Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/920123.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Damara_Megido/Karkat_Vantas_(non-con)
  Character:
      Damara_Megido, Karkat_Vantas
  Additional Tags:
      meteor_journey, Dream_Bubbles, Xenobiology, Somnophilia, Sadism, Object
      Insertion, Self-Hatred, out-of-body_self-defence, Community:_homesmut
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-10 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3977
****** Red Boy ******
by VerySunnyDay
Summary
     Damara stumbles upon a golden opportunity to mess with a living,
     sleeping person.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Your name is DAMARA MEGIDO and you hate existence itself.
But that's fine; it will all end soon enough. You get a certain amount of
pleasure in knowing what the others refuse to believe, including the fact that
they are as much pawns in the inevitable unwrapping of reality as you are.
You get a certain amount of pleasure in other things as well. These new
arrivals, remnants of a session only marginally less unsuccessful than yours,
survivors of inter-species shenanigans and intra-team massacres – they interest
you. At least they interest you in that one spot between your legs where you
are still able to feel interest. That is to say, they turn you on.
You didn't plan on going here, but their meteor is physically passing through
your bubble, and it would be a shame not to visit. It's unusual to feel solid
matter around you for once rather than the ever-changing dreamscape, and you
wanted to see the faces of the final game pieces gathering around the Lord of
Time. You certainly didn't plan on finding one of them in such a deliciously
vulnerable position, but you're not complaining at all. It would be a shame not
to abuse the situation. You haven't fucked a living being in an eternity.
The boy is asleep on top of a pile of honk horns. He's breathing softly,
regularly, completely out of it – a definitive proof that he is alive. The dead
can curl up and close their eyes and relax, but their consciousnesses won't
actually leave the building. No one can touch them without their knowledge, not
that that always stops you. But this one is out of the house. You smirk and put
your hand on the coarse black hair between his little nubby horns. He's the
post-scratch version of Kankri's ancestor. So much for the better – his fluids
will be a vicious, shameful red. Your smirk widens as a small glowing circle of
simple time magic lights up to make sure he will stay in this state for a
while. This is a rare opportunity, and you'll make sure to fuck this one to the
last drop.
You don't bother to close the door, much less lock it. The human aliens were
several rooms away – they won't hear you from there. And if someone should
chance to come closer, well, that risk makes a good fuck all the more worth it.
You actually hope that someone will come. They can't destroy you – nothing can
destroy you except the Lord of Time himself, and sadly he won't before the
moment is right. But in the best case scenario, the intruder will fuck you
right back with hatred in their eyes. Ah, but that would be something.
You turn your attention back to the boy. He's already lying face down on a
pile, which is a position you like. You pull his head up by the hair to look at
his face. A few of the horns honk from the movement, but it doesn't disturb
you. You like how the boy looks so very much like Kankri. You've wanted to
shove your bulge into Kankri's blabbing mouth since before you all died.
You start by slapping him. It results in an interesting reddish blush on his
cheek. You slap his other cheek, and then the first and then the second, again
and again, until your own hand stings and his face is gray-red and starting to
bruise. Much better. If he's going to be helpless, he should look it, too. Your
bulge is writhing already and you're not about to deny it the pleasure it can
have so freely here, so you pull up your skirt and remove your underwear and
shove your bulge in between his lips. The boy's mouth is warm and wet and alive
and it doesn't matter that it's unresponsive – that gives your bulge the
freedom to wriggle and explore every damp cranny inside. It's better than you
imagined. You're oral fucking a living creature and he doesn't even know it.
Your tip reaches down, teasing his throat, but not too far.
His teeth are nice and sharp, and you use your hand to guide his jaw to clamp
down just a little bit on your bulge, pricking it just enough for the right
tension. You're moaning now, grinding against his face. His body trembles
slightly, like it knows something untoward is going on, but it can't wake up.
The tremble excites you more, your bulge wrapping itself around his tongue, and
you're already close to coming. This is good. You grab his little horns and
shove yourself down his throat as far as you can reach. He shudders around you
and then you do come, your genetic material released through the seedflap
between your legs and running uselessly down to soil the horn pile.
You grin, pulling out slowly. Your bulge is limp, but you slap it against the
boy's little Kankri nose a couple of times, producing a wet noise. You don't
care about your genetic material. It's as dead as you are, and will be gone
when the meteor leaves the bubble where you exist. You wonder if he'll have
time to see it. It would be good if he does.
