Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4642398.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Cronus_Ampora/Karkat_Vantas, Cronus_Ampora/Original_Character(s)
  Character:
      Karkat_Vantas, Cronus_Ampora, Original_Troll_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Mild_Blood, Vomiting, Cannibalism, Please_Help_Me_Tag_This, Explicit
      Sexual_Content, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat, Watersports, Come_Inflation, Non-
      Explicit_Cannibalism, Multiple_Penetration
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-24 Words: 9223
****** Hook, Line, Sinker ******
by twofoldAxiom
Summary
     You’ve got the jitters all the way from your toes to your aural fins
     for it as you spot the neon sign up ahead, loudly proclaiming
     “SPACEDUST” in jittery, neon-orange lettering against the rising
     dawn. The music pumps through your bones even from this distance, and
     you can see some trolls just loitering around or dancing even out
     here. Most of them are lowbloods, you notice, which makes you grin as
     you approach- they don’t stand a chance against a seadweller’s
     particular charm; you’re going to be warding the lot of them off with
     a stick by the end of the day.
Notes
     Underage is because the lowbloods and Karkat are about 14-17. Karkat
     himself is only about 14. Alternia!
     Also, playlist I worked on this to is here!
     Special thanks to Sailershanty, Rocker Crocker, and Cervineghost for
     inspiring this whole awful mess. Enjoy!
Your name is Cronus Ampora and this is the best decision you’ve ever made.
So, you’ve also said that about a few other decisions, but this one is
objectively the best. Basically, you’ve decided to go out clubbing on one of
the coreworlds, Alternia to be exact, where the young rule and the party never
stops or gets less dangerous. You’re actually a little old to be hanging around
this particular planet, since there’s that law about all adult trolls staying
offworld, but hell, you were sick and tired of bumpkinland Beforus and how
“soft” it apparently was compared to the coreworlds, and you’d heard all kinds
of fun things about the core of the Empire, underneath its veneer of
militaristic austerity. All kinds of fun, lovely things, like the kind of ass
you could get in the club scene with all the horny, unsupervised soldiers-in-
the-making, just wanting to cut loose from their nightly lives.
You’ve got the jitters all the way from your toes to your aural fins for it as
you spot the neon sign up ahead, loudly proclaiming “SPACEDUST” in jittery,
neon-orange lettering against the rising dawn. The music pumps through your
bones even from this distance, and you can see some trolls just loitering
around or dancing even out here. Most of them are lowbloods, you notice, which
makes you grin as you approach- they don’t stand a chance against a
seadweller’s particular charm; you’re going to be warding the lot of them off
with a stick by the end of the day.
You shoulder your way in through the door and immediately you’re hit with the
smell of some kind of liquor and all kinds of concupiscent pheromones. Holy
shit, you wouldn’t be surprised if there were people fucking on the dancefloor
in this nasty place. It’d be just like these pent up peeps to do that,
especially without anyone watching to make sure they’re using pails or
otherwise going to make sure their sex is for the good of the Empire. You grin
even wider as you enter the crush of gyrating bodies that sway and jump to the
time of the pounding music. Already you can feel someone’s ass right against
your crotch and someone’s bulge right against your ass, and it’s perfect and
dizzying and goddamn this was a great idea.
Somehow you’re shoved-danced-led through the wild mess of entangled trolls
(some of which are definitely a few good grinds away from fucking then and
there) until you find yourself in a semi-clear patch of the dancefloor with no
one dancing with you. Shame, really, and you’re not about to start dancing
alone like some loser. You suddenly miss the ass that was grinding against you
just a minute ago. Still, you sway along with everyone so you don’t look out of
place- precisely the wrong kind of standing out if you did- and you manage to
find yourself at the bar at last.
The menu is surprisingly varied for a place like this- though considering the
kind of crowd this establishment caters to, that just means there’s more than
shitty knockoff beer- but before you can contemplate this too long, the
bartender’s already set something in front of you. It’s bright, fuckoff red and
smells faintly of cherry cough syrup, and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if
there actually was cough syrup in the stuff. You raise an eyebrow and the
bartender, a yellowblood with what appears to be a half chewed-off left horn
that gestures to your right with a grin and a wink.
So of course you look that way and hello dolly, someone attractive is sitting
just a couple seats away. Attractive and barely dressed, in a short-cropped
shirt that looks like it was ripped that way and tight jeans that look almost
painted on. Your eyes are fixated alternatingly on an ass you could bounce a
ceagar off of and the sleek curve of their waist, that smooth expanse of soft
grey skin. Shit, was that a gillslit? Another seadweller in a place like this?
 He raises his own drink to you, a tall glassful of whatever hellish concoction
he’s ordered for you, and you grin and raise yours back, tipping it back into
your mouth.
There isn’t cough syrup in there, but it’s fruit-sour and strong and burns down
to your gills, makes you wish it wascough syrup. Tears prickle in your eyes and
you definitely don’t whimper. He kind of rolls his eyes and stands up, fucking
sashaysover to you, for lack of a better term. That perfect ass plants itself
firmly on the seat beside you and the troll leans over the counter, and yep,
that’s a gillslit, shut tight against the muggy air of the club.
You cough, and force yourself not to stare. You do notice how short he is
though, shorter than you by maybe half a head or more, and how nubby his horns
are; they’re small, round, and goddamn adorable, and you want to cop a feel so
bad it’s indecent to even think about. You also find yourself noticing that he
doesn’t have aural fins, too; doesn’t even have the long, pointed ears of a
highblood. They’re lowblood-round and tinted faintly… red? It’s hard to tell in
the clubs poison-pink lighting.
