Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/451842.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Gamzee_Makara/Dave_Strider, Gamzee_Makara/Tavros_Nitram
  Character:
      Gamzee_Makara, Dave_Strider, Tavros_Nitram
  Additional Tags:
      Desperation, Inflation, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Double_Penetration, Orgasm
      Delay/Denial, Trans_Character, Asexual_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-05 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 8638
****** Glad You Came ******
by Edoro
Summary
     “Bro?” you ask, reaching up to rap on his forehead with your
     knuckles. Somehow your hand just tangles itself all up in his fine-
     ass hair and you sort of yank and turn and then two of you are
     kissing. It’s sloppy and hot and awkward, the angle all wrong and
     neither one of you used to each other at all, but when he gets your
     lip between his dull choppers and bites until you’ll bruise it’s just
     about motherfucking perfect.
Notes
     Also found here on the kinkmeme.
***** Chapter 1 *****
My universe will never be the same
I'm glad you came
-The_Wanted_-_Glad_You_Came
Time in these dream bubbles is strange as fuck, all twisty and weird and
bending around itself. You never could hardly wrap your mind around the most
mundane of time shenanigans, and this is just some straight up unfiltered
bullshit. You spend about a day trying to figure out how the same afternoon can
happen for a week straight and then suddenly in a month you look a sweep older,
and then just shrug and decide it’s all up to the miracles of the Outer Ring,
and who are you to question them? Shit’s all downright being unfathomable, you
figure.
So time is weird and your body kind of grows however it feels like it should,
which is basically up. Your good buddy Tav’s not grown none at all, but you
guess you can’t make it go backwards. The times you woke up in a memory of
being a wiggler you were still yourself, although your skin and bones felt all
too big to be shambling around through wigglerhood memories in.
You got your schoolfeeding same as any motherfucker did about growing up and
all that good noise, although you can’t rightly say as you up and paid much
attention to it at all. Boring-ass shit, boring-ass noise all droned in your
aural sponges like it was of some fucking importance, but there never was no
need you could find in any of it. You kept bits and pieces, some history here
and a little math there, not much all told. What you did do a good job of
remembering, though, was all the shit you up and got told about puberty and
pailing. Not even a dumbass like you is dim enough to not listen up when you
get told how to save your sorry hide from the drones.
You’re still kind of being a pretty dumb motherfucker so you don’t even realize
what’s going on at first, when you wake up all sweat-sticky and itchy down in
the back of your stomach, restless and twitchy. You feel like you can feel
everything that touches you all at once, skin so hypersensitive even the air
makes you shiver. Tavros keeps shooting you these weird sideways looks and
getting some mad lip-worrying action going, enough that even Strider up and
catches on and asks.
“Dude, do you need me to leave the room or something?” he asks, leaning over
the back of the couch with his chin hooked over one of Tav’s horns. “Do you
need some alone-time with chucklefarts here? ‘Cause I can set you two up, no
problem, my Bro raised me better than to try to cockblock, but I think you
better drop your hankie or something before all your fretting and eyelash
fluttering hits critical kawaii mass.”
Tavros goes orange. “Uh. What?”
There’s a hellacious sprinkling of dark little freckles all across Tavros’ nose
and cheeks, much more obvious when the skin under ‘em is bright orange. You
kind of want to just lick all of them, which isn’t exactly a new thought but a
pretty hells of inappropriate one to be having, especially considering the
conversations the two of you have up and had about things like how okay Tavros
is - nOT VERY MUCH, aT ALL, sORRY - with tongue-face interactions.
Dave gives the horn his chin is on a tug. “Oh, come on, don’t front like that.
You’ve been making eyes at him all day. Sorry to fuck up your cute-ass uke act
or whatever, but the living room is a creepy gay alien sexual tension-free
zone, so either you let me be the best damn matchmaker you ever saw or I’m
gonna have to slap both your fine asses with some heavy citations and fines and
maybe even some community service, because this tension is flagrant.”
It probably makes you a bad friend to think that flustered Tavros is even cuter
than normal, but there it is. “Okay, just for starters, and there’s a lot to
address there, I think we’ve both explained to you pretty thoroughly that even
if our culture did, really, have a concept for human gay, it’s not something
that me and Gamzee would be, anyway, because I’m not a boy and also, neither is
Gamzee, sometimes? So basically that makes no sense, whatsoever. Additionally,
uh, I don’t really know what you’re trying to say, about tension. Tension is
definitely not a thing that’s happening, here, with us, at all.”
“You are kinda staring at me,” you say, shrugging when he frowns at you. “Kinda
started to wig me out too, I ain’t gonna lie.”
Tavros stares between the two of you, wide-eyed and wobble-lipped, and then
finally heaves out a huge defeated sigh. “Thanks for forcing me to do this, uh,
I really appreciate the way you two have contributed to engendering an
atmosphere of awkwardness, here. It’s just that, uh. You smell sort of funny?”
“Aw, but I just all up and took a bath.”
Dave leans in and takes a deep, theatrical whiff of your hair. You can’t help
the way you shiver at how close he is. You can feel the heat of his body,
lowblood-warm and soft and so close, so close you can smell him, all dusty
furry mammal scent under the smellstub-plugging bullshit body products. All
unbidden, your eyes slip closed and your head tilts towards him, scalp tingling
down into your neck.
