#dexyholtz

I s’pose I shall pick a prompt from my list 

“I just want to make it stop!”

for @dexrarepairweek

“Holster, stop,” Dex protests. 

“No,” he huffs. 

When Holster decided to take them mini golfing, Dex had some reservations. First of all, Holster’s super competitive. Second, Dex hasn’t been mini-golfing since he was nine. Still, it wasn’t that hard to figure out how to putt. And the goofy smile Holster got when he was trying to “teach Dex the fine art of putt putt” was worth the laughs of bratty nine year olds. 

Now on the sixteenth hole, however, Dex is at an impasse. Holster is, theoretically, one stroke away from sinking it in the hole. Holster started using innuendo around hole ten, and now Dex can’t unthinking it. But that’s another matter. 

The real issue is Holster keeps flubbing. He’s eight strokes above par. And now he won’t stop readjusting his position and stance. 

“Seriously, Holster,” Dex says as he rubs his temple. 

“William, I am trying my best,” Holster banters. 

“You’re overthinking a kiddie game,” he says with a narrow gaze. 

“I’m doing the best I can!”

“I just want to make it stop. This is supposed to be fun!” 

Holster freezes. “You’re not having fun?” 

Dex blushes, averting his gaze. He clenches his fists around his club. “It was funny before. But you’re spending more time getting worked up about a stupid ball. I just…thought this was a date.”

He doesn’t look up when Holster puts a hand on his shoulder. But then Holster lifts his chin so their eyes can meet. His are soft and empathetic in a way that makes Dex’s stomach do somersaults. 

“It is a date,” Holster says softly. “Or it’s supposed to be. I’m sorry. I want us to have fun together.”

Dex nods hesitantly. 

Holster quirks a brow. “Wanna go grab smoothies?”

Dex balks. “We’ve got two holes left.” 

“If you’re not having fun, I’m not having fun.” Holster grins. “I wanna do whatever makes you happy.” 

He considers this for a moment. “Is it ok if we finish this first? I like watching you enjoy yourself too.” 

Holster kisses him chastely on the lips. “You bet your sweet hockey ass we can.”