Chapter Text
When the Gods touch you, you’re instructed not to make a sound. You don't look at them with lust, you don't acknowledge them unless they acknowledge you first. You are an Offering. A gift. A nameless vessel. A young and supple body, meant to be taken and used at the sole pleasure of the Gods.
You, specifically, have been charged to fulfill the carnal inclinations of one Dave Strider, Derse's resident God of Time. Each month, you—along with three others—offer your bodies up to be claimed amongst Prospit's frequent offerings to maintain a peace with the Derse gods.
Of course, there were other types of Offers that the two kingdoms would trade back and forth; the most common being manual labor, craftsmanship, and food. Every Prospitian family was expected to contribute to the monthly Offer. Unfortunately, each family’s mandated contribution directly correlated with its financial and social status on Prospit, and as a descendant from a long line of socially shunned Alternian red-blooded mutants, it was almost guaranteed that this would be your fate.
You all stand in a straight line on Offering day, an occurrence which you in particular shamefully anticipate with an unadvisedly large measure of eagerness. The royal tower is silent, but in a few moments the God of Time will enter the room, select one of you, and lead you to his private chambers for the night.
You each wear a sheer yellow swath of silken fabric that is draped over you and cinched around the middle with a length of delicate golden rope. You wear nothing underneath; the outfit leaves very little to the imagination. It almost feels more exposing than it would be were you standing completely naked.
The door opens. You hold your breath as Dave walks in. He's a human, and quite young too; guessing human ages can be tricky but you imagine he can't be much older than you, so twelve sweeps at the very most.
Dave looks… different today. Curiously absent is his perfectly styled golden hair, his carefully arranged outfit and stubbornly blank expression. It looks like he just woke up, his hair is an absolute mess and sticking up on every side, even though it's several hours into the dusky evening. He's shirtless, clad in only a pair of purple pajama bottoms that sag a bit on his hips. Naturally, you've seen him naked before, but never in the bright light of public, and your eyes roam his figure helplessly, traveling from the well defined muscles in his torso to to the lovely trail of blonde hair that starts at his navel and moves down, only to disappear enticingly beneath his waistband. Foreign though it is, you've found that you are quite partial to the human form, yourself.
He actually yawns, then, you feel your fellow Offerings stiffen beside you and follow their lead, standing up a bit straighter. As though your attentiveness will somehow counteract his seeming apathy. You puff your chest out farther regardless, and wait until he points at who he wants to accompany him for the evening.
Unfortunately, you already know it's not your turn tonight. You've observed him cycle through the four of you in the same consecutive order, always looking and pointing with the same blank mask of boredom as if he was picking out door knobs at Hive Depot. It's systematic, almost like he wants to give everyone an equal opportunity. It makes you wonder things you shouldn't. It makes you wonder if this is something he wants to do, or has to do.
Of course, you're itching to spend another night with him, but sadly, your session was last month. You find yourself still looking forward to the ritual, even on days he doesn't pick you. Days when you feel a longing that gets caught in your throat, that burns and scratches at your insides as you force it down, like swallowing burning coals.
You can't have a crush on a God. It's the most unfathomably stupid thing you could possibly hope to acquire in your cursed lifetime. You are positive Dave thinks nothing of you, while you think everything of him.
It's been less than a sweep since you've come of age and stepped into your dutiful role as an Offering, and in that time, you've gone to Dave's bed a total of four times. You know you shouldn't like this part. You are no more important to him than the lamp on his bedside table; you can see it in the lazy, detached way he regards you as you stand bare before him. And yet you still feel the traitorous spark of desire when he comes close, the sting of rejection every time he doesn't choose you.
You're not supposed to want this. This is a punishment to you and your family for being the lowest of the low, for being the absolute blackened, burnt bottom of the Alternian social melting pot. Maybe this is what it means to be corrupted. To be damaged and mutated beyond all repair, so that even the cruelest of punishments seems like a reward.
So you spend your precious nights with him, as passive and as quietly as you’re meant to. All the while wishing you were able to run your fingers through the sandy hair that creeps down the side of his face and frames it squarely. To grab hold of his powerful arms and bury your head into his neck as he bucks into you. It's a delicate kind of torture, but it's one you are willing to endure for the sake of being close to Dave.
It goes without saying that most others do not share your enthusiasm for the ritual. You know why, the thoughts of exactly what it really is lurk not even that far down in the recesses of your mind, where your logic muscles choose to languish. They are using you. Sure, you are offering yourself up consensually, but anyone with an ounce of intelligence could see that you are all but helpless to do otherwise. Not participating would mean facing ostracization from a community who already despises your very presence.
You are part of a machine that purports choice but promotes enslavery.
Dave is a willing cog in this machine. Every month he emerges from his spire to choose one of his dedicated servants to take into his bed, expecting that they will be willing and pliant to his needs. He doesn’t know your name or your story, and he’s not expected to. And while his actions are perfunctory, you can't help the surfacing fantasies that he is looking at you in more than his soulless way. You dare to visualize him hovering above you, movements turned erratic as he comes undone, and his eyes piercing hotly into yours. You dream of a world where he is not a Derse God nor you a Prospitian outcast; but two souls, connected without pretense or the irritating clog of forethought.
Dave steps forward until he is standing in front of the line of Offerings. The two guards on either side of the room shift, poised to take action should one of you make an inappropriate advance toward Dave. His mouth is slackened and stretched into something you wouldn't have to reach too far to call a smirk. It's more expression than you've ever seen on him before, it's like he's forgotten to compose himself, or maybe didn't care to today. He's close enough that you can smell him; it's earthy, like fresh mud and pine with a human musk that you find terribly intoxicating. You inhale deeply, wishing desperately that today was your turn. You look at your fellow Offerings with a jealous ping in your chest.
