Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8144653.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Caliborn/Dirk_Strider
  Character:
      Dirk_Strider, Caliborn
  Additional Tags:
      Humanstuck, yes_-_Freeform, caliborn_is_human_in_this, remote_controlled
      vibrators, Exhibitionism, Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, gagging, the_second
      chapter_is_just_them_chilling_out_on_a_saturday_morning, and_being_two
      gross_nerds
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-26 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 5084
****** School succs ******
by quenive
Summary
     Caliborn and Dirk decide to be kinky motherfuckers in public.
     The tags explain it better.
Notes
     So I found a mostly written thing in my files (which I may or may not
     have forgotten about entirely), and I thought I should finish up and
     post. For the fucking lols and shit, this ship honestly needs more
     content.
     (Tagged "underage" because they're highschoolers.)
***** Chapter 1 *****
You sit there, squirming in your seat like there's a nest of fire ants in your
lap and you just want to shake them off, but you can't. You can't because
they're crawling, clawing, biting, tucking themselves into every skin fold and
making themselves comfortable in every pore on your person, no matter how
small. They're making you want to scream and jump like a maniac, and the only
thing you can really do is shift around endlessly in your seat hoping you can
find a comfort spot. At least you want to squirm that much, but you can't. Not
visibly at least. Your mind is roaring, thoughts barely reliable and nearly
every muscle in your body clenching in desperation. The ants are merciless, and
you really don't know is that a positive or negative situation to be in.
It would be a lie if you said you weren't enjoying it, and you are in no state
to fib through your teeth seeing as you can't pry your denchers away from
grinding against each other like you just snorted a pound of cocaine in one
sitting. The pulsating sensation rushes through your body once again, and this
time it seems as if though it's a notch higher. It nearly makes your breath
hitch, and you nearly snap your pencil in two out of sheer surprise. You feel a
pair of taunting eyes on you, but somehow you know it's not a wondering gaze an
innocent civilian is shooting you. Somehow, you manage to turn your head to the
direction you feel the eyes coming from, and it's certainly no surprise when
you reckon that's the direction you too were turning to for 40 minutes now. You
slowly creak your head backwards, attempting to get a good look of the kid
who's working hard at making you such a mess.
He's there, sitting in the second to last left desk by the window. The grin on
his face is a bit unsettling, but nothing you're not used to already. You look
at it, and the more you stare the more you quiver up from the inside. It's like
a Medusa deal with this guy and your eyes are already scanning the invisible
snakes that would come out of his head instead of hair, and his dark eyes full
of amusement, obvious sadism. Well, as much as they could through your dark
shades. He knows you're looking at his eyes, though, and he lets you. Only for
a second, you look down at his lap, a red remote he held pressed against his
thigh. You watch his long and intimidating fingers brush along the side of it,
and it rests on what you presume to be a button. You're full of anticipation,
just waiting for him to press down. But he doesn't. He never will when he knows
you're expecting it.
You quietly sigh to yourself and turn back down to your paper. There was really
no need to participate in the class activities now of all times, so you just
decide to doodle something in your notebook. Well, as best as you could anyways
seeing as your hands were trembling beyond comprehension. You attempt to ignore
the vibrations that were making up every shred of your being, and you attempt
to ignore the roaring erection in your pants. So you draw him the best you knew
in this state, draw him to take your mind off of what exactly he's doing. But,
you kind of fail at that so you settle for drawing horses. Horses always calmed
you down for some reason.
Yeah, that's nice. His name is Ash (how original of you), and he has dark grey
fur with some milky white spots on it. His mane is silver, some parts carefully
braided by a southern belle (who is, coincidentally, you). You skip on drawing
the harness or ropes or nooses or bits, figuring that he could be free of
restrictions. That'll make one of you. Your mind then creates a shitty
backstory for the equine as your shaky hand works on his braids, though their
shading is really fucking bad even for you . You're just about done with the
one falling over his face when...
When Caliborn kicks it up a notch, and the pencil literally falls from your
grip.
