TWO DAYS LATE BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ahbonjour I LOVE YOU HAVE SOME NEW MOVIE HOUSE BRAINROT
also @museumlad and @creativeskull95 you may also enjoy this have fun
David calls Donnie at 2:37 pm on a completely nondescript Tuesday with a brisk, "I have a proposition for you," in lieu of a hello.
"Shit, babe, let me grab the condoms and the lube, I can be at your place in fifteen." Donnie says, because his mouth moves faster than his brain and both of them hate him.
David's eye roll is practically audible over the phone, but so is his smile when he responds, "I'd literally rather fling myself into the fires of Mount Doom than get anywhere near your dick ever again. No, doofus, I've got a work thing. Interested?"
"God, yes." Donnie groans. Thank someone David Peterson is his best friend before his anything else and is used to the shit that comes out of Donnie's mouth. "I told you about my new set, right?"
"I thought you said you didn't have anything."
"Because I don't, Dave. The new set is a whole lot of nothing. I've been tearing my hair out for weeks trying to think of stuff, my brain is, like, fully fried at this point."
David snorts. "What, our breakup didn't give you any material to work with?"
Donnie blows a raspberry, flinging an arm over his eyes even though Lark's been gone for, like, a week doing some business bitch shit and isn't around to see his dramatics. "Do me a favor and be more of an asshole so I can actually pull something out of it. There's nothing funny about an amicable break up."
"Statistically, between the two of us, you're more likely to be the asshole about it." David points out. "Write a joke about how you jumped on the chance to fuck as soon as you heard my voice."
Donnie has. Many of them. None of them have lived to see the light of day. "You propositioned me, motherfucker. You literally said, 'I have a proposition for you' and expected me to not take that in a fucky direction?"
David snorts again. "Go get laid and then maybe we can progress past two sentences without you thinking I want to bone down."
All half-formed jokes about this conversation immediately fly out of his head. "David," Donnie begs. "I will literally pay you whatever you want to have you never say the words 'bone down' in reference to sex ever again."
"I am only ever going to call it boning down from now on." David says immediately, because he's an asshole. Not enough of one to use as material for a good comedy set, but to be honest, Donnie thinks he can live with that. He’ll gladly settle for missing out on comedy gold because of a peaceful breakup if it means he gets to keep his best friend. "I think you should bone down so that you stop thinking that I'm trying to bone down with you. I’m just an innocent business boy trying to do my job—"
Never fucking mind, this man is terrible and Donnie hates him. "Oh my god."
"—and here you are sullying my good-natured intentions with thoughts of boning down—"
"Stoooop."
"—when all I've ever tried to do is live by the eternal words of our lord and savior Britney Spears. I just want to work, bitch. All my long nights at the office, all my running around trying to find you, my dearest friend, a well-paying gig, because even though our amorous relations have since ended I still hold you near to my heart, and yet! You scorn my kindness with advances towards boning down.”
"I'm dying. Literally dying."
“Distasteful behavior, truly. Horrendous. You’re a rake and a rapscallion and I shan’t do business with you anymore if you’re only going to lust after me the whole time. ‘Tis a futile endeavor, Donaldo. Your feelings are simply unrequited. I daresay you have transformed into what is known in some circles as a simp. Do you know what a simp is, D? I learned that one like a week ago. You’re down bad tremendous, as the kids might say. Bone down tremendous, even."
"I'm gonna — I'm hanging up, Peterson."
"Alright, fuck you then, I don't have a job offer for you."
Donnie whines. "Nooo, Davey my Davey, I didn't mean it, let me pay rent this month."
“Are you going to listen to me talk about internet slang.” David says, punctuating each word with a clap.
“No, because it’s, like, basically all AAVE and I bet you literally anything that Lark and my mom have been saying that shit for years.”
David snorts. “I would pay good money to hear your mom use the word ‘simp’ in a sentence.”
Donnie laughs. “Pay up, then, that’s Black 90s shit."
"Goddammit, internet," David mutters, and Donnie's phone chimes.
"Goddammit, internet," he agrees, pulling away to check whatever notification just came in. Venmo: David Peterson paid you $30. — Reparations — Your Venmo balance is now $30. "Alright, you're forgiven."
"God bless and goodnight," David says dryly. "Can I give you this goddamn job offer now."
Donnie waves a hand airily. David will sense it through the phone. "See, if you'd started with that instead of 'I have a proposition'—"
"Donnie."
