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Consciousness tugs at your mind, still hazy. You hear a low hum, and vaguely recognize it as your own. You feel your brows furrow. Why are you waking up now? You don’t want to wake up yet. You were faring just fine a few seconds ago, when you were asleep and relaxed and minding your own business. Obviously your brain wouldn’t allow that. Respite? In this brain? In this body? Nah, man, I think you’ve got the wrong address. We don’t do that in here. You groan and bury your face into the pillow. Your shades dig uncomfortably into your nose. Fuck. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep now.
As the sleepy fog that engulfed you ebbs away, you realize what you’re laying on isn’t a pillow, actually. Your cheek is pressed against something warm, something alive and moving ever so slightly. You notice there’s something on your back – a hand? – steady against your shoulder blades. Faint chitchat is echoing around the room, and light is flashing against your closed eyelids. Suddenly, you understand. Suddenly, you want to die. Your heart rate picks up. Fuck. Fuck. You fell asleep on movie night. You fell asleep on Karkat’s lap on movie night.
You and Karkat have been together for a while now – six days and eight hours to be exact. Among the many unexpected perks of going god tier as a time player was the ability to accurately track time, without ever having to check your phone or – god forbid – resort to reading a watch. But this wasn’t much of an upgrade, really. You’re certain that even without the use of your newly obtained powers, you would have still managed to track this specific time period. It’s a little embarrassing how much you care.
So you shouldn’t be freaking out about this. You really shouldn’t. And yet, inexplicably, you are. And you hate it. Your mind is having a field day coming up with all the possible ways this could go wrong – all of them. Because you’re going to open your eyes and see him glaring at you with disdain painted all over his face, because he didn’t want you falling asleep on his lap, because he’s not your dad and he didn’t ask for any of this, because you didn’t even ask him if he was fine with it, because you’re just acting like a clingy toddler and he’s too nice to tell you how he really feels about it.
And then Karkat shifts in his seat, and your mind goes blank.
“Dave, are you awake?”
His touch on your back gets lighter, as if he was afraid you would notice. As if this was something he could only do in your sleep.
“Yeah.” Your voice is croaky. You hate the way it sounds. You clear your throat and sit up - Karkat’s hand on your back will be dearly missed. “Sorry. For falling asleep on your… on you. That was shitty.” You don’t look him in the eye. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t think you could.
“What!? Why?” he blusters. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I don’t know, man.” The TV is still on, and although the volume is low, it’s still distracting. Stringing words together is proving to be surprisingly difficult. “Just… passing out like that, with no warning…” you mutter, “I mean, what if you’d wanted to take a piss or something?”
Karkat squints at you. “What the fuck are you even on about?”
You nervously run a hand through your hair. “I didn’t even ask you if you were fine with it. I don’t,” you mumble, “I don’t want to bother you or anything, I guess.”
Karkat stares at you all wide-eyed for a second, as if you’d just said something scandalous, and then he groans and inches closer to you. Your heart rate picks up against your will, and at that moment you feel really, really small. And also a little pathetic.
“You’re so stupid. You are so unbelievably obtuse,” he says, enunciating every word clearly so as to emphasize whatever point he is making. “I don’t- I don’t mind this.” He turns to face you completely, and you notice there’s a faint pink tinge high on his cheeks. You’re glad you’re not the only one feeling embarrassed. “Hell, for some deranged, asinine reason, I actually happen to like it. So don’t… don’t feel so uptight around me, okay?”
You nod, feeling dazed. The sound of your own heart pulsing at your ears drowns out the chitchat coming from the TV. “Okay,” you say, and it’s scary, but it’ll be okay. You will be okay.
“Okay,” he says, and grabbing your face, presses a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t quite manage to close your eyes in time. It’s a quick, gentle peck, and yet your heart still does something funny in your ribcage. God, this is so embarrassing. You’ve been dating Karkat for nearly a week now, and yet kissing him still gets your heart performing award-worthy gymnastics in your chest. Your heart has really been outdoing itself lately. It’s won gold in several athletic competitions and it’s still going strong, with no sign of stopping. Your ribcage is motherfucking sparkling what with all the trophies littered around and about. That’s how dedicated it is to the craft – shame athletics, that is.
Karkat pulls back, face pink, and once again you realize that whatever it is you’re feeling is mutual, actually. The thought of it barely registers in your brain. “Your face is red,” you mutter, without really knowing why.
His eyebrows bunch up endearingly. “So is yours.” He’s pouting a little, but you don’t think he realizes. It’s weirdly cute. You want to kiss him.
“Just FYI, I’m going to kiss you.”
Karkat visibly cringes. “Don’t- You can’t just say that out loud. God, that was horrible.” He buries his face in his hands, like the dramatic bitch he is. “You’ve successfully killed the mood now. Are you happy?”
You snicker. “Yeah, I am.” You gently place one hand on either side of his face and lean in close, until his breath is fanning your lips, until your forehead is almost pressed to his. His eyes are impossibly wide, and you’re suddenly very aware of how insanely alien they are. His sclera is yellow, and his irises are faintly tinged red. He’s told you that, as he'd grow older, they’d get entirely red – just like yours. You remember the thought of it had made your heart swell, and you remember not knowing why that was. Well, now you know.
“What are you doing?” he asks, quiet. Well, as quiet as Karkat can be. A smile tugs at your lips. “Looking at you.”
“Wh-” He scowls, cheeks flaring, but doesn’t lean away. “What’s wrong with you?” he blurts out.
You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, because you can, and watch as his face scrunches up. So cute. “What? Is that a criminal act now? Shit, Karkat. You could’ve told me, man. I would have gotten a fake ID or something.”
Karkat makes a vague protesting noise. “You’re so-” He interrupts himself, apparently deciding against whichever insult he was going to throw your way. He settles for a death glare, but with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks it doesn’t come off as intimidating as he would’ve liked it to be.
