AU where Dave and Karkat are detectives and reluctantly paired up and UST happens
I really need to stop drawing random AU shit i’m sorry ;w;;;;
omg i really like this au?????
Karkat, I can’t handle your shoulder holsters.
this is the best picture
and also they are demonstrating good trigger discipline
dang :3 :3 :3
I will be writing this. like. soon.
i would like vomit with happiness if someone wrote something
what fresh sack of shit have I written oh well look at all the fucks I give
Doc Scratch isn’t the kind of serial killer you can get on your own, Karkat. You’re gonna need help.
That’s what she’d said, Karkat thought as he ran the cloth over one of his trusty M1911 pistols. Aradia always had a way, a sixth sense almost, about knowing things like this ahead of time. But gogdamn if he hated it sometimes. Hated the way she was right and he had no reason to protest that damn Strider’s presence in his life, even if it was just for this fucking Doc Scratch case.
“If you polish that shit any longer Doc Scratch will see us coming like a fucking beam in the night and pop an ironic bullet between your eyes before you can wish for a sweet bottle of aj.”
Karkat felt his teeth grinding together, and he shot the foulest glare he could muster to the doorway where his partner was leaning like some sort of arrogant god. Dave Strider… He was the cool guy in the division, all smooth rhymes and tight denim with ironic eyeshades even in the fucking building, but shit if Karkat didn’t want anything to do with that tight denim and sweet ass moves on the field that had promoted the man ten years past his projected tract.
“Shut the fuck up!” Karkat spat, shoving the weapon in his shoulder holster to match its twin on his right side. “Just because I take care of my guns doesn’t mean that you get to pontificate like a fuckass!” He stood, reaching over the bench and slamming his locker door. It bounced back open, and Karkat could feel the raised eyebrow Dave was sporting. “I could shit better storage equipment than this!”
“Dude, I don’t even want to hear about your bathroom issues. You can take that shit up with John since he just loves listening to people’s problems. Terezi said Aradia has a lead from our run last week, and I came - oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Karkat traced Dave’s eyes (as best as he could see them, anyway) to his locker door, where he had a poster of his favorite romcom. It was a work of art, really, with all kinds of quadrant vacillation, heavy swearing, and even a full-nude pan of Jessica Alba. The poster itself had her wrapped in a passionate embrace between two men, who were themselves looking at each other. Art.
“What the hot mess of fresh fuck am I looking at, Karkat?” Dave asked, putting a hand on his temple. “Actually, you know what, I don’t even want to hear about your romantic tirades again. If you want to be all over Jessica Alba, that’s your deal. Let’s just go and take a look at Aradia’s lead. Please God.”
Karkat slammed the door shut, feeling a hot flush rise to his cheeks. He opened his mouth to spew a finely articulated response, but Dave straightened from where he’d been leaning against the door, running a hand through his pale blond hair while turning. And for a moment, Karkat felt the flush in his cheeks deepen. In the motion, Dave’s jacket had parted, giving Karkat a nice flash of flat abs and concealed strength. “Fuckass,” he muttered, watching Dave maneuver through the halls like a cougar.
Time warped as he studied Dave’s movements through the air, his gun creating a bulge on his hip that shifted his jacket just enough to tease a view of more lean torso. His cologne lingered in the air for a few steps, just long enough for Karkat to notice and grind his teeth to keep from opening his mouth and saying something, foul or otherwise.
They left the building and headed for the department’s unmarked car, a black beauty that hummed of sexual prowess and irony almost as much as Dave did. Dave, who reached for the keys that were resting on the vacated checkout desk at the exact same time as Karkat. Karkat was ready to strife for this shit.
“Let go of the keys, Strider.”
“You fuck, I’m driving. Give me the keys.” His hand reached out and clenched Karkat’s, trying to part his fingers and reach the keys. Karkat growled, clenching his fist tighter.
“What is your problem? You drove last time, so it’s my fucking turn.”
“I always drive, you presumptuous sack of shit. Give me the keys.”
Karkat pulled his hand further, glaring into Dave’s red eyes through those damn sunglasses, his nose getting a full fucking whiff of that cologne shit Dave always wore. “You smell like a fucking French whore, Strider. Give me the keys. We’re driving with the windows down to air that shit out before I die in the writhing pile of lusus feces that is that stench.”
Dave frowned a bit, then suddenly smirked. Karkat narrowed his eyes; he did not like it when Dave got that fucking expression on his face. “That’s funny. Terezi told me you liked the smell of my cologne, Vantas.”
Karkat felt his face explode red in perfect time with his rage. His arm was starting to quiver, though whether that was because of his rage or because of Strider’s obnoxiously strong pull, he didn’t know or care. “You fucking shit, I could eat a can of alphabet soup and shit a better lie than that! I never said anything to Terezi about that!”
“Oh, you don’t deny it.”
“Please feel free to let go of the keys and go fuck yourself! I’ll sit here and wait, even!”
“Is that an invitation, Vantas?”
“An invitation to let go of the fucking keys and choke on the shit you’re spewing out of that trash receptacle you call a mouth!” Dave was closer now, and Karkat felt his fist grow even tighter around the keys when he realized he could see Dave’s eyes perfectly even through his shades, even at night. The body heat was radiating from his tight denim, the bulge in his pants so close - “Arrrrggghhhh! Fine, you’re driving you little shit! But only because I’m riding with my head out the fucking window so I don’t have to smell you or look at you or do anything remotely involving you besides riding in the same vehicle!”
Karkat released the keys, but it was a few seconds before Dave straightened. “Got it,” he said simply, turning and walking towards the car, and Karkat clenched his fists when he realized how hard he was breathing and how accelerated his heart rate was. He stiffly walked towards the other side of the car, ignoring Dave’s smirk as the bastard leaned on his open door, and got into the car to follow Aradia’s lead on Doc Scratch.
He hated it when she was right.