“Um. That’s not. Uh. You probably shouldn’t, that’s really not, that’s not
advisable, Dave, I don’t think you could pick it up anyway, with your bizarre
and inferior human nose, because it’s kind of really just a troll thing.”
Tavros’ voice is faltering more than usual, prompting you to crack an eye open
and take a look; Tavros is blushing in big coppery blotches and half-hiding
behind a defensively raised shoulder, carefully not paying you two any mind.
Dave hasn’t moved. He’s still got his nose pressed up against the side of your
head, hands settled on your shoulders, and for once he’s silent. Every breath
from him ruffles your hair and sends warm goosebumps rippling across your
shoulders.
“Bro?” you ask, reaching up to rap on his forehead with your knuckles. Somehow
your hand just tangles itself all up in his fine-ass hair and you sort of yank
and turn and then two of you are kissing. It’s sloppy and hot and awkward, the
angle all wrong and neither one of you used to each other at all, but when he
gets your lip between his dull choppers and bites until you’ll bruise it’s just
about motherfucking perfect.
“What the fuck,” he breathes as he pulls back. He looks fucking beautiful, lips
all wet and the bottom one split and trickling blood, his cheeks flushed pink
and his hair falling in mussed disarray over his forehead. You hate every inch
between the two of you.
You think you’ve come to a better understanding of what’s going on, though. You
take this new understanding and abscond the fuck out of there while you’ve
still got enough of your brain working to realize you don’t want to fuck
Strider, of all people.
Tavros comes in a little while later and sits next to you, head tilting to
knock horns with you. “Hey, uh, I discussed some things with Dave, about, you
know.” A vague hand wave indicates ‘you know’. “Anatomical features of our
respective species, and what happens when a troll grows up, and other such
subjects, so I think he has an understanding of what’s happening and will
hopefully not be, uh, overcome again. Unless you two want to be, I guess?”
That startles you. “But I thought we were all being matesprits?”
You can’t not watch Tavros’ tongue as it flicks nervously out. “Well, yes, but
I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be pailing you, so, I don’t think I can
really be angry if someone else is. That is just pretty nonsensical and also a
little mean, I think, since it’s kind of a necessary thing to be done.”
Even with all those words, though, you’re not thinking it’s that okay. You know
you aren’t the brightest motherfucker, but Tav’s always been pretty easy for
you. All that nervous fidgeting and wavery, unsure shit means some wicked lack
of confidence is going on here.
You wrap your arm around Tavros’ waist. “Hush. I don’t wanna be all unfaithful
on you, and anyway, I sure as shit don’t be liking Strider that much. It’ll be
fine, aight? Shit’ll last a couple weeks and then it’ll be fine.”
You regret that really motherfucking quickly. The first couple of days aren’t
bad. You wake up the next morning with a hot ache between your legs that throbs
steadily all day until you want to scream. Rubbing the opening slit of your
seedflap gives you a little relief, you guess because it’s not all proper
opened up yet, just sensitive enough to want some pressure. Another day passes
with that same needy ache making your knees all a-knock and your thighs all
twitchy, and then after that you wake up with your bulge out and wrapped around
your hand. It takes a good minute of muzzily trying to fight against its
insistent twisting before you figure out to just go with it, squeezing while it
curls itself through your fingers, right up until Tavros shifts against your
back and you freeze guiltily.
It takes until the ablution sprayer starts spitting cold drizzle onto you to
realize you can’t make yourself come, even after you gnaw a couple nails short
and get some fingers up all into your nook.
That puts you in the snappy kind of mood you haven’t felt since right when the
sopor started wearing off, the world going too thin and sharp and bright and
your nerves running hell of frazzled down until you just want to bite a
motherfucker’s throat out. Strider’s looks real inviting, you keep thinking,
all soft and pink, but you catch yourself even snarling at Tavros once. At
least Strider keeps his distance for the most part, but you can’t and don’t
want to be all up and away from Tav, especially when about a week in you start
to outright motherfucking hurt.
It starts up slow-like, the same old normal ache of unfulfilled arousal waking
you up squirmy and hot. It just keeps mounting up, though, building on itself
until your guts are all in knots and and your nook slick and ready open, your
bulge out and twisting around its own self to try to get some friction. Neither
one of ‘em wants to close up or go back in. You try the coldest shower you can
stand, water like a rain of motherfucking ice cubes; you try thinking of all
the least sexy things possible; you try just ignoring it and going about your
day like your body’s not begging to be fucked right now. Nothing works and
after a couple of hours all your business is rubbed fucking raw so you want to
cry every time you shift.
When you wake up the next morning still wet and tender and ready, you do cry.
You turn over and bury your face in Tavros’ chest and hiccup out all these
hitching furious sobs, scrabbling at whatever skin you can reach. Tavros’ arms
come up around you on automatic, one hand rubbing down your back.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m going motherfucking insane is what’s wrong.” You’ve never been upset about
Tavros not being interested in sex or anything, not since that first startled
disappointment, but right now you’d give just about any motherfucking thing
anyone up and asked for to have a matesprit who could help you. “I can’t do
this, I’m gonna motherfucking die, it hurts like someone up and fuck and took
some sandpaper to my bulge, and I can’t -”
Tavros pats your cheek. It’s pale as hell, pale as the finest lacy lusus milk
froth, but you can’t hardly even protest. Your moirail’s miles and miles and a
life away from you, too far to even think of without it hurting, and here you
are falling all to pieces when there’s finally not even any motherfucking
reason to.
