Be the Knight of Blood.
Shiiiiiiiiink. Fwisssssssh. KRANG.
Clink. Clink clink clinkclinkclink.
Long and only somewhat marred by the panting of you two knights.
You readjust your grip on your sickle, needing to know it is still there. In your hand. Not halfway across the room, shining in the overhead lights, resting beside half of a very shitty sword.
It is nearly a minute before you can bring yourself to stop looking at Caledscratch, turning your attention to your sparring partner. And, in that minute, if you could look at yourself as well, you'd see that your expressions are perfect inverses.
Your lips have curved ever so slightly, showing off jagged teeth and the smallest tip of your tongue tracing their outline.
And Dave Dumbass Strider has his mouth gaping, eyes just visible and wide behind shades knocked askew in the battle, his skin gone far more pale than you have ever seen. Which, of course, is saying something for the human.
A few seconds of silence. Then, you let out the softest laugh. It’s uncharacteristic of you, but you still can’t believe what you’re seeing. This shouldn’t happen. Has never happened.
The laugh is growing louder, now. Louder and deeper, until your sharp eyes see the lump of Dave’s throat nub rise and fall. That just sends your tone up, shrill, insane, and you double over, clutching your stomach, so close to cracking.
When you finally get back in control – though now your stomach aches and you’re almost out of breath – you don’t entirely straighten up. You more lift your head, black hair falling back to give the human a look at your bright yellow eyes and glinting teeth, all of which are exposed from your skin-crackingly-wide smile.
Strider takes a barely-visible half-step back.
The laughter is back, but small. A chuckle, really. With a contemplative “hmmm” that comes from deep in your chest, vibrating down to your toes.
Strider likes to brag about this “flash step” thing his guardian taught, but he’s not concentrating enough to make use of it, apparently, since you’re suddenly in his face, hot breath assaulting his skin, voice a whisper as you inform the human, “I won.”
That’s when the human’s training kicks in, making him disappear between heartbeats, but he paused there long enough for you to hear his reaction. The little gasp and sudden increase in his pulse.
Even when he’s moved away, his blood-pusher still seems so loud. You stand up straight and barely have to turn your head to the left to get him back under your gaze, though he is now a good twenty feet away, standing at the wall, just conscious enough not to plaster himself up against it.
You twitch the fingers of your right hand, putting a tiny bit of energy into your sickle, beginning a slow spin. It passes before your stomach, and then at the small of your back, passing back and forth, never so much as skimming your clothing, keeping up a constant speed. It’s one of the first things your learned to do, and not terribly difficult, but the sickle is flashing enough to catch the little ape-creature’s eyes.
“Well...well...well,” you whisper, beginning a long stroll up to the human. Your hips rock with every step, but not so much by design. It’s a natural gait, meant to keep you on your toes, ready to spring aside should there be a surprise attack. Strider once mocked you for that – said you “prance like a little girl” – but, right now, his shades are pointed right at your hips. Could be the blade, yes, but you’re pretty sure you know where his eyes are focused under those shades.
“I’ve been waiting...a long time for this,” you confess. Any shame you should feel over how long – over how many strifes have ended with your sickle thrown across the room and you subsequently thrown onto the human’s rest platform, legs wrenched apart and nook drilled until you were willed with human genetic material – is put aside in the thrill of finally, finally being the one to disarm your kismesis. And all that entails.
Yes. Hell yes. Hell...fucking yes.
“I’ve thought about this a lot,” you go on, all those days of pondering coming back, setting up a heat between your legs, a throbbing under your bone sheath. You need to calm down. You should savor this. You don’t want to just force the human to his knees and spill in his mouth in ten seconds.
...oh, fuck. Yes, you do.
But you can’t. The human has enough compunctions about your relationship, and if you do something like that, he’s going to be near-impossible to beat from now on. Even now, you can tell how close he is to losing it. Strider’s breaths are shallow and fast. The sheen of sweat on his collarbone isn’t just from your strife. There is this slight sourness in his scent, mingled with that tang of arousal to which you are so accustomed.
You know what that extra scent is. And it makes you want to bite the human. Press him against the wall. Dig your teeth in until his instincts make him go limp, only held up by your arms and your pounding bulge.
You have been very, very distracted, you realize, and you are now standing before the human, Inches away. Got to act like you know what you’re doing.
You lean forward, arms outstretched, almost like you’ll hug the human, who does you the great favor of leaning away until his back hits the wall. Your hands plant on the wall to either side of Strider’s head, sickle clicking on the concrete. Your elbows bending just enough to bring you close. Just enough so your jeans brush, but so little that it seems just a phantom.
“So...many...options,” you breath, bringing one hand down, the inner edge of your sickle coming to curl against the human’s spine, urging him forward to escape your blade. He only moves an inch, but it’s enough to let him feel your words as you speak them against his mouth. “I’m going to ruin you.”
His mouth opens and it makes you shake for a second, everything so pent-up, so fucking tempting. You lean in, ready to get started, even if it means you’re going to disgrace yourself from all this excitement, and Strider opens his mouth wider and –
The silence is truly terrible.
You don’t move your head away as you speak, and now that brush with each word is less about lips and more about fangs dripping with saliva. “No?” Your growl has entirely changed tone. You grip on your sickle is far tighter.