* * * * * * * *
Your somewhat weaker, smaller, notably fragile body slams his into the stall
wall. He snarls at you, since he certainly doesn't seem to appreciate the
gesture. You ain't the one in charge here, it's him. It's kind of always him,
so he tugs away and buries his hand into his pocket.
You wince instantly as the setting on your vibrator is one notch away from the
maximum. At times like these you'd give anything to erase that from his memory
just to save your skin, but he saw it alright. And it makes him grin wider, two
rows of blunt yet intimidating teeth invading your field of vision.
"Motherfuck." You mutter out quietly, bracing yourself on the opposite wall.
It's cool against your back even through the shirt. For now it's your only form
of leverage, only thing stopping you from falling under this dude's feet. It
wouldn't be difficult to just yank your pants down and jerk off like tomorrow
isn't a thing, but you're not... let's say, permitted.
"Shit, Dirk." He says, voice taunting even if he got just two words out.
Knowing him, he'd even make a taunt out of a simple letter of all things. It's
just endless mocking with this asshole. "You almost got us caught out there."
The free space inside the tiny school bathroom stall is little to none, but he
still takes a step closer without touching you. You need to be touched. You're
sweating and shivering and your stomach feels like it's full of fluttering
insects. "What do you have to say. In your defense?"
You bite your lip and think back. It was all this asshole's fault anyways.
The teacher called you up to the blackboard after she noticed you were drawing
and not paying attention to her precious class. This would have been the end of
it if he just let you be, but no. You could have done your part and went back
to your seat, but hell no. You could've preserved your pride and dignity in
front of the whole class, but hell fucking no. As you were writing with the
chalk, he cranked it up randomly, so you snapped it in half. When apologizing,
he cranked it down, leaving you feeling intense relief. The relief was not
long-lived considering he randomly cranked it up, then back down again, so
forth. You were a stuttering mess of a man, and you'd be damned if you didn't
notice the intense concern in the teacher's eyes. Concern and suspicion.
"Sorry." You spit out, but once you see the fire in his eyes you think, no. No,
fuck this. Even if you willingly agreed to this, you ain't going down without a
fight. "But I'm not the one intent on outing to the whole school what kinky
motherfuckers we are. Pace yourself, Jesus."
"There's no profit. Without a little risk." He shrugs it off as if you were
offering him something he's indifferent about. You hate that indifference right
now.
"And there's no such thing as a cleverly executed risk. Especially by you."
When he steps closer again, you're chest against chest. If you were to glance
down, you'd see the shitty System_Of_a_Down shirt he's wearing. When is he not,
though? The dude might have an unhealthy crush on Shavo_Odadjian for all you
fucking know. He's been jacking his swagger for the past two years now.
You don't find it in you to move, and you don't want to move. His hands are out
of his pockets and on your waist, yourself easing into his touch and finding it
less difficult to just flunk down and let him support you instead of the wall.
"And you're capable. Of such risks?" His hands are inching down, and then
slipping up your shirt. Your skin is burning there, but his fingers are oddly
cold against it. It came as a relief, but also as a form of torture considering
the huge contrast between the two skins.
"No one is." It comes out as a squeak, and if you weren't so turned on right
now you'd want to wipe that smug grin off his face with a solid left hook. But
you were, in fact, turned on. So much it nearly hurt. "It was a stupid move."
His hands gently graze your abdomen, blunt nails scratching your skin as gently
as they could. He moves them up to your chest, and you flinch when he grazes
your nipple. Heavy breaths, you allow a pathetic sound to wiggle out between
your lips in a sad little whimper.
"Bullshitter. You love stupid moves." Caliborn accuses, and he isn't too far
off. You really can't say you don't like it when he takes control like this,
when he makes you squirm for less and beg for more.
"I'd love it if you got it on already." You huff in an attempt to save your
cheek from the filth that's constantly layering up. He flicks your nipple
again, and you make the most disgusting little moan you did today. Your body is
oversensitive so you soak up any form of satisfaction you get. As you squirm,
your dick presses against the fabric of your underwear, but his knee soon joins
it, settling itself neatly between your thighs. It sends a jolt of weird shit
straight to your gut, your hips automatically roll down to meet it. A futile
attempt to gain more friction, as he is soon to lower his knee down again. It's
basically a shitty no, fuck you Dirk. Fuck you and your desperate little
bullshit, he's gonna drag it on as much as he can.