“Shh. Shh, it’s okay.” Tavros strokes your cheek, slow and warm and so tender
it makes your bloodpusher clench. “I’m sorry that... is there anything, maybe,
that I can do, to help?”
All unbidden comes the image into your mind, both of you on your knees over a
pail and Tavros’ bulge writhing inside of you, the two of you clutching each
other for balance and chirruping against each other’s mouths, sliding and
shivering together. You shudder with how real it feels, nook clenching, and let
out a low sob.
Tavros would do it for you. That’s the worst thing, that you know you could ask
and Tavros would do it, or at least try the best a six sweep old body can
manage. It’s so tempting that you can’t trust yourself to speak for a minute,
for fear you won’t say no.
“You can pail with Dave,” Tavros says, soft but not wavering, all surety. “I
really, we talked about that, me and him, a little bit, and I - I can’t do
anything for you, and I don’t want you to be unhappy like this, so I figure
it’s for the best? I think it’s kind of really silly for us to be, you know, as
if you aren’t allowed to turn to someone else to satisfy actual, literal
physical needs that I can’t, and honestly I’d much rather see you pailing Dave
than, uh, this upset.”
You want to say no. You don’t want to pail Strider. You barely even really like
him now, but you don’t hate him either. He’s not even a weak blip on your
radar, he’s just motherfucking radio silence all the way. He’s nothing, he’s
static, he’s monitor buzz. Right now he’s about the most attractive brother
you’ve ever up and laid your lookstubs on, the most desirable piece of meat
ever hung on a hook. You can’t help but want him.
Strider’s chilling out in the living room, playing that shitty-ass video game
you never could get the knack of - like what even the fuck is the point of it?
piece of shit glitches out constantly - all slouched down like his spine’s
melted right out. He startles near out of his fucking skin when you vault over
the top of the couch to sit next to him.
“Well, hey there, if it isn’t the world’s shyest juggalo. How you doin’, big
guy? Is it okay for you to be seen by other men? I’m not violating your purity
or anything, am I, like you’re having your troll period so I can’t look at you
or your eggs’ll curdle?” He drawls it out casual-like, trying to front to you
like he isn’t fighting to lean towards and away from you, nostrils flaring out
and cheeks starting to flush. You guess as he can smell you, trippy as that is.
“Could be doing motherfucking better, but I think maybe this brother here can
help me out with that.” You slide sideways until your shoulders touch. This
near you can smell him too, and you’d bet anything that musky scent is him
getting all hot and bothered. It’s so motherfucking animal. You should be
disgusted, but you don’t care to lie to yourself it’s not hot as hell.
“Oh my god, are you hitting on me? You’re hitting on me. Wow. You thought that
was smooth, didn’t you?” He reaches up and pushes his glasses into the bridge
of his nose, licking his lips, and then dips his head to look at you over the
lenses. His eyes remind you of Karkat.
“Yeah, sure, I’m motherfucking hitting on you. I need someone to fuck me, and
since you’re the only eligible brother up in this place, that’s gotta be you.
If you’re down, I mean,” you hastily add. Ain’t no good to be getting coercive
with a brother.
He just stares at you, brow furrowed. “That’s the most impersonal sex offer
anyone’s ever made. Jesus, Makara, why don’t you just stuff my mouth full of
hundreds and put a paper bag over my head? Maybe glue some pipecleaners bent
into bull horns onto it, scribble on the world’s most punchable face...”
“I don’t wanna pail Tav.” Which is basically the exact opposite of what’s the
truth being, but he doesn’t need to know that. You don’t want to, except in the
way where your body keeps saying it wants the troll you’ve got all these
flushed feelings for, and how Tav is basically the sexist ninja you’ve ever up
and seen. Other than that, though. “Just motherfuckin’ fuck me, okay?”
“Well, gosh, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?” He reaches out and
pats your cheek, then stands, stretching. “I’m not doing you in the living room
for anyone wandering by to see, though, so come on.”
The three of your hives have all kind of meshed themselves together into some
sprawling maze. Today it’s mostly Dave’s, so your trip is short and no one has
to try to figure out which room is even whose.
You try not to go in Dave’s room much. Aside from only sort of liking him, you
still haven’t gotten over how humans sleep on concupiscent couches, which right
now you guess is pretty motherfucking convenient.
As soon as the door closes behind you, you grab him and pull him down onto it,
smashing your mouth into his. It’s actually even worse than that first kiss,
until the two of you get yourselves settled. Then it’s pretty motherfucking
excellent, some truly wicked tongue and teeth action going all up on. Your
patience is at an all-time low right at this moment, though.
“Get your motherfucking pants off,” you say raggedly against his neck,
punctuating by digging your teeth into the delicate skin. The hot spill of his
blood over your tongue makes you moan, full and deep.
“Moving a little fast here, aren’t we?”
“Get. Your motherfucking. Pants. Off.” You reach down to fumble with the button
of his jeans, finally giving up and just yanking until it pops off. “Come on,
help me here.”
