Chapter 16: Preventative Maintenance
Dave’s breath hitched, a tiny, broken sound against Karkat’s neck. The trembling Karkat had been feeling through the thin fabric of his own t-shirt finally, truly subsided. It wasn't a sudden stop, more like the last ripple fading on a pond after a stone's throw. The rigid line of Dave’s spine, held taut with leftover tension and stubborn pride, softened all at once. He slumped, a complete surrender of weight into Karkat’s solid embrace, his face buried deeper into the warm crook of Karkat’s neck.Karkat didn't pause. His fingers, tangled in the mess of Dave’s blonde hair – still a bit sweaty from yesterday’s ordeal and the restless night – continued their slow, methodical journey. No agenda, just the soothing repetition of dragging blunt nails lightly over Dave’s scalp, combing through tangles with infinite patience. The sharp, artificial tang of hair dye mixed with the lingering, woodsy incense Karkat always burned.
"Good," Karkat murmured, the word a deep rumble Dave could feel vibrating through his own chest pressed against Karkat’s."Just like that. Breathe."
Dave sighed, a long, shuddering exhale that seemed to empty him entirely. He didn’t speak. Words felt like jagged rocks in his throat. The cool metal of his shades pressed awkwardly against Karkat’s skin, but Karkat didn't move away. He just held him tighter.
And then the kisses started.Not demanding, not seeking anything. Karkat pressed his lips to the top of Dave’s head, right where the hair was thickest. Another followed, a little lower near the crown. Then another near the temple, where Dave’s pulse still hammered, slower now. Each press was deliberate, warm, and undeniably affectionate. Karkat tilted his head just enough to kiss the ridge of Dave’s brow, right above where the sunglasses sat.
Dave flinched minutely at the first touch to his face, a reflexive tightening Karkat felt instantly. But Karkat didn’t pull back. He just lingered there, lips soft against the surprisingly delicate skin above Dave’s eyebrow. Dave went still again, then melted further, a tiny, defeated puff of air escaping him. Karkat kissed his other brow, the gesture feather-light.
"Shhh," Karkat whispered, his breath warm against Dave’s forehead."Got you.You’re okay." He planted another kiss, this time on the curve of Dave’s cheekbone, just below the edge of the shades. "Always so wound tight, Strider.Like a fucking spring."
Dave made a noise. It might have been a weak attempt at a scoff, but it came out muffled and utterly unconvincing against Karkat’s neck.
"I know yesterday was rough," Karkat continued, his voice low and steady, a grounding counterpoint to the frantic echoes of yesterday that Karkat knew were probably still ricocheting inside Dave’s head. The messy drop, the raw vulnerability Dave hated showing, the implicit demand hanging over them. "But you did good.Better than good." He kissed the top of Dave’s head again. "Didn’t you?Got through it. Pushed yourself."
Dave shifted slightly, a noncommittal grunt.
"None of that," Karkat chided gently, his fingers never stopping their rhythmic path through Dave’s hair. "Listen to me.I’m not mad.Seriously. Not even a little bit pissed off." He kissed Dave’s temple."Accidents happen. Drops happen. Especially when you’re trying so damn hard to prove…" Karkat trailed off, catching himself. Now wasn't the time for that argument. "Point is, you're okay.We’re okay. Right here."He felt Dave swallow hard. Karkat pressed another kiss to the side of Dave’s head, his lips lingering this time. The scent of Dave’s cheap shampoo and the underlying, uniquely Dave scent filled his senses. "I like having you here," Karkat confessed, the words quieter, almost lost in the soft strands of blonde hair."Like taking care of you. Even when you’re being a stubborn, oblivious pain in my ass." He punctuated it with another soft kiss on the cheek, near the jawline. "Which is always."
A tremor ran through Dave again, but it was different this time. Smaller.Softer.Not panic. Something loosening.
"Karkat," Dave mumbled, the name distorted against Karkat’s skin. It wasn't a protest. It was just… recognition.A sound pulled from somewhere deep and raw.
"Yeah," Karkat answered, his own throat tight. He kissed Dave’s hairline again."Right here." He squeezed him gently."You just stay put. Let me…" He couldn't finish the sentence.Let me hold you. Let me fix it. Instead, he just pressed another kiss, this one to the sensitive skin just below Dave’s ear. Dave shivered, a full-body ripple, but burrowed impossibly closer, his hands finally unclenching where they’d been loosely fisted against Karkat’s back. One hand slid up, fingers curling hesitantly into the fabric of Karkat’s t-shirt near his shoulder blade. A silent plea to stay.