“Hey.” You manage to say, as smoothly as possible. You turn around in your seat
and rest your elbows on the counter, studying this mystery troll a little
further.
“Hey.” He says back, voice raspy and husky and fuck, does everything about this
troll have to shoot straight to your bulge? You feel like a pre-moult again and
he’s probably at least three sweeps younger than you, and yet those eyes he’s
making at you are making you sweat. Get a hold of yourself. You’re at least a
caste higher than him.
You lick your lips and get another shot of sharpness on your tongue, and you
make a face. “So what’s this drink you just sent me? You can’t honestly tell me
you likethis crap.” Yes, insult his choice of drink, perfect way to start a
conversation. You suddenly want to rip one of your aural fins off.
But mercifully, he doesn’t get up to walk away, just plucks your glass out of
your hands and, without breaking eye contact, tips it back. You break eye
contact first to watch the way his throat moves, and suddenly your mouth is dry
and not just because of the chemical sting of alcohol.
“There’s a trick to it.” He says, and then you see the faint twitch of the left
corner of his lip, upwards, almost a smirk. “But it tastes better to a first
timer if you drink it off someone else.”
Oh, damn, that was forward. You didn’t even get a chance to put in your own
moves, not that you mind because hello wiggly, didn’t notice your own bulge was
starting to make itself known, heavy in your sheathe. He straightens his back a
little and you get a better look at his gillslits. That’s so weird,a lowblood
seadweller. You want to lick those slits. Fuck.
“Bulbs up here?” Oh, you were staring. You look into his eyes, and you can see
yourself reflected in the still-grey irises. He’s got fucking antlerbeast eyes,
long lashes and wide pupils, that’s so unfair.
“’s hard not to stare, chief.” You answer, slick back the hair between your
horns as casual as you please. “Puttin’ yourself out there the way you do, and
all that you’re hells of attractive. I was guessin’ you wanted someone
starin’.”
That makes him smile. Score one for Cronus Ampora, because you sure as Hell
need them with all the points he’s been getting just through nonverbal alone,
so you continue along that line with a grin of your own. “I can’t help but
notice you’ve been sittin’ alone over there, too, and I do apologize for not
gettin’ up and introducin’ myself properly. Name’s Cronus, by the way.”
“Cronus.” He says. You like the way he says it, you decide. He nods and sips
his drink again, does a little thing with his tongue to the rim that makes you
go tingly all over before he speaks. “Mine’s Karkat.”
“Alright.” Now you’re getting somewhere, and you can see his own eyes wandering
up and down your body despite his earlier admonition towards you. That only
makes him cuter somehow. “Eyes up here?” You repeat after him, and when he
looks up at you there’s no mistaking the blush that makes its way across his
cheekbones, especially with the shade of grey his skin is. Mutant, huh? You’re
surprised he’s actually here. Well, not here,seedy downtown club that it is,
but here on Alternia, considering what you’ve heard about how they treat
mutants on the homeworld.
But you’re not one to question it if it’s going to get you lucky. It’s almost
unfair, how the odds were tipped in your favour tonight. You tilt your head
down a little, your eyes half-lidded as you do your best sex voice for him.
“How’s about when you finish that drink of yours, we give the dancefloor a go?”
And you see a slight shiver go down his spine. Another point for you.
You’re glad to see him finish off that nasty shit and turn to look at you. His
eyes are half-lidded too, and you’re not sure if he’s tipsy or interested, but
hell if the two can’t intertwine. “Yeah, I could go for something to get the
blood back to the rest of me.” He says, and you take a moment to appreciate the
implications of that, your eyes drawn immediately to his crotch where a faint
bump has made itself known. Hell yes.
The two of you stand and immediately he pushes you towards the dancefloor, and
you’re surprised at what sort of strength a little guy like him has because you
go easily, stumbling slightly on your feet. What was in that drink he ordered
for you? Whatever it was it’s made the world bright and blurry around the edges
by now, and you’ve only had a little bit. How he’s faring, you have no idea.
Point is that you’re back in the bump and grind of dancing trolls, only this
time you’ve got your arms full of Karkat, grinding against you in turn, looking
up at you with all sorts of alluring little plays to his expression and
movements. He’s hot, literally hot; you can feel the heat of his body through
your clothes, can feel warmth wherever he guides your hands against his smooth
skin- you get to cop that feel you wanted of his horns and feel more than hear
him moan because of it. He licks his lips slow and pornographic and you’re so
fixated on his tongue that you can’t breathe.
The best part is he looks just as taken in with you as you are with him, his
mouth slightly parted as he grinds deliciously against you. Your bulge has long
since decided to start squirming out of your sheathe, and you can see the
telltale squirm of his own in those ridiculously tight pants of his. You grope
him shamelessly and he gasps, tilting his head back, and you take the
opportunity to get your mouth all over his neck and feel him tremble under you.
He tastes faintly of salt, and concupiscent pheromones so potent you can
practically drink them in as you lick over the trembling skin over his throat
and close your teeth around his windpipe; he moans again, and you note just the
faintest tinge of fear in that moan as your sharp little teeth scrape the skin.
His hand tangles in your hair, mussing it up as he guides you lower, to his
collarbones, which you practically slobber all over as you suck and nibble
marks onto him.
“Come on.” He breathes over your head, and you pull back to look at his face.
