Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1029711.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Cronus_Ampora/Sollux_Captor
  Character:
      Sollux_Captor, Cronus_Ampora
  Additional Tags:
      Xeno, First_Time, Blow_Jobs, Age_Difference, Size_Difference, Frottage,
      Self-Penetration, Fingering, Premature_Ejaculation, Nooks_Twofold,
      Fluctuating_Consent, Multiple_Orgasms, Power_Imbalance, psionic_play,
      Horn_Stimulation, Beforus!Sollux
  Series:
      Part 1 of Spinning_Ovwer_My_Head
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-03 Words: 3176
****** Spinning Ovwer My Head ******
by Aewin
Summary
     Eridan's right. This guy is so bangable, and you're going to be the
     one to do it.
     ...just as soon as you can manage to make that whole 'words' thing
     work again.
     (Beforus!Sollux/Cronus, based on this_SFW_art from tumblr.)
Notes
     This is a Beforus!Sollux/Cronus piece inspired by the art and
     conversation thread here on tumblr. The three gift recipients all
     played a vital role in the conversation that led to this fic.
     Everybody should go offer them hugs.
     A quick warning: the idea here is that a borderline-underage Cronus
     gets in over his head. Cronus gives enthusiastic consent but it
     fluctuates as he realizes just how screwed he really is, and since
     it's Cronus he doesn't ask to stop—he just keeps going to achieve his
     goal of manipulating Eridan. Given this situation and the age
     difference, this might squick some people out. Read with caution.
See the end of the work for more notes
When the sky begins to brighten a bit, it dawns on you that it’s been hours
since your ancestor forgot about you outside the club. Or maybe he left you
here on purpose. Either way, you’re drying off after swimming laps around the
club’s dock, cursing Eridan for being—well, Eridan—when you notice a guy step
out of the club with a slight swagger in his step. Taller than you, four pointy
horns with curves that make you swoon, jeans that cradle his ass so closely
that you seethe with jealousy from the first glance. And there’s something
familiar about him too, something that you can’t quite place until he pulls a
cigarette from a sinfully tight pocket and lights it with a small shower of red
and blue sparks. Oh. This is the guy Eridan talks about all the time. Well,
there’s no wondering what Eridan finds attractive in him; your bulge is
starting to slip out of its sheath just from watching the languid, self-assured
way he moves. Something in his confident body language just screams that here’s
a guy you do not fuck with. He leans in a slant against the wall, throwing his
head back to eye the night sky with a coy half-smirk, and you want him.
No—you need him, both for yourself and to pay Eridan back for leaving you here.
He arches an eyebrow at you as you approach, and flicks a small shower of ash
into the air before taking another drag. He lets the breath out slowly, and
you’re close enough that you can smell the ashy puff of smoke as it leaves his
body. He’s a bit over a head taller than you, up close. Wow.
“Sup?” It comes out with a bit of a slur at the beginning.
“Um.” Crap. You didn’t actually think this far. Your fins droop nervously as
you stutter and stumble around for words.
He saves you though, because he’s cool like that. He clenches the tip of his
forked tongue between his teeth as he digs around in his pocket and shakes
something inside, and oh hell, the shape of his hand reaches almost as far as
his sheath. The movement makes it look like he’s trying to get off, and you
swallow hard as you go dizzy with need. You’ve never seen another troll touch
themselves; you’ve only tried it on yourself, and watching him nearly makes you
whimper, imagining those long fingers against your bulge. You’re halfway there,
and he hasn’t even touched you.
He throws his arm around you sloppily and lights a second cigarette with his
own while you’re busy panicking at the decreasing distance between your faces.
You hold on to him for balance, and almost jerk away when you realize your hand
is gripping his thigh dangerously close to his nook and bulge. But you take a
deep breath and keep the hand there—getting close to his junk is sort of the
point, after all.
“Want one?”
Holy crap. Fuck, do you ever. You nearly drop it twice taking it from him, but
it’s easy enough to figure out that the non-burning end goes in your mouth. You
shoot him what you hope is a confident grin and try to imitate him, pressing it
to your lips and sucking the smoke into your mouth in a long inhale. It tickles
at your throat for a brief moment before you’re suddenly bent over, coughing
and retching and dropping the cigarette.
