Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7914937.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dave_Strider/Dave_Strider, Dave_Strider/Davesprite
  Character:
      Dave_Strider, Davesprite
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Smut, Oral_Sex, Fantasizing, First
      Time, Choking, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, Murder_Kink, Time_Shenanigans, Xeno,
      Sexual_Frustration, Cloaca, Horny_Teenagers, selfcest, Masturbation,
      Stridercest_-_Freeform, Asphyxiation
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-31 Chapters: 1/? Words: 2583
****** Reaching God Tier ******
by SomeoneIMayOrMayNotBe
Summary
     This is the story of how Dave would have reached god tier, if Andrew
     Hussie was a huge perv like me.
Notes
     Disclaimer: Erotic asphyxiation is really, really dangerous.
     Accidental death is only one of the possible consequences. If you're
     tempted to try it out, please inform yourself first. Fortunately for
     you and me, it is perfectly safe to read, write and fantasize about,
     so with that said: enjoy!
See the end of the work for more notes
The stone is cold under your back. The surface is hard, uneven and
uncomfortable as fuck. You're pretty sure the troll name for quest bed is
"granite torture platform". If this is a bed, you're a fucking smuppet. Your
name is Dave Plushbottom, rising star of children's nightmares throughout
paradox space. Special talent: collecting bruises without even moving.
You should have captchalogued some pillows. Or even some smuppets, come to
think of it. Disturbing as they are, they'd still be comfier to sleep on than a
giant rock. Those special god-tier powers better be worth it. You're starting
to get the nastiest headache.
Maybe gods just don't get made on nice beds with fluffy pillows. Roughing it
must be part of the deal. But then, apparently the first thing you receive as a
god is a set of flannel pajamas, so how do you explain that one?
Maybe once all of you reach god tier, you'll have one big sleepover party.
Alchemize some popcorn. Paint each other's nails. That's if you can reach god
tier at all, which, frankly, is looking less likely by the second.
The goal sounds simple enough to achieve in theory – lie on the stone, off
yourself, respawn as a time deity. Nothing a cool motherfucker like you
shouldn't be able to handle. You've already got the lying down part under
control (sort of - there's no rule saying you can't fidget.) Would it be so
hard to take it a step further? It's not like you don't have the means. You
could hara-kiri this shit. You could slice your own head clean off. Your sword
might not even break halfway through it, if you're lucky.
You don't have the guts to actually do it. The truth is that you, Dave Strider,
are a pussy. You're the fluffiest little kitten to ever grace Youtube with its
cuddly antics. You put Surprised Kitty and that Maru asshole to shame.
You can't kill yourself, but you do get a kind of thrill out of imagining it.
Specifically, the kind that sends blood traveling south.
It's not that pain and gore particularly turn you on. It's the nothingness, the
fear of the abyss. The way it tempts and revulses you all at once. Death is the
complete loss of control. The ultimate failure. It's final. It's irreversible.
Okay, maybe not so irreversible, as the game has proven time and time again.
Hopefully not irreversible in this particular instance. As long as you're on
your quest bed, you're in no real danger. Best case scenario, you manage to
deal yourself a quick fatal blow and wake up a moment later with a spiffy new
outfit and sweet superpowers. Worst case, you mess up and have to suffer for a
while. Big deal - it's not like you've never gotten hurt before. Either way,
this death won't be permanent.
Unless you tumble off of the platform as you die or something. Heh.
Maybe you're overthinking it. You don't necessarily need to commit suicide.
John didn't, and things worked out for him, didn't they? Maybe just waiting
here will be enough. Any minute now, Jack could use his omnipotent dog powers
to teleport right here and shoot you in the face with Jade's rifle. Again.
Fucking undodgeable space-bending bullets. See, this is why you need to make
god tier, dammit.
It doesn't even need to be Jack. Any other psycho would do. Could be Vriska
shenanigans. The spiderbitch could convince John to use his windy powers on you
- create a hurricane, maybe. Accidentally stab you through the chest with
debris. Probably the broken pieces of your own shitty swords, which litter the
entire planet's surface at this point.
You bet Terezi would lick a hole through her monitor, trying to get every drop
of your delicious candy blood.
Maybe it won't be an accident at all. Maybe the Heir of Breath will choose to
aid your ascension by willing the air away from you until you choke to death.
You don't want to think about why that turns you on.
