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It all starts during a conversation with John. Actually, that’s complete bullshit. It all starts sometime after they get the fuck out of SBURB and everything resets and the world is hunky dory, but the exact timing is hard to pin down. But the idea came to fruition during a conversation with John, so that’s the logical place to begin.
Dave’s just checking up on the Midnight Crew, minding his own business, when the Heir of Dipshits sends him a message.
EB: so halloween is coming up.
EB: in case you were too cool to notice.
Dave glances at the bottom right corner of his screen where the time and date display tells him they’re already halfway through October.
TG: oh wow shit look at that
TG: i hadnt noticed as a matter of fact
TG: but more because halloween is a crap holiday and were too old for it
Because seriously, what the fuck is there to do on Halloween during these awkward teenaged years? Trick or Treating is for the younger set, drunken parties full of girls dressed like sexy lamp shades for the older set, and handing out candy to brats in Captain America masks for the even older set. None of those options really jump out at Dave anyway.
EB: whaaaaaaaat?
TG: john
TG: john don’t even we talked about this we talked about spiderwriting
EB: haha okay sorry. but seriously dave stop, youre not really too cool for halloween.
TG: too old
TG: im practically a geezer egbert
EB: haha no way! you’re in your prime dave. so what’re you going to be?
TG: egbert how are you not getting this
TG: im not doing halloween i haven’t done halloween since i was like ten
EB: laaaaame.
TG: why what are you doing
TG: oh wait no let me guess
TG: your fuckin ghostbusters suit again
EB: yes!
TG: lame
EB: what no way! the ghostbusters costume is cool and you know it.
It is, in all honesty, a pretty badass costume. John is just the right balance of complete dork and sort of coolguy to pull it off without seeming like a total douche.
TG: yeah maybe
EB: it’s the coolest costume, don’t deny it.
TG: dont push it man
EB: haha okay. but seriously you’re not even going to dress up or anything?
TG: no reason to
TG: not like im doin anything
EB: aw man that sucks! you should at least celebrate with your bro or something.
EB: i mean he likes creepy weird stuff, he should be totally into it.
EB: maybe ironically or something?
TG: yeah fuck no
And that’s when it hits him like a truck.
TG: actually
TG: maybe ill get a costume for the hell of it
EB: aw yes! that’s the spirit!
TG: just for the purposes of hilarity of course
EB: of course.
TG: ill be ke$ha
EB: hahahahahaha
EB: what the hell?
TG: dont laugh im serious
TG: imagine how serious my face is right now
In actuality his face doesn’t look the least bit serious. The smug sideways smile that’s broken out is like a wild beast to be tamed, but Dave is so pleased with his fucked up, incredible brain at the moment that he can’t possibly beat back that monster of a smirk.
EB: dave i’m really starting to worry about you.
TG: no shut up itll be hilarious
TG: fuck I can paint my face with glitter and everything
TG: this is going to be golden
EB: haha…
EB: okay man if you say so.
TG: i do
TG: i say so with conviction
EB: hahaha. you’re so weird sometimes.
He has no idea.
EB: so what are you going to do for halloween then if youre getting a costume?
TG: nothing
TG: chill at home with a bowl of kit kats probably
EB: …
TG: dressed as ke$ha
TG: how are you not seeing how perfect this is
EB: uhhhh.
TG: look whatever you don’t have to get it man
TG: this is between me and my bro
EB: oh man dave please don’t tell me he’s gonna be lady gaga or something.
TG: oh hell no
TG: this fine ass piece of genius real estate is all mine
EB: umm, okay then. have fun dressing up by yourself and ironically celebrating halloween i guess.
TG: oh i will
TG: ill have so much fun it should be illegal
EB: …
Dave signs off then, because sometimes it’s fun to leave Egbert hanging on a seriously uncomfortable note, and also because he wants to get to the thrift store before it closes.
.
.
.
Conversations with John aside, it all really starts at 5:45 AM on a Monday morning, when Dave is supposed to be getting ready for school because, you know, senior year is important or something, but instead he’s sprawled on the couch across his brother, his face pressed lazily against the other’s chest so that his shades are sideways and his cheek is all smooshed up and stupid looking. It’s been one of those rare weekends that Bro is off from work, and to honor the occasion he’s spent the past two days with Dave, playing video games and eating utter crap and fucking around, doing the big brother thing, and also some other things that fall under a classification that Dave isn’t really sure of.
Dave’s got a toaster strudel in one hand, flavored with some disgusting medley or berries and fuck knows what, and he scoffs in protest when Bro reaches over and breaks half of it clean off, popping it into his mouth.
