bi dave experimenting with his own (slightly future) self?
Running across himself isn’t new. He’s done it hundreds of times, in good and bad contexts. See: chucking his own body out of a window after a failed timeline. See also: receiving inglorious amounts of cash from his semi-future selves running the grandest capitalism stunts imaginable. (Garbage economic tactics, but that sweet green...)
And now, apparently, see: his own lanky body splayed out across the bed in briefs with one bare heel on the bed, knee pointed skyward, while the other thigh splays out wide. Current Dave purses his lips. Future Dave lifts an eyebrow in silent reply. Looks like he’ll have to break the ice himself.
Sure. Yeah, he’s kissed himself. Who wouldn’t if given the opportunity? He’s a good-looking guy, with nothing better to do with all his extra time than playing some tonsil-hockey with a Strider that knows his stuff. This is still a jump, pushed firmly into some gay shit when Future Dave jerks his chin up in the universal “c’mere, dude” gesture. Truly some broly (bro holy) shenanigans to be mitigated here.
“Got something you wanna tell me?” Dave tries, attempting to find some indication of when his futureself is from in his scars or mannerisms. Given that he’s stripped down, clothing is a non-indicator. Bastard. He still comes closer, beckoned to stand in the sort-of-space between the other Dave’s legs.
He shrugs, because Dave is never capable of making shit easier for himself, naturally. But, the dude does speak up, “I’m horny, I fucked myself in the ass about a week ago, I figured I’d pop back to close the loop.”
Nice to have it all laid out, but Current flushes to the tips of his ears with a merry little roast for Thanksgiving dinner overtaking the back of his neck. He needs to save face here. “Total bro moment, dawg. Love that you made the effort to slake mutual needs. Here to pop your chocolate cherry on my burgeoning wankrod?”
A beat of silence. Future Dave sags back against the bed looking at the ceiling in disgust, “That’s the single worst thing I’ve ever said. Fuck. I get why the dude I boned was so pissed off.”
“Did I blow it?” Dave asks, genuinely interested in whether he’s actually doomed a timeline here by being so hilariously on-point. They’re both aware that it’s happened before.
Mister Naught But His Drawers lifts his head fluidly, lips angled in that shitty way Rose’s pull moments before using some turn-of-phrase bullshit, “Nah, but you totally should. Let’s hop right the fuck into sandblasting your thrussy.”
The delivery is fucking immaculate. Dave cringes, hard, moving to pull his shirt over his head quickly. Anything to change the subject.
