A/N: IT'S BEEN MONTHS! But I am B A C K !

I sacrificed a bit of the build up for the sake of having it stay a oneshot, I hope you aren't too disappointed -Techars_Galaxy-!
Might be good to note that I will use a colder and more sarcastic version than my usual Old Sport.
Also, fluff focused!
Now sit back, relax and enjoy the show.
ALSO also, you know I had to put the song up there. I had to, otherwise I would have been executed. Rest assured that like many times before, the song does NOT represent the mood I am going for. (Thanks Nyan Neko Sugar Girls for being hell and heaven at once)

-


"Don't touch me."
When he first heard those words, he didn't know how to react.
No- it wasn't that Dave didn't often get to hear that, not at all.
Everyone said that to him.
People stayed away, stepped backwards when he came to close. They rubbed their arms and pulled faces when he accidently touched them while walking past.
Oh, there was nothing weird about people hissing these words at his face.
But...
... with Old Sport, it was different.
Old Sport never seemed disgusted or scared with him, he never stepped back when he was close to him.
So still being rejected hurt- and was confusing as well.
This man didn't hate him and he knew that.
Old Sport didn't hate him.
Old Sport DIDN'T hate him.
Where was the ISSUE!?
They killed children together.
What could be worse than that? Touching him couldn't be worse. No way.
And yet, when he wanted to hug him after the deeds were done, Old Sport's cold glare had stopped him dead in his tracks.
At that point he hadn't been able to say anything, all he could do was stepping back and let the Orange Man walk past him, away, out of the restaurant.
The feeling of a rip in his stomach didn't leave with him though.
It didn't leave after the clean-up.
It didn't leave when Phone Guy kept staring at him as he left the place as well.
Now he was sitting in a tree in front of his friend's home and it still burned inside of him.
What was wrong?!
Was it his smell!?
Couldn't be. The robots objectively smelled worse, yet the children had NO issue hugging them. Not to mention, since he found out that Old Sport would join him in the restaurant, he had showered regularly and brushed his teeth with bleach. He smelled like a fucking angel wing! Yes, he was OBJECTIVELY the cleanest thing at Freddy's!
But apparently that wasn't enough.
Why?
This wasn't FAIR!
He was on his best behavior!
Adjusting on the tree, he watched as the Orange Guy stared motionless at the glowing monitor. When he was in the cold blue light of the screen, he almost looked like a corpse, his breathing was unnoticeable.
Sometimes Dave imagined his friend as a corpse.
A thought that filled him with so much fear and anger that he instantly had to reject it again, forget about it and banish into the darkest corner of his mind, until, like a sore wound, he would return and poke around in it again.
If anyone would harm his Orange Baby, he would-
He would-
His mind blanked, full of black howling.
But no matter what, he wouldn't give up on Old Sport.
Never.
Slowly he reached out for the unhealthily pale face, trailing his fingers over the smooth surface of his skin, not detracted by the cold-
Except that he of course wasn't.
Firmly sitting on the tree he retracted his hand that had uselessly reached into the air.
Henry had shown him how to preserve bodies.
With a smile he had explained that it can confuse the forensic by a large margin, if you knew how to do it right.
Dave never had been sure how to feel about it. It was weird to have corpses around, but as long as they wouldn't have to deal with any insects, he was on board.
And one time... Henry told him to dance with one of them.
It still confused him, to this day.
Has it been a test?
The way Henry had smiled it certainly had given off that vibe.
Dave did whatever it took to keep Henry smiling, but- the man knew that.
Afterwards he explained to Dave, using the experience he made as an example, how exactly rigor mortis worked and how to get rid of it in order to make a body seem older.
... maybe the Purple Guy was too paranoid and it really had only been a way of teaching him about that.
...
... he certainly would dance with Old Sport.
Often.
His head hurt.
Finally the man on the sofa stood up and walked towards the television, deactivating it.
Now it was completely dark inside the house.
Thankfully, Dave knew his friend's routine to a T.
Quickly he went off, in order to crawl inside through his trusty ventilation system. There was no need to be especially careful, seeing as he was slippery enough to pretty much slither through the entire system, making no noise at all.
When he arrived in the closet, no noise came from inside of the room, a good sign.
Only a few more minutes.
Slowly the calming sound of regular breathing filled the room.
His signal.
Creeping out, he inched towards the bed, until he finally stood beside it, barely breathing at all in order to not disturb the sleeping figure.
It always made him smile.
For once Old Sport looked peaceful, the underlying tension in all his actions had finally subsided as he laid there.
Sometimes Dave wondered if there was a way to get into someone's dreams.
He felt locked out when those glowing dots weren't on him.
Reaching out to comb away a strain of hair which-
Don't touch me.
As if he got burned, Dave retracted his hand and rubbed the tips of his fingers, despite there being no possible way he could have hurt himself.