Oral was satisfying, but not half as satisfying as the next part should be. You
rearrange your skirt but don't bother putting on the underwear. The sleeping
boy has a nice ass. It's tighter than Kankri's, perhaps even tighter than
Rufioh's, but there's too much clothing covering it. You reach around his waist
and unzip his pants, pulling pants and underwear down to reveal it in all its
gray, firm glory. You run your spent bulge down his buttcrack, feeling a slight
stirring in it return. Encouraged, you bend forward and bite him, putting your
teeth in his buttocks to break skin and get the first good look at the bright
mutant red. His body makes a nondescript sound at being punctured. It's
pleasant.
You have to bend down and rip his shoes off first in order to get his pants off
completely, but you have to get rid of them so that you can properly enjoy him.
Once done you sink down on the horn pile between his legs with a multitude of
honks, spreading his thighs wide. You run your finger down his crack and over
his asshole, nook, seedflap, and the base of the bulge. You like it, but it's
not enough.
You should spank him. Looking around for something to use, your eyes fix on a
few glass bottles on the table in the corner. You smile. Oh, yes, that should
excite you.
The largest of the bottles is almost as large as a troll baseball bat, and you
bring it down on his ass two handed, as hard as you can muster. The boy's body
grunts in pain. It's trembling again, wanting to wake up, but it won't. You hit
his ass again. And again. And again. On the fifth strike the bottle shatters,
and his body twitches hard. You laugh, throwing the piece left in your hand
away in a corner. The boy's ass is flaming in bruised red under the gray now.
That's much better. The bottle broke relatively cleanly, but the edge did
scratch him, drawing some blood. It's very red, and you notice a couple of
glass shards in the little wounds. You decide you'll tell Kankri about this
later. He won't understand the details, but he'll get enough to be nicely
horrified.
You pull out all the shards that you can see, then start twirling your fingers
to make patterns on his ass in his own blood. Your bulge is starting to writhe
again. You are actually having a good time.
Your finger finds his nook. It's dry, like he hasn't actually appreciated any
of this. Well, he doesn't have to. You run your fingers around edges of the
hole, then push two inside, wriggling around. You don't bother to be gentle
with your claws, and there are red stains on them when you pull out. He's so
tight. He really needs to be fucked, but you're not quite ready yet. You pick a
horn out of the pile, press the bulb down with a honk and then push it
backwards up his nook. The shape is awkward, but you shove it in all the way
until only widest part of the mouth of it is outside. His body whines softly in
protest. Not enough. You smirk and punch his nook with your fist. The horn goes
further in.
You continue by running your fingers up to his asshole. You should put
something in there, too. It's tight and ugly like assholes tend to be, but
everyone should be fucked anal at some point. You shove a single clawed finger
inside with some effort and wriggle around. His body twitches in protest again.
You want it to twitch more, so you push another finger inside and force the
hole open. Your other hand is used to produce one of your cigars. It would have
been a waste, but they're not actually real which means they're a renewable
resource. You stick it up his asshole until only the end is visible. Good.
Maybe you will light it right before you leave.
You're almost ready to fuck him again, to pail him properly this time. You
knead his bruised buttocks and lick the drying red blood from his ass, then
reach around between his legs to touch his bulge. It's slack and inactive and
the boy's body whimpers when you pinch it hard between your claws. But that's
enough; now it's time to play nice. His bulge responds to your fingers well
enough when you run them slowly and carefully up and down its curves. It
doesn't take long before it curls hungrily around your hand. He wants you after
all. Everyone does.
You're going to fuck him so hard. You can't keep his nook blocked for that, so
you reach in with your free hand and rip the horn out. You don't bother to be
gentle. The boy's body yelps and his bulge almost goes slack again, but it only
needs a little caressing to be back to squirming. Your own bulge is almost too
eager by now, threatening to wriggle out of control. It feels amazing.
You turn the boy around on his back. The horns honk violently, and even more
when you push him down to lie with his groin on the top of the pile and his
head down towards the floor. You bend down and open his mouth, putting the horn
from his nook in there. You take care to close his jaw and lips carefully
around it. He'll taste himself with a honk when he wakes up.
When you climb up on the pile to a cacophony of honking noise, you can barely
contain yourself. You squat over the boy's hips, messily allowing your bulge to
find his nook. A groan of pleasure escapes you when you find that although his
nook definitely isn't as wet as it could be, his bulge finds your nook
willingly enough. It's so easy with a sleeper. You grin and start to fuck him
viciously, grinding your hips against his as your bulge wriggles violently in
his nook and his moves around somewhat less enthusiastically but still
pleasantly in yours. His body moans with you, more accepting than denying your
touch now. Your bulges are entwined in the middle and for a mere moment,
grinding yourself against him and inside him and around him you can lose
yourself in pleasure and almost forget the emptiness that is your unlife.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and you may not be sure about existence in general,
but you definitely hate your life.
