Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/811673.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Calliope/Roxy_Lalonde, Roxy_Lalonde/UranianUmbra
  Character:
      Roxy_Lalonde, Calliope_(Homestuck), Callie_Ohpeee
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, Tentabulges, tentadicks, Xeno, self-image_issues
  Series:
      Part 2 of Homestuck_Rarepairs
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-21 Words: 3755
****** Show Me What's In Your Knickers ******
by TheNarator
Summary
     Roxy and Calliope want to reach a new level of intimacy, but they've
     got a few issues to work out first.
     Warning: This is fluffy porn. If you see any semblance of a plot
     please feel free to shoot it.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you are not entirely sure what you were
expecting.
"You have . . .  troll bits," you observe, sitting back on your heels. 
Your matesprit, Calliope I-Don't-Have-A-Last-Name-Love-Just-Call-Me-Callie, is
laying on her back between your spread legs as you kneel above her, blushing so
deeply you can hardly make out the swirl patterns on her cheeks. She is wearing
her troll cosplay, complete with lime-tinted gray skin and fake horns that
appear to merge seamlessly with her head. You know it is a cosplay however, so
that doesn't explain why she appears to have troll genitalia.
The bed that the two of you are currently lying on also happens to be floating
unsupported in the endless vacuum of space. This fact is completely irrelevant
to your current situation and will not be brought up again.
"I know it's different from a human's!" Calliope blurts, pushing herself up on
her elbows as her partially unsheathed bulge retreats in apparent fright. "I
know what the Batterwitch did to your lovely species and your beautiful planet
in the name of reviving troll kind, but if you look past that you'll see that
trolls really are quite-"
You kiss her. Over the course of your relationship you've discovered that this
is quite an effective way to stop her from rambling herself out of breath with
ridiculous self-deprecation. At first her lips are tense, trying to continue
her passionate argument in favor of troll genitalia, but you lick carefully
around her fangs and then her elbows are sliding out from underneath her as she
returns to her previous state of hormone-drugged complacency. You follow her
down, press her into the pillows, and the two of you proceed to have a not in
the least sloppy, really quite dignified inter-species make-out.
When you break apart Calliope stares dozily up at you, a dreamy smile on her
lips as she pants for breath.
"I got nothing against trolls or their equipment Callie," you assure her. With
one hand you stroke the inside of her wrist, and she squirms. "It's just that .
. . well . . ."
She frowns slightly up at you, looking a bit like a kicked puppy with too-big
teeth. "What is it Roxy?"
You've never been one to beat around the bush, and being that you're now
straddling an alien with her pants around her knees you don't feel now is a
good time to start.
"Yer not a troll, Callie."
"Well, um," she fidgets, looking down at her buttons, at her painted hands,
anywhere but at you. 
Suddenly something occurs to you. "I mean, unless you are," you clarify,
feeling stupid and a bit like a horrible matesprit for not realizing this
sooner. "If that's how you feel, I mean. I know that one of my troll void-bros
is a horse, and Ampora the Original (in one universe) is all human-at-heart and
stuff-"
"You know he only says that for attention," Calliope cuts you off gently,
smiling kindly as though to reassure you that your worries are unfounded.
"Hey don't knock it, attention is awesome," you grouse, not particularly
reassured. You like both the Amporas. They're even bigger flirts than you are.
"I know what it's like not to feel like yer special enough to be loved."
"But Roxy, you are special!" she protests, and now you feel like a really awful
matesprit because her eyes have gone shiny with unshed tears and you know you
caused those, know she hates it when people aren't nice to her friends, even
when it's her friends not being nice to themselves.
You brush a bit of her white hair off her face, because she likes cheesy earth
gestures, and she smiles.
"So are you Callie."
"I'm hardly special dear," she says quietly, smiling sadly up at you.
You kiss the center of the swirl on her cheek, and she makes a little trilling
noise you're sure must be in some way trollish. The blush spreads over the
bridge of her nose and you kiss there too. The skin there is perfect,
completely unblemished by freckles or natural shifts in skin tone, like
polished marble. You wonder if that's just the way troll skin looks, or if it's
because this version of her was created by her mind.
"Calliope," you whisper against her face, "you're the special-est person I
know. One-of-a-kind-green-blooded-non-human-alien-space-babe, fighting your
evil twin for truth, justice and the whole box of jujubees all to yourself."
She giggles, and you giggle, and you slip one hand carefully underneath her
jacket and shirt to rub against the perfectly smooth surface of her stomach.
"Now," you wink, still giggling "show me what's really under you knickers,
love?"
