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it's dark. it's dark, and quiet, and he is so pissed off right now.
no, he's not a bad guy. maybe if they just stayed in their fuckin' places things wouldn't have gone this way. he just did what he had to, and most importantly, he did what none of them could.
sometimes he felt like the only competent troll on the whole god damn asteroid. which wasn't that far from the truth, most of them being filthy low on the spectrum, and those who weren't were just... freakishly not worthy of their own blood. no pointing prongs, but fef sure was the only decent person among the twelve of them.
was.
anger was something he's grown used to.
he was angry at fef. for many things, but for declining his invitation specifically, and for defending that piss-blood shit-stain she called a matesprit. he was angry at sollux, for being so far up his own waste chute and so fucking blind, for taking fef, for refusing him what he rightfully deserved to have. he was angry at kanaya and karkat and vriska, at every single one of them, and they were so unbelievably stupid and in their stupidity even more insufferable than they would've been back home.
he wandered off somewhere without thinking. he just needed to clear his mind, a minute of solitude, anything that would calm him down at least a bit. anything.
hold that thought.
==>
"hey there. BROTHER."
could there have been a better outcome? the marine brother was decent, at the very least. they could speak on equal terms.
they could have a proper conversation.
none of that orderly nonsense. none of the motherfucking shit that made him even more mad at what he had spent his life up to that point. none of the quadrant drama... well, okay, that was. A MOTHERFUCKING STRETCH.
all the drama. but the drama so motherfucking delicious and fun to observe that he might as well entertain the thought. motherfuck, "entertaining the thought" might be just not enough now.
the miraculous action shall be entertained, as well.
"you look evven wworse than usual. nevver thought that's a possibility."
the messiah grins.
"i am so. GLAD. to know that you are the same motherfucking asshole i always knew. IT'S JUST WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR, BROTHER."
"i thought you ran out of that wwicked shit you wwere constantly on. howw come you sound so incoherent, still?"
"if you keep on saying stuff like that, i might get the impression that you are not happy to see me, prince."
he shivers at the title. it's fun to observe. SOMETIMES A MOTHERFUCKER IS JUST SO BEAUTIFUL IN HIS AWFULLNESS. sometimes a motherfucker just so impatient in his desires. SOMETIMES. you just need a little push.
AND WHAT A PUSH HE PROVIDES.
with a thud. RIGHT INTO THE WALL BEHIND HIM. the wonderfully useless cape flutters in the air and gets stuck between the royal-blood’s back and the cold concrete. the messiah feels a wand pressed against his chest.
"your miraculous stick is of no need. MY BROTHER. you wanna fight? YOU FIGHT WITH YOUR MOTHERFUCKING FISTS," his grin grows wider and just like that widen his eyes when he lands a punch right into the prince's abdomen, knocking all the air out.
the wand drops, and its owner grabs the other by the horn, headbutting him into the face.
"i'll send you to your gravve early, gam," he hisses, intimately close to the messiah's hear duct. "is this some kinda fuckin' joke to ya? wwhat d'you think you're DOIN'?"
"can a brother be any more transparent in his intentions? I THINK THE MOTHERFUCK NOT," a long laughter echoes through the hallway, and the bard presses him further into the wall. "your flirting at its finest, prince. MOTHERFUCKING STRAIGHTFORWARD. blunt. AND. i respect that, prince. I REALLY DO."
"you wwanna treat threats as advvances, be my guest. you wwanna get your horns beaten and handed to you by the powwer bestowwed upon me, i might as wwell," his earfins flutter and flare.
"BRING. it. ON. motherfucker."
the said motherfucker plunges his claws into the bard's face. a hand squeezes his throat, restricting the airflow, and both trolls abandon the wall in favour of clawing at each other, punching, kicking.
the prince bites hard onto the arm suffocating him. his primary set of gills can barely do anything above water, so they flutter pointlessly, tickled by the fabric of his sweater.
his throat only gets squeezed harder. with a pained wheeze, he grabs at the arm with both his hands and pushes forward, trying to send them both, or, in the best outcome, the messiah, on the floor.
he does so successfully.
he lands a punch on the painted cheek, drawing deep purple and dirtying the gem on one of his rings. a long-forgotten bottle of faygo he capchalogued is freed from his sylladex, and with a scream and a swing it hits right where the cut is, widening it ever so slightly. the plastic makes a very sad sound at the contact, the messiah rolls them over, sitting sideways on his marine brother. with one nub over his stomach, pressing hard, and the second somewhere on his right thigh, he returns the punch, grabs the hand that hit him and tears the rings off, clawing at the slim prongs and ignoring their resistance.
"get your hands off my jewwerly!"
"YOUR MOTHERFUCKING RINGS ARE NOT FAIR GAME, BROTHER. i don't have none. I ESTABLISH THE RULES HERE. so you better follow them. AND KEEP YOUR PRETTY RINGS OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING FACE. you dig me?"