He’s so flushed that there’s no hiding his color even in the glaring lights,
and his pupils have practically taken up his irises entirely. He gives you a
dopey little smile and kisses you on the mouth, teeth bumping yours.
You groan into his lips and don’t stop grinding to the rhythm, but now your
focus is on the taste of him. There’s that awful liquor taste but he was right,
it does taste better on someone else, if only because you can distract yourself
from it with his taste. He tastes like cheap lemon soda and iron and something
chalky and medicinal, which should be disgusting but knowing where it’s coming
from makes it one of the best things you’ve ever tried, and you plunge your
tongue into the heat of his mouth to seek out more of that taste, and more of
his moaning, thrumming against your lips because the music is too loud for you
to hear it any other way.
Karkat tugs on your hair again before his hand moves to one of your horns and
closes hotly around the base, squeezing and rubbing the sensitive membrane
there like you’d imagine he could do to your bulge if you could think straight
beyond yes good more keep doing that.You’re so preoccupied with his mouth and
his body all up against you that it surprises you more than any of the rest of
tonight’s surprises when he pinches your hornbed, the bright sting shocking in
all the sweetness of him, making you groan again.
“Like that, huh?” He murmurs against your mouth when you withdraw your tongue,
and you feel him smile, one clawtip circling the place where he pinched your
horn and making your scalp tingle pleasantly. He pulls away from you just
enough that you’ve got some breathing room to really appreciate what a catch
you got today, God bless Alternia, and gives you this saucy little grin where
you notice just the faintest hint of violet on his fucked up teeth. That should
probably not be as sexy as it is.
He tugs you forward by your shirt and you almost tip right into him, but for
some miracle you suppose, as he guides you through the throngs and to the edge
of the dancefloor where you can hear him when he tugs your head down by one
horn and murmurs into your ear, practically tonguefucking it you think. “How
much further do you want to go?”
Your bloodpusher is thudding so hard against your ribs that you’re not sure if
you’re nervous or excited or it’s because of all the physical exertion the two
of you had just put yourselves through. His hair is sticking to his forehead
with sweat and you’re pretty sure yours is in similar shape, and you don’t care
except you want to grab a fistful of his hair and start kissing him again. But
you don’t do that, instead composing yourself and licking the wound he left on
your lower lip that you didn’t notice until now. It didn’t even hurt, which you
think is strange, but you’re alright with that; the taste of blood puts
everything in sharp focus again, and your aural fins do an interested little
wave.
“Can I say as far as we can?” You say, and you think that’s the right answer
because there’s another one of his weird little smiles like the clawfiend with
the lame grub. Your bulge twists again in your pants, far too tight for the
size of it, and you’re weirdly alright with being the lame grub in Karkat’s
eyes because you are veryeager for him to just eat you up.
“Come on.” He practically growls against your fin, nipping it, and you shiver
in the best possible way.
You let him guide you past the throngs of people, back outside to an alleyway
already lighting up with the coming dawn, the air prickling warm on your skin,
and for a moment you think you’re seriously going to get a blowjob in an alley
like something out of a really bad porno, but he seems to disappear through the
wallfor a moment, before you realize, he’s just gone behind the club. You
follow him and see him pulling down the stairs for a fire escape, shadows gone
weird and lavender around him, a sharp slice of morning light falling across
him and you wonder how he managed that or if it was down partway already;
either way, he’s going up the rickety metal steps, and he turns his head once
your head is eye-level with his ass to say “Are you coming or what?”
“Yes, please.” You clamber onto the stairs with him like an overeager barkbeast
and now you think he’s just being a fucking tease, because sometimes he lets
you come in close enough to grab him, only to wriggle away with that ass just
impudently right in front of you, holy shit. You manage one, hearty slap on the
left cheek that makes him yelp and straighten his back, but he flashes his
teeth at you for it in a grin that makes your bulge feel reallycramped. You’re
not sure if it’s desperation or he’s actually slowing down or what, but when
the two of you manage to reach the third floor, you finally catch him. The
music from below still thuds through your bones, out of beat with your pulse
but sending waves of heady vibration through every part of you, horns, aural
fins, teeth, amplified when you press Karkat against the wall and kiss him
again and he grinds right against your bulge.
The light is starting to sting, so you close your eyes. You don’t notice his
hand closing around a doorknob so you practically shove him into the block when
the door opens, but you never let go of him through it, still sucking on his
mouth, still groping his ass, still trying to get off through your clothes. He
actually growls and the faint prickle of fear you should get from it only fuels
the hot stab of lust that goes through you.
Then he’s shoving you back with all the force he can muster, which isn’t
inconsiderable when it knocks your back against the door with a thud, shutting
you both into comforting darkness. He’s pressing a thigh between your legs and
his hands are going for your bulge, though, so you don’t mind; merely growl
with lust right back and bite back for his biting you earlier. Your teeth are
sharper and longer and you hear him groan as he claws at the front of your
pants until at last he gets the damned button undone and pulls your fly down,
and embarrassingly enough your bulge doesn’t even wait for him to get your
underwear out of the way; it just uncoils in a long rush that makes you gasp
when it slides across his hot belly, leaving a smear of violet in its wake.
For a moment you’re a little mortified but also incredibly turned on by the
sight, and then you groan pathetically in the back of your throat because one
of his hot, smooth hands just closed around the base of your bulge while the
other was swiping some of your genetic material off his belly. He looked at the
stuff on his fingers before looking up at you and, without breaking eye
contact, puts them in his mouth and starts to suck.
