Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4479863.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      The_Condesce/Karkat_Vantas
  Character:
      The_Condesce, Karkat_Vantas, The_Signless_|_The_Sufferer
  Additional Tags:
      Implied_and_unrequited??_The_Condesce/The_Signless, Bondage,
      Threshecutioner_Karkat, AKA_my_fave_AU, death_mention
  Collections:
      Ancestral_Anthology_2015
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-02 Words: 1920
****** Vivid Red ******
by TriadicUniverse
Summary
     For the Ancestral Anthology 2015. Her Imperious Condescension finds a
     new plaything that brings back old memories, both of which affect her
     more than she could have ever expected.
Nubby horns. Round eyes. A childish face that betrayed defiance and terror
simultaneously. Her Imperious Condescension couldn’t begin to imagine how the
loud-mouthed mutant had been able to reproduce, and yet somehow his offspring
was chained and kneeling before her throne. She had seen some serious shit over
the sweeps, but this was definitely high on the list. As she lounged, tapping
her claws against her trident and pondering however the fuck this could have
occurred, the wiry purpleblood holding a spear to the mutant’s throat seemed to
grow more and more antsy.
“Your Majesty, if it pleases you, I may dispose of him quickly,” he said
finally, tearing her away from her considerations. She glowered at her
subordinate and the criminal in turn. The mini-preacher was trembling visibly,
his face bright-red and beading with sweat. His eyebrows were creased together,
and the way his mouth was screwed shut resembled a pufferfish more than
anything else. He was the least dignified or threatening troll she had ever
seen, and yet he held his head up high and looked as if he planned to do so
until the moment he passed out from terror. One thing was for sure, she didn’t
want to kill him right away.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, the Empress gave her decision. “Nah, leave
him here. I’ll deal with ‘im.”
The kid looked as if he had just shat his pants. The threshecutioners nodded
solemnly and backed out of the throne room. Most of them were surely unhappy at
being denied such a unique kill, but it wasn’t like the Queen had to give a
fuck about that. She rested her chin in one hand and waited until the throne
room was empty. After a few short seconds, the doors slammed shut.
Nubby made a sound as if he was about to speak. The Condesce fixed her eyes on
him, lifting a brow as she waited in icy silence. He swallowed hard, his face
flushed, but managed to look her dead in the eye as she spoke. “I know that
trash like myself clearly deserves to be murdered in all kinds of gruesome ways
and hung from a palace spire, and I don’t actually have any right to ask favors
of a sewer rat, much less an Empress, but if it’s not inconvenient for you and
you happen to be having a good night, maybe you’d consider killing me quickly?”
He was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. The Queen watched
impassively, her teeth needling at her lower lip. Eventually, the tumultuous
cascade of her thoughts came to a unanimous conclusion; ‘fuck it.’
“You a virgin, babycakes?” she asked, and watched the descendant of the
Sufferer gape like a fish out of water.
Over the next few nights, the Condesce learned a few things. One; Karkat Vantas
had been virgin, and when the Empress proceeded to change that he finally did
pass right the fuck out. When he came around, she had him cradled in her lap
(still chained, because it was a great look for him), while the guards returned
to the throne room.
Two; he was an absolute angel around her, but if anyone else so much as looked
at him he would unleash righteous fury the likes of which had not been seen
since the time of his ancestor. This should have upset her, but the sight of
her tiny new pet facing off against a troll three times his size was simply too
precious.
The third came when a troll in the palace took offense to the mutant’s temper
(achingly familiar, and achingly inevitable), and that was that Karkat Vantas
backed up his harsh words with a surprising amount of martial prowess. The
Empress paid more attention that night when she undressed him and yes, that was
a fair amount of muscle beneath the wiggler fat. She smiled, called him her
little Spitfire, and he chirped like a grub when she kissed every inch of his
skin.
When he let slip his old dreams of becoming a threshecutioner, she could not
have been happier. Within hours she had him in uniform, with a brand new sickle
and his blood color emblazoned boldly across his chest. The unnatural red
contrasted beautiful with the fuchsia and gold glittering from the collar
around his throat. He knelt before her throne and all the aristocrats in her
court and took the vows of a threshecutioner. Then he boldly looked up, meeting
her eyes with his; round and gray with a thin ring of bright scarlet. His lip
was quivering, and pale tears pricked at the corners of his eyes (he was so
happy to serve her, so glad to have impressed her. It was his eagerness that
surprised her for the first time in eons).
Karkat Vantas sobbed happily all through that day, whimpering every time the
Empress pressed her lips to his.
She gave him jewelry. She gave him the best orgasms of his short life; she gave
him a spaceship. With every gift his eyes would light up, even as he crossed
his arms and pursed his lips and pretended he was a big, tough threshecutioner
that didn’t need to be coddled by his Queen (an old voice spoke of a world
where this was normal, this was encouraged. Maybe it wasn’t nonsense after
all). Maybe he didn’t, but that would never stop her, especially with the way
he squeaked every time she danced her fingers up his belly. She would not give
him up, not for all the treasures she had seen in all her long life.