“Whoa, seriously, dude.” He grabs your wrists, leaning away. “I don’t know how
it goes for you guys, and I guess you’ve been basically walking around with
troll blue balls for like a week, but humans can’t just get it up like that.”
He wiggles his jeans and underwear off as he talks, at least, only to reveal
that he’s disappointingly right: his weird blunt bulge is laying limp against
his thigh, unmoving and sure as hell not nearly stiff enough to get inside you.
You groan. “Make it work, then.”
He licks his palm and fingers and then wraps his fist around it, stroking in
short little corkscrew motions. “You know, if you weren’t a dead clown alien
and also just generally really creepy, the way you’re practically gagging for
my dick would be pretty hot.”
“I’m gonna cut it off when I’m done needing it,” you promise, eyes fixed on the
motion of his hand. It’s all pretty interesting, you have to admit. So
different from yours. “Is it always just outside?”
“Yeah, and check this shit out: we get balls, too.” He squeezes the fleshy sack
underneath his bulge with his other hand, rolling it in his palm, and lets out
a little sigh. “This is unfair, though. I’m baring everything to you and what
have I gotten for it? I need to see what sarlacc pit I’m about to stick my
wingwong in, to make sure there’s no teeth or barbs or whatever. Those dumbass
sweatpants look good on you, baby, but they’d look better on my floor.”
It’s the work of seconds to get all your clothes off and in a pile by his bed.
No use leaving anything on to get all stained, you figure, although the sheets
you’re sitting on might be a lost cause anyway. You can feel yourself wetter as
you watch him, the tight anticipation building as his bulge swells in his hand.
It looks like an animal’s, like the kind you see on musclebeasts in classical
art except smaller. That gives you a thrill it probably shouldn’t. Equius would
be pleased as an oinkbeast in shit to be where you are right now.
Dave scopes you just as blatantly as you’re scoping him. You’d give him a show
but your bulge is too sensitive to hardly even be touching. You let it curl a
little around your fingers and then pull them away, raising your hand to lick
the slickness off your fingers. Dave’s hand stutters at that.
“You ready yet?” Having it those close makes you all the more impatient.
He lets go and regards himself. It’s long and blunt and thick, flushed reddish
all along its length, jutting up straight now between his legs. “Yeah, Dave
Jr.’s ready to go. How do aliens have sex? Don’t you guys hump buckets?”
You don’t have a bucket and you’d bet anything Dave doesn’t either. Fuck him,
he can imagine himself up new sheets. “Nah, nothing like that. Just fuck me,
brother, put that animal bulge of yours all up inside my nook.” You lean back
against the wall, legs spread apart so he can see you proper.
“My what?” The way his bulge bounces when he knee-walks across the bed to you
is hands down the most hilarious thing you’ve ever up and seen. “I’m not into
that roleplay shit.”
“Nah, man, your junk just looks like some kinda musclebeast’s. I don’t fucking
care, just fuck me.” You grab his arms, claws digging in, and drag him to you.
The cloth of his shirt rubs irritatingly against your skin; you hold the kiss
for as long as you can and then push him away and push it up, yanking until he
gets the idea and pulls it off himself. The sunglasses go with it.
Now it’s just the two of you, skin to skin, Dave kneeling between your thighs
and staring down like he’s not even sure what he’s looking at.
“Okay so, like, I put it in your tentacled space vagina. Okay. Do all troll
dudes have vags? Or did I just get the troll gender outlaws?”
“It’s a nook, and yeah, we all got ‘em.” You catch him by the hip and pull him
closer, knees coming up around him. “Come on, please.”
“Okay, hold on, this is a delicate fucking operation, dude.” Dave leans forward
onto one hand, guiding his bulge with the other. The tip of it brushes your
thigh and then the edge of your seedflap before he gets it.
You drop your head back against the wall and arch, pushing yourself onto him.
The whole thing is bigger than any bulge you’ve ever seen, but the tip
especially is huge, and it feels even bigger pressing inside of you. It’s all
one long, hot stretch, aided by how desperately wet you are but still nearly
painful, like being straight up impaled.
You wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze, whimpering until he gets the
whole length of it finally in you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”
“You okay?” Dave asks shakily, braced above you. The need to move screams from
every tense line of him.
“Yes, you’re just fucking huge, god, yes I’m f-fucking fine, just please move.”
You roll your hips against him, gasping at the way it drags out of you, the way
you can feel it push you open when it slides back in, burning deeper inside you
than anything’s ever touched.
He drops his forehead against your shoulder and groans, starting up finally.
Humans fuck like animals. It’s almost violent, almost painful verging on just
straight up actually painful when he gets deep enough, all hard jackhammer
thrusting. His bulge batters your insides, stretching you bruised around it;
every thrust pushes you back and knocks your horns against the wall. It’s sick
how much you like it, but you do. You can’t keep from clawing at him, raking
nails down his back and sides and arms, kissing and licking and biting every
inch of skin you can reach, all while the filthiest neediest noises you’ve ever
heard outside of porno spill out of your throat.
Dave is quieter above you, but not by much. You can still hear him grunting
when he pushes in and panting open-mouthed through all of it, breath hot and
moist against your ear. He reeks of sex musk and sweat; you lick the salt of it
off his neck and then bite his pulse, feeling his moan through your teeth.