"Shutting up now. Blow me away, Peterson."
David clears his throat and puts on his Business Professional voice. "Donnie Frasier, on behalf of Love Productions USA, I would like to formally offer you a position as presenter on the reboot of The Great American Baking Show."
Donnie jolts up, eyes wide. "Shut up. You're joking."
"I am not."
"DAVID."
"Mhmm." David hums, smug as hell. "We're location scouting right now, but once we have that settled we'll fly you in so you can get acquainted with the crew while we're holding baker auditions. Once we've found our twelve and they're signed on, you'll stay on-location for an additional ten weeks while we're filming. You're looking at a period of about, uh, maybe fifteen to sixteen weeks total? Just the one season for now, but, y'know, contract is open to renewal depending on ratings and reception. Food and board are included, and we're probably working with your regular rate, but I'll have to double check our budget with Jay. Obviously you know Lark has already signed on as a judge, we just got George Fox of 'the Corporal Cooks' on as the other judge—"
"DAVID!"
"I'm producing, natch, James Matsuki is with me on that — him and Fox have someone in mind for, uh. Shit, either floor manager or director, I don't remember, but Lark and I wanted to recommend you for presenter. We're trying to get Mags Taylor to go on with you—"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP."
"—provided you accept." David finishes, like it would ever cross Donnie’s mind to refuse. "You wanna hear who else we have for crew? I've actually worked with a lot of them on other projects, they're good people."
"Absolutely fucking not, I'm in, I'm in, I was already in as soon as you opened your beautiful perfect mouth! David!" Donnie hollers, scrambling up and out of bed and down the hall into his kitchen, flinging his laptop open with feral desperation. "Did you — I have to — does Susan know, I have to email Susan —"
David huffs. "Who do you think I am? I emailed Susan about it like three days ago, she said to go to you directly."
"THREE DAYS?"
"Jesus fucking Christ, Donald."
"YOU HELD OUT ON ME FOR THREE DAYS, DAVARIAH?" Donnie bellows, whipping through his inbox. There's a handful of offers from venues to host him for shows, an update on the ongoing thread from his tour manager — there! The sacred [email protected], nestled right underneath what might be a fan that somehow got a hold of his professional email address.
"Tell Susan to respond to me faster, then." David says mildly, rustling something on his end of the call.
"Leave my poor sweet Susan alone, she's done nothing wrong ever in her life and it's not her fault you never loved me." Donnie fires back, scanning through Susan's summary of the offer — same shit David was telling him, minus any name dropping, thank you best friend/ex-boyfriend perks. He replies with a very enthusiastic ABSOLUTELY HELL YES, which will not surprise Susan in the slightest. "Not even Susan can warm the frozen tundras of your heart."
David sighs, long and heavy. "You're such a fucking drama queen. I'm going to write a guide for your next partner, so they know how to deal with you."
"That's — fair, honestly. Make a note on my fabulous ass and sparkling personality, though."
"What sparkling personality," David mutters, but clears his throat back into Business Professional. "So, Donnie Frasier, do you accept the offer?"
Donnie pauses. "Am I allowed to have 'fuck yeah' on the record?"
David hangs up on him.
~*~
They've only been separated for three weeks, but Lark's airport tackle makes Donnie feel like he's returning from World War 2.
"You're in!" Lark screams, ignoring the affronted looks they're getting from the other people meandering out of baggage claim.
Donnie squeezes hard around her waist and pulls her up, spinning her around twice for good measure. It never hits him just how much he misses his sister until they're reunited. "I'm in!" He yells back, and relishes the scandalized cough they get from the white lady brushing past them.
Somewhere off to their right, someone laughs. "Twinth, huh?"
"Twins," David agrees, and clears his throat. "Y'all ready to go?"
They're not, but Donnie knows how to compromise. He sets Lark back down in her feet and wraps an arm around her shoulders, grinning wildly at her as they set out. "Look at you!"
"Look at me!" Lark agrees, beaming back. She looks great — she's switched out her locs for twists and her blue sundress pops against her dark skin, and yeah, that's great, but underneath it all, she's glowing. She looks happy, she looks proud, she looks like a big fuckin' dead weight asshole has finally been kicked to the curb, thank God. There's a bounce in her that he hasn't seen in months, that he — and he would never say this out loud to anyone ever, not even their mom — worried she would never get back.