You think of John grasping your throat and squeezing. You think of your life
slowly slipping away in his grip, your blood soaking his blue PJs as he carves
a final goodbye into your chest with the pointy end of his ridiculous hammer.
Goddamn, something is seriously wrong with you. It doesn't help that your brain
is very good at conjuring visuals. You're so hard, you'd be drilling a hole in
this stupid rock platform if you weren't lying on your back and too achy to
turn around.
If you're just gonna just lie there and fantasize while you wait for death, you
might as well use the opportunity to jerk off. You haven't had a lot of
downtime or privacy since this whole game started. Maybe you can actually get
some endorphins to kick in, so that whatever ends up killing you can do it in
your sleep.
Getting undressed gives you a little rush. This is a technically public place,
even though this monument was built for your particular dying purposes, on a
planet designed especially for you, and there's nobody around, human or
otherwise. You take everything off, even the shades - an occurance so rare the
nakkodiles have built an entire folklore around it. If one of them caught you
beating off out here, you're pretty sure stories would be told about it for
generations.
Lying down naked on the slab of stone makes it much easier to believe that
you're about to get sacrificed. Hopefully soon, before you get a full body
sunburn. At least you can use the bundle of clothes to cushion your head a
little. This fucking rock isn't getting any more comfortable.
With your fingers curled around your dick, you wonder if any trolls are
currently watching through their time-browsing peeping tom app. Probably not,
though. They would have pestered you already. Those fuckers just can't keep the
commentary off.
It's so quiet out here. The only thing you hear is the wind, which feels nice
and cool against your bare skin. You close your eyes and think of all the ways
you might die as your hand gets to work. Suicide has this nice transgression
feel to it, but it's so much hotter when you visualize someone else doing the
killing. Like Jade pressing her gun into your mouth and pulling the trigger. Or
John flying you up and dropping you into lava. Or Rose plunging her needles
into your chest and twisting.
You're so engrossed into your fantasy that don't notice the other's presence
until the cool metal of a sword against your throat nearly makes you jump out
of your skin.
You're suddenly face to face with yourself. The other Dave is straddling your
chest and leaning over you, mocking smirk stretching into something predatory.
You feel a moment of panic, blindly groping around for your shades so you can
put some kind of barrier between yourself and this guy who just fucking
appeared out of nowhere, but then he uses his free hand to push the sword
against your windpipe - not too hard, not nearly hard enough - and you freeze
on the spot.
This. You want more of this. You wish he'd give you more pressure, tilt the
sword just a bit so you could feel the edge... You just can't bring yourself to
voice the request. You have no way of knowing if his fantasies run as dark as
yours. You've met a lot of Daves - not all of them are the same. Different
timelines take you in different directions. Experience molds you into different
people. You don't think you'd have the guts to jump another Dave like he's
doing to you, just like he's probably never jerked it to thoughts of his
friends killing him. You're all fucked up in your own, unique ways.
“Keep going,” he orders in your voice, and the harsh tone makes you shiver from
head to toes.
Your hand ventures back down to resume its illicit activities. It feels so
awkward to do this with someone watching up close, even if that someone is
basically your clone. You can feel your cheeks flaming and you close your eyes
to recreate some semblance of protective barrier. You focus your mind on the
alpha timeline, confirming that you're still firmly tangled in it. Future Daves
popping around tend to mean someone's doomed, and that someone tends to wear
your name. It won't be you this time, though. The other Dave may be calling the
shots at present, but you're still the one who matters, for however long Skaia
decides to give a fuck.
He grips your chin roughly to force you to look at him. His red eyes are so
close to yours, and you know he can read the emotion in them. You've never felt
more exposed than you do right now. It feels like he can see right through you,
like he can tell that you're the messed up Dave, that there's a crack in you, a
fault, and he wants to be the one to stick his fingers in it and watch the
edges crumble. See how deep it can go.
No. No, that's just your horniness talking, it's just paranoia. You're only
feeling vulnerable because he's on top of you and he's dressed and you're not
and his sword is still on your throat and he's watching you to jerk off while
your eyes are exposed, that's all.
“If you stop I'll slit your throat.”
His hand returns to the blade and he pushes it harder against your windpipe,
enough to make you dizzy for one blessed instant before the pressure is gone
and you gasp, bewildered.
He knew what you wanted. He knows what's in your mind. He -
Holy shit he's floating.