You’re ready to come soon. You were ready to come before this noise even
started, ready to come days ago, but now you can feel your body tightening all
up around him, the gland inside you swelling up full of fluid in preparation
for his contribution. The head of his bulge starts knocking into it like an
electric shock, drawing you into a series of wild spasms, and then with a
mumbled fuck he rams deep into you and stays there, still and drawn trembling
tense.
Moaning gutturally in your throat, you dig your heels into his tailbone and
cant your hips up, shoulders flush against the bed, angling for every inch
farther you can get him in you. His bulge is too big for it to be right deep up
inside, but the hot spurt of his genetic material is enough, it’ll work...
Except it doesn’t. You feel him come and then stop, collapse all limp up on
you, forehead cradled against your shoulder. You may not know much about how
human sex works, but you can recognize when done is done.
“Fuck,” you sob, still breathless. Still not there, just all the more wound up,
now with the memory of how good it felt to be so close. “Fuck. That’s all?” You
rock up against him, driving yourself onto him, but he’s softening inside of
you.
“Shit, man, stop, that hurts.” He heaves himself up on his knees and pulls out
of you, bulge coming out slick and dripping purple. “What, it wasn’t good for
you too?”
You curl onto your side, trying to ignore how slick you are, how raw and hot
and bruised inside you feel, the stickiness of his genetic material starting to
trickle out. “You don’t come enough,” you say miserably.
He does this little move like he maybe wants to pat you or something. “So like,
what, you can’t get off unless I bukkake your uterus?”
“Gotta get all up and filled up.”
“Right, you guys do buckets. Shit, where do you keep it? Don’t actually tell
me, that’s creepy.” He doesn’t try to pat you or stroke you or anything, but he
leans against your stomach, fingers of one hand tapping on your thigh. “I might
have something that can help. Can you let me like, try to enjoy this shitty
afterglow? I know it isn’t the same as basking in it in our marriage bed, after
years of longing and surreptitious dry-humping, but I don’t think I can
actually stand up right now and I’m way too cool to fall on my face in front of
you.”
“Take your motherfucking time. Ain’t like the problem’s going anywhere.”
In spite of yourself, you start to get your drifting on too, floating in and
out of hazy dreams of heat and need. Him getting up startles you awake and
disoriented. For a second nothing makes sense; you’re upside down and you don’t
know this ceiling and the whole room smells wrong, like sweat and sex and
human.
“Okay,” he says, pulling his pants on, “this is kind of weird. But my Bro had
like, this really crazy shit hanging around the apartment, so I think he might
have something that would help you out. Let me just...” He roots around in the
piles of mess, pushing away the odd puppet and shuffling heaps of clothes
around. Finally he comes triumphantly up from under a heap of puppets and
swords with a length of shining steel hose.
“So what’s this shit all being?”
“Enema hose. Never been used, obviously.” He bends back down to dig around in
the pile again, unearthing a narrow nozzle that goes straight screwed onto the
hose.
You decide not to point out how unlikely the possibility is being that any
motherfucker kept something like that up in the house for no reason. “I don’t
need to get my chute cleaned out.”
Dave tosses the hose at you, nose wrinkling. “Don’t wanna talk about your
colon, dude. I figured if you thought doing me would work then it doesn’t have
to be troll jizz, right? So hook this baby up to the shower and go to town on
yourself.”
You can pail yourself? Even as much as you need it, the idea of just doing it
by yourself, no partners or buckets or nothing, makes your guts twist all
squidgy. Shit just isn’t right. “Self-pailing’s a motherfucking culling
offense, you know,” you tell him, running the hose through your hands.
“Are you actually telling me you can be put to death for masturbating? I’m
sorry, but it’s like a motherfucking miracle your planet is destroyed, because
I think you guys might have been the actual worst species to ever exist.
Jesus.”
You pay him all the half a second of mind he deserves and go back to just
looking at that hose, all its shiny neat metal bits folding and locking while
you turn it. Weird-ass thing, contraband for sure if it does what he says it
will. You’ve never given half a runny fuck for most things the empire had to
say, especially not when it came to all that bullshit noise about blood and
laws and culling - at least not until you thought it’d maybe make someone
fucking look at you, but Equius’d even died looking through you to what he
wanted you to be and your kittysis had just been all mad with hate and grief -
but there’s some things you know a motherfucker just doesn’t do. Like pail
their own self.
Dave snorts disbelievingly. “Are you seriously - okay, look, if it upsets you
that much to think about spanking your writhing octopussy on your own, I’ll
help you out, alright? No thanks required, no payment due, I’m just a
philanthropic son of a bitch who can’t turn away a desperately horny alien in
need.”
You got to be honest with your own self, the idea of him doing it feels pretty
nice to think about. Feels pretty right up in your heart and some other parts
too. You don’t like him much, but you kind of don’t like him in the kind of way
where you can’t say as you’d be opposed to getting his hands up on your junk
some more.
Not to mention you think you’re going to just up and fuck and die if you don’t
get some kind of relief soon.
“Sure, I can get amenable to that.” You follow him out to the bathroom, not
bothering with clothes. Ain’t like Tav’s never seen your ass before; there’s
not much mystery about bodies between you two, even if Tavros doesn’t want you
getting up in each other’s sexy grills. “Show me how even do you work this
chute-hose shit.”