Until the bell rings, anyways.
"No." He puts a word to your thoughts and you cringe as his hands leave your
body. The vibrator is still deep in you, it's kind of difficult to forget it
when it's buzzing away mercilessly, making your knees weak and unable to
support your weight. Caliborn doesn't help with the situation. His hands find
their way to your shoulders, and they just push down. It doesn't take much to
actually get you down, your knees collapse as soon as the little amount of
pressure is added to them. "I will not get it on. You will get it on."
"I will get it on?" You look up at him, voice one octave away from a full blown
whine and eyes struggling not to beg. Even through the shades, he notices this
and reaches down to take them off. You don't protest, although the sharp
fluorescent light kinda stings at first. Looking up at him more clearly, he's
towering up over you. He's naturally taller, but he seems like a giant,
unstoppable giant from this angle. Shaved head, dark, tanned skin, eyes so
sharp that you constantly feel them piercing right through you. The worst part
is it feeling good, feeling so good that you don't have it in you to complain
the slightest bit. He won't claim your glasses as his own by putting them on,
though he folds them and hooks them onto the collar of his own shirt,
indicating that you won't be getting them back any time soon. You don't really
want them now, anyways. No sense in piercing the guy's thigh while you're
sucking his dick.
His hand grazes your hair, fingers fucking up the hair gel as he tangles them
up with your bleached locks. It hurts a bit, but mostly since you're so bent on
putting a gallon of that shit on your head every fucking day. Your stomach
drops a bit as you realize you'll have to face the rest of the day with messy
hair. An obvious sign to everyone that you and Cal got it on in the bathroom.
You wonder what your friends would say, or if they would say anything. You'd
rather have them call you out than face humiliation from their disappointed
looks anyways. But that isn't important right now, and your mind can't dwell on
that guilt for much long.
When his hand dips down into his pocket again, your stomach also dips further
in anticipation. Though, you know more than well he just won't fucking do it
when you're expecting. He hums in approval, and you audibly sigh.
"You should have known by now. That you have to work hard. If you want to get
what you want."
You squirm at his voice, ass rolling while you're kneeling. The vibrator
brushes against your prostate and you gasp out, which is followed by a faint
shudder. His grip on your hair tightens. He pushes you forward towards the
bulge in his pants. For the first time, you actually gather up enough courage
to look down and observe it face-to-face. Mano a mano, two dicks having an
intense staredown.
"Yeah, I know." You confirm. Your hands slide up on his clothed calves, but
your right one hesitates for a brief moment while going up his prosthetic. It
feels odd, the space within the jeans empty and the artificial limb hard. But
you don't pause long enough for it to be noticeable, you just keep inching your
hands up and stop on the outer sides of his thighs, just to position yourself
and hold steady. "What if this is what I want, though? Wouldn't I have to work
for this instead of having it catered to me?"
In response, he pushes your face into his crotch. You huff.
"The only sounds I want coming from your mouth. Are moans. Or the occasional
call of my name." You glance up at him, and expect a frown. Though, he's
smiling in a way you rarely see him smile. It makes your lips stretch wider
too.
"I don't want to jamais vu it, though." You admit. Eyes falling down to look at
the outline of his dick, you silently gulp and wrap your lips around it. You
don't care if you get it soaked, if the fabric soaks up your spit. You just
mouth it from all angles, enjoy how warm it is on your tongue and how the
texture of his black jeans scratches your taste buds.
"I don't care what you do to it." He's obviously kind of inching over what you
just said, but you don't mind. You're too caught up in working on his dick to
have a full on discussion right now.
