Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/238936.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Tavros_Nitram/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      Tavros_Nitram, Dave_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, Horn_Stimulation, Prostate_Milking, Second_person_POV, Established
      Relationship, Milking
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-13 Words: 4542
****** Closer ******
by ShyPumpkin
Summary
     Dave Strider taking you always begins with a plate of nachos. (PWP
     kinkmeme fill for Milking)
It's always the same; the same time, the same warning signs, the same stack of
seemingly innocent gestures, actions, and phrases. It's as if he wants you to
know when it's coming and he wants to work it up. Dave Strider fucking you
senseless always starts with a plate of nachos.
This time is no different.
You sit down on the futon, your bile pump beating out of control. Like
clockwork, your bubblemate clears the corner into the living room, two paper
plates in hand. You can almost swear the look on his face is triumphant.
“You're in luck tonight bro, cheesy ambrosia on the finest earth dinnerware.”
Your heart stops and time stands still.
You stop drying your hair, setting the towel beside you in a trance. Your pulse
accelerates, thumping loudly in your auditory canals as you reach out with
shaking hands to grab the plate of what Dave calls “nanchos made from the
blood, sweat, and tears of the ancient cheese gods, flayed and melted for our
nourishment.” You look down at the weird triangular crisps, your bulge
throbbing in anticipation. “Th-thanks.” You mutter, your cheeks flushing a dark
shade of copper, a shiver running up your spine. This is what he's gotten you
to: handing you a plate of nachos makes you into a blubbering mess.
He crashes on the couch next to you and you eye him, intently watching him as
he leans forward. He picks up a set of nail clippers and smirks at you. Your
breath hitches in your throat. “Are you going to eat or are you too distracted
by this hot mess getting all over the futon? Better call the maid in, this shit
stains.” Click, click, click. Dave's nail clippings fall into the trash can at
his feet and you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. He arches an eyebrow
at you and, as if remembering yourself, you scramble to slide a cheesy chip
into your mouth, pureeing it with your teeth.
“I... uh... guess it is something like that,” you say meekly between bites. He
smirks, chuckling softly. Your mouth goes dry. You continue to watch him,
mesmerized as he clips off his fingernails gingerly, taking care to not leave
any jagged edges. You stare beyond him momentarily at that box. Saliva starts
to pool in your mouth again, your hand trembling with excitement. You know what
comes next. “Uhh, so, I just took a shower...” He stares at you, his expression
unchanging. Click, click, click. “It was pretty nice,” you say anxiously,
enunciating each word carefully. His face twitches a little in response and you
shiver, knowing he's excited for this too.
“Welp. Good for you bro. Sounds like the TMI train has pulled into town again,
taking me for a ride down trolldick town lane, informing me about all that shit
I never knew I wanted to know about like how steamy it is in Tav land and how
hot your shit was.” Click, click, click. More discarded nails in the can.
Another step closer. He looks up at you with a smirk and your pulse soars out
of control. “Are you telling me this for a reason bro? Is there something I
should know? Is it the clap? Do you need a prognosis?” You frown at him. “Need
to get your troll smegma cleared?” You crinkle your nose.
“I don't think that's really a very appropriate thing to be saying, Dave, and
it's a little bit rude.” You mumble, watching as he sets the clippers down on
the table, picking up a nail file and looking you straight on. Your stomach
lurches and you cram another chip in your mouth, running your tongue over the
cheese and really letting the sensation sink in.
He shrugs, bringing the file down to his nails and trying to look apathetic.
You begin to salivate heavily again as he starts filing the sharp corners off
of his nails. He pauses, looking playfully contemplative and you wonder what he
could possibly be thinking. “Do you need Doc Strider to inspect that sore nub
in your ass?”
You about choke, flipping the nachos on the floor. You eye the mess, groaning
softly and you hear Dave let out a short chuckle. Jumping down with a squeak,
you crawl across the floor, scrambling to pick up each chip. Dave's legs come
down heavily on your back and you snap your head back in surprise. "Dave, I'm
not really down here to be a foot rest."
Dave shrugs, his deadpan expression showing no signs of faltering as he
continues to file his nails. Your bulge throbs. Stretching his arms above his
head in a yawn, he leans back against the couch, crossing his legs on top of
you. "Can a guy not get his stretch on in his own memory reenactment house?
Rude, Nitram."