He takes it from you, climbing up onto the edge of the ablution tub. “You got
to stop calling it that. We’re not doing anything with anyone’s chutes. Just
because I am a registered rump wrangler doesn’t mean I want to do any weird
stuff to your butt, alright?”
You straddle the edge, almost sighing at the relief the cold porcelain brings
to your overheated skin. “Don’t get like that, we both know my ass is fabulous
and you wanna get all up in it.”
“Ha. I just said I’m registered, buddy, you know that means? I did training
seminars and daycamp and a three week retreat and then sat for a goddamn exam
to get my license, so I am uniquely qualified to tell you that you’ve got about
the least appealing ass I’ve ever seen on someone who wasn’t actually a
skeleton. Now, Tavros, on the other hand...”
You have to agree, Tavros has got a plush motherfucking ass. Shit’s all round
and soft and jiggly and just about the perfect place for your hands to up and
rest themselves when the two of you are getting your snuggle on, and what’s
more a miracle is Tavros doesn’t even mind as long as you don’t squeeze too
much.
You imagine rutting up against Tav’s ass, palming two warm handfuls while your
bulge squirms in the cleft of it, and get so distracted by that you forget to
be mad at Strider for ogling your fine-ass matesprit’s fine ass. It’s the touch
of cold metal against your thigh that finally snaps you out of it with a jump.
Dave taps the nozzle against you again. “Okay, Bozo, I got this shit hooked up.
Stick it wherever it needs to go and let’s get this show on the road.”
“Get the motherfuckin’ tap going.” You take it and rest the tip of the nozzle
against the inside of your thigh, the better to gauge the water temperature
with. Internal scalding isn’t really your jam. “Turn the temp all low, I’m
being a cold-blooded motherfucker.”
“How’s this?” Lukewarm water spills over your leg from the tip of the nozzle.
“Yeah, that’s about good, can you get that pressure going any higher?” It’s
just a trickle now, not enough to fill you proper unless you’re standing on
your head or some shit. He nudges it up until it’s a steady arch. You slide
yourself down into the trap basin, hooking one leg over the side and spreading
the edges of your nook apart with one hand, shaking bad enough he grabs the
hose from you.
You were worried about pinching, a little, but the hose slides in easy as
anything, smooth and cold enough to make you squirm. Dave feeds it up inside
you inch by inch. You marvel at how easily it winds though all the parts of
your nook Dave’s bulge couldn’t bend enough to reach. The water gushing in you
is ten different kinds of weird, you got to admit that, but it ain’t bad; warm
enough to feel but cool enough not to burn, with just enough pressure to feel
like fingers pressing into your walls. Is the way it spills out of you the way
coming’s going to feel?
Dave’s practically laying in between your legs, gaze rapt. “What’s that even
feel like?”
“It’s, uh, fuck, it’s pretty - ohh, oh, shit!” He gets the nozzle right up
where it needs to be and you completely lose your train of thought. The water’s
all spilling into you now, pumping steadily into some hidden inside space, the
gush of it out of your nook drying to a trickle and then nothing. This is how a
bucket must feel, filled full all up to the very rim. Pleasure blooms wet and
tight just above your groin, almost against your hipbone, deeper and vaster
than anything you’ve felt before. It eats you out hollow and shaking and pours
itself into every empty inch of you until your whole body is taut with it.
You feel filled to bursting and the water is still flowing, still stretching
you out. It’s exquisite and terrifying and terrible and you want to scream, to
cry, because it feels so good but it hurts like you’re going to just rip open,
like something has to tear inside of you; nothing does and you just keep
getting fuller, too paralyzed by the dizzy searing pleasure of it to move.
Some ancient imperative propels you into kneeling, dimly aware of Dave
recoiling back away from your horns, grabbing at the sides of the trap and
mindless of the way your knees grind against the bottom and the hose slides
out. It did its work, and now the water inside you fucking sloshes, slow and
heavy and hot, and that’s it. You come in a gush all down your thighs, wracked
with helpless shudders as your body bears down, a high thready wail forcing
itself out of your throat. It goes on and on until you think there can’t
possibly be any more fluid left in your body and then on a little longer, until
even the relief of orgasm starts to be a torture in its own self, until you
can’t hardly be breathing or moving or thinking of anything but the steady
rhythmic spasming of your insides.
When you finally come down from it you’re bent practically in half in the trap
basin, kneeling in a puddle of watery purple, panting hard enough you can
barely hear Dave’s awed holy shit over your own breathing. You try to pull
yourself up out of the trap and fall back on your ass, legs bent awkwardly
beneath you, and slide down practically laying flat when you try to get ‘em
straightened up.
“Motherfucker,” you breathe, clawing and wiggling your way to at least sitting
upright. Nothing in your body wants to pay your brain any mind. Your legs feel
like ghosts of themselves, phantom limbs, barely even connected, except for the
throbbing pain in your knees and cramping ache in your feet - from curling your
toes too hard, you guess, or who the fuck even knows. It’s about all you can do
to even raise an arm.
It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t laying in your own genetic material. Most
of it’s drained away, but there’s a sticky layer left on the bottom of the
trap, smearing itself all over your back side.
