ship dirkjohn
word count 689
warnings language, referenced parent death
rated T
written for the prompt word “jail” --- dirk and john go on a date in france. it is very romantic.
John will not stop fucking giggling. It’s the low kind, barely audible, certainly not to anyone but Dirk. He’s pressing a fist to his mouth too, wheezing into it occasionally when he lets his raspy voice take a little break. Dirk digs his fingers deeper into the disconcertingly sticky bench they’re both sitting on.
“John, will you stop already,” he murmurs, even if he doesn’t really mean it. He doesn’t… He doesn’t want John to stop laughing. Not after what he’s been through, certainly.
But a prison cell still seems like a weird place for a giggle fit.
“Sorry!” John whispers, and when Dirk turns his head he watches him press his lips together and stare at the floor, obviously trying very hard. It looks like he’s about to turn blue in the face when he erupts in giggles again, eyes squeezing shut and both hands pressing to his face, pushing his glasses askew. He even pulls his feet up the floor and his knees to his chest, curling in on himself as he shakes with laughter, and after a few more gasps, he tips to the side until his shoulder bumps into Dirk’s. Dirk sighs loudly and doesn’t move.
“You are not sorry.”
“I am not sorry,” John gets out between dry wheezes. “I just can’t believe you tried to fuck a statue at the Louvre.”
“I did not try to,” Dirk starts saying loudly, then realizes how the guards are looking at him as soon as he does, and tries to remember what he learned about voice regulation. He hisses, “I did not try to fuck a statue. You pushed me.”
“I did no such thing!” John proclaims with his voice breaking first into falsetto, then another wave of giggles. “I sure told the cops I was just innocently standing by while you were getting your moves on with Hercules or whoever that was.”
“Neptune,” Dirk hisses. “That was Neptune, and yes, your goddamn lies are what got us here, you ass. I didn’t even know you spoke French that well.”
“You know, Egbert is a french name,” John says, dropping the T at the end of his own last name as he says it.
“It is not.”
“Yes it is! I’m french.”
“You’re a scrotum with glasses is what you are.”
“Yes, and that’s very french.”
Dirk groans and leans his head back against the rough wall. “Ugh, I bet it’s still going to be hours until Lalonde gets here to bail us out. I can’t believe I’ll be stuck here with the world’s giggliest son of a bitch until I die.”
Of course, John lets out another series of hoarse giggles, and then his hand closes warmly around Dirk’s. Dirk squints at him from the corners of his eyes, and John is grinning widely. “Good date?” he says.
Sighing, Dirk squeezes his hand. “Good date,” he says softly. He hesitates for a little, then adds. “It’s good to see you laugh.”
John smiles next to him, looking down at their hands as he starts to play with Dirk’s fingers. “Dad would’ve appreciated the prank.”
“I’m sure he would have,” Dirk says slowly. It’s been hard for him, trying to figure out the right things to say to a boyfriend that grieves over the loss of his father. He’s never been good at the whole empathy thing, but he does know that it has all been way harder for John, so he does his best. “I dunno if he would have appreciated landing our asses in french jail, but it sure makes for a good story.”
“Oh, are you kidding? You think the man that got kicked out of Cirque du Soleil, for life, wouldn’t appreciate me landing us in jail?” When John looks up again, he’s grinning, and Dirk’s entire chest feels warm. “He’d be so proud of me.”
“I’m sure he would,” Dirk says. He makes sure that the guards outside their barred door aren’t looking, then he leans in and presses a kiss to John’s lips. He didn’t know his father that well. But he knows that he himself is proud of John.
