Go for a more hands-on approach

In for a penny, in for a pound. You thought as you got up, stretching. You figured there was no point in taking a slow approach, God knows for how long you've been trying that alongside Carrie. No, you needed to go for a more bold approach to stir him, which is exactly why you were rifling through Carrie's underwear drawer right now. Or rather, your underwear drawer. Which, to your surprise, contained an extensive collection of various shapes, colors, and styles of panties. Unaware that many even existed. Or that she owned all of them.

Still, you knew what you were looking for as you fished out your favorite item: a purple G-string with frills running around the crotch piece. This one especially gave you fond memories, as it was what Carrie wore during your first time together. If you still had a dick, you'd be getting hard right now. But you ignored the wetted sensations coming from within labia folds as you shimmied the G-string up your legs and around your butt. Realizing how utterly foreign it felt to have a piece of string flossing your butt crack, both uncomfortable and yet arousing at the same time. You mentally thanked the women of humanity for the daily sacrifices they made.

Of course, Dave wasn't going to be seeing it on full display. Your plan was to give him just a little taste, a little peak, a flash to burn into his memory before yanking it away just as quickly. You needed to stimulate him to action. He was not an ascetic by any means, and you knew that for a fact. Carrie would always complain about her panties going missing at times and you had personally witnessed him stealing her used panties from the laundry hamper after particularly severe altercation between the two. Probably to blow a couple loads into them as he cussed her name.

Throwing on a low rise denim mini skirt and a beige halter top, you sprung a couple poses in front of the mirror. Perfect. If you angled it just right, you could either slightly flash somebody from underneath your skirt or have the string poking out in the form of a "whale tail". You went to the kitchen to brew yourself a cup of coffee. A sip of which quickly informed you to add a hefty amount of cream and sugar. Carrie's palette not being able to stand the bitter taste of black coffee at all.

Dave was nowhere in sight, as always. He spent most of his time within his room, occasionally showing his face around for bathroom breaks or to pick up food. That being the time when most of his arguments with Carrie would occur. Something that you would need to break up. But fortunately those times were rare, as they'd prefer to just avoid each other. Dave camping inside his den. The den you'd soon have to enter.

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You crack open the door to take a peek inside. There he was, sitting in the far corner with his back turned towards you, scrolling through various posts and memes on his favorite imageboards. Namely 4chan, from what you gathered in his conversations with you. Thanking your stars he wasn't gaming now, it was far too difficult to peel him off his computer then. What with him being a competitive guy and all.

The room itself... wasn't pleasant to say the least. A faint smell of sweat and grime lingered in the air, very reminiscent of a man who had been running for hours. Or hadn't been showering for days. Dave being the latter. Bags of Doritos and cans of G-fuel littered his desk and his surroundings, clothes were strewn about the room, items knocked over left and right, dust accumulating on the surfaces. Even you were disgusted by this mess. Imagine if Carrie actually saw this, being the neat freak she was. Not that she ever did, preferring to stay away from this cave of solitude.

Dave only just now seemed to notice the presence of somebody behind him, stopping his mouse and pulling off his headset. "That you? Come in, I just finished reading an interesting theory on..."

He stopped, finally turning his head and noticing the individual standing behind him. It not being the person he expected. He hissed. "Carrie! What are you doing here?" He spat through his teeth. Your presence causing him to nearly shake in anger.

You didn't quite expect this, or at least this much animosity. Seems like Carrie did much more damage in her spare time than you knew about. You first had to pacify him.

"Chill. I mean, calm down," you corrected yourself, remembering Carrie's vocabulary. "I just wanted to come in to apologize for that incident."

"Which one?" He scoffed at you.

"The one three days ago in the hallway."

"And not the morning after where you barged into my room and accused me of stealing your underwear?!"

Shit. I mean, that part was probably true, but it didn't do you any favors to have Carrie blowing up at him like that. Especially when you were her right now.

"Uh, yeah, that too." You were almost staring at the floor at this point, not knowing what to say. Indeed, how do you continue like this? How are you supposed to act? Are you really going to pretend that your girlfriend's personality shifted overnight and tried to turn over a new leaf? Hmm... that could be an idea. "What I was meaning to say is, I had a conversation with my boyfriend and I realized what a... what a..." Come on, get it out! "What a bitch I was to you. I developed preconceived notions of you and projected my insecurities onto you."

You didn't know what the fuck any of that meant. Just that it was something that Dave told over a pint of beer when you had practically **** him to go out to a bar with you one day. Attempting to at least land a drunk girl or two to get him laid and potentially overcome his loathing of "modern-day women". Except instead he repelled any potential candidate that came up to talk to him with his rants. Not knowing when to stop.

"Well, at least somebody seems to have sense in your relationship. You're lucky to have landed yourself a boyfriend that can tolerate your shit. I would've kicked your ass to the curb long ago."

You're certain he would've kicked anyone to the curb long ago!

"Now stop bothering me. I'm about to play a game or two of League, so I need you to fuck off."

If your goal was to simply keep cordial relationships between the two, this might've been fine. But you needed more than that. "But I wanted to make up for it! Please, at least let me make breakfast for you. You need a proper meal, not sit around in your room holed up all day!" That much was true, with Dave certainly not being the pinnacle of health. Somewhat overweight, pale from lack of sunlight, unhygienic, unkempt and with a restricted diet. He was the pinnacle image of somebody whose health was going to crater in the forties.

"Like I said, fuck off," he shrugged his shoulders with a sarcastic smile on his face. "If your boyfriend wants to tolerate you, that's his deal, though mad respect to him for handling such a twat. But I'm guessing he's also getting tired of your shit, seeing how panicked you are. You ~better~ start finding your new ~suitor~, 'cause your looks have ~only~ a ~couple~ years ~left~." The last sentence was said in an almost sing-songy voice, a clear attempt to unnerve you, as he turned around and focused his attention back to the computer, indicating the conversation was over.

This won't do at all. Dave clearly didn't want to budge. You had one last weapon left. You were hoping you didn't have to resort to it, but it appeared as if he did, in fact, need a woman's touch.

"Please~" You breathed into his ear, grabbing his shoulders. He locked up, frozen in place. Perfect. Your intuition was right, for all his bravado in understanding women, he had no clue how to react to women invading his personal space. Panicking. Head spinning. Mind empty. "I would feel ~so~ bad if things remain this way between us. Won't you please let me make up?" Your voice at this point almost turning sultry as you powered through his scent of days-old sweat and cheap deodorant and slid forward, interlocking fingers around his damp chest and pressing your breasts forward against him. Stimulating the image as much as possible to overload his brain akin to shock therapy.