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There were only a handful of ways to make Dave Strider listen.
Most days, he didn’t. He’d talk circles around you, rap his way out of the subject, or just vanish behind that cool detachment. But right now, Dave was all focus—because Karkat had decided he would be.
His shades lay tossed to the floor, exposing sharp red eyes that matched the flush blooming across his skin. Pale lashes dipped lower as his gaze kept flicking down, locked on where their bodies met.
The cramped storage cupboard echoed with the low slap of skin on skin, each sound chased by the slick press of Dave pushing into him.
Karkat sat propped on a stack of boxes, legs hooked in Dave’s hands, thighs spread wide so there was no question about what Dave should be paying attention to.
“Are you listening, Strider?” Karkat’s voice cut through the air like a whip.
Dave’s eyes glazed for a second, his head tipping back slightly. He was lost in the squeeze around him, in the molten pull that threatened to drag him under.
“Huh? Yeah.” The words came out slow, almost lazy.
“I said—fuck deeper.”
Karkat’s hand snapped up to Dave’s throat, grey fingers wrapping tight enough to make him still. Claws pressed just shy of breaking skin. The sudden grip pulled Dave’s eyes back to his.
“Yes, sir.” His chuckle was breathless, the sound curling between them.
It had started in the meeting room—Karkat in the middle of a memo, jaw tight as Terezi needled him—until he’d had enough. A sharp order. A grip on Dave’s arm. The click of a lock.
Now, Dave drove into him with sharp, obedient thrusts. The boxes beneath Karkat groaned with the movement, the heat in the air thick as their ragged breaths tangled together in the cramped, sweltering dark.
Karkat didn’t ease his grip. His claws stayed firm against Dave’s throat, enough to make every breath deliberate.
“That’s better,” he growled, voice low and rough.
Dave’s lips twitched like he wanted to toss back some slick line, but the effort died in his throat under Karkat’s stare. His eyes stayed locked on the troll below him, heat pooling in his gut at the wordless demand to keep going.
The cupboard seemed smaller by the second. Each thrust rocked the stack of boxes, the cardboard edges scraping faintly against Karkat’s bare back. His legs tensed around Dave’s hips, pulling him in tighter, controlling the rhythm without ever saying it outright.
“That's right. ,” Karkat said, every syllable sharp. “You’re here because I said so.”
Dave’s breath hitched, a flash of something stubborn flickering across his face—but his pace shifted instantly to match the pressure in Karkat’s grip.
A bead of sweat trailed down Karkat’s temple, catching in the edge of his hair before sliding to his jaw. He didn’t break eye contact once. The air between them was thick, every sound magnified—the rasp of cloth shifting on skin, the creak of the boxes, the subtle catch in Dave’s breathing whenever Karkat’s thighs flexed tighter.
Dave swallowed hard. “You’re… intense.”
Karkat’s mouth curled into a small, satisfied smirk. “Yeah. And you’re still talking instead of proving you’re listening.”
The smirk sharpened, mirroring the pressure of his claws. "So, fix that, Strider."
Dave’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he shifted deeper, bracing his hands on either side of Karkat, his knuckles white against the metal shelves of the cupboard. The new angle was excruciating, making Karkat gasp and claw at his shoulders—
—and then footsteps sounded just outside the door.
Karkat stiffened instantly, but Dave didn’t stop. His hips slowed, yes, but only to drive deeper, each thrust unhurried and deliberate, like he was testing how much Karkat could take without breaking.
Karkat’s mouth opened in a sharp inhale, his chest heaving—only for Dave’s hand to slam over it, the hot press of his palm sealing away the sound.
The cupboard seemed to shrink. The creak of the boxes, the slick slide of skin, every noise felt deafening in the hush. Karkat’s eyes were wide, pupils blown, glaring daggers at Dave even as his body twitched under the steady, punishing rhythm.
The door handle rattled.
Karkat’s claws sank into Dave’s arm hard enough to draw blood, his muffled snarl burning hot against the hand holding him quiet. Dave only leaned in closer, their foreheads nearly touching, and rolled his hips again.
A muffled, guttural noise escaped Karkat despite himself, swallowed into Dave’s palm. His legs tensed, thighs trembling as he tried to fight the sounds threatening to spill out.
The shadow under the door lingered… then moved away, footsteps fading.
Dave kept his hand in place for one last thrust, the motion wringing a bitten-off whine from Karkat that only he got to hear.
When Dave finally pulled his hand away, Karkat’s breath came out in a sharp, furious rush. “I’m going to rip your fucking head off.”
Dave grinned, unrepentant. “And here I thought you were enjoying yourself.” He says, instantly continuing with his deep thrusts.
A strangled sound escaped Karkat’s throat, a noise he bit back on instantly. His grip on Dave’s shoulders tightened, the claws digging in with a silent fury. The tips drew pinpricks of blood through the fabric of Dave’s shirt, dark spots blossoming in the low light.
He was trying to hold back, trying to maintain control, but the sensations were overwhelming. The deep, anchoring ache, the slick heat that bloomed brighter with every thrust. It was a struggle, a delicious battle against his own body.
"Fucking... shit," Karkat breathed, his voice barely a whisper, his composure cracking around the edges.
Dave’s pace had quickened, becoming almost frantic, like he was trying to break Karkat apart, to force him to surrender to the moment. He moved with a single-minded ferocity that was both thrilling and impressive. His head dipped down, his breath hot against Karkat’s neck.
“Better?” Dave rasped, his voice rough and strained.
Karkat hissed, a sound like static electricity. “Shut up and keep going.”
He shifted his hands, sliding them upward to cup the back of Dave’s neck, tugging his head closer. The action was possessive, demanding. He wanted Dave closer, deeper, until there was nothing but the two of them and this pulsing, overwhelming heat.
Dave seemed to understand. With a low groan, he pushed harder, his body moving with a raw desperation that mirrored Karkat’s own. The cupboard shuddered again, the smell of dust and sweat filling the air. The world narrowed to the feel of Dave inside him, the scrape of the boxes against his skin, the burning intensity of his eyes.
Karkat’s vision blurred, his head lolling back against the metal wall. He closed his eyes for a moment, surrendering to the sensation, the need. He was losing control, the battle for dominance slipping away with every pulse, every groan.
He was going to break, and he knew it.
But a part of him, a dark, hidden part, reveled in it. He wanted to be broken, wanted to be consumed by the fire that burned between them.
His fingers twisted in Dave’s hair, tugging hard. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving.
“Dave…” he choked out, his voice hoarse, barely audible above the sound of their bodies slamming together.
He didn’t know what he was going to say. A plea? A demand? An admission? He didn’t know. He just knew he needed to say something.
But Dave cut him off with a low growl, pushing into him with a final, desperate thrust that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through his body.
Karkat’s back arched off the boxes, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth against the wave of sensation.
He felt Dave stiffen, his muscles coiling tight. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, a sound that vibrated against Karkat’s skin.
And then, finally, silence.
Except for the sound of their ragged breathing, the pounding of their hearts.
The silence was deafening. It stretched between them, heavy and thick, a tangible thing.
Karkat slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Dave’s. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
They stayed like that for a long moment, locked in a silent, shared space. The air between them was electric, charged with unspoken words, with raw, untamed desire.
Finally, Dave spoke, his voice a low, rough whisper.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice husky. “I’m listening.”