Your think pan fills with nothing but stammering thoughts, trying to sort out
the right thing to say."It's not really the stretching thing that is the
problem, it's more the fact that your legs are a little heavy, and it's a
little uncomfortable." Dave lets out an exasperated sigh,uncrossing his legs
and bringing them down over your sides, but not without the thick, rough cotton
of his socks rubbing against the sensitive base of your horns. You let out a
small yelp, a jolt of pleasure running down your spine. You shudder and look
back at Dave, his lips slightly parted, his pink tongue jutting out over them.
It's time.
Dave's hands wrap around your horns and the world goes white. You can't breathe
anymore, you can only feel the sharp sensation of hot, calloused fingertips
making their way around your horns, caressing every inch, dipping into every
groove. "Sorry bro, didn't mean to beam you in the horns." You tremble. You
know he did. He always means it. But, he will never admit it. Just like you
know he'll never admit loving the smell of spandex and lubricant filling the
air as he touches you there, but you know he does by the glint in his eyes when
you bring him that box.
“Th-that's fine.” You gasp, failing to keep your tone in check as his fingers
work your horns even quicker. You sink your teeth into your lip, whining as the
staunch taste of copper hits your tongue. Suddenly, he tears his hands away and
you're left panting. You look over your shoulder at him and watch as he leans
forward, setting the nail file down.
He sits stationary and you let out a whimper, trying to shift yourself into a
more suggestive position. Your breathing gets sharper as he leans further
forward, his chest inches from your back. This is what you've been waiting for.
You close your eyes and lift your head up in hopes that he will take the
opportunity to seize your horns once more. Your heart sinks when his hand cups
your face. “Problem?”
You nuzzle against his hand and look up at him with wide eyes, his stoic
expression driving you crazy. “You're doing that thing again where you tease
me, aren't you?”
He puts up his hands in defense and your eyebrows furrow at the loss of
contact. “Welp, you caught me red handed. I got the goods but I can't quite
outrun el toro. Looks like another man gored in the race of the bulls.” He lets
out a nervous laugh, his tongue jutting out over his lips again and you take in
a deep breath. “I bet you wish I would just cut to the chase, don't you?”
“Hnng,” You let out a soft breathy whine and he reaches forward, carding his
fingers through your hair. “I think that would be a nice thing, if you don't
mind.”
Dave leans over you and you gasp, instinctively leaning back against the bulge
in Dave's pants. “So, Toreador, how do you want it this time?” Dave ghosts his
hands over your horns and electric pulses down your spine. He always knows
exactly which buttons to press to get your blood pusher pumping and your bone
bulge throbbing. The hot tips of his fingers encircle your horns and you gasp
for air, leaning into the touch. You hear him chuckle as calloused fingertips
drag down the tips of your horns, along the sensitive base, and against your
scalp. On both sides of your head, Dave lazily drags a finger around where your
horn meets your head and you let out a soft whimper.
“Anyway you want is g-good,” You respond breathlessly, keening into his hand.
He yanks hard on your horns and you let out a sharp yelp, your hands kneading
the carpet and your bone bulge jumping to attention.
“Bro.” His voice is dangerously low, a guttural growl and hot breath on your
ear setting your body on fire with lust, “What were we talking about?” You
whimper as he pinches the tips of your horns, his fingers rubbing the tips
softly. “You can't just get all whiny eager-to-please lady on me and tell me
its all about what I want.” Blunt teeth drag down your jawline and your breath
hitches.
“Da-Dave, please...” You moan, his fingers gliding down the length of your
horns, tracing small, lazy circles on your scalp and you push into the touch.
More. All you want is a little more.
You hear him chuckle, a shiver going down your spine. He's going to make you
beg. He always makes you beg. “Please with no request doesn't cut it for me,
Nitram, you know that.” He grinds his hips against yours and you keen into the
touch, loving every second of it.
You can never get used to this part; asking him to do that to you. You tremble.
“...M-milk me.” You mutter almost inaudibly and his chest presses to your back.
The words still sound foreign coming out of you, making you blush as your
tongue trips over them, but it's the only way to get it. The only way to feel
that pressure deep inside of you, to get him to take you and hear that sound of
steady flow hitting the bottom of the pail is to grovel before him like this.
“What was that? I don't think I heard you right. Was that a 'mommy?'” His hands
tear away from your horns and you whimper, his fingertips dragging down your
sides, blunt nails digging into your skin.
