth C than they were back when they lived on the planet.

“A lot less water, for one.” Dirk says, making Jake snort.

“Yes, for you pal. I lived by a lot of water too, but it hadn’t risen like yours did.”

“Yeah.” Dirk says, nodding solemnly.

“Isn’t it strange how we were born…or, er, created and placed on earth with so much time between us? Boy howdy, it really messed with my old noggin’ when I found out!”

“Mhm.”

“Although I must say, darling, I did always think you felt like a future kind of man, what with the stylish hair and robots and pointy shades and such.”

Dirk snorts, shifting slightly on the bench. Jake looks at him. He’s not one to shift and move and fidget normally, he has a stone cool tendency to sit perfectly still, always tense and ready. But Jake happens to know why he’s squirming currently, and it has to do with some nightly activities they both participated in the night prior. That’s what he gets for refusing to be stretched.

Jake smiles to himself as he turns back to the ducks. This is a golden chance to make Dirk blush, and by gum is he going to take it.

“A little uncomfortable there, pal?” he asks casually, suddenly, making Dirk tense visibly beside him.

“No. I’m fine.” Dirk replies, a little too fast and a little too shrill. He clears his throat.

“Are you sure? Because we can always find a softer place to sit.” Jake offers, making sure to look Dirk up and down in a mischievous way before adding: “Or maybe you would prefer not to sit at all, at the moment?”

Dirk grits his teeth and avoids Jake’s eyes. And there it is, delicious and beautiful, a colorful flush painting Dirk’s pale cheekbones.

“Fuck you, English.”

“Yes you did, and now it seems you’re suffering the consequences. Must be a real bummer.”

Dirk is a blushing, stuttering mess for the rest of that date, and Jake really enjoys it. They do end up finding somewhere softer to sit, on the grass under a tree in the same park. It’s a nice date, almost too nice to be theirs.

On another occasion, Dirk makes Jake blush with his sword. He pins him down to the ground and places It’s blade against his throat, the sharp edge flush to his pulse. Dirk leans down so that his breath ghosts against the sensitive spot behind Jake’s ear, pushing Jake’s sword out of reach as he mumbles:

“Do you yield, English?”

And Jake replies, breathless, heart hammering in his chest “yes, dearest. I do.”

And he wins, automatically.

It’s all nice, pleasant. Them. And Jake enjoys it, he sincerely does. It’s less dramatic and more adult than it was when they were teens and everything came crashing down around them. It’s domestic, almost, the way they cook together and sleep together and wake up together to kiss each other with respective morning breaths and bedheads.

One morning, Jake wakes up with Dirk clinging to him, chest against his back. He murmurs things in his sleep, shakes. He’s having a nightmare and clinging to Jake as if he’s the only lifebuoy around on a violent ocean.

Perhaps that is precisely what he is dreaming about, considering the circumstances he grew up under.

Jake turns around, wraps his arms around him, pulls him closer. And Dirk wilts into his arms, shudders and weeps into his skin, lets himself feel in his sleep. His body’s way of relieving stress is Jake’s guess. And the thing is, Jake should appreciate it. He should cherish the fact that Dirk trusts him, even in his sleep, despite all of the ups and downs and kerfuffle’s and periods of silence they’ve endured. It’s Dirk, damn it, he doesn’t trust anybody except maybe Roxy, and now he trusts Jake.

But Jake can’t quite appreciate it, try as he might. Instead, a pang of panic is growing in his chest as Dirk’s tears wet his skin, and as he clings so desperately to him. It feels familiar and chokingly vulnerable, and suddenly Dirk’s grip feels more like clinging vines than a loving embrace.

It’s- well. Jake is sure he’s better now that they’re 22 and all grown. But back when they were teens, and in glimpses since then as well, Dirk has been very clingy occasionally. Flooding Jake’s inbox with message after message of desperate, self-deprecating and frankly sometimes mean drivel that forces him to block him entirely. It’s a part of Dirk that is a little difficult for Jake to accept, a flaw in his design that clashes and shatters against Jake’s way of being.