Karkat hummed, a low, comforting sound deep in his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of Dave’s head, feeling the fragile reality of him pressed so completely against his body. The frantic energy, the defensive sarcasm, the desperate hetero posturing – it had all evaporated, leaving behind this warm, pliant weight that fit perfectly against him. Karkat traced slow circles on Dave’s back with his thumb, feeling the subtle ridges of his spine through the thin t-shirt. He didn’t push.Didn’t ask for more. Just held him through the quiet, punctuated only by their breathing and the faint, distant city sounds filtering through the window.
Dave’s breathing deepened, evening out into something closer to sleep than conscious thought. His grip on Karkat’s shirt tightened slightly, then relaxed completely. He was utterly still, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest against Karkat’s. The last of the brittle edges smoothed away, leaving only exhaustion and a profound, surrendered calm.
Karkat kissed the crown of his head one more time, letting his lips linger. "Good boy," he breathed, the words barely a whisper this time, meant only for the silence between them and the boy who, finally, seemed to hear them. He kept holding him, anchored in the quiet clutter of his apartment, the incense curling lazily around them, the world outside momentarily forgotten. Dave Strider, the effortlessly cool DJ, was breathing deeply in his arms, and Karkat Vantas wasn't letting go. Not for anything.
Dave’s eyelids fluttered open, the world swimming back into focus not as the chaotic blur of yesterday’s aftermath, but as the familiar, cluttered landscape of Karkat’s living room. Warmth radiated against his cheek, pressed firmly into the solid muscle of Karkat’s shoulder. The rhythmic thud of Karkat's heartbeat beneath his ear was steady, anchoring. Too steady. Too long. Reality slammed into him like a bucket of cold water. The incense scent, Karkat’s fingers still absently tracing patterns on his back, the deep, comfortable silence… it had been more than ten minutes. Way more. A slow, creeping heat crawled up the back of his neck.
"Shit," Dave mumbled, voice thick and rough with disuse. He jerked his head back, blinking rapidly behind his shades. The sudden movement made the cool metal of the cage press insistently against him, a stark reminder of the deal. "Karkat. What the hell time is it?"
Karkat didn’t startle. He just looked down at Dave, a slow, utterly satisfied grin spreading across his face, warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn’t need to check the clock mounted near the anime posters. "Past mandatory cuddle protocol, Strider," he rumbled, the delight evident in his low tone. "Way past. You were out like a light." He gave Dave’s shoulder a final, firm squeeze before releasing him, stretching his own arms overhead with a satisfied groan. "Surprise, surprise. Guess your body knows what it needs."
Dave scrambled backwards off the couch, putting a few feet of stained carpet between them, trying to regain some semblance of his usual detached cool. His face felt like it was on fire. "Just… just shut up and help me find my shirt."
Karkat chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated through the cluttered space. He pushed himself off the couch with effortless grace, crossing to where Dave’s rumpled band tee lay discarded on the floor near a pile of comics. He held the shirt out. "Arms up, sunshine."
Dave scowled but complied, raising his arms stiffly. Karkat tugged the shirt down over his head, his fingers briefly grazing the line of Dave’s collarbone, then lingering to smooth the fabric over his shoulders. The touch was deliberate, possessive. He then bent to retrieve Dave’s jeans, holding them open like a valet.
"Fuck off, Karkat," Dave muttered, stepping into the jeans and yanking them up with more force than necessary, wincing slightly as the denim brushed the cage. He fumbled for the button fly. Karkat watched, that infuriatingly knowing smile still playing on his lips. Dave jammed his feet into his worn sneakers without bothering to tie the laces. "Alright, I'm out. This whole mandatory aftercare thing is bullshit. Total power play."
"Uh huh," Karkat said, leaning casually against the doorframe leading to his tiny hallway, effectively blocking the exit. His gaze was soft, almost fond, studying Dave’s flustered state. "You looked pretty comfortable during the 'bullshit'. Practically purring." He reached out, not to grab, but to gently adjust the collar of Dave's shirt where it had folded under. His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin of Dave’s neck. "Just making sure you're put back together properly."
Dave batted his hand away, but it lacked its usual force, impact undone by the red flush across his face. "I'm fine. Stop fussing like a goddamn mother hen." He made to push past Karkat towards the apartment door. "Gotta go, class."
