
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4016758.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dave_Strider/Karkat_Vantas
  Character:
      Dave_Strider, Karkat_Vantas
  Additional Tags:
      Quadrant_Vacillation, Confessions, First_Time, Making_Out, Xeno, Oral
      Sex, Nook_Penetration, Cuddling, Flushed_Romance_|_Matesprits, Canon
      Compliant, Shower_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-26 Words: 8698
****** We'll Try And Make It Ours ******
by Zee
Summary
     Dave didn’t fall asleep on you this time, but he did let you put your
     arm around his shoulders for almost the entire length of the movie.
     Same as always, neither of you mentioned what was going on, you just-
     -went with it. Then the movie ended and you went your separate ways
     and you’re torn between feeling giddy from the closeness and wanting
     to cry from frustration.
Notes
     Thanks to ouroboros for the beta. The title is from "Our Way To Fall"
     by Yo La Tengo.
See the end of the work for more notes
You play it completely cool. You are chiller than the sadly empty hunger trunk
on this meteor. Dave Strider is falling asleep on your shoulder and you have
never been so relaxed in your god damn life.
In troll society, this would be seen as an act of ultimate trust, leaving
yourself especially vulnerable in front of someone else. You have no idea what
it signifies to humans, but you haven’t witnessed Dave falling asleep on anyone
else, so you suspect it means something. In fact, you’ve seen this happen in
multiple romantic comedies. Surely Dave has too. Surely Dave wouldn’t be doing
this, no matter how sleepy he is, if he weren’t aware of the context.
“Your shoulder is bony as shit,” Dave says, and despite being 100% chill your
whole body goes rigid. You hold your breath, but Dave shifts away only to give
himself room to scoot further down the couch, and then he’s leaning down again
and--oh fuck oh fuck, he is putting his head in your lap now. Be fucking cool,
dammit.
Dave is making himself comfortable, his ear resting on your thigh, and this is
textbook fucking pale but at the same time, you kind of want to kiss him. And
do… other things. You continue to hold your breath and will yourself not to get
turned on.
You curse yourself for being so terrible at quadrants. This is well within the
range of the pale shit you’ve already been doing, the moirallegiance that
you’ve been afraid to call out as such because you haven’t wanted to scare Dave
away. You shouldn’t be getting off on this. You haven’t been aiming for Dave as
a matesprit, right? No, instead you’ve been projecting your desire for a
moirail all over his possibly-normal-by-human-standards friendship advances,
which is maybe just as bad.
You sicken yourself. But nonetheless, Dave’s head is still in your fucking lap,
and it’s--really nice, actually, now that you’ve had a couple minutes to get
used to it. You’re not tired at all, but you’re pretty sure that Dave is
genuinely falling asleep on you. You relax a fraction. You don’t want to do
anything to jeopardize this moment.
Dave’s head gets heavier and his breaths slow down and you have not been paying
any attention to this movie for at least the past fifteen minutes. You’re
pretty sure that he’s dead-ass asleep now. You listen to his breathing and
watch the way his chest rises and falls. You feel hopelessly fucking endeared.
You’re pretty sure that what you’re feeling is red, but you try to push those
thoughts from your think-pan.
His hair is so pale, so unbearably alien, and it looks soft. You only hesitate
a little before touching it lightly. Dave doesn’t stir, and you pet your hand
through his hair a couple of times. Humans still look strange to you, even
after all the time you’ve spent with Dave and Rose and all the human movies
you’ve watched. You let your hand linger on where Dave’s horn would be, if he
had horns.
He looks fragile, even though you know he’s not, he’s god tier and could
probably take you any day of the week. But seeing him like this makes you feel
strangely protective of this supposedly-ironic rapping tool. He’d only be fit
for a culling on your home world, that’s certain, same as you. This line of
thinking makes your blood pusher speed up uncomfortably, an echo of the old
death sentence you used to live under, as distant and extinct now as Dane Cook.
You watch the rest of the movie with your hand in Dave’s hair and--you can’t
help it--a smile on your face.
***
“Mmmrfl,” Dave says when he wakes up, lifting his head and wiping at his chin
like he’s afraid he was drooling on you. “Aw, damn. Did I miss the thrilling
conclusion?”
“Just more cutting social commentary from one of the best comedic minds of his
generation,” you say, and you’re rewarded with Dave’s full-body shudder. Other
than that, though, he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he pushes himself up on
his wrist and gives you a lopsided smile, and you’re familiar enough with
Dave’s smiles by now to know that this is as close as he gets to grinning
outright.
“You make a pretty decent pillow, for a species that’s supposed to be all about
conquering and pillaging shit.”
“Fuck you,” you say easily. Shit, you’re smiling back. You try to scowl and
just end up with pursed lips and a knitted brow. You almost definitely look
fucking stupid.
Dave is just looking at you, and the silence draws out long enough that you
start to feel awkward. You busy yourself with shutting your husktop and tucking
it under your arm. “Not all of us got to refresh ourselves with a nice nap in
someone else’s lap. I’m fucking beat.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch you later.” Dave gives you a funny little wave, which
you return as you stand up.
“Later,” you say, and the word feels tight in your chest.