Again he reached out, letting his hand hover a few inches away from the man's cheek.
His fingers started burning up, it was as if stood next to a fire. The heat bit by bit crept up his arms, now his wrists we feeling weirdly burning too.
No.
No, he couldn't touch Old Sport without his permission.
That was- not possible.
There was no reality in which it WOULD be possible.
As lightly as he could he sat down on the bed besides him, watching him for the night as he would always do.
Listening to his breathing.
The burning cut in his stomach stung once more.
Yes, he would HAVE to get Old Sport to allow him to touch him.
Under all circumstances.
Five AM came around and Dave left to shower and resume his position in the tree, with some bread he had stolen out of his friend's stock. Munching on it he began to watch Old Sport's morning routine, a dance he knew too well.
Alright.
Day two of trying to be allowed to touch.
No issue.
He would manage!
When Old Sport finally was entering the establishment, he instantly jumped close to him, like a lovesick puppy. "Sportsy! There ya are! I missed cha! Ready for another day of fuckin' over the phone?"
A small smile appeared on the Orange Guy's face. "Sure am, buddy! I was BORN ready!"
See?
SEE?!
He wasn't disgusted- he wasn't- he didn't hate him.
Right?
RIGHT?
Before he knew what was happening, it poured out of him.
"Old Sport, do ya hate me? Am I disgustin' to ya?"
Surprised Old Sport glanced at him, in deep confusion at the sudden mood change. "No. Why are you asking?"
"Why don't ya let me touch ya then?"
The amount of pain in his voice took the other man aback. "I don't like people touching me."
"I mean-" It was hard for him to argue against that. "Why?"
"What's the issue Dave?" A hint of annoyance washed over Old Sport's expression, instantly filling the Purple Guy's mind with cold fear.
Even if the fear was unreasonable.
It probably was unreasonable.
Yeah, it was silly, he should- talk- about it...
"There- ain't no problem! Just bein' curious, that's all! Ya know me!"
Both sides looked at each other, uncertain what do think of the situation and what to do next.
Shaking off the odd tension, Old Sport rose an eyebrow. "What about the Phone now...?"
"Uh-- yeah! Time to get schemin'!"
"You sounded as if you had a plan already-" As these words left the Orange Guy's mouth, the guy's expression changed from a confused to a resigned expression. "... no idea what made me think that."
"Ah, c'mon, Sportsy! Plannin' is half the fun!" Dave reached to give him a friendly box, then froze before he could remotely touch the guy.
They stood there like that for thirty seconds until the Poor Orange was five minutes away from craving to jump and strangle the guy. "This isn't funny nor clever Dave."
"I- uh- sorry, Old Sport! I just- remembered I shouldn't and then I felt really awkward about doin' the gesture and thought maybe you'd do a fist-bump, before rememberin' that it would count as touchin' too-" Seemingly earnestly guilty he lowered his fist.
"Christ. You CAN give me a short touch without freaking out, I just don't want to be hugged. How hard is that to understand?"
"It ain't! It ain't at all!" Pacing around, the Purple Guy again and again shot him nervous glances. "Only tryin' my best to have ya be comfortable!"
"It makes me rather UNcomfortable when people walk on eggshells around me." Keeping him in his glare, Old Sport crossed his arms.
"Swear to ya, I'm not! I'm-" Their staring contest continued, until Dave finally looked away. "Fine I'm- I'll go into the saferoom for a minute, don't burn anythin' down without me, alrighty?"
Fleeing the scene, he wanted to curse at himself.
In the name of BREADBEAR, what was the issue here?!
He didn't NEED to touch Old Sport and he didn't NEED to make such a scene.
Uncomfortable he began walking in circles, his brain was buzzing with activity- he was overreacting, he knew, but he couldn't help it.
It wasn't that Old Sport wouldn't let him touch him-
It was-
Something else.
He would mess up, he would mess up and Old Sport would leave him behind-
Where was he right now?!
Panicked he stormed out to see Old Sport standing there, seemingly rather bored, a black sharpie in hand, surrounded by a gaggle of childer, all with a big fat L on their foreheads. Phone stood in front of him, giving him a lecture. He too had an L, this one on the back of his head though.
When seeing Dave, he lit up a bit and grinned, making an unspoken joke about the Phone and his relentless attempts to discipline his second most unreliable worker.
It always helped seeing the Orange Guy smile.
With everything.
Getting his handy dandy sling-shot out and grabbing the nearest mysterious scuttler, he shot the creature at Phone Guy, resulting in a screaming fit from his side as he attempted to get it off. This gave Orange Guy the chance to casually stroll over.
"Good job! I thought my ears were falling off and I don't have the necessary duct tape to fix it today. Can't ask for a loan from Matt twice in a row, he already took my balloon doggo."
