Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/256307.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Jack_Noir/Karkat_Vantas
  Character:
      Karkat_Vantas, Jack_Noir, Terezi_Pyrope
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-09-23 Words: 2369
****** Red, the Blood of Angry Men ******
by gumbridge
Summary
     In the Land of Pulse and Haze, Jack and Karkat do The Sex.
Notes
     This was written for the Homestuck Kink Meme something like a year
     ago, way back when it only_had_one_part. It has since been Jossed
     something awful. And that's okay.
The kid isn't so bad, once you get used to him. He's willing enough to help you
with your plans, and he doesn't flip the fuck out on you about getting stabbed
in the abdomen.
You appreciate that.
The two of you settle down on the black, rocky cliff butting over the sea of
blood, and do a little plotting. You tell him your intel about the queen and
her vulnerability, he tells you what he knows about this game he and his
friends are caught in. When his walking purple computer chimes, he leans over
to check it and then relays the information that the troll acting as his
'server' needs a while longer to build up to the gate above his home -- he
gestures off into the distance and you spot a structure that you guess might be
a house, but it's got a huge fucking hole blasted in its side and some truly
fucking nonsensical architecture going on. That architecture is so far off the
hook it has probably never even met the hook. It and the hook live on different
continents and will never meet in this life or the next. Maybe there was a
chance of it and the hook getting to know each other if the top three floors
and that silly paintjob didn't exist. Not any more.
Karkat agrees with you about the house. This is what you get when your server
is blind and malicious, he says.
But then he adds that even if they do have some time, he wants to get as close
to his gate as possible before the next person in the chain of players comes
through to this world.
You have a thought. And then you have another. And as Karkat begins to rise,
you hold out one bloody-sticky hand to stop him. Wait, you say, and he
hesitates for a moment, anger and curiousity making his constant scowl deepen,
before he sits back down.
Karkat said he didn't mind the stabbing, that he had time. You think the two of
you could probably spare an hour for this.
There's an angry flush rising in Karkat's cheeks, and you are glad that your
chitinous carapace is thick enough that you never have such problems.
And then you lean in and kiss him.
He doesn't react for long enough that you think of moving away again -- maybe
trolls have different protocols for such things? You've never encountered such
a strange species before --
And then Karkat is pulling away himself and asking you, very loudly, what the
fuck exactly that was.
You tell him.
His volume increases, as does the red flush on his cheekbones, in his ears. You
ponder how nobody on his planet noticed his mutant blood before, if it shows so
easily. Maybe, you think, this is why all his friends seem to contact him only
by correspondence.
You tune back in to his senseless babbling and hear enough to give you a
ringing headache. If you don't want to, you say, you don't want to -- but shut
the fuck up.
Karkat shuts up but by his expression you think he mainly doesn't want to say
he wants to, for whatever stupid troll reason.
So you grab the front of his shirt and reel him in. This time when you kiss him
he kisses back hard, all sharp teeth and thin black lips.
You can't say you mind.
He wriggles himself in closer and you let your hands explore his torso. The
narrow stab wound on his side seems to have stopped bleeding already, but the
area is still tacky enough with blood that it stops your hand there. Karkat
makes a noise at that, into your joined mouths, but not a pained one.
You move your hand lower, and the noise he makes then is much more pleased.
Karkat moves his own hand to rake you with his strange orange fingernails at
the join of your shoulder and neck, right where the collar on your doublet
ends. The feel of his warm hand there strikes a pleasant chord.
He breaks away from the kiss for a moment, presumably to breathe, and you take
the chance to pull his shirt over his head and off of him. The shirt is
sensible, plain black aside from that one weird symbol in grey on the front.
You approve of this. Black is your favourite colour.
The cloth peels away stickily, soaked in blood as it is, and Karkat looks down
to check out his wound. You notice that it's already scabbing over. There is no
way this can be normal, you think, but Karkat just nods at it. Trolls heal
fast, he explains, which is good because they get into fights all the fucking
time. Probably the ones who healed slowly all got killed off.
You accept that this makes some small measure of sense, but it's still pretty
fucking weird. If you want to kill a troll in future you will have to move
fast, you guess.
Karkat does not reply to this. Karkat is busy staring at your laps, where his
gaze has traveled. He seems surprised that you also have what he calls a 'bone
bulge'. Stupid fucking name for it, you think, and say out loud that of course
you do, there would be no point to this if your anatomies weren't compatible.
He scowls and grabs your crotch, as if to check if you're lying. You shiver at
the touch, and he seems pleased by that. You palm his bone bulge and he jerks
so violently you think he must not have had sex with anyone else before. You
wouldn't be surprised; he looks like he has a lot of growing left to do.
Karkat frowns at that and informs you he's six solar sweeps old. You don't know
how many Dersian years that is but you don't argue because he's jerking down
your leggings, and his naked hand feels great against you. You think you must
make some small noise at the sensation, because the frown reverses itself to
show off Karkat's fangs. He pushes closer and you kiss him again just to get
him to stop looking so superior. You undo his pants, which is a little awkward
with all the limbs in the way, and pull them down as far as you can. You're
both kneeling so it isn't very, but it's enough to get your hand in there and
stroke, and that's enough to get him to moan loudly against your mouth. The
sound sends a shiver down your back, and you try to get him to make that noise
again.
You succeed admirably.
What ends up happening is you push the both of you over so you're lying face-
to-face on the rock. Karkat kicks his jeans off the rest of the way, which
means you can now set both your hands to work. You rub the head of his bone
bulge and he does a combination shiver and groan that gratifies you immensely.
Your own 'bone bulge' is so flush with blood that it aches, but you concentrate
on reducing Karkat to incoherence.