"if after this evven one of those goes fuckin' missin', gamzee. heed my fuckin' wwords, i wwill destroy you. i wwill destroy you in such a platonic wway you havve nevver evven IMAGINED," the messiah gets grabbed by the collar with these words, and he laughs, long and loud, right into the other's face.
"AND HERE YOU GO, ADMITTING THIS IS NOT PLATONIC. way to motherfucking go, prince. DON'T DENY THINGS. not to yourself. AND ESPECIALLY NOT TO ME."
a punch knocks the royal's glasses over to the side. another sends them to the floor. it takes a second for him to readjust and squint even further than his usual frown went just to see the painted face in front of him. then a nub burrows itself further into his stomach.
"FIGHT BACK, MOTHERFUCKER. what fun is it if you just take what i give like a bitch. show me your rage, prince. SHOW ME THE DESTRUCTION. THE MOTHERFUCKING HOPE. THE DESIRE TO MOTHERFUCKING WIN."
a claw rips his shirt and his side, blood gushes down to his hip, and with a yelp, they're up on their strut pods again, circling one another, looking for another moment to attack.
the messiah slowly licks his lips. so does the prince, who then slowly unclasps his cape and lets it fall off his shoulders onto the floor.
"A BIT TOO EARLY FOR THAT, PRINCE. i am not done. WITH OUR LITTLE MOTHERFUCKING GAME HERE."
"shut your wwindhole and come at me," he needs not to be told twice. this time the prince evades his attempt, disorienting, landing a hit on the back of his head and barely managing to keep himself on his strut pods.
"COME NOW, ORPHANER. take it like a high blood. RUNNING WON'T DO YOU ANY MOTHERFUCKING GOOD," the bard equips a club and immediately swings it, with full force, at the prince' nub, forcing a pained cry out of him and using the opportunity to hit again in the same spot. that must give him a limp at the very least.
it would be unfortunate to destroy these wonderful pants, though. the stripes are so fun. makes him want to rip them off and take them all to himself. must be a bit more careful with that going onward.
come on. come on. punch. bite. claw. rip a bit of skin off.
this is exactly what a brother needs right now.
"COME ON!" he exclaims, seeing how wobbly the prince looks.
he doesn't seem to be too eager to step on his injured frond. BUT OH WELL. with a bit of bracing, he practically jumps onto the bard and clings to him by all means possible, smudging the face paint, drawing more little rivulets of blood on his face, his neck, pulling at a horn and biting bits of hair out like a wild, untamed beast.
YES.
the bard helps him stay close. holds him by a thigh, already forgetting about the miracle that those pants are and ripping the fabric to tear through the tender skin that never sees the shade of night. he presses against a wall, again, this time with his own back, and he laughs, he can't stop laughing; even when the prince's claws rip the inside of his cheek, even when the prince seemingly tries to rip his lower jaw out, even when the prince finally grabs him by the nape and smashes their lips, their teeth, their tongues together, even when the sound gets muffled by those lips, plush, already tortured, the prince always bit at them, for as long as they knew each other, it will be so easy to make those bleed, again and again, Gods have mercy, he flips, and the prince's back hits against the wall so hard it knocks the air out of him again, and it's just the perfect moment to lock him in a kiss long and sloppy and his ankles press against the bard's lower back so well, THAT MOTHERFUCKER'S BLOOD IS SO DELICIOUS HIS HEAD STARTS TO SPIN, and the prince groans, growls, bites and grabs and licks like he's trying to devour the mouth offered to him so kindly, impatient and desperate, JUST WHAT YOU WOULD EXPECT OF SOMEONE LIKE HIM, SO DELICIOUS AND PATHETIC.
the bard bites down hard, and the scream that follows might be the best motherfucking thing he has ever heard. he licks and laps and sucks the blood off of the injured tongue, drops the club and grabs a handful of the softest part of the prince's body, pressing into him, grinding into him.
"you owwe me a spare fuckin' set a clothes, bastard," the prince whispers, "and if i havve to wwalk around the lab wwith a fuckin' capricorn sign splatted on my chest, you're a dead troll."
"that would be so motherfucking hot though. EVERYONE COULD SEE. all of them. ALL OF THE ONES WHO ARE LEFT WOULD KNOW. and i would make sure. THAT THEY. are there to see. ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING MARKS. and each. AND EVERY. scar. THAT I GIFT YOU."
the prince shrieks so deliciously loud when sharp teeth plunge into the gills on his neck. and despite that, his prongs curl around the soft fabric of his scarf and pull it off quickly, opening more skin, more gills, more ways to hurt, more ways and more places. the messiah laps the blood trickling down and sticks his tongue as deep into a gill as he could manage to. he licks upwards, outwards, and bites the skin just on the outside, and the satisfied grin appears on his face when the prince bucks towards him at that.
"you're supposed to keep me alivve, don't forget that, genius," he exhales shakily.