“You know, I’d almost say that makes up for whackin’ it being illegal.” Dave
gives your shoulder a quick pat - you shiver, skin so sensitive it feels raw -
and gets the sprayer head attached back, turning it right on you as soon as he
does. Before you really get time to get your complain on, he’s got an arm
around your back and is pulling you up out of the basin, onto the edge,
maneuvering the sprayer head to rinse off your back and legs before dropping it
back into the trap. “You’re gonna clean this all up when you can move again.
C’mon now, get your ass up, stagger with me, your room’s like five feet away.”
By some absolute motherfucking miracle, you manage to stagger your ass into
your room, leaning heavily on Dave, and fall into your recuperacoon. You’re out
almost before he even leaves the room, sleeping easily for the first time in a
week.
***** Chapter 2 *****
You’re not in as much a good mood when you wake up. The desperate burning need
to pail is gone, so now you can actually think, and it’s a little motherfucking
humilating, the way you were acting. Sure, it was all from need, biological
motherfucking imperative not even a rotpanned idiot like you could think to
ignore or deny, but that doesn’t change the fact you were squirming and laying
yourself all open and vulnerable for Strider, of all people. You’d bet anything
he liked being able to have that control, the ability to keep you all tortured
and begging for whatever he could give you.
Maybe if the two of you were getting some caliginous noise brewing up between
yourselves that’d be okay, but his ass ain’t parked in any of your quadrants.
He’s just sort of floating around out there, this speck of human dust you bump
into from time to time. You don’t like him enough it’s blacker than pure
platonic, but you aren’t waxing nothing for him except apathetic.
You still got at least another week of heat to get through though, body still
convinced it needs to pail even though you’re nothing but a bubble memory. You
can’t just not need him, but you think maybe you can get yourself back up on
even ground, now that you aren’t crazy with needing.
You don’t quite keep the same distance as what you did the other rest of the
week. Getting up in his grill gets your pheromones all up in his smellstub, and
by some miracle of alien biology that hits him harder than it even does Tav.
You keep just close enough to tease him and too far for him to get his touching
on all day, until you can watch him get all tense and eager when you come in
the room.
You give it a day and a half. The day’s easy waiting. You’re clear-headed
enough for the low buzz of unfulfilled need to just feel good, all the more so
for how you can see Strider squirming.
The half day was going to be two, but halfway through he corners you in the
hallway, slouching hands in pocket in front of you like there ain’t no big
deal, like he isn’t reeking of wanting to fuck you.
“S’up, man?” he drawls out, all surface casual. He’s still got big bruises all
over from where you bit him, so purple they’re nearly black against his skin.
You want to lick all of them.
“Just tryin’a walk through the house, brother. Can I keep on doing that?” You
try to shoulder past him, but he grabs onto you and that’s it. His hands burn
warm on your sensitive skin and you want him, you need him too all
motherfucking bad to even think of pushing away.
You hook one hand in his shirtfront and yank him close. The rush of lust is
knee-weakening, but it doesn’t overwhelm you, even when you can taste his blood
and feel his heart hammering against you. He gets his arms around you and rakes
those dull nails down your back, digging up rough burning furrows. Everything
about him is so dull and soft, flat teeth and rounded nails, all meant to tear
and crush rather than slice.
“What the fuck?” he breathes against your mouth, barely breaking away enough to
speak.
“Got an itch I want you to help me scratch,” you say, pushing him back towards
the ablution block. “Is a brother up for it?”
He walks back easy enough, hands settling down on your hips. “What, again? You
could barely stand up yesterday, dude.”
“Aw, fuck, this shit lasts for like three weeks. It won’t be as intense as what
was that being every time, though. Going more than a couple days is bad for
you.”
You get your clothes off quick enough, intensely aware of his eyes on you.
Brother likes to watch is what you’ve gotten, and the way his gaze follows your
movements as you strip just confirms that. This time, it’s going to be a
motherfucking show.
You settle your ass onto the narrow trap basin ledge, leaning back against the
wall and sliding a hand down your stomach, watching him watch you run a
fingertip around the top of your bulge sheathe. You’re as wet and open as ever,
nook spread all slickly inviting for anyone who cares to come along, but this
time your bulge starts off inside and emerges slowly, curling up around your
hand and wrist.
“Are we gonna fuck first this time? I gotta admit, that was probably my
favorite part.” Strider rests his elbows on the counter. “Although maybe this
time you could avoid chewing my throat out, that’d be pretty sweet. Humans
don’t generally get turned on by blood loss.”
You’re still bruised from the first time, although at least it’s gotten better
since that first day after, when it felt like he’d straight up and punched you
in the bulge. “I got a different idea this time. Something where all the good
shit happens more simultaneous-like, you know? Just up and give me your trust.”
He’s got doubt writ all over his face. “Oh, sure, that’ll turn out great.”
You get on with your show. It’s the first time you’ve really touched yourself
since you pailed. Building the pleasure up feels good, now, everything between
your legs sensitive but not painfully so. You drop your head back and let
yourself moan for him, squirming as vigorously as you can on the narrow ledge,
until you’ve got your nook dripping and your bulge writhing against itself.
You can watch him getting hard looking at you. His bulge tents his jeans out
and he makes no attempt to hide it, acts almost like it’s not even happening,
except for how every so often he’ll give it an absent squeeze. Most of his
attention is fixed solely on you.