***
Dave shows up at your respite block bright and early, and it’s not completely
out of nowhere but it’s still a surprise. He says he has some new beats that he
wants you to listen to, and you bite your tongue against asking why it couldn’t
wait until you’d come out to the common area, because it’s not like you’re not
happy to see him. You invite him in, and he sits down on the floor over by your
recuperacoon, holding out one earbud.
You’ve started touching each other more. You noticed this before he fell asleep
on your lap, but it’s been especially obvious since then. You’re never certain
how much is okay for you to initiate. You sit beside him now, with your knee
touching his, and that seems to be fine. You take the earbud he’s handing you
and listen.
You like Dave’s music. It took you a year to admit this, but you do. The rhymes
he comes up with really aren’t bad, and you like his beats. You even admitted
to finding them ‘fresh,’ once. You get that he mostly makes it to be ironic (or
that’s his cover story, at any rate), but it’s still enjoyable.
The two of you sit like that for a while, just listening. Sometimes Dave will
make comments, like “aw man, pay attention to this part, this is just
sicknasty” or “this shit was tricky, I’m still not sure I like the bridge.” You
can tell when he gets really nervous about a song because he won’t stop
talking, trying to explain his process or some shit, and you have to tell him
to shut the fuck up and let you listen.
Halfway through one of his songs, you put your hand on his knee. It’s a bold
move and your blood pusher is in your fucking meal tunnel the whole time, but
you’ve just been sitting here wishing for more contact and nothing’s been
happening and Dave apparently feels comfortable putting his damn head in your
lap and passing out, so: hand on the knee. Shouldn’t be that big a deal, or so
you tell yourself.
He reacts by putting a hand on your knee, which, fuck. Now you’re sitting here
with hands on each other’s knees like a couple of douches and you’re starting
to feel really fucking stupid but at the same time it’s pretty awesome. Dave
taps his middle finger to the beat, you think unconsciously.
The song ends, and he’s the first one to pluck his earbud out. “So yeah, there
you have it, my latest masterpiece. Your hearing fronds must be flat-out vibing
off the hook from how good that shit was.”
“They’re just called ‘ears,’ dickhead,” you say. “And it was all right, I
guess.”
“Just ‘all right’?” Dave takes the hand that’s not (still!) on your knee and
places it on his chest in mock outrage. “You wound me. You slay me. I bust my
ass putting this shit together, I raise these beats from when they were infant
beats who couldn’t even take care of themselves, I nurture and foster them
until they’re the illest business you’ve just heard, and all you can say is
‘all right’?”
“Fine!” You forget yourself and throw both hands in the air, and now you’re
flustered because you’ve accidentally broken the spell of having your hands on
each other’s knees. “It bowled me over. It shattered my ‘hearing fronds’ and
liquified my guts and left my shame globes aquiver. That what you want to
hear?”
Shit, why did you have to mention your shame globes? You’re a fucking moron,
but Dave rolls with it. “My goal is to leave a trail of quaking shame globes
across paradox space, just like, a whole universe of dudes with shaking
ballsacks. So thanks.”
You want to tell him off for being gross, but technically you’re the one who
brought shame globes into the equation. You roll your eyes and wonder if it
would be weird for you to put your hand back on his knee. Probably.
As you’re debating this, Dave removes his hand from your knee and stretches his
arms out, yawning. His left arm invades your personal space and you scowl,
annoyed. Shit though, is he tired? Your mind races to thoughts of inviting him
to take a nap with you. Except that fuck, you don’t have a pile. You could make
one, maybe? You think you have some stuffed animals or something around here
somewhere--
But it’s too late, Dave is already standing up. “I’m fucking starving, gotta
get me some of the awful horse shit we like to call food around here.” He turns
and extends a hand to you, and you take it, hoisting yourself up. You can’t
tell if his hand lingers in yours for a few seconds after, or if you’re
imagining things. “Wanna come with?”
Your mouth tries to break out into a smile without you giving it permission
first, and you quickly duck your head and turn it into a scowl. It’s fucking
stupid to be so pleased at such a casual invitation. It’s just--you know from
the movies you’ve been watching that sharing a meal with a human has a romantic
context sometimes, doesn’t it? “Sure, why not,” you say.
You leave your respite block together and head to the common room. You’ve got
the echoes of Dave’s song running through your head.
***
You don’t really know what to do.
You’re in your respite block, having just returned from watching another Dane
Cook movie (you need to do a better job of rationing those out, it’s not like
he’s made that many films and you still have a year left on this rock) with
Dave. He didn’t fall asleep on you this time, but he did let you put your arm
around his shoulders for almost the entire length of the movie. Same as always,
neither of you mentioned what was going on, you just--went with it. Then the
movie ended and you went your separate ways and you’re torn between feeling
giddy from the closeness and wanting to cry from frustration.
You strip off your clothes and climb into your recuperacoon, staring up at the
ceiling as you let it envelop you. You’re not an idiot. You know there’s
something there between you and Dave. You’ve never had a friendship like this
before, where there was this kind of physical closeness. It’s more than just a
normal friendship, you’re sure of it.
But you don’t know what it is if it isn’t friendship. You didn’t think that
humans did moirallegiance, but Dave is acting like your moirail. You also
didn’t think that Dave did the “homosexuality” thing, but maybe that was just
John’s particular weirdness.
