Work Text:
“Fuck, Karkat.”
You lean down over the smaller troll, your arms circled around him and pulling him flush against you. Your muscles itch to do more, to bring him closer, tighten around him, crush him, hurt him and you bury your face into his hair and whimper pathetically to make those thoughts go away.
“MOTHERFUCK.”
He strokes your back and shooshes you, only just getting over the shock of you bursting into his block and grabbing him. You lean down further and bite his ear, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but he winces nonetheless. You lick the rim of his ear forgivingly.
You really fucking hate getting this bad. You don’t even know what causes it, one minute you’re fine, if a little tense, then some tiny thing will cause your mind to implode and your body to hum and buzz with actions and ideas that you don’t quite know the origin of. Some bizarre instinct is forced into your blood pusher and your body itches for sadistic violence. Some primitive level of your mind gives you little orders to hurt and destroy and kill, telling you it would be good, so good and you’d love it and you know you would, you know you will, so just DO IT.
You try to block it out as much as you can, pain is a good positive stimulus to stop the thoughts and ground you, but you are liable hurt something or someone if it gets too far, if there’s nobody good enough to pacify you, or if you don’t have a certain substance in a while.
“Give me Sopor man, GIVE ME FUCKING SOPOR NOW.”
He jumps at your volume and you realise you’re probably giving him twelve levels of a migraine, but you hold him strong in your arms.
“Gamzee, no y-“
“Then I ain’t gonna be FUCKING RESPONISIBLE for my MOTHERFUCKING actions.”
Your head swells with the urge to hurt, rip, tear, destroy and so you push him off your chest, backing up against the wall behind you and turning to scrape your horns along the solid surface. The painful reverberations through your horns and at the base of your skull are enough to jolt you from the rage fuelled need in the pit of your stomach. As you chase away the blood-thirst with agony you catch a glimpse of Karkat out the corner of a watering eye. He looks utterly terrified and guilt spikes in your gut. And then your mind is telling you to spike something in his gut and you have to turn back and ram your horns into the wall, crying out accidentally as you do so.
You immediately curse your fucking vocal box because it jolts Karkat out of shock and causes him to latch onto you from behind and drag you from the wall and does he know how fucking hard he is making this?
“Fucking stop, you clowndick!”
He holds you panting against him and reaches up to check your horns. You flinch at his touch, but he growls and you still under his examination. You fist you hands and dig your claws into your palms, jolts of shuddering pain skirting up your arms.
Once he has ascertained that your horns are neither broken nor cracked he lowers his hands to your torso and turns you to face him, eyes locking onto yours and steadying your thoughts.
He looks angry but patient as well. You almost feel guilty for coming to him, but you needed to come down and he was you moirail, right? That’s what moirails do. They deal with each other’s shit. He opens his mouth but shuts it again, and you don’t miss the small tremor in his lip as he inhales deeply and searches your eyes.
“Don’t you fucking try that again, or so help me I will pap you and pet you till you metamorphasize into some goddamned PAWBEAST, then I’ll dump your scrawny ass in a carrier cage and display you at the national Alternian SHITSPONGE AWARDS, I’m pretty goddamned sure you’ll get at least ALL THE FUCKING RIBBONS, a wreath for SOFTEST FUCKING HAIR and if you're fucking lucky and I’m feeling like a generous sodweed, you can have a few KITTY NIBBLES TOO. ALRIGHT?!”
He looks at you, eyes twitching slightly and a growl in his voice, the patience still there, but submissive.
“See? I can do that fucking crazy tone changing thing too, Gamzee! Now calm the fuck down for a minute. What the hell is going on?”
You blink down at him, your mind suddenly remarkably quiet and the murder instinct kept in toe by your claws digging into your palms.
“You think my hair’s motherfucking soft?”
He rolls his eyes and sighs, breaking eyes contact and consequently the pacifying bonds it had on you and your fangs are tingling again. You bite down and lock your jaw.