Jake likes to consider himself a free man. Back in his younger days, he convinced himself that things like relationships are nothing but weights that threatens that freedom, ties to a certain place and person that drags you down. He can’t say he’s completely rejected that notion, but he has matured since then. Now he realizes that relationships are different, and that certain people fit each other’s lifestyles and wants and needs just okay, without trampling on each other’s individuality.

Sadly, Dirk and Jake aren’t such people.

Dirk needs constant validation. He needs Jake to compliment him, call him sweetheart and darling and tell him he’s pretty, that he matters. And usually, Jake doesn’t mind. He quite likes how much it affects Dirk, how it makes him shudder and blush and during intimate moments, come. But It’s only fun for so long, for so many moments at a time. Dirk needs it constantly, even when Jake is tired or wants to be alone or is spending time with Janey or Roxy or John. And he can never just ask outright either. He never asks for reassurance or attention, he demands it by coming up with roundabout scenarios and topics, talks around himself until Jake quiets him down with an “I love you”.

It’s exhausting. Not in the firework, explode-in-you-face kind of way that it was back during sburb, but rather It’s a bone deep kind of exhaustion. The kind that keeps you up at night. And yet, Jake puts up with it for months.

Dirk continues to cling to him at night, depend on him during the day. And Jake keeps complying, trying his best to meet his needs and reassure him and kiss him to shut his stupid, clever thoughts up when they get to be too much. And It’s thrilling to kiss, thrilling when Dirk grabs the small of his back in public and when he lets himself be taken by Jake, gives his all to him.

And yet, when a few months have passed, Jake feels himself pulling away slightly.

It starts simply, with Dirk asking Jake to hang out when he already has plans. And so, Jake refuses and asks to reschedule. Dirk agrees, and at first that seems to be it. But then…well, then it isn’t.

It’s Jake, Jane, Jade and John. A family outing, so to speak. The first one in a long time. A boat trip on one of Jake’s massive boats. But Jake can’t quite enjoy it properly, can’t quite focus when Jade talks on and on about her crazy living situation with Dave and Karkat and her scandalous experimentation with Carapacians, or when Jane complains about the state of politics. John doesn’t say much, but if he did, Jake certainly wouldn’t be able to focus much on what he was saying either. Because Dirk keeps texting him, several times an hour.

He’s texting in circles about all sorts of things; ideas for RUMBLE IN DA PUMPKIN PATCH as Jake has fondly named their upcoming tv-show, questions of what to name his newest robot, pictures of lyrics he’s scribbled for future raps…

Jake sighs as his phone pings for the fiftieth times, and he picks it up, reading the message on screen.

TT: Hey man.
TT: Sorry for writing again.
TT: How's it going on the boat?
TT: I was just thinking for the tv-show.
TT: Idiotic name, by the way.
TT: Would never have let it fly if it wasn't for that poll.
TT: Anyway.

Jake reads the messages lazily as they pop up on screen, and sighs again, interrupting Jade in her telling of her latest escapades with some Carapacian woman and her floozy husband.

“Jake? You good?” she asks, clear green eyes suddenly burrowing through him. For just a moment, she looks a lot like the faint memories he has of his grandma. Jake swallows and is quick to shrug.

“Oh, It’s nothing, It’s all tickety-boo over here!”

Jade furrows her thick eyebrows, one of her white, fluffy doggy ears twitching in confusion.

“Tickety-boo?”

“All good, he means.” Jane translate, being far too used to his lingo. “And if I’m going to be frank, it doesn’t look it Jake. You seem…distracted.”

Jake sighs and puts his phone down in his lap, where it continues buzzing.

“I uhm…well, since you ask…” he clears his throat. “It’s Dirk.”

To his irritation, absolutely nobody looks surprised. Even John, who’s been silently staring off into the distance for the majority of the trip, makes a face of unsurprised ennui.

“Hey!” Jake exclaims, a bit offended. “Cheese and crackers, would it kill you to be at least a little surprised?”

Jane sighs, and exchanges looks with John and Jade respectively before saying, in the gentlest voice possible:

“Jake, It’s…very hard to act surprised when we’ve been through this scenario so many times. I’m sorry to say, but you and Dirk falling out and breaking up and then eventually getting back together again feels kind of inevitable at this point.”

