
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/223428.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Terezi_Pryope/Vriska_Serket, Kanaya_Maryam/Vriska_Serket
  Character:
      Terezi_Prope, Vriska_Serket, Kanaya_Maryam
  Additional Tags:
      Xeno, Bloodplay, Edgeplay, Blackrom, alien_lesbians
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-07-13 Words: 1535
****** Your Heart Is On The Floor ******
by roachpatrol
Summary
     Vriska's been absolutely torn up, and from the way her heartbeat
     thunders under the pressure of Terezi's mouth she'd let it happen
     again, again and again until there's nothing left of her.
     Terezi finds this thought appealing.
Notes
     Written for the homesmut prompt:

     Vriska / Terezi blackrom, mind control and mind games would be
     awesome. Like Vriska controlling Terezi but this is somehow only
     because Terezi wanted her to. Dub-con is fine, but no non-con. ...I
     don't even know. Make it happen, anons.
     Now with at least 20% more vicious bloodplay.

Vriska's sitting by her husktop up on the roof, a small still huddled form of
orange and brilliant shining blue, and when Terezi calls her name she can
practically smell the girl's answering smirk. In another universe, things
happened differently. In this universe Vriska tilts her head to one side and
smirks, a slice of brilliant white. She raises her hands to her temples, and
Terezi catches on fire with need.
She drops her cane and her Pyralspite plush and takes two steps forward and one
step down, knots her hands in the taller girl's pumpkin-spice hoodie, and
brings their mouths together.
Vriska makes the tiniest little noise, a wet gasp, and it infuriates Terezi
more, that she could be surprised. Did the girl have no idea what she was doing
to her, was she just wrenching levers around in Terezi's brain to see what
would happen? The sheer insolent nerve it would take to do that to someone-- to
Terezi herself-- is nearly as admirable as it is infuriating. Terezi bites at
her adversary's mouth and sucks hungrily, vengefully, on her tongue, and brings
her hands up to grab tight hold, and Vriska moans when she tries to step back
and can't.
There's a rough spot on Vriska's neck, Terezi discovers, under the hair and the
hood, two thick round black-blue scabs joined by a thin arch. Terezi pushes her
red-gloved thumb down on the broken skin and feels a bloom of cool welling
blood and Vriska whines and shudders all over. It smells of sex and pain and
desire, the metallic blueberry tang of blood and something whiter, something
wilder. The world rearranges itself with the very best sort of snap, every
angle of this situation lighting up in a flash of seer's intuition, past-
present-future shining through the dark spaces behind her eyes.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, what ever could this be?" she purrs, teasing the wound,
breathing in the lovely bitter blue tang of it. It hardly needs an answer, and
Vriska doesn't bother. The pain is messing with Vriska's head, she can tell,
the pain and the remembered pleasure, it's sapping her resistance. Rainbow
drinkers are dangerous, Terezi knows, for reasons past the obvious; they change
the minds of their conquests in so many subtle ways, bend them to their will
and leave them tied off in knots. And Vriska's gone so wonderfully pliant, now,
Terezi's just got to dig in her nails through the red leather and Vriska
whimpers and goes still as a longeared hopbeast beneath the shadow of the
predator. She drags her tongue down the smooth column of Vriska's throat,
feeling, teasing-- here the rough rasp of dried blood, there the ragged stiff-
damp-tender tear of a bitemark, a laceration, broken-up blue pressing close to
shredded skin. Vriska's been absolutely torn up, and from the way her heartbeat
thunders under the pressure of Terezi's mouth she'd let it happen again, again
and again until there's nothing left of her.
Terezi finds this thought appealing.
Something sparks through her mind, a clumsy mental prod, and her teeth slip,
clench down harder on Vriska's throat than she'd meant to and draw a fresh
wellspring of blood. More manipulation, perhaps, but not one Terezi can
properly object to. Vriska tastes of the finest iron, of blued steel and
blueberries, sweet and rich and intoxicating, and her hands fumble down to
knead at the front of Vriska's pants before she's quite aware of intending to
do so, wrapping her fingers around the insistent press of her unsheathing
bulge. She's so ready, too, though, her own heart racing, her own leggings
entirely too tight against her for comfort.
"Kanaya," Vriska gasps, dropping her head to Terezi's shoulder, offering up the
vulnerable red bands of her horns for Terezi's grasp--
Terezi dumps Vriska on her ass, a bright puff of fairy glitter exploding out
from the impact.
"Guess again, bitch," she says, and drops to her knees beside her.