"i never said it was a quadrant thing, prince. MAYBE I JUST WANT A ONE-TIME MIRACLE ACTION WRAPPED MOTHERFUCKIN' WONDERFULLY AROUND MY BULGE. and maybe, just maybe. I WILL CUDDLE YOUR CORPSE. and kiss it goodnight. AND FUCK IT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL IT GETS BORING."
"wwouldn't a livvin' guy be more pleasant to pail?"
"DON'T MOTHERFUCKING TELL ME WHAT'S MORE PLEASANT, PRINCE. you have no idea what you're talking about anyway and we both know that."
"god, this has no right to be so..." the royal gulps, glubs, grabs the bard by the horns, forcing their gazes to lock.
"MOTHERFUCKING. HOT."
"...yes," he admits. and after a brief pause of drinking that crazed gaze in, he leans in for yet another kiss. less teeth, but more sucking, and more sounds, and more saliva. after a while, the bard gets bored.
gasping for air, he breaks the kiss, wipes his chitin, only making the face paint situation worse, and throws the prince right on top of his cape.
he drops on his nubs, spreads the prince's fronds apart and grinds against his inner thigh with a satisfied sigh. the royal groans from the harsh change in position but opens up, almost too willing. MOTHER OF FUCKING COURSE HE WOULD BE.
"just gonna give in? JUST LIKE THAT? so desperate to get something up that nook, prince?" the bard laughs and harshly squeezes the striped crotch, forcing the royal to helplessly try to buck into the touch and sob from the stimulation. "GREEDY, NEEDY AND UNTOUCHED, I BET. would you confirm, prince, would you confirm that i'll be the first one to give it the proper attention it doesn't even deserve? YOUR BULGE SEEMS TO LIKE ALL THE THINGS I SAY."
"you are such an insufferable bastard," the prince says. he doesn't deny anything, though. just reaches to untie the little bow holding his pants in place. "for once in your fuckin' life, just get on wwith it until i change my mind and reduce you to smithereens."
"i'll reduce you to a motherfucking pail if you keep talking nonsense, prince," the bard leans closer to his face and licks the violet lips. "MY PERSONAL LITTLE MATERIAL CONTAINER."
he motherfucking moans at that.
all the confirmation needed. before going down to the main course, he really wants to try something. experience the flavour first-hand, or first-tongue, so to say.
he places a kiss, more akin to a series of bites, on the prince's lips, and descents, biting his neck, the fabric covering his chest, lower and lower, raises the sweater a bit and bites into his abdomen, into his hipbone, licks down, slowly, teasingly freeing his hips from the fabric and his bulge from the pressure.
"don't evven think a bitin' my junk off, makara," the prince whispers. "i'm damn sure you considered this."
the bard doesn't confirm. doesn't deny, either. he just pushes the pants (and those adorable motherfucking yellow panties) further down, to the royal's nubs, then crawls into that little space he created — the sweet body in front of him and the clothes behind.
with a long, teasing lick on his sheath, the bard wraps his lips around the seeking appendage, and the prince sings. he sings oh so well that the bard's eyelashes flutter from the sound, and he grabs the hips before him with both hands, pushing himself further, feeling how the violet, dripping wet bulge dances inside his mouth, and it might be the best thing he ever tasted, so pleasantly salty and perfectly cold and he really would have bitten it off if not for the expressed dislike of that idea.
it's like a kiss. the bulge seeks for a narrower point, but the bard stays in place just far enough to not let it into his protein chute, tangling his tongue with it, suckling on the curling tip, and hearing the prince choke on his own sounds is a bliss. slowly, the bard drags himself back up, giving the bulge the tenderest of bites, and allows it to mindlessly writhe against his face, painting it with violet and smudging itself in what is, essentially, just a mess of grey paint now.
"i never took you for a vocal brother," the bard says, getting only a disappointed grunt in return, and then a gasp, when his tongue laps at the appendage, going closer and closer to its base, suckling at the front (a fuck), licking down the soft tissue of the nook (a fuck please), when he's mouthing at it, gliding his teeth along it (an oh god), allowing his tongue to slip inside, lick around the edges of the entrance, explore to his hemopusher's content.
with another open-mouth kiss on the prince's shame areas, and a minute of drinking in a slightly different flavour, the bard lowers a hand to his own pants, sliding a hand under them and giving himself a tight squeeze. his thighs are soaking wet, parts all ready and willing, but he's not done. IT'S A MATTER OF WORSHIPPING. he feels how the muscles inside the prince twitch and tighten, how the sticky wetness flows on his tongue and down his protein chute, and the relief is like no other.
