
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/679059.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dave_Strider/Karkat_Vantas
  Character:
      Dave_Strider, Karkat_Vantas
  Additional Tags:
      Caliginous_Romance_|_Kismesis, Tentabulges
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-10 Words: 2289
****** Pitch Imperfect ******
by argyle_avatar
Summary
     Meteorside caliginous pwp.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
The hilarious part is that the tenor doesn't even really change, it's the same
goddamn litany of fuck you you bulgemunch and I can't believe you're such a
fucking idiot, nooksniffer and a bunch of other things that are actually
really, really filthy if you pause for a second and swap in human words for the
troll ones.
When you unzip his pants he shuts up, breath catching mid-word, and that's
probably what gets you, frankly, his eyes slamming shut and his chest hitching
up and the way his mouth gapes open at the start of a word that you're pretty
sure was going to be "you fuckhead".
"There," you say, "Better," and smirk, and his eyes open and he says "Oh, go to
hell, monkey boy," and gets his hands down in your pants right back, which is
pretty okay even though he clearly doesn't know what to do down there,
squeezing in a half-confused way like if he just behaves like you've got a
troll bulge one will suddenly appear. Terezi's the only other person who's
gotten her hands on your junk before anyway, and the first time she gave
everything involved kind of a scientific poke and then started laughing until
you turned red in the face and kissed her to hide your blush and then she put
her nails to the back of your neck and wrapped her legs around you and oh sweet
jesus Karkat's shoving his pants out of the way and hitching himself closer
until his bulge is getting in on the action, the tip twining around the head of
your dick. You'd actually kind of forgotten this part, how it feels like a
giant wet tongue in a way that is both kind of gross and really awesome, warm
and sloppy and he's talking again, you really need to get him to quit that
bullshit.
Kissing seems best. When you sink your teeth into his lip he goes "Huh," like
you've advanced an argument he's going to have to consider, so you do it again,
get your hand in his hair and yank, and he's already breathing kind of hard,
hips rolling closer as you put both hands on his ass - not like you haven't
noticed that it's a nice ass - and pull him all the way onto your lap. His
bulge wraps around your dick, firm, the tip loosening and creeping down your
body. You grab it in one hand - it's already looking for nook and you're really
not feeling tentadick up your ass today - and cup your palm around the
arrowhead-tip, squeezing.
The noise he makes is awesome, but you'd never tell him that. He throws his
head back and you get your mouth on his neck. He blushes like a human, pink
instead of blue-green, and he marks up like one too when you suck at his skin,
red-purple against gray skin.
You fit your thumb over a mark right at the hinge of his jaw and press in, and
his eyes sharpen. "Fucking pervert," he says, roughly.
"Yeah," you say, evenly, and let go of his bulge to run one finger up the
outside of his nook, "Says the guy who's pitch for a monkey alien."
"Don't dignify this by talking quadrants to me, quadrants are the fucking
bedrock of Alternian culture, not getting bulgegroped in a broom closet by a
smug bastard who wears sunglasses in space -"
You tell yourself you're sick of that particular rant and push one finger
knuckle-deep into his nook, and he makes a soft, ridiculous sound, mouth
falling open, eyes closed as he rocks his hips into you, bulge dragging wet
along your dick in a way that does not make your breath hitch, does not make
your eyes want to close. You bite him instead, flat mammal teeth hard at the
curve of his shoulder, and say, voice mocking, "You hate my guts, Vantas."
He growls and snaps his teeth, eyes opening again. "You're moderately
irritating at most, you fucking nookblight." It would be more convincing if he
didn't go gaspy on the last word. The writhing soft wet tentacle thing
happening around your cock is both pretty damn great and nothing compared to
what it does to you to feel the way his breath hitches every time his hips rock
against your hand.
"Yeah," you say, sinking a second finger into him. "This looks super moderate."
You lean closer, and scrape your teeth along the long line of his ear. He
writhes, limbs going shocky and loose.
"Fuck you," he says, shoving at you, but it's mostly for the sake of
rearranging himself, and you laugh and say "Most platonic thing you've ever
said to a guy you're rubbing your bulge all over."
There are many things about your sex life that are almost too goddamn ironic,
and one of them is that you've got a much better idea how nooks work than you
would have if, say, you suddenly had to make sweet sweet love to a human chick.
In your largely Terezi-based experience, nooks are kind of shallow, they curve
to the front, and if you hook your fingers sharp forward -
Karkat actually whimpers, a lost needy little sound that goes straight to your
dick, and then he mutters something into your neck that is pretty much solid
heartfelt loathing, which also goes straight to your dick, because you know
that's the sound of him starting to seriously lose whatever flailing profanity-
laced excuse for control over himself he pretends to have. "Hmm?" you say, and
you fist your free hand in his hair again and start to rock your hips in
earnest, dragging your cock against the tight wet grip of his bulge. He bites
his lip and you yank at his hair again, harder, pulling his head back, and he
says, gritting the words out, "I hate a lot -" he stops, takes a shuddering
breath, keeps talking "-of people more than you. I hate the mayor more than
you."
"Kinky," you say. "Romantic hatepicnic by the duck pond in Cantown Park. You
gaze deep into his beady black eyes. A string quartet plays Rite of Spring in
the Gazebo -"
"Shut up," he hisses, and kisses you, just on the edge of actually biting the
shit out of your mouth. You crook your fingers hard again just to hear him
gasp, and the thing is that you could actually get off just from this. His
hands are clenched around your shoulders; he presses his face against your
neck, sweaty; he's making a low throbbing whine now as you rock your hand into
him, and you can feel his breath heavy on your skin, panting. It's unweildy as
fuck, your wrist kind of pinned between his thigh and yours so you can get at
his nook and his bulge can wrap around your cock and everything is kind of wet
and slippery and your fingers are so warm - he clenches down and his shoulders
shake and, yeah, you could get off just from this but you'd also like to be
able to move.
