burning_smile | for lala :>

Holy shit he was going to be sick.

Dirk Strider had never been a terribly anxious human being-- he was constantly calculating and scheming and thinking so that very little surprised him and very little had reason to make him sweat. But when things eluded that tireless calculation, he absolutely. Hated. It. Because it overwhelmed his senses in such an extreme way he just didn't even know how to cope.

So here he was, sitting in a vaguely uncomfortable leather seat on a private jet slowing to a stop on the tattered tarmac of Hellmurder Island, battling anxious nausea and sweating palms with a straight, if somewhat sharp, face. He grit his teeth carefully.

"Welcome to your destination in the middle of the ocean," the pilot proclaimed over the PA system. He was a friend of Dirk's brother's, so he hadn't been particularly formal for the flight. Dirk unbuckled his seatbelt and wobbled to his feet.

"Hellmurder," he explained. The co-pilot opened the door to the cockpit and peered out when they'd come to a complete stop. They each raised an eyebrow at each other. "...the island is called Hellmurder."

The pilot and co-pilot shared a chuckle before they got up and stretched the co-pilot opening the door of the plane and extending the little fold-away stairs beneath it. A rush of warm, tropical air filled the body of the plane and Dirk couldn't decide if it soothed his nerves or made him feel more sick. Holy shit, this was really happening. Somewhere out on that tarmac was his best friend of almost ten years and the boy that had made him realize he was pretty exclusively interested in men-- Jake English. Sure, he'd seen him before, but the differences between physical visits and tangible contact and video Skype calls were like comparing anime and Korean drama. Same concept on one level, completely different on another.

The co-pilot descended the stairs and hollered for Dirk, moving to the belly of the plane to extract the Strider's luggage. Dirk shouldered his small backpack and descended the stairs, firmly holding the railing.

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The Official Dirk Strider Welcoming Committee had been waiting on the balls of his feet for a good half hour now, bouncing and rocking with anticipation. Also tugging on his shirt collar which was a nervous tic that had already ruined a good number of shirts and definitely was threatening to ruin this one as well. He wondered briefly if he should change shirts but that would risk not being present when the plane landed and the last thing he wanted was to miss seeing Strider stepping solidly onto his humble island home.

He supposed it was normal to be a little antsy: it had been a little while since he'd seen someone alive and in person and after all this was his best pal in the world. And he'd never seen him without a pesky screen separating them. A couple of nerves were to be expected in such a situation, he thought. From the moment he caught sight of the plane, they were mostly drowned out by excitement anyway. Very manageable from that point on.

He hadn't even consciously thought about moving until he realized he had already taken off at a sprint towards the plane and the person stepping off of it, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"Dirk!!"

He froze on the second-to-last step, the co-pilot pausing in his walk toward Dirk with his luggage to watch the hurtling islander headed their way. He stopped and set Dirk's things down to wait, knowing that he'd get caught in the fray if he got much closer. He'd been given a very basic understanding of the situation-- Dirk, Dave Strider's younger brother, had been close friends with a boy that for some reason lived on an undeclared island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, for nearly ten years, and they'd never met face to face. So he supposed he could understand the excitement. Though he was a little perplexed by Strider's pale nervous fit. Jungle boy's shouting battering ram impression was much more expected.

"You gonna just stand there, or greet your friend?" He prompted gently from a few feet away. Jake was still thundering toward them, and Dirk turned his head partly toward the co-pilot, keeping his eyes on Jake's rapidly approaching form. His mouth went dry, jaw falling slack for a minute. Holy shit this was actually happening.

He allowed a grin to pull just one corner of his mouth up, then both, and it gave way into a full-fledged smile, teeth and all, and he jumped down the bottom two steps and threw his backpack (gently) to the ground, not even bothering to flashstep the remaining handful of feet between he and Jake. He'd never been particularly openly accepting of affection, but hot damn did he actually love hugs.

Even if this was more like a head-on collision.

It was exactly like a head-on collision. Jake gave no thought to slowing down before he reached his best friend and when Dirk stepped forward to meet him, he collided.

Hopefully Dirk is bracing himself for impact, otherwise Jake has just bowled them both over onto the ground in his joyous expression of affection. It doesn't matter which happens though because regardless of whether they are on the ground or still upright, Jake has got Dirk's waist wrapped up tightly in his arms. He's so warm!! He's breathing and stuff!! If he squeezes, Dirk's body gives just a little but then he's met with solid muscle and that's just fucking amazing...

"Cheese and fucking crackers, Strider, you're really honestly here...!"

He probably should have thought this through a little better. Because truthfully he hadn't properly braced for the human canonball hurtling in his direction, and he was too much of a reedy thing that vaguely resembled a freckly day-glow giraffe met with a stick bug to stand his ground when Jake got hold of him. So down they went, the wind getting knocked from Dirk as they fell but he didn't even care. He wheezed a little, smiling so hard his face hurt (which didn't take much, given he didn't honestly smile for much), immediately bringing his arms up to return the embrace. And screw up Jake's hair. And pull, and tug, and holy shit this was Jake and he was hugging him and they were in a funny little pile of teenage boys on the fucking tarmac of a deserted island.

It took him almost a minute to achieve any sound past his breathless wheezing, and even then it was soft in comparison to Jake's cadence.

"Yeah," he offered, tugging again at Jake's shirt and-- yep, he definitely just smooshed his face into your shoulder there, Jake. "And so are you."

Dirk's voice! He is listening to Dirk's voice IN. PERSON. It's wonderful, he wants to hear it again and again.

Jake laughs when his hair gets ruffled and grins with lots of goofy teeth at Dirk's smile.

"Of friggin course I'm here, you fantastic dunderhead!" he crows excitedly into Dirk's ear, which is lovely and right near him when he buries his face in his shoulder. He doesn't want to mess up Dirk's hair even more but he wants to see his face again soon, so he just pats and strokes at the back of Dirk's neck. "This is my home! And yours too for your visit!"

Jake smelled like dirt, which shouldn't have been a good smell, really, but somehow it was. Dirt, and a little bit of gunpowder, and probably a little bit of sweat but Dirk for once didn't mind. He might have been the slightest bit biased. There was the slightest of chuckles and he pulled his face away from Jake's shoulder, peering over the tops of his glasses (which somehow miraculously stayed on his face through the fall) to take all of Jake's face in.

...Which right now was pretty much entirely teeth, he was realizing. But a happy Jake was better than most alternatives, so Dirk found nothing wrong with a face full of excitable buck-teeth. Though he did sort of want to foist some breath mints off on him.

"I don't know that I'd go that far, bro," he offered.

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