“No,” Strider repeats, reaching up to place a hand to your chest, pushing. “Nope. Not happening. Sorry, buddy.”
You don’t allow yourself to be moved. In a fight, he could knock you back easily enough, but this close, with no wind-up behind the push, he’s coming up against steel. You don’t even waver when his arm muscles begin to pop into definition.
“What...is not happening?”
The human is an idiot, because he keeps talking. “I know you’re all eager to boldly go where no man has gone before,” your kismesis says, with only this tiny tremor in his monotone, “but that is not how Striders roll.”
“Not,” you hiss, adjusting your grip on your sickle, “how you roll? You roar the last, angling the sickle blade down and flat just enough so that, when your arm jerks, Dave’s face is just pressed right to yours, instead of rolling off his shoulders. A smart move, as, if you decapitated him for this, it would be an entirely justified death!
He yelps, shocked, probably expecting his demise, and raises a hand to knock the sickle away. You let him, and he cups his near-wound, pulling back from you to really press against the wall, now, fighting for each millimeter of space. It’s barely any time before he’s shouting back. “Fuck no! I’m not going to just lay down and spread ‘em for a short little psychopath like you!”
You have never...hated this boy...so much. And it is moving past the safe space of your relationship. You want his entrails in your hands, pliable and steaming in the cold air of the meteor. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for you!?”
That smirk...that...fucking...smirk. You want to cut the bastard’s lips off!
“Enjoying it,” Dave says.
You howl and lash out at the human’s head, which drops just a moment before it would be cleaved in two. Based on how wide the human’s eyes are, he’s starting to understand what he’s done.
“Woah, woah, dude. Calm down,” he holds out his hands, trying to placate you. Like he’s your fucking moirail! “Look, I’ll...give you a handjob. Or oral. Or something.”
You, of course, don’t react to the first. You’ve got a hand of your own, and it’s worthless ever since you started getting pailed by Strider. But the second...your eyes dilate, and you try to hide that, and curse when Dave’s smirk starts coming back.
But the denied option...to have Dave on his back, legs wrapped around your waist, his absurd human bulge pressed between your stomachs as your own slides in and out of his waste chute...taking all the time you wish...indulging in what you’ve conquered...
“Too bad,” you rumble, letting your teeth curve back into that wide, confident smile.
“You can’t force me,” Dave says, and, this time, there is a most definite rise in his pitch. It only gets higher when you lean in, pressing your hips together, letting him feel the writhing in your pants. “Fuck. Don’t tell me a kismesis...that trolls...that you – ”
“No,” you say, leaning in and pressing your mouth to Dave’s neck, letting your teeth scratch his skin. Despite the human’s tension, his chin lifts a half-inch, exposing more delicate pink flesh. “We don’t. Don’t worry.” You sneer, the expression only growing more twisted as you move your lips to the human’s main blood pusher tube, feeling the flow under the skin. “Give me a few minutes and I won’t be forcing you, I promise.”
You’ve barely finished the sentence before Dave shouts “NO!” and shoves both hands into your chest. It’s unanticipated, and you stumble back, giving him the chance to flash-step away.
You whirl about and, as predicted, find Dave standing by the transportalizer. Wanting to get away, but unable to make himself entirely disappear. After all, he had initiated this strife, and he’s been left needy. Even the smallest chance that he might get what he wants will keep him here.
Too. Fucking. Bad.
“I won,” you say, low and even, “and that,” your brows rise and teeth flash, “is my prize. And until I claim it....”
You sickle flashes, disappearing into your sylladex.
“No more strifes,” you say, calm, collected. “No more ‘special time’ in the common rooms. No more...anything.”
Dave’s brows rise. “Dude. You can’t hold out. You know you can’t.”
You snort. Lick your lips. Tilt your head to one side. “I just have to last longer than you.” You shrug and smirk. “You already know I can do that....”
Dave opens his mouth to shout out some response, but you’re turning your back on him, strutting out of the room.
It felt amazing to beat Strider.
You just need to keep that winning streak going a little longer.
Be the Knight of Time.
God tier should really make you immune to blue balls.
You can die without much concern, but ending an argument with Karkat without feeling like your nethers are about to pop off? Noooooo. That’s not an ability a god needs!
You hate being a god. Especially when it means you’re at the mercy of mere mortals and their cock-blocking.
Well, whatever. You don’t have to be at Karkat’s mercy. You’re a strong, independent Knight of Time who don’t need no troll. You can take care of your own needs. You just need a bit of privacy. Maybe some mood music.
So here you are. In your bedroom. Bass thumping and godly pajama pants around your ankles, tending to a fistful of cock. You’re still sweaty from your strife, but it’s not quite enough to make your hand move smoothly. You managed to alchemize some “hand lotion” early in the trip, but it’s been lost in the months since you hooked up with Karkat. Never seemed necessary. Not when he dripped red genetic fluid from his nook, so much that you might have lost most of the sensation of thrusting into him if he wasn’t so tight.
You strengthen your grip remembering that. Tight, yes, fuck. Tight and squirming. You need to hold him down half the time. Have to be careful whenever you’re in his nook, because his bulge lashes, wrapping around the base of your shaft, your balls, misbehaving and sliding between—
You gasp, cum exploding from your cock with pretty much no warning, a shot rising to hit your neck, the rest landing on your shirt before going to a slow ooze over your fingers.