You really mean suck, with accompanying sloppy noises and beads of drool
getting all over his hand. It’s honestly messier than it would have been to
just wipe it off on his shirt, but that’s probably the point because he’s
stroking your bulge with his other hand and grinding against the base of it and
you’re probably going to stain his pants if he keeps this up, but you honestly
don’t care. (And truth be told, you wouldn’t mind getting a good, long look at
Karkat covered in your slurry, though you would really prefer to fuck him
properly.) The two of you stay like that until you get bored, which isn’t long;
you’re burning up with need, and by now you’ve had more than your fair share of
grinding. You pull his fingers out of his mouth and his hand off your bulge,
even though that felt really, reallygood, with the contrast in your
temperatures; but he gets the picture, it isn’t enough for him either, he was
starting to pant anyway.
He pulls away from you to pull his crop top over his head and you take a moment
to appreciate the way his muscles bunch and stretch under his skin even with
that layer of wriggler fat still padding everything; you get your hands up and
squeeze his waist and he only looks at you through his long, long lashes before
he unzips and his own bulge worms its way out. He’s smaller than you, only
about the size of a hand, but you think that’s probably for the best- you want
that in your mouth immediately, all of it, at least until you can get your
bulge in him somewhere. So you get on your knees in front of him and he gets
his hands on your horns again as you look up at him in a way you hope is
alluring while your tongue slides along the underside of his bulge, and he
groans in the sexiest way you’ve heard all night. His bulge twists against your
lips as you suckle on the underside and you can feel him shaking from where
your hands are on his hips, his fingers tightening on your horns in a way that
makes your head spin a little.
“Fuck,” He swears down at you softly, gasps the word, rolling his hips against
your mouth and you haven’t even taken him in yet. When you do, he makes that
really sweet groan again and urges you to take him deeper by pulling your horns
forward.
So admittedly, a hand-sized bulge feels a lotbigger once it’s actually in your
mouth, and you feel your throat convulsing around it when the tip reaches your
tonsils, your gillslits flaring with the need to breathe and only getting
stinging air in response to the action. That’s probably bad for you, but hell
if you’re going to let up on what you’re doing with the noises he’s making,
purrs and chirps and those moans that you want to swallow up straight from his
mouth. At any rate, he pulls you off his bulge and you whine but you quickly
realize it’s for the best because if he cums down your throat, you might not
actually get laid. Not wanting to risk that, you follow him up as he pulls your
horns up and let him kiss you, god he tastes good mixed with his own material.
It should be so gross but it isn’t, it’s weird.
“Come on.” He murmurs against your mouth and you feel him pulling back so you
follow and find yourself being led through the block, the floor still thumping
beneath you, until you reach a cramped little concupiscent platform. The sheets
have been stripped off and replaced with some kind of rubbery stuff, which you
suspect means he was definitelylooking to get some action tonight. Sweet.
You push him down onto the rubbery mattress and he starts clawing down your
shirt, blunt nails along your back and over your gillslits just enough to
sting, just enough to make you shudder against him. Your bulges are making a
mess between you two, getting more prematerial all over the place than strictly
necessary and staining all your clothes. He helps you out of your shirt, drags
it over your back while you obediently duck your head so your horns don’t catch
on the neck hole. Then you get off him just to work off your pants and he
starts tugging his lower down his legs and- fuck, he’s naked in front of you
and his pupils are blown wide and there’s genetic material all over his belly,
he’s fucking purringand you don’t know how much more your bulge is going to be
able to take.
The next thing he does makes you whine because he actually turns over and
raises his hips, presenting the bright red slit of his dripping, slightly open
nook to you. “Fuck me.” He growls, teeth bared and lips twitched up slightly in
the sexiest snarl-grin you’ve ever had the fortune to see, eyes slightly
hooded. He reaches back one hand and spreads his nook lips, his bulge twisting
under him and oh fuck, that is literally the hottest thing you’ve ever seen,
you’re pretty much stunned on the spot. He makes another growl to snap you out
of it though, and you don’t think before your hands are on his hips and your
tongue is buried deep in his nook, making him moan again, a breathy ahhh! that
has you dripping on the squishy mattress.
He tastes faintly sweet, which surprises you, but you don’t really have much
experience doing this. It doesn’t seem like he cares for the difference,
though, because he’s grinding against your face, fucking himself on your tongue
with the best little cries of deeper yes more like that and you’re only too
happy to oblige, exploring his insides with the length of your tongue and
pressing up against whatever spots make him make more of those noises. You suck
a little on the lips of his nook, careful not to cut him on your teeth, and it
fills you with pride to hear this sweet little slut practically sob with
pleasure for you.
You can’t stand it any longer, your bulge is practically tying itself in a knot
and you need to be in him ten minutes agoif not more. You finally pull your
face away from his nook and lick your lips as you take hold of your bulge and
let the tip lick against his hot, dripping slit. It makes you shiver, and you
can’t really hold back anymore so you don’t, digging your fingers into his hips
and pushing forward in a way that makes him arch his back and moan so loud you
wonder if anyone heard it through the music downstairs. The thought is almost
as hot as his body squeezing around you, but you doubt anything can match up to
that at the moment because goddamn, he’s wet and tight and so warm you’ve
broken out into a sweat again, groaning as you stuff his tight little cunt
without a care for how it’s probably making him hurt. You’re pretty big, you
know as much, but even with how tight he is he takes you like a champ and the
sight of your violet bulge just disappearing into the hotness of him makes you
ache amazingly.