You succeed at this, too, after you apply your mouth to his chest.
Experimentally, you lick at the blood drying there; it tastes perfectly normal.
Not, of course, that you make a habit of licking people's blood. That would be
preposterous and you have no idea why anyone would suggest such a thing.
So after a single lick you move back up to bite Karkat's nipple. He breathes in
sharply when you do that, and begins to curse again, with great volume and
imagination. You take a moment to affix some of his invective in your head for
use at a later date, if your own imagination ever happens to dry up.
After a handful of minutes of this treatment, Karkat gives up cursing entirely
to lie there, air heaving in and out of his lungs, nails scratching at the
ground. His neck is tipped way up, and this presents an inviting enough target
that you move up, to, to bite first at the tendon there and then at his jaw.
Karkat's mouth is wide open, as are his eyes -- his pupils have expanded enough
that his eyes seem more black than orange, now. You keep your hand moving
steadily against his bone bulge, hard and fast, and watch his body move,
trembling without any input from his brain. It's a very appealing image, you
think, black and grey moving together, accented by red blood and those strange
orange horns poking out from his messy hair. You consider licking one of them
and reject the idea as silly. Who comes up with these ideas, anyway? Certainly
not you.
You are so caught up in watching the reactions cross Karkat's face that when
his hand comes up to pull you in for a kiss you are entirely surprised. But not
displeased. This kiss is messy -- by this point Karkat is preoccupied with
other things and you find you rather enjoy it this way. Karkat's hand clutches
at the back of your neck.
Your hand falters in its motion as Karkat's other hand finds its slow way to
your chest. It stays there, moving slightly with the motion of his body, and
the heat of the thing seeps its way in to the softer flesh under the chitin.
It's only a slight hitching in Karkat's breath that gives you a warning before
he's coming, body stiffening into an arc that you think must have his calves
aching with the tension thrumming through his muscles. His hands convulse
against you, and this time his nails score lines into your carapace.
He collapses into a boneless heap after a short eternity. After only a few
moments, though, Karkat is back to swearing, under his breath and barely half-
comprehensible. You're not sure what he's saying, and you stop trying to make
it out once his hands loosen their death-grips on you and slide downwards,
stopping to unbutton your shirt on their war. Karkat rolls the two of you over,
so that he's on top. You allow this, because he doesn't seem likely to try
murder within the next five minutes, and also you would really like to get off.
Karkat pumps a fist up and down your cock, just once, just a little too soft to
be really satisfying, but then on the next upstroke he squeezes and uses his
nails, and oh fuck but that is perfect, finally, you weren't sure a soft-body
like him would understand how to do it right--
You keep your scowl on your face right where it belongs, but with one hand
pulling at you, another scratching at your hips, and all the body-heat of a
troll pressed against you, it is admittedly a little difficult.
And then Karkat leans down to bite with his impressive mouthful of fangs, right
at the spot on your chest where you would have a nipple if nipples were things
your species had. You shudder, hard, and bury a hand in Karkat's hair, gleaming
black chitin against coarse black hair against horn all the colours of fire.
Karkat's eyes when he looks up are focused again, and for the first time look
less angry than they do just concentrated on the task at hand.
He lowers his head and bites down again, deliberately harder this time. You
have difficulty containing the trembling in your limbs.
Karkat keeps his hand in motion, speeding up as he goes. It's rough and hard
and exactly what you need right now.
Eventually your world narrows down to block out everything except the sensation
of touch: gone is the sound of your own harsh breathing in your ears, the crash
of red waves on the rocks below, the sight of the strange purple sky above. It
all narrows down to heat and pressure and fireworks singing in your nerve
endings until it builds into too much and you're coming hard with one final
rasp of bright orange nails against the base of your cock.
When your sight returns to normal Karkat is struggling back into his grey jeans
and blood-stained shirt. You wonder idly if he will find a change of clothing
before he encounters any of his fellow trolls again, or if they will discover
the colour of his blood even without his consent. Maybe they will assume he
fell into the sea of blood.
You stand up, pull your own clothing back on, and check your knives in their
sheaths. There, now you don't have a hair out of place. Or you wouldn't, if you
had hair. Either way you think you are back to looking your usual snappily
dressed self, even if you wouldn't mind a chance to bathe sooner or later.
An angry red face hangs in a white bubble above Karkat's crab-legged computer.
He mumbles something about this being one of his teammates trying to bother him
with something stupid and irrelevant, and kicks it away. You aren't certain if
it falls over the cliff's edge and into the sea or just fades away into the
air. It's all pretty weird. You don't think any technology on Derse can do
that.
Karkat gives the computer itself a gentler kick, and rolls one shoulder
forward. Scuffs a hand through his hair, scratches the base of a horn. Suggests
a direction that seems as good as any other.
You acquiesce, and begin your journey with this young adventurer, a journey
over the course of which the two of you will bond, commit regicide, and learn
the true meaning of this troll disease called friendship.
gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]
GC: H3Y K4RK4T 1M F1N1SH3D W1TH YOUR STUP1D G4TE
GC: NO TH4NKS TO YOU
GC: 1 H4D TO L33CH GR1ST OFF TH3 OTH3RS
GC: WH3R3 TH3 FUCK 4R3 YOU 4NYW4YS
GC: WH4T3V3R 4SSHOL3 CONT4CT M3 WH3N YOU G3T B4CK ON
GC: 1 H4V3 MY OWN G4T3 TO G3T TO
GC: TRY NOT TO G3T K1LL3D BY YOUR FR34KY N3W H4T3 FR13ND
GC: OR K1LL H1M
GC: 1 W4NT TO SM3LL H1M L4T3R >:D
gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]
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