And...you sit there. Breathing with open mouth. Praying to whatever is higher than you that you did not just lose it from thinking about...that.
Nope. No, you did not. You had been going at yourself for quite some time before that happened! Purely coincidental! There is no way that you’re leaning towards...nope!
You wipe the cum off your neck and yank off shirt and hood, tossing them, kicking your pants into a corner. Turn your back on the god tier outfit, and it will come back clean, fresh, and wrinkle and claw-mark free. One of the many benefits of dying in an over-dramatic, contrived fashion.
Which...you may be dealing with again far too soon, you realize upon flopping down on your back and feeling your still-hard shaft whap against your stomach.
Being a teenager seriously blows.
Mmmm...blowing. You love getting Karkat on his knees, making him curve his lips over those needle teeth so you can slide into his mouth. You’ve got to be slow about it...so careful...and it is just so hot in that gaping maw of his. Not to mention the gratification of getting him to shut the fuck up. Yeah...next time, you’ll pick a good, old-fashioned throat fucking….
Unless, of course, he’s serious. That the only way you can get back to the routine of strife-and-fuck is for you to get on your hands and knees and let him slide his bulge up your ass. Let him grab your hips and press in close, until you can’t get away, and he curves his prehensile dick inside just right. Writhing until you have to bury your face in your forearms and bite your skin to keep from screaming as you shoot all over the floor. Then have to just let him continue to use you, use your hole, until he starts spilling all that weird alien cum in your ass and—
Aaaaand you are not jacking off to that.
Except you are. You are laying on the bed, hips thrusting into your fist, then grinding back the other way, bereft of one very squirmy red tentadick.
This is so not cool.
Be the winner.
Fuck yes! The winner, it is you.
You are Karkat Vantas and you are only an hour into your nap before you hear a knock on your respiteblock door.
In any other circumstance, you’d scream at the intruder. Today, you smile, already feeling a stirring between your legs. You put your hand there, just rubbing over the clothes with your palm, and speak towards the door. “Come in, fuckass.”
It’s affectionate, really.
Almost unwise, though, since there is nearly a minute’s pause before the door finally crashes open and Dave stomps in, slamming the door closed again.
“Okay, whatever, let’s get this over with,” Strider grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking to the discreet little corner where you store your bucket.
You withhold a chuckle, biting your lips as your hips roll into your palm and you wait...wait….
“Uh...dude,” your kismesis finally says, “you, uh...done?”
You turn your head and writhe on your pile of salacious quadrant novels, shifting so you can watch the human watching yourself. You’re breathing heavily, and your bulge is pretty visible, even under your undershorts. If the human was between your legs, he’d also be able to see a bright red sheen on your crotch.
Fuck...Dave between your legs, face deep in your nook, fingers holding you apart as his tongue cleans off your genetic fluids, gog, yes….
“Just took the edge off,” you confess, the picture of nonchalance. “Want to take my sweet time with you, Strider.”
The boy’s skin goes pale to paler. Too much? Will he run again?
But he just turns to you and crosses his arms. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”
You smile, serene, and nod down your body. “Come here, then.”
Strider stands, lips parted, brows drawn down. Indecisive.
“I won,” you remind him. “Come...here.”
Oh...he doesn’t like that...fuuuuuuuck….
But he comes to you, slow, his hands in tight fists at his side, and stands beside your trashy novel pile. Bare minimum there, Strider.
“Well? Come on.” You pat a particularly large tome. “Get down here.”
He glances down at the books. “Dude. You want to cuddle, we can go back to my bed.”
You laugh at the very idea. Not the cuddling thing. You put up with this human’s strange clinginess readily enough. No. You laugh at him even bothering to suggest something. You’d do the opposite of everything he suggests, just out of spite.
When you speak, it’s in a deep growl. “Get. Down. Here.”
Dave looks at you. Gritting his teeth. About ready to turn around again.
But the good boy kneels into the books, wincing at sharp corners and shifting tomes. He’s unsteady, and it’s barely any effort to grab his wrist and pull, sending him toppling over you, letting you take advantage of his momentum to roll on top.
Oh...this...you need to win strifes more often Especially when you can reach up and pluck his shades off, tossing them across the room, allowing you to look down at angry red eyes and splayed blonde hair and parted, wet lips.
“You look good on your back,” you purr, laying hands on Strider’s hips, more cupping than gripping. Like he is a delicate flower.
“Don’t get used to it,” Dave grumbles, but there is a blush to his cheeks that is most definitely not anger. “And don’t think I’m fucking you on these shitty books! I’m not getting a paper-cut on my taint.”
You tilt your head, considering. “You know...just for you demanding that, I should fuck you here.” You lean down, running your hands up his waist, under his shirt, speaking in his ear. “Hold you down. Make you take it….”
Strider has just enough time to build up his indignation before you lift your head up again. “But I’m not going to stain fine literature with your dribble of genetic fluids. We’ll move to the floor.” You move one hand down, out from under the shirt, and cup the boy’s crotch. “When I’m ready.”