“What?” you drawl.
He glowers at you. “Ugh,” he groans, before grabbing your collar and plunging in for a kiss. Sighing into his mouth, you bring your hands to his waist and feel him jolt. Fuck. You’re pretty sure startling doesn’t count as an orthodox display of affection. You must have fucked up somewhere. So with the elegance of a freshly born giraffe, you swiftly pull your hands back to your side and lean away.
“Sorry.”
Karkat just makes a vaguely annoyed “nnghk” sound and pulls you back in, slotting his lips against yours and putting your hands back where they were, all in one very irritated movement. Okay. Sure. You weakly press your palms to his sides and relish in the way he leans into your touch. You love this. You feel like you’re losing your mind, just a little.
But you’re not losing your mind, actually. Right now it’s anything but absent. It’s buzzing with anxiety, the kind that’s paralyzing, the kind that makes you overthink every single movement for fear of ruining everything. And you feel outpaced - which is ironic, what with you being a literal god of time and everything. But you spend so much time inside your head - mustering up the courage to act, or examining Karkat’s body language - that you’re always one step behind. You never know what to do. If you could just let go and follow your impulses this all would be so much easier, but the mere thought of it makes you want to die. It’s a scary thought – being out of control. (being vulnerable)
What makes this even more stressful is that you haven’t had much practice – in fact, you’ve had none. Your experience level in this particular field is squarely zero. Well, except for that whole thing with Terezi, but the furthest you’d gone with her was awkward middle-school pecks on the lips and some one-sided, definitely unhygienic licking. (You’re pretty sure your relationship with Terezi shouldn’t even be used as a reference for future romantic experiences, seeing as she’s, y’know, Terezi.) Karkat is probably in the same boat though, which should be reassuring, but he’s so much more… enterprising than you are. You’ve noticed it seems a lot easier for him to act accordingly to his whims, although he does tend to beat himself up about it afterwards.
So when Karkat cards a hand through your hair and kisses you a little harder, you’re equal parts exalted and terrified because fuck, you don’t know what you should do now. Your mind is spinning and you don’t know how to turn it off. It’s incredibly frustrating, and a little pathetic.
But you know what? Fuck this. Kissing shouldn’t be this stressful. You have been so caught up in your own asinine mind fuckery that you’ve forgotten to even enjoy this. You like kissing Karkat, you want to keep kissing him, and you’re not going to let any kind of stupid brain bullshit prevent you from doing exactly that. Fuck this. This should be simple, actually. This is your god-given right.
Silencing all the voices in your head, you swipe your tongue along Karkat’s bottom lip and revel in the way he shivers and stops in his tracks. Fuck yeah. You didn’t even know you had it in you. But then he suddenly pulls away, breaking the kiss, and you feel like you might start panicking again. You watch apprehensively as he shifts in his seat and you try to get your shit together, breathing properly, because we’ve decided we’re enjoying this, God damn it. You watch Karkat lean in closer until he’s virtually in your lap, and a sigh of relief threatens to leave your lips. Thank fuck. He licks his lips – perhaps compulsively? - and asks you if he can kiss you again and fuck, you don’t think he realizes just how hot he is. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest. Before you know it you’re nodding emphatically and his lips are already back on yours, zealous yet hesitant, and you feel like you could die.
His hands are wrapped around your neck and yours are back on his waist, holding on for dear life, because he’s doing something with his mouth and you might just die. You’re not sure you’re reacting properly. At this point, you’re not even sure of anything. Turns out this was the solution to your stupid little dilemma – you can’t overthink anything if you’re not thinking coherently at all.
Karkat’s tongue is hesitantly prodding at your lips – it feels a little rougher than yours, like sandpaper, and you think holy fuck my boyfriend has a cat tongue before parting your lips to let him in. Welcome to my humble abode, bro. Make yourself at home. We have teeth and spit and oh, look at that – a friend! You hum, low in the back of your throat and then flush at the sound. Karkat’s tongue is prodding at your mouth and it’s so good, what the fuck. God damn, you get romance movies now.
You break the kiss, chest heaving, catching your breath, and Karkat throws you a look that’s equal parts irritated and confused. He’s panting a little too, and you think he’s staring at your lips. Shit, are you drooling or something?
“What?” you ask, and you’re taken aback by how throaty your voice sounds. Jesus Christ, dude. Get a grip. This is just embarrassing.
Karkat’s pupils are dilated, and his vision unfocused. He’s definitely staring at your lips. “Your mouth is… It’s all red. Is that a human thing? Fuck, does it hurt?” he blurts out, all at once, “Is it my fault?”
You throw your head back against the couch. “Jesus, Karkat, one does not just ask a lady about something this improper. I’m shy, you know.” You bat your eyelashes at him, hoping to properly emulate the delicate maiden veneer. Which doesn’t work, apparently – he’s frowning at you.
“Oh, fuck off! I was worried, okay?”
You catch yourself compulsively wetting your lips and go completely rigid, unable to meet Karkat’s eyes. This is so embarrassing.
“Yes, it’s a human thing, and I guess it…” you fumble with your cape, “I guess it doesn’t hurt? I don’t know, man. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”
Karkat visibly relaxes. “Okay,” he says, “Okay.” He leans in closer to you, until your chest is flush against his. You hope he can’t feel how fast your heart is pounding. His gaze is still firmly fixed on your mouth, and you feel a little queasy.
“I think I like it,” he mutters into the crook of your neck, and yeah, there’s no way he’s not hearing your heartbeat now. Motherfucker’s going off like a ceremonial drum in the middle of a fancy ritual.
“What,” you say, intelligently, and immediately follow it with an awkward giggle. Charisma.
