Strikes and Ladders

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Home.

Davey's hands are pressing against his mouth hard enough that he thinks his nails are going to carve into his cheeks. Distantly, he hears who he thinks is Race saying something, asking something, speaking somehow. He feels his knees buckle, but a sturdy pressure on his back and chest keeps him steady. This warmth snaps him out of his panic and back to reality.

When he comes to, he is on the ground, with Spot in front of him and Race on his side and he is just getting control of his breathing.

"-eathe," he catches Spot's rough voice whispering softly into his ear, and he almost melts. "C'mon darlin' just take some deep breaths for us." And what can he do but obey? His breaths even out, the tears in his eyes dry up, and he looks at his friends. He's sure his face is red and blotchy and he's lost his hat somewhere in the chaos.

"'M sorry," is the first thing that escapes his lips as he pulls away from Spot and Race, mourning their touch in an instant. When they don't respond right away, he looks up, sees them having a silent conversation above him and assumes. "I- I'll go home. I'll find somewhere else to sell this weekend, somewhere in Manhattan, swear. Just make sure to talk to my regulars, tell 'em I aged out or... something..." They're looking at him. Race has his head tilted to the side, Spot has his eyebrows furrowed, and he can't decipher what either expression means. This worries him. He can usually read them so well.

"David..." Spot says, and Davey tenses. "You aren't goin' anywhere, doll."

"I...you're what?"

Race snorts. "I think that's my line, Daves."

Deep breath. "I feel like you guys know something that I don't, and I ain't a fan. Explain very clearly why the fuck you's are both smilin' after I just ruined everythin'?"

Another short laugh from Race. "Dave. Davey. David. Mouth, Daves, sweetheart . I'm sorry to say, but you might be the dumbest son of a bitch I've ever met." All this earns him is a deeply confused look from Davey and a smack on the shoulder from Spot.

"What my dumb fuckin' boyfriend means to say, is that we uh," He stammers, almost for the first time since they've met. "Like you too. A lot. We were plannin' on tellin' you 'round Christmas Time, right? Thought it'd be all... romantic. And stuff. I guess. Guess waitin' was dumb though."

"Then I saw you with Jack Kelly and I got. Jealous. Sorta. Sorry I freaked out on you."

Davey's head is spinning. "I. Uh. Sorry, I think I might be hallucinating. Did I hit my head on the way down?"

Spot raises an eyebrow, offended. "We'd've never let you fall like that." And Davey knows they wouldn't. They have caught him every time he's fallen.

"...oh. So you're tellin' the truth? You... you ain't messin' with me, there ain't anyone behind those storage crates waitin' to jump out and call me an idiot pansy?"

"...What? No, David, there ain't anyone waitin' to call you an idiot but us. And we'd never call you a pansy, except aff- a- uh. What's the word?" Race bites his lip slightly, thinking.

"Affectionate?"

"Yeah! We wouldn't ever call you a pansy unless we was bein' affectionate. "

Spot rolls his eyes. "You's are both so smart, but I think we's got some things to discuss, yeah? So focus up. Then you's can be nerds together."

"Bossy," Race mutters.

"Hey, he's the king, he can't help it!"

Spot shoves him. "You're one to talk, Mr. President." They laugh for a minute before quieting down.

"So you guys... you're bein' serious? You like me?"

Race nods, but Spot is the first to speak. "We love you David. Have for a while." Race slips a hand into one of Davey's and they smile softly at each other.

After a moment of silence, Davey looks around and stands up suddenly, pulling Race with him. He shrugs and follows. Davey stops and looks at Spot, still on the ground, and motions for him to follow. He does, of course. When a president tells you what to do... you do it.

So Davey, pulling Race by their interlocked fingers, Spot following them, walks into the room where they meet for the union, whirls around, and pulls Race into a kiss. He stops dead in his tracks, hands clenching and unclenching around nothing before finally moving to rest on Davey's waist. A few moments pass, and Davey pulls away, eyes wide. "Uh. I'm sorry. I didn't..."

Race presses a peck to Davey's cheek and grins like the cat who got the cream. "Shut up. You're fine. The only problem I had with that is that Spot was all the way over there during a very important moment." Their attention shifts to Spot, who is leaning casually against the wall of the room, smiling fondly. "We get it, you're aloof. Now get over here and kiss me," Race teases, motioning his boyfriend over. He shrugs and gently pushes off of the wall and wall and walks over to them, pressing a short kiss to Race's lips when he arrives.

"You's make a damn pretty picture over here. What can I say, I was enjoyin' the view." He turns to Davey, tilting his head up to look at him. Despite being much shorter than him, Spot had a presence. It made Davey feel like he should be the one looking up. "I think it's my turn, doll."

Davey flushes and tilts his head down, their foreheads pressed together. "Your majesty," he whispers, his breath ghosting over Spot's lips.

"Mr. President." Spot smirks as he gently grabs the back of Davey's neck and pulls him in.

Davey can't believe his luck. He is standing in between his two best friends, who love him back. Tall, lanky Race behind him, chin resting on his shoulder and arms wrapped around his waist. Sturdy Spot in front of him, one hand over Race's arm and the other gently cupping Davey's jaw with calloused fingers. A warm, fuzzy feeling blooms in his chest, quickly spreading to the corners of his mouth, the tips of his fingers. He's home.