He loves her so much. He's going to vomit in all her shoes.
"Tell me everything," he demands, graciously letting her pull his suitcase out of his hands. "Did he cry? Tell me he cried."
David, whose relationship with Donnie overlapped the middle of The Brandon Saga, chooses this moment to start very loudly debating directions with the dark-haired guy he brought along. Donnie will give him the most platonic of high-fives for it later.
"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy." Lark says airily, which means not here, not now. "How's it feel to have a big boy job, though?"
Donnie is a mature, upstanding, tax-paying adult and refrains from sticking his tongue out at his beloved twin sister. "I actually turned down Netflix to come do this dinky lil baking show with you, Birdie, so you better be fuckin' grateful."
"I've been blessed by your presence," Lark says immediately, bumping their shoulders together. "You should be on Netflix, by the way, it's total bullshit you're not. Like, I'm so glad we're doing this together, but—"
"No, you know what?" Donnie cuts in, giving her a little squeeze. "I'm excited about it. I'm taking a comedy sabbatical and I'm gonna do nothing but eat cupcakes and make you miserable on set and it's gonna be great. Netflix can eat my entire ass, honestly."
Ahead of them, David's friend snorts, breaking off the direction debate to walk backwards through the revolving door. Donnie is thoroughly impressed. "From what I heard, Netflix is more of a 'no lube no aftercare' kind of lover. Executiveth, you know? They jutht wanna fuck you over and then roll over and go to thleep." The guy eyes Donnie up and down in a way that makes him roll his shoulders back and stand up straighter. Lark what the fuck taps him in the ribs and he shut the fuck up bumps her knee. Sue him, he’s a disaster bi and weak to authoritative gazes. She knows this already. “Your work’th incredible, though, I thaw one of your thows a couple yearth ago and I wath crying laughing. If Netflix doethn’t want you, that’th their loth.”
Donnie responds in the only reasonable fashion: he fans a hand in front of his face and swoons heavily against Lark, who cheerfully ducks out from beneath his arm and lets him stumble into a trashcan. “Keep talking like that and we’re going right to the bathroom, stranger.” He purrs, and they laugh, clear and pleasant. “Normally I make people buy me dinner before rawdogging me in public, but I can always make an exception.”
David suddenly whirls around from where he'd been leading the procession, brows furrowed tightly behind his glasses. “I fully forgot y’all don’t know each other.” He says, like it’s inconceivable to exist in a world where his friends don’t all run in the same social circles.
Donnie shrugs and holds out a hand. "I just assumed you kidnapped someone with a bigger car, T-B-H. Donnie Frasier, he/him. What's up?"
The stranger takes his hand and shakes, but keeps a severe facial expression. "I'm actually airport polithe, I'm here to inthpect your luggage for ilithit thubthtanthes," they say seriously, holding Donnie's gaze for two, three, four beats before cracking a grin. "Ethan Thtone, altho he/him, head of wardrobe and rethident big car boy."
"Fuckin' rub it in," David mutters, and lets Ethan swat him.
"I don't wanna hear anything from the man who dethided to thqueeze hith theven-foot ath into a clown car." Ethan says, cementing his place as Donnie's new favorite. “Go be useful and get Karen, I wanna thmooze. My car,” he answers as Donnie’s opening his mouth to ask the question.
“Why?”
“Because she’s old and white and complains the entire time!” David yells over his shoulder, disappearing into the parking lot with Ethan’s keyring.
Ethan makes an affronted noise. “He’th thuch a jerk,” he mutters, but there’s something fond tugging at the corners of his mouth as he says it.
“He’s single, you know,” Donnie blurts out, because his mouth continues to move faster than his brain and they both continue to hate him. He lets Lark smack him in the arm with a gleeful “Donnie!” because yeah, fair.
Ethan goes bright red, and he laughs nervously. “Oh, uh — yeah, I know. We, uh, actually worked together while, uh, y’all were thtill — a thing? Tho, uh. I know. I jutht think he’s cute, though, I’m not trying to, like, move in on anything—”
“God, please,” Donnie laughs, patting Ethan on the back. “He’s my best friend, but like. That ship done sailed, my dude. No hard feelings over here if you wanna, y’know.”
“Mount. Climb aboard. Cast off.” Lark supplies helpfully, grinning gleefully as Ethan turns redder and redder with every word. “Thank fuck you’re here now, Ducky, I felt like I was losing my mind watching them try to flirt.”