Karkat almost jolts. “Not your mouth! Well, that too, obviously, but I was talking about the other thing.” His cheeks are on fire and he’s intently refusing to meet your gaze. It’s stupidly endearing. “I liked knowing I had some kind of effect on… on you, I guess?” He buries his face into your shirt. “God,” he groans, and you can feel the sound reverberate in your entire upper body. It tickles, just a little bit. “This is so fucking embarrassing. Just kill me now, I don’t even care. Just- Fucking toss my remains out into outer space like a sack of savory tubers.”
“Savory tubers.” You snort. “Sounds like a fancy way to refer to your genitals.”
He promptly pulls his face away from where it was nested in your neck. The loss of his warmth feels like a tragedy. “Fucking- what?!” he blusters. “They’re vegetables, dipshit!”
You wag your eyebrows at him, “Wanna see my savory tubers, Karkat?” Your tone is slurred in an overly exaggerated, mock-sultry act. You try your best not to visibly cringe at what you just said. To your surprise, instead of blessing you with another thirty minutes' worth of patent ravings about Alternian culture, Karkat just flushes and glares at you in typical Karkat fashion. Oh god. Oh god.
“Holy shit,” you almost gasp, before remembering to at least try to contain yourself. “That actually worked. I can’t believe this.”
His eyes widen a second too late, as if it had taken him a while to process that statement. His cheeks flare. It’s a little funny. “It didn’t- It didn’t “work”,” he raises his fingers and executes a particularly brusque pair of air quotes, “whatever the fuck that means! God-”
He interrupts himself to groan and lightly punch at your chest. His hand lingers for a moment too long and you realize he’s intentionally keeping it there, warm against your torso. “You are so annoying,” he scowls. “Did you know that? You are so bulge-chafingly annoying that’s it’s almost a prowess, Strider.”
A snicker escapes your lips. “You know you love it, Vantas,” you tease, to which he scornfully squints at you.
“Ugh,” he draws it out to emphasize his state of utter infuriation. And then he kisses you. He grabs a fistful of your shirt and yanks you even closer to him. You make a weird sound in the back of your throat, the kind you’re sure to replay in your mind later on and agonize. God, you can’t believe you let him get away with this a second time. You are so easy.
His mouth is warm and wet against yours, and fuck, you swear you can feel your lips tingling. You place both your hands back on his waist, squeezing a little, and worm them a little lower until they’re firmly planted on his hips. He hums into your mouth. Your blood is pulsing at your ears. You really hope you’re not coming off as needy as you’re feeling.
And then, as fast as he leaned in, Karkat abruptly pulls away. You catch yourself chasing after his lips and brusquely lean back against the couch with a noise that definitely wasn’t a whine. Nope. Absolutely not. Your head bounces a little against the couch and you awkwardly laugh it off. Karkat pretends he didn’t see anything – thank fuck. You hold your breath as he trails his hand up from your chest to let it settle against your shoulder, steady and warm. With a fluttering heart, you crane your neck to see it for yourself, as if you couldn’t believe it, and when you look up you notice he’s not meeting your gaze. He’s intently staring at the arm of the couch for some reason - it’s not a particularly interesting sight. At least you don’t think it is. Maybe you just don’t know enough about couches to gauge their level of interest.
You hear a succinct intake of breath and immediately stop thinking about couches.
“You should take off your shades,” Karkat almost whispers, and you notice his voice sounds a little raspy. God damn it. You’re so weak.
Nodding, you swallow and raise a hand to swat your sunglasses away before you can think too hard about the whole ordeal. The lighting is dim, but you’re so used to wearing shades that you still have to adjust to the luminosity of the room. You squint and remember something Rose had told you, something about how This particular habit of yours could result in permanent retina damage, you know. You try not to dwell too much on that thought because you’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to think about ocular health or your sister when you’re making out with your boyfriend. Well, not technically making out for now. You’re in what seems to be a make-out interlude. Hopefully.
Karkat finally deigns to meet your gaze, and you feel naked but you suck it up because holy fuck, you can actually see him in HD now. His cheeks are so red they’re virtually glowing, and the color of his lips contrasts wonderfully against his skin. You never knew a feature that was so alien could simultaneously be this appealing, but we learn something new every day, apparently. You gently place a hand on his cheek, tilt his head to the side, and kiss him. He’s completely amenable, leaning into the contact and keening, a little choked sound that goes straight to your spank bank – may the vulgar terminology be forgiven.
Karkat’s tongue darts out to meet yours as his arms wrap around your neck, and you think fuck yes before humming into his mouth and reciprocating to the best of your abilities, anxiety be damned. You kiss him back, and you kiss him back hard. Your hands are squeezing his hips while his are warm around your neck, brushing against the hairs at your nape, giving you goosebumps. You try your best to prevent any more embarrassing noises from spilling out of your mouth, and can’t tell if your efforts are bearing any fruition because right now all your mental capacities are dedicated to kissing Karkat Vantas until he’s a breathless mess.
Well, that’s not exactly true. There is still some part of your brain that’s just cognizant enough to recognize that you currently have a problem - a downstairs-oriented problem. A south-facing problem. A problem that would be pretty hard to surmount, if you do say so yourself. Look, you’re an arguably healthy young man who’s been passionately making out with his boyfriend for the past few minutes. The outcome, although pathetic, should be obvious.
But you’re not going to sit there and pretend you’ve never been in this specific predicament before; you’ve had your fair share of awkward hard-ons in your lifetime, especially around Karkat, for obvious reasons. It’s just that it’s never happened while the man himself was in such close quarters with your dick. I mean, he’s sitting directly on your lap, for fuck’s sake. One wrong move and you’re going to have to do everyone the honors of introducing him to your semi. Which would be pretty fucking precarious, especially considering his whole obsession with romance. This is possibly the furthest possible thing from romantic. Actually, you believe this just qualifies as pathetic virgin behavior, and nothing else. You’re barely a week into this relationship, god damn it. You don’t want to freak him out with your ‘weird alien meat rod’ just yet.