You’re not even sure you want to call out what’s been going on as particularly
pale, because then Dave might want to stop. But it feels wrong, to be getting
all these pale benefits from your relationship with him when he likely doesn’t
even have any idea what he’s doing to you. It reminds you of something Eridan
might do, projecting romance all over someone without their consent.
And then there are the flushed feelings that you’ve been trying so hard to
stuff away into the darkest recesses of your thinkpan. You should just get used
to ignoring those forever because there is no fucking way that Dave
reciprocates.
You don’t want to complicate things by vacillating on him. Best to keep things
in the pale zone, where they pretty much already are.
You groan and sink further down into the sopor slime of your recuperacoon. So
you've got a moirallegiance that you're afraid to call a moirallegiance, and a
weirdass human moirail who seems to enjoy flirting with you in other quadrants
just to fuck with you. You should probably tell him that that’s what’s going
on, and you can only hope that it won’t result in him keeping his distance
forever.
***
You go to Dave’s respite block the next day. You feel like your whole skeleton
is jangling with nerves, and your mouth feels sticky and dry. You’re terrified
of rejection and you’re not sure you want anything to change, but the thought
of getting through this whole interminable meteor trip with Dave thinking that
you’re just good bros makes you want to throw something.
You get to his door and knock, resisting the urge to shuffle your feet or rub
at your neck. He answers and immediately grins when he sees it’s you, and that
makes something happy and good uncurl in your stomach.
“Hey there, look what the lusus dragged in,” he says, and you pull a face at
him. This is a new thing he’s been doing, using troll words randomly and
incorrectly just to bother you. In this case he’s actually right, though.
“Shut up,” you say, and refrain from calling him any names because you’re here
to be serious. “I need to talk to you.”
“Mi casa es su casa,” he says, and when you just stare at him he says, “That
means come in,” and opens the door wider to let you in.
“It’s not fair to bust out other human languages on me, I have a hard enough
time understanding you as it is,” you say, sniping at him half-heartedly as you
enter his block. It’s messier than yours, which is saying something.
“I gotta represent the whole human race, not just ’murrica.” he says. More
references that are lost on you. “Don’t want all our languages to just be lost,
you know? Gotta make sure the Tower of Babel wasn’t built for nothing.”
“Whatever,” you mutter, because if you made Dave stop and explain every
whacked-out human reference he dropped on you, you two would never talk about
anything else.
Dave turns and sits down on the raised platform he sleeps on, gesturing for you
to come sit next to him. “So you wanna talk? Let’s talk. Hash shit out, man to
man. Or man to troll, I guess.”
You’re too tense to keep up with Dave’s neverending flow of word vomit. You
just nod and go to sit down, scooting back until your shoulders are against the
wall.
“Man, for someone who came here to talk, you sure are quiet. What’s the matter?
Have you finally figured out that Dane Cook sucks and it’s breaking your brain?
Did you finally ask Vriska to be your kismepal and she turned you down?”
“Oh my fucking god.” You didn’t come in here with the intent of yelling at him,
but Dave is too fucking much. “Don’t be an asshole, you know I’m not into her
that way and you know that’s not what it’s called.”
“I’m not gonna admit I know troll quadrants until you admit how much you like
all the T Swift songs I’ve been playing you,” Dave says. The corner of his
mouth lifts up in a smirk.
“For fuck’s sake, asswipe, did I or did I not say that I was here to talk? I’m
trying to be serious.”
“Fine, fine. I’m listening.” Dave crosses his arms over his chest and leans
back against the wall next to you, until your arms are touching. He’s sitting
much closer than he has to be, it’s a big bed, and that gives you hope.
“Right. So.” Shit, you really should have practiced this speech; you have no
idea what to say. “As you’ve probably noticed, things between us have been…
different lately.”
“Different how.”
“Different as in--” You swallow, fighting against the dryness in your mouth.
You’re swiftly reaching the point of no turning back in this conversation. “--
we’ve been touching more. Like you falling asleep on me the other night.”
“Oh. That. You didn’t like it? Shit, I didn’t drool on you, did I?” If Dave is
at all perturbed by the way this talk is going, he isn’t showing it. You know
by now that Dave isn’t nearly as good at keeping his cool as he likes to
present, but he’s still less flappable than you are, and it still makes you
jealous sometimes. Like now.
“No, no it was fine. I, um. I liked it, actually.” Fuck, your cheeks are
burning. This is the most awkward conversation of your life and you think if a
threshecutioner were to suddenly materialize to cull you in this second, you’d
welcome it. “That’s kind of what I’m trying to say. I like it and I like you.
And all this fucking cuddling and shit we’ve been doing, it… that means
something, for me.”
“Yeah? What does it mean?” Dave’s voice is quiet, now. You can feel him looking
at you, but you’re staring fixedly at the opposite wall. You don’t think you
could continue if you had to stare at your reflection in his stupid shades.
You take a deep breath. This is the fucking moment of truth and you’re not
ready, you’re braced for him to laugh in your face and throw you out. “It means
that you’re my. My moirail. If you want to be.”
Shockingly, Dave is actually quiet for several moments, processing it. You
swallow and sneak a glance at him, and he’s no longer smirking or smiling. He’s
just regarding you, looking as serious as you feel.