Your own dick just twitched in your jeans, and you roll your hips again as an
attempt at moving the vibrator and getting some more friction on your aching
cock. You also hear Caliborn's breathing growing a bit more unsteady, and if he
wasn't fully hard before he certainly is now. Amber eyes keep darting back and
forth, from the hand in his pocket to his relaxed yet tense face. You take into
consideration your aching scalp, as he's still clutching your hair tightly,
nearly white-knuckling that shit like he's clinging on for dear life.
It hurts more when he tugs back, you hiss and feel tears forming in the corner
of your eye. Not enough to drip, but enough to fog your vision just a bit. He
pulls his hand out of his pocket, and you don't know do you feel relief or
disappointment. Both thoughts disappear as he gets to fondling with his button
and zipper, both thoughts replaced by hunger. The insects fluttering in your
stomach flap their wings harder, faster. You want to touch yourself, but you
can't. Him first.
He's freeballin' today. His cock drops out as soon as he pulls his pants down.
You study it with your eyes for a short moment. Not like you didn't see it
before, but it always kind of snaps you back into reality when you see how
heavy it looks, how it has a well amount of girth mixed with length. It's
notably larger than yours, but it isn't making you self-conscious or whatever.
It mostly fills you with a weird mix of respect, fear, and hunger.
"Fuck." You whisper out as one of your hands leaves his thigh and goes to take
a firm grip of his cock. It's as heavy as it looks, and you lick your lips
before giving the head a small kiss.
You know it riles him up, and your eyes are constantly shooting short glances
up just to observe his reaction. He's blushing, even more than you. Under all
that muscle, all that tough guy act, he's as mushy and feel as you. Even more,
hell if you know. He's a sucker for the tender shit, and you're more than happy
to indulge his kinks.
Your lips part as you smile and stick your tongue out. You lick around his
crown, and you can feel him shuddering from where you're holding his thigh and
his cock. Yeah, you're having the say here now, even if he thinks it's still
vice versa.
You tilt it up and dip, licking a long, wet stripe up the underside of his
shaft. You end the streak by wrapping your lips around it. Skillfully using
your tongue, you flick his slit until he's flinching like all hell, his grip on
your hair tightening more and more. Your scalp is pained and pulsing, but you
kind of invite the hurt over for a fucking cup of tea because neither of you
are playing around.
Well, you are. But you aren't.
He has no issues with forcing you forward. You'd have a hard time getting it in
on your own anyways, and he is a very impatient dude. However, you consider
dick sucking a form of underrated art. No matter how horny you are, you'll
always take your sweet time and make the best out of the whole ordeal. He
really doesn't relate to you, and you can't blame him. So you relax your throat
and let him ease it in. You wrap your lips around it and suck gently, tongue
working on the underside as much as it could while being all conflicted like
that.
When his hips buck forward, you gag. The tears forming on the edge of your eyes
slip down, because that's something you never had full control over. You're
lucky he also knows your limits, so he pulls out. Breathing heavily, you look
up at him with half lidded eyes, spit dripping down from your chin. Your hand
is wrapped around his length once again, and you're jerking him off while
there's still spit to work with. Your thumb brushes over his slit, and massages
it until he's leaking precome. You notice the bead and your lips are on him
again, gently sucking at the tip and flicking your tongue over it again. It's
bitter and salty, but you don't mind.
Your fingers are digging into his clothed thigh just to stop your hand from
reaching down and palming yourself. The other is tugging at his cock while you
suckle on the crown.
You were so caught up in this mess, so indulged in this activity that you
didn't really notice him reaching for the remote again and cranking it up to
the highest setting.
The only thing both of you heard was a gasp, and then a faint buzz coming from
the vibrator lodged so far up your ass it's on the verge of discovering
Asslantis. He uses your gasp to shove his dick back in, once again back to face
fucking you like nothing else is relevant at this moment.
And it wasn't. You're making soft noises, low-key hoping and praying no one
enters the bathroom because you wouldn't want to stop yourself even if you
could. You swallow around him, and he just keeps going at it. You hear him
grunt occasionally, and you can't. You can't take this shit anymore, and your
hand leaves the comfort at his thigh to clutch at yourself.