The guy snorts. “Didn’t know that shit could even make it to your gills, much
less out of ‘em. Learn something new every night, I guess. You okay?”
You nod, eyes watering, and try to flush it all from your system before he
notices how badly it’s affecting you, because it burns, how the hell do people
do this?
He falls back against the wall, but he sort of takes you with him, since his
arm seems to have found its way back around you. He flicks his stub into the
air and it disintegrates in a wind-swept flurry of ash. Fuck, that’s hot. Your
bulge is going to fall off before this is over. Maybe you shouldn’t have tried
this.
“You just need to practice some and you’ll be fine.” Oh. He’s lisping, not
slurring. Finding that one subpar detail about him finally gives you the
confidence to say something.
“Y—yeah? Vwell, maybe you could help me practice?”
He tilts his head down and eyes you over the top of his dual-colored glasses.
His eyes are dual-colored as well, and glowing faintly in the darkness. It’s a
little unnerving.
“Shit. You’re Ampora’s descendant.”
You glance at the door to the club—where Eridan should be but isn’t—and kick at
a rock sullenly. “Unfortunately.”
He snorts again. “Smart little wriggler, aren’t you?”
Oh, hell no. This is not going the direction you wanted it to. You clench your
fists and glare at him, your fins flaring in challenge.
“I’m nine svweeps old, I am not a wvriggler!” Adding a sweep never hurt anyone,
and it’s close enough that he probably won’t be able to tell. You hope.
“Look, kid. You’re cute and all, but remind me again of one thing you’ve done
since you met me that hasn’t contributed to that impression?”
You shove him against the wall, fist your hands in his shirt, and haul him down
for a rough kiss.
He doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of hesitating in uncertainty, like
they do in the movies. He presses into you like he was expecting it, slipping
his forked tongue straight into your mouth and gathering you up tightly as you
melt into him. Your lips burn with the scrapes his fangs leave when he nips at
you, and you’re dizzy with lack of air and the smoky, acrid taste of him. His
knee presses between your thighs, rubbing against your squirming bulge, and
it’s all you can do not to come on the spot. It’s a few moments before you come
to your senses and realize that you should be doing something for him too if
you want this to go further, but he grabs your wrist when you start to rub at
the front of his pants.
“Wait.” His voice is low and rough, and it makes you shiver against him. He
sniggers nasally at you before continuing. What a prick. “You, uh. You sure you
want to go there? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but I might be packing a
little much for you to handle.”
You snarl up at him. “Fuckin’ try me.”
His tongue darts out to moisten his chapped lips. “Ehehe. You asked for it,
kid. But not in the middle of the fucking alley. My hive is just down the
street. Let’s head there, and then you can touch any part of my glorious body
you want to.” He flashes you a lascivious smirk that makes your knees go weak.
You’re doomed.
You nod, and he pulls you forward by the wrist, surprisingly steady for someone
as drunk as he seems to be. The beat of your bloodpusher pounds hard and heavy
in your ears during the entire five-minute dash to his hive. He pulls you
inside and slams you up against the door, nipping and sucking at your jawline,
coaxing out a chorus of broken moans that drowns out the steady rhythm of your
pusher. You lose your shirt somewhere between the door and the couch, and you
have zero urge to deny him when he thrusts a bottle of something bubbly at you
in between makeouts. At this point, you don’t have the urge for anything
besides getting clothes off and bits together as quickly as trollishly
possible. You toss it back and manage not to choke as it burns its way down
your throat, and you’re rewarded with a mischievous grin before you fling
yourself into his lap again and guide your teeth to his ear. It finally draws a
groan out of him, and your hips jerk involuntarily at the sound.
He laughs, and flips you over without any apparent effort. His weight crushes
you; for all he’s a skinny bastard, he’s still an adult sweeps older than you.
He pauses for a moment to fling his own shirt across the room, and then leans
in to mouth at—at—oh, fuck, your gills!? You tense and cry out when that forked
tongue dips into one of the flaps, and you can hear him snicker against you.