“Is anything I'm saying getting through to that molten pan of yours?”
You shake your head and laugh at this, a small dark, huffing chuckle, breathy and low.
“To be honest bro, I can hardly even MOTHERFUCKING HEAR YOU what with all these MIRTHFUL MESSAGES dancing in my MOLTEN fucking PAN.”
He observes you carefully for a second, then nods, brows furrowing.
“Okay. Alright. Calm down. Shoosh. What do you need?”
“Sopor. I FUCKING TOLD YOU ALREADY. Just give me some Sopor.”
You’re panting again.
“No Gamzee. No Sopor. Try again. What do you need?”
He’s keeping his sentences simple and short, repeating himself, he always does when he realises you're in a sorry state. It’s like he’s talking to a feral animal, keep it simple, keep it safe. It’s not quite condescending, more simply concerned, but it’s getting there.
You look desperately around you, not searching for anything in particular, just trying to keep your frantic mind busy, convinced you can somehow wear it out if you keep it active long enough. Your eyes fall back on Karkat, looking up at you questioningly and concerned, his head oscillating slightly from side to side, trying to lock eyes with you and ascertain the reason behind your bizarre but not totally unexpected actions.
“Gamzee? What do you need?”
His eyebrows are furrowed and you can see him worrying his lip between his fangs, one piercing through accidentally as a tiny, pretty drop of scarlet surfaces and he immediately stops biting and sucks the wound, hand coming up to hide it and fuck the Sopor, you’ve changed your mind.
“You.”
He stills his nursing at his lips and glances back up at you through his eyelashes.
“Come again?”
“YOU, MOTHERFUCKER.”
You nearly make a move to grab him right there and then, you want to hold him and bite his lips then suck him dry of that motherfucking spectacular beauteous mutation, but no, fuck, you’ve got to stop thinking this shit.
You bring a hand up to your horn and hold it tight at the base, a feeble attempt to calm yourself. When your remove your hand you have left little streaks of indigo from where your claws broke skin on you hand, contrasting starkly with the orange keratin of you horn. Karkat stares, transfixed for a few moments, you can practically see the haemophobia dancing in his eyes, then drags his gaze down to your clenched hands and swallows.
“What do you need me to be? Matesprit or moirail?”
“Fuck the quadrants Karkat, I DON’T WANT THE FUCKING QUADRANTS. I want you, man.”
You step towards him and he looks up at you, standing his ground against the vague threat you pose when you get like this. You’re towering over him slightly, and you want to grab him, possess him, have him. You don’t move, neither does he, you both just stand there watching each other. The time stretches long and warm in front of you and each second buzzes through you, through your horns like a hive of angry bees.
You didn’t sense when you started projecting chucklevoodoos, but as you watch Karkat shrivel in on himself, eyes filling with fear and darkness, you count yourself and try to reign the psychic in. You grunt in concentration and he flinches back, and you can really feel it now, oozing out of your mind and probing into all around you. Most of your psychic attention is on Karkat, who is now slowly shaking his head with his face in his hands, breaths fast and short and hitching in his throat every now and then, but you can feel another mind on the edge of your reach, far away and you know you must be projecting something awful to be picking up someone at this distance.
You look at Karkat, trembling and near whimpering and you breathe deeply, calming your own mind as best as you can and stilling the dark waves being emitted under your horns. You feel the last wisps of strained power fall away and he slowly straightens, facing downwards with his back heaving for a minute, then looks up slowly and holds you gaze.
You mumble an apology, but it doesn’t sound sincere enough and you can hear that, but you can’t bring yourself to give a better one because so much of your concentration and energy is going into keeping yourself in check. You stare down at him, taking in the tears grouped at the corners of his eyes and the way his skin has become more blanched, his cheeks wan. You hope your apology portrayed enough.