The noises this thin boy makes...humans are so very interesting. Trolls chirp, growl, purr, but humans whine, keen, gasp. It’s strange, how similar you can look and how different you sound. Such a weird species your friends created.
You’re all fucking brilliant.
You didn’t expect Strider to be this responsive It’s not been that long since you last pailed. And, leaning in to run your tongue up his neck, to his lips, you taste a familiar tang on his skin. He’s not the most fastidious person, but he doesn’t wallow in his own spunk, so this is...recent? Trying to get the edge off, in anticipation, as well? Or trying to service himself to avoid his debt to you? Stupid human boy. No self control.
Especially none when you grab the hem of his pants and yank down. His cock springs out so nicely, so ready, his tip wet with that yet-again pathetic amount of human genetic fluid
Got to be quick. Need evidence. And, well...not like he’s going to complain.
You shimmy down the bed, stretch your lips over your teeth, and take the human into your mouth.
“F-fuck, Karkat!” Dave bucks into you – a really stupid move, given the fucking teeth – but he’s lucky...somewhat.
Because you just wanted a taste, and you got it. Like on his neck, but thicker, stronger. You make sure to smack your lips as you release his cock, which attracts his attention.
“Vantas,” Dave pants, his cool act back...for the moment. “If you want to gobble my knob, I’ll let you do that anytime. No need for the big strife.”
“Oh, no, Dave,” you say, swiping your tongue over your lips. “I was just confirming my suspicions. Did you even wait to get back to your respiteblock before you spilled all over the place, thinking of my bulge in your waste chute?”
The human stares at you. “Dude. We gotta work on your dirty talk.”
“We can do that next time you win,” you reassure – you have no obligation to learn what bullshit phrases make him squirm in his stupid human undershorts – but continue your own work. That being shifting the human’s pants down his thighs and calves and off entirely, then laying your hands on his thighs, spreading them, only getting minor resistance. “For now, I’m a little too busy to talk.”
Dave is grinning as your head begins to lower between his legs.
He stops grinning as you bypass his bulge. “Uh, Karkat, what are yeaaaaaah!”
Your tongue barely gets to tap at the entrance to Dave’s waste chute before his body tenses and he tries to move up the pile and away from your mouth.
“Woah! That is not how you do this, you need to stop, Vantas, are you listening!?”
Only a little. Your are too busy grabbing Dave’s hips, claws sinking in, not deep enough to draw blood, but threatening, should he keep struggling. It gives you just enough control to move forward once more, your shoulders forcing Dave’s thighs apart again, for just a few seconds, long enough to thrust out your tongue and….
“That’s not how you do thaaaaa…aaaaah...oooooooh...fuuuuuuck.” Dave goes from a scream to a keen to a whimper he was probably trying to hide. It’s precious, really. But not as precious as how his flexed thighs loosen, going from trying to crush your head to just draping over your shoulders as you run your tongue along the pucker of his waste chute.
He’s quiet. Weird. And cool, you think. At least it lets you concentrate on his hole and how your tongue is pressing at it, working inside, just a quarter-inch, a half-inch. You’d almost think you were doing something bad, by the silence.
Until he reaches down and begins stroking the base of your horns.
You’re instantly moaning louder than Dave. He knows, he knows what that does! You may be trying to avoid staining the books with human genetic material, but you’re doing little to keep off the candy red.
Especially when you unzip your pants and plunge a hand inside, letting your bulge grasp your wrist as you sink two claws into your nook. Fucking human. No chance you’re going to get in that ass and have him inside you.
Well...unless...on your own knees...reaching around….
The flow of your genetic material kicks up and you moan. Straight into Strider’s ass. Embarrassing
He does not seem to mind. Just rubs your horns harder.
Fuck. You can’t keep this up. You let off a bit of steam on your own, but having Strider like this, all yours and so he knows it...it’s going too fast. Need a distraction. Anything.
“Kuh...Kuh….Karkat,” Dave groans – no fair, more genetic fluid bursting forth—”I...appreciate...the effort of a well-tossed salad and all, but...that’s...not how...you get a guy ready.”
Well...that’s distraction enough. You raise your head from between Strider’s thighs. “Salad? What fucking salad?”
You groan. Oh...no. Here it comes.
“My salad, Vantas. Low-fat, sustainably grown, all-organic, it’s a full meal! The Strider Salad Bar, all you can eat for five-ninety-nine. Enjoy your choice of toppings: vinaigrette, bleu cheese, Italian, or just raw. Come one, come all, there’s plenty for everyone. If Vantas here doesn’t snarf away every bit!”
You take the time for a long sigh. “Yeah,” you say. “I get it. Now, how should—”
“I don’t think you do, Vantas,” Dave continues, and he is very nearly laughing. “My salad is known the world around. People come across borders, nay! From distant continents, just for the chance to enjoy the most fleeting of flavors. Do you know what your monopoly could mean for my business, Vantas? For my….”
“Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it,” you pray to the all-powerful beings of myth who do not exist because they are, as said, myths.
You purse your lips.
Then leap onto Strider, jabbing your hips at his ass. Your pants aren’t down far enough to allow anything, but Dave doesn’t seem to quite realize, since he can feel at least part of your bulge, wet and hot, against his glutes.
