ah i really like to think about john and dave just hanging out, not doing anything important……………….
so it’s one of those lazy days were everything goes by slowly and just moving is a huge pain in the ass. dave’s laying on his stomach on the couch in a huge t-shirt and his boxers, and he has some mad fluffy bedhead and his cheek is all squished up ‘cause he’s laying on it.
he’s chillin’ out maxin’ relaxin’ all cool and watching a marathon of america’s next top model on mute. john’s playing some new piece on the piano down the hall dave always likes to listen. it sounds good. john makes a few mistakes and sometimes he hits a bunch of keys like he’s frustrated but dave likes those parts, too.
john was trying to be productive and get some practice in, but his brain is just a big pile of sunday afternoon mush. he slams both hands down on the keys (the universal signal for “i am done playing this piano”) grabs his weird store brand grape soda and gets up to go bother dave.
his butt looks so flat in those boxers holy shit it’s almost concave.
but it’s dave’s butt so it’s a good butt.
dave says thanks asshole.
dave is taking up the whole damn couch so john just plops down in front of it and unmutes the televi— DAVE WHAT IF YOU HAD A BUTT LIKE TYRA’S??
that’s your job, john.
ok john can accept that.
they sit there for a while and the sun starts to set, so everything gets golden and there’s dust floating around in the light and the room is warm and cozy. dave finally moves, just enough to reach out and start running his hand through john’s hair. john looks up and smiles at dave and he thinks maybe he should throw out an insult or something so things don’t get all scary and serious, but oooh dave’s got his sleepy eyes on and he’s kind of smiling back so john figures he can let it slide just this once.
he lays his head against the couch and dave’s rubbing the back of his neck with his thumb and two hot models are beating the shit out of each other on tv and life is kind of perfect.