“Get naked and get your ass over here,” you tell him finally. “With the
motherfucking hose, gotta have that shit.”
The eagerness with which he strips down gives the lie to his casual attitude;
he’s practically shaking to get at you. You shift the both of you into the trap
basin, settling yourself over his lap. If you shift just right you can get the
tip of his bulge to rub along your nook slit, pressing in when you push down,
teasing at all your wet folds.
“Your great new idea is fucking in the tub? I know you’re kinda stupid, but I’m
pretty sure it’d be more comfortable on the fuckin’ toil - oh.” He shudders
still when you sink all the way down on him, fingers digging hard enough to
bruise into your hips. “Okay, this could be worse, fuck, how do you get this
wet?”
“It just turns me on so motherfucking m-much when you don’t shut up,” you pant,
rocking in his lap. “I want you to, mm, babble stupid shit at me just forever,
truest thing I ever said.” It hurts more this time, just as punishingly huge as
before but without the benefit of needing it so much as you did then. You keep
it slow enough he gets all kinds of impatient, squirming and trying to push up
with what little leverage he’s got, dragging your hips down when that doesn’t
work.
“Is your idea to blueball me while we’re fucking? I didn’t even know you could
do that, but you have shown me the light, Makara. You’ve illuminated my way. I
was blind and now can see, all thanks to your beautiful teachings. Move, you
bastard, Jesus Christ.”
“Nah, man, let me show you what the idea I got in my pan is being.” You pull
off of him, reaching behind you to get the hose going. “Run that shit all up in
me.”
“Oh my god,” he says, “I hate you.” But he does it steady enough. This time
you’ve got the water on lower, barely enough to get up where you need it even
with the nozzle as deep in you as it’ll go, so it fills you slower.
You grind against him, bulge curling tight around his so it slides against you
when he moves. He grabs you by a horn and drags you in for a deep, sloppy kiss.
The two of you moan against each other, moving in shallow jerks, all while that
familiar fullness builds slowly up in you. This time it’s a gentle stretch, the
pleasure mounting up gradually instead of searing through you.
You dip your head and kiss down his neck, nipping at all the places you bit
before. “Put your bulge up in me again,” you murmur against his throat,
reaching down to pull your bulge off his. He starts to pull the hose out and
you grab his wrist, giving a warning squeeze. “Leave that where it is.”
“Thought you wanted my dick, dude.” His hand sort of hovers, brow furrowed and
unsure.
You sigh. “I want ‘em both. How’s that hard? I wanna come with your bulge in me
and I can’t be getting there without this little miracle hose here.”
He slides up into you all hesitant, this look on his face like he’s sure it
ain’t gonna work. It was a tight fit already and it’s even tighter now, but
you’re loose enough from riding him and wet enough his bulge and the hose rub
past each other easily enough. You can feel both of them moving in you, his
motion sometimes pushing the hose in almost painfully deep and sometimes
pulling it far enough out the water starts flowing out into your nook cavity.
“Oh shit, that is weird as hell,” he says the first time that happens, jolting
a little. “I mean, this whole thing is f-ffucking bizarre, but wow that’s just
-”
“Shut up.” You wrap a hand around his mouth and rock down to get the nozzle
back up where it needs to be. The second time it happens you whine from the
loss of pressure. It’s not steady enough to be rhythmic or predictable, putting
you all tense on edge wondering when it’s going to stop, grinding hard down to
keep it up where you need it when it’s there.
You can tell when it slips really loose. You pull up farther than you mean to
and the hose stays displaced even when you slam back down. The water fills your
nook without hardly anywhere to go, what with how Strider’s bulge has you all
plugged up; the fullness is good for a little and then gets rapidly into
uncomfortable and edges towards painful. You go up half crouching above him,
his bulge and the hose both sliding out in a wet gush, and thread it back up
inside you with the pressure turned up before you get him back inside you.
The build-up is slower and you’re not half so desperate this time, but it
doesn’t take near as long as you hoped it might before you’re just absolutely
wrecked, moaning and grinding in desperate little circles onto Strider, head
thrown back. Your hands shake and toes curl, body shuddering, nook clenching
down tighter until Strider can barely move inside of you. Every little thrust
and shiver rubs him against your walls and makes the hose shift, every tiny
movement magnified a thousand times over.
This time you don’t come right away even when you’re all full up. It gets to
where it’s hurting again and you frantically tug the hose out, trembling too
hard to do anything but toss it down behind you. You keep riding on him, every
movement you hyperaware of how full you are, the heavy weight of water shifting
with your body. It’s another thirty seconds before you hit climax, genetic
material spilling out around his bulge and over both your legs while you double
over against him, biting into his shoulder and whimpering through it. You ride
it mostly out before he finishes and lets his bulge slip free, leaning back to
watch you spill on his stomach.
“God, you’re such a freak,” he mutters, patting absently at your sweat-slick
hair. “And now I’m covered in troll jizz.”
“Don’t even front like you don’t like it.”
You clean each other up, steadier on your feet this time, and slink back out
into the living room trying not to act like you’re just fresh pailed. You
settle down on the couch next to Tav, leaning in.
Tavros looks between the both of you, flushing faintly, mouth twisted wryly.
“Are you two, uh, doing okay?”
“...Yeah, bro, I think we are.”
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