“Moy-rails,” he says finally, slowly. “That’s the bro quadrant, right?”
Fucking shit, you have explained this to him a thousand god damn times. “For
fuck’s--”
He raises a hand to stop your rant. “No I know, I know it’s not really about
being bros, but. Kind of, right? It’s not one of the quadrants where you bump
uglies.”
You breathe out through your nose, calming yourself down. You’re not sure where
this is going. “Right.”
Dave goes quiet again, and right when you’re feeling ready to strangle him just
for something to happen, he speaks up. “Okay. So you’ve interpreted this whole
thing through your troll culture. Let me give you the human spin on things.”
Despite your best intentions to be serious and earnest and god damn romantic,
you find yourself rolling your eyes. “Please, enlighten me.”
“In Earth terms, when one person cuddles up on another person and holds their
hand and puts their arm around them while watching a movie, all that shit? That
shit that we’ve been doing? Generally speaking, that means that the peeps in
question are heading into decidedly non-bro territory.”
Dave is looking at you like he’s just declared something definitive and
important, and you’re having a hard time catching up to him. It’s definitely
clear to you, though, that he’s not interested in moirallegiance. You shrink
back away from him. “So what--what are you trying to say?”
A little line is starting to form between Dave’s eyebrows, a tiny indication
that maybe he’s getting as anxious as you are. “I’m trying to say--you know,
fuck it,” and then he’s leaning over and reaching up to cup your jaw and
kissing you.
It’s brief. You’re too surprised to kiss back, and Dave doesn’t really give you
the chance to before he pulls away. That line between his eyes has gotten
deeper, he looks kind of genuinely upset, and you’re fucking shocked that you
even have the capacity to make him look that way.
“Not to be totally obvious about it or anything, but what I’m trying to say
here is that I want to be your fucking boyfriend, not your best cuddle friend,”
he says, his voice actually rising a little bit.
You suck in a breath. This revelation has you dizzy and you need some time to
process it but you recognize the mood Dave’s in, his hands clenched in his lap
and his shoulders a hard line: he’s ready to bail on this if you don’t do
something, fast. You grab his wrist and pull him in, and it’s less of a kiss
and more you mashing your mouth against his, but it works; he stays, his
muscles softening as he leans into you.
You kiss for longer this time. His mouth moves against yours and it’s good, the
pressure is good and the feel is good. It’s kind of awkward with the two of you
sitting right next to each other though. Your neck is strained and you’re
worried there’s a cramp forming in your back. After you’ve been kissing for a
while, you curl one knee under yourself and swing your other leg over Dave’s
lap, shifting your weight until you’re straddling him.
“Whoa,” Dave says, but he obligingly puts his hands on your hips.
“Shut up,” you tell him, but there’s no heat in your voice. You bend down to
kiss him again, your hands on his face and his shoulder. You try opening your
mouth a little bit this time, and he does too, and his breath is hot and humid
against your lips. He tastes a little bit like the cereal he must have eaten
for breakfast, but mostly he just tastes like nothing, like skin.
His tongue in your mouth is good. He’s very proactive with it, licking at your
teeth and your lips and brushing the tip of your tongue with his. You don’t
really have to do much, you’re just kind of sitting there while Dave takes his
time exploring your mouth. His hands are settled on your hips, his fingers
digging into your sweater. It feels like everything in paradox space has been
compressed to the points of contact between you, and your fingertips are
tingling where they’re touching his hair.
You spent so long thinking that Dave Strider annoyed the shit out of you, and
then longer thinking that he was one of your best bros, and now he’s this and
it’s almost too much for your poor addled think-pan to handle. Even when you
were talking yourself into asking Dave to be your moirail, a part of you was
still surprised that he tolerated your presence, let alone seemed to like you,
and now he’s biting at your bottom lip and dragging his mouth across your
cheek. You’re having a hard time processing it, and you hope it doesn’t show in
anything you’re actually doing.
Dave kisses a line down your jaw and fuck, he seems so damn smooth and sure of
himself, has he done this before? You kind of want to ask if he’s done this
before, but you don’t want to interrupt him so you keep your fucking mouth
shut. He’s sucking on your neck now and that’s definitely going to leave a
mark, but you find that you don’t mind--you kind of like the idea of everyone
knowing that you’re his matesprit, although you don’t know if Dave would also
like that. He’s kind of weirdly private. You suppose you can be, too, but only
about your blood color.
You shift, and holy shit, is that his bulge that you’re feeling through his
pants? It’s not moving, which is weird, but it’s hard where the rest of him is
soft. If you can feel his, that means he can probably feel yours, too. You
shift again, and he makes a little grunt against your neck. His hips press up
into yours and yep, that is definitely his bulge. It’s a little uncomfortable
and a lot exciting to grind against him like this; you’re not sure how far you
want to take it.
He draws back up to kiss your lips again, softer this time, like maybe he’s
running out of steam. It hasn’t escaped your attention that neither of you have
moved your hands. His are still set chastely on your hips and you haven’t
touched him anywhere below the shoulders. Maybe you’re both just too nervous.
It’s kind of a lot, to go from best bros to matesprits like this, and you would
never admit this out loud to Dave, but you kind of want your first time to be
special.