You bend over him and grab him by the hair, pushing him facedown into the
mattress like you see in so much porn that you’re sure this is how it’s done,
and if the way his nook convulses around you is any indication, it definitely
is. You nip his ear and watch as a bead of red forms on the miniscule cut, and
then you lick it up and groan right into his skin.
“You’re so fuckin’ good, squeezin’ my bulge like that, nnh,” You give him a
really deep thrust, the tip practically squirming against his globes as you
grind your hips into his plush ass. He’s squirming under you, practically
fucking himself on your bulge, and you keep dirty talking right in his ear, his
curly hair tickling against your nose. “Yeah, that’s right, babe, keep workin’
me over, you’re drippin’ like a faucet.”
It’s probably getting to be unsexy, the way he can’t breathe against the
rubbery sheeting, so you finally let his head up and he gasps for air. His face
is flushed and sweaty and his eyes are still so dark you could get lost in
them, and you wrap your other arm around his waist and squeeze,hold him in
place so you can bury your face against the nape of his neck and breath in his
smell while you fuck him into a shuddering mess.
“Cronus,” He moans your name in a single rush of breath before whatever else
he’s trying to say is lost in more moaning and you bite his shoulder, leaving a
bright mark where you break the skin. “Cronus, fuck!”
“Yeah, just like that.” You croon into his ear and he whines when you grab his
bulge, a good whine you hope as you start to stroke him in time to the movement
of your hips. You can feel the wetness of his nook all over your legs; he’s
literally dribbling all over your hand and the mattress, stickiness on your
knees and thighs, and your own nook is feeling ignored but God, you don’t want
to stop, don’t want to change anything, he’s so good around you.
Your bulge has managed to snake between his swollen globes and lick up to his
seedflaps, and every time you shift you hear him trill and feel him squeeze,
impossibly hot, God, you almost wonder if your bulge will be sore after this.
Actually, you’re pretty sure it’s going to be sore, but in the good way because
he’s squeezing and pulling and practically sucking you deeper but you’ve got
nowhere deeper to go but his genebladder. The thought of fucking him
therenearly makes you cum on the spot, how hot would it be to say you were that
big? But you manage to hold it off one way or another and keep muttering in his
ear.
“You’re such a needy little slut.” You purr, rocking into him now rather than
grinding in slow, tight circles; now every movement jolts him forward a little
with short, rough thrusts. He keeps making so much noise, more, ah, yes,and
your ego’s nearly as swollen as your bulge with it. You mouth his ear and pop
off it with a pornographic little sucking noise. “Askin’ for so much when
you’ve got me practically sheathe-deep in you, bet you’ve never had anyone in
this deep with how tight you are and you’re still takin’ me so good, hffuck,”
You’re not sure what he just did but he went all tight around you, leaving you
breathless. You can’t speak anymore at this point, just groaning and rutting
into him while he keeps pleading with words all mushed up against his lips and
teeth and the sloppy rubber sheeting. Whatever it is, it’s great, and you’re in
a sort of rush now, spiraling higher and higher until something in you snaps
and you push into him as deep as you can, spurting genetic material practically
right into his genebladder. You swear you can feel it sucking you in, sucking
on the tip of your bulge almost like a mouth, holy shit,and he screamsas he
cums too, gushing so hot around you that it feels like a warm bath but
stickier.
You stay like that for a while, on top of him, slumped on the messy sheeting.
It’s going to stick to you, going to glue you two together like this, your
bulge is still in his nook even until he groans and turns you over, flopping
you beside him and against the wall. You try to catch your breath after a fuck
like that, and you’re dimly aware of him rooting through the drawer beside you
and you smile a little. Is he looking for a smoke? Is someone his age even
supposed to do that? Well, probably not, but no one really is. You’re still
panting and about to ask what he’s looking for when he-
He fucking throws some powdery shit up your sniffnodeand you sneeze, then
breathe some into your aeration sacs and start coughing, tears pricking in your
eyes and holy shit the stuff is in your eyes, what the fuck, what has he done
to you.
You manage to squint at him while still wheezing, more of that dust getting
deeper in you as you go you’re sure, and he’s- he’s got a rag covering his
mouth as he watches you and there’s black, iridescent powder all over the
fingers of his free hand. You’ve heard of this. You know what that is, that’s
natantisine powder. That’s spacedust.
The dust kicks in almost immediately, when you grab for his shoulders and he
just slides away like it’s no trouble at all, and the world is going floaty
around the edges. You can feel yourself wanting to move, you can feel your mind
practically semi-solidify and move but you can’t get your arms to obey you, you
can see them flopped outwards, reaching for him, but they won’t move. You whine
in your throat. He looks down at you in something like disgust.
He takes the rag off his mouth and drops it back in the drawer, heads to the
even more cramped, shitty ablutions block you hadn’t noticed on your way in but
is still in your line of sight, so you can see his back to you, his ass and
thighs still all covered in red and violet, still sex-sticky and he doesn’t
even care to wash it off as he washes the dust off his hands like he’s done
this a million times before, just sluices the worst of it off and flicks the
globs into the cleanse basin. Fuck, he probably hasdone this a lot. You’re
suddenly even more worried, as if your pusher wouldn’t be beating in your mouth
if it weren’t for the drugs keeping you so soft and relaxed.
He comes back to sit next to you, semi-clean now while you’re still covered in
bodily fluids and drugs, and fishes an outdated flip-husk out of his jeans
pocket from somewhere on the floor. Whoever he’s calling is on speed dial.