"fuck, gam, i need your mouth," the plea deteriorates into a whine and a sob, both of the bard's hands are back on the soft thighs, and he obliges. he opens up wider, breaths on the bulge to perk up its attention, and slips in so willingly, so desperately. it thrusts down his protein chute when he leans into it to get back to the prince's nook, and his windhole is so beautifully full of violet. he pushes his tongue as far inside as its length allows, writhes it around, thoughtless and drunk, light-headed from the sounds coming. the prince's sounds that he doesn't even attempt to keep down, the periodic dripping of his wetness onto the floor, his shuffling, the bard's own gulping sounds from each thrust of the bulge down his chute and the sounds of lapping, lapping and moving, sloppy and fast.
how come a motherfucker be so beautiful when reduced to a pile of moaning, leaking flesh?
"gam, pail, gam, please, gam, oh god, god, gam, ah," IT SOUNDS LIKE A PRAYER. like his mouth, his chitin and his chutes are the best thing that have ever happened to the prince. it's just lovely. RAISES HIS SELF-ESTEEM. the prince grabs him tightly by the horns, his thigh muscles flex involuntarily, nubs pushing together and trapping the bard between them. he couldn't provide a bucket even if he wanted to. AND HE DOES NOT. the prince's hips thrust, once, twice, a wince, then a moan, then the capricious mess of hair is grabbed and pulled and squeezed and "GAMZEE-EEH!"
he drinks up, positioning his face to catch every possible drop, he swallows in delight, drowns in the gushing violet material flowing into his mouth. he opens his chute up, that one trick to gush a whole bottle of the wicked elixir down in a matter of seconds, a trick that always concerned his favourite brother and disgusted the prince. IT PROVED ITSELF USEFUL NOW. a use much better than chugging faygo down. FAYGO IS SOMETHING YOU ENJOY. but in a situation like this, enjoyment comes second. consumption comes first.
when the prince finally stops convulsing and his hips drop back to the floor with the bard's head still trapped close, it's a total mess. no matter how hard you try, something just has to leak. DOWN THE MOTHERFUCKING FLOOR. the deep colours of their blood are already there. THE TRANSLUCENCY OF MATERIAL IS TOO MOTHERFUCKING EXTRA. it soaks into the prince's cape, dark spot underneath him, and the messiah slowly untraps himself, licking his lips. the violet bulge sheaths itself, and the messiah leaves a kiss on its sheath before slowly crawling back to the prince's face.
the prince faces away from him, breathing heavy and ragged, hands flowing down from his horns to his shoulders when the messiah rises.
"you're a motherfucking miracle, brother," he whispers into the royal cheekbone, smudging the violet material on his face. the prince whimpers and faces him, staring blankly, like he barely understands what is happening around him. he blinks a couple times before his sight clears a bit, and he bumps their mouths together, licking his own genes off the other's lips and chin. "I JUST CAN'T GET ENOUGH."
"fuckin' pervvert," the prince bites his own lower lip. "i wanna stick you inside right noww."
the messiah grins wider and licks and nibbles at the prince's earfin, whispers just so close to his hear duct:
"maybe if i had you around instead of pie... THINGS WOULD GO SO DIFFERENTLY. between us. BETWEEN EVERYONE. if i had you like that. SPLAYED UNDER ME. so opened up. SO SICKENINGLY MARVELLOUSLY GOOD," he gulps. "you just taste so much better."
"gam..."
"if only i was addicted to you. INSTEAD OF THAT PAN-FUCKING-FRYING PIECE OF MOTHERFUCKING CRAP. you wouldn't be able to walk, prince. I'LL HAVE TO CARRY YOU AROUND. or keep you in my respite block forever and ever and ever and take you whenever i wanted and motherfucking devour you as often as i wanted. IF I HAD YOU TO SATIATE MY SOPOR CRAVINGS," the messiah's tongue lolls out of his grinning mouth, and he licks over the hear duct. "my prince... MY LITTLE PLAYMATE. you would love that so much. WOULDN'T YOU."
the prince moans in desperation.
"this is literally the wworst offer i heard in my entire life," he says despite that. "i'm not a hole to fill, bard. if anythin', i shoulda been the one to keep you in my hivve, as a royal blood."
"you just can't get enough of your own blood, prince. THIS IS SO FASCINATING. i want to drink it all up. LEAVE YOU DRY. delicious. MOTHERFUCKING BEAUTIFUL."
with that, the bard feels movement, something prodding at his thigh. he bursts into laughter, pressing the prince down, holding his left shoulder so tight it might just leave bruises. looking him in the eyes, laughing and letting an occasional honk out, he pushes his sweatpants down, writhing, soaking bulge immediately seeking and finding and pushing to the hilt. HE HAD ALL THE PREPARATION HE NEEDED.
"MOTHERFUCK, BROTHER, YOU JUST WANT ME SO BAD."
the prince practically screams at the intrusion. his hips jerk up, trying to get more, more, and the bard bucks into him; there's nothing more he can give, whole length buried so deep inside, nook hugging and enveloping and squeezing and tugging so MOTHERFUCKING BEAUTIFULY, a miracle of procreation, a miracle of love, of loathe, of life and death, a miracle of pleasure and pain, and the bard thrusts, humps, laughs at the top of his bellowsacs and pulls the prince's torso towards himself, kissing and biting and laughing laughing laughing.