His mouth falls open and he freezes up.
You slow the thrusts, now just rocking into him, considering.
He swallows, closing his mouth, and you can see him trying – and, of course, failing – to fight back a blush.
“Now. If I recall, I was going to fuck you in your useless human waste chute, since your species didn’t have the presence of mind to let males have a proper nook. So, if I’m not ‘getting you ready,’ then what, pray tell, am I supposed to do?”
“I...I don’t kn—”
“Okay, I’ll just slide on in,” you say, yanking your pants down, letting your bulge free. You...may make it lash a bit more energetically than usual.
“NOPE!” Dave screeches, pressing his thighs together as much as they can with you between.
You let the human panic.
Then, more gently than a kismesis should, you reach down and drag a knuckle across your lover’s bulge. Looking him in your eye, you whisper, “Then tell me what to do.”
Dave looks up at you. Swallows. Nods. “Y...yeah. Okay.”
Be the loser.
Yep. You lost. And so now you’re on your knees and elbows, ass in the air, legs spread so your dick and balls dangle towards the floor, bobbing with your blood flow. You’re wondering what, exactly, you are doing with your life.
A breath of air on your back reminds you that, oh yeah, you are getting yourself sphincteraly violated. By an alien. Of your own volition. Sort of.
And you’re so excited that precum is dripping on the floor.
Karkat's warm, rough hand touches your ass, way too close to center, and you shift forward. Which does not help to protect the virtue of your unplush rump, since the troll’s claws just dig into your flesh, halting your progress. You freeze, eyes wide, so glad he can not see this reaction.
“Need something to bite down on, to keep from crying?” Karkat sings, moving up so he is, once again, right at your back, the fronts of his thighs touching the backs of yours.
“Get on with it,” you say, as bored as you can manage. You do not think you succeed at your bid for collectedness, based on how Karkat laughs, high, like a certain crazy troll of your mutual acquaintance
You feel another hand behind you, brushing your balls, which tighten, practically leaping back into your body. They do not relax when, instead of a fist shoving itself down your anus, all you can register is a soft squelching.
You arch your back and look under your body, past reddening cock and between your legs, to see two gray fingers pumping into a glistening red nook, thick fluids sticking to the skin.
“Dude. No,” you say. “Get some fucking lube. Some lotion. Do not use that on me.”
The fingers come out, the fluids creating a long, thin rope that doesn’t break until the hand is nearly touching your ass. “One,” Karkat begins, using his dry hand to stroke your ass, almost fondly, “no. Two, where? Three, my entire bulge is going to be in you, so what’s the difference?”
“Fucking savage,” you mutter, refusing to concede any of the very good points, but allowing Vantas to scoot closer. His bulge finds your ass and begins a frantic search over your cock and crack. You’re worrying that all that talk of preparation is about to go out the window, but then it finds your balls and wraps you up and you’re pretty okay with that.
“If I was a savage,” Karkat growls, pulling at your ass cheeks, letting air in at your hole, “I’d be fucking you into the training room wall.”
You groan. Dammit, you can’t help it! Not when you are wrapped up in tentadick, your anus clenching and loosening in anticipation. You try to play it off. Like it was just...heavy breathing, or something.
But the fingers on your ass cheek leave and tangle in your hair, wrenching your head back, off your elbows entirely, forcing you up until your back touches the troll’s chest. You grunt at the pain, but your cock is still throbbing, and the noises die down significantly when your mouth is crushed to Karkat’s.
“Next time,” he snarls during a brief break for air almost a minute later, “I’ll just force you down and fuck you until you stop whining.”
You are about to protest (not whine) about his threat when you feel one stubby, clawed finger touch your anus and push swiftly past the momentarily relaxed muscle. You clamp down, but only when he’s one knuckle in, and you gasp right into Karkat's mouth.
He laughs and taps his nose against yours in this weird, affectionate way. It would be heartwarming if he wasn’t renewing the pressure on your hole, working his knuckle through your sphincter, claw prickling at your insides.
“How’s it feel?” Karkat rumbles, taking his finger out a half-inch before easing it back in.
“Like I need to shit,” you say, trying to growl, to sound menacing, but there’s too much edge in your voice.
“Well, you are full of it,” Karkat allows, pulling his finger out.
Then pressing two against your ass.
“Hey, wait,” you babble, tensing up, “you’re supposed to let me adjuaaaaaah!”
They are in you. He went fast, ruthless, ignoring the tightening of your muscles, slick digits working inside you in moments. It hurts and you aren’t breathing and you are so. Fucking. Hard.
“Shit,” Karkat whispers, flexing his fingers, trying to part them and scissor you wider, only really managing to make you quake and squirm and jerk your hips at the air. “You’re going to feel amazing on my bulge, Strider.”
“N-not if I fucking squeeze it off!” You shout, proving your point by clamping down as hard as you can.
Karkat...keeps...pushing. It feels like those two fingers will rip you in half. You can’t help it. You cry out, force yourself to loosen, and his fingers shoot in, knuckles tapping your rump. It’s got to be the contrast to the intense pain that makes his next pump feel so good.
“I could always order you not to,” the troll says, so casual. “But watching you fight me is...pretty fucking funny.”