“I have one for you.” He says, businesslike. “Male, about nine or ten sweeps.
Kind of lean, the cuts won’t be very high quality.” Cuts? What is he talking
about, cuts? Your bloodpusher is hammering even harder now. “Tastes like
nicotine; the aeration sacs won’t be very good but the gills are in okay
quality.” Organs. He’s talking about your organs, they’re going to cut you up.
Somehow that doesn’t come off as horrifying as it should. It’s the dust; you
know as much, has you floating inches above your own prone body, watching a
honeytrap discuss what parts of you he’s going to sell off first. It goes on
like that for a while, the sound of his raspy voice now less alluring and more
faintly disturbing, until at last he puts down the husk and waits, watching the
door. You try to watch the door too, at least as much as you can by turning
your eyes downwards.
It isn’t long before the door opens and you see a pack of lowbloods enter; you
can’t tell what colors they are except for the bronze up front because her eyes
have filled in, but you know they can’t be over yellow because of the rough
haggardness of their faces. There’s five of them, taller and older than Karkat;
longer horns and teeth and limbs. He looks so soft and defenseless next to
them.
“You did good, you nasty little bitch.” The brown at the fore of the group
ruffles his hair with a bright grin, which makes him flinch, before she strides
across the room to you. She takes a rag and wipes your face of crusting fluids
and drug powder, then pinches your jaw between two fingers and turns your head
from side to side. She licks her lips. You want to squirm.
“Yeah, this one’s all lean.” She lets go of your face and licks her lips again,
the most predatory lick-lip you’ve seen in a long while and it’s coming from a
lowblood like her; it’s a little unsettling. “But we’ll probably still get a
pretty good price for him.”
She turns back to Karkat and the rest of the lowbloods in the room, and you can
practically hear the grin in her voice. “Well, you’ve had your fun, barnacle
nook; now it’s time for us to have a turn.”
Karkat grunts at her, but gathers his clothes off the floor, and that’s the
last you can see of him as the sight of him is blocked off by the other four
trolls who’d come in with the bronze. They leer down at you, blunt teeth and
snaggleteeth and one of them with fearsomely glowing psion’s eyes. The bronze
grabs you by one horn and lifts your head up slightly as she kneels on the
mattress, and she sneers down at you cruelly.
“You stupid things fall for the same old trick every time.” She says, and
starts dragging you off the platform by your horns, fuck; you’re worried she’s
going to break your neck doing that as she yanks you onto the floor and you
sprawl in a heap because of it. The other four trolls surround you, and you
whimper in the back of your throat as one of them kneels behind you while the
bronze still has her hand on your horn. The dust is still in full effect so
while you’re aware of the hands on your skin, you’re only aware of them in a
distant, slightly out-of-body sort of way, like a dream: Their hands are warm,
not as warm as Karkat’s but still something you register; they’re spreading you
out on the floor and you can practically watch yourself being manipulated like
so much meat.
The psion kneels in front of you and bronze lifts your head at an angle that
makes your neck creak. Psion forces your jaw open and sticks his fingers in
your mouth, slightly salty and bitter and you realize he’s putting something
over the serrated rows of your teeth, something rubber and metal that you
couldn’t bite through even if you could move your jaw. You can move your
tongue, sort of, weakly try to push his fingers out of your mouth but it only
makes him chuckle and dig his nails into your palate. Your cheeks are wet and
you’re not sure if you’re crying because you’re so scared or because it hurts
more than you’re currently aware of.
“At least he’s kind of pretty, in that uppity seadweller way.” Someone behind
you says. Bronze laughs again and suddenly her pants are open at the front, and
you can see the dark writhe of her bulge gleaming in the low light. You’ve seen
enough porn to know what comes next, and you don’t feel like any kind of star
even though your bulge is still out, sluggishly painting your leg with your own
fluids. You can hear the others getting ready too, muttering to themselves
about tenderizing you, about how good you look like this, they’ll wreck you and
eat you up and you really want your lusus to wake you up but you know full well
that the dreamlike quality of everything isn’t because it’s actually a dream.
You’re lifted on several pairs of hands and the buzzy hum of psionics as
someone angles themselves under you, hot, thick bulge coiling into your own.
The way they’re doing things, you’re lifted partway sitting before being
dropped again in someone’s bare lap; rough hands palm your chest as if they
wish you had something to squeeze there, and something long and warm writhes
against your ass.
Your head is turned to the side before you can see who’s set themselves in
front of you, and your sight is filled up by a rustblood bulge halfway as large
as yours, fuck, you didn’t know rustbloods could get that big. You whine in
your throat again as your jaw is squeezed open and that massive bulge is fed in
and in and in.Your throat is too slack to put up any real resistance even when
you start to choke, start to feel like your guts are jumping for the chance to
pour out past your teeth. They moan somewhere above you, rocking their hips
back and forth while you’re forced to deepthroat them like you never knew you
could.
“Yeah, just like that.” They murmur, and tears are prickling in your eyes and
leaking down your face every time they press in, crushing your tonsils into the
sides of your throat with sheer girth. The two pressing in on you take that as
their cue to start moving, lining their bulges up with your nook and- and,
fuck, no, there’s one pressing against your chute,things aren’t supposed to go
up there, what the hell.
