
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13742304.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dave's_Bro_|_Beta_Dirk_Strider/John_Egbert
  Character:
      John_Egbert, Dave's_Bro_|_Beta_Dirk_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      Trollstuck, Fuchsia_John, Purple_Bro, Xeno, Violent_Sex, Nook_Pearls,
      Object_Insertion, Mentions_of_Dismemberment, Size_Difference, Stuffing,
      Breathplay, Oh_look_more_xeno
  Series:
      Part 1 of Marble_Doesn't_Rust
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-20 Words: 3807
****** troll casper doesn't get paid enough for this shitfest ******
by Clamdiver, Pearlybj
Summary
     He wore clothes he knew annoyed the Heir, interrupted meetings when
     he should've been busy, leaned in close before crunching the shells
     of sea-fish just to grate on the younger troll's ears.
      More and more, Jeanne was certain he could never kill the Stringer,
     and the troll could never kill him.
      It was time for a bold move, a show of faith.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
The day to day was dreary for Alternia’s sole male Heir. The Empress considered
him nothing more than a joke, hardly the threat past descendants represented.
Uncaring for the status she herself gave him, she made a joke of his position,
sending dignitaries with petulant complaints to his home.
 
That day, he was to settle a dispute between two violetbloods, old geezers that
liked to whine. Fuck, was it lame. He wasn't even conscription age yet.
 
They droned on for hours. The only interesting part of the proceedings was when
it was interrupted. Jeanne's personal retainer joined them, a troll hand
selected by the Condesce herself: the Stringer.
 
Selected? More like assigned to keep him from throwing tantrums.
 
So he wrecked a few highblood ships? What of it?
 
The older troll is brief and clinical, requesting an update from his Heir and
offering his… services. The offer always gave Jeanne chills.
 
He made the mistake of accepting once. The next day, the jadeblood he was
reviewing greeted him from his ceiling, shell gutted clean and joints replaced
with ball bearings. Her arm was held in a permanent wave by fine threads.
 
Stringer indeed.
 
When the older troll made his offer, Jeanne pretended to think about it, raking
over the two violetbloods with his eyes. "I'll send for you if I require such
measures."
 
Needless to say, they wrapped up their dispute in the next ten minutes,
terrified of the alternative.
 
After so many hours dealing with nonsense, Jeanne needed nothing more than to
rest and recoup, yet his usual hobbies only left him more tense. He couldn't
focus on the biography he was reading, and the softest music grated on his
ears.
 
So he sent for the Stringer.
 
It didn't relax him. Far from it, the troll creature with the face of a puppet
left his nerves on end. It was a change of pace to the daily toil, one the Heir
desperately craved.
 
The large creature lounged against his door. "Ye require my services after
all?”
 
Jeanne didn't so much as grace the offer with a reply. Instead he said, "Come
here.”
 
The troll moved partway into the room, leaving distance between himself and the
windows. Jeanne smirked. The Stringer feared his Song, and with it feared the
ocean. Yet he stood his ground against the Heir, a gesture of bravery the
seadweller wasn't used to.
 
The Stringer dared threaten him, time and again, both openly and with careful
application of his puppetry.
 
At first, Jeanne had no idea whether the purpleblood would actually go so far
as to kill him if pushed. Most trolls were willing but unable, easily
disemboweled by the Heir if they dared challenge him. Not the Stringer.
 
Somewhere, somewhen, in the turbulence between the Heir and his retainer,
Jeanne started to notice this peculiarly soft expression, both in the mirror
and under the Stringer's face paint.
 
This towering troll was the first that wasn't just a toy, not a mere servant, a
nuisance, a boot licker, and certainly not something the Heir could easily
drown on a whim.
 
To put it simply, he felt  real.
 
He was the very first person that actually meant something in the younger
troll's life. What that was, he couldn't quite place. The fearsome puppeteer
was hardly a comfort to him, neither confidante nor friend, and certainly not a
rival.
 
Likewise, the Heir knew he was significant to the Stringer. It was in the
adult's eyes, the way his attention rarely left Jeanne even from the other side
of a room, the way he changed his habits for the smaller troll.
 
He wore clothes he knew annoyed the Heir, interrupted meetings when he
should've been busy, leaned in close before crunching the shells of sea-fish
just to grate on the younger troll's ears.
 
It was in the way he feared the watery death Jeanne threatened him with, but
kept coming back like he was dying of thirst. More and more, Jeanne was certain
he could never kill the Stringer, and the troll could never kill him.
 