“I believe that was my breakfast,” he says pointedly, practically an impression of Rose.
“I believe,” Bro responds after he swallows, “That I just blew you.”
Dave shuts his mouth quick, blushing like a complete tool, and frowns because the fucker is right, he did just blow him, and that pretty much entitles him to as much of his toaster strudel as he wants.
This is the thing that started somewhere along the line and Dave can’t quite remember when. He feels like they slipped into it at some point without actually deciding to, like it’s just a normal thing that happens all the time, like this is the way it was always supposed to be.
Which he knows is total bullshit. This is a seriously messed up, inappropriate, probably unhealthy situation they’re in, but they’ve got a routine going at this point and neither of them seem too eager to disrupt it.
So Dave casually slips into Bro’s lap after they spar sometimes.
So Bro catches him in the hallway and pins him by slipping a knee between his thighs.
So they fool around like some twisted version of a high school couple and Dave gets to lay all over Bro on the couch after alternately playing Black Ops and squirming in the guy’s lap for four hours.
One of the shitty teen “music” stations is on tv, buzzing away as background noise after they’ve given up on shooting things for the night, and there have actually been a few music videos on in the last half hour.
They take turns making cutting comments about the weight loss pill ads that play during commercial breaks, and when the video line up starts back up again, Dave is nibbling at the last of his toaster strudel, thinking he might throw up if he actually finishes it. He offers it to Bro, who snags it and finishes the nasty, fruit flavored piece of crap off for him.
Ke$ha’s ‘Tik Tok’ comes on tv and Dave says flatly, “Oh wow, I love this song.”
“Don’t lie, Dave, I heard this shit coming out of your speakers last week.”
“I sampled it, so shoot me.”
Bro just smirks at him, still all knowing and all powerful and really kind of fucking annoying when he looks so smug like that, and Dave turns his attention away from the television and onto his brother’s sweatpants, thinking maybe he should return the favor from earlier, rethinking because that awful fucking toaster strudel has him queasy.
Ke$ha’s auto tuned voice claws at his ears, digging its way inside his brain, and he’s going to say something snarky about it but Bro is the first one to speak.
“I’d fuck the shit out of her.”
Dave doesn’t react. He can’t. That’s what Bro would want, so he takes in a slow, calm breath, turns his attention back to the television, watches the girl on screen writhe in a bathtub, gyrate her hips on a packed dance floor.
She looks like the filthiest skank ever to stroll out of a bus station bathroom.
Dave narrows his eyes, watching the video like the meaning of life is hidden under day old eyeliner and glitter face paint. He can’t see the attraction, but hey, whatever, girls have never done it for him. Bro swings both ways and that’s fine, it’s never gotten in the way of anything between them before. He half suspects that Bro is joking in this case anyway. Unless maybe he’s secretly got a thing for trashy chicks that Dave doesn’t know about.
“Well fuck, if I knew you liked that shit I would have started wearing my placenta around my neck months ago.”
Never mind he’s a freaky clone space baby and he has no placenta to speak of. Bro doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response anyway, just sits there smirking, looking honestly distracted by the garbage on tv.
Dave lets it go, files the moment away in the back of his head.
.
.
.
In front of the bathroom mirror on Halloween, Dave replays that quote in his head.
“I’d fuck the shit out of her.”
It had taken a night of researching shitty music, trips to three different thrift stores, and an awkward walk down the makeup aisle at K-mart, but now that Dave is admiring his handiwork he thinks it was worth it.
He really doesn’t look half bad in a torn to shit, off the shoulder t-shirt, and even though his cut-off denim shorts don’t fit his ass quite right, they’re short enough to get the point across. He tore up the black stockings himself, putting more than enough pale skin on display, and the thick eyeliner and haphazard splash of silver glitter over his right eye and cheek looks like it was meant to be there. Even the strappy, slutty, metallic heels don’t look too awful on him, though they are hellish to walk in.
All he needs is a swig of whiskey for flavor, a dab of the bottle on each wrist to give him that fresh, alcoholic scent that drives all the boys wild, and one more quick finishing touch.
Staring his reflection dead in the shades, Dave slides a hand up into his hair, shoving it back into a rumpled, sideways mess, doing his best impression of a girl who’s about to heave any second and is desperately holding her hair back to keep from getting a mess of vomit streaked in with her highlights and feather extensions.
Yes.
Yes perfect.
Bro is still at work so Dave has no problem practicing walking in these fucking hooker shoes up and down the hallway, like this is a totally normal thing for a healthy, well-adjusted boy to be doing after school.