It’s like whoever’s behind you noticed- bronze, you realize, because she
chuckles and licks your aural fin, hot rasp of tongue that makes you want to
recoil, and she bites,hard enough to make you scream around the bulge in your
mouth. The pain cuts right through the dreamy dust haze, sharpens everything
around you into HD.
Apparently the rustblood fucking your face likes the screaming you’re doing;
they groan and grab hold of your horns to steady you, and start fucking your
face in earnest, strings of spit leaking down your chin with every wet,
slapping thrust into your limp, sloppy mouth. You’re in too much pain to care,
your eyes screwed shut as you feel bronze pulling on your aural fin with her
fucking teeth.She’s probably punched a hole or two in the membrane, judging by
the sluggish dribble of something cool down your neck that can’t be her spit.
She takes the time to really ravage that fin, too, and you’re wracked with sobs
by the time she finally pushes her bulge into your chute.
It burns, not just because she’s so much warmer than you, but she’s thick
around too. Not as long as the rustblood in your mouth, thankfully, but thicker
anyway, and she only stopped savaging your ruined fin to moan into your neck,
licking up the blood that’s pooled in the crook of your neck and shoulder. The
troll with the bulge tangled in yours grins, a slice of yellowy-white teeth in
the darkness, before you feel them take hold of your bulge and they untangle
themselves. The heat of their bulge licks across the folds of your nook, and
you were complaining about it being empty before but now you don’t want anyone
anywhere near it.
Not that they care. They push right in, groaning at the tightness of you while
bronze does the same; now that you’re full in both holes down there, it’s much
tighter than you would have anticipated, and it hurts; stretching, burning,
filling pain, and you reallywonder what it is these Alternian kids are getting
their hands on because all three of the bulges in you might not be the biggest
you’ve ever seen but they are the biggest you’ve ever felt.These trolls feel
like they’re going to rip you apart.
You don’t get the chance to adjust, bronze and whoever’s filling your nook
decide you’ve had enough time and start moving in short, rutting thrusts that
are already too much; their bulges feel like they’re trying to twine into each
other through the membrane separating your nook and your chute, their bodies
crowding around you, all lowblood heat and slick skin and you can’t breathe,
your gills flaring painfully in a desperate bid to get oxygen somehow.
Fingers find the edge of your opercula and you start screaming again, screaming
around the bulge still rutting into your mouth, pleading, as those fingers peel
them back and it hurts so bad you didn’t know anything could hurt like that.
They’re overwhelmingly slow and gentle about it, but that just makes it worse,
slowly prying open something that shouldn’t be pulled that way.
“Look at that.” They say, a new voice kneeling beside you. “Wonder what it’d be
like to get my bulge in there.” And you reallyscream at that suggestion, keep
screaming and trying to move in futile little twitches until they shake their
head and decide otherwise. “Nah, the edge is too sharp. Wouldn’t want to ruin
the filaments anyway.” You would breathe out in relief if you could breathe out
more than the bulge in your mouth allows.
Instead you feel hands taking your floppy wrists and hold your arms up; you
still can’t see past the rustblood facefucking you, but you can feel your
fingers being uncurled and then wrapped around two slimmer bulges, still fever-
warm but you can close around them without too much trouble. They hold your
hands in place and let their bulges squirm through the tunnels of your loosely-
curled fists, and somehow it brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes; not
because it hurts but because it underlines what you are to them, nothing more
than bits and pieces.
You don’t get to ponder that very long, because they’re all moving at once,
filling you at once, bitter and earthy and so, so warm, almost as warm as
Karkat. You can’t believe you’re thinking of Karkat right now, while you’re
being fucked in every hole and then some. Bronze is mouthing at your ruined
earfin again, sucking on the painful tatters she’s left behind. Psion- the one
fucking your nook- is purring against you, kissing up your throat like a lover.
“Taking us so good, slut.” He murmurs, bucking his hips sharply. You want to
claw off the lining of your nook and everywhere else he’s touching you,
especially when he smooths his hands up over your throat and starts to squeeze.
Your eyes roll back and you can’t see anything at all, all you’re left with is
the smell and sound and feel of them fucking you raw.
The rustblood cums first, a hot gush down your throat that fills you near
bursting already; your gut swells with it, liquid sloshing in your belly every
time psion and bronze grind and bounce you between them. Once they pull out,
it’s not a long wait before one of your hands falls limp at your side, fingers
sticky with rapidly-cooling genetic material before your mouth is full again.
It’s a bit easier this time, this bulge smaller, but still it curls against the
inside of your throat in a way that tickles wrong, in a way that makes you want
to throw up everything you’ve just swallowed.
Psion cums next, his bulge reaching so far into you that it licks at your
shameglobes and the hot spurt of his genetic material feels like a burn, makes
your own bulge writhe with it. He stays inside you through the whole thing,
until your seedflaps open up and suck the whole mess into your material
bladder. It presses uncomfortably against your other bladder and your guts, and
the places where bronze has bent your insides the wrong way with her bulge; you
feel like you’re about to burst, you can’t possibly take any more, and you make
drooly, messy noises around the bulge in your mouth to try and communicate as
much but all you achieve is fingers tightening around the bases of your horns
as the yellowblood in your mouth practically slams against your teeth.
Psion doesn’t stop fucking you, though; if anything, that first orgasm only
urges him into fucking you more, rolling his hips hotly against you and letting
his bulge stretch you further as it writhes. You can feel some of the material
that you couldn’t take dribbling out of you, pooling under you.