Maybe he feels the same way, because after giving you a few more sweet kisses
he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. He’s panting a little bit,
and so are you. Both of your hips have stopped moving.
“Damn,” he says. “That sure was, um. A lot, right?”
“Yeah,” you say, and wow, is that really your voice? It sounds breathy and high
and completely unlike yourself. You swallow and try to speak normally. “When
you said you wanted to be my human boyfriend, I guess you weren’t kidding.”
Dave laughs, and rakes his hands up your back. You can barely feel his stubby
human nails through the fabric of your shirt. “I really wasn’t. I wouldn’t kid
around with something like that, man.” He kisses you again, just a soft peck,
and you smile.
“Good. I’d have to do something unspeakable to your bulge if you had been.”
Shit, maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned his bulge. You shift your hips back so
that you’re situated more on his thighs than directly in his lap.
Dave laughs. “I mean, I want you to do unspeakable things to my bulge,” he
says, and fuck everything but you blush at that, you hate yourself. “Although I
don’t have one of those, by the way. If you’re going to be getting all friendly
with human anatomy, you should know what it’s called.”
You snort and roll your eyes, trying to save face. “Why don’t you illuminate me
then, fuckhead?”
“Don’t call me names after we’ve just made out, that’s rude,” Dave says, and
actually reaches up to tap your nose, like he’s chastising a woofbeast or
something. You rear back snarling and open your mouth to let him have it, but
he’s already talking over you. “Human male junk is called a dick or a cock or a
boner, or a penis if you want to get all technical about it. ‘Penis’ is sort of
an inherently hilarious word though, so I tend to stick with the other words.”
You vaguely remember hearing him mention dicks and cocks before, usually in the
context of when he’s drawing them. You want to ask for more details, mainly
like what it looks like, but that’s going back into territory that you’re not
sure you want to explore right now. “Why do you need so many words for it?”
Dave waves a hand. “That’s a linguistic question for the ages. There aren’t as
many words for female anatomy, at least not ones that are as fun to say. I
think it’s probably because humanity has been phallus-obsessed for like,
thousands of years.”
“Your species is so weird.”
“What can I say, that’s humans for you.”
You lapse into silence. His hands are idly rubbing at your back, like he might
not even realize he’s doing it. It feels nice, though. Your hands are still on
his shoulders and you run your hands over his cape, smoothing over the wrinkles
caused by you clutching at it.
“Wanna watch a movie or something?” he says, breaking the silence.
“Sure,” you say, and then because you’re feeling magnanimous you add, “You can
choose, if you want.”
“Fuck yeah, I’m so sick of Dane Cook’s scrambled-eggs face,” he says, and you
don’t even have enough fight in you to defend Dane Cook. You just smile and
slide off of Dave’s legs, settling in next to him on the bed as he grabs his
computer.
***
Being matesprits with Dave is not so different from being his best friend. You
still do a lot of the same things you did before, watching movies together and
listening to his raps and reading troll romance novels aloud. But there’s a lot
more cuddling now, a lot more hand-holding, and it feels more natural now than
it did before. You feel weird about all the cuddling at first, because it seems
like something more appropriate for moirallegiance than matespritship, but who
the hell are you going to ask about that--definitely not Terezi or Vriska or
Gamzee, and Kanaya has her hands full with Rose. The impression you’re getting
from Dave is that his concept of human ‘boyfriends’ includes elements of both
the pale and red quadrants. It’s pretty strange, but you like it too much not
to just roll with it.
And you’ve been making out all the time, of course. You think you could
continue to do this for a million sweeps and still never get tired of kissing
Dave. You start kissing him pretty much any time the two of you are alone, and
it always gets to a point where the two of you are panting and grinding up
against each other and then you stop.
It’s the best kind of torture. Your bulge is almost always at least partway out
whenever he’s around, and you’ve been going to sleep turned on and frustrated
but exhilarated. You’re certain he’s been going through the same thing. He’s
gotten into the habit of taking his shades off while you make out, and he’s a
lot more expressive when you can actually see his eyes.
The first time he took his shades off was the second time you made out. It was
in the common room and the public nature of everything sent an illicit thrill
through you, although no one was around since it was the middle of the night.
You were underneath Dave on the couch, feeling giddy at the way his whole body
pressed up against yours. One minute he was kissing you, then the next he was
pushing himself up on one arm and reaching up to yank off his shades with his
other hand, placing them carefully on the coffee table within reach.
He looked at you and your breath left your lungs. You had known that he had red
eyes, but it was one thing to know and another thing to see.
He was just so pretty. His eyes made him seem a little less like a human and a
little more like a troll, and you were into it. Before you could think to stop
yourself, you were reaching up to trace the faint indentations under his eyes
left by his shades. He started like he was surprised, but made no move to stop
you. When he smiled at you, you could see it in his eyes, and he went with it
when you pulled him back down for a kiss.
That incident was probably as heavy as things had gotten between you, with Dave
on top of you and grinding down, but it was interrupted by the Mayor walking
in. Neither of you have made a move since to take things beyond kissing. You’re
not entirely sure why; you just know that when you’re in the heat of things and
he’s kissing you, as exciting as things are it scares you to take things any
further. You think it’s your lack of experience that’s tripping you up. After
all, despite all your reading it’s not as if you have any practical experience
with doing things with another troll, let alone someone of an entirely
different species.