But then something happens that you weren't expecting. Dave stops in front of you, and suddenly you are staring into your own eyes reflected in the lenses of dark shades.
Today isn't your day. You were chosen last time. Is he picking you twice in a row?
Your breath hitches as he extends one long arm and thusly attached finger to land unmistakably on you. Reflexively, you bow your head and step forward. A little thrill runs through you alongside the confusion and shock of being chosen again. He gives you a slight nod, then turns and to nod at the others in line. Then once more at the guards before stepping out of the room and into the darkened corridor.
***
The walk to his bedroom is as quiet as it always is. Every time you've seen him making a public appearance on television or generally in public, he is a veritable hurricane of human nonsense, talking nonstop about things you can't even begin to make sense of. Yet in private he walks in silent, almost somber contemplation. You concentrate on taking solid steps in front of you, matching your pace to be exactly one step behind his, head abuzz with questions. Why did he pick you again? Did he just forget who he was up to in the cycle, or was this a choice sealed with intention? Is he admitting a preference for you? You immediately dismiss that thought, dousing it like it caught fire in your brain and dampening the nervous excitement that accompanied it. Your hopes are not completely unfounded, however. You do know that there were some gods who did develop a preference, who would come to choose a particular Offering time and time again.
A fellow Offering and friend from Prospit, Nepeta, told you not too long ago that the God she was assigned to had become particularly taken with a certain jadeblood at her service. This was a relief to her as well as the others who presented themselves at the sister Derse tower every month, as they came to take solace in the fact that they weren't going to be chosen again. As far as Nepeta could tell, the jade blooded troll was quite pleased with her God's fascination with her. As you know you would be should Dave decide that you've taken his fancy. Still you think it impossible. Who would possibly want to choose you, time after time? You're nothing to look at. Less than nothing, in fact. And that's a fact that has been hard wired into your brain by your world, by your race, by your own society, for your entire life.
The vision of Dave's bedroom door is practically engraved into your memory. Solid oak featuring an astonishingly elaborate clockwork pattern printed in gold onto both sides in what is clearly a loving homage to the God of Time. He pushes open the door and steps to the side, sweeping one arm in front of him in a clear, you first gesture. That's new. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised by his unusual behavior anymore, but your head swims anyway with what it all means. You start to turn your face toward his in confusion before remembering yourself and pointing your gaze swiftly to the stone floor. You step across the threshold as quickly as you can, eyes fixed downward, into the room.
It's a wide, circular chamber with a domed glass ceiling that lets you see the inky black Derse sky above. You don't stop to take in the view but head straight for the foot of the bed, intimately familiar with what is expected of you. You will stand facing the bed until he comes forward, he will then disrobe you and arrange you on the bed in the manner he prefers.
You wait, the anticipation clawing its way up your back like a beast of prey. You feel his presence behind you and then two large arms wrapping firmly around your waist. You freeze, your brain not working fast enough to come up with an explanation for what's happening. He stoops over you, wood creaking beneath his feet as he shifts.
"Karkat," he whispers into your ear. His breath ghosts over the side of your neck and you shudder, cheeks warming under the attention. Dave has never addressed you by name before. You weren't sure he actually knew your name at all. You're sure that it's on the record in the kingdom somewhere, but the fact that he had actually set out to learn it is a genuine shock. You warm from the inside out, forbidden thoughts expanding in your mind like noxious gas. This is unfamiliar territory and you don't respond, but wait instead for a command. You're tensed, heavily aware of the stock still way you are holding yourself, a stark contrast to the pulse of heat between your legs.
He unties the golden rope around your robe, pushing it off your shoulders so that it drops to the ground at your feet. His fingers move slowly, grazing your skin almost purposefully, and certainly in a way that brings an embarrassed flush to your face. He guides you down the the bed without saying anything else and you’re grateful. This, at least, you know.
Your bulge is still sheathed but there’s a steady stream of material leaking from your nook already so it’s only a matter of time. You always end up unsheathing with Dave. You’re not sure if other trolls do the same or not but you wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t. Just another sign of your unfettered desperation and depravity. Dave pushes you down so that your back is flush with the mattress and your legs spread for him, already shamefully hot and waiting.
However. He just stands at the side of the bed, watching you. Staring, even. You dare another glance at his face, but his expression is completely unreadable while he's wearing those shades. During a normal session he might have taken them off by now, but you suppose this is just another thing to chalk up to his strange behavior tonight.
“Touch yourself.”
His voice is flat. This time you really can't help it. You stare up blankly at him, like you’ve never heard those words in that specific order until right now.
Your purpose is to provide pleasure for him, how could this possibly make use of you?
Of course you're going to obey, because that is what you were put in this room to do. To do anything Dave asks of you, no matter what. It's what you look forward to every month. Even when you know it won't be you who makes the silent trek down dark castle halls, you still look forward to seeing his face, to catching the earthy musk of him as he passes you by yet another time.
You reach your hand out slowly, sliding it down your abdomen and dragging it lightly over your nook. Wetness immediately clings to your fingers, an involuntary shiver shoots through you like an errant electric shock.
All you want to do is to keep looking up at Dave and your face burns with the shame of it, so you force your eyes to squeeze shut instead. This, in turn, becomes an invitation for your other senses to take the lead. Every inch of your skin becomes acutely aware of the sinfully soft sheets that curve around your figure, they smell like Dave. You long to press your face into the fabric, to nose your way into the deep folds of fine silk, to seek out out more of his enticing scent. You hear gentle yet reverberated ticking from clocks you've yet to see. Your mouth is dry, and your heart is racing.
Your fingers play at your nook but they don't stray too deeply. Your mind is split, one half is swimming in arousal, while the other clouds with concerns. What does he really want? What is the end goal here? Why is tonight so different? Why did Dave choose you out of turn, and why does he know who you are?