It isn’t long after that, that you feel hot cum splashing against the side of
your face. Whoever’d been fucking your hand angled their bulge just right to
paint you with it, and psion and bronze growl when some of it gets on them but
they take it out on you. You arch your back in pain with a high-pitched keen as
they rake claws down your sides, though you find yourself thankfulof all things
when they deign to avoid your gillslits. They growl something at their friend,
who only chuckles and lets their still-writhing bulge at your face, sliding
through the mess they left before forcing itself alongside the yellowblood’s
with a moan. You’re a little scared the stretch is going to split your cheeks;
there’s too much going on there, though it’s a small mercy that the new
position means the yellowblood can’t get quite as deep as they did earlier.
A small mercy, because like this you can tasteit when the yellowblood cums.
It’s different from Karkat’s taste, Karkat’s was a thin, clean hint of
something warm on your tongue, but this tastes thick and salty and impossible
to ignore, disgustingly so. You have no choice but to swallow or choke, it’s
not much of a choice at all really, but it sends shudders down your whole body.
You’re so full it hurts.
They keep it up, using you, moving you how they please. Your mouth is filled
again and this time you do get sick, thick, soupy material and bile rushing
past your teeth as your digestive sac clenches and heaves it all out, all over
the floor; more tears sting your eyes and psion slaps you across the face which
only makes the worst of it hit him.
You can hardly feel what they do to you after that. You know psion pulled out
and left your broken, leaking nook dribbling all over the floor, and bronze
pushed you down all over your sick to fuck you like an animal. She growls in
your ear through the whole thing, hips thumping against your ass, and you’ve
regained just enough control to clench your jaw and try not to whimper when
finally she fills you up. You feel like you’re going to be sick again, full and
covered with their mixed fluids.
She pulls out and you feel something wet and warm spill over your back at the
same time her own genetic material starts leaking down your legs and you slide
pathetically forward in the puddle. Apparently psion was still getting off to
the show. He turns you over with his powers and you’re too exhausted to even
try to fight it, even with the dust wearing off; he nudges your thighs apart
and you can feel the air cool on your nook and the entrance to your chute.
You’re probably gaping at least a little from how rough they fucked you, and
you feel another stab of humiliation at the fact when you hear the faint clicks
and snaps of them taking pictures of you lying in puddles of vomit and cum,
stained with it and assorted other bodily fluids.
“Hmm, I think it’s missing a little something.” Rustblood says, before you feel
someone’s foot on your belly. You whine in the back of your throat as it slides
down a little lower, over both your bladders, and it starts to press down. The
pressure builds slowly at first, then gets more urgent, and you find yourself
realizing exactlywhat they mean to do.
It’s too much. You sob as you struggle to hold it back, and they laugh around
you when you inevitably fail, soiling yourself further as genetic material
gushes out of your nook and ass, and you piss yourself like a wriggler. You’re
so disgusted that you start crying again, and you hate them so much you’re
practically frozen with it; not the exhilarating hate of pitch, but the kind of
hate where you want them to do worse than die for everything they’ve just done.
You want to curl up in a ball and go home. You want your lusus.
For a while they just talk to each other, companionable and warm as if they
hadn’t just violated you in every hole and forced you to void your insides all
over yourself. You stew in fluids and self-pity until suddenly bronze speaks
and makes everything come into sharp focus again.
“Alright, let’s pack it up and go. Nikita, Dieven, you’re cleaning up this mess
this time. Thalas, kill him.”
Nowyou squirm. You kick uselessly, try to get your feet under you, fingers
curling and uncurling as your eyes go wide when rustblood comes in and puts
their hands on either side of your head. You look up into their eyes, see your
terrified face reflected in the darkness of them before you hear a horrible
crack and everything goes dark.
                                      ~!~
Your name is Karkat Vantas and it’s finally pay day. Not that you get paid in
ceagars, which you wish was the case, but at least you get something out of the
deal. It’s not even like they needto pay you; you’re stuck working for them
whether you like it or not, considering they know about your blood and clean up
everyone else who finds out about it.
Still, when they hand you the box of frozen meat, you feign gratefulness until
you’re out of sight and earshot, in which case you grumble to yourself that you
have to sell off most of what you get at a fifth of the price it’s actually
worth just to get food that’ll last you until the next supply drop to your
area. It sucks, but it works for you. You eat a little better than the people
in the nearby lawnrings for it, even when you end up sacrificing the meat they
gave you in the first place.
It’s not even the good stuff; it’s always the lean cuts off the limbs that they
couldn’t sell off to any of their usual bidders. But food is food, even if it
used to be someone you pailed once.
You find yourself thinking about that. It’s kind of sad, really; he was a good
fuck, which came as a surprise, and you find yourself just the tiniest bit
regretful that he got what he did: Limbs cut off, organs harvested, and
whatever they couldn’t cut into sushi was used as the bowl they artfully
presented his pieces in for the trolls that wanted to know what seadweller
tasted like.
The taste isn’t much in your opinion. You suppose it’s the statement it makes
that attracts trolls to the practice. At any rate, anyone stupid enough to fall
for an act like yours probably got what was coming to them, and at least the
way you do it, the meat isn’t wasted like with a traditional culling. You’re
doing the Empire a service this way, cleansing the genepool of the dumber
seadwellers where the drones won’t cull them just because of their blood.
You shake the thoughts off and take a shuttlebug home. It’s time to take your
part of your pay before you have to sell the rest off anyway, and you have to
do it before Crabdad gets a whiff of the stuff and eats it all again. It’s not
great, but it’s a living.
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