Your eyes go wide and your jaw drops. You've met plenty of Daves before, but
none who defy the laws of gravity. Oh fuck he's god tier, he's got the pajamas,
he's got a fucking cape to go along with them. What if he's from your future?
Oh fuck, fuck you are about to die, he's going to kill you, that's what his
eyes are saying right now. That's what he literally just said.
It's not difficult at all for your hand to find that sweet rhythm again, and
your future murderer shows his approval by pressing his own erection into your
thigh. He keeps his face mere inches from yours, hypnotizing you with those red
irises that almost seem to glow. He's able to stay perfectly expressionless
while you're just a transparent mess: your heart is pounding, you're sweating
and getting goosebumps at the same time, your brain is spinning and coming up
empty.
Your Adam's apple moves under the sword as you attempt to swallow. Your mouth
tastes like metal from the adrenaline and you pretend it's blood, because
you're a fucked up pervert and you're so drunk on this kink he's letting you
indulge.
“That's it. You look hot as fuck like this.”
You can't help but whine as he captchalogues the sword, but you then reason
that if he needs both hands for what he's going to do next, it can only be
good. You hope he's going to strangle you, that would be insanely hot, what the
fuck is wrong with you, you're scaring yourself! You hope he's as fucked up as
you are. You hope he's worse.
He surprises you by grabbing both sides of your head and kissing you roughly.
It's so weird to feel your own lips, your own tongue moving against you, so
sexy and forbidden and wrong, you can't help the needy little noises that
escape your throat. You're still a dumb virgin, and you hope he's from far
enough in the future that he knows exactly what to do, because otherwise you
might just die of frustration, and that would be the worst way to reach god
tier ever.
He chuckles as if he'd read your mind and answers your prayers by squeezing
your throat with both hands. Blood rushes to your head and it feels fucking
amazing, and you're so hard you're pretty sure your dick is about to literally
explode, in the messiest sense of the term. You bet this is how you die:
genital explosion. It will earn you the last of the Darwin awards.
He lets go and you moan, your hips buck up as he grinds against your leg,
muttering that you're such a pervert, you're both such filthy incestuous
perverts, Rose would have a field day with this, you're fucked up and this
feels so good and she motherfucking called it... You let go of your dick to
pull him towards you so you can shut him up with your mouth. He laughs and
pushes away from you just to be a dick, floating like a balloon that's about to
fly off, so you grab fistfuls of the red cloth and pull. You need him closer,
you don't know what you need from him but you need it right fucking now,
dammit!
You almost growl, and he grins against your lips. “When you come, I'll stab you
in the heart.”
You don't know if you've just turned to ice or been set on fire. Why, why is
fear such a turn on?! Oh god what if he really does it, fuck, you're so fucking
warped –
You buck against him and whimper. You're so, so close, you just need to touch
yourself a little and – and he's grabbing your hand to still it, the asshole!
Curse him, curse him like a gypsy's hot cock-teasing step-mom!
He smiles like a shark. “You know how you always wished you could suck your own
dick?”
Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull.
You will yourself to take deep breaths as he settles between your legs. You
need to calm down or your first blow job will be over before it even starts.
How did you rake up the karma points for this? All you've done since the game
started is half-ass quests and fuck with your planet's economy.
Your thoughts are relegated to oblivion when wetness and warmth settle around
you. There are not enough mantras to keep you calm for this. You think you may
have actually been made for his mouth, you never want to pull out of there
again, but then he actually starts to move and suck and fuck you weren't
prepared for how this feels you're gonna come in like three seconds -
You tap him on the arm in warning, but all it does is make him suck harder and
speed up until you spill yourself on his tongue after an embarrassingly short
amount of the element you're supposed to control. He swallows, of course – he's
motherfucking Dave Strider, he owes it to the brand, you might as well pack
your shit and give him the alpha timeline cause he's still got his pokerface on
and you're just a sprawling hot mess. Then he crawls back on top of you and
sticks his tongue back in your mouth. You suck on it greedily, eager to make
him feel even a fraction of what you just experienced.
The rest happens really fast. He's about to say something when you feel him
tensing against you. There is a crunching noise and a terrible pain as metal
pierces your chest. Your vision blurs. Then everything goes dark.
End Notes
     This will be a three part story, unless I get totally carried away ;
     )
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