You continue to rub your hand lightly at your crotch, fingers stoking a gentle warmth while you consider the situation. Your arousal is somewhat blunted, desire justly battled by your building anxiety. You see movement in your periphery.
"C'mon. Like you mean it."
Fuck. This time his voice has dropped considerably. Once again you can't help it. You glance up to see Dave finally remove his shades. His eyes immediately lock onto yours with a nameless intensity and you turn away as if burned. It's like looking into the sun.
Genetic material continues to leak steadily from your nook. One hand clutches at your chest while you press two fingers of the other deeper into the dripping slit, curling them upward to drag against your sensitive globes. It feels better than expected. Biting back a groan, you redouble your efforts. It's not difficult. Your body is eager to be touched after being wound up all night, and knowing Dave's eyes are on you is doing absolutely treacherous things to your insides.
It's no time at all before your hips are gently rocking up into your hand. Your body is tense with the effort to keep silent, there are still rules to be mindful of. Dave can do what he wants, but you are keenly aware that you don't exactly share the same privileges. This is your punishment. But more importantly, you wouldn't do anything to risk your status as an Offering. To risk the chance of never seeing Dave again would be unthinkable.
He's silent, but you don't look back to see if you've won his approval. You rub at slick folds with your mouth open and eyes scrunched shut, spreading your material again and again across hot skin and focusing in on the slow moving tides of pleasure. Just like you've done in the privacy of your block so many nights before this one. Just like you've done with the images and ghosted memories of Dave on your mind.
After a minute, you know this is not going to go any farther. You feel good, but you're plateauing. It's like you're on a raft that got caught on a rock before a waterfall, held back just before the precipice. You're not sure how the idea of Dave watching you can be so simultaneously hot and nerve wracking. Either way you end up stuck, circling around your own arousal while pondering Dave's end game.
You're still touching yourself, because it's what Dave has asked of you, willing your mind to stop whirring with thought for even the briefest of moments.
Apparently he isn't happy with your pace either because once again you sense movement at the foot of the bed, hear the creak of footsteps and smell the lush of rainy forests and Dave, and then he's standing over you. He's still topless, and still wearing those purple pajama bottoms.
"I think you can do better than that. Now where were you putting your fingers before? Because there was a second there where you looked more pleased than a sticky fingered, grease smeared kid whose family just walked into a McDonald's with a Play Place."
You could swear the temperature in the room has gone up several degrees. You're too overwhelmed to even attempt parsing the ridiculously alien sounding things he said, but you certainly get the gist. You swallow in lieu of answering his question, your hand stilling on your crotch. He leans in, just a little closer to you, and your eyes travel up to watch the soft moonlight that dances off the smattering of blonde hair across his wide chest.
"Hey."
His voice is gentle. Too fucking gentle. It lights your insides on fire in the best and worst ways. Like peeling back scabs from scaly skin. Sure, it feels good in the moment, but it's ultimately a detriment.
"Look at me."
Meeting his eyes proves difficult. For a brief, ludicrous second, a wild part of your mind imagines just getting up and running for the door instead. The other part of your mind, one you're trying very hard to suppress, just scoffs. You wanted this. You should be pleased at his attention. Or at the very least, grateful.
You take a steadying breath and your eyes move up to meet his. They smolder a darkened ruby red, and there's a hint of concern there you were never expecting to see. Or, as your mind interjects, it's more likely that the light is making them look different than usual, and here you are assigning pan-addled meanings to every little thing.
Dave continues to look at you expectantly, but gently all the same. His gaze makes you want to curl in on yourself. You're nothing worth looking at for this long. You were made to be neither seen nor heard. Only used.
"Where were you touching yourself?" he asks, voice even softer this time.
"Globes," you whisper, your face and chest both flooding with embarrassed heat.
He lifts an eyebrow so high it would be almost comical except for the fact that you're currently naked and sweating heavily into his expensive bed sheets.
"Show me then," he says. "Touch them again."
It's like he's taken a pair of jumper cables and jump started your arousal back to life. There's more sticky material dribbling between your legs and your mouth parts without your consent. Shaky fingers find the seam of your nook once again and slip easily inside. You crook them up, rubbing firmly against your globes in exactly the way you like, in that way that makes your back arch, and slow tickling warmth creep over you as if on spider's legs.
You watch Dave's face, drinking in his rapt expression and the slight redness that colors his cheeks. He's mesmerizing. You struggle to remember why you couldn't look at him. Now that you've been given strict permission, you can't imagine ever looking away.
You're breathing hard, and you can feel your bulge shifting impatiently inside its sheath. With every movement it pushes more slurry onto the sheets. You know it should be out already, would be out already, if you could just stop thinking and let go. It's never been this slow before, especially not with Dave, but then again, none of this has ever happened before. You've never had to do anything except relax while Dave drew his pleasure from you, and incidentally received your own in return.
Dave bends over, so that his face is just above yours. You finally avert your gaze, the intensity of sustained eye contact becoming way too much at this distance. You choose to look at his mouth instead. His lips are a pleasant human pink, and when he parts them to speak, you can see two rows of mostly flat white teeth peering back. You catch yourself wondering if he'll kiss you. A dangerous part of you imagines that today is the day you can earn his mouth, frantically conjuring up fantasies of you sliding your tongue along those soft looking lips. You clench your teeth against the intrusive thoughts, pressing harder against your globes as if in punishment. Your back lifts off the bed and your mouth opens but you don't dare cry out. Holy fuck. Dave exhales a warm breath that gently drifts over your face.
"Fuck," is all he says. A hot surge of energy goes through you, demanding and electric. "Hey," he adds in a low voice, "I feel like we're missing someone here. Where's our old friend, Mr. Wiggly?"