You’re going to respond, but his fingers slide in and out once more. You try to keep still. This isn’t...it’s not...oh, fucking shit. He’s just fucking your ass with those fingers, picking up speed, seemingly unconcerned with his intentions to fuck you with his bulge, now. This is his actual plan, isn’t it? Finger-fuck you until you’re an ass-addict and you come to him, asking to be mated like a beast.
“Huh,” Karkat says, smiling. “I thought I’d have to shove something in your mouth to get you to stop talking. Nice that I don’t.” He rests his chin on your shoulder, lips ghosting over your neck, teeth pricking the skin, fingers still fucking you. “I like hearing you moan like the whore you are.”
Now is the time to protest.
Which would be easier if your kismesis didn’t let go of your hair and start pumping your dick.
Except for disgracefully liberal precum, your cock is dry, so he opts for a loose grip, slight touch, but it is ohfuckfantastic. Despite yourself, your hips move towards the clawed hand. Then back onto the slick fingers. It takes a few seconds and a chuckle from Karkat for you to realize he stopped moving his fingers on his own, just keeping his hand in place as you fuck your own damn self, but you can’t stop. You are being touched at both electrifying ends and there is a warm body at your back and teeth on your neck and fuck, does this mean you’re a bottom, now? It does, doesn’t it? That’s how this works, right?
“You’re going to love my bulge,” Karkat taunts, pressing his hips up to you, tentadick wriggling on your ball-sack “Wet. I can move it wherever you want inside you. You want my bulge, Strider?”
You’re panting. Dripping from your slit. Ass loosening, allowing the alien’s fingers in as deep as they can go, clenching again on the withdrawal. But you don’t say “Yes.” Don’t deny it, either. Just continue in this stasis of irrational pleasure. Maybe, if you can cum before he can fuck you—
“I didn’t hear a ‘no,’” Karkat purrs. “But that’s ‘yes’ enough for a bulgeslut like you.”
You keen, start to shake your head, but you can’t even make a full side-to-side motion before Karkat lets your cock go and pulls the fingers out of your ass and unwraps his bulge from your balls. You are about to cry – in anger, dismay, relief? – when his hands slam on your shoulder-blades
You topple, elbows slamming into the hard floor, sending hugely inaccurate “funny bone” pains up your arms. You make a noise, then, but, dammit, that is justified! It’s one of the worst pains you’ve experience short of a broken bone or sliced skin or troll fingers starting to stretch you, before you loosen and then need them in you, fuck, where are his fingers, you want them back inside you, using your hole, please.
“You want my bulge,” Karkat asks, voice low, almost laughing, and you don’t even have a second to think before your mouth opens.
He seems about as shocked as you. But then far more pleased, actually letting out a laugh. Two hands come to rest on your ass, one wet from genetic fluids and your insides, keeping your rump in place as he shifts behind you. Vantas uses his knees to kick yours apart on the floor, forcing you lower and wider. His cleaner hand comes to the small of your back, pressing there until you curve under it, ass rising up in tandem.
“Then brace yourself, Strider,” Karkat says in that falsely caring tone. He leans forward, shifts, and—
His bulge rubs up your ass crack, the thick base pressing between your cheeks, then shifting as his length slides along, getting thinner. And thinner. Until something touches your hole. Something as thin as the last digit of your pinky And way, way more wet.
“Fuck,” is all you can think to say as Karkat pushes the first inch of his bulge into your ass.
Into. Your. Ass.
Into your ass.
Be in charge.
Gog. Fucking. Dammit. Strider...is beautiful.
On his knees before you, presenting, asking to be rutted like a barkbeast. You only have a few moments to appreciate his balls and cock between his parted thighs, and then your own bits are obscuring them, allowing you to watch as your bright red bulge plays, for a moment, with the humans anus – which is, amusingly, darker than the rest of his skin – before starting to slide inside.
You are so, so glad that the majority of your bulge’s nerve endings are at the base, instead of the weird human setup at the tip. If you could feel more than you do now, the floor would be flooded with genetic material.
Speaking of, you take a second to drop an empty pail from your sylladex. After the half-pailing you gave yourself, you should have gone for a smaller container, but you know already that won’t be enough. You are going to give this human, give his ass, every bit of yourself. You are going to need a fucking IV drip before you can unsheathe again.
That is, if you can get inside him without spilling prematurely.
Which is really the question, right now, because Strider is gasping, every muscle in his shoulders and back tense as he accepts your bulge. Against his better judgment, it seems, based on how loudly he’s cursing. But he doesn’t fight. Doesn’t beg you to stop. Strider just kneels before you, letting you do this to him.
And moans. He’s moaning. A lot.
You know he’ll deny it in the future, but Strider – stoic rap master, Sir Knight, snark genius, irony god – is making these sounds that are nowhere near coherent enough to be words. He’s never made sounds like that while his dick was up your nook or in your mouth. He says nothing during those times, normally. He’s practically stone. But, it seems, when it’s you bulge-deep inside, Dave has lost all decorum.
And all you can do is grit your teeth and dig claws into his hips and think the least sexy things possible as you push in, because you are not slowing down, not letting him think you’re being affected for even a second.
“K...Karkat,” Dave whispers.
You just about collapse.