Jake gapes at her, and then at John and Jade who both nod in agreement. Well, god zooks, if this isn’t a wake-up call.

“But It’s different this time!” he tries to argue, non the less. “It’s- It’s more emotional, this time. And I really want it to work! I’ts just- well, gosh darned it, the man is so clingy! He’s a stellar chap, he really is, but-“

“Look.” Jade says, voice not nearly as gentle as Jane’s. “We all know how Dirk can be, It’s no secret. Everybody knows he got issues.” She looks down for a moment and then back up at Jake. “You’ve got issues too, to be frank.”

Jake furrows his eyebrows. Suddenly he feels terribly exposed and attacked.

“Well, I never. What do you mean?”

Jade swallows, uncomfortable. “Well, you have a tendency to kind of…put your own perspective above others? You might have a hard time putting yourself in others shoes, is what I mean. And you kind of…prioritize your own needs in front of others, too.” She takes a deep breath. “And also, you keep returning to Dirk, and frankly you two are not good for each other.”

Jake stares at his grandmother-granddaughter technically daughter in disbelief for a moment. Jade is looking away, face uncomfortable but firm. The same look is mirrored in Jane’s and John’s features. It must be a family trait, he thinks absentmindedly.

“I- well-“ Jake stutters. He feels more vulnerable than ever, his brain scrambling to form an answer. “I wasn’t aware of my selfishness.”

Jade grimaces. “Jake, It’s- you’re not selfish-“

“No, Jade. It’s okay. That’s what you described, and you’ve helped me realize that the description rather fits me now that you’ve put it into words. I’ve been a proper douchemuffin, haven’t I?”

Jane shakes her head. “No, Jake! You haven’t been a…” she furrows her thinly shaved eyebrows. “douchemuffin?”

“Alas, I have.” Jake confesses humbly, putting a reassuring hand on her knee. She blushes slightly, and glances at it, unsure. “I have been a terrible co-god, and I apologize.” He grimaces, and leans back. “As for the stuff about Dirk…”

“You don’t have to take it with us!” Jade hastens to say. “It’s uh- we get that stuff is private, so no need to-“

“It’s entirely alright. I say, your remark about returning to Dirk and us not being good for each other…I think I see what you mean.”

Jade’s eyes widen in surprise. “You…do?”

“Yes! When you put it so bloody simple like that, I feel like an idiot. I will need to uh…to consider what to do next.” He scratches the back of his head. “Still, I might need some time to process what me and Dirk…well, what we’ve got going on before doing anything drastic. I’m not a teen anymore, dag nab it!”

“Right.” Jane replies, exchanging a look with Jade that Jake can’t quite read.

And so, that’s where it starts. Dirk being overbearing and clingy, and Jake pulling away more and more as a result.

He never means for it to happen, and he never meant for it to happen when he first got together with Dirk again. But It’s as Jade says; it feels almost inevitable that he and Dirk will eventually crash and burn, no matter how much they try.

Are they even trying, actually?

They hang out, they fuck and they cuddle, but they never…talk. And frankly, Jake can’t say he feels excited about the prospect of doing so either. Maybe that’s a sign? A sign they shouldn’t commit so deeply to each other, since they can’t manage the simple task of communicating?

No, that sounds silly. The source of their failing relationship is more likely due to their respective personalities clashing a little, nothing else. It’s neither man’s fault, surely. They’re simply trying their best to make do with what they’ve got, and sadly It’s just not working fully.

They sleep with each other a few more times because honestly, Jake just can’t resist. Dirk is just always so alluring under him, intense gaze growing with need and desperation. But slowly, that desperation turns clingy, demanding, and so eventually their bedroom activities die down as well. And so does their dates, and their texting conversations.

When a week has passed since the last time Jake saw Dirk or answered his texts, Dirk stops texting entirely. He gives up.

The chess game is over, and this time Jake’s the winner.

When the three month mark for their relationship starts sneaking up, Jake finally sends Dirk a few texts. They’re rather short and he knows they will sting, but they are entirely truthful and sorely needed to truly put an end to things once and for all.

They just aren’t meant for each other, no matter how good and exciting their occasional dalliances may feel. It’s something they both have to come to terms with.