Did he just ask about your bulge? Did he just name your bulge?
Of course, every time you've been in bed with Dave the focus was on him, leaving your bulge largely neglected. So what does this mean? You shut your eyes tightly against the runaway freight car that is your mind; the thought of his hands on it, those plush looking lips on it, and above all, the notion that he would do something so honestly and undeniably dedicated to you–it's almost too much to bear.
Then a hand is on your chin, lifting your head, and you open your eyes to witness the magma red of Dave's again. Sparks fly at the points where his fingers graze your skin. They skitter down to your core, intermixing with the heady haze you've creating by touching yourself to Dave's orders, fingers moving almost as fast as your mind is spinning.
"Let me see it."
Instantly–like his command was the not-so-secret key all along–your bulge rides out on a hot wave of slurry. You strain to stay silent as it slides through your fingers, the building tension finally releasing itself in sharp and electric contractions of your nook, that white water finally crashing against the rocks. It pushes against your globes and undulates in place, fully stimulating them and plunging you into shaking pleasure. The bed is soaking through, you've never wet it this much before. Distantly and a little embarrassedly, you think Dave must be disgusted by the mess, but when you finally regain the capacity to check, even you can't deny that he's looking at you with an expression that's anything but.
You watch his tongue dart out and swipe slowly across parted lips. He presses them together, and lets out a long, almost musical exhale.
"That was really fucking hot."
Your mouth dries and your face blazes. You fight the urge to look away, to reject reality, even though Dave couldn't have made it any clearer exactly how he feels about what is happening. The implications of what he wants to happen. It sets your blood to boiling; some nonsensical part of you thinks maybe you'll just evaporate. Your mind free to retreat somewhere safe and familiar, while your body is left to shrivel under his stare. Your bulge slips through your fingers and thrashes against your stomach, smearing thick red genetic material all over your skin and hands. The movements send little rivulets of pleasure running down your spine and you helplessly spread your legs wider, looking up at Dave through fluttering eyelids, still panting. He just drags one large hand through his hair and grins.
There's movement just below your eyeline and you look downward to see his other hand affixed to the front of his pants, where it's moving rhythmically along his own, unmistakably stiff bulge.
Sharp arousal shoots through you like a lightning bolt. He's touching himself, to the sight of you. He wants you.
It's getting harder and harder to tell yourself otherwise, to convince yourself this is just one giant joke, or some kind of test to prove that you aren't a loyal Prospitian Offering. Or any one of the other undoubtedly countless, ludicrous scenarios your treacherous thinkpan could craft up in an instant.
"Ah," he says, his voice plucking deliciously deep notes at the base of your spine, "There's our little friend."
He kneels down, his face dropping another fraction closer to yours, half-lidded carmine eyes swimming back into your field of vision. Your body is squirming against the bed, positively screaming to be touched. You can still see his arm moving below the surface of the bed where he's stroking himself while staring through you with those molten eyes. You think you would probably do anything to get him to put his hands on you.
And then, as if by some miracle, he says, "I wanna touch you so bad. Can I?"
Your eyes go wide and your mouth flattens. As much as you want to concede, you struggle against that persistent part of you that rejects the idea that that you should want anything at all. You don't exist to want. You exist to serve.
Dave continues to look at you expectantly, pushing you over the edge as only he can. You manage to nod weakly, all the while pushing your pelvis needily against your own hand.
He smiles in slow motion, eyes spelling out devilish intent. "Sweet."
He uses the other hand, the one that's not currently busy touching himself to grab your bulge, running his fist along the length. Slurry sluices obscenely onto his fingers and drips down the back of his hand, while your hips buck up into his touch. Your throat contracts with a barely withheld moan. Shit.
He gets his lips right up close to your ear, blowing a gust of warm air against it and making you shiver.
"I know you like coming here, Karkat," he whispers, simultaneously squeezing his fingers around the base. Your traitorous lips let out a helpless whimper at his words, and both his eyebrows shoot up.
"Mmm. That was a pretty noise. I wonder what other sounds you can make."
You clamp your mouth shut in horror. No, no, he can’t be doing this. It goes against everything you've been taught as an Offering, against everything you are, everything you know how to be. You squeeze your eyes shut against the feelings of pleasure that are riding hot on the back of stinging shame.
He blows gently on your ear again, his fingers stroking along your bulge and sending lazy sparks of heat dancing up your spine. The combined effect has you squirming on your back and angling your hips up for more contact.
"You look amazing like this, by the way," Dave whispers, and bites down hard on your earlobe. Your eyes fly open as you instinctively cry out somewhere between a moan and a shout, much louder than before. You immediately realize your mistake, feeling a rush of heat and embarrassment wash over you.
You jerk your head up to see Dave's reaction. He grins and pants out several short breaths before simply saying, "Nice." You gasp as he redoubles his grip and strokes you, hard.
He brings his head around so that your foreheads are almost touching and his eyes bore heated and intensely into yours. You force yourself not to turn away this time. He bites down on his bottom lip and releases it; your faces are so close you can see the red mark his teeth leave behind. You have an insane urge to lunge up and kiss him.
You dare to think it's maybe not so insane.
Dave lets out a harsh breath. He's working both you and himself roughly now, his pace almost impatiently eager and his voice hurried.
"Tell me what you want me to do, huh? Tell me how you want it."
It's like time stops. You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth slack, your hips still moving in tiny circles, far out of your control. He can't. You can't.
You're becoming increasingly overwhelmed by the proximity of his face to yours, struck more than ever by the handsomeness of it, by his milk pale skin, the perfect line of his jaw and the beautiful handful of freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.
You open your mouth but you can't push the words through the dense shrub of anxiety that prickles at you. You should reply, he wants you to reply. But you can't say anything, can't do anything except stare up at him helplessly, while your body continually jerks up under his touch.