So you try to wriggle a little farther away from him so as to avoid any direct friction against your crotch and further aggravate your problem, but with your back to the couch, there’s not much room for any wriggling to be done. Fuck. You try to get your breathing in check, hoping to salvage what little there still is to be salvaged. This is fine. You should be able to get this under control. You’re a literal god, for fuck’s sake. You should be able to keep it in your fucking pants. Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts- it almost sounds like a mantra, and you’re so preoccupied, repeating it over and over again, that you forget to even conjure up the unsexy thoughts in question.
And then, for some ungodly reason, Karkat abruptly grabs a fistful of your hair and groans into your mouth and holy fuck, you’re fucked, you’re a goner. Your dick is not recovering from this. It’s all over. He’s going to feel your erection against his thigh, and it’s going to gross him out and he’s going to politely excuse himself, feigning some kind of emergency because he’s Karkat and he would try not to hurt your feelings but you’ll still never be able to look him in the eyes ever again.
Karkat suddenly breaks the kiss with an obscene pop that goes straight to your dick and pants into your mouth. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. You watch helplessly, tense and rigid, as he leans down to shyly press a soft kiss to your jaw. Fuck. God damn it. He’s too good at this.
“Is this okay,” he almost whispers, and you can feel his breath fanning over your skin – his breath is colder than a human’s would usually be, and it sends nervous shivers down your spine. Your entire body is burning. You acquiesce without even noticing, and before you can admonish yourself for self-sabotaging, he’s already pressing tentative kisses to your neck, light brushes of lips against hypersensitive skin, hesitating every time as if unsure if he should keep at it. He probably shouldn’t, but God, it feels so wonderful you don’t think you’d stand it if he stopped. Carding a hand through his hair almost involuntarily, you marvel at the coarse, thick texture of it. (Well, that must be hard to comb.) He sighs against your neck in response and looks up at you through his eyelashes, before his gaze quickly darts away, bashful.
He leaves a trail of feathery kisses along your throat, then upwards, pressed languidly against your neck, then your jaw, and the corner of your mouth, until his lips are finally back against yours, wet and warm and so very lovely. It stirs something low in your stomach, twists it in a cross between anxiety and desire. Karkat’s tongue is prodding at the roof of your mouth again and his thighs are firmly straddling your lap, with his crotch positioned in dangerous proximity to yours.
You don’t even notice your hips jerking up to press against his until you feel it, and oh God, do you feel it. The friction – the relief - is so intense that for a moment, your mind straight-up blanks. You distantly catch yourself grunting into Karkat’s mouth and lightly pulling at his hair, and for a moment, you completely forget that you should be freaking out about this. For a moment, it’s only this; Karkat’s lips slotted against yours, the heat pooling at your core, your fingers roughly threading through his hair, and it all feels fucking incredible.
That is until Karkat breaks the kiss, chest heaving, staring at you with an expression you just can’t parse – which is fucked because this is Karkat we’re talking about – and the moment ends right then and there. Boom. Nothing left of it. The moment has been utterly eviscerated, leaving nothing behind but a trail of ash and dust and bitter teenage shame.
Karkat’s gaze is darting from your eyes to your lips to your lower body, clearly fucking lost, and you’ve never hated yourself more than you do right now. “Uh,” he says, tentative. His cheeks are candy red, and the sight of it is more than a little hypnotizing. You want him so bad it’s almost hilarious.
“Shit, dude, I’m so sorry. I… I don’t know why I did that,” you stutter, “well, I do, but I swear I didn’t mean to.” You move to wipe your sweaty palms on your pants, and after suddenly remembering that Karkat is still occupying that space you awkwardly let your hands hover in mid-air. “Uh, I mean I didn’t mean to do it, not…”
This is horrible. This is the worst possible scenario.
“I’m not saying I didn’t mean to know why I did it, is what I’m trying to get at. The phrasing was a little, uh, dubious on that one. God, I’m just making this worse. Just-”
“Dave?”
“–burying myself under harrowing amounts of verbal flatulence. I mean, as fucking usual, I guess. I’m, like, basically ensconced in this shit. Struggling to breathe through all that metaphorical–”
“Dave,” Karkat groans.
“–weight, dude. Uh, yeah, right. Sorry,” you stammer, to which Karkat dramatically sighs. “Wow, I’m losing my point here, just… I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable or… or gross you out or anything. It’s totally fine if you want to hop off the wagon or something. Is that even-”
“Dave!” he bellows, as you jolt and go completely silent. “What are you even talking about?! Spare me the deranged ravings and hear me out first, for fuck’s sake! I didn’t even say anything yet.” His eyebrows are all bunched up, and you feel really small. For a moment you feel like he is looming over you, which is stupid because normally you’re the one towering over him. So stupid. This is all so stupid.
“Sorry.”
“No-” He has this frustrated look in his eyes, as if he was desperately trying to get you to understand something you were continuously failing to get. Somehow, you feel like you’re disappointing him. This is all so stupid.
He sighs, and tries again: “You don’t have to apologize, it’s fine! It’s just…” he groans, “Just don’t go around assuming shit, okay? I’m not grossed out or uncomfortable or whatever the fuck you claimed I was.”
“You’re not? Uh, uncomfortable, I mean.” And despite everything, the mere thought of it sends your heart aflutter.
“No! I would’ve told you if you’d just asked me instead of spontaneously composing a whole fucking monologue in the span of thirty seconds,” he splutters – but there’s no hostility behind his tone, at least you don’t think. Just plain old regular Karkatisms.