He looks up at you just a while longer then nods, inching closer to you and circling his arms around your waist then up against your back, still stroking gently, placating and slow, shooshing you under his breath. He holds you there, petting you and it’s calming and soothing but it’s slow, so slow. You need something more, something raw and vicious and distracting. You don’t want to calm down and have a feelings jam, you could not sort this shit out like that. Not right now. Later, definitely, but not now. You can’t come down the rollercoaster before you go all the way up.
You grab his shoulders and force him back, his eyes dart up to your face and you both just stand there for you don’t even fucking know, but it’s so motherfucking long. You want to jump him right here right now, but you know you should let him recover from the fucked up things you’ve just inflicted onto his think pan. So you just stare. The two of you seem equally matched in hesitation.
Surprisingly he is the one who breaks the tension and leans forwards, tipping his face up to yours until your lips are nearly touching, but does not close the distance. You can feel his heat and your breath is mingling with his. Another eternity hovering above him, his heavily lidded eyes locked on yours and he lets out this little noise, half a grunt, half a keening whine in the back of his throat. You feel your own eyes widen momentarily before you are all over him.
Lips clash and teeth clink together and you assault his mouth, sucking, biting and tasting whatever you can. You notice in a passing thought that his tongue is remarkably short for troll standards as your own wraps around it.
His returning kiss starts out soft, trying to be gentle rather than wild, but quickly turns just as frantic as yours, your need seemingly infecting the air.
You continue like this for a minute, the electricity of the moment thrumming through your head and keeping your mind safe and active, but you soon need to break for air and you pull away and fist a hand in Karkat’s hair, keeping him in place as you stare at the little drops of scarlet decorating those lips, soft bruises beginning to form and you smile. He is marked and he is yours and you are going to possess him.
Removing your hand from his hair, you put it back on his shoulder and push him back up against the wall, pinned, pushing a leg between his. The look in his eyes is determined with a cloud of lust fogging over it and it spurs you on like nothing else.
Each breath you take is like paraffin, surrounding you both in a lust filled haze and he, this cornered little troll in front of you, is like a flame wrapped in thorns, brilliant and sharp. One spark from him and the room will ignite.
You keep his gaze only for a few seconds more before you bear down on him, tongue darting out to taste his blood and hands running down his sides. You move down to his neck and your horn catches on the wall, the mix of pain and pleasure surrounding your system forcing a groan from your throat. You hear Karkat gasp.
“Fuck, Gamzee.”
You bite at his neck, then the softer skin where it meets the collar bone, digging your fangs in. You hear the fireball beneath you whimper, and feel it slide through his throat. You lick the wound skilfully and not quite apologetic.
He leans his head back, allowing you more access, his breath coming out short but heavy. He grinds down on your leg, releasing the groan he had been holding in at the back of his throat. The spark flies out. The room is alight.
Your instincts kick in before you do, as something inside your mind has snapped and it’s too busy reeling to do anything. You grab Karkat from under his thighs and hoist him up and he brings his legs around your waist as you press him into the wall with enough pressure to turn him into diamonds.
Perhaps not the best time to think of diamonds though, considering your current definitely-not-in-the-realms-of-moirallegiance ambitions.
You attack his mouth again, biting a bit harder, a little less forgiving and then growl into his ear.
“Karkat, I don’t think I’m gonna be all up and able to stop myself in just a second, so if you’re gonna stop me, stop me right fucking now. Just say no, or just tell me yes.”
You inspect him from the corner of your eye, your mouth still hovering above his ear. He turns his head slightly to glare at you, panting. You stand transfixed with each other until he growls at you and snarls,
“Damn it Gamzee, do something!”
You nearly burst out laughing, but instead simply smirk and buck your hips.
“Watch me, motherfucker.”
Karkat barely has time to open his mouth before you slip a hand between the two of you and begin working his dull trousers off, mouth and tongue still playfully teasing at his earlobe, risking a nibble here and there. Karkat is all fluttering breaths and miniscule moans, mewls and sighs catching just in the back of his throat. You unlatch yourself from his ear to look at the glazed expression on his face, lips parted and wet, gorgeous and delicate. You take it in and relish it just and your hand slips under his pant line and roughly grabs his bulge.