“Nuh,” Dave continues, his forehead thumping the floor as he gives up all attempts at good posture. He’s not moving away from you or even back on your bulge, but it’s not so difficult, anymore. His ludicrously tight ass still holds you snug, but now you wriggle in without the same stop-start motion, and you swear that the human’s ass is pulsing on you, drawing you in, adapting to the slow widening of your bulge.
And then your groin taps against Strider’s ass and you hold yourself there, in up to your shame globes, and beyond bliss. You bulge undulates languorously, not giving you too much pleasure, which is good, given how close you are.
“Fuck,” Strider whispers, crossing his arms and resting his head on his forearms, turning his head so he can look back at you from the corner of his eyes “You’re like a damn space heater, Vantas. You trying to cook me from the inside? Holy shit….”
“Not your best comeback,” you murmur, stroking your hand along his glutes. It’s almost pale in nature, this touch, but the prickle of claws you add at the end help to balance that out.
“You want a comeback?” Strider growls. “Here.”
You don’t get it for a second. But when you feel the tightening at the base of your bulge – the most sensitive part of you that isn’t deep inside your own body and really wishing Strider had a bulge of his own to bend back and return the favor – you gasp.
Strider laughs, triumphant.
You snarl in response, the prickle of claws now a dangerous press, so close to punching through skin. “Still...pretty...weak, Strider.”
He continues that little laugh, adding a wriggle of his rump, which has the effect of jostling you back and forth. “Doesn’t take much to get to you, Vant-ass.”
Its ridiculous and juvenile and you hate him. You just want him to shut up and let you have your way with his stupid human waste chute. Given your current activities, there’s only one thing you can think of to try and accomplish this, and, predictably, it involves your bulge.
“Shut up,” you rumble.
“Oooooh, so scar-aaaah!” Dave yelps, back going ruler-straight, trying to clear the path for your bulge, which is now stretched out as far as you can manage, the tip curved around the first bend of his waste chute. “What the fuck,” he pants as your bulge begins to retract, widening as it goes, forcing him to stretch around you. “What the fuck are youaaaaaaah….nnnn….”
You raise a brow. That sound was...very different. What the hell happened?
You pause and analyze the situation. Your bulge is as thick as you can make it, but somewhat spongy, and something about that made Strider just lose it. That was not shock. That was a bone-deep moan, a full-body tremble, and a weird, amazing flutter of the entrance to his waste chute.
“Well...well,” you purr, leaning over Strider's back, one hand tight on his hip, the other on the floor to stabilize you, and you whisper right in his ear. “You like that, Dave?”
“Fuh-fuck off,” the human wheezes, his eyes tight-closed
“Trying,” you sing, stretching your your bulge once more, getting little response. You begin easing back inside. Slow. Your tip testing and rubbing and waiting for—
“AAAAH!” Strider’s hips buck forward, sending a crackle of pure electricity along the base of your bulge as he screams and pulls off you a half-inch.
You aren’t having that. Nope. You are staying in this bitch’s ass, no matter what he does, and you make sure he knows it as you snarl, pressing to his back and thrusting back in, nearly driving him into the floor.
“Shit shit shit!”
“How’s that?” You hiss, guiding your bulge again, narrowing down your search for that spot that got Strider to finally react.
“Wh-whatever. It’s okaaaaaah! Fuck, YES!”
You smile. Got it. A little squishy patch, just a few inches inside. You poke, gently, until you are sure by reaction that you’ve got it. You align your bulge, finding a balance in length and girth to give you the best thickness for how you’ll thrust, and begin to pull out. As you do, you move your bulge in a wave, an inch or so bent towards the ground and that little spot, creating a continuous slide along that bit in Strider that cracked his cool.
“Fuck, shit, Karkat, what are you – fuck, yes, Karkat!”
You are very proud of yourself
You’re able to pull out until just an inch of your tip is left inside, and you hover there. The air is cool, and you want back inside, but there is something else you want, too.
“Touch yourself,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the human’s hips.
“Wha?” Strider can barely get the sound out. He moves and you almost crow in triumph as you realize he is pushing back on your bulge.
“Touch your bulge,” you clarify.
“Cock,” Dave gasps into his arms,
You roll your eyes. “Whatever. Touch your cock, bulgeslut.”
He makes this brief sound. Almost like a squeak. Which he’d deny, of course, but his hole squeezes down on your tip and he takes one hand off the floor, reaching between his legs. You can’t see what he’s doing, but his arm muscles flex with short movements, and that needy hole flutters faster.
“Good,” you say, voice soft, and start pushing back in.
He’s looser, but the rapid clench and release of his ass is maddening. How are you going to survive this? It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. Dave is moaning under you, no words, just the clench of his ass and his hips pushing back against yours and if you didn’t hate his every breath and word and DNA nucleotide, you’d love him, do anything for him if he’d let you do this again.
You are going to have to double your training regimen You want to spend the rest of your life drilling this little human whore into the ground.
You don’t pause once you’re all the way in. Just pull out, continuing to form your bulge for constant teasing. Strider is never going to live down this desperation, and that is how you like it. Let him think back to how he furiously jacked himself, doubling the pleasure you were giving him. How he shook and jolted with the intensity. How he gasped, moaned, whispered your name, as if you wouldn’t hear. He’ll remember, you’ll remember, and, every time he looks you in the eyes, he’ll think of what you’ve done to him. Maybe falter a little in your sparring, so you can, once more, knock the sword out of his hands and mount him like the bitch he is.