You’ve been thinking about this a lot, probably too much. Considering that
you’re not even getting any, sex has been on your mind almost constantly. You
try to imagine what Dave looks like naked when you touch your bulge at night,
but you can only conjure up the haziest images. But you can imagine the look
that would be on his face when he’s fucking you with his bulge--with his dick,
and that’s usually enough to get you off.
So it strikes you as funny that when the time actually comes, you don’t think
at all before you’re making a move. You’re making out in his respite block as
usual (you always end up in his, since he has the convenient soft raised
platform and you just have your recuperacoon and the floor), with him on your
lap for a change, and it occurs to you that you’re overly warm roughly a second
before you’re stripping off your sweater.
“Oh hey, wow,” Dave says. This is the first time either of you have removed
clothes during a makeout session, and his eyes go a little bit wide at the
sight of your naked chest.
It makes you self-conscious. “I was just hot,” you mutter, and go back to
kissing him. Dave seems to enjoy that he has more of your skin to touch,
because he runs his hands up and down your back and lets his fingers linger on
your sides, brushing at the grub scars over your ribs. It almost tickles, but
you swallow back any giggles that threaten to escape.
It’s not long before Dave leans back away from you and says, “Well fuck it,
guess I’ll follow suit.” He tugs his cape and hood off, and then he’s stripping
off his top. His chest is smooth and pink and there are these two little nubs
on his chest. You don’t want to kill the mood by asking what the hell they are,
but you’re intensely curious. You touch one with your thumb and it makes Dave
suck in a sharp breath between his teeth.
“Those are, um, sensitive,” he says. He rubs his thumbs over your scars again,
and it feels good but also weird. No one has ever touched you there before.
“Those too,” you say. You pull him into you and kiss at his ear, at his
jawline, all the way down to his collarbone. There’s all this skin that’s now
open to you.
“Oh man,” Dave mutters when you swipe your tongue along his neck. His hands
travel lower on your back until they’re--holy shit--sneaking under the
waistband of your pants, feeling along the top of your ass. Then he moves one
of his hands around to the front, so that it’s palming the crease of your hip
and your thigh. If he moved it just so, he’d be touching your bulge. You feel a
little bit like you could explode at any second.
Not one to be outdone, you slide a hand inside his god tier pajama pants and
squeeze his ass. He jumps a little bit, but pushes back against your hand.
You’re touching his skin below the waist and it feels like you’ve hit a point
of no turning back. You can feel part of your think-pan panicking, trying to
overthink this the way you do everything else, but you furiously squash that
part of yourself because you’ve got Dave’s ass in your hand and his bare skin
under your mouth and you just want to go with this.
“Do you want to--?” you ask, too flustered to finish the sentence, but
thankfully Dave is on your level.
“Yeah, yeah,” he pants out, and then he’s rising up on his knees. You let go of
his ass and lean back, and he’s fumbling to pull his pants down, his face
flushed and his lips parted, and you’re trying very very hard to not just faint
on the spot because this is it, you’re getting to see him naked.
His dick doesn’t look much like a bulge at all. It’s thinner and hard and
rounded at the tip, and his shame globes are hanging underneath it where his
nook should be. You know you’re staring, but you can’t really help it. It
looks--nice, really good in fact, plenty arousing to you even though it’s also
so clearly alien.
Dave is breathing hard and you know that this must be a big deal to him. You
wrap a hand tentatively around his dick and he stiffens, but doesn’t stop you.
He puts his hands on your shoulders and bends his head, staring down at what
you’re doing. You’re not really sure what you’re doing; you tentatively move
your hand up and down and he makes a soft, closed-mouth sound.
“Does that feel good?” you ask, because you need a little guidance, here.
“Fuck yeah it does,” Dave says, and you’ve never heard his voice sound like
this before, strained and shaky. It’s kind of a huge ego boost, knowing that
you can make him lose his cool like this. You grin and move your hand again,
getting something of a rhythm going, and Dave flat-out fucking moans. He pushes
his hips into your hand and there’s a little bit of wetness coming out of the
tip of his dick, which is a comfort because it means that at least you have
this much in common with him, even if the wetness is clear and not red. You
slick up your palm with it and it makes it easier to move your hand.
Your own pants situation is getting pretty uncomfortable. Your own bulge is
completely out and moving, writhing against your boxers. After a minute you
take your hand off Dave’s dick, ignoring his small noise of protest, and put
your hands on his hips instead, pushing him off of you. “Here, I need to take
these off.”
It’s awkward. He has to move completely off of you to give you room to remove
your pants, and unlike his which just had an elastic to be pushed down, you
have to undo a belt and a button and a zipper. You have to scoot down on the
bed and lift your hips up to take them off, and by the time you’ve finally
kicked them off your ankles Dave is blatantly staring.
“Oh wow,” he says, which is annoying because you’ve been able to restrain
yourself from commenting on his alien biology so the least he could do is
return the favor. But he only gives you a second to feel self-conscious about
your nakedness before he’s reaching for you, his fingers wrapping around your
bulge and his thumb rubbing up the underside of it.
It sends a sharp spark of pleasure up your spine and you groan, letting your
head fall back. He’s holding it so gently, like he’s afraid to get too rough.