Any ounce of fragile, blushing submissiveness he had in him has left the premises.
“COLD HANDS GAMZEE, FUCKING COLD!”
Spluttering and flailing, teeth bared and face scarlet, lips now parted in a pant as he squirms in your hold, trying to get away from your chilly grip. You begin to slowly slide you hand back out, grinning darkly, when he grabs you wrist.
“No, wait, wait wait wait okay. Give me a second. It’s not all bad. Just very sudden and fucking cold.”
He glares at you. You grin and raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t let go, but move to the relaxation platform, or I think you might break my bones against this fucking uncomfortable wall.”
You nod and adjust your grip on him, spinning him around and then bringing him down onto the soft covers of the bed, perhaps a little too hard. Grinding down on him, bringing friction which is appreciated by the both of you as he moans again, while the noise you make is more akin to growling, you are just about to bear down on his mouth again when he raises a hand and speaks up again, slightly breathless.
“No, you know what? Stop.”
You do. It takes a fair bit of restraint, both from your lust and the murmurs in your head gripping any piece of control they can get their cold hands on. You stop.
You look down at Karkat, hair dishevelled, face flushed and as you eyes peer further down you notice he is just as aroused as you are. Your lustful actions are halted again by your confusion.
“This isn’t right, this isn’t going to calm you down much at all, not like this.”
Was Karkat really trying moirail you through sex?
“Okay, right. Fuck. You lie down here.”
Karkat was trying to moirail you through sex. You can only hope that he doesn’t try to shoosh you or pap your butt. Total turn off.
Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, and the steady thrum of agitation running through you, you find yourself unable to do anything except obey Karkat, letting him puppet you around and position you how he wanted. You do not break eye contact as he guides you down onto the bed, pushes your chest down so you are propped up facing him on your elbows. He carefully straddles your hips.
“Stay.”
You nod again, dumbfounded. He nods back and then rocks back on his haunches, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at your chest. For a second you think he’s blanked out and you are about to once again take matters into your own sweaty, fidgeting hands when he reaches for the hem of your loose shirt and tugs it up to your armpits, you quickly take over and wrestle it over your horns. As you emerge, you see him doing the same for himself and you reach up and trail your claws lightly down his chest, a feather touch that draws him to you and your hungry mouths meet again, he is more dominant than before and you are still slightly taken aback by that fact.
“Shit.”
You mutter into his mouth as his tongue dips into your own and his hand reaches up to your horn you realise with some deference the extent of which he has turned this whole situation upside-down. You’re not complaining, Karkat taking control was just as arousing as it was surprising.
You lie back and admire him, admire his body, admire his new found passion for ordering you around, but he seems to grow uneasy under your examinations and moves to pull off your sweatpants. He shuffles back to pull them down off your feet and then lets his face hover just above your groin, both of you still clad in your thin boxers.
He lowers his face and the sheer heat of his breath is enough to sink through the fabric of the little clothing you have left and make your bulge twitch in anticipation.
A part of you knows that there is a faster way of getting this moving, but this is the same part that wants to kill everyone, so you decidedly ignore it. Probably a good call.
Your hands begin clenching and unclenching in the sheets, indigo blotting it as you dig your claws in again to distract you. Not that the lovely Mr Vantas wasn’t distraction enough in all his scantily clad glory, but just that he was going so tantalisingly slow. Each gentle nuzzle, every soft palming only offered more voices in your head telling him to flip the small troll over and speed this up. Without meaning to you let out a keening whine that trills through your throat and Karkat seems to take this as a signal as he tugs your boxers off.
Your bulge writhes in the warm air, coiling and stretching, seeking attention. You glance down at yourself just to catch a glimpse of it squirming obscenely before you nearly white out in the shock of Karkat all but swallowing you into his fiery, impossibly hot mouth. His stubby tongue obviously not as stubby as you had thought.