Calliope's face falls. She looks down, away from you, and her hands come up
under her chin to start fiddling with her bow tie.
"Roxy," she begins, slowly, carefully, "I really want to do this with you, but
I'm afraid my trollsona will have to do."
"How bad can it be Cal?" you reply, then make a face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to
call you like a bigger version of Dirk's creepy puppet."
Calliope whimpers a bit, closing her eyes tight and tugging at the little red
bow around her neck.
You pause. "Wait, you don't . . . you aren't just a bigger version of Dirk's
creepy puppet, are you?"
Calliope swallows. "No," she replies, voice very small.
"Because it would be totally cool if you were," you continue, and she looks up
at you funny, like you just started speaking Dutch. Or, you guess, troll. "If
Cal is really short for Calliope and the puppet is your mini-me you sent back
for Dirk via time shenanigans that's totally cool with me, you'll still be my
Callie girl and I'll still wanna get into your puppet pants."
She snorts, and you nuzzle her cheek. She nuzzles back, and for a moment you
just trade eskimo kisses like neither of you has anything better to do. Which,
you suppose, you don't.
"It's not about how I look," she says once terminal cuteness levels have been
reached and you have to pull back from each other or risk developing diabetes
in a world with no insulin shots.
"It's about my . . . how cherubs, um, reproduce, love."
"Tell me," you ask, smiling slyly, "I wanna know exactly what kinda freaky
alien sex you're into."
She hesitates, biting her lip. You kiss her nose and raise an eyebrow
expectantly. She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath, like she's
steeling herself for what she's about to say.
"Well, normally when a cherub mates it does so by finding a black hole, turning
into an indestructible serpent roughly one astronomical unit in length and
doing battle with it's chosen partner until one manages to subdue the other
through force of extreme violence."
You blink.
She blinks back at you.
Whatever you were expecting her to say, it wasn't that.
"OK, I see your point," you concede. You try to picture Calliope as a giant
horny space snake, but all you can really come up with is a little grey cartoon
snake with her big green eyes glued to it like googly craft eyes.
"Not that I don't love you in all your giant-horny-space-snake glory," you
assure her, "but I can see how that might be a bit . . . impractical?"
She nods, looking embarrassed. "Yes, I think that is a good word for it."
"Still," you continue, sitting up again to pull your shirt up over your head,
"freaky alien troll sex is something I can definitely get behind."
Your tits bounce free of the tight fabric of your shirt, jiggling slightly in
your bra in what you hope is an enticing manner. Your matesprit certainly seems
to think so, pointed tongue licking at her fangs as she eyes them hungrily.
"No teeth," you remind her, cupping the back of her head to bring her up again.
Sitting propped up on the pillows brings her level with your bust, and she
glances up at you one last time as though for permission. You raise one eyebrow
in amusement and bring your hands up to bracket your breasts, pushing them
together and outwards in offering.
Suddenly her hands are covering yours and her tongue is licking a long swipe up
the middle of your chests, dipping between the two plump globes to wiggle a
moment before continuing on up your neck to end on the underside of your chin.
Her tongue is . . . different, from a human's. It's longer, and pointed at the
end, not as wet and with a firm roughness to it. It's a bit like being licked
by one of your cats, except that they never left such a pleasant tingling on
your arms and hands as she does on your boobs.
She presses them tighter together and nuzzles them, almost whacking you in the
head with her horns but somehow managing to maneuver so they end up on either
side of your neck without looking. Her tongue dips into the valley she's
created, wiggling like it's looking for something and sending out little sparks
of sensation which zing down your spine and make your sides feel ticklish
without being touched. Her clawed hands take the full weight of your chest and
her thumbs shift to tease your nipples through the fabric.
You giggle, and she purrs, and you feel the vibration right down to your pantie
line.
You're almost surprised when the clasp on your bra pops open, but of course
that's what she'd been doing with her claws. The obstructive piece of fabric
falls free and she's holding your tits in her hands like she's judging their
weight. You like to think they're an impressive size, and she seems to think so
too.
The point at the tip of her tongue darts out to circle one exposed nipple, and
you watch in fascination as it visibly hardens, the skin drawing in tight to
bunch into a peek as though trying to get closer to the source of stimulation.
You squirm a bit, splaying out your legs so the junction of your thighs is
pressed into the bed and rubbing against the sheets.
As long as she's having fun playing with your tits you figure it's alright to
play with her hair, and so you start running your fingers through it. You sort
of expect it to have that stiff, artificial feel to it that most cosplay wigs
do, but it's surprisingly fine as it slides easily between your fingers. It's
curly, and sticks out in a way that you faintly register shouldn't really be
possible, but it feels nice in your hands and when you lean forward a bit into
her talented tongue it feels equally nice against your neck.