“You didn’t expect me to get a go at a seadweller and not take advantage of the
situation, did you?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your body is screaming at you to push him away, to claw and
bite and bruise until your most sensitive bits are out of danger, but you’re
not sure if this is supposed to be black or red, or—or anything, really, it’s
just supposed to be payback for Eridan, and you can’t fuck this up now, not
when you’re so close. You can’t stop your nictitating eyelids from slamming
down protectively, or your eyes from rolling back a bit in instinctive fear,
but you focus on breathing while he continues to trace up and down the edges of
your neck gills. It’s only a few moments before you relax enough to realize it
actually feels kind of nice, and you end up melting into a breathless, needy
puddle underneath him again.
God, your bulge is sore as fuck now, twisting angrily out of your underwear and
against the rough fabric of your jeans. It burns, and you’re going to die if it
gets too chapped for you to get off. The vague idea forms that possibly you
should just unbutton your pants, but the other guy makes it there first,
snaking his hand below your waistband and stroking his thumb along the angrily
swollen flesh. You yelp at the touch and arch into his hand, and he sniggers at
you again. The weight on you lessens as he props himself up on an elbow.
“Holy crap kid, are all seadwellers this wet or did I get the fresh-caught
special?” He withdraws his other hand and threads his tongue through his
fingers, and shit shit shityou’re almost there just from watching him lick
violet off of himself. Your nook is aching and empty and clenching around
nothing, and your bulge is pulsing dangerously in his hand.
“Nrrrgaahh.” Not quite the suave response you were hoping to get out there.
“Is—fuck—is the lisp a landdwveller thing or did I just luck out and vwin the
freak lottery?”
His eyes flash an inch from yours—literally flash, and you shudder
and—literally, embarrassingly—come in your pants as sparks skitter painfully
across your face. Fuck, he’s not even touching you, not anywhere that
counts—only enough to feel the way you tense and release under him, and fuck
that bastard, he’s laughing at you again while material starts to leak through
the seat of your jeans and onto his freaky two-tone couch.
“—ehehe, oh my god, I can’t fucking believe—” His face is buried in your neck
now, his horns squeaking against the couch, and his whole body is shaking
against you as he mouths oh-so-hilarious insinuations about your age and sexual
prowess under his breath. A growl builds in your chest, and it seems to snap
him back to reality. He pushes himself up, still struggling with laughter.
“Hey, hey. Easy there finger—ehehe, fingerling,let’s find a better use for your
mouth than pretending you can handle a black fling with me, okay?” He wraps his
arms around you and he rolls until the two of you are flipped again, your face
flushing hot with embarrassment at the squelch you make as you’re lifted from
your puddle of material. “Shhh. S’okay, kid. Everyone has some stamina problems
at first. ‘Cept for me but I had—heh—twice the experience.” He pushes you to
your knees in front of him, and you gulp as he unbuckles his belt. God, you’re
actually about to do this. Fuck Eridan, fuck the mess in your pants, you’re
about to pleasure a fully-grown troll and fill your first bucket and nothing is
going to stop you because it’s actually happening, right the fuck now.
The guy wriggles out of his pants and undies in a single practiced movement,
and you shuffle forward eagerly—
And.
Uh.
“Vwhoa.”
He has two bulges, or maybe just a single split one—it’s hard to tell, with the
way it’s all just sort of tangled up with itself, trailing thin strands of
yellow genetic material (really, you’re getting this worked up over a
yellowblood? Eridan gets this worked up over coddled cullbait like him? Fuck,
you are never gonna let him live this down) from tip to tip. His legs are
spread wide, giving you a good look at his soaking nook too. Nooks. The guy has
nooks. What the fuck kind of freak show did you just come home with?
Oh god, this is perfect. You know about this, and you’d bet your left fin that
Eridan doesn’t. You are gonna fuck this guy so hard in both of his nooks that
Eridan can hear him screaming down the block.
“Get to work, I’m dying over here. You do know how to do this, right? Being a
big, tough adult and all?”
Crap. You have to try to fit those in your mouth, and you only have a vague
clue what the tide-loving fuck you’re doing. But you’re too far in to back off
now; you have to keep this guy happy so he’ll fuck you, so you flip him the
finger and nuzzle against the base of his bulges. He smells salty, a little bit
like the sea, and it gives you the confidence needed to trace your tongue along
the split between his nooks until he moans, almost a whine, and digs his
fingers into your back to pull you up.