Karkat didn't budge immediately. He held Dave’s gaze for a heartbeat, the air suddenly charged. Then, swift and decisive, he moved. Not to block, but to step directly into Dave’s space. One large hand cupped the back of Dave’s neck, fingers tangling briefly in the short hairs at his nape. Before Dave could process the move, Karkat ducked his head.
Before Dave could process the move, Karkat ducked his head. His lips met Dave’s, not tentative or questioning, but warm and undeniably sweet. Soft pressure, lingering just long enough to bypass Dave’s frantic mental defenses. Dave froze, shades askew, the frantic energy draining out of him like air from a punctured tire. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped him, muffled against Karkat’s mouth – less protest, more surrender. His hands, raised halfway to push Karkat away, faltered, fingers curling loosely against Karkat’s chest instead.
Karkat pulled back slowly, his thumb brushing Dave’s cheekbone where the flush burned hottest. Dave stared, breath shallow, lips slightly parted behind the crooked shades. The cluttered apartment, the incense, Karkat’s steady gaze – it all seemed momentarily unreal. "There," Karkat murmured, his voice low and impossibly fond. He gently nudged Dave’s shades back into place with a fingertip. "Go face the day, angel. Try not to scare the normies."
Dave blinked, the familiar sarcasm reflex kicking in belatedly. "Uh. Oh. Yeah, bye." He shifted his weight, the cage a persistent, uncomfortable reminder beneath his jeans. He cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some semblance of detachment. "Class awaits. Probably already late."
"Text me," Karkat said, stepping aside finally to let Dave reach the door. His tone was casual, but the command was clear. "Let me know how you're feeling. After class." He leaned against the doorframe again, watching Dave fumble with the latch. "Or call. Whenever. Seriously." He paused, a hint of his usual teasing creeping back in.
The warm imprint of Karkat’s lips still burned on Dave’s mouth, a brand he couldn’t scrub away. His hand froze on the cold metal door handle, knuckles white. Words tangled in his throat – the usual sarcastic deflection, the denial, all jammed up somewhere behind his pounding ribs. He stared at the peeling paint on the door, the faint wood grain pattern, anywhere but at Karkat. The silence stretched, thick with incense smoke and the frantic thrum of Dave’s own pulse. His feet felt glued to the stained welcome mat.
"Dave?" Karkat's voice was low, a rumble laced with amusement. He hadn't moved from the doorframe. Dave could feel the weight of his gaze, the knowing curve of his smile even without looking. "Forgot something?"
Dave swallowed, the sound loud in his own ears. "Nah. Just... zoning. DJ brain. Tracks spinning." He jiggled the handle pointlessly. It was stuck, or he was.
A soft chuckle escaped Karkat, warm and intimate in the cramped hallway space. "Right. DJ brain." He took a single, quiet step closer. The scent of his cheap sandalwood soap and the lingering warmth of his skin washed over Dave. "Looks more like you're stuck on pause, Strider." Karkat’s hand, large and gentle, landed on Dave’s shoulder, turning him slowly, effortlessly, away from the door. Dave went, a puppet with cut strings, shades tilted, revealing the faintest glimpse of wide, startled red beneath.
Dave’s mouth opened, maybe to protest, maybe just to breathe. Nothing coherent came out, just a shaky intake of air. The flush on his cheeks deepened, spreading down his neck. He looked caught, exposed, the carefully constructed wall of cool utterly crumbled.
Karkat’s laugh this time was fuller, rich with affection and zero surprise. "God, you're sweet," he murmured, shaking his head. He didn't hesitate. Leaned in again, closing the scant distance. His other hand came up, cradling the back of Dave’s neck, fingers threading into the short, soft hairs at his nape. This kiss wasn't like the first brief, almost chaste press. It was slower, deliberate. Karkat’s lips were warm and insistent, moving softly against Dave’s, tasting him, asking without words. Dave stiffened for a split second, a final, feeble resistance, then melted. A low, helpless sound vibrated in his chest, muffled against Karkat’s mouth. His hands, which had hung uselessly at his sides, finally lifted, fisting weakly in the worn cotton of Karkat’s band t-shirt – not pushing away, but clinging. Anchoring. The cage felt suddenly irrelevant, a distant ache drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of Karkat’s kiss, the solid warmth of his body, the grounding pressure of his hand. The incense, the clutter, the faint hum of the city outside – it all blurred into a warm, encompassing haze centered entirely on Karkat’s mouth on his. Time stretched thin, snapped. Seconds? Minutes? Dave lost track, lost in the surrender. Karkat finally pulled back, just far enough to rest his forehead against Dave’s. Their breath mingled, ragged and warm. Karkat’s thumb brushed the sharp line of Dave’s cheekbone, his eyes, dark and impossibly soft, locked onto Dave’s dazed expression visible beneath the crooked shades. A slow, triumphant smile touched Karkat’s lips. "There we go," he breathed, voice rough. "Much better."