And then he just holds you there, in his mouth, hotter than anything.
Holds you and stills, teasing and controlling.
Your hips rut involuntarily and your hands grip harder onto the sheets. He looks up, a gently mocking glint in his eyes, though this seems to be the first time he is really seeing you there, sprawled across the bed, desperation and rage and madness swimming around your indigo irises. The glint in his eyes fades and they fall to see your hands, twisted in the sheets, dotting them with little droplets of indigo, nothing serious, just enough to make the clean white fabric look ugly and soiled.
He slides you out of him mouth, your bulge now coiling in on itself as he reaches up with one hand and unwinds your fingers from the smooth white cloth. It’s a slightly odd feeling as he takes your large hand into his sweaty, small palm and grips you tight. You do not have time to appreciate this sensation before he is taking you into his wet mouth again and gently sucking the tip of your waiting bulge.
Gasping, you are launched into a position where you can see better, the elbow of the hand which is intertwined with Karkat’s supporting you as your other hand tangles into Karkat’s thick hair, stroking, tugging, twirling and grabbing as he bobs his head and swirls his tongue. All the while his thumb rubs soothing lines up and down your fingers, softly squeezing in time to his own oscillations subconsciously.
Every time your own conscious hands you something you can tell is slightly off, slightly too violent or cruel or simply illogical, you squeeze his hand and he grips you back, and swallows you a bit further, sucks a bit harder, uses his tongue a bit more. Perhaps when you are of a more logical, moral temperament you will feel bad about using your Moirallegiance for this, but for now you cannot think outside this miracle troll with the magma for blood.
As he bobs down and tries to take all of your length in, his teeth scrape gently against the cool, scaly skin of your bulge and you jump.
Some part of dominance manages to squeeze to the front of your mind because you are grabbing for him, dragging him up onto your lap and stealing his breath and you grate your mouths together, not caring for fangs or cuts.
You hands wander up and down his sides, until they come to rest at the top of his thighs, inches away from the contact you hope you both desire.
When you speak it is a husky exhale of lust.
“You cool for this bro?”
Surprised that you managed to collect the breath for that, and then surprised that you even asked, you dig your face into his shoulder and leave a small bite by his collar bone. Good to know that even while your mind’s a circus freak show, there are some aspects of your morals that will not leave you behind.
“Yes. Of course. Had you not got that yet? I mean fucking Skaia above, Gamzee, I thought I was making it pretty obvious.”
His voice is just as breathless.
You suck at the rough love bite you have left as he fumbles to get his remaining clothing off, then his crotch returns to its place hovering above yours and there is an odd, still silence where neither of you do anything and your bulges are just stretching out to each other, squirming and fuelled by primitive need.
His bulge is already producing genetic material, as a lowblood his bulge is rougher than your own, which has a scale like quality to it, smooth and cool, his needs to lubricate itself. A drop of the pale, hot come drips onto your hip. You are pushed over some lustful edge and you arch up to meet him, your lengths intertwining and curling around, teasing the tips and enveloping the bottom. If you had thought his mouth was hot, you are not sure what to call this, it is as if you can feel each pulse of his blood pusher coursing hot lava through his veins, melting the ice you are used to that flows through your own.
However amidst the heat, it is the roughness of his skin which brings the most pleasure; the much yearned for friction underneath the slick warmth of his come.
You do not know at what point your foreheads came together, resting against each other and clinging to each other’s torsos, both of you obscenely rocking your hips. He is focused, panting breaths, eyebrows furrowed as he ruts and sways in your lap. You also glance down at the way your joint bulges wind up and down against your stomachs then between your thighs and have to close your eyes because the sight is so dirty and vulgar and it makes your head strain with disgusting possibilities.