It was time for a bold move, a show of faith.
 
Something neither had ever done in their long perigrees together, Jeanne turned
his back on the troll. For a long minute, he left himself defenseless to a
surprise attack while rifling through his dresser. He produced a small box and
set it on the side of his sitting room’s pool.
 
Sure enough, when he turned to face the Stringer again, the troll was much more
relaxed; Jeanne's gesture of peace was accepted.
 
He demanded, "Watch me swim."
 
"If that's what ye want."
 
Jeanne made a show of looking himself over and sighing. "This lace really
doesn't do well with water."
 
Without waiting for a response, he peeled off his clothes, leaving only his
jewelry and choker, and slipped into the pool. The Stringer made a show of
acting bored, but he never looked away, eyes carefully tracing the gossamer-
like fins falling from Jeanne's back.
 
The great troll's usual cool presentation was interrupted by a shifting of his
weight and small movements of his hands. He knew exactly what he was being
presented with, and he was impatient for it.
 
The Heir grinned and paused in his strokes to tease, "Something on your mind
there?"
 
"Jus' wonderin' how ye haven't sunk yet. All those pretty jewels on yer pretty
self ain't light. Yer excessive." Jeanne nearly choked on his own spit.
Somehow, the older troll's bluntness still caught him off guard.
 
He scrambled for a response, "Well- I'm better off than you! You're looking
awful inadequate over there, not a single gemstone bearing your color in
sight."
 
"Like the paints ain't enough of a giveaway."
 
Jeanne clicked his tongue and climbed from the pool. He picked up the small box
but left his clothes scattered.
 
The Heir advanced on the Stringer, posture going all fighting taught. "You need
one; a stone that is."
 
The adult scoffed. "Meybe if ye gave me a better stipend, I could afford one."
 
Jeanne stopped before the other troll. He had to tilt his head quite a bit to
give the other a properly condescending look. " Meybe  you could afford
everything on my person if you didn't squander your entire cheque on your
dolls."
 
The Stringer took liberties, looking the smaller troll up and down. He was far
too relaxed; he knew Jeanne wasn't going to retaliate for it. "Isn't much on
yer person at the moment."
 
 
The Heir feigned a thoughtful look.
 
"Well. Nearly everything. This particular piece-"
 
He held up a hand, showing off a braided gold ring on his thumb. In it was set
a tiny pearl with a lustre that shown tyrian. The pearl was rough in shape and
the band much too large for the Heir’s fingers. It was out of place, so he
plucked it off.
 
"-you could only afford this under a contract."
 
The older troll cut straight to the point. "You intend to put yer color on me."
 
Jeanne nodded and grinned. He would claim what he wanted as his own.
 
"What's this contract ya have in mind?"
 
"You keep this one, and you help me make another."
 
The Stringer couldn't hide the way his eyes widened. He no longer knew the
extent to which he was being propositioned.
 
Jeanne took the troll's hand between his own and slipped the ring on. It just
barely fit the Stringer's smallest finger. Then, the Heir placed the little box
in the Stringers palm and winked.
 
He made to sit, then thought better of it. "I'll soak the cushions like this.
Dry me off first, won't you?” A bath towel was retrieved and tossed to the
older troll. Jeanne held out his arms expectantly.
 
"Prissy lil’ bitch aren't you."
 
Albeit protesting, the troll obliged, roughly patting down the Heir's bare
skin.
 
The Stringer pressed so hard on Jeanne's head, his knees nearly buckled under
him, a daring move when Jeanne was close enough to claw his guts out.
 
His movements gradually became gentler as he traveled south, becoming downright
sensual as he kneeled and patted Jeanne's ass and between his legs. The
Stringer gave him another appraising look when Jeanne’s arousal starts to show.
 
The Heir blushed and retreated back onto the sofa. He was embarrassed enough to
cross his legs at first.
 
Jeanne realized his retainer was having trouble keeping his face even and his
breathing steady; at least as affected as the smaller troll. Gaining
confidence, Jeanne unwound, spreading himself out. He didn't miss the glance to
his now-exposed bulge tip, the shift of weight putting the Stringer slightly
closer to the sofa.
 
Jeanne cleared his throat. "You do know how to read, yes?" He flicked the box
the troll was holding.
 
"As though Her Imperial Condescension would give ye an illiterate retainer."
The Stringer kept his face perfectly blank as he tore open the container and
read the instructions.
 
"If she did, I'd tear their eyes out. No point being able to see." Almost
lazily, Jeanne traced a claw over the troll's cheek.
 