"Your hair is soft," you tell her, and she purrs again, nuzzling your boobs
like she's trying to burrow between them.
"All of you is soft," she sighs.
"Hey!" you give her hair a little tug and she squeaks, "I've been wrestling
with Dirk, Jake and a metric ton of skeletons since we got into the medium! I
will have you know I have abs of steel!"
She laughs against your breasts and you decide a demonstration is in order,
pushing her back down onto the bed by her shoulders and grinding down onto her
thigh. That feels good so you decide to keep doing it, leaning your weight on
your hands and rocking back and forth, your tits swinging jauntily above her
face. She lets out a raspy, hungry sound and arches up, lapping at the nipple
she hadn't previously been toying with and making you groan slightly at the
combined stimulation on two pleasure points.
At this point you become aware that her bulge has come out to play again and is
now wriggling cheekily against your abdomen. You glance down your body and see
it leaving a slick green trail where is lashes against your skin, and you know
somewhere below it her nooks is blushing lime.
"You're wearing too much," you decide. With your help she wriggles out of her
pants and underwear, kicking them aside with her already bare feet, and you
start on her upper body. The coat comes off, but you leave the ends of the bow-
tie hanging around her neck as you unbutton her shirt, a splash of
red among all the green.
You can see why she was so fascinated with your chest; she doesn't have much of
one herself, and though you detect two subtle rises of soft flesh you can see
her collarbone and count her ribs as easily as if she were a boy. That makes
sense, you suppose, since half the time she was a boy, and maybe it's her troll
body but you feel a surge of pity that in no way dampens your desire to fuck
her.
You quickly divest her of her shirt and tie, but when you reach for your own
skirt she stops your hand.
"Can you, leave it on?" she pleads, and you nod your understanding. You
remember her telling you about a horrendous fit her brother had thrown after
she'd fallen asleep halfway through taking off her troll cosplay makeup, and a
number of similar tantrums earlier in life would probably have been enough to
instill a strong tendency towards non-feminine clothes.
You ruck up your skirt and crawl up her body on your knees until you're
straddling her middle. Her clawed hands caress your thighs, stroking them
gently, before three fingers find their way to the seat of your pink panties.
She pets you there for a moment, making you squirm half in pleasure, half in
visceral fear at having something so sharp so close to the most sensitive part
of your body. Then she hooks a finger around the fabric and pulls it aside,
exposing you, and you must be damp there because the air feels unbearably cold.
You whine and press down onto her fingers, wanting the warmth, and she rubs
with the back of her knuckles, always careful with her claws.
"Your nook is so pretty," she says dreamily, then starts and glances up at you
nervously. "I mean, that's not the word, your v-va-va-"
"You can say nook, sweetie," you giggle, if only to stop her stuttering. On
previous occasions she had seemed at a loss for what term to use when asking if
she could play with your rack, and as amusing as it was to listen to her get
halfway through saying 'breasts' and then change her mind and decide to say
'boobs' you had told her that she could use troll terms if it made her feel
more comfortable.
There's only so much she can do with her knuckles and her sweet smile, however,
so you reluctantly straighten up and help her pull your underwear all the way
down to your knees. This is as far as they'll go without you closing your legs,
so you shimmy back down her body and rest your head on her stomach while you
pull you legs up and in enough to slip the scrap of cloth over your feet.
Interestingly enough this puts you at the perfect angle to observe her bulge,
which is fully unsheathed and flailing wildly in search of a tight space to
squirm into. It seems to sense your face nearby, and it manages to trail
experimentally across your lips before Calliope makes a distressed noise and
reaches down to pull it out of your way.
Gently you push her hand away and crouch over her again.
"Roxy, you don't need to-" she cuts herself off with a high, desperate trilling
noise as you let the tip of her bulge break the seal of your lips. You suckle
it slightly and she jerks, collapsing down into the pillows and trembling
helplessly.
You pull back a bit and lick the surprisingly sweet fluid from your lips.
"Hush," you breath hotly on her bulge when she opens her mouth to protest
again. "You have no idea how many bottles I stuck down my throat practicing for
this."
A bulge is absolutely nothing like the neck of a bottle. It's actually nothing
like human dick either, despite being warm and alive. It's slick and yielding,
not hard or firm at all, and it doesn't get any calmer once it's found a hole
to bury itself in. Most of the actual sucking you're doing is trying to tuck
your lips as far back over your teeth as you can to avoid hurting her, but the
thing is still behaving like it badly wants a go at your digestive tract. You
almost choke but don't quite, and by wrestling it with your tongue and keeping
a firm, steady suction on it you manage to keep it still long enough to regain
some form of control over the situation.
