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The first time he pulls that particular stunt, you can hardly do anything but stammer at him. Of course, there are a lot of situations in which you can hardly do anything but stammer at someone, and a distressing number of those situations involve one Dave Strider. He's good at making you stammer, and you mind a lot less with him than you do with others you could care to name.
The two of you are in the tiny abulation chamber of the apartment which you do not - quite - officially share. He's got the hinged covering down over the load gaper and is sitting on it, all narrow shoulders and knees and elbows sticking out at angles that don't really look comfortable, watching as you brace one foot against the counter and carefully apply dabs of lubricant at hip, knee, ankle, ball of foot. Once you've finished with that chore - neglecting maintenance on your legs can mean getting stuck back in the four wheeled device until Equius can find time to make repairs - and get your hands washed, he speaks up.
"Hey, Toreador, I don't feel like brushing my teeth tonight. Do it for me?"
You look over at him, the hydration dispenser still running and water dripping from your fingertips. "Uh, you, uh, want me to do, um, what?"
Dave smirks ever so slightly, and snags his bright red toothbrush from the cup on the counter. He holds it out to you, handle first, balanced almost precariously between two pale fingers. "Brush my teeth," he repeats, in that smooth tone of voice that you've learned to recognize indicates that he knows he's pushing boundaries and he hopes no one else has noticed. It's the same tone he used the first time he told you he was going to kiss you, the same tone he used that time he totally lied through his teeth to Vriska to get the two of you out of the Second Annual Nic Cage Film Festival so you could go spend some time together while John held most of the rest of the group hostage to his taste in movies.
You look at the toothbrush, then back at him in utter confusion. "Uh, Dave? Why?"
He shrugs, begins flipping the brush through his fingers. "Because I don't want to, and you'll sit around worrying your fucking huge horns off if it doesn't get done," he says, and you have to admit he kind of has a point; with the skill sets present in your group, tooth decay would be kind of a big deal, and you understand that Dave's already gone through the only replaceable set of teeth that humans get.
Not that you'd actually lose a great deal of sleep over it, though, and you're fairly sure he knows it.
"Besides," he adds, as if it's a logical argument in support of the most reasonable request in the world, "it'd be ironic as all hell."
He's not going to let up on this. And for all you know, this could be the kind of weird thing humans usually do with their matesprits - although you kind of doubt it, given how weirdly insistent about it he's being. But if he's that set on it... well, if it's too weird, you can always tell him to forget it if he asks again. No harm in indulging him occasionally.
You sigh, and hold out a hand to take the toothbrush. "Fine. If you, uh, insist."
Dave's grinning - or as close to a grin as a Strider ever comes - as he hands over the narrow, bristled piece of red plastic and jumps lightly to his feet. You carefully squeeze a little toothpaste out onto the brush, and, turning back to Dave, you hesitate a little before reaching out and carefully removing his shades.
"Hey," he objects, as you gently lay the sunglasses on the counter.
You shrug. "If I'm going to be, uh, sticking things in your mouth," you say, and blush mahogany, knowing all the ways that Dave's mind can and will twist that statement, "I want to be able to read your expression better."
Although he looks as if he'd rather like to argue, Dave just rolls his eyes. You're struck, not for the first time, by how much older he looks when you can see how saturated his eye color is. Not that humans work that way, of course.
You reach out, cupping the side of his face with your free hand, your thumb skimming idly along the curve of his jaw. "Uh, you're going to have to open up," you prompt, and for once he cooperates without having to get his own comment in.
Dave's teeth are very blunt and even - you knew this, of course, from watching him and especially from kissing him, but it's obvious in a whole new way from this angle. You lean in a little, brows knitting as you concentrate on the task, gentle sweeping motions across each surface of his blocky human teeth. The movements are odd and a little awkward when turned around to be used on another, but not unpleasant or uncomfortable.
When the foamy slurry of toothpaste begins to build up, you withdraw the brush and gently turn his face toward the hygenic basin. "Spit," you instruct quietly, and he does so, and you turn your attention back to his mouth.
You find that for the most part, you don't need to direct him verbally; Dave is relaxed, and it only takes a slight movement of your hand on his jaw, the brush in his mouth, and he moves with you, tilting his head up, opening his mouth further. Humans have more molars than trolls do, you discover with some interest; you have to reach further into his mouth to reach all of them. A smear of toothpaste is wiped against the side of your hand, and you ignore it.
Finally, you finish the strange task and carefully rinse his toothbrush. He catches you and kisses you, and he tastes of mint and Dave Strider, and you find yourself wondering if he will ask you to brush his teeth again.