“We weren’t flirting.” Ethan protests weakly. Lark raises an eyebrow at him. “Honetht! I’m a terrible flirt.”
“So’s David,” the twins say in unison. Ethan groans and buries his face in his hands, muttering something under his breath that might be “abtholutely fuck me”.
Lark ignores him. “I’ve been telling him that Davey is available, too, he kept insisting he didn’t want to make things weird with you coming onto the project—”
Donnie emphatically waves his hands. “Fuck no! I mean, I for sure wanna get some popcorn and watch the show, but, like, from the point-five seconds I’ve known you—”
“Yeth, pleathe, let’th talk credentialth,” Ethan says desperately.
“What? No.” Donnie says, gesturing at Ethan’s everything with a raised eyebrow. “You’re cute, you dress well, you like my jokes, you don’t let David intimidate you even though you like him, I trust you already. You’ll be great, I’m excited to work with you, blah blah blah. Like, feel free to stop me if you’re legit uncomfortable, but—”
“Remember what I said before, E?” Lark interrupts, patting Ethan’s back. “About Donnie being a professional meddler?”
Donnie nods in satisfaction. “I am a professional meddler. Please let me meddle, we’ll bond and become best friends and ruin David’s life. It’ll be so good.”
Ethan looks up at the sky. Donnie doesn’t know why; if anyone’s up there, they know better than to mess with Donnie Frasier when he’s on a mission. “If I thay yeth,” he says uncertainly, and the twins immediately swivel like sharks smelling blood. “Can we at leatht be thubtle about it?”
Lark winces, looking at her brother. “Tall order, Ducky. Think you can handle it?”
Donnie flips her off with one hand and holds out the other for Ethan to hesitantly shake. “Ethan Stone,” he says solemnly. “This is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Ethan still vaguely looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. “I mean it, though, I’m really a terrible flirt.”
Donnie looks at his sister. “Vibe check?”
“Drama club Peggy circa 2016.”
Donnie stares in horror. “Please tell me it’s not the same vibes.”
Lark claps three times. Donnie throws his head back and cackles. Ethan looks like he’s about two seconds away from climbing into the sewer and living his best ninja turtle life. “It’th not — I don’t even know what that meanth, I’m not, like — thtop — thtop laughing, I’m theriouth—” But he’s grinning despite himself, because Donnie’s never once been able to hold a mildly uncomfortable conversation with someone without making them laugh, and he’s not about to break his streak now with all these fancy new TV people to impress.
“Ethan,” Donnie sighs, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes and slinging an arm over his new best friend’s shoulders. “I’m going to hook you guys up so hard. I cannot wait.”
A white Toyota pulls up in front of them, hazards on, and David climbs out of the driver’s side, half-jogging over to grab Donnie’s bags and shove ‘em in the trunk. “Everything okay?” He asks, mostly to Ethan, who’s beginning to match the color of the beret David used to wear in college. Donnie wonders if Ethan knows about the beret. Donnie desperately needs Ethan to know about the beret.
“Fine,” he and Ethan say at the same time, in wildly different tones of voice.
David gives Donnie A Look. “What are you doing to my wardrobe head?”
“Irreversibly changing the course of your lives,” Donnie says cheerfully, rubbing Ethan’s shoulder.
“Fucking delightful.” David sighs, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, I wanna get back to the hotel by five and you’ve still got a shitload of people to meet. Do not let Donnie bully you into anything you don’t wanna do,” he says to Ethan, just loud enough that Donnie can reasonably make a comment about it.
And he will. “You’ll thank me for this one day, boyos.” He says haughtily, and Lark laughs loudly, shoving him into the backseat of the Toyota and climbing in after him. She squeezes his hand hard as they’re settling in: I missed you. He squeezes back and grins at her. Missed you more.
David buckles himself into the driver’s seat and meets his gaze in the rearview mirror. “As long as you keep whatever shenanigans you’re planning off Jay and Alexa’s radars, I’ll do whatever you want, dude, I don’t give a single shit.”
Lark pulls out her phone to text someone. “Kinky,” she comments, grinning as David sputters in the front seat. “In front of Ethan and the entire airport and God, too? Fuck it up, my guy.”
“I’m in hell.” David deadpans, and pulls out towards the airport exit.