“Yeah,” you giggle, and it somehow comes out both nervous and genuine. “Yeah. Sorry about that, dude. You know how I get.”
“I do.” Karkat’s mouth cants into a faint, fond smile, and the sight of it sends your vision literally wavering. Although it’s definitely gotten more common, it’s still not every day you get the chance to see him smile. I should treasure this, you think. And then, a little more insistent; I want to kiss him again.
His eyes suddenly widen. “Then do that, fuckface,” he blurts out, a little embarrassed, and you suddenly realize you’ve said that out loud. A hot flush spreads down your neck. It’s as if the universe has a personal vendetta against you.
“I can’t believe you’re calling me a fuckface and requesting a kiss in the same breath.”
“Well,” he grins at you – a full-on patent grin, all sharp fangs and creasing eyes, and it’s fucking breathtaking. “You know how I get.”
And then, because you’re predictable, you cradle his face in your hands and kiss him. Softly at first, and then a little harder, a little deeper, until he’s gasping into your mouth and threading callused fingers into your hair, pulling lightly. It was only half an hour ago that you first experienced the wonders of French kissing first-hand, and you sense you’re not going to get sick of it anytime soon. This is the best. This is fucking majestic. Merci la France.
Karkat breaks the kiss with a strained “fuck” that you make sure to thoroughly etch inside of your hippocampus, and shifts a little in his seat. He kisses you again, experimentally grinds his hips against yours, and holy shit, holy fuck, you are going to die. You are going to expire. You’re also equal parts impressed and mortified at the realization that your boner has somehow managed to rage through all that talk, but right now you’re too preoccupied to even bother hopping onto that particular train of thought.
“You’re…?” you ask, voice strained, gaze darting towards his crotch. The words don’t make it out of your mouth.
“Obviously I am! Sorry for bursting your bubble Dave, but you’re not the only one with a functioning reproductive system.”
A nervous giggle spills from your lips. Karkat kisses you again before promptly pulling away and looking at you inquisitively, an implicit way to ask for permission. You nod vehemently – the prospect of denying him permission is frankly laughable right now.
“Go for it, dude.”
He chews his lip anxiously and then resumes his earlier activities – kissing you stupid, that is. He’s grinding against you again and cant your hips up to meet his halfway, barely stifling a groan. You feel something wiggle in his pants, and you don’t even get the chance to dwell on that thought because Karkat suddenly makes a downright obscene sound in the back of his throat, quelled by your mouth on his, and suddenly your brain is reduced to mush. Holy fuck.
“Holy fuck,” you breathe against his lips before he rolls his hips down against yours again. You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck and try - and fail - not to moan. “Karkat,” you mutter against his skin, and distantly register the sensation of his hands roaming all over your back, fisting in your shirt. You’re simultaneously overly aware and barely aware of it.
“Karkat-” He keeps at his ministrations while you hesitantly nip at his neck in an attempt to muffle the various embarrassing sounds constantly threatening to spill from your lips. Karkat isn’t even trying to do that – he’s loud, because of course he is, and yep, that’s a thought that goes straight to your dick. No stop-overs, this is a direct fucking flight. Your dick is a vacation resort and tourists are arriving aplenty - the tourists being the sexy thoughts. The economy is getting motherfucking stimulated tonight, and so is your dick.
Although at this point you’re seriously doubting your ability to produce any coherent thoughts, what with the constant friction your dick is getting, combined with the fact that Karkat is literally in your fucking lap, panting directly in your ear and occasionally making sounds that can only be qualified as the hottest motherfucking sounds youve ever heard.The only kind of thoughts you’ve been experiencing have been solely comprised of the words “fuck”, “yes”, and “Karkat”, which you suspect aren’t merely thoughts, but also the contents of whatever babbling you’ve been muffling in Karkat’s neck for the past few minutes. It’s bad. It’s really bad. You’re overheating.
“Karkat, I need-” You gently place a steadying hand on his shoulder and push him away so you have space to take off your shirt. For a moment he looks confused, or maybe a little anxious. And then he realizes what you’re trying to do and his eyes go comically wide. His hands fly to your abdomen before your shirt is even completely off.
“Excited much?” you say as you chuck your shirt away, somewhere. You’ll care about that later.
His gaze is firmly lodged on the newly exposed skin. “Shut up.” He brushes his fingers along your ribs, and you can’t help but shiver. “It’s… weird.”
You let out a breathy laugh. “Damn, Karkat. You’re ruthless.”
“No, I meant… You don’t have grubscars,” he says, soft and so very affected. “And I knew that, obviously, but it’s still so… strange. And this,” he tentatively grazes your nipple with his thumb, and you honest-to-god shudder. Jesus Lord.
He finally lifts his gaze to look you in the eyes, and you almost avert them in shame.
“Does it…?”
“Yeah,” and then you kiss him again. You eagerly tug at the bottom of his shirt, asking for permission, because goddamn do you want to see him shirtless now. Your fingers brush against his stomach, ever so slightly, and you’re about to inch them even further when he suddenly jumps and grabs your wrist, keeping it from moving. He breaks the kiss to look at you with wide, frightened eyes. Fuck. You shouldn’t have done that.
“Sorry,” you mutter, heart beating wildly.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m just not really… comfortable with that right now.”
“That’s fine,” you say. You’re having a hard time stringing words together. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” You notice his grip around your wrist has loosened, and hesitantly, you entwine your fingers with his. They’re clammy, but it’s okay - so are his. He gently squeezes your hand, then nods and licks his lips. It’s a nervous habit, you think. You also think it’s insanely hot.
“I’m gonna try something,” Karkat suddenly says, and you don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but that doesn’t stop your heart rate from ascending like a motherfucking champagne cork on new year’s eve.
“Fuck yeah, dude. Help yourself. I’m like, your own private open buffet right now. Just waiting for some motherfucking serving.”