"i wwant inside you," the prince moans, quickly changing positions and placing himself atop of the bard's thighs to push his bulge as deep as it physically could go.
"BE MY MOTHERFUCKING GUEST."
the violet bulge twists and searches, finds it way down, curls around the purple base for a quick moment, and with its owners gasp and whimper, it unfolds inside the warmer nook. ever so slightly, but noticeably, and the prince shivers, mouth agape, whole body shuddering. the bard grabs him by the hips, trying his best to keep the quick tempo up so the poor motherfucker won't have all the pressure of riding on his poor nubs. THE PRESSURE COULD MAKE HIM A MOTHERFUCKING BELIEVER AGAIN. new faith: that wonderful sea-dwelling motherfucking-
"AMPORA," the bard chokes on a groan when shark-sharp teeth sink into his neck.
the prince claws at the back of his shirt, grabbing and tearing, hugging tighter, one hand entangled in the mess the bard calls hair, pulling to open more skin for biting. he sucks at it for dear life, and when the messiah moans, his protein chute vibrates so well, sending shivers down the prince's torso pillar.
with how close to each other they are, it is so incredibly hard to properly move. and despite his desperation, the prince doesn't really seem to mind, only clinging further, touching more, wrapping all his fronds around the bard.
"YOU ARE A MOTHERFUCKING RAINBOWBUG,"1 he growls, placing one hand behind him and leaning onto it. "HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO ANY MOTHERFUCKING THING, BROTHER?"
"i need you like that!" the prince cries out, teeth closing on the bard's cheek and forcing a yelp out of him. "my fuckin' nub hurts, god, wwhy wwould you place us like that, do you wwant me to fuckin' suffer?"
"stay motherfucking put, prince."
with a dissatisfied whimper, the prince obliges.
"let's keep it calm for a bit. YOU NEED A MOTHERFUCKING BREAK," the bard chuckles at the tantrum-like reaction. the prince grabs him by the shoulders and something incomprehensible escapes his mouth in a scream. "CHILL THE MOTHERFUCK OUT, PRINCE. i'm not gonna leave you with nothin'."
without moving the prince off himself, he pushes them back towards the wall for support. it's an awkward motion, but with how the prince whimpers right into his hear duct from the lack of anything makes it so worth the trouble. he leans back, resting against the concrete, and forces the prince away from his face to look him in the eyes.
"i want to see. SHOW ME HOW YOU MOTHERFUCKING MOVE, BROTHER," with a menacing smile, the bard caresses the tempting hips and thighs, raises his hands under the sweater, exploring the hidden gills. "take care of your motherfucking nub, though. WE DON'T WANT YOU TO HAVE TO TAKE OUR BRONZE FRIEND'S FOUR WHEEL DEVICE, DO WE?"
"i fuckin' hate you, so, so much," the prince hisses, but obliges, leaning back on his hands so the bard could get a better view. he slowly starts humping, rolling his hips, and both of them try so hard to keep their ganderbulbs focused on each other. each little movement forces the prince's bulge to move inside the bard as well, and he never would have expected it to feel so weird and so satisfying, interlocking like that. like a puzzle. was that how proper pailing worked?
he really fucking hoped so.
by taking it slower, they were both allowed to pay some closer attention to the sensations. a bit ticklish. wet and sticky. locked like that, movement proved itself to be harder, but why would anyone even want to move when their bulges could do all the work, and they could just explore all the other parts?
the bard runs his prongs along the edges of the violet gills. then pushes them open, and they flutter, allowing him in. they weren't made for an intrusion like that, and the prince audibly sobbed, biting his lip; with how vocal he was, the bard couldn't even figure out if the sob was of pain or pleasure.
it's all intertwined right now anyway, so what's even the point.
the prince uses a hand to bare the lower part of his torso, then bites onto the edge of his sweater to free the hand and use it as support again. the messiah looks up at his face, thankful, grinning with hunger.
"touch me more," the prince pleads, speech muffled by the fabric, and oh, who is this mere bard to not follow a royal order? now, with lower gills bared, the messiah switches his attention to them, touching carefully, slowly, pumping the tips of his prongs under the operculums in sync with the prince's little humps. "it's so wweird. i nevver- no one evver- hnngh..."
"played with your motherfucking gills? I BET NO ONE DID. how does it feel, prince? TO EXPERIENCE SOMETHING LIKE THAT WITH ME OF ALL?"
"it hurts, gam, it fuckin' hurts cuz i breathe through these, you fuckin' numbnuts!"
"SHOULD I STOP, THEN? DO YOU WANT ME TO MOTHERFUCKING STOP, PRINCE?" the bard frowns, bares his teeth and hooks his prongs to pull the troll closer, forcing him to put pressure on the injured nub again, getting a whine and a wince and a slap on the face in return.