She snaps her teeth around one of Vriska's wrists, when the girl tries to ward
her off, and is rewarded with the gorgeous music of a pained yelp and another
burst of blueberry iron tang like fireworks inside her mouth, like a dream of
heaven and dark desire, thick and heady as syrup. Vriska smacks at her face
with her other arm, dizzy and weak with lust and pain and exhaustion, her blows
only barely hard enough to hurt. A butterfly, pinned just for her, the wild
shine of those ridiculous wings nothing more than punctuation against the
darkness.
Terezi wrenches Vriska's ridiculous pumpkin-orange pants down her hips, lets go
of Vriska's wrist with a brutal sideways flick of the head that leaves her
spilling out that blueberry all across the dust gray tiles. Beneath her
straining bulge, her nook is flushed blue, so swollen and usedand there's hot
round hickies all over her hips, her thighs, Kanaya's work, the vivid marks set
just so, elegantly arrayed and so deliciously tender under Terezi's punishing
tongue. This work is nothing like love, of course, but Terezi thinks that she
could love doing it.
 Vriska moans, sobs almost, and raises one shaking hand to her temples, and
Terezi fumbles down her own long skirt and leggings, kicks off her tall boots,
and pounces. Somehow she ends up with Vriska's bulge in her nook instead of
vice-versa, but it hardly matters when everything is heat and friction and the
taste of her best friend-- best enemy-- in her mouth, spilling hotly down her
chin and gathering thickly in the corner of her lips, in her nose, painting the
whole world a rich royal blue.
They're sisters, the two of them, a pair of serpents tied together by their
tails and she'll eat this mad wreck of a girl down to the tips of her horns
before she lets anyone else eventhink of having her. She rolls her hips,
delighting in how full she feels, in the rising heat of her stomach and her
thighs and her heart, and leans down to palm her small breasts and rut her
bulge against the soft smooth expanse of Vriska's stomach.
Vriska rolls them over with a desperate grunt, elbows shaking, head hanging as
she does her best to hold her position above Terezi. She's breathing so hard,
convulsively, hard as if she's run miles and miles, and her wings twitch in
unsteady spasm. Her eyes are unfocused, distant, her fierce snarl is nearly a
grimace. Terezi's bulge is pressed down close between their joined bodies, warm
and soft and perfect, and it makes Terezi laugh with feral delight.
"What, you think I can't hurt you like this?" Terezi mocks, and scores her
nails down hard along Vriska's back, right between the dusty sparkle of the
wings. "Don't start what you can't finish, sister!"
Vriska shouts with pain at the rents and her hips stutter, driving deeper.
Terezi grinds her hips up, cooing with pleasure, reveling in the heat and
closeness and the soft warm endless expanse of Vriska's skin, the sticky flow
of her blood and the sweat-matted prickle of her hair, the thick press of her
bulge inside her until Vriska's whimpering with every ragged exhalation, her
head dropping down to Terezi's shoulder, the long curve of her spine going
slack against Terezi's chest and stomach.
It's wriggler's play for Terezi to roll her back over, relishing the thick
papery crackle as her wings crease and crumple, to straddle her hips and ride
her properly, digging bite after bite out of her throat and shoulders until
there is not one tiny bit of gray left to her skin, drive her on to a mewling
limp-limbed pathetic stupor in a spreading pool of her own blueberry blood and
wring out every gorgeous stab of pleasure her failing body has to offer. She is
a feast, Terezi's sister, set out on her own silver plate, and she could fuck
her till she dies and beyond.
Vriska comes, with a burst of genetic fluid that she likely can't afford, and a
soft, faltering moan. Her head falls limply to the side, and she doesn't move.
Terezi grinds her hips down once, twice, takes a long luxuriating lick of that
blueberry syrupy blood, tasting of snow-cones in summer and anguished
surrender, bright joy and dark beauty and feral triumph, and she reaches her
own climax, her every sense overwhelmed by blue and orange and sparkling light
and Vriska, the way she's so still and quiet, the way she's won.
She slumps down beside Vriska's lax form, panting for breath. Vriska's
breathing, too, tiny shallow puffs, so at least there's that. Terezi's never
experienced her so profoundly diminished: it makes something inside her sort of
curl up with tender hateful delighted glee. She's won. And she'll win the next
round too, and the next--
A bright shadow falls over her, smelling of blue and green and red and black
and deathly white light.
"I think we need to have a talk about boundaries, Terezi," Kanaya says.
It's one step from her to the rainbow drinker, and it's one step from her to
her sword-cane.
The perfect gamble.
"Bite me," Terezi says, and grins.
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