He’s getting you close, though, and you are not going to let him carry you over before he finishes. Maybe he’s holding back – to extend the pleasure to spite you, who knows – but you won’t have it. This is your time, and you are going to make him spill all over before you finish yourself.
He must be horrifically out of focus, because he doesn’t even react when you lean over and jab the inside of his one supporting elbow. Strider topples, yelping, arm collapsing under him. He’s barely got time to land, look at you from his twisted position, open his mouth, and then you pull your bulge all the way out. He opens his mouth – about to beg for it back? – when you put your weight against his legs, flipping them around so he’s suddenly on his back, looking up at you.
You pounce. Perhaps undignified, but you are on him, grabbing his thighs, lifting them onto your shoulders, like when you were down there, eating out his ass, but this time you’re not bending for a taste. When you jab your hips at him, your bulge doesn’t even try to wrap about his cock, as it normally does. It’s had too much time inside a tight hole to be content with that. It found its way into the human and it’s going to use him, going to turn him into a bucket. You don’t need a second shot to find the human’s gaping hole and thrust all the way in, forcing him open.
“KARKAT!” Strider’s back arches further off the floor so it seems only his shoulders still have contact.
You smile. In an almost friendly manner, really. You take one hand off his ass, tightening your grip with the other, freeing the first hand to allow you to spit into your palm. It’s quick, dirty, and what the bastard deserves. Strider doesn’t even seem to realize what you’re intending, since he, once more, cries out your name when you grab the base of his cock, forcing his own hand away as you pull roughly upward.
Rather than fighting to get back at his cock, the bitch grabs his thighs, pulling them higher, further apart, letting you in deeper. He is depraved and brilliant and you are in him, in every inch, ready to take him apart.
A few jerks on his cock and he says the magic words. “Karkat, I’m close.”
Damn good thing. With him laying under you, eyes half-closed, lost in the feelings, the sight of him is driving you crazy. You need to finish this now. Your hand picks up speed, jerks erratically, focusing on the head of his cock, your bulge assaulting that point inside him, forcing him to the edge.
“Sh-shit, Karkat, too much,” he whines, twisting his hips, trying to move away. You, of course, ignore his words. “Too much! I’m ah-aaaaah!”
His cry rises in pitch, losing all his affected adult masculinity, and you feel the first jerk in your hand. You pull down to the base at just the right moment, and the first jet of Strider’s cum flies free, aimed perfectly into his face. Fucking yes.
“Shit,” you whisper, and let go, pounding the human’s ass, absorbing his cries, the feel of his asshole clenching with his orgasm bringing you along.
That one bucket is not going to be enough.
It hits you like a bomb. One enormous clench of bulge and ignored nook and you are spilling genetic fluids, one ludicrous torrent, your body all sensation. Almost all of your genetic material comes from your nook, but you empty plenty into the human, your continued thrusts turning sloppy, slick, nearly devoid of friction, almost all the pleasure in the act of rutting and not the actual touch.
Which is still a lot of sensation, fuck, you can’t stop. Strider is wriggling under you, too sensitive in the aftermath of his orgasm, but all you can do is press your bulge down and away from his sweet spot as you continue fucking. As your fluid starts dribbling out of his waste chute and into the bucket below. Despite the continued abuse, Strider doesn’t bring up an actual protest. Just lies and takes it, face and chest covered in streaks of his white genetic fluid, a final dribble collecting in his pubic hair as his cock begins to deflate.
Remarkably patient, this human. He just lets you keep going until the pleasure ebbs, your bulge starting to retract into your body. It’s a little uncomfortable, but you focus on keeping it out, merely pulling free from the human’s body. You’re going to need to visit the ablution trap after this. And take a nap. And drink about three gallons of water, because you’re pretty sure the bucket is overflowing.
“Damn,” you whisper, sitting back on your thighs, unhooking Strider’s legs from your hips, easing him to the floor.
“What,” Strider huffs, trying for some sort of annoying, cocky look but failing a bit due to the spunk on his face. “Am I too much for you?”
You don’t have the energy fight, right now. You pretty much collapse on the floor next to Strider, ignoring the genetic material as you curve up to his side, resting your cheek on his chest.
He goes rigid for a moment, but soon chuckles, curving an arm around your hip, bringing you in close. He smells like sweat and cum and the feel of him is so comforting that you’ve almost drifted off to sleep when he tilts his head down, kissing your hair.
“I can’t wait to do that to you,” he whispers.
You scowl “You already have.”
“Not in your ass,” Dave explains, moving a his arm down so he can squeeze your glute.
“I’ve got a nook, moron.”
“And I’m still going to fuck your ass. Funny how that works.”
You groan with annoyance and close your eyes. You will deal with this argument later.
Be (no longer) at his mercy.
The next time you spar with Karkat, he’s disarmed in a grand total of fifteen seconds. He denies letting it happen, of course, but, when you first grab him and pull his hips to yours, his bulge is already long since out of its bone sheath.
Karkat takes it like a pro. <3<