GT: Hello chum.
GT: I doubt this message is actually necessary, considering youve no doubt gotten the hint by now, but we are done.
GT: It just wont work out between us, and i think we both knew that from the start. i am so awfully sorry.
GT: I am especially sorry for saying "i love you".
GT: You are very dear to me, dirk, and i do love you in a sense.
GT: But i must admit, gosh darned it, that i felt some pressure to say it to you to stop you from leaving.
GT: It was a dishonest setting for such a poorly thought through confession, and i apologize.
GT: Could we maybe just clear the slate once and for all and be pals?
GT: I dont want to lose you, and we still have a show to run together!
GT: I am sure it will be a heck of a good time!

Dirk blocks him almost immediately after he’s done typing, and It’s not surprising nor unexpected. Jake understands him, understands how hurt he must be. He’s been a downright ass, once again.

But at the same time, he knows Dirk, better than most other people. And he knows this isn’t the end, that he won’t stay blocked forever. Because no matter how hurt Dirk gets, he can’t resist an adventure as violently uneven and unpredictable as Jake. And the same can be said the other way around.

*

Dirk Strider is fucking heartbroken, again. Figures.

He has about a hundred unanswered messages from Roxy, Rose, Dave, Jane and even one from Kanaya, but he’s choosing to ignore them.

It’s been a week and three days, ten fucking rotations of Earth C around Its axis since Jake unceremoniously dumped him over text. Over fucking text.

Not only that, he didn’t just dump him. Oh no. He told him he regretted saying I love you, basically implying that Dirk forced him to in the classically fucked up, wicked English way. And God if it didn’t hurt to read, if Dirk didn’t feel like his insides were about to splat out onto the floor when he read it.

It’s pathetic, really, how a few lines of text can feel like someone’s wringing out your guts and spitting on them.

Dirk groans and rolls over in his bed. It’s gross, the sheets needed to be washed at least five days ago and smells nothing like Jake anymore, only of sweat, misery and unwashed scalp. Dirk himself probably doesn’t smell much better, what with his hair being greasy and untamed, his breath acidic from consuming nothing but soda and refusing to brush his teeth for a week and his clothes remaining unchanged for god knows how long.

Fuck, he can’t take it anymore. Last time he and Jake broke up he sulked for nearly two weeks, and it almost had serious repercussions in the form of Rose and Roxy Lalonde marching up to his house and breaking down the door. He had just managed to read their messages in time to stop them in his driveway, dirty hair and unwashed clothes and all. They had looked alarmed at his appearance then, he remembers, and it was honestly so fucking embarrassing he’d rather die than experience it again.

So, It’s between killing himself or actually getting up and continue living on, fulfilling his purpose in this world instead of sulking over some stupid fake-English
cunt who doesn’t give a fuck about him anyway.

Well, he muses as he takes a deep breath of humid, disgusting air and sits up. Killing himself would be satisfying since it would no doubt make Jake feel really bad. But at the same time, he won’t be there to witness it so there might not be much of a point. Besides, Jane would most likely just resurrect him in some way, and the whole thing would just turn into a whole new mess of embarrassing explanations and worried questions.

God, he hates the fucking worried questions.

Ugh. So getting his shit together and continue living for the sake of the plot it is, then. God damn it.

With heavy footsteps, Dirk makes his way over to his wardrobe, pulls out some random wrinkly wifebeater, a pair of boxers, pajama pants and a towel and makes his way over to the bathroom. It’s as messy and uncleaned as the rest of the house, but the shower remains in okay condition considering he hasn’t used it in a while.

He undresses in the bathroom with slow, tired movements. His body feels, strangely, more beat up than it usually does when he’s been wrestling or fighting robots. After those scenarios, he usually just feels sore and a bit stiff. But now…

Well, he ponders as he takes a glance in the mirror, the reflection showing a thin, pale thing that looks like nothing short of a dirty sheet that the cat dragged in. He’s thinned out, despite the fact he didn’t have much weight to loose in the first place. His face looks gaunt and hollow and his ribs are showing, and fuck, Jake’s teeth marks on his shoulder, right above his tattoo are still showing slightly.