The Stringer shivered slightly under the threat. Not keen on having any holes
added to his face, the troll hurried to open up the package inside the box. A
series of small marbles rolled into his hand, artificial nuclei.
 
Perhaps the shiver wasn't fear at all, considering the troll’s comment. "Shove
it in, and a pearl grows around it. Ye really aren't even competent enough for
that? Haven't ye ever-"
 
"Laaame. Put them in myself when I can make you do it? Who knew you were so
boring ."
 
"If interesting is what ye want, then shut yer pretty mouth and pay attention."
 
Jeanne's retort was cut off by a tongue filling his mouth. Either the Stringer
trusted the fuschiablood not to bite off the organ, or he didn't care.
 
The smaller troll was pressed into the cushions, the larger leaning in from
where he knelt on the floor.
 
Jeanne raked his claws across the adult's back. His intent at first was to pull
the other off of him and reassert control. Somehow, he found himself tugging
the Stringer closer, breathing in his kiss.
 
The Heir hummed into it, content. The sound was just loud enough to contain a
hint of his Breath’s command over the sea, a song that could summon tempests
and spark a deadly desire to see the ocean floor.
 
His partner's tongue rolled slow over his palate and pricked against his teeth.
The feeling it left in the pit of his belly was... soft, almost too soft to be
sexual, let alone spiteful.
 
Still, the kiss coaxed his arousal further out, his bulge seeking friction.
 
Jeanne shifted his legs, still somewhat uncertain what to do with himself. He
had some kind of plan going into this but... What was it again? The other troll
was making Jeanne's head foggy with his mouth alone. The Heir would be utterly
screwed if the purpleblood were a psychic.
 
That was the point, though, wasn't it?
 
Jeanne grabbed the troll's hands and put them on his waist. He was so slender
in comparison to the hulking purpleblood, they wrapped right around his form
and splayed over his ass.
 
The Heir broke the kiss with a sharp tug to the adult's white hair. He tried to
force the other's head down his body but only got to his neck. The Stringer
placed a kiss to his gills, and he melted. Oh, he had no idea they were so
sensitive.
 
The feeling earned little trills from the Heir that stirred the draft in the
room and made his gills flutter.
 
That was more than enough encouragement for the Stringer. "There we are. You
just enjoy yer gorgeous self, a'right?"
 
The troll suckled Jeanne's neck and traced the lines of his gills with a large
tongue.
 
"No one else gets to see ye like this. A shame; yer lovely all sprawled under
me. 'Course I'd kill 'em for it."
 
His mouth moved down Jeanne’s chest as he went on. "You let me know if anyone
bothers ye, alright? I'll have it taken care of. No need to lower yerself for
that."
 
The fuchsia blood let out another small gasp as the Stringer gently nipped his
belly.
 
"Well," he sighed. "There's this rather hulking brute that's been vying for my
attentions for quite some time now… I admit I have considered having him tossed
over the balustrade and drowned. But until he oversteps, he's - oh! - very much
wanted."
 
The Stringer left a little trail of nips, his neck now close enough Jeanne
instinctively reached for it with his bulge. He could feel the way the
purpleblood breathed, how his throat moved when he bit the Heir's tough skin.
 
"So for now, I... won't need your services. Oh my, except right now, please,
shell , do it, Stringer."
 
The adult troll let the handful of marbles from the box roll past his lips.
Around the mouthful, he said, "It's Dirque."
 
The troll placed a hand between Jeanne's legs, catching his bulge on a finger.
He lightly tugged it to the side and kissed it, then moved his mouth to the lip
of Jeanne's nook.
 
Jeanne's bulge thrashed, his knees snapped out, and he let loose another
birdlike trill, a musical sound that kicked up a more violent wind.
 
The tongue that entered him was dexterous and spicy hot. The landdweller lapped
at him while twisting his bulge between fingers.
 
Following a spike of pleasure running down his spine, the Heir felt something
hard press into sensitive ridges in the front of his nook. One at a time, The
Stringer worked in the marble nuclei with his tongue.
 
With much the same skill as his needlework, the towering troll continued to
work Jeanne over, earning rather ragged pants. Each consecutive nuclei added an
odd pressure to the Heir's nook, not unpleasant but new.
 
After the fifth marble was properly inserted, the adult pulled back. With a
lick of his lips, he said,
 
"Mmm, wonder how many 'a them highblood shits would pay to watch their Heir
dancing on mah tongue instead 'a strings. Yer quite a site down here, all wet
an’ shiny colors."
 