“You’re so wet,” he says. “And--prehensile.”
The annoyance returns. “No fucking shit,” you snipe. “That’s how it should be,
bulgelicker.”
A slow grin spreads across Dave’s face. “Bulgelicker, huh?” he says, and when
will your mouth stop getting you into such trouble?
“I was being--” facetious, you start to say, but swallow your words because
holy fucking shit, Dave is leaning down and running his tongue over the tip of
your bulge.
“What--what are you doing?” you manage to croak out, even though it’s kind of
obvious. Dave has the tip in his mouth now, sucking lightly. You can feel
yourself curling against his tongue.
He looks up at you. “I just wanted to see how it tastes,” he says, and he’s
teasing you, but there’s also a heat in his eyes that makes your blood pound.
He licks a long stripe down your bulge, from the tip down to the base, and this
is so not normal, you have only ever heard of trolls doing this in the kinkiest
blackrom pornography, but maybe it’s different for humans? They don’t have
fangs, after all.
But with Dave doing it to you now, you can’t imagine why it’s not more common
among trolls, because it feels amazing. His lips are warm and slippery and when
he takes you in his mouth it’s pretty much the best thing you’ve ever felt. He
slides his mouth down your bulge until he’s swallowing most of you, and when
you look down you can see his lips open around you.
He lets your bulge slip out of his mouth, staring at you curiously. “Oh hey,
you’ve got, uh. Another thing.”
Leave it to Dave to almost ruin the moment with tactless observations. “That’s
my nook, moron.”
“Huh,” Dave says. He brings up his hand and hesitates a little bit, looking at
you. You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking permission for but you nod
anyway, and he slips a finger up inside your nook.
“Oh, fuck,” you say, because you can’t help it, it feels so great in a way
that’s opposite from how it felt to be inside his mouth. He adds another
finger, stretching you out, and that’s even better. You reach down and paw at
his hair, his shoulders, letting your head fall back as he moves his fingers in
and out of you.
“Jesus, Karkat,” Dave says. He’s moving back up your body now, removing his
fingers from you and reaching up to cup your cheek instead. His fingers are
dripping with red liquid from you, and you don’t even mind that he’s getting it
in your hair.
“I really want to, um. Be inside you,” Dave says, and you don’t have the heart
to mock him for his romance novel phrasing because he’s bright red and it’s the
most earnest you’ve ever seen him look. There’s not a god damn thing that’s
ironic about him right now, and you love it.
“Fuck yes,” you say, your legs spreading beneath him. He settles in between
your legs and you lift up your thighs, wrapping them around his hips.
His dick fits inside your nook like it was always meant to be there. It doesn’t
feel alien at all, it feels right and deep and perfect. He starts moving, just
shallow thrusts at first, but you feel it vibrate through you all the way down
to your toes. He pushes himself up on his wrists above you and starts fucking
you in earnest and it’s unreal, a rhythm that drives its way inside of you and
liquefies your think-pan. You tilt up your hips and move in time with him and
he lets out a broken noise that you wish you could captchalogue and keep
forever.
With the angle you two are at, you can make eye contact while he fucks you.
It’s good, it’s so good, this is exactly what you always wanted your first
flushed time to be. He’s staring down at you helplessly, his hips moving into
you and your hips moving into his, and you can feel his dick reaching sensitive
spots inside you, spots that you’ve never been able to reach with just your own
fingers.
Your bulge is flexing and curling on your stomach and with the hand that’s not
holding onto Dave’s back, you reach down to squeeze yourself. Between Dave’s
dick reaching deep inside you and your hand on your bulge, you’re going to come
soon, and there’s no bucket anywhere. The thought thrills you for some reason.
What you’re doing is illicit and alien and doesn’t have anything to do with
drone season, it’s just you and Dave, breaking taboos and doing what you want
regardless of what your home society would think of it.
“Dave, ahh, I’m going to come,” you manage to gasp out shortly before it
happens, your genetic fluid spilling out of your nook and drenching both of
your hips. You convulse through it, waves of pleasure rolling up your body and
shorting out your thoughts. It’s good, it’s so good, somehow Dave’s presence
makes it so much better than the orgasms you’ve had on your own.
“Oh my god,” Dave says, pausing in his thrusts. “Dude, are you okay?”
You are collapsed back against Dave’s pillows, every muscle in your body lax.
“What? Yes, I’m fine,” you manage to pant out.
“Okay, it’s just that you’re all--jesus, is this really normal?” Dave says,
looking down at the liquid that’s now soaking into his sheets.
You glare at him. You can feel the warm afterglow of your orgasm seeping away.
“You’re ruining the fucking moment.”
“No wonder you guys have the bucket thing,” Dave says. “Sorry, I’ll stop, it’s
just--a lot.” Dave wraps an arm around your thigh and lifts it up, pressing a
kiss to your knee. You feel a spike of affection run through you, making up for
his annoying interjection. “Back to the program.”
He starts fucking you again and somehow it feels even nicer now: your body is
so loose and relaxed and he’s just going for it. It’s beginning to cause a
pleasant ache inside you. You lie back on the platform and touch his forearm,
stroking lightly up and down his arm while he works up to his own climax.