When Dave groans, it's a guttural sound that starts your insides writhing like the crack of a whip. "Come on," he purrs. "Say something. Tell me you like this."
Like nothing, he sticks two fingers into your sheath, stretching it around your bulge. Your eyes snap down to see the copious amount of slurry that quickly coats his fingers, easing the slide. If your mouth was on speaking terms with your brain, you might have said something like, those can't go up there. But as it stands, you're too preoccupied with being chased out of your own mind with how fucking good it feels.
He twists his fingers just so, and you realize what he is going for just as you hear his satisfied grunt and feel his soft, blunted fingers graze over your already sensitive globes. You yelp, all consideration for what you are and are not allowed to do slipping straight out of your head. Your eyes press up into the back of your skull as he rubs firm circles into your globes, his other hand wrapping once more around the eager tip of your bulge. The sensation is beyond anything you've ever been able to achieve yourself, the rolling pleasure strikes sharp and true and your fingers clench down onto the bed sheets.
Dave talks as he works his hands on your body, his low vocalizations spurring on the swarm of honey sweet sensation that is slowly enveloping you.
"Wow, you look amazing, you're like the featured exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art and I'm some fat tourist who won't move the fuck away from their prime spot in front of Starry Night. God, please, keeping making more sounds for me, you sound so fucking delicious."
Some of his speech is, as always, completely lost on you, but you don't answer anyway. Instead, you let the words fill you, easy like a worn water balloon and swell with the praise, just about set to burst with the force of it. Without warning, he stills his movements. You pivot your body needily on the bed, Dave's name on the edge of your tongue. Please. You are convinced you will die if he doesn't keep touching you. Your bulge squirms in his fist, trying to create its own friction, but Dave holds it steady and trains his eyes on you.
"Karkat," he rumbles. You're suddenly aware that your heart is racing. You suck in a breath, the smell of pine and fresh soil floods your nostrils again.
"You gotta tell me you like this. Should I keep going?" His eyes are like stained glass, beautifully colored and housing something to be worshipped. Beyond the blaring intensity they promise you a safe place in their moonlit shimmer, guileless and true.
"Y-yes," you finally gasp out.
He grins, wicked as anything and says, "What was that?" just as he twists his fingers harshly inside your sheath.
"YES!" you scream, back arching clear off the bed. Reflex-quick, Dave pushes you back down, splaying one large hand over your abdomen. His fingers glide hotly over your skin, slick with the slurry from his own hands and what was already coating your stomach. Your bulge very eagerly affixes itself to his wrist before he pulls it away to resume his work, fingers sliding smoothly over the tip. You swear he could break you wide open.
"I fucking love this thing," he remarks softly, almost as an aside to himself.
As he strokes and squeezes at your bulge, you hear yourself whine.
"Dave…"
His name slips out of your mouth like you've said it a million times.
Out of all the surprises tonight, you weren't prepared for the way he smiles at you then, toothy and wide, and it's the closest thing to a joyous expression that you've ever seen on his face. It summons a weird mixture of happiness and longing in your gut, one you're not prepared or able to deal with at the moment.
He keeps at it, pressing deeply into you and hitting that spot again and again until you're absolutely writhing against the sheets. You claw at your chest with your hands, like your skin can't contain the feelings. It's like now that you've allowed yourself to speak, you can't stop the words from shamelessly pouring out. In an interesting turn of events, it's your turn to babble as bliss courses through you.
"You feel so good, Dave, I want you, I want this, please make me feel good!"
"Mmmm, you know that's what I'm talking about," he says, then licks his lips and grins, removing the hand from your nook sheath and leaning in again. His face is so very, very close to yours. His mouth is slightly open, and in your continued delirium it's starting to look a lot like an invitation. And so very calmly and simply, as if it's the only logical thing to do in the universe, you lift your head and press your lips to his.
There is one wonderful second of warmth and wet and Dave, until he pulls back sharply and your eyes snap open to a worryingly blank stare. Your stomach plummets and your limbs freeze, like maybe if you don't move or blink or breathe, he'll forget you are laying exposed in front of him. Familiar dread and anxiety resurface like ever buoyant detritus, every trace of excitement stopped dead in its tracks.
You open your traitorous mouth and take one quavering breath, ready to use your newfound voice to let out an apology, or to beg him for forgiveness, or maybe even a swift, merciful death, but before you get out a word his face cracks into a smile and it's like a swift, cool balm to your crackling summer storm. You only have a moment to bask in the reprieve though, before he's kissing the thoughts straight out of your thinkpan.
His lips are as warm and sweet as you've always imagined. You groan into the kiss and he matches you unashamed, both your voices mingling and rising in the moonwashed night. You explore every part of Dave's mouth you can with your tongue, and revel in the taste of him. You're bathed in the smell of dreamy pine and fresh rain. Your bulge is squirming as your body fills with hot energy once again, flooding your insides like a forbidden cordial.
Dave pulls away, shifting on his knees to shoot closer to side of the bed, his eyes lidded and a slow, lazy smile spreading over his face. Even through the smoky haze that's settled over your mind, you're aware of the way your heart's tempo increases, beating a hurried rhythm against the front of your rib cage.
"Now," he whispers, low and sweet, one finger tickling at your chin, the other one moving back to idly stroke at your bulge. His movements are confident but gentle enough to keep you just on the edge and wanting more.
"How does that feel?"
"Good," you gasp. He fingers the slit at the tip of your bulge and you squeak. Your hands are fidgeting, against the sheets, against your own body, and when you can't hold it in any longer your question comes out all at once in a fast exhale of, "CanItouchyou?"
Dave's face warps for a moment, eyebrows lifting and then narrowing in quick succession. Before you can assess his reaction, though, he shakes it off and grins.