Especially when paradox space conspires to keep showing you in new ways how
much of a shitstain on the fabric of reality you are. It's not enough that you
hatched as a red-blooded mutant, or that you were responsible for making a
botch-up of your game session – poisoned your universe frog, failed to open its
fucking door and then let your friends kill each other around you. But now
you're thrown out into a sweeps-long journey through a vomit-inducing void on a
meteor inhabited by your few surviving friends including your murderous asshole
clown of a moirail and two of the most appalling aliens you had the idiocy to
create. The latest indignity is meeting your team's alternate universe
ancestors and learn that they are completely insufferable assholes every single
one of them and especially yours.
And. You have a feeling in your gut that something else is happening to you
personally right now, and you should fucking wake up already.
You're out in the dream bubble exploring the memory of your old neighborhood
and trying to avoid talking too much to anyone in particular when you first
feel it. Some kind of rotten taste in your mouth. You assume it's just your
inexplicably vivid imagination telling you that you're a shiteating fuckass,
but it still makes you want to wake up. Unfortunately, the awakening trick you
have mastered over more than a sweep of lucid dreaming chooses this moment to
fail.
Fortunately, the meteor is passing through this dream bubble physically right
now, and you can go back to it without having to wake up. Or you could, except
direction and distance in dream bubbles are concepts that get your think pan in
a twist, and you go in the wrong direction twice before you get a grip.
You start running. Something hurts. Something inside you feels dirty. You can't
identify it, and it's probably nothing, or else it's one of your so-called
friends deciding to play you a well-deserved prank, and they'll laugh their
asses off when you come storming in all flustered like a fool wiggler. But you
still can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong, and you can't stop
yourself from hurrying.
Rose and Dave are awake as you pass the common room. The former is occupied
making human beverages out of odds and ends and the latter is mumbling
endlessly in more or less entirely incomprehensible rhymes. You hurry past them
without a word, but it still calms you a bit that they're so normal. For a
certain nonsensical value of normal. If it weren't for the fact that every step
closer to your sleeping body makes the vague phantom pain more obvious, you'd
convince yourself you're imagining things.
You hear moans and rhythmical, absurd honking before you reach the door.
Someone is moving on top of the pile. please let it be Gamzee please let it be
Gamzee
You don't think it's Gamzee. But someone is there, that much is clear.
You're suddenly terrified to know. But the door to your little sleeping block
isn't even closed, and you don't allow yourself to hesitate before going
inside.
The sight freezes your ugly mutant bloodpusher to ice.
There's a girl there. A girl you don't know. A girl you don't know pailing your
sleeping body. And as if seeing it makes it real, you feel the ghost of the
sensation in your genitals; her violently writhing bulge chafing your nook to
the point of agony and your bulge reflexively trying to keep up in her nook but
unable to take it much longer. She's using you like a thing, intent on her own
pleasure and nothing else.
Your first reaction is a step backwards. She hasn't noticed your dream phantom
yet. She thinks you're completely out of it, and that's the way she likes it,
because obviously it's too much to ask for anyone to have actual concupiscent
feelings for you. Red or black, you're too unworthy to be fucked, except
apparently when you're unconscious. This is more than you deserve, isn't it?
Humiliation creeps up your throat, making you feel sick. You can't take it. You
can't. You blink away tears from your eyes and think about absconding. You
could get the fuck out of here and come back when she's done and you could
pretend it never happened. You wouldn't have to face her when she's degrading
you. But your body is making small whimpering noises under her moans, and you
know it's not from pleasure but from painful overstimulation – and you have to
use that body later. Who knows how long she'll stay at it anyway. She might
decide to cut open your stomach and fuck your guts for all you know. You have
to protect yourself – no one else will.
You throw yourself at her and rip her away from your sleeping body, throwing
her down on the floor. She lands on her back and seems surprised for a moment,
but then she smiles wickedly. Her skirt is upturned to expose her still
wriggling bulge, and as if the violence was exactly what she needed, a pool of
rust brown genetic material starts to form on the floor under her seedflap.
Aradia. She has Aradia's face and color, but fuck it, you like Aradia. This is
one of them nookstain grub-biting ancestor ghosts, with white dead eyes full of
lust – hell, she still wants more! She's looking up at you with a mocking
smile, clearly undressing you with her eyes, and god, you don't think you've
ever hated anyone this much in your entire life. And you're still not turned
on. You're the opposite of turned on. Maybe there really is something wrong
with you quadrantically.
