Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/198815.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Rose_Lalonde/Doc_Scratch
  Character:
      Rose_Lalonde, Doc_Scratch, Mom_(Homestuck)
  Additional Tags:
      Pedophilia, Alternate_Universe_-_Human
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-05-13 Words: 2990
****** A Matter of Urges ******
by customfont
Summary
     Rose has a friend. Scratch has a potential lover.
Notes
     Gosh I put more time into this than I really should. Uh, just another
     warning in case you missed it, this contains rape and pedophilia, I'd
     hate to trouble someone with my writing!
Rose was 8 when she first left the house on her own and was delivering some
cookies to a man who lived far down the road from her.
She only recently learned about the house. Her mother didn't take her outside
the property too much.
He was a doctor who lived in a big victorian home that was surrounded by trees.
A psychologist, she thought. Pried into people's minds and figured out their
problems.
She made the cookies herself and placed them in a badly-knitted bag and knocked
on his door.
The man behind it was much taller than the eight year old, pale as paper with
hair to match. His face was older than he was, gaunt and cold with grey eyes.
His suit was impeccable, perfectly pressed and not a wrinkle in sight with a
green tie that would look tacky on everyone else in the world.
"Hello." His deep voice, twinged with some sort of accent, seemed to echo. She
didn't know what to say. "Hi. I made cookies."
She thrusted them in front of her and smiled widely. "I want to perform a study
but I've only got my mom and she won't take them to work to help me. The
hypthosis is that cookies make people happy."
The tall, scary doctor fellow was extremely amused and a friendship was struck.
---
Rose didn't have friends. She called her it the "Algernon Theory". If she acted
stupid people would mock her, but since she was smart people were afraid of
her.
She wasn't going to change and she didn't have to. Her friends were easily
accesible through a computer screen and walk along the road. Growing up with
them was a lot easier to stand.
He licked his lips and ruffled her hair as she sat on his couch. "It's not that
I don't think it's healthy." He said, trying to sound sensitive as possible.
She crossed her arms. "It's just that I don't think you know how to socialize.
That's the unhealthy part."
"I don't need to." She pouted, little ten year-old cheeks puffed out. "I've got
you."
---
The topic of attraction was something he was nervous about. Because of this,
Rose liked to push it.
"Just tell me. It can't be that awful." He was silent, just the barely audible
sound of his fingers drumming on the porch.
She leaned closer to him. "I doubt it's that terrible. It's simple, what kind
of woman do you look for? Physical or emotional." He flinched. "Rose, don't do
that. Please."
She went back to her place. "My apologies." She tilted her heard quizzically.
"Is something wrong?"
He looked down. "Younger girls."
"Well, that's actually quite normal for men your age." She began, patting him
on the shoulder. "Nothing to be ashamed of--"
"Girls your age." He cut her off.
"Oh."
She didn't visit for a few days after that.
---
She returned to him on a rainy day without an umbrella and with a quickly-
stuffed backpack, tears mixing with the drops under those wide eyes. She didn't
have to say much a thing. My mother is an impossible woman who never wanted me
and she'll never deny that. He held her close and let her shake and sob into
his suit. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and let her sleep in one of the
guest bedrooms in an oversized t-shirt.
She lied down on top of the covers and that blond hair was still wet and
soaking the sheets.
He watched her for a while. She breathed softly and whimpered and whined, and
he kept a comforting hand on her back. For a while, at least.
The hand trailed down and hooked up the shirt and she sighed, almost content.
Probably dreaming about some magical being taking her after he stole her away
from her awful mother. Her and her fantasies. If only she knew his. Maybe she'd
know what was good for her and leave. But then again, maybe she'd stay.
The lovely curve of her ass was covered by purple silk panties and he could
easily just press his fingers under the fabric and
He flinched back, holding the offending hand tightly by the wrist as if that
would restrain it.
He locked himself in the bedroom that night.
---
"Momma Lalonde" as Rose so ironically referred to her as was about as scary as
the girl described. Femme Fatale in a nutshell, sipping at a martini enclosed
in lovely gloved fingers. The same blond hair as Rose, the same dark, almost
purple-blue eyes.
This kind of strength, the pure, raw, seductive womanliness she radiated scared
him.
Rose sadly walked downstairs, literally dragging the backpack and hating every
dull thump as it hit the stairs. The mother and daughter barely exchanged a
glance before she firmly requested that the girl get into the car.
As soon as the door slammed her unwavering stare into his eyes intensified.
"You." She said simply, index finger wrapped around the martini jutting out.
"You stay the hell away from her."
He tried to speak up but his voice faltered and squeaked as soon as he said
"Madam, I--"
"No no no. No excuses. I have warned her about men like you." A little bit of
booze splashed onto the floor. "Hell, I warned her about you. But no, you're
just a nice, sweet forty-something who wants to coddle her, huh?"
He stared at the floor. "Ma'am, please, I'd---"
"Stay away from her." She delibrately splashed the drink on him when she poked
him in the chest and ruined the shirt.