She loved him so much—her little Spitfire, her vicious warrior, her
firebrand—sometimes it wiped the memory of the preacher (screaming, bleeding,
suffering) from her mind.
After sweeps passed, he still didn’t know why she liked him so much with his
arms bound above his head, and she didn’t tell him why (there was no need to
bring up bad blood). All Karkat had to know was that when he was strung up in
her chambers, dressed only in leggings that did nothing to conceal the curve of
his bulge, Her Imperious Condescension could not be happier (he was so
beautiful, vulnerable and stretched out on display). He had been unnerved at
first, but he had grown to enjoy the predatory sweep of her gaze; it let him
know how badly she wanted him. After all, she often told him how there was no
troll quite like him (the only troll that might match him was long dead).
But oh, there was no need to mourn, not with such a gorgeous little thing bound
before her like he was. The Condesce was content for a while just to watch him.
He struggled and writhed (he did not want to escape, but she liked to see him
move), wiry muscles straining under soft curves. His lips, swollen and dark,
parted around his beautiful sounds (were all mutants so vocal? She hoped so).
The ancient queen allowed herself a childish giggle as she trailed her hands up
the soft flesh of his torso, squeezing and groping all the way up to his chest
(she had wanted to do this so long ago—people had been watching, but now they
were alone, there was no one to see). Karkat heaved with a full body shudder as
she teased the sensitive nubs peaking out over his ridiculous leggings (even he
loathed them, but he would wear them for her). His back arched and his eyelids
drooped. He watched her closely (his eyes were ringed with the brightest
crimson she had ever seen, burning like the daytime sun over the ocean).
When he was distracted, her hand slipped down to cup his bulge. Before she knew
it he was squirming again, his thighs quivering and nook dripping through his
clothes (she wanted to see how long she could leave him here, wear him down
until he begged). She could feel his bulge try to wrap around her wrist, even
through the thin fabric, and was endlessly pleased.
She smiled for him, painted lips stretched over teeth like razors. The tips of
her claws pricked harmlessly against Karkat’s groin, making him whimper like a
choice piece of prey. That comparison was surprisingly apt, and she licked her
lips before she could stop herself (he would be delicious, either way). Her
voice was breathless, a wanting tone that only he heard, as she spoke. “What do
we spray, babycakes?” she teased.
His response tumbled from his lips in a barely coherent tangle of words.
“Please! Please oh god undress me, fuck me, please!”
He was everything she could have hoped for. A subsonic keen emitted from her
throat, one that she knew he would feel. Once again, she had underestimated
just how much messing with him would hurt her as well. Damn pitiful,
warmblooded, precious playthings, making her feel powerful emotions that ill-
fitted an Empress. Anger was encouraged. Indignation was expected. Pride and
condescension were par for the course. Heart-wrenching pity? That was
unacceptable.
She cupped his cheeks and kissed him hard. He truly was like a firebrand
against her, hotblooded and strange, setting off sparks in her belly. Her teeth
shredded his lower lip, but that did not stop him from kissing back. Helpless
sounds escaped his mouth, just to be passed into hers. Her arms which could
bend iron wrapped around him as tightly as she dared (breaking him would break
her as well). She could feel his body, pliant and soft, shuddering against
hers. His legs managed to wrap around her thigh and he began to hump needily,
just like the horny and in love adolescent he was. She didn’t want to admit
that she felt the same way.
Scarlet stained her lips as she pulled away.
(Her eyes followed every curve as he struggled, pleaded, wanting to be with the
one he loved so desperately. Even now he was stubborn, but she knew that he
would break down before long.)
(Hanging by his arms, his clothes shredded, the suffering mutant was so young,
so fragile and vulnerable before the eyes of his Queen. Rose-tinted tears
spilled from his eyes. Even now he tried to talk, but his words were a jumbled
mess of curses and pleas as he neared his finish.)
Karkat Vantas shrieked as the old Empress drove into him, claiming him in every
way she wanted to. Her precious plaything, her crowning jewel.
(He screamed in his final moments, vivid red staining the ground.)
The Threshecutioner Spitfire lay, sated and dazed, in the arms of his Queen.
His head rested against her chest, listening to the ancient beat of her heart.
He reached out and took one of her hands in his; she was so much larger than
him, with her fingers ringed with gold and tipped with claws like razors. Her
other hand stroked through his hair and around the base of his horns.
He looked up and into her eyes, cold fuchsia that he had come to know so well.
She was dangerous and beautiful, like the ocean raging in a storm, and just as
ancient. For once, she looked tired. “What is it, angelfish?” she said,
uncharacteristically subdued.
Karkat swallowed, squeezed her hand, and said, “I love you.”
Her fins pinned back, and her expression was unreadable, even as her lips
curved into a smile. As she leaned down to kiss his forehead, she did not say
another word.
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