The younger troll clenched his small fists into the couch cushions as a
helpless whine slipped past his maw. A crash responded- most likely an
expensive vase knocked over by the wind.
 
Trying to regain some of his prior control, the Heir forced a biting retort,
"Hnng-mother! That's a, a seadweller’s nook for you: lacquered. Ne-never seen
one of your- fff- betters like this? I ought to, to hhhave a more experienced
retainer. One with a, with a sense of haste.”
 
The assertion of their standings cut the larger troll’s tenderness to shreds.
He replied with a low growl and slight baring of fangs, cruelly shoving the
sixth and final nuclei into the Heir’s nook. Jeanne’s resulting shriek
resembled the raucous strum of a troll-violin. Something was most definitely
hurled through the window.
 
The sudden increase in stimulation had Jeanne writhing, the stinging in his gut
mixing with the previous sweetness. Another sharp tug from the hand he was
wrapped around, and he fell over the edge. Jeanne's bulge twisted and squeezed
the Stringer’s pinky and new ring as the building pressure released itself.
 
The rise and fall of the Heir's chest matched the objects dropping around the
the room. The adult stayed eerily silent, still hunched over his lower half.
 
His mouth and neck were splattered in the Heir's color, smearing his paint. It
was a large improvement in Jeanne's humble opinion.
 
Something in the Stringer’s expression killed the younger troll’s hormone
buzzed humor. Where the makeup was washed off entirely, the larger troll was
flushed purple. The sanity was leaking out of his eyes, replaced by something
indecipherable. Intending to ask for his thoughts, the Heir sat up and dropped
his feet to the floor.
 
In response, he was dragged across the couch and pressed into the cushion. The
world spun as he was roughly maneuvered around, blurring.
 
Jeanne blinked, realizing he was completely engulfed by the giant troll’s
shadow. For a brief moment, the terror of the Alternian sea and skies felt...
 
Small.
 
"Think we're done jus' cuz ya got off first there, angelfish? That I'm mere
service fer a squid. Nah. S'not how this sorta thing works." The shadowy figure
above Jeanne rumbled. "Ya gotta give a lil to get something fer once in yer
goddamned, ungrateful life."
 
The purpleblood peeled his pants off. His bulge was fully unsheathed and
massive, as long as Jeanne’s forearm. He could almost see the veins pulsing
underneath the thin skin.
 
Fighting passed the anxiety in his chest, Jeanne made an annoyed clicking sound
at the back of his throat.
 
"Thats a lot of talk from a glorified  lusus ," he hissed.
 
The smile the Heir received promised all the things that a lusus was not.
 
The looming shadow sunk back to kneel on the floor at the edge of the couch,
and the Heir was pulled flush against strong thighs. The Stringer silently
pulled apart Jeanne's weak knees.
 
He hesitated a moment, purple eyes meeting grey ones. Jeanne didn't need to be
coddled. He knew what he wanted, and he wouldn't offer up his dominance for it.
 
Jeanne said, "This is the verbal contract of ours. To make another pearl, you
have to color it too. I command it,  Dirque ."
 
All air in his lungs left when the Stringer pressed in.
 
He was stretched much too far too fast, but he refused to show any sign of
pain. He clamped down hard on a yell, and his grip on the older troll's arms
tightened to spiked manacles, his claws sinking deep into skin.
 
If Jeanne had enough awareness to spare on idle observations, the manic glee
from his partner would've terrified him.
 
The Stringer pulled back, then rolled forward again, pressing Jeanne down with
so much force, his elbow tore the cushion. Twice more, and,  no , his eyes
started streaming.
 
Perhaps, it was concern, perhaps something else; the Stringer went still when
he saw the tears. Jeanne blinked rapidly, silently begging his body to obey
him.
 
The Heir took advantage of the pause to regain his bearings and unlatch his
claws. Blood, near black, spilt onto him. He looked over his retainer, taking
in the scratches and realized: the larger troll was at most a third of the way
in him. Much of the Stringer was still exposed between them. His arousal
dripped freely onto Jeanne's belly and legs, staining his skin like ink.
 
Jeanne hissed and curled his lips to bare his hard maw, "Damn you,
mouthbreather. You see not the ring you wear? I've claimed you as mine, all of
you. So give it to me!"
 
A pause.
 
