transbrostrider:

1. things you said at 1 am
send me a ship and a prompt from the list i reblogged and ill write a mini fic!

“Rose?” He says, carefully.

“It’s past midnight and we’re sharing a bed, so I assume your intentions are either sexual or emotional. Hit me with your best shot.” As usual, she’s disarmed him effortlessly, and despite the pebble she’s added to the pile in the pit of his stomach, Dave trucks on.

“Well, damn, way to call a brother out. Making me reluctant to even say it anymore, you’re missing out on what could be some seriously juicy smut or psychologically fascinating feelings-related bullshit. Your loss.” It’s a weak ploy to maintain her interest, but it works – they’ve softened each other up with sex, and he can still taste her in his mouth. He’ll brush his teeth in the morning. He can’t see her smile in the dark, black lipstick camouflaging perfectly in the shadows, but he feels her shift, hears the box spring creak.

“What a skilled manipulator you are. Now I’ve no choice but to listen to you.” Her words are snipping off at the ends, with that hiss her tongue makes when it’s pressed against her teeth, when she’s trying not to grin, and Dave feels his stomach get warm. Rolling onto his side to face her, propped up on an elbow, he hesitates for a moment, reaching a wary finger out to trace an idle pattern along her shoulder, something like tentacles or gentle waves. She indulges him and remains quiet, remains pliable. If it is something emotional, something genuine, she’s learned from experience that going hard and cold is the last thing Dave needs. This is a process. They know each other, but they’re still getting to know each other.

“I know this isn’t your forte, and I know it’s an awkward thing to bring up post-fuckfest,” Dave tries to keep his tone light, tries to play himself off, “but.” He pauses, and so does she, trying to swallow. If she puts stones in his stomach he puts them in her throat, and it’s hard to breathe around them, even when she knows what’s coming. “Just. Wanted you to know that I care about you.”

It’s out and she hates it, hates that her instinct is to bristle, crawl back into herself just like their dad, just like his brother, and she feels like turning to face the wall. ‘Go to sleep, Dave,’ she’d say, and not talk about her dreams the next morning, dreams about her teeth falling out. But she stays still, stays soft, stays pliable. She’s doing her best. It’s night time, and that’s when the tenderness happens. They’re both vulnerable, they’re both naked. She brushes her toes against his shin, painted nails catching on the hair there.

“You mean a lot to me, Rose.” God, he’s such an insufferable romantic, and he talks too much. There are more words he’s saying, something equally cheesy, equally cringe-worthy, but she shuts him up with a swift kiss, urgent and warm. She can feel the way he leans into it like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, and her hand flashes to cradle his jaw for leverage, trying to ignore the squid squirming in her gut, hot and alien, rising into the back of her throat. 

When they pull away from each other, she wraps herself around him, chin tucked against his neck, and he reciprocates. Her heart’s pounding and she hates it, hates that she feels warm and scared. “Go to sleep, Dave.” She urges softly, rubbing at his back, staring at the clock. “I love you.” 

He’s placated, and Rose soon feels him relaxing into unconsciousness in her arms. But she remains awake, trying to sort through the heat in her stomach, the fluttering in the back of her brain, the thing she doesn’t want to confront. She’s just like their dad, just like his brother, in that saying it weighs heavy in her mouth, tastes like metal. She can’t sleep. She doesn’t want her teeth to fall out. So she stays awake, listens to him breathe, stills him when he squirms, and stares at the clock. 1:34 AM. She’ll stay awake, swallow her fear, and wait for the sun to rise, and when it does, she’ll be the first to see its light.