You're basically melting, and he lets you. It doesn't go unnoticed, no fucking
way. His movements slow down, but what they lack in speed they make up for in
great intensity. Caliborn's perspective must be glorious, you think. Your
reddened face, lips plump and flushed. Breaths shallow and uncoordinated, you
struggle with getting your dick out in the open.
You cry out around his dick, it feels so good to get some friction after all
this time. Your ass rolls as you simultaneously rock your hips to fuck your
hand, and use the same hand to tug at yourself with the desperation of a
thirsty man in the desert.
Surprised at how little it takes you to finish, you moan around this dick as
every single butterfly and moth goes batshit crazy in your gut and you come
with such intensity that you forget to disgustingly gag when he shoves it
deeply down your throat. You bounce your ass up and down to ride out your
orgasm with the vibrator still working full-steam. A line of soft moans isn't
stoppable, but Caliborn is faring better with it than you ever could. Why is he
so fucking quiet and subtle? The last thing you hear is his low grunt as he
releases as well.
This isn't how you planned on doing this, but you ain't complaining the
slightest.
He pulls out, and you flop down, your own flacciding dick still in your hand
and the only thing keeping your head up being his merciless grip on your hair.
The vibrations in your ass stop, and a sigh of relief leaves your lips because
it already began getting on your nerves. You eye the toilet next to you and
cringe at yourself, and then gather all the semen from your throat and spit
out. He doesn't seem too happy about it, but still lets go of you nonetheless.
The next time his hand is anywhere near your face, his thumb grazes your
cheekbone. You notice there was an embarrassing tear there. If the change of
pace wasn't so nice you'd probably swat his hand away. You like it when he's
rough with you, when he marks you, but you also really fucking enjoy these
bursts of tenderness and affection his post-orgasm state offers. He looks at
you full of love and affection for a short moment, but you can literally see
the comical double-take he made in his head before the glow in his eyes
vanished completely. As if he was ashamed of emotion and love.
You'll crack him some day.
He pulls his hand away, but not completely. He still offers you a hand to pull
you up, and you accept with little hesitation. Sure enough, you're yanked up
quickly in one brief movement. Dude's strong like all hell. You still kind of
get stomach bugs when you think about how easy it would be for him to end you,
right there and then. Sometimes he wants to, you can see it in his eyes. But he
never does.
"Thanks." You mumble out, and both of you are taken back by how beat down and
horrible your voice sounds. Still, you take his hand, and he pulls you up.
He looks down at the mess you made on the floor and frowns. Caliborn steps on
your semen to smear it around. You snort. His eyes flick back to you and he
puffs in amusement, vaguely gesturing to his own chin.
"You have a little something... here."
You lift your hand up to your chin, and sure enough there was a lot of
something there. Mostly your own spit. Probably looked like all shit. You
squint while looking at your gross hand and open your mouth to say something,
but the bell rings and you are soon to shut it.
"That's my cue." He grins and zips himself up. Your legs are shaking, you're
barely standing. All in all, you're satisfied to all hell, too satisfied to get
bummed about his departure.
And then he leans down to gently peck at your lips, and your butterflies are
back once more.
"Yeah. I'll clean myself up and make up a lame excuse on why I'm late. Maybe I
can fake an UTI again."
"Again?"
You shrug, and he just shakes his head a no, feigning disappointment.
"See you after school." Caliborn smiles, and you can't help but smile back.
"Yeah. Later."
He unlocks the door and exits the stall, and you're left alone to shape up and
clean up, smiling like an idiot the whole damn time.
***** Bonus *****
Chapter Notes
     100% necessary and all kinds of relevant.
"If every individual strove to get personal gain while disregarding the general
benefit, the common weal, society is bound to collapse under the weight of its
own idiocy." You mumble out and reach for the remote, but he's holding it so
far away that the only way to get it would be over six and whatever feet of
pure muscle. He's half-laying on the couch, arm stretched out far off the
opposite edge. When you fail to reach it you huff, pulling back to sit on the
other side again.