You’re about to admonish yourself for your inane choice of words when Karkat suddenly dives down and swipes his tongue along one of your nipples. It catches you off guard, and you jolt as a very pathetic sound escapes your lips. Your fingers find his hair almost on instinct, and your hips cant up to meet his - definitely on instinct.
“Holy shit, dude,” you say, voice strained. Holy shit.
“I warned you,” he says, and you’re so horny that even the feeling of his breath fanning over your nipple as he speaks feels like positive stimulus. You don’t think you’ve ever been so hard in your entire life. Shit could probably rival obsidian in a rigidity face-off. You need to be touched as soon as possible, or else you’ll probably die or something.
“Karkat,” you practically whine as you raise your hips to meet his. You hate how needy you’re acting, but somehow, against all logic, it also turns you on, which is so fucked you don’t even know where to start.
Karkat makes a face – the one he does when he’s mulling something over, trying to muster up the courage to act – and your heart goes fucking shithive maggots in your ribcage because you know he’s going to do something. You don’t know what exactly he is going to do, but you also know that by now you’re so horny that you’re pretty much going to be fine with anything he does to you.
“Okay,” he says, almost solemn, lightly biting at his bottom lip. “Okay”. Your body is practically vibrating with anticipation. “Tell me if this is okay,” he says, and you suddenly feel his fingers brush against your crotch - light, barely there. Still, there’s a hitch in your breath and tension whelming your entire body. You nod and melt into his touch, slightly bucking your hips to meet him halfway. Leaning your head back against the couch, you sigh – so sensitive. You feel so very sensitive. You predict you’re not going to last very long.
Karkat fully presses his palm against you, and although there are still approximately two layers of clothing separating his hand from your dick, you’re so far gone that the contact still feels mind-blowing. A choked whine somehow makes its way out of your lips.
“Is this good…?” Karkat asks, voice all raspy, and holy fuck. Holy fuck. He’s still grinding his hand against your crotch, alternating between light rubbing and downright groping, like an ebb and flow of stimulus. Jesus fuck. He’s weirdly good at this. The thought of him acting completely unbothered and casual about this while you’re a panting mess underneath him is hotter than you’d like to admit. The thought isn’t a very accurate representation of reality, probably, because if the tone of his voice is to be trusted it’s clear he’s not as unbothered as you think he is. But you’ll be excused, as your boyfriend’s hand is currently very thoroughly groping your dick, and that’s not a very productive environment for coherent reasoning to flourish in.
“I mean,” you strain out, “it’s working.”
And it is, it really is. You’re virtually grinding against his hand right now, which is a little uncool but you don’t think you have the capacity to care about that anymore. You’re barely even aware of what you’re doing. You distantly register one of your hands tightly fisting into the couch, and the other flying to hold onto one of Karkat’s horns for dear life as you squirm pathetically beneath him. It’s too much, too much, yet not enough – you need your pants off.
“I need- I’m going to…” you gasp, unintelligible, “Pants.”
Karkat halts his ministrations and looks at you, puzzled. Your chest is heaving. Congrats Dave, A+ for coherence on that one. You rush to take your pants off, hoping he’ll get it through context, but it’s a predictably difficult task in your current entanglement. You wriggle a little underneath him, tugging at the elastic band of your pajama pants, and he gets the memo. He moves off you to give you a bit more space, and after a series of various contortions you finally manage to get your pants off. Your dick still chafes uncomfortably against your boxers, but you’re not sure if you should just casually take them off and whip your dick out, just like that. Doesn’t sound too romantic.
That’s when you notice Karkat staring at the tent in your underwear and go red in the face. You’re about to say something awkward and unfunny when he suddenly blurts out; “Just take it off.”
You blink – once, then twice.
“Huh?”
The thought of Karkat bossing you around is such a turn-on that you don’t even think your brain succeeds in registering his request.
“You know what I mean!” he groans, to which you frantically hook a hand underneath your boxers, pulling them down in a haze, without even thinking about it. You’ll worry about romance later. You’re too horny for this, god damn it. He’s settled back on your lap before you’ve even managed to slide them off completely. Swallowing, you try not to think about the fact that you’re completely naked and painfully hard underneath him while he’s still fully clothed, lest you orgasm on the spot. You do not even know why that thought is such a turn-on. That’s a can of worms you’ll open later. For now, you’re too busy awkwardly staring at Karkat, who in turn is awkwardly staring at your dick. You feel pretty fucking scrutinized, suddenly. Maybe a little insecure. Just a little.
“Dude, why are you glaring at my dick,” you say, and follow up it up with a nervous giggle, like the master of charisma that you are. “I get the girth of it is impressive, but the little guy’s starting to get shy, you know.”
Karkat throws you a downright affronted look. “Don’t talk about it as if was sentient, what the fuck?! What is wrong with you?”
You shush him. “Don’t say that, you’ll hurt his feelings.”
“He can’t-” he starts, then realizes he’s just used ‘he’ to refer to your dick and straight-up facepalms. You are buck naked and fully hard in front of your boyfriend and he is facepalming. Gotta love that.
“Ugh,” he groans, “I liked it better when you were babbling.”
“Well, that is very much a thing that can happen again.” Surprisingly smooth, Dave. (Well, the bar is low anyway.) Karkat stops scowling and goes pink. Your heart rate picks up. “Just saying.”
He takes a deep breath and leans in closer, until your lips are almost touching. You hold your breath and part your lips reflexively. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, and promptly closes it again – you’re all too aware of his breathing.
“I don’t really know how to proceed,” he breathes, and he’s so close the sound almost reverberates in your skin.
You can’t help but laugh. “Karkat,” you say, “my dude, you could, like, flick my dick right now and I would still come with the force of a thousand waterfalls.”