Yeah, no. He doesn’t feel the same as after a fight. He doesn’t just feel sore and stiff, he also feels exhausted. It’s running through his veins, a steady slow thrum of not caring, not having the energy, not bothering. It’s reflected in his eyes as he takes his shades of; they look paler, more dead, almost like they can’t focus at a fixed point. They’re wandering lazily, caring just as little about the current circumstances as he is.

Dirk gets in the shower, and feels anger and frustration building in his chest over just how fucking hard that act is alone. His body and his brain Is screaming at him to give up, to just throw on some new clothes and get back to bed, or maybe the couch to avoid the dirty sheets. But honestly, he knows better than his stupid body right now. His heart is still in the right place, despite being shattered into a million pieces for the fifteenth hundredth time at this point. And his heart knows who he is, who he is meant to be. To achieve that, he has to get a fucking grip and fix things.

So, as Dirk showers and his body and brain is screaming at him to just give up, go back to bed, ignore everyone, don’t bother making a meal… his heart is stubbornly telling him to shower, get dressed, order food and get the fuck back to work with the robots.

“It’s my purpose.” He mumbles to himself as semi-cold water trickles down his back. He isn’t even registering Its temperature. “I have to build, have to perfect the craft, create a vessel… I have to prepare for the seer, prepare for the seer…”

He repeats it to himself over and over again as he shampoos his hair and lathers his body, ignoring how alarmingly pointy and jutty it feels.

Ever since he was a teen, he’s been dealing with multiple versions and consciousnesses of himself. Lately, since Earth Cs creation really, they have all begun merging. It has taken a toll on him, a steady thrum of nauseating pressure at the back of his skull, of memories and knowledge and convictions being pumped into his brain.

He’s gotten used to the feeling by now, barely notices it as a matter of fact. But It’s still there, guiding him and his fucked up heart on the steps to the destiny he has been assigned. He’s a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, and how that prophecy ends is unknown to him this far. All he knows is that he has to perfect his robotics, so that he is able to build a vessel for a seer of light, who he assumes must be Rose.

Why she would need such a vessel is another thing that is unknown to him, but he has a theory that it has to do with her aspect and the possibility her alternate selves and their knowledge might merge as well. It’s a theory in progress, though.

With a sigh of relief of being done, Dirk steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around himself. He has to admit that although the deep exhaustion he’s currently carrying is still potent, the shower did lessen it just slightly. One less step on the road to functioning again, going back to his duties.

He gets dressed, orders food and goes to the cupboard to get new sheets and such for his bed. And then he sneaks up on him, completely unprepared and sudden, like a rodent running out from underneath a cupboard.

Jake.

Great. He had just gotten a break from thinking of him, but now he’s back in his head with full force, making his heart sink and his stomach hurt.

No matter how hard Dirk tries to ignore the thoughts and the memories that come flooding, he can’t. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much of a strong moral leader his heart is, It’s stubbornly set on Jake; somebody he can never truly have.

He knows it now, and he’s known it many times. It’s just that his heart is set on making a fool out of him, forcing him to suppress and forget all the times he has betrayed and fucked him over as soon as he catches a glimpse of his stupid, green eyes.

Dirk’s attraction to Jake truly isn’t love, It’s obsession. The intensity of his feelings keep trying to convince him otherwise, but he won’t let it. He knows himself. He’s a good person, a true and strong person. And he knows himself, this version of himself as well as others. Because he’s always the same. A strong individual, a true individual. The only constant in endless amounts of timelines. That’s what he has been able to gather from the alternate knowledge he’s been bestowed; no matter what, he remains the same. And Jake doesn’t. And so, he can’t be in love. Because if he was in love, Jake would be his weakness in every universe, through every span of time. And he just…isn’t.

That’s probably why he finds it so addicting to be with him in this timeline, Dirk muses as he changes the sheets of the bed. He himself is such a constant, so predictable and linear, following the narrative no matter where life takes him. Meanwhile, Jake is unorderly and messy. He has no direction, no purpose, and he is anything but true to himself.

No, Jake English isn’t a good person. He’s barely a person at all, in fact. He’s merely a bundle of unexpressed opinions and emotions, a wreck constantly pretending to be something he’s not. When he understands something he pretends not to for his own comfort, to avoid conflict. It doesn’t matter if it hurts others, or if he looks like an idiot for it. It doesn’t matter if it makes him a liar and a selfish person. He does it anyway, every time, without question.