"What in all the grubfucking hells of the furthest ring do you think you're
doing!?" you yell, trying to salvage at least a fragment of dignity through
fury. "You're uglier than the multitude of stains on the carpet of a grub that
hasn't been trained to the load gaper and your lusus obviously never introduced
you to the concept of concupiscence or manners or basic decency so maybe you've
never heard this before, but you're a fucking nookstain piece of ghost matter
on the face of paradox space and a disgrace to the memory of the troll race."
She seems unbothered. She doesn't even adjust her skirt to cover her slackening
bulge, but only gets up on her elbows and smirks, then says something in a smug
tone.
You don't understand her. What the fuck is up with that?? You understand
everyone else perfectly well, aliens and ghosts and whatever the fabric of
reality throws at you, but this one gets to humiliate you and use you and then
spout gibberish.
She reaches down with a hand to stroke her own bulge, speaking again.
You kick her in the crotch. "Get out of my sight!"
But no. She gasps as if the kick turns her on again, and her smile only grows
wider. She says something else undecipherable, rising slowly from the floor and
touching your leg.
You shirk back. Hell no.
She reaches for you again, moving her bulge close to yours and whispering
throatily in those words you can't understand. You punch her in the face, and
she stumbles backwards, almost falling into the horn pile.
"I can't understand a fucking word you're saying but unless you're as much of a
fucking moron that you seem to be that had better be an apology or better yet
an assurance that I'm never going to see you again. Get out!"
"Yesss," she hisses, and this time you can understand her, but she doesn't seem
to have understood you. "You hate me. Little red dreamer boy." She lurches
forward, and you almost think she's going to punch you back, but instead she
throws her arms around you. "Fuck me." She bites your neck, fangs digging into
your skin, and maybe it is sexy, but no.
"No. No no no no no no no hell no." You try to get her off you, but she clings
with claws and teeth, and your effort gets you both down on the floor, you on
top of her.
"I fuck you," she says smugly, glancing meaningfully at the still sleeping body
on top of the pile. "You fuck me."
You hate her, but all you feel in your guts is disgust and horror. Some voice
inside you insists that you should want her – she wants you, and it's not like
anyone else does. She's already had you, so much more reason that you should
want to return the favor with passionate hatred. But the idea only makes you
feel sick. The idea that she already pailed you makes sick. She's so smug, like
she owns you, like you're a fucking fuck doll for her, and you just want her to
be gone. "No!" you yell, punching her again because you can.
"Ohhh," she says, grinning. "You punch good. Red boy."
Fuck no. You scramble to get off her and to your feet. "Go away!" you shout.
"Get out! Get lost! Disappear!"
The ghost girl sighs theatrically, but rises to her feet and finally adjusts
her skirt. "Well," she says. "I leave." She makes a suggestive gesture. "Return
later."
She does leave, and you can't close and lock the door behind her fast enough.
Your heart is beating like Dave's human music mixer, or at least your dream
phantom's heart is. The next thing you know everything shifts around you, and
you're opening your eyes from an awkward upside-down perspective on the horn
pile. You're waking up.
And you wish to hell and back that you hadn't. Everything hurts. Your face
stings, your butt stings worse, your nook is sore like she put a claw in it and
tore it up before fucking you. You bet she actually did. Your bulge feels
exhausted like after a marathon masturbation session. Even your asshole hurts
somehow, and there's something large and hard and foul-tasting in your mouth.
You shiver too violently to move for longer than you'd care to admit.
When you finally gain enough control of your limbs to slide down from the pile,
you only go so far as to curl up around yourself on the floor, trying to assess
the damage. You manage to twist the horn - a fucking honk horn! – from your
mouth and throw it away as far as you can. Your left buttock is bleeding from
some wound. You wonder if you're literally shitting yourself, because your ass
aches so much and feels stuffed, until you realize that the ghost put something
inside your asshole as well. You pull it out the best you can, but it's dry and
chafing and you're not sure all of it comes out. It's a motherfucking cigar,
and you barely glance at it before throwing it so hard that it bounces against
the far wall.
You should get up and get an ablution. You should get up, period. Instead, you
hug your knees and quietly curse that ghost girl with every profanity you can
think up. Your nook feels stretched and torn and sore enough to fill up your
guts with aching pain. It was your first time. You bet you deserved it somehow.
She said she'd be back. You briefly consider asking someone to stand guard over
your body the next time you sleep. But no, you can't. They'd ask why, and you'd
have to explain this. Tell Dave or Rose or Kanaya or goddamn Terezi that a
complete stranger came into your block and played with your body like a wiggler
with a toy. You can't. You can't even tell Gamzee, and he's your moirail. This
is too disgusting.
You managed six hundred hours without sleep back in the game. You can manage
the rest of this meteor trip awake, too. It's not a problem.
You force yourself to rise and go find your pants.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!