"Oh absolutely, bring on the exploration dude, let's pretend like I'm the Sahara Desert and you're a world weary traveler in search of potable water, or how about it's nine in the morning and the Strider body is open for business and you've won a no-holds-barred shopping spree for one--"
Relief floods you, sharp and clear as a swig of ice water. You don't even wait for him to finish before flinging your arms around his neck and pulling him back toward your face so you can fall into his mouth again. Your fingers slide into the soft tufts of hair that come down the sides of his face, and you can feel the warmth of his cheeks and the way they round out under your thumbs. His skin is so soft, way softer than yours and so endearingly delicate you could swoon.
You stay like that for some unknown amount of time, with your hands on Dave's face and mouths interlocked in a way you've previously only envisioned in your dreams. Every sweep of his tongue over yours sends an unforgiving stab of heat straight to your bulge.
You're dragging your fingers up Dave's face and combing them into his soft, soft hair when a quiet but steady rumble kicks up in your chest. Oh fuck. You instantly feel mortification creep in, even though you're pretty sure that no one besides another troll would be able to recognize your sounds as the beacon of pale solicitation they so definitely and horrifyingly are. Especially not Dave, who you don't think has very much experience with trolls in general, let alone a solid grasp on the subtle nuances of each quadrant. He pulls both his head and hands away from you and a little embarrassingly, you find yourself chasing after him with your lips. "Is that you?" he says, his eyes wide.
You clench your jaw and nod tightly, internally cursing your shitty, confused body, set firmly to betray you like it always fucking is.
"Is that…"
He cocks his head, trying to listen closer. You avert your eyes and focus on trying, with no avail, to shrink yourself down into the mattress.
"Is that a good thing?"
You chance a peek at his face. His eyes are as soft as his words, and his mouth is open in a small, downturned oval.
Shit. A potent cocktail of arousal, self-loathing, and concern sloshes in your gut, crashing against each other and fighting for dominance in a maelstrom of way too much feeling. This is what happens when you're messed up. Broken beyond all repair.
"It's… uh." You shift uncomfortably, wishing you could just go back to literally thirty seconds ago when you were both kissing. Your abandoned bulge is still curling in on itself and undulating slowly against your chest. Your hands have moved to Dave's shoulders. You focus on them, and how wide and solid they feel under your hands. It's a safe, comfortable feeling you can latch onto, and the rumbling ticks up a level in your chest. "It's… good," you reply.
His eyes light up. "Well then," he says. "It's pretty sexy."
The storm calms a bit, a mixture of heat and embarrassment taking a strong lead. You're extremely aware of the way your bulge squirms double time at his affirmation. Fuck.
"Now," he says. Without breaking eye contact, Dave begins to walk two fingers in a trail down your chest. You swallow thickly, his eyes are smoldering. "I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you." He waits a second and adds quickly, "No wrong answers. Not in La Casa de Strider, here we strive to make our favorite guest feel good. I love the way you look when you feel good."
You face feels like it's being held over an open flame. As he waits for your response his fingers begin to trace devilish circles around the tip of your bulge, once in a while squeezing all the way down to the base and causing your body to jolt up. It's becoming hard to think of anything beyond raw, desperate need. The ache to have Dave pushing into you, to feel the heat of his skin pressed against yours.
"I.. I want your bulge," you finally get out.
His mouth forms a small "o" and then turns up in one corner, enough so you can see the small, pleasing indent that forms on his cheek. He shakes his head and inhales deeply, chest expanding.
"Sure thing my good sir, one order of fresh hot Strider bulge coming right up for the troll in the front."
This time, none of his speech is lost on you, and you could almost roll your eyes. Out of everything you've experienced today you never thought you would be walking away from this room with the knowledge that Dave Strider is just so, so insufferably... dorky.
The impending giggle is quickly wiped from your mind as he stands to his full height and you have a moment to admire the stiff bulge sticking out from the crotch of his pants. It's truly only a moment, before before he grabs you boldly by both ankles and pulls you straight down the bed.
You yelp and Dave just laughs, retracting his arms to pull down his purple pants. Your nook clenches at the sight of his human bulge poking up from between his legs, flushed reddish purple and wet at the tip with clear fluid. You've never really gotten this good a look at it, and you have the inexplicable but strong urge to put your mouth on it. It's not something that you've ever done before, but the soft, bulbous head looks very appealing. You know it's a common practice amongst humans and you idly wonder if it's something Dave would be interested in. Your mouth waters at the thought, and your own hand wanders slowly down your front, where your bulge is flailing for attention.
"Glad you're liking the show," he says, and despite his words, he's blinking at you and smiling in this suddenly shy way that wrenches those pale feelings from deep within your chest again. Mirroring you, he runs a hand through the swatch of hair on his abdomen and fists it over his bulge.
"Oh, fuck," he moans. A shiver runs through your body as he twists his hand, pumping quickly while you wither under his gaze and sweat gathers hotly beneath your back.
You whine, canting your hips up needily. You really need something inside of you, now. Dave hums in response, letting go of his bulge and leaning over you to nudge your hips. You get the message quickly, and flip over onto your stomach, immediately getting up on all fours. Now, this is familiar. You can do this. You need to do this. You arch your back to present your ass, shivering slightly at the sensation of cool air hitting your nook and bulge. When you look down, you're faced with your own enormous swath of darkened purple on the the mattress.
The bed dips but is otherwise soundless as Dave climbs on. "Now, that's a view." You flush, glad he can't see your face as he grabs your ass with both hands. You push back into him and whine again, wanting more, needing more.
"Cool your horses there, bucko," Dave says, though you note that his strained voice does not match the lightness of his words.
His fingers wrap around the base of your bulge once more, grabbing and squeezing for a second and you swear when he slides them up in a wet trail to your chute.