Eventually he gives up on the shoes because he figures he’s not going to be doing much walking anyway, ends up getting the bowl of Kit-Kats he promised John and sprawling himself out on the couch to watch ‘Halloweentown 2,’ stockinged feet propped on the armrest. There’s a sea of glitter sparkling under him, a collection of candy wrappers littering the floor, and dammit he should have brought that whiskey bottle in here because it’d be a great prop to leave next to the discarded shoes.
But whatever, he doesn’t want to look like he tried too hard otherwise it won’t be funny anymore.
To be honest he’s not even sure what Bro’s going to make of this get up anyway. He’s got high hopes, sure, but Bro’s a pain in the ass and there’s a good chance he’ll just stroll in the front door and tell Dave to get off the couch and clean his room or something.
At the very least he’ll probably be amused, and Dave is alright with that.
At best, he’ll get all hot under the collar and fuck Dave sideways on the couch, in which case Dave can report back to John that his Halloween plans turned out to be every bit as illegal as he thought they’d be.
He nearly dozes off halfway through the movie because seriously, the first ‘Halloweentown’ is at least sort of hideously entertaining, but the second one is just giving him a headache. Only half-conscious he gropes for the remote as soon as the pop up style ad at the bottom of the television screen declares ‘Twitches’ is going to be coming on next and sweet baby jesus he cannot handle that, but drops the remote at the sound of the front door being nudged, jiggled, eventually just kicked open.
It’s, what, 4:30 in the afternoon, which makes sense. Bro’s home from Job 1, probably going to grab something to eat before he heads out to Job 2, a job he won’t need in a few months when Dave is out of school and working and chipping in on rent because he hates feeling like a lazy mooch but you know what, that’s serious shit and he doesn’t want to think seriously right now.
It’s Halloween for christ’s sake, time for some tricks and treats or something. He’s gotta make his bro Egbert proud. Ish.
When Bro comes into the apartment he looks first to see that Dave’s backpack is dropped next to the door where it always is, gives a little nod of approval like yes, all is as it should be, and then he looks up, sees Dave on the couch and raises his eyebrows just so.
“Hello sailor,” Dave says, because it’s the first thing that pops into his head and he thought it might be funny, but now he’s wondering if he should have just stuck to a ‘hey sup.’ God, all this self-doubt is gonna kill him.
Bro slams the front door shut since that’s the only way to get it to stay shut, then takes the single step necessary to get from the so called entry way into the so called living room.
“Didn’t know we were having a costume party,” he says, crosses his arms casually.
“Party? Nah. You know I don’t go for that kinda thing.”
Seriously, he’s not big on crowds. Too many people talking over each other sets him on edge. He’d rather just chill at home with a bro. With his Bro.
“So it’s a party of one.”
“Or two,” Dave says with a shrug, pulling one leg up off the arm of the couch, shifting his weight and sprawling out again, just as much of a mess but a margin more comfortable than before. He presses his foot against the flattened cushion of the armrest, curls his toes experimentally to watch the black nylon over his skin shift, then flicks his gaze up to Bro, “Costume not required.”
It is so, so satisfying when the shadow of Bro’s eyes behind his shades does a little bob down, up, lingering too long on the space Dave’s feet are now occupying.
“Huh. Guess I shoulda brought home some candy corn.”
“You don’t even like candy corn.”
“For you,” Bro says, looking Dave up and down without even trying to hide it, “You’re supposed to give candy to kids in costume, right?”
Owch.
That’s not even fair.
“I’m not really a kid anymore, man.”
Bro nods slowly, like he’s just realizing this, “Point taken. How about a nice crisp ten?”
“Do I look like a hooker?”
“Well yeah.”
Dave pouts, a full blown shoulder heaving, bucket lip style baby pout, sitting up with his hands bracing the couch cushion behind him, “Bro. Please. I’m expressing my sexuality and shit. Now come over here and take filthy pictures of me acting like a drunk skank so everybody knows how liberated I am.”
Then he flops back down on the couch, throwing his arms over his head haphazardly as if to say ‘ravish me,’ and gives a quick roll of his hips for good measure.
“Very liberated, I can tell.”
“Extremely.”
“Are you seriously wearing stockings?”
Dave grins. He can’t not.
He reaches down, pops open the button on his shorts, unzips the weird backward girly fly, opening them up just enough to prove his stockings go all the way to the waist, that there’s nothing between them and hot, trapped skin.
Bro’s on him in a second, unbelievably fast as always and Dave’s breath catches when instead of a knee between his legs, a hand pinning him by the wrists, he feels a brush of fingertips over the thick silver makeup on his cheek.