No need to question that.
"Glad I could be of service for ya! Looks like he has been a bother!"
"The worst part really is that he has to censor every curse. It make me want to start screaming HELL from the top of my lungs." Dave had been staring at him with a wide smile and slowly OS was questioning his condition. "... you okay?"
Dave laughed. "OldSportWhyDon'tYouLikeToBeTouched- Sorry, kebab in my throat. What I MEANT to say was; are you READY for a new, completely touch FREE plan-"
Already sick of his shit his friend interrupted him right there. "Let me ask YOU a question. WHY is it so important for you to touch me? You were fine before, what has suddenly gotten into you?!"
Whining like a kicked puppy the Purple Guy walked around his orange counterpart, circling him. "It's- it ain't a big deal, I only wanna understand! Does it hurt ya, or...?"
"It doesn't." Resigned he followed him with his head as the purple guy paced around.
"Fine- do ya- feel ill when I touch ya?"
"It's my personal space."
Not pleased with the one-liner answers, Dave kept digging, a sudden worry popping into his head. "Do- do ya think I would hurt ya, Old Sport?"
It caught the other one clearly off-guard, he paused, finally seeming to genuinely think about it. His expression turned into a puzzled frown. "I- well- how do I explain the feeling... it is... invasive. It..."
Maybe it WAS fear of being attacked.
Someone forcing themselves close-
"... too overwhelming. I hate that. Sometimes you can't explain things, it's like asking why you enjoy kebab so much. Why stuff tastes good. Some people are different..." Uncomfortable he moved his hands around. "They put themselves above me and think they can touch me without my approval, they think they can do whatever and don't have to look out for me..."
"I wouldn't do that!" Shocked Dave looked at him. "Never! I wanna touch ya, because ya make me-"
Pausing he began stumbling a bit over his words. "- w-we're partners, ain't we? We should be relyin' on one another and we trust each other! Touchin' ya is... a way to confirm it for me! People... usually ain't too fond of me bein' close..." Unhappy he trailed off.
"... I don't like ANY sort of touch! From anyone!"
"But I ain't anyone, am I?" He had stopped moving completely, slight despair took over.
"You aren't. But can you blame me for not trusting you touching me? Not to mention, with all your screaming and the other stuff happening at Freddy's, I don't need the feeling of someone touching me on top of the mess."
"... if it'd be silent, would ya let me touch ya? Would ya then be alright?"
Oh, he knew where this was going and he wasn't sure what he hated more- Dave's continued insecurities or the thought of Dave touching him.
... he figured that maybe if Dave got to touch him for a few minutes or so, they could move on from this topic, instead of letting him stay this way for who knew how long.
Loudly he sighed. "Yes, then I would let you touch me. Shortly. Let's go to the saferoom and get this over with."
Perking up completely, a big goofy smile stretched on his purple undead face. Almost adorable if he wasn't a child murderer. "Imma make it quick!"
Sometimes Dave's sheer existence unnerved him.
Maybe giving this to him was actually a horrible idea.
... too late now.
Phone Guy was still busy, wrestling with the scuttler, so they managed to sneak off easily, locking the saferoom door behind them.
The difference between saferoom and restaurant was always jarring to Old Sport, no matter how often he went in here. From screaming and giggling to dead silence.
Calm and quiet.
Keeping a close eye on Dave he tried to prepare himself to have Dave's grubby hands all over him.
It would be fine.
A minor inconvenience.
They both waited for a moment, unsure of the situation, then the Purple Guy gave a sheepish smile. "Ready?"
Wordlessly Old Sport reached his hand out, offering it to his buddy.
Stepping closer, still smiling Dave reached out, not directly grabbing him, but rather connecting only the tips of their fingers.
All well and good.
It somewhat insulted Old Sport that Dave expected him to not be able to handle that. He could shake people's hands even if he preferred not to and he was perfectly fine with being shortly grabbed or pulled.
...
... it was really weird how careful Dave's touch has become now.
That he even was able to be careful with someone was baffling.
His fingers were oddly cold, but soft, a smooth surface.
"You feel... a bit weird." He noted, in hopes of breaking the odd atmosphere that had taken ahold of them. It wasn't normal for Dave to be this focused.
"Do I? Prolly because I burnt off my fingertips recently, so they couldn't prove it'd been me who had eaten their entire soap stock."
Was it worth questioning?
To hell with it, what did he have to lose?
"Why."
"The powdered donuts were out of stock and now my favorite way to kill the night is gone. Ain't nobody gonna take anything else with a suspicious amount of white "sugar" on it."
Okay, what did he expect.
"Ah. Yes, that makes complete sense." If sarcasm had weight, the building would now collapse.