"don't you motherfuckin' dare," he whispers into the bard's lips. violet trickles down his abdomen, but neither pay it any mind. their lips smash again, and without any sort of warning, the bard's ganderbulbs roll back, he bites down on the prince's lower lip, almost sure that a piece might stay in his mouth, presses the prince closer, deeper, helplessly thrashes upward and forward, without a single sound coming from his squawk blister when his genetic material gushes on the floor and inside the prince, and his pan goes completely blank.
it takes him a bit to come back to his senses. when his vision clears again, he is blissed by the Gods, pleased as never before, and that beautiful little thing is still riding him, certainly not oblivious but uncaring of the newfound sensitivity.
"motherfuck, prince. ARE YOU EVEN SATIABLE."
"gimme a break. i'm not the one wwho kept goin' like nothin' happened wwhen i came right in your filthy chitinous wwindhole."
"you damn well kept goin' right the motherfuck now," the bard grins. "i'm all here for that. COME GIVE ME A MOTHERFUCKIN' SMOOCH ON THAT WINDHOLE."
"you're so into that," the prince rolls his ganderbulbs and leans forward for something much softer this time. he pecks all over the painted face, exploring every bit of it with surprisingly intact lips, only stopping for an occasional moan or a pleased sigh. the bard almost starts purring at the treatment.
"that's great, yet all the wrong places, prince. and the wrong quadrant, i think."
"i don't evven givve a shit about wwhat quadrant this... wwhatevver it is any more. i just wwant all a you," he prince sighs, carefully nibbling at the messiah's abused lower lip. "and by god, howw wwonderfully you're givvin' me that."
"what in the motherfuck happened while i blacked out? who took my quadrant-obsessed broken little prince and who are you, talking about not giving a motherfucking shit about them?"
the prince allows himself a giggle, then kisses with more intent, more pressure, exploring the inside of the bard's mouth.
"let's just keep that convversation for later, you. unless you really intend to keep me on that bulge forevver. then let's talk noww."
"who do you think i am, a motherfuckin'... i don't even know. i ain't no mother fucking pail god."
with that, the word flow stops, and the room is once again filled with nothing but gasps, moans and sloppy kissing sounds. but the bard gets bored again relatively quickly. holding the prince close, he successfully attempts to get up from the floor, and props the prince into the concrete wall once again.
"you're gonna break my fuckin' torso pillar if you keep doin' that," the prince complains.
"YOU'RE ONE HEAVY MOTHERFUCKER. i need help to keep you in place."
"hate you."
"mhmm. NOW COME. move inside me a little. MAKE MY MOTHERFUCKING NUBS WEAK."
the prince humphs, shivers, clings closer to the bard and bucks his hips, bulge starting to move again. the fact that he had enough patience and willpower to keep it from moving in the first place really amazed the bard. if that motherfucker can hold back when told to. IS THERE REALLY ANYTHING THAT CAN'T BE DONE IN LIFE?
he's a motherfucking miracle.
the bard starts licking and sucking on the various parts of his face and neck again, not wishing to spend a single second without that flavour in his mouth. there is something intoxicating about it. maybe that's how pitch tastes. maybe that's how anything tastes after quitting a pan-frying shitpiece of a substance cold gobblefiend. maybe that's how hope tastes.
sucking and drinking that hope out. THERE'S A METAPHOR SOMEWHERE HERE. there's a need to slam on that matter. but the bard is currently so preoccupied that none of that occurs to him in full.
with an especially harsh bite above an operculum, the prince sings once again. he calls the bard's name in such a bulge-curling way his own name gets called for the first time in that room. he gasps and whines, pulls the long horn to smash their lips again, and the bard has to lean onto the wall with his arm to keep his stability.
"say it again," the prince pleads with a muffled sob. "say it again!"
"eridan," the bard moans out, and his nubs bend ever so slightly. "eridan. YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BREAK IS OVER, ERIDAN."
once again they lose themselves in a kiss. tongues curling around each other, teeth scraping tender grey skin, fangs catching other fangs and sending waves of pain at that, abused lips practically numbing at the constant merciless action. and wave after wave after wave of pleasure mushing their brains worse than any motherfucking drug ever could.
the bard doesn't concern himself with proper thrusts. he does, though, let go of the prince's other hip, favouring his nook and pushing prongs in alongside the restless purple bulge. stretching the prince wider, putting more pressure on his insides, and his own appendage, with that. it's a weird sensation, and the prince seems to enjoy it more than he does. his insides clench and suck on everything the messiah gives him, his mouth is agape once again, lost in his own pan, only capable of clinging and clawing and all those sweet noises flowing out of his windhole like a melody, and his cute violet bulge does his own thing with no rhythm and no consistency and it may have been a problem for the bard if he didn't love it so much.
