Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/478485.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      John_Egbert/Dave_Strider
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-05 Words: 779
****** Shades ******
by sumomomochi
Summary
     His thighs tremble under your fingers, like they're the San Andreas
     Fault and your mouth is causing a nine-point-oh to rip through the
     downtown Los Angeles area. Shit, better call FEMA before half of Cali
     goes and falls off.
"D-Dave, please," John stutters and moans, his thighs trembling under your
fingers, like they're the San Andreas fault and your mouth is causing a nine-
point-oh to rip through the downtown Los Angeles area. Shit, better call FEMA
before half of Cali goes and falls off.
Speaking of falling off, that's where your dick might as well be headed, what
with all the blood that's sitting in it. The only thing keeping it in place are
your jeans, you're sure. You chose to ignore your own plight in favour of
lavishing all your attention on John's spitting man cobra. It's thick and so
very hot against your lips and you're unironically enjoying the whines he lets
loose every time you pull away for a short second.
You slide your hands up his thighs, the heels of your palms firm against his
flesh. You use two fingers on your left to adjust the angle of the, well, lack
of dangle, actually, to the point where you're able to wrap your lips around
your friend's bacon rod. You proceed to give the head of his spunk slinger a
good, long suck. John whispers something that sounds suspiciously like, "Oh
dear Jesus," and you snort, releasing the suction you hold. You look up at him
through your shades, one eyebrow sarcastically quirked with his man meat
resting against your cheek, oh so casually.
"Actually," you drawl, "I prefer God." And then you decend on him again,
sucking down as much of his cream cannon as you can, all in one go. He squawks,
curling over you with one fist shoved against stupid-cute buck teeth as the
sound dissolves into a needy moan. You instinctively rock your hips in
response, even if there's nothing to rock against. You pull back slow, pressing
your tongue firmly against the underside of his jizz bone, memorizing every
contour and curve to the thing with your lips and teeth, before dropping back
down just as fast, and by fast, you mean tediously slow. You manage to swallow
him deeper, even if it takes all you've got not to gag. John lets out a string
of repetitive curses, his hips bucking ever so slightly, and you smirk around
his girth.
His man pole twitches on your tongue as you open your mouth wide, licking up
the length of it. There's a hand on his knee next to your shoulder, a
spattering of teethmarks on the knuckles. The other has a pretty firm grip on
your other shoulder, fingers almost bruisingly tight. You slather on a generous
amount of Strider Slober, tracing glistening lines from root to tip. John's
panting over you, his hand gripping the back of your neck like he's trying to
do the Vulcan nerve pinch or some shit. You dip the tip of your tongue into the
slit splitting the tip, lapping away the precum welling up like it's going out
of style. It's warm and fleshy, with just a slight bitter bite to it.
You continue to slobber all over Egbert's derp stick, enjoying the sights and
sounds of uncharted territory, getting friendly with the locals, the like. John
squirms and keens, his hips shivering under your fingertips. You smirk at the
power you hold over the twerp.
You suck him back into your mouth, wrapping your lips around Sergeant Stiffy
and setting a swift pace. Striders get right to the fucking point, and you
ain't no exception. John's breathe catches in his throat, coming out in a
strangled moan. Both of his hands now come to rest on your head, fingers
carding through your hair like this is a god damned romcom, so you ascend like
you're climbing to the top of the cock sucking eche ladder and give the tip a
good long drag. You get your desired result -- John's fingers tighten against
your scalp, tugging at your hair, and your name is hissed between clenched
teeth. You smirk around the flesh in your mouth.
A symphony of curses follows your name, each one getting progressively higher
and higher as John climbs through the octaves with strain. You give the base of
his shaft a squeeze as you pop your lips off to give your jaw a rest to press
your tongue against the V under the head.
You jerk him a couple of times, panting surprisingly hard for such an activity
and John goes, "Oh god, oh god, Dave, fuck, Jesus Christ, fuck, fuck,
fuckfuckfuck, Dave!"
And then you've got goop dripping off your shades and down your chin and John
has flopped back, limp on the bed. And you're still really fucking hard. And
that was really fucking anti-climatic, Jesus dick.
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