Your mouths meet fleetingly as both of you have hardly enough breath for long, passionate kisses. Your hands wander up and down his exposed torso, kneading his shoulders every now and then, or digging your claws in without meaning to when you lose yourself.
He doesn’t seem to mind much, a few times he even pushes back into your sharp talons, gasping and tugging your hair. He transfixes you so completely that you involuntarily stop grinding against him and just watch. You don’t even realise that you’ve stopped until he growls down at you and shakes your head by the roots of your hair and rolls his hips purposefully down on you. You snap back and return the favour.
At this point there is not an ounce of sadistic, violent intent in you, simply because there is not room for anything but Karkat. Not room for anything but the way he flicks his hair out of his eyes in the heated moment so he can look you in the eyes as he thrusts and grinds into you, the way his whole body is becoming slick and glimmering with sweat and come, giving him some ethereal light as the jade moon reflects off him, the way he bites his lips and draws back into your claws when he thinks he is close because he doesn’t want it to end yet, and the way he is mindlessly murmuring your name sandwiched between obscene cusses. There is no room for anything else.
His bulge is squirming erratically now, the muscles spasaming, clenching and unclenching and you can tell he will not last much longer. You yourself are nearly there, but not as close as him.
He rasps out a shuddering gasp as he finishes, his bulge withering as it spurts out all the genetic material meant for a bucket. It falls and pools in your laps, hot and smooth and salty. He looks down and sees your length is still twisting and writhing, wrapping around his limp one hopelessly. He reaches down and spoons his come into a hand then massages your bulge, covering it with the warm fluid and letting your bulge coil between his fingers as you reach your own climax. Your head falls on his shoulder and your back arches as your own come mixes with his, blending to a bizarre tone of maroon.
As your breathing evens out he brings his hand up and looks at it in vague interest and slight disgust, you think for a second he is going to taste it as you watch him hazily, but he just wipes it off on the covers. He looks at you.
“Better?”
You nod dumbly.
“Thought so. Me too.”
You make a move to hold him, but he pulls back and looks down at the cooling mess between you and sighs, pouting a bit.
“We should get cleaned up first, before tiny mutant clown grubs start spawning in our laps.”
You scrunch you nose.
“I don’t think that’s how it works, bro-“
“Yeah, I know, I know, can we just shower?”
You don’t even have time to nod before he raises himself and fumbles for your hand. You stand with him and the still lukewarm pile of genetic material oozes off you and drips onto the bed and floor. You are about to protest when Karkat shooshes you.
“Don’t you dare make me think about the tremendous amounts of cleaning I am going to have to do later, do not remind me of the fucking haemorrhaging I am going to get from my rage and disgust at having to get down on my knees and scrub my own come off the floor don’t you fucking dare Gamzee.”
You stay silent, but smile a bit.
He tugs your hand and you follow him into the ablution centre and you know you look like some obscene pair of school boys, holding hands and walking through his hive, but you don’t mind, because you are calm now.
Even when he turns the shower on and pulls you under the scalding hot stream with him, you don’t mind, because your whole body and mind is so calm and quiet.
He quickly washes himself off, and you sort of copy him until you get distracted by the way the water trickles off strands of your hair. Eventually, you see him fidgeting and glancing at the wall, and you’re not sure if he feels awkward or if he’s waiting for you to finish, but then he notices you staring with a slightly bemused expression on your face and moves over to circle his arms around you. You hug him back and pap his head.
The pair of you end up on the floor of the ablution fountain, you with your back against the cooler tiles and mostly out of the stream of hot water, and Karkat between your legs under the water, leaning against your torso. You stroke his hair and his arms and he draws rings with his fingers on your arms and palms. Both of you start purring quietly at some point, and you decide there is nothing wrong with snoozing here.
You feel happy and spacey and the miracles are peering around the corners of your vision and everything is nice and gentle again. There are no voices, or instincts and urges, only the sound of running water, a purring troll in your lap and a sense of sleepiness that makes everything softer.
You feel
So
Serene.