"SO MOTHERFUCKING BEAUTIFUL LIKE THAT," the bard gasps, prongs curling around his own bulge and thrusting in time with its little pulses and wiggles. "I WISH YOU COULD SEE YOURSELF RIGHT NOW, BROTHER."
the messiah pulls his prongs out and pushes them into the welcomingly opened windhole, and the prince, surprising to him, opens up further, raises his head a bit and starts licking them clean, the mix of two shades painting his tongue, gaze still unfocused and pail-drunk, the bard stares at him in awe, and he can't help but set a torturous, reflexive pace of slight thrusts of his hips.
HE WANTS THAT MOUTH SO MOTHERFUCKING BAD.
he'll keep that in mind for their next position if his pan is able to contain any information aside from motherfucking delicious and keep him have him take him destroy him devour him him him him him him.
the bard leans forward, sucking and biting on the royal's lower lip, nibbing and dissipating in feelings boiling inside his nub, squeezing and tightening its grip around his hemopusher, messing with its rhythm, quickening it even further. collecting the last bits of coherent thoughts he can muster, he redirects his attention to his sylladex, right when the prince's whole body starts to shudder and spasm. a bucket retrieves itself right underneath them, positioned perfectly where the prince needs it, and the bard practically lights up.
motherfucking. miracle.
all the spasming and grabbing and kissing and biting from the prince, it's simultaneously so motherfucking much and not enough, and his long, loud, melodic miraculous motherfucking moan of release is muffled and silenced by the deepest kiss the two shared so far. his material hits the bucket with a splash, and his torso pillar bends, curves, and that curve would concern the bard if he bothered to think of it.
so much, so motherfucking much, but his body relaxes just seconds before the bard hits his own peak, and he can't help but growl in despair.
the prince goes limp, and the messiah catches him, mumbling something under his breath and waiting until the troll can stand on his own two strut pods again.
"SHOULDA JUST FINISHED THE JOB WITH YOU LIKE THAT," the bard groans. "so much for motherfucking... decency."
"shut the fuck up," the prince whimpers, tongue wobbly, and his bulge slowly sheaths, leaving the messiah painfully empty. "i'll need a minute if you wwanna keep goin'."
"just your mouth. WANT TOO SEE WHAT MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLES IT CAN DO TO MY BULGE, AFTER THAT LITTLE SHOW YOU GAVE MY PRONGS."
"thanks for the bucket," the prince whispers into his hear duct with a coy smile, and slowly lowers to his nubs, using the bard's body and the wall for support.
he surely takes his "minute". spends it all on kissing and biting and licking the bard's inner thighs, hand keeping his bulge in place and not letting it writhe against his face. when his breathing steadies enough to proceed, he lets it go and invitingly opens his mouth.
the bard places himself properly above the bucket and nudges his bulge in the right direction. the prince takes his hand, looks at it for a moment, and calmly puts it on top of his head, covering most of the violet hair and enveloping the tip of the purple bulge in his soft wetness. he plays around it, suckles, smooches and allows it to explore every millimetre of his windhole, but avoids pushing it deeper, and the bard grows annoyed at that.
he pulls the messed up hair, presses the prince's face into his body and growls, but his bulge seems to not get any further, pushed out, resisted.
"YOU CAN'T BE MOTHERFUCKING SERIOUS," he hits his own nogbone against the concrete. "motherfucking take it. TAKE IT, ERIDAN. let me claim your protein chute."
the prince winces. he struggles to relax, gags, and his ganderbulbs tear up. he coughs, and when his chute widens for that, the bard uses his chance to uncurl his bulge down the violet meal tunnel. and merciful like he is, the bard sets a quick pace immediately, works himself up, closer and closer to the edge; the prince seems to get the hint, as his prongs crawl up and inside the unfairly emptied nook, teasing it, pumping with the same rhythm flesh goes in and out his chute, and the bard smiles, smiles wide and bright and his ganderbulbs roll back. his tongue lolls out, saliva drips down, and he's about to snap, snap like a twig, his abdominal sausages tie into a knot and he howls, barely able to keep himself standing.
the twig snaps when the prince lets a guttural moan out, and the vibration flows through the purple bulge like an electric shock. the bard's torso pillar strains and straightens, a growl grows into a blissed moan, and the bucket fills up to the brim, mixing two high, beautiful, delicious colours, leaving the bard's shame globes utterly aching and empty. he deliberately slowly retracts and sheaths his bulge, maniacal grin not leaving his face, sans the tongue. the prince inhales sharply, then starts coughing again, breathless.
"SQUEEZED ME SO WELL," the bard laughs, pulling his clothes back in their place. "i thought i was going to motherfucking ascend."
he carefully slides the bucket to the side and plops down, pulling the prince on his thighs and licking his face clean, kisses him again, not allowing him to properly catch his breath, surely hurting his bellowsacs.