"Glad ya agree!" Cheerfully Dave answered, his eyes still focused on the hand. Gently he grabbed it with his other hand, while slowly trailing upwards to the palm of the orange hand, drawing small circles onto it with his fingers.
Slightly the Orange Guy tensed up, unused to this sort of contact.
Unused to this sort of affection.
But unlike before, Dave seemingly ignored the signs of discomfort from his buddy... to be fair, he probably didn't even notice it. Lost in his own excitement, his breath was growing erratic and his hand slowly moved upwards, his grip tightening- not much, but now it was firm, Old Sport probably couldn't move away, even if he wanted to.
Now he was trailing over his arm, towards his shoulder, gently rubbing it.
Dave couldn't feel his cheeks anymore from all this grinning.
It made him feel so much better.
This made everything so much better.
The fact that Old Sport wasn't moving away- it made him happy.
It still wasn't clear to him as to why Old Sport didn't like this stuff- but he genuinely appreciated his willingness to tolerate his actions.
His hands wandered to his shoulders, finally both lied on him and his eyes wandered from his friend's body to his eyes.
Uncertainty on one end met a smile somewhat torn between cheeky and apologetic on the other.
The pause didn't last long, Dave already reached out to pet over his partner's cheek.
Protest died in the Orange Guy's throat, his brain wasn't really pointing him to the right course of action, and before he knew it, the somewhat chilly hand was on him, cooling him, making him realize how much he had heated up in the first place.
Honestly, this wasn't all that bad, technically.
Being gently caressed...
"... are you done any time soon?" The way Dave looked at him made him feel all weird and tingly, it wasn't exactly a bad feeling, but he disliked the intensity of it.
"It's just gettin' good, Sportsy!" Happily the guy responded, confirming Old Sport's worry that it would go on for another while.
"We're going to get in trouble with the phone..." Helplessly he tried to find some sort of excuse.
"Since when do we care what that ole screw thinks?" With his thumb he petted over his soft cheek, enjoying the comforting feeling of skin under his fingers. Smiling even wider, he leaned closer. "And you ain't THAT troubled with my touch, are ya?"
True enough, at this point Old Sport had lost most of the tension in his body, this was more uncomfortable because of the feeling in his stomach than because of the contact itself.
"I- well, it's still not the best thing in the world, but at least I know it's done after this."
"For me it sure is the best thing ever!"
There was something in the way he said it that made the Orange Guy feel twice as flustered. A sincerity that caught him completely off guard, hitting him straight to the core.
If he could, he would be looking away, sadly his face was firmly in Dave's affectionate grip.
At this point in time the guilt had subsided fully in that purple expression and the grin had become even bolder. "But... ya really want to go back to the Phone, eh? We wanted to play some nifty tricks on him anyways, didn't we?"
"I mean- yes- Dave, what are you currently planning?" Suspicious Old Sport stared him down, a gesture not really having any effect.
"What'cha mean what am I plannin'? Only to get my fill so I can quit buggin' ya!" There was NOTHING innocent on his face. Yes, it was as if he took an innocent expression and then inverted it, making all traces of the innocence disappear. The negative to innocence. "All I wanna do is one last thing and then I'm sure I'll be fine for a while!"
Torn between being desperate to be done with this and being mortified what Dave could have on his mind right now as "his fill" the Orange Guy struggled a little to decide on an answer.
"For the LOVE of god, Dave- hurry up and get it done." Now he might as well commit. "Really, if you'd-"
He was silenced by a kiss.
If the difference between restaurant and saferoom was already big, the difference in Old Sport's mind was enormous.
No thought managed to form, it was all colorful static between panic, anger and- something light and floaty, a pulsating in his chest.
By the Real Fredbear, this was too much.
Too much feeling.
Oh god, it was hard to breathe.
Wait- he WASN'T breathing!
HE WAS GOING TO PASS OUT-
After what felt like an hour, mainly because time seemed to have seized to exist, Dave stepped back, smiling at his, clearly a little red too. "Feelin' rather done! Thanks, Sportsy!"
Before he could get mauled by the emotionally repressed orange, Dave ran off.
It took a second, until Old Sport was able to get himself together enough to hunt after him.
One day he will be ripping that guy's head off, seriously!
For now though, he was stuck hunting him around, watched by a disgruntled Phone and entertained children, until finally both of them were caught by Mangle, who demanded to be brought socks, after having found out that many children wear them.
Poor thing wanted to be hip.
Oh well, at least it kept them from fighting for today.

-

A/N: I can feel my brain melt.
Help
Anyways, I am BACK bby
And I will try to write more often
I really need to get back into the mindset of "I will just write what I feel like and not worry so much".
Hopefully you guys enjoyed!
Still have like... a handful of one-shots in my backlog... but if you requested something, feel free to repeat that request, just in case I forgot to save it somewhere! I don't want to forget anyone!
Alrighty, see you on the next one!