This is also about the time Calliope goes from soft chirruping moans to a high
keening wail and starts thrashing underneath you. She's tossing her head side
to side, fisting her hands in the sheets, and her eyes are screwed shut like
she's afraid she's going to fly apart at any moment.
"W-wait," she manages to get out, pushing on the top of your head with one
hand. The slurping noise as you pull your mouth away from her bulge is
deliciously obscene.
"I d-don't want to . . . like th-this . . ." she pants, forcing her eyes open
enough to look at you pleadingly from beneath her lashes. "I want . . . to b-be
. . ."
You don't need much persuasion. Your nook is already beginning to leak down
your thighs when you climb over her and line yourself up.
You expect it to take a moment or two to get started, so you jolt when her
bulge immediately finds your nook and plunges inside without so much as a
warning prod. You can't tell if Calliope is in control of the thing or not but
it doesn't go slow, spears you on it's length so your legs turn to ectoplasmic
goo and slide out from underneath you, dropping you down further until the two
of you are pressed groin to groin and every last inch is inside. It's nothing
like your toys, with their frustratingly limited buzzing, needing to be thrust
in and out to create that glorious friction. It thrashes inside you, pressing
on your inner walls, stroking you everywhere at once, touching you in places
you didn't know you had and lighting you up. There's no need to bounce or
thrust, you just grind down onto her, not wanting to let up, desperate to take
more, more, more. Calliope's wailing again, making a noise that doesn't sound
like it could be replicated by human vocal cords as she presses back up against
you just as desperately.
You hear a steady stream of "oh gog, yes, there, yes gog yes," and vaguely
register that it's coming from you.
Calliope goes first. Her keening goes up another octave and then she's grasping
at your arm, and you have to pull yourself up and off her just a bit because
suddenly you're so full you can't take any more and warm fluid is seeping out
of you and running down your thighs and getting into the sheets but you don't
really care because your clit is warm and wet and her bulge is sliding against
it and that's enough for you to follow her over the edge.
The bed is big enough for you to lay side by side, so you collapse next to
Calliope as soon as her bulge retracts fully into its protective sheath. The
two of you lay there a minute, trying to catch your breath. You bury your nose
in her neck and breath her in, the scent of candy and special stardust and
limes.
Something is still bothering you, but you wonder if now is the time.
Then you remember that now may be the only time.
"Callie, are you always a giant spooky space snake?"
Calliope tenses, and you feel bad for ruining the moment, but now may be the
only chance you get, and you need this.
"Well, no," she admits, turning over so the two of you lay facing each other on
the pillow. "That is just for, um, mating."
"So, can I see what you really look like most of the time? I mean, just to see?
You can go right back if you want, but . . ."
She stares at a point over your right ear, and for a moment she doesn't say
anything. You can tell she wants to give you this, but she's never done this
before. She's doing a lot of things for you she's never done before, and you
wrap you arms around her and pull her close because it's the only thing you can
think of.
"I don't want you to be afraid of me," she whispers, and you can feel her
breath across the bridge of your nose.
Suddenly you know something with absolute clarity, and you wonder if maybe this
is what it feels like to be a Hero of Light.
"I won't."
Her head is a skull.
Not really, but it looks like it. It might as well be, for all the flimsy layer
of stretched skin does to cover the bone. Either the skin or the bone, or both,
is a dark forest green. There is no flesh or cartillage to disguise the hole of
her nose, the points of her cheekbones. She has no hair, but she still has
eyelashes, and you wonder how that's possible.
She also still has the lime green swirls on both her cheeks, and you can see
now that they fit perfectly onto the jut of her cheekbones. Her fangs are the
same, the same size and shape, if tinted a bit greener than before.
Her eyes are exactly the same.
"Roxy-" she begins breathlessly, eyes big and green and watery, and it's never
felt so right to kiss her, right between her fangs and on her lip-less mouth
and right in the way of whatever silly thing she'd been about to say.
When you break apart she looks at you, confused.
"Callie," you whisper. "You're beautiful."
She's crying. She's crying and you're okay with that because she's also
smiling. She's crying and smiling and whispering "thank you, thank you, thank
you," over and over again, and you have never been happier.
"Oh honey," you boop her on the nose, "it ain't no thing."
End Notes
     Roxy and Dirk grew up on an Earth which was under subjugation by
     trolls, and they mention quadrants several times. Yes, I do get to
     call Roxy and Calliope matesprits and anyone who doesn't like it gets
     to shut their fucking mouth.
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