It’s not long before Dave gasps and shudders, his thrusts getting erratic. You
guess that he’s coming, and you must be right because he goes entirely rigid,
his fingers digging into your leg, before slumping down on top of you, his
breaths coming in deep gasps.
You wrap your arms around him, stroking his back as he breathes against your
chest. You can feel him slip out of you, leaving an emptiness behind. There’s a
thin layer of sweat on his back. You feel utterly spent.
Eventually he rolls off of you, but grabs your hand to maintain contact. “Shit,
I’m gonna have to wash these sheets. Actually I may have to burn them, they may
be beyond saving.”
You curl your fingers into his. “Oh shut up, the mess isn’t that bad. Besides,
you contributed.” You glance down at yourself for the first time. “--oh my god,
your genetic fluid is white?”
“Do not even try to tell me that that’s weirder than yours being red. Jizz
should not be the same color as blood, man, forensic scientists shouldn’t be
coming in here and going, did someone just get some or were they brutally
murdered? There should be a very distinct delineation between those two
scenarios.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you say, but there’s no heat behind it. You roll onto your
side and press a kiss to Dave’s shoulder. You’re not really sure what to say,
here. Maybe you don’t need to say anything.
Dave seems to feel the same way, because he stays quiet. His hand comes up to
stroke over your shoulder, soft easy touches that make you feel warm and safe.
You lose track of the time, but after a while the mess of genetic fluid on both
of you has dried, and it’s pretty gross. Dave seems to be thinking the same
thing, because he sits up and stretches, asking, “Want to hit the shower?”
You blink up at him. “What, together?” It would never have occurred to you to
go to the standing ablution trap with someone else, but Dave gives you a look
like you’re slow and nods.
“Yeah man, getting all squeaky clean together after you’ve boned is like, a
classic romance trope. Do trolls not do that? Weird.” He stands up and offers
you a hand, which you take, letting him pull you to your feet. He’s still naked
and you’re still naked and it thrills you, that you can be this comfortable
around each other. It’s a physical easiness that you’ve never experienced with
anyone else, because you’ve never had sex with anyone else, and you love
knowing that you’ve crossed that bridge with him.
He distracts you from your sappy thoughts by leading you to his ablution trap,
hand still in yours. You wait for him to get the hot water running and then
step in gingerly after him, shuddering when the spray hits you.
Dave turns to you with soap in his hands, and before you can ask him what he’s
doing he’s putting his hands are on you, soaping up your chest and belly. He
pays particular attention to your scars, rubbing soap bubbles into your skin in
circular motions. Then he reaches lower, soaping up the slit that your bulge
comes out of and reaching lower, brushing your nook. You hiss a little bit.
“So your junk doesn’t always come out to play, huh?” Dave asks, curiously.
You shake your head. “It only extends when I’m aroused, the rest of the time it
stays retracted,” you say, trying to sound matter-of-fact even though what
Dave’s hand is doing is, in fact, making your bulge pay attention.
“Oh hey, look at that,” Dave says when he notices the tip of your bulge sliding
out. You give him a glare and lean away when he slides his thumb over it.
“You’re making fun of me, stop it,” you say, and he looks abashed for a second
before his hands are back, running down your shoulders to your elbows.
“Nah man, I was just trying to go for round two. Not doing a very good job, I
guess.” He kisses you and you kiss back, mollified. You reach down to his dick,
touching him experimentally, and you can feel him starting to get hard again in
your hand. Round two doesn’t sound so bad.
Dave leans down to kiss at your neck, his arms wrapping around you. You love
this fixation that he seems to have with kissing you there. He uses his teeth,
too, biting carefully at your skin and then harder when you moan.
You are so flushed for him that it’s ridiculous. You don’t know how you got so
lucky. You give up on touching his dick and just wrap your arms around him,
hugging him close. The water streams over both of you, washing the remnants of
the first time you had sex down the drain.
“I really like you,” Dave says, mumbling into your shoulder. You pull back to
look at him and he looks embarrassed, his cheeks pink, but he holds your gaze
when you meet his eyes. You put your hands on his cheeks, holding his face.
“I really like you, too,” you say, and you kiss him. He pulls you in close to
him, his hand fisted in your hair. Then he turns you around and crowds you up
against the wall of the trap, and things are slippery and a little dangerous
but you like it like that. He gets his hands under your ass and lifts and
you’re a little nervous about this maneuver but you lift up your feet and wrap
your legs around his hips, and he takes your weight.
You’re not sure you’ve ever been happier. You’ve got Dave in your arms and he’s
yours, he’s your matesprit but he’s still your bro, too, and maybe even a
little bit your moirail? All the delineations that used to seem so crucial to
you pale in importance to the way he feels in your arms. The thought that you
can have him any time you want makes the whole meteor seem less like something
put in your life to punish you and more like a place you actually want to be.
It makes such a huge fucking difference, and you want to tell him that, you
want to tell him how important he is to you but his hips are moving against
yours and your bulge is slipping out and you think that words can come later.
Right now you just need the steam in your lungs and his skin wet and hot
against yours. Everything else can wait.
End Notes
     We'll try and try even if it lasts an hour
     With all our might we'll try and make it ours
     'Cause we're on our way
     We're on our way to fall in love
      
     --"Our Way To Fall," Yo La Tengo
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