“N—no, I need something in my nook and your pitiful fucking tongue isn’t gonna
cut it. Fingers. Mouth on the bulge—shit, yeah, there, more—”He thrusts his
hips into your face, impaling himself on your fingers. You work them in as hard
as you can, your index and middle fingers going into one nook, your ring and
little fingers in the other, and take the tip of one bulge into your mouth as
he fucks himself on you. Shit, and he talked about you being wet? You’re pretty
sure his nook is wetter than you are, and you already came. His clutching,
smooth-textured wetness contracts around you as the tip of the second bulge
works its way into you. You run your tongue along the split and take them
further in.
Your jaw is really starting to hurt from holding your mouth open this wide but
you are not going to give in like a wriggler. You inhale a large gulp of air
through your nose and go for it. He breathes out a “fffuck, Ampora—” when you
swallow around his bulges, so you figure you must be doing this right, and your
own bulge stirs back to life at the sound, pulsing in your sticky-cold pants.
It’s uncomfortable but you don’t have a free hand to do anything about it with,
not when one is shoved so far up his nook that your wrist is starting to ache,
and the other is propping you up against the couch.
You’re just starting to get into a rhythm of stroking and sucking when
something buzzes around the tips of your horns, and you jerk so hard that you
nearly choke on the guy’s already-too-much pair of bulges. Wait. It’s not the
jerking that choked you, he’s using his damn psionics to hold your head down
around his bulge while he fucks your face, and it’s somehow both sexy and
uncomfortable and you’d bite the bastard if you didn’t know he could kill you
with a thought or split you in half by trying to stuff you with both bulges.
Fuck. Fuck, he’s not gonna do that, is he? You couldn’t fucking survive, not
both of them, you’d bleed and bruise andwhat the fuck have you gotten yourself
into Cronus, fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re gonna die, this adult is gonna use you
until you’re broken and crying and dying and what the everloving shit is your
problem, why are you getting off on this, why is your bulge sliding into your
nook because of this, you’re sick, so fucking sick and wrong and pan-rotted to
be enjoying this but you still want it, you want it so fucking much—
The guy’s hips snap one last time and he shouts something garbled before
releasing a thick stream of gooey material down your throat, searing-hot and
salty. You panic again and choke, flaring your gills for air as you’re pumped
full of heat. You’re certain you didn’t come this much, there’s no way. You
shut your eyes and focus on swallowing it down without choking, and of course
that’s when the guy notices you’re struggling and loosens his psychic hold on
your horns. Material splashes onto your cheek as you pull away and gasp for
air, but before you can wipe it off you’re pulled into Coolguy’s lap and—is he?
Is he fucking licking his spunk off your—oh god he’s licking his spunk off your
face, that is incredibly disgustingly hot and sloppy, fuck.
“—took it like a champ, oh fuck, do it again, I know you’re almost there, I can
feel you fucking yourself against my leg there, just—just do it, come for me,
kid—”
You do. You fill yourself full, grinding against his leg and whimpering into
his neck and shuddering against him. He holds your slumped body in place while
you listen to his heavy breathing and the splatter of material dripping from
the couch and wonder what the fuck you just did. As stupid as it is you still
want him inside of you, but you don’t think either of you could do that, not
now. You could only pray that he would be okay just fucking you with one of
them anyways.
You’ll practice. You’ll find something, anything, and practice fucking yourself
for him. You’ll try this again, and take them both, and brag to Eridan all over
again. Yeah. That’ll be—
That’ll be cool.
You fall asleep somewhere between “fucking hell, kid” and something you’ll
never hear.
———
When you wake in the evening, he’s gone and you’re not wearing pants or
underwear. That’s a little concerning before you notice them, clean and neatly
folded, on the (mostly-clean) couch beside you, with a note pinned to the top.
 
iit wa2 fun, kiid. you know where two fiind me iif you want two work on that
liittle 2tamiina problem, ehehe.
— ♊
 
You grin. You think you might just take him up on that offer.
 
End Notes
     For anyone who's interested in hearing this, I modified it slightly
     into a script, and Scotchduet did an amazing job voicing_it in-
     character. Thanks to Scotchduet for doing so, because it's hot as
     hell, hhhhh.
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