He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
“Yeah,” you smile, “I am.”
And then you kiss him. Karkat hums and licks into your mouth, immediately taking control of the situation, and pulling you into an open-mouthed kiss. He’s basically taking his nerves out on your tongue now, and you’re really, really not complaining. Neither is your boner. You grind your hips up against his in hopes of reminding him of that particular predicament, to which he responds with a weird alien clicking sound.
“Karkat,” you whine, “Come on.”
You don’t get to berate yourself for sounding too forceful, because Karkat’s fingers are already wrapped around your dick, somehow. You card a hand through his hair and bite down on his neck to stifle a moan.
“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck. I am not going to last long, just a disclaim- ngh,”
Karkat is doing something with his fingers and your warning just dissolves into utter incoherence. “Yes,” you sigh. “Yes, fuck, thank you.” Your voice is coming out strained and breathy and you couldn’t care less. Not when Karkat is tentatively pumping your dick, now, for some reason. Where the fuck did he learn that? You don’t know. It’s so good. You’re babbling into the crook of his neck again, and it shouldn’t be getting you in this state but it is, and you’re so sensitive now and it feels so good, but it’s not enough and you’re so close and it’s just not enough, not enough.
“Karkat,” you start, panting. “Karkat, you need,” his hand does something you can’t quite catch, and a grunt eases out of you, against your will. “Harder,” you strain, and you think Karkat is nodding, but you’re not sure. You’re not sure. He complies though, quickening his pace, squeezing a little harder, as if he just realized you weren’t made of porcelain, and holy shit. It’s clumsy, but it’s fucking working. You rock steadily against him, pulling at his hair to ground yourself, and feel orgasm slowly wash over you. Muffled strings of curses reach you, as if uttered by someone else, and you come undone in hot tremors against Karkat’s hand, vision blanking. You get what people mean by ‘seeing stars’ now, holy shit.
Bucking clumsily into his hand, drawing out every bit of pleasure you can get, you slowly get down from your high. You hold him close, chest heaving, because you can. And when you pull away from him, there are two things you immediately realize: 1) Karkat looks fucking breathtaking. And that’s not a hyperbole – you are quite literally panting right now. There’s a red flush hot on his cheeks, spreading down his neck, maybe his shoulders. His hair is completely disheleved – that is to say more disheveled than it usually is, which you honestly didn’t think was possible. (Another notable observation is that his hand is covered with cum, but you’re genuinely not sure if you find that hot or just plain disgusting.) He’s staring at you, all staggering breaths and dilated pupils, and you remember that; 2) Karkat hasn’t finished yet. You may have slipped over the edge, metaphorically speaking, but he’s still standing on the edge of the metaphorical cliff. Well, hopefully, at least.
You bring your hand to his hip and, as gently as possible, you brush his hipbone with your thumb. Are you trying to be comforting or suggestive? You don’t know. He shudders either way.
“Do you,” it comes out groggy. You clear your throat and try again. “Do you want me to, uh, reciprocate? Because I’d totally be down for that.” Well, that wasn’t the smoothest way to put it, but again; the bar is low. “Just saying.”
His eyes widen – you think they glow in the dark. “I– Um,” he stammers, and you remember how ill at ease he’d been when you’d asked him to take off his shirt.
“It’s fine if you don’t want me to. I’m not, like, going to pants you or anything. I mean, unless you want me to.” God damn it. You blame the endorphins for this one.
Karkat lets out a heavy sigh. “I want to, it’s just–” He nuzzles his face in your neck, and takes a deep breath. It tickles your jaw. He’s so cute. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay, you heard me!”
A chuckle makes its way out of your lips, seemingly of its own accord – it’s the endorphins – and then you lightly brush his crotch through his pants. Well, hopefully it’s his crotch; you can’t really see anything from this angle. But you think you hear a hitch in his breath, so you assume you’re doing fine. You feel something moving in his pants, which you’re also taking as an encouragement. You hesitantly slip your hand down his pants, and there’s a sharp hitch in his breath.
“Is this okay?”
He nods. His face is hot against your neck.
“Okay,” you breathe, and palm him through his boxers. They’re very moist, for some reason. Precum? Do trolls even have that? Maybe you should’ve read up on troll anatomy before getting up to anything frisky with your troll boyfriend. You were tempted, you really were, but your only plausible sources of information would’ve been Karkat and Kanaya’s trashy eroticas, and yeah, fuck no. Not even ironically.
So you guess you’re just going to have to improvise. You ask him to lay down, because that seems more propitious, and he complies – not without muttering an annoyed string of curses under his breath. (True to himself, at least.) The couch is small, but he manages, with one leg dangling off of it and an arm thrown behind his head. You pull your boxers up – finally – and shift around on the couch until you’re straddling his hips. His eyes are blown wide, and he’s so very tense. You kiss him, because you can, and because you want him to relax. With a sigh, he throws his head back, flat against the arm of the couch, and covers his eyes with the back of his hand. You press a kiss to his Adam’s apple, and feel it vibrating underneath your lips – trolls.
You try to grope Karkat’s bulge – you think that’s what it’s called – through his underwear, and it wriggles around like it wants to tear through the fabric. Okay. Prehensile. You can work with that. Karkat makes a choked sound in your ear as you palm him, and your dick attempts a weak twitch. You try your best to disregard that, and then you tug at the waistband of his boxers, which doesn’t really help you with the disregarding. Whatever. You’re acting oddly enterprising today – it’s the endorphins.
“Are you–”
“For fuck’s sake,” he groans, “Yes, I’m fucking fine with it, Dave! Just do something!”