"gimme a break, gamzee," the prince complains, weakly pushing the other's face away. he lowers his head on the bard's nub and snuggles into his neck. "you insatiable fuckin' prick."
the bard's grin grows satisfied, like a lazy purrbeast's after a meal. with how the prince still wraps around him and nuzzles up to him, he feels surprisingly... calm. ALL FUZZY INSIDE. the feeling reminds him of something, but his pan is so pail-numb right now, he'll have to postpone the red implications.
the prince gently, exhaustedly caresses his cheek, and the bard allows himself to nuzzle up that touch and leave a kiss on the palm.
"that's not even vacillating, that's something motherfucking worse," he hums.
"fucked the pitch right outta me," the prince huffs sarcastically. "i'm too tired to land a proper hit for that. wwe'll get to it later."
"you need something to drink, dumbfuck."
awkwardly, the bard leans back and reaches for the forgotten faygo bottle, barely grasping it with the tips if his prongs, and it slowly rolls closer, allowing him a grab. he sits back up, fully expecting a red, sugary geyser, but it fizzles just a bit and behaves well. he carefully puts the bottle against the violet lips, tilting the prince's head backwards and helping him out. the prince groans, tries to mumble something, but eventually opens up and allows the soda to flow down his protein chute, taking a couple sips. the bard chugs the rest down and puts the empty bottle next to them.
"tell me when your feeling good enough to clean yourself up."
"yeah, yeah, wwhatevver," the prince sighs. "also, wwhat the fuck wwas that about me instead of sopor? howw OLD wwere you wwhen you got on that? you expect a fuckin'... wwiggly little piece a grub to..."
the prince makes a vague thrust-like movement with his hand.
"do you evven knoww howw wwigglers wwork?"
"just let a brother have some wet motherfuckin' dreams, eridan, Gods," the bard huffs in annoyance. "what do you even expect me to say?"
the prince doesn't answer.
"THAT'S WHAT I MOTHERFUCKING THOUGHT."
"come on. i feel all sticky and gross," the prince tries to get up, but the bard doesn't follow, grin turning flirtatious and inviting when the position calls for it. "NO, YOU CAN'T LICK IT OFF. i'll probably just ask for another round if you do, and i don't think i can physically handle that right noww."
"i know you motherfucking want it, eridan," the bard wiggles his brows, lookstubs seductively lowered. "HMMM?"
"you're gonna fuckin' kill me," the prince whines, tangling his prongs in the capricious hair, and the bard treats it as an invitation, sloppily mouthing right where hip meets frond. "GET YOUR MOUTH AWWAY FROM ME GAMZEE I SWWEAR."
the bard backs off. he calmly pulls his t-shirt off and starts wiping off the violet-purple mess on the other's thighs, and the prince shivers with each touch. HE REALLY DOES WANT IT. the bard has some resemblance of patience. he'll just wait a bit. THIS IS OKAY.
he grins knowingly when the prince looks down on him. this is okay. he has spare shirts, and this one is fucked anyway. he capchalogues the prince's ruined clothing, leaving him completely naked aside from shoes, and gets a yelp of surprise in return, but equips a spare set of his own clothes on him.
"SO MOTHERFUCKING CUTE IN POLKA DOT," the pants are a bit too long, covered in small white dots. the shirt is too big as well; all of the bard's clothes were a size or two to big for everyone, even his own self, somehow. "my fetch-modus seems to like you a lot. IT BEHAVES REALLY WELL FOR YOU."
and of course, there's a deep purple capricorn sign splattered on his chest. the prince sighs heavily.
"...thank you," he says.
the prince ties a knot on the sweatpants so they'd stay on his hips. the bard takes on the poor, dirty aquarius-marked sweater. he smiles at the fuzziness and the sign.
"don't tell me you're actually gonna wwear that," the prince moans.
"i motherfucking like it."
"noww everyone's totally gonna knoww."
"you've got your horns handed to you, you've got hickeys and bites all over your face and neck, and my shirt leaves it well in the open. EVERYONE'S TOTALLY GONNA MOTHERFUCKING KNOW ANYWAY," the messiah laughs, walking around the room and capchaloguing each and every of the prince's accessories. "and. I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING THEIR FACES."
he cleans the glasses and hands them back to their owner, who takes them on and blinks, sight adjusting.
"I MIGHT AS WELL SPARE YOU," he whispers in the royal blood's hear duct. "if we keep that little motherfucking arrangement."
"are you seriously talkin' genocide RIGHT after wwe pailed. evven i'vve got more decency."
"JUST BEING MOTHERFUCKING HONEST WITH SOMEONE I LIKE," the bard laughs. "we do seek similar goals anyway. might as well seek them together and... marathon, from time to time?"
eridan rolls his ganderbulbs. gamzee leans to him for a kiss.
"wwhatevver the colour is," eridan whispers into the lips in front of him. "wwe might as wwell try it out."
"i motherfucking knew you'd say it."