It wasn't until he saw her drive off with Rose pressing her hands to the back
window in a desperate attempt to break herself away did he shout a defiant "You
don't care about her."
---
It's just a bunch of lies. Rose reminded herself as her mother lectured her on
the dangers of men for the umpteenth time.
She still shivered the next time she was near him.
---
"Here you are, dear." He handed her a perfect looking glass of lemonade, filled
with cold ice and a little wedge of the fruit on the side. When she sipped at
it, it was sweet, perfectly tart. It was amazing. He sat next to her, just a
millimeter close enough to the thirteen-year-old to make her shudder. Rose sat
the lemonade next to her and held her stomach.
"What's the matter, dear?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You can keep
drinking it if you want to." He chuckled. "It's not as if I drugged it or
anything."
Her eyes widened. "Why would you even imply that?"
He stared at her a little while before looking down, pathetic. "I thought you
trusted me, Rose."
By the time she left all the ice had melted and watered down the near-full
glass of the best lemonade she ever tasted.
---
He was tired. Tired of sleepless nights, tired of dreaming of her, of just
dreaming of holding her, her in a dress on top of him, her in her old school
clothes with the blouse pushed up.
Her in tears as he pressed inside of her and trying to smile for him.
He could do nothing or he could act. Either one of them would have awful
consequences.
---
The first time he spoke up he immediantly ended the sentence with "It's
nothing."
The pause was long and heavy between them. "It's okay if you like me." She
murmured, crossing her legs. He stared at her like a confused dog. "It's okay.
Natural, really. You're a man with urges." She gave him a smile. Just a little
one, a sad, desperate one.
It was like a trigger for him. The words, the smile. She was desperate. Willing
to romanticize what he scorned as his disease. Wouldn't say no.
Couldn't.
---
"Just once, Rose, and we'll stop whenever you want."
"No." Rose was quick to respond and quicker to take a step back.
"Yes." His steps were measured and calculated down to the second the sole
touched the hardwood. "Rose, dear, now, you didn't expect this? You know what I
am." He leaned over, pale face near hers. "Just a man with urges, isn't that
right?"
The girl spun around but he thought of that, too. One of his arms wrapped
around her waist and she yelped, kicking like a bratty child throwing a
tantrum. She was shrieking now, begging to be let go, but he held her tight and
calmly, dragging her to the couch and pinning her wrists up above her head.
The couch was soft and green and the pillows were cozy. It was a moment before
she regained composure, screaming for someone, anyone. Her throat was sore and
her voice was already turning hoarse, and he flinched whenever she began again.
Finally he grew tired of waiting for her to screech her voice out. A hand
placed itself over her perfectly pale mouth and she kept screaming until she
had trouble breathing. "Please stop, Rose." She glared at him, harsh curses
desperately muttered, muffled by his hand. She kept twisting thrashing and he
sighed, getting on top of her. His knees pinned her legs together and her eyes
widened.
Tears started to form in those perfect little eyes. There was a twinge of
regret, just a twinge. Don't hate me please don't hate me please
He took his hand off of her mouth and she coughed. "Please, don't." There was
no reply, just him staring at her with grey eyes and leaning down.
He kissed her on the forehead. It was warm and fatherly. She felt like she was
going to throw up. "Hush now." She squirmed and felt hot tears drip down her
cheeks. Another kiss, this time on her cheek. A desperate choking noise escaped
her throat. "You're so beautiful, Rose."
She shook her head, trying to keepin control. "You won't do this. I know you
won't." There was a little sigh and his free hand lifted up her shirt. She
twisted, torso arching and his hand hesitating. But he shook his head, white
hair falling out of its perfectly slicked-back place. "Why not, pray tell? Is
it because I'm 'better than this', Rose?" She bit her lip. "It's your fault,
you know. I have self control. I'm not supposed do this to little girls." He
licked his lips and ran his fingers over her smooth, pale chest. She shuddered.
His hands were caloused and cold, fingers pressing and rubbing against her
hardening nipples. A twinge of sickening pleasure shot through her, skin
goosebumping.
She stiffened and shut her eyes. "You've been flirting with me since we first
met. Isn't that right? You lovely little thing." His hand groped her barely
there breasts and she made a pathetic noise, halfway between a whine and a
moan. "You're at fault here. You're the one who spent her time tempting a
pedophile. But you keep coming back, in your little skirt and your thin shirt
and no bra, isn't that right?" He prayed she didn't believe that, she knew
better.
He got a little more rough, twisting and pulling at the skin. He kissed her her
neck and let go of her wrists, playing with both of her soft breasts.
There was a chance and she took it. She clawed and punched at his face, finally
landing a good hit right on the nose. He flinched back, covering his face and
muttering out of character curses at her.
There was an immense amount of satisfaction deep inside of her when she saw the
blood dripping down his face.
It was over in a second. He stared at her, eyes wild, and suddenly his hand
stung across her cheek hard and she cried out. She was sobbing now, the hit was
more fear than pain. If he could do that, if her friend could do that, he could
do so much worse.