“Yessir,” you say, and a fond smile tugs at your lips. (They follow; smiling is getting easier.) You try to pull his pants down so you can get some better access, and he wriggles his hips around to help you. You don’t get them all the way off – the waistband is hugging his thighs, which looks pretty uncomfortable to you, but he’s not complaining, so it must be fine. You tug his boxers down, and a wet, bright red… thing immediately tries to wrap itself around your wrist. Karkat lets out a breathy sigh.
“Savory tubers,” you mutter under your breath, because you’re stupid and impulsive and that’s the first thing that pops into your head. And then, like an idiot, you giggle at your own statement.
“Oh my god, shut up,” Karkat says, and you think you can feel his bulge recoiling from your touch. It’s a little funny.
You giggle again – you can’t help it; it’s the endorphins – and try to grab his bulge again. It’s slimy and difficult to hold, but Karkat’s back still arches, and you think he’s biting his fingers – it’s ridiculously hot. Your heart is beating wildly. This is so great. This is wonderful. You’re going to make sure you do this often if it means you get to see Karkat like this, holy shit. Write that shit down on your bucket list. This is your motherfucking calling.
Karkat’s bulge writhes against your hand, and you try and fail not to think of the word ‘tentacle’. God damn it. This is veering into hentai territory. Still, you shift your hand along the slippery surface, trying to follow its movements, because grabbing it is proving to be pretty difficult. Karkat squirms and lets out a hoarse whine – he’s pretty fucking vocal. You can tell he’s trying to stifle the sounds he’s making, but gasps and alien chirps and incoherent strings of curses still spill from his lips, whether he wants them to or not. And you’re not complaining. You’re possibly the opposite of complaining right now – you’re over the goddamn moon.
“Dave,” he whines, “Dave, I... Fuck–”
His bulge is writhing frantically against your hand. Now, you don’t know shit about troll anatomy, but you’re making an educated guess and supposing that means he’s getting close – which is insane, because that means he got this turned on just from watching you earlier. The thought of it sends a pang of electricity coursing through your body. Jesus Christ. His bulge coils around your fingers, and you don’t really know what your hand is doing but whatever it’s doing seems to be working, at least. Maybe you’ve got some sort of handjob instinct going on. Karkat’s back arches as he calls out your name again. He wraps his legs around your back, and holy fuck, holy shit – he’s so hot. You need to kiss him. You need to kiss him.
You clumsily press your lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss, while your hand keeps at its ministrations. Karkat moans and clicks into your mouth – a throaty, alien sound. His hand spontaneously flies to your hair, while yours makes a grab for one of his horns, rubbing it at the base, because you remember he’d liked that earlier. Hips bucking, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, and you’re about to complain when you suddenly feel warm, viscous slurry all over your forearm. Oh. Oh. Now you get what buckets are for.
You snort out a small laugh as Karkat pants underneath you, eyebrows drawn up in pleasure, rocking against your hand. It’s gratifying; seeing him jolt and squirm, knowing you’re the one who got him in that state. You press a soft kiss to his temple. Is that what he felt earlier, when you were coming undone in his arms? You wonder if you’ll have the guts to ask him.
You feel him relax underneath you, and shift your body weight until you’re lying on top of him, with nothing but indifferent disregard for the puddle of genetic material pooling between the both of you. Well, puddle is an exaggeration. It wasn’t that excessive.
A drawn-out intake of breath, and then –
“That was...” Karkat starts, and the words hang in the air, hopeful. His voice is uncharacteristically soft. You like it. You like this – you like him.
“Yeah,” you breathe, “that was great.”
You feel him nod, hesitant, or maybe resolute, and have to resist the temptation to wrap your hands around him.
“Look at this,” you say, letting your right hand hover in mid-air. “Looks like I’ve killed a man with my bare hands.”
You giggle stupidly at your own joke. Karkat simply bonks you on the head.
“Ouch,” you wince. “I thought you loved me, Karkat.” You would’ve put your hand over your heart for maximum dramatics but alas! It is covered in slurry.
“Fuck off. You’re heavy.”
“Deal with it.”
“And gross.”
“Your fault.”
“No, dipshit. I’m serious,” Karkat says, shifting underneath you. “We should take a shower, this is fucking disgusting.”
“Ugh,” you nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck. He smells like sweat and sex, but you don’t mind. It’s actually a little gratifying. “Too far away,” you drawl. To be fair, if you were in possession of your full cognitive capacities, you would also be grossed out. But right now, all you want to do is sleep.
“Get up, you lazy fuck. I’m not sleeping in my own filth,” he nudges you off of him, and sits up in one brusque, bizarrely coordinated movement. You almost fall off the couch. God damn it, can’t a guy get some fucking sleep in this house? With a last groan, you get up, and Karkat follows. You put your clothes back on, because you’re not walking all the way to the bathroom buck naked, no thank you.
As you languidly pull your shirt down over your head, you turn to Karkat. His pants are in their rightful place. “Did we get anything on the couch?”
“Huh?” he startles, like he just snapped out of a reverie. You wonder what he was thinking about. You wonder what he’s thinking about all the time. You like him. “No. It’s clean.”
You nod.
The TV is still on, although neither of you were paying any attention to the movie. It’s displaying the credits screen now. Probably has been for a while. You try to approximate how long this whole experience’s lasted based on the length of the movie, but your brain is in no state to perform any kind of intellectually challenging task. Normally, you wouldn’t even have to calculate shit in the first place – your godtier powers do that for you, automatically. Maybe you were just too distracted.
Alright. You’re fully dressed now.
And because you’re feeling pretty fucking jovial; “Last one to the bathroom is a nooksniffer.”
Karkat throws you an exasperated look. “What?” he huffs. “Stop fucking around–”
You don’t wait for him to finish before you take off, laughing.
“Dave, you fucking bastard!” he bellows, “Come back here!”
A muffled string of curses is all that reaches before you’re too far away to make out what he’s saying.