He's got you backed against the wall of this particular storeroom, gray knees
straddling your hips, so you take the hand that you're not currently using to
explore the mysteries of troll nook and kind of shove at his shoulders until he
gets it and goes. When you get him down on his back he goes the fuck insane,
claws digging into your back, head thrown back. He's got one foot braced on the
floor and one leg wrapped around your hip and you can feel his claws in your
tunic, sharp and dug in, and the whole apparatus of bulge and nook shakes and
clenches and tightens and you are going to lose your mind if you can't move
against him right the fuck now but he's actually got you too tight by the hips
to even try.
"Nook, you jackass," he says, "Now." and then opens his eyes and glares at you
when you just stare at him, confused.
"What?" you say, and he says "Your horrible human bulge, my nook, now, are you
suddenly sex-deaf, are you incapable of simple instruction -"
You bite his shoulder and work your fingers hard against the soft clench of
what you're pretty sure is a seedflap or a shameglobe or who the fuck cares,
really, it makes him throw his head back and push his hips up and bite his lip
in a way that leaves a row of little pointy dents. You get in maybe one good
thrust against him - oh fuck his bulge is slippery-warm around you - and then
he tightens his claws against your back and says, "Fuck you, I asked you a
question."
"Vantas," you say, "I don't have a creepy tentadick, it's not going to curl
right-"
"I don't give a fuck," he says, shoving up against you. "Just because you come
from a species -" another gasp as you shove your fingers hard into him - "that
isn't equipped correctly doesn't mean that you shouldn't make some kind of
goddamn effort to pail me you terrible shuntbrained asshole -"
"Okay, okay, jesus," you say, because it's not like you haven't wondered and
it's not like you aren't curious and you would really like him to stop bitching
for thirty fucking seconds so that you can maybe get off even a little. You
slide your fingers out of him, and ostentatiously wipe them on his shirt, and
he glares at you and then fits one hand down between you - he does a much
better job of navigating the gripping tangle of bulge then you do - and puts
his hand on you.
"Fuck, that's weird," he says, and his bulge sort of slides up and down you,
once, in a way that leaves you gasping, and then he lifts his hips and you are
shallowly, tightly inside. His bulge is gripped the rest of the way around you,
his face is pressed hard into your shoulder, fine little tremors are running up
and down his body.
"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to ignore that your voice is not quite even
under the strain because oh god you have never - this is not something that
you've done, it's new and it's tight and really, really warm and Karkat's legs
are clenching around your back. His arms are flung out hard on the decking,
fingers curled like he wants to dig them into the metal floor.
He rolls his hips up under you, face tense, and says "It's culturally
inappropriate as hell to ask that, Strider, yes, yes, I'm fine, just -" which
is when you grab one flailing wrist in your hand, shove it down, and say, close
and low and trying not to panic, honestly, "Not for humans it isn't, so if you
want more apebulge action you're going to have to ask the hell nicely,"
Yeah, that's not helping the Karkat-coherancy factor, here, because he bites
down hard on your shoulder and shakes harder under you and for real you think
you just felt him get wetter, and then he takes a deep breath and says, "Yes,
fine, sure, yes," and then when you shove his wrist down again he pulls you
close with his legs wrapped around you and says "Fuck yes please please" and
you cautiously thrust.
It doesn't line up right, you bottom out pretty quickly, it's just a little
back-and-forth that's mostly bulge and a little bit of nook and a whole lot of
bony hips digging into yours and teeth against your shoulder and noise, fuck
he's loud, and you have the presence of mind to shift and try to find, yes, the
soft yielding line of seedflap, he screams into your shoulder once, twice,
clenches so hard that you see stars, you let his wrist go and brace your arms
on either side of his head and just do it, let yourself move in the long line
of hot warm slick awesome goddammit this is Karkat Vantas you are probably
about to jizz all the hell over and he gets his claws in your hair and
scratches the other hand up your back under your tunic and yes. Yes. Hell the
fuck yes, you shove hard into him and come in a bright hot rush right as you
feel something sticky and soaking start to happen around you.
You're lying in a puddle. He's lying in a puddle. This is not your first run-in
with troll genetic material but wow, this is a lot of it, dude probably needs
two buckets and a couple of towels to do this properly.
It's probably been a while, though. Hell, it's probably been never.
His eyes are closed, his head is thrown back, he's panting. This is the closest
you've ever seen Karkat to relaxed. Your arms feel like spaghetti, you kind of
want to lay there for an hour and not really think about what a huffy jerk he's
probably going to be to you tomorrow.
He cracks one eye when you push yourself off him and flop onto your back, a
reasonable distance from the troll-human sex puddle. He doesn't say anything
for a moment, looking at you. You look back. It's just the human endorphins,
you're pretty sure, but you can see right now how in the right light you might
call him pretty.
He clears his throat and ruins it, thank god. "Don't get any ideas," he says.
His voice is low and raspy. "I still don't hate you."
"Yeah, yeah," you say, and roll close enough to prop your head on his shoulder,
which you're absolutely sure he will find infuriating. "I don't hate you too."
End Notes
     thanks to diatomatic for the joke and also for helping me with my
     shipping wall.
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