That’s what keeps Dirk hooked, after all. The unpredictability, the wondering whether Jake is lying or manipulating or just genuinely being himself. It’s the uncertainty and shaky ground, the keeping him on his toes that attracts him, keeps him coming back for more. And Dirk is willing to bet that Jake gets the same thing out of him, out of making him twitch and blush and stutter one moment and lash out the next.

They both like dramatic, violent changes of pace, and Dirk just so happens to be a little more obsessed than Jake is. It’s a modern travesty, truly.

After he’s made his bed, Dirk receives his food, pays for it and eats it in his study while tinkering with the tiny robot parts he had been working on before Jake decided to fucking squish him like a fly under his thumb. And It’s nice to get his hands busy for a little while. It momentarily lifts the heavy feelings in his chest, and quiets down his brain momentarily.

It isn’t strange, then, that he doesn’t hear the knocking at first. It comes a few hours into his work, when he’s gotten really into it and all thoughts of Jake have gone. It isn’t until the fifth knock that he actually hears it, and stops his work to sigh.

It’s most likely Roxy, finally having come to check on him. Well, good thing he’s all showered and full and a little less disgusting than he has been for the previous days. She’ll no doubt comment on how thin and tired he looks, but it can’t be helped.

Cracking his neck, groaning and stretching, he stands up and heads to the front door, hesitating only for a moment before opening it. And as soon as he does, he wishes he hadn’t.

It isn’t Roxy who has visited him, It’s Jake. Jake fucking English with a giant bouquet of white poppies in his arms. A symbol of peace.

Dirk has never felt anger flare up in his chest faster before in his life.

Jake looks handsome as ever, dark hair slightly ruffled from the flight here and glasses a little foggy from the humid air. So fucking typical, that Dirk is all fucked up and exhausted from taking the brunt of their dalliance, and Jake is all pristine and beautiful on his doorstep, as if he didn’t just hunt Dirk’s heart for sport again a week ago.

Jake clears his throat and tries smiling at him. It’s unsuccessful, since he definitely sees just how angry Dirk is right now.

“Uhm, hello Dirk.” Jake says, looking him up and down, no doubt scrutinizing his worn appearance. Fucking asshole, as if Dirk’s appearance isn’t his fault in the first place!

“You have some fucking nerve coming here, you know.” Dirk says, his tone harsher and more bitter than he was even aware he could muster at the moment. It’s a little scratchy, though, unused as it has become to conversing with others over the past week.

“I uhm.” Jake mumbles, nodding in agreement. “I know, pal, I just-“

“I’m not your fucking pal, Jake. It’s over between us, as you said, and there’s nothing left for you to fucking scrape together into an apology. We’re done.”

Jake nods again, looking down. He’s shifting the weight between his feet, nervously moving. Fucking asshole.

“I know what I said, and I know It was…unnecessarily harsh.” He extends the flowers towards him, as If they will make any difference. “Darn it, what I’m trying to say is…I’ve been a downright tool, Dirk, and I owe you a big ol’ apology.”

Dirk wants to throw the fucking door in his face. Like, not only close it on him but actually rip it off its hinges and throw it as hard as possible into his face so that his nose breaks and his teeth fall out. Something cartoonishly violent like that.

But he doesn’t. Instead, to his own horror and annoyance, he takes the flowers and looks at them. And he feels himself soften slightly, like an actual brainless idiot.

God, he’s more than this, smarter than this. And yet, he looks at Jake for a long moment and then invites him in. He invites the actual fucking devil into his house again. It took almost no convincing at all, and It’s so embarrassing that he’s genuinely questioning if suicide wasn’t a better option after all.

Jake walks into his house with the air of an apologetic, scared and jittery mouse, all big eyes and innocence. And Dirk knows It’s an act, knows that Jake is just bored and using him again, using him like the dumb blonde tool he apparently is. And he knows It’s wrong, knows It’s fucked up.

And yet It’s so very thrilling, and so very exciting. A high that can’t be matched by anything else.

Jake fucking English.