He loomed over her, hands on her shoulders, just staring at her, breathing,
blood dripping down from his nose. "Rose." He said after what felt like a
decade long silence. His eyes closed and he pushed himself back up. "Rose,
sweetheart. I don't want to hurt you. I promise I won't..."
He paused. His eyes opened again, softened. A hand ran through his ivory hair.
"I won't cause any... lasting harm. Not physical, at least." He kissed her
forehead again and she felt warm blood on her face. "I want you to be able to
give yourself to the person you love, you know."
She lied limp in front of him. What else could she do?
He pulled her thin, soft legs around himself and gave her another kiss on the
nose.He pushed up her skirt, fingers feeling her smooth thighs, a little bit of
blood left on them from his nose. Thumb pressed against her panties, feeling
her warm sex against the soft cotton. He sighed, almost content with himself.
"Thank you, Rose." His thumb snaked under the fabric and pressed against her
clit. She gasped, body twisting under the sudden shock of pleasure. "Stop it,
please." Her voice was tiny, quivering. This wasn't the confident, strong girl
he knew. This was his own private plaything. A sweet little doll for him.
He wouldn't have it any other way. He doubt he could.
"You're the only girl I've had. Don't worry. There've been women, but you're
special, Rose." He pulled her panties aside and pressed his middle finger
against her wet hole, gasping a bit when it started to slide in.
Rose let out a pathetic whimper and he kissed her neck again, ever so gently
nibbling on her shoulder when he pressed his finger inside of her. She
shuddered again, his finger probing and exploring her. It twisted and curled,
making her whine and moan.
Another finger wormed inside of her, and she let out her first moan. She was so
ashamed of herself.
But she shouldn't be, she told herself. This was his fault. She did nothing
wrong. She just flirted with catastrophy. That was all. The other hand snaked
up to feel her breast and she gasped in pleasure as he squeezed it gently,
thumb rolling over the nipple. He chuckled, hot breath on her neck, and she
shivered and curled closer to him. She wanted to get this over with and punch
him and kill him and make him pay.
But she needed a warm body right now.
Pleasure was building inside of her quickly, her breath getting heavier and
heavier. Each twist of his fingers, each pinch on her skin, every sensation of
his teeth brushed against her body made her squirm and pant and moan. Her hands
grabbed his vest, and finally, shamefully, she came. Her body seized up and her
eyes went wide as she twitched. But her mouth was sealed shut and no sound came
from her lovely little mouth. In just a few moments she was limp and sweating,
soft little gasps escaping her lips.
It was a bit disappointing, he decided. But still amazing and wonderful and
made him feel like a damn king.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He sat up and quickly undid his belt, pulling out his painfully hard member.
She stared at it, trying to push away from him and failing. One hand rested on
her thigh, half-way keeping her there and halfway feeling her skin again.
"Rose, don't worry. Just..." His hand wrapped around it, stroking it slowly,
eyes closed. Couldn't stare to look at him. "Give me this momemt, please."
She shut her eyes tight and covered her face with her hands. She felt trappped
and cold and overheated. He was almost silent, just the tiniest of grunts and
groans and the sound of him stroking himself, fast and slow. The feeling of
precum dripping onto her skin.
He grunted and she felt warm stickyness jet onto her stomach, and then it
slowly streamed onto her, pooling and staining her stomach whiter.
"Thank you." The weight was off of her and she heard him stand up, and she
opened her eyes. She sat up, dizzy, fingers tentatively touching his cum.
She stared at the stickyness between her fingers and was silent. Too tired to
sob anymore.
He redid his belt and straightened his tie.
The hate and bitterness boiled up in her and came out in one venom-spat
statement. "I'm telling someone."
He didn't face her. Maybe it was shame or maybe it was smugness. She couldn't
tell and that made her angry. "You won't." His voice was curt and restrained.
She couldn't tell whether he wanted to laugh or cry.
"Why not?" She demanded through gritted teeth, clenching onto the cushions so
tightly that she began to hear the seams ripping.
He sighed and turned around, kneeling so that they were face to face. "Because,
Rose. If you tell, I'll be gone, won't I? " He brushed some of her light hair
behind her ear, smiling warmly and genuinely. "The only palpable person you can
call a friend. Someone genuinely interested in what you say. Someone who
respects you as an adult and not just an amazingly smart little girl." He
leaned in close to her ear. "Someone willing to do anything for you as long as
you do the same in return. Some who still respects you after spilling himself
all over your pretty little stomach." He kissed her lips, almost chaste at
first, before hungrily biting and sucking on her lip and forcing her mouth
open. His tongue explored her mouth, both of them tasting like the tea he made
for her.
He pulled away gently, smile still warm. "I'd like to stay with you, Rose."
She nodded, looking down at her shoes.
"Do you want me to clean you up?"
The little girl wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let herself be
lifted, tears pouring down her cheeks.
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