You hiss as he spreads genetic material over your hole, rubbing it slightly before slowly sliding one finger in. You push back again impatiently, seating the finger all the way inside you. He seems to finally catch your pace, adding two more in quick succession. The fullness feels incredible. You could get lost in the hot stretch of his fingers and the way they press into your sensitive flesh. Far too soon, he removes his hand and your ass clenches at the loss, as well as at the entrance of cool air into your hole. You wait silently, tensed and breathless, for him to finally replace his fingers with his much thicker bulge.
Dave's voice startles you out of the anticipatory silence. "Actually, can we try something new?"
You nod. Like you would ever say no. When he doesn't say anything else, you realize that he can't see you nodding from his position. "Yes," you agree aloud.
"Sick. Can you turn around for me?"
You flip yourself over on the bed until you are on your back once more, feeling only slightly awkward under the intensity of Dave's gaze. He's a sight to take in himself, kneeling on the bed between your legs, with watercolor blotches of red creeping down his neck and into the whispy hairs on his chest, and his bulge jutting up eagerly against his body. His hand drifts down to rub it again, and you watch on only semi-jealously, your own bulge flicking in the air like some indignant meowbeast's tail.
Dave doesn't do anything to hide the fact that his eyes are openly roaming your body, and you fight the urge to cringe under the inspection.
You follow the human pink of his tongue as he licks his lips.
"Can I fuck you like this?"
Fuck. What he's asking… you'll be able to see his face when he pushes into you, feel the heat of his chest against yours… it might be more than you can actually bear. You nod anyway, breathless.
He gently takes both of your legs, placing soft kisses on each calf before placing them over his shoulders. The entirety of his hand can fit around your ankle without him even trying. That shouldn't make you shiver, but it does anyway.
The loving kisses to your heated skin make you blush deeper than anything else has tonight. You find yourself desperately fighting the urge to bury your face into the crook of your arm as heat pulses through you. You're so indecently spread open for him, and still tilting your hips up to give him more access.
Once your legs are both lifted he slots his hips against your ass and takes up your bulge again, arranging it so that it wraps around his own, eyes fluttering shut.
"Oh shit, Karkat," he moans, grasping at your calves with his hands. The utterance of your name again, and in that tone, sends ragged heat blooming all the way down to your toes.
Dave throws his neck back, baring the lovely pale skin there while thrusting into the tight squeeze of your bulge. Pricks of heat pop all over your skin like a downpour of dripping hot wax. He finally unwraps your bulge from his own, letting it explore the dips between his fingers instead, and when you feel wetness and the soft rounded tip of him nudging at your entrance you make sure to consciously relax as he starts to push inside. You both cry out at the sensation of the head slipping in, and then you're full of the sweet burn of him, moving slick and slow like hot honey.
This is so different than normal. Your entire body is crackling, electric and alive. You feel like there are a million microscopic tethers that are connecting you to Dave, allowing you to communicate without words, to share your fervid energies in a way that is completely intoxicating and alien and new.
He leans in, bracing himself on his arms and covers you with his body until you're bent in half and he's sliding deep into you, the full feeling combined with the stiffness of his human bulge in this position like nothing you've felt before. You grasp at his arms, feeling the muscles bulge out under your fingertips as they flex.
His eyes lock onto yours, only inches away. His speech is filtered through heavy breaths and little pleasured grunts that set a fierce simmer under your skin. "Let me hear you, okay? I need to know you want this."
You give him a small nod at the same time as he increases his speed, your mouth jacking open into a half cry, half moan as he pounds into you, all the while not taking your eyes from his.
Lost in the moment and the heat of Dave's body blanketed over yours, you push your head up to kiss him, seeking more heat, more contact, more. He presses into the kiss forcefully, enthusiastically. He drags his tongue along your lips, sucking the bottom one in and biting down. You moan back freely, and snake your arms around him, desperate to touch his skin anyway you can. Your arms can't link up around the width of his lower half, but you claw at it all the same.
You remind yourself that you can talk, Dave wants you to talk, and you do try , but you honest to fuck can't really manage many words beyond a couple slurred iterations of fuck and more, please.
He bites your neck, sending a shock to your system like the snap of an elastic band. He licks and suckles at the same tender spot, while the heated slide of him into you burns in the best way. Your bulge curls and thrashes in the space between your chests, and you wrap a hand around it, stroking quickly.
Dave lifts his mouth from your neck, where you're starting to suspect he left a large mark. He shifts his body, freeing one arm to lift your chin so that you're looking into his eyes. They're glittering rubies in the dark, and thunderous to behold. Two of his fingers slip into your nook sheath again, kneading into your globes hard and without mercy. All thoughts leave your thinkpan as your bottom half contracts, eyes rolling up and mouth going wide in a strangled cry.
"Fuck, Dave!"
The feeling is just too much; you're barely aware of the way he pulls you up to his chest, wrapping one arm around your back and sinking you further down on his bulge. Your body jerks uncontrollably, and high pitched whines spill from your mouth as you start to come, feel the gushing relief of fresh slurry past your thighs. He grips you tighter with one arm, keeping the fingers of his other hands pressed firmly to your globes, milking you for all the genetic material you have.
And when your shaking starts to subside and your breathing evens out, Dave doesn't remove his fingers from your sheath. He keeps massaging your globes with a light but persistent pressure, even as your bulge retracts, brushing past his hand.
Once you've returned to full consciousness you freeze, trying to shimmy away but he holds you tightly in place. He isn't even moving inside you anymore, focused solely on manipulating you with his silken fingers.
"Please," you say, shifting your hips as much as you can, wincing at the overstimulation.
"What's up, pretty? Do you want me to stop? Because I kind of want to see you come again, if I can. Can I Karkat?"
He punctuates your name with more firm pressure on your globes and you whimper, throwing your head forward and into the crook of his neck.