Dave stood utterly still, reeling, the world tilting on its axis. The cool metal of the door handle pressed forgotten against his spine. Karkat’s scent clung to him, deep in his lungs, on his skin, on his lips.
Karkat’s scent clung to him, deep in his lungs, on his skin, on his lips. The world outside Karkat’s door felt alien, impossibly distant. Dave’s hand, still gripping the cold metal handle, felt detached. His shades were crooked, revealing wide, stunned red eyes fixed on Karkat’s face. He couldn’t move.
"Cat got your tongue, Strider?" Karkat murmured, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. He hadn’t moved back. His thumb still traced the flushed curve of Dave’s cheekbone, the touch searing. Dave felt tiny tremor running through him, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers were still tangled in the worn cotton of Karkat’s t-shirt, knuckles white. He felt pinned, exposed, the lingering heat of the kiss branding him more effectively than any spoken word ever could. His usual arsenal of sarcasm and deflection lay in shattered pieces at his feet.
He finally managed a shaky breath, ragged and uneven. Words formed, dissolved, reformed uselessly. "I… uh… class."
Karkat’s chuckle was warm, intimate, laced with pure, unadulterated affection. "Class," he echoed, his voice softening. "Right. The bastion of education awaits." He leaned in again, not for another deep kiss, but slowly, deliberately. Dave stiffened instinctively, bracing, but Karkat merely pressed his lips against Dave’s forehead. A firm, lingering peck right above the bridge of his shades. It was possessive, grounding, and utterly dismissive of Dave’s frantic internal spiral. "Text me when you get there," Karkat said against his skin, the command gentle but absolute. "Let me know you haven't face-planted into a bush."
The slam of Karkat’s apartment door echoed in the too-bright hallway, a jarring full stop after the warm, incense-scented haze. Dave leaned back against the peeling paint, cool wood pressing into his shoulder blades. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the lingering phantom pressure of Karkat’s lips – first on his mouth, then that soft, devastating kiss on his forehead. It felt branded there. He touched the spot, fingertips brushing skin still tingling. His shades sat crookedly on his nose. Good boy. The words echoed, warmer than the sunbeam slicing through the grimy stairwell window.
He sucked in a ragged breath. City noise – brakes screeching, a distant jackhammer, someone yelling – usually scraped his nerves raw, especially after yesterday’s spiral. Yesterday, the sheer volume of existence felt like sandpaper on his brain, every flickering fluorescent light in the student union a personal assault, every passing conversation a chaotic roar he couldn’t filter. He’d fled to Karkat’s crumbling sanctuary vibrating like a plucked guitar string. Now? He pushed off the door. The jackhammer was just noise. The yelling, just words. The sunlight felt… warm. Not overwhelming. The tight band constricting his chest since yesterday morning had loosened, replaced by a strange, liquid calm spreading from his core. He took the stairs slowly, not fleeing, just… moving. Each step felt grounded, solid. The persistent ache from the cage was a dull background throb now, overshadowed by the impossible sense of… lightness. How the hell? He hit the sidewalk, blinking in the late morning glare. People streamed past – a guy juggling coffee cups, a woman laughing into her phone, students lugging backpacks. Yesterday, this current of humanity would have felt like a riptide threatening to pull him under. Today, it was just… life. Flowing. He could breathe within it. He straightened his shades, a slow, deliberate motion. The memory of Karkat adjusting them, that tiny, possessive gesture, sent another wave of warmth through him. He didn’t fight it. He turned towards campus, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. The world wasn’t too big. It wasn’t too loud. It just was. And he was walking through it, remarkably, impossibly okay. Better than okay. He felt… settled. Real. The ghost of Karkat’s fingers in his hair, the rumble of his voice, even the cage’s reminder – they weren't weights now. They were anchors. Dave picked up his pace, a small, genuine smirk playing on his lips. Yeah. He’d text Karkat. After class. Just to say he hadn’t face-planted. And later tonight, he had plans.