“You’ve really outdone yourself, Dave.”
The pride in his voice makes Dave shiver, whine.
Worth it, every bit of this is completely worth it just for that.
Bro slides his hands over Dave’s chest, smirking at the bedazzled dollar sign on his shirt, then down to tug at the already loose shorts, casually slipping a hand into them to palm Dave’s dick through the stockings, “I just wanna make a mess out of you, bro.”
“So do it,” Dave says, breathless, and he’s not even trying to sound like a bad porn actress here it just keeps happening.
Bro actually laughs at that, not loud, he’s never really loud, but clear enough for Dave to hear, “Nah. Don’t wanna ruin the couch.”
Dave opens his mouth to ask what the fuck Bro’s idea of making a mess is, but the guy moves off of him so fast, flips everything, takes a seat and pulls Dave into his lap.
His shorts ride up uncomfortably with the sudden move and he braces his hands on Bro’s shoulders, “Fuck, careful with that.” All that flash step shit always makes his head spin.
“You’re sturdy, you can take it.”
Dave rolls his eyes behind his shades but says nothing. He squirms purposefully, “So what, am I supposed to give you some kind of ironic, feminist lap dance?”
“Or just hump me like a bitch in heat.”
“You sure know how to talk to a lady.”
“Sorry, I meant to say trashy whore.”
“Much better.”
Dave rolls his hips forward, quickly realizes that his shorts are not going to get any more comfortable, wiggles out of them, leaning all over Bro’s chest and shoulders as he does so, shudders when Bro grabs hold of his ass.
The stockings are an interesting change of pace, kind of frustrating, kind of nice. Bro’s hands slide easier over nylon, make every nerve along his thighs jump, making him moan at the press of fabric against his dick, at a teasing remark on how he’s getting the crotch of the fucking things sticky with precum.
He lets Bro take the stockings off, pushing him onto his back again so he can run his hands down the length of his legs, catching his fingers on every intentional tear, tracing the lightest touch on the insides of his knees, the soles of his feet because it makes him jump and gasp and squirm and say fuck him because tickling isn’t even a part of this fucked up Halloween fantasy bullshit.
“That’s what you think, bro.”
“No, okay, seriously, fuck you, what else do you have in mind for this kinky holiday circus of yours in case I want to write a warning letter to this Kesha chick, let her know what she’s in for.”
Bro laughs again, sort of creepy and knowing, and Dave blushes for reasons he’s not even sure of.
But there’s no more tickling, just the removal of an unnecessary pair of pants and rutting, clawing, kissing, a bite to Dave’s ear and the awkward blip of conversation along the way.
“You prepped yourself.”
“No, I’m just a loose slut.”
“Nah bro, you legit fingered yourself before I got home, didn’t you?”
“…so like I said, I’m a loose slut.”
It just makes it all easier in that moment when Dave wants Bro on him, in him, moving right fucking now because he’s got no patience at all. He claws at his brother’s back, arches against him, breathes heavy in his ear and murmurs the words to ‘Take It Off,’ and the groan he gets in response is perfect,
“Oh my god shut the fuck up Dave that song is a crime against nature,”
Perfect.
His eyeliner smears in the heat of the moment and the glitter on the couch sticks to their skin from sweat, grinds between them to a fine, filthy dust.
When Bro comes he muffles himself against Dave’s hair. When Dave follows he hides away, moaning brokenly into Bro’s neck, tasting his pulse.
They stay slumped and sated on the couch, breathing slower, slower, till their heart rates teeter back to normal and really, Bro should have been on his way to work ten minutes ago.
Tia and Tamera are having all kinds of witchy hijinks on tv because they never did remember to turn it off but finally Bro gropes for the remote on the floor and switches it into silence.
They disentangle and Bro runs a hand through Dave’s hair, brushes it back into place.
“You want anything to eat?”
“Do we have pizza?”
“You always want pizza.”
They have microwave pizzas and Dave huddles against his brother’s chest, complains about how seriously disgusting semen is, kisses him goodbye when he was supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago.
He leaves the glitter on the couch while he takes a shower, picks up the candy wrappers and hooker shoes once he’s dried off and dressed, then hops online to harass Egbert.
Of course the asshole is still out pranking people or whatever the hell he does with his time, but Dave leaves him an offline message anyway.
TG: egbert remind me to kiss you someday in a totally nonhomoerotic way
TG: you deserve a medal
TG: a box of medals
TG: i hope youre reelin in all kinds of sweet candy loot over there bro
TG: happy halloween