You nod into his shoulder. Offering or not, you'd still do anything for him, let him do anything to you. The connection is inexplicable, but with Dave you feel safer than you do with anyone else.
"Yes," you whisper, in case he didn't feel your assent. He chuckles against your skin and shifts his hips a bit. His bulge is still filling you, stiff and unyielding. You feel yourself clench around it.
He twists your bodies so that he is laying with his back onto the bed and you're sitting on top of him, straddling his hips.
"Gorgeous," he breathes. "Will you ride me? Will you show me how much you want me?"
You can feel the faint tinge of embarrassment his the proposition, but it's quickly overshadowed with rekindled desire, sparked by the hungry look in Dave's eyes. You lift your hips up slowly, before sinking back onto his bulge and you both groan. His fingers are still working inside your nook sheath, playing a quiet melody into your globes.
You flatten your hands against Dave's skin, gripping his sides for more leverage as you rock yourself back and forth on his bulge. Your pace quickens as you feel the pleasure building once more, white hot this time. It feels like you're circling around the edge of something dangerous, the anticipation sharp and addictive.
Dave's eyes are locked on your body, roaming from your head all the way down to where your hips join. His mouth is open, lips shiny pink from where he's run his tongue along them countless times. His hair is splayed on the bed, you have an excellent view of the softly defined muscles of his chest, and the mocha colored freckles that coat his shoulders like a portrait of scattered snow flurries. You can see every time his breath hitches and his eyes widen at the shift of your hips, and the downward movement of his throat when he swallows and cries out.
It's incredible, actually. It's only a few moments before you come onto his fingers again, your eyes squeezing shut as another orgasm rips through your body like a hurricane wind, spilling another torrent of slurry.
You both pant for a second.
"Jesus fuck, that was hot." Dave nods his head to the drenched sheets around him. "I'm floating like I'm waist deep in the Lazy River down here." He grins and you flush. "I love it."
Your brain whirs groggily, unable to come up with a response. Dave doesn't seem to mind. With an unflattering squelch, he retracts his fingers from your nook and pulls your body down toward his to kiss you. You breathe out in relief as your chests touch and your thighs relax, still shivering from your orgasm. It's only a second's respite though, as he then lifts his hips and starts to fuck into you from below.
You squeak into his mouth, your whole body re-tensing in an instant. Dave spurs on, his hands firmly gripped on both your ass cheeks.
"Shit, you feel so damn good, you feel like you were meant for me, did you know that? I've always wanted... to feel you like this. Can I come inside you?"
Fuck. Your "yes" quickly melts into a whimper, insides slicked with fire as he bucks his hips with force. You cling on for the ride, both hands wrapping around his neck as he drives up, hitting places inside you that you didn't know existed.
The hurried rhythm is all too familiar, and you're almost glad when his body seizes, the repeated stimulation starting to border on painful.
"Shit, Karkat," he comes with a high moan, and you feel his bulge pulse inside you, releasing thick, hot genetic material into your chute. Your body shudders to match. His arms move up to your back, tightening around you as he sighs.
A playful smile spreads across his face. "Thank you," he says and your guts twist around the unfamiliar words.
You barely have time to dwell on the sentiment though, before he's darting his head up and pecking at your with face pursed lips like an oversized squawk beast. It's unexpectedly absurd; and a giggle bursts from your chest as you swat at him, squirming and trying to stop the onslaught, but his arms have you locked in place.
He finally stills and relinquishes his grip, but his smile persists, bright and beautiful. Your face is so, so very warm. "God," he says, "That was so choice. Like USDA premium grade A all natural grass-fed beef steak cooked medium rare choice, with a side of buttered potatoes."
You want to slap your hands to your face but when you try to move you discover that you've been rendered completely boneless. You do however, manage to slide off him and onto the dampness of the bed. You sink into it, with Dave breathing softly beside you and emanating a comforting warmth. Neither of you talks.
For once, it's even peaceful inside your mind.
***
You lay, contented, until pieces of the world start slowly falling back into place, until the domed black ceiling shifts into a screaming beacon of unfamiliarity. Your hands start to fidget into the sheets, and then your legs follow, until you're finally getting up and making your way to the foot of the bed.
Usually after your sessions, Dave would go wash up in the bathroom while you gathered your clothing, changed the bedding and then left to clean yourself up in your own home. But he's still sprawled out on the bed, face relaxed into a small smile. You clear your throat slightly and look at him with the unspoken question, but he lifts his hand and waves it in the air dismissively.
"Don't worry about it, man. Besides these sheets are like a souvenir. Couldn't get them this wet just anywhere." He lifts his head and flashes a grin so wide you can see all his teeth. You feel yourself flush from your chest to your ears.
Your head is buzzing with a hundred questions you're in no place to ask, so instead you drop to your knees to pick up your robe. The feel of the fabric against your fingers sends a freeze of anxiety up your spine. The impossibly soft yellow silk is a stark reminder of who you are; it summons the cold flood of reality as the night's events suddenly take on an ugly twist. Your chest clenches.
You're not meant to be here. You have to leave.
You stand slowly, slipping on the robe. You cinch the wrap closed and carefully secure the rope tightly around your waist. Every movement feels painful. Resigned. "I should go," you say quietly.
Dave's smile finally fades, and it's like watching rain clouds settle over the sun. You tear your eyes away from his face and start towards the door. Each step feels like a mile, the silence between them deafening.
Your hands pause on the door, fingers tracing the golden embossed clockwork patterns. You wait, for just a second longer than you have to. You're not even sure what you're waiting for, until you hear it.
"See you next time, Karkat."
You don't register how small or distant his voice sounds. You don't acknowledge the way your eyesight blurs harshly. You push open the door and step into the hallway, your head ringing.