"Shut your shit, Aristotle. You'll get it when you get it." He sticks his
tongue out at you like a fucking kid, and damn you to hell if you don't feel
like one wrestling him for the remote. Still holding it as far away from you as
possible, he switches the channel from PB_&_J_Otter , a show you crave with all
your being, to Generator_Rex. Something inside you stirs with an unknown
feeling. Be it disappointment, rage, or something in between, you channel it
out with one loud groan. Caliborn side-eye's you a bit and smirks.
You've given up on reasoning with this fucker. If this is how you're spending
your Saturday morning then you'd rather be at school.
At least more interesting things happen there. Your breath gets slightly
heavier as you think back to yesterday, but your whole over-all posture
relaxes. You guess he then deems it safe to pull his arm back, but he still
fucking lifts his ass from the couch cushion and sits on the remote. The
channel didn't change, so at least he isn't butt-dialing your TV.
"So this is what we're doing now?" You ask, and bring your knees up to your
chest. You're wearing plaid pajama pants and a loose black tank top. It's very
fitting for the morning atmosphere you're going for. He's sprawled on the sofa
next to you, feet nearly touching you, but you kind of want to take up as
little space as possible. So you curl in on yourself, and you wish you were
wearing some socks because your toes feel oddly cold. Two empty cereal bowls
are stacked on the table. The whole apartment smells like burnt bacon and
equally burned waffles. Neither of you are ever cooking again.
"Yes." He confirms. The dude was shirtless, thus making every single one of his
decently defined muscles noticeable, a view you would never complain about.
He's also wearing a pair of boxers which_he_ironically_attached_a_pair_of
suspenders_to. One of Caliborn's legs slowly inches off the edge of the sofa
until it fell down. It was the one with the prosthetic, and your eyes scan over
the artificial appendage when you're convinced he isn't watching. Even if he
was, he probably wouldn't really care. Dude's indifferent about a lot of
things, and this isn't something that would get on his nerves. You're not to be
mistaken, he's an easy bastard to piss off, but he's just so peaceful and
neutral at times like these. No pressure, no stress. You kind of envy him, he
seems to be doing just fine without a facade. "Unless you have better ideas.
I'm sticking with this shit."
"I want my water rats." You demand and inch closer to the side. He bends his
left leg at the knee to make more room for you.
"Too fucking bad." He scoffs and wiggles his ass on the remote.
The channel changes this time, and you both flinch at the sudden noise. Monster
truck shows were never your cup of tea, and right now a poor Škoda Octavia was
getting demolished by two tons of pure chaos. You do not have remorse towards
this Slovenian brand of vehicle, so you shuffle indifferently and sink deeper
into the couch.
He gets the remote back from under his ass and changes back to his shitty
cartoon.
"Bet you're all kinds of proud." You mumble. He snorts, but his expression
doesn't change.
"Oh. You have no idea, Dirk. I'd gift myself a medal if I could."
"What's stopping you?" You raise an eyebrow and he shrugs.
"The eye of society."
"Bullshit. Since when do you care?"
"Since we've been suspended. Until further notice." He lifts one of his
asscheeks up and like a chicken, he nests over the remote in a protective
manner. As if it was his child, fragile and vulnerable.
You smile at that. Oh man, your brother is going to straight up strangle you
when he gets back home. You have a week of life left, and then he's going to
lecture the shit out of you for "performing prohibited sexual activities within
school boundaries". Caliborn spent the night with you. An innocent night, him
sleeping on the very couch you're lounging on and you safe and sound on your
bed.
He too is avoiding sibling confrontation, though not of the parental kind.
If you had a dollar for every time he mentioned how he's going to gut the kid
who overheard you two in the bathroom, you'd be a wealthier man by a dozen
buckaroos. You still smile at that, and would use those twelve bucks to pay
front row tickets to the intense beat-down.
Some day, you figure. Some day.
"Touché." You shrug, and then direct all your attention to the TV in front of
you. For whatever's worth, at least you're having some fun right now. Even if
they weren't your beloved water rats. Honestly, dude needs to get his shit
under control.
It's a nice atmosphere you're feeling right now, a really good vibe. You really
do hope it lasts a few more hours.
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