"Ye utterly petulant brat, if that's what ye want, I'll well fuckin give it to
ye-"
 
The heat and pressure inside Jeanne was finally tipping from pain back to
pleasure before his demand, but it didn't matter, not if he lost something for
it.
 
The Stringer raised himself and slammed into Jeanne. The Heir's vision whited
out and he had no hope of holding back the blood curdling scream. There was
nothing musical about the sound, just raw agony at the sensation of the
writhing mass sliding past his seed flap and stretching him until his belly
bulged.
 
The Stringer twisted and turned in the smaller troll. His bulge was slicked but
sticky; his movements caught and pulled and pressed on every part of the Heir's
nook.
 
Jeanne was too far gone too realize, but his voice was crazed enough to tug at
the highblood's sanity, his Song urging the troll to drown himself.
 
 
A trembling hand tore off the choker protecting Jeanne’s neck and wrapped
around his vocal chords, cutting off the sounds. Jeanne struggled against the
Stringer and, when he finally broke the troll's grip, gasped for breath.
 
He tried to speak, but all that came out was a faint wheeze.
 
Dirque was shaking too hard to move and remained perched over the Heir, bulge
embedded all the way up the the bone, for what seemed an agonizingly long time.
 
Jeanne had no voice left, and he was in so much pain in so many places, it
melted together into an ambient haze. But he still had strength in him. Even
broken, he was still in command, born to rule and born to die. He was more
certain of that now than ever. Asserting his control once more, he demanded the
other to keep going with his movements, tugging on the Stringer's shoulders and
rolling up with his hips. He wouldn’t give Dirque any time to recover from the
psychic shock.
 
The adult laughed ferally. "Yer gonna kill me."
 
"Yer gonna goddamned kill me, and I'm gonna enjoy it."
 
Jeanne grinned and rolled his hips again. The Stringer's tip curled around
inside him, and he tipped past the point at which he could still distinguish
between pleasure and pain. It all felt hellish and it all felt heavenly.
 
The Stringer was unable to refuse the demands even if he wanted to and pounded
into the small troll over and over. The rough texture of the seadweller's nook
was incomparable, and he felt the hard nuclei with every quiver of his bulge.
Before long, his muscles seized up, and he thrashed with pleasure, filling the
Heir to bursting with his seed and his color.
 
Jeanne lay in a daze as his partner's bulge retracted from him. The feelings
the sex sparked in him was so intense, he couldn't even tell if he came again.
 
They remained still, not exchanging another word. Jeanne let his awareness slip
into darkness. Falling asleep so close to an enemy of sorts was dangerous, but
neither had the strength left to walk.
 
 
~~~


When Jeanne woke, he was alone but fortunately still in one piece, head
attached to his shoulders by his own neck rather than a plane joint.
 
His knees shook, and he was so weary, he needed to lean on the wall to walk. A
cursory look at himself in the mirror revealed a smattering of cracks in his
skin- especially around his neck- and a distinct bulge to his belly from the
sheer volume of the Stringer's seed.
 
After emptying himself of the thick cum, a more thorough examination revealed
his insides were miraculously untorn despite the pain, and the artificial
irritants were still lodged in his nook where Dirque put them, a thin coating
of nacre already starting to pool.
 
He found he was quite looking forward to seeing what the Stringer looked like
covered in his claw marks, perhaps still twitching from the mental assault. The
Heir laughed at the thought, high on what he considered a victory.


End Notes
     Clam & I are kind of in love w this au, we have lots of great stuff
     for you, and we are delighted about it. Thanks for reading!
                                  Works Cited
     Ana. Puppeteer designs, tumblebumble, 4 Oct. 2017. http://
     doodlana.tumblr.com. Accessed 4 Oct. 2017.
     Clamdiver, writer. “troll casper doesn’t get paid enough for this
     shitfest”. Marble Doesn’t Rust, AO3, 2018. archiveofourown.org/works/
     13740792. Accessed 19 Feb. 2018.
     Kyuutier. Portrayal of Bro as a purpleblood, 2017-2018. http://
     heirwarfare.tumblr.com. Accessed 4 Oct. 2017.
     Pearlybj, writer. “troll casper doesn’t get paid enough for this
     shitfest”. Marble Doesn’t Rust, bigNastyPr0nz.exe, 2018.
     Solluxisms, Tatterdemalionamberite. “Xenobiology”. Courtesy of a
     Digression in Captorchat, Rock Tumblr. http://solluxisms.tumblr.com/
     post/90804519865/tatterdemalionamberite-solluxisms. Accessed 4 Oct.
     2017.
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