“P-Please. Please m-milk me, Dave.” He hums softly at your request, his
erection grinding into your ass. You desperately grind your hips back in
return, needing more contact. You whimper as he pulls back, yanking you back by
your horns as well. His sunglasses have slid down his nose and you can see the
top half of glossy white eyes staring down at you teasingly, a glint of lust
showing though. You tear your eyes away, the glance making you feel too many
things at once.
“Welp. Would love to do that man, but it's hard when I don't have any supplies.
Guess we're shit out of luck.” Your heart falls at the loss of contact as he
pulls his hands from your horns once more. Desperately, you scramble across the
floor, grabbing a shabby white box and bringing it back to him, extending your
arms in a rush. He quirks an eyebrow at you and your head spins. “Didn't know
the sacrifice for appeasing me was shitty boxes. Lo, blessed are the mailmen
for they will inherit my cock and-” You push it up closer to him, murmuring
“Please, just help me,” under your breath.
He shuts his mouth, a devilish smirk playing at his lips. “Set it down next to
you and get back on your knees.”You comply, unbuttoning your pants and folding
them neatly as Dave walks across the room agonizingly slow. You close your
eyes, waiting for the sound of a steady stream of water hitting metal to fill
the room. You sink to your knees, thinking about him coating his hands in soap,
and scrubbing away at those long elegant fingers.
The sink turns on. Your body tingles. Liquid hitting metal will never be the
same for you. It will forever conjure up images of cool steel pressing against
your inner thighs, the soft plunk of cum in that bright red bucket, and his
fingers sliding up and down your horns. Your bulge throbs.
Your thoughts begin to spin out of control. Dave, washing those thin fingers,
carefully cleaning each one. Dave, humming softly to himself at the sink. Dave,
coming back and snapping a new glove on. Dave, burying those clean, gloved
fingers deep inside you. Your shame globes tense, a delightful ebb of pleasure
rocking throughout your body. The hot flashes of thoughts come faster now. The
slap of the water against the bottom of the sink, his fingers rubbing inside of
you, his lips on your neck, rough cotton on your horns, pounding pressure, the
need to buck up against the hand holding your hips down, wanting to feel more,
the desire to get it harder, faster, more, more, more-
Dave looms over you and you look up at him desperately. You never do hear him
come back from the sink. Not when you're too busy trying to not touch yourself,
grab the bucket under the couch, and just let go. You shiver as he crotches in
front of you, pushing your chin up with his fingers and bending in for a kiss.
You whimper, opening your mouth needfully, desperately. He brushes his tongue
against yours and your entire body tingles. Soft lips, blunt teeth against your
bottom lip, his tongue caressing yours as his head tilts every which way, every
angle he can muster. He pulls away and you whimper again. “What are you waiting
for, Tav? Are you waiting for me to tell you to open that box?” You gasp
softly, your bulge twitching. “Do you like being ordered around man? Or is it
just that you get off on having this shit narrated for you?”
“Dave, that's not-” He grabs your hand and your eyebrows knit in confusion.
This isn't how it normally goes. What is he- oh. He guides your hand to the top
of that white shoe box, making you tip off the lid. The muscles around your
nook twitch in anticipation.
“Then Dave helped him take the lid off the sex box as his stomach lurched the
fuck forward. He didn't know at all how to handle that shit, his dick ebbing
out of control.” You whine softly as Dave's hand pulls away from yours. There
was something undeniably hot about hearing what you were doing and it made you
want it even more. “Dave then told him to take out the wet wipes and hand them
to him one by one." You moan and nod in compliance, taking out a single wipe
and handing it to him.
His fingers seize your horns again and pull you up to his face. You look down
at his perfect lips and you shudder. “Are you ready, Nitram?”
"Yes, I think am." He lets go of your horns again and your head spins from the
loss of contact. Your eyes slide shut as he repositions himself behind you,
your fingers nervously kneading the carpet.
His hands seize your asscheeks and you gasp. You want him to pull them apart
further. You want to expose yourself completely to him, let him watch the
muscles in your nook contract and loosen as your excitement builds. “I don't
think I heard you right, Tavros. Little hard of hearing, slammed out my ear
drums with sick beats at a young age. A tragedy, really.” The bottom of his
palms push up against you, the pressure pushing against your hips like when he
penetrates you. You can barely contain your excitement. “You'll have to tell me
again- are you ready?"
“Y-yes. Please clean me, Dave.” From the way his nails sink delightfully into
you, you know that's what he wanted to hear.“That's what I thought.” He drags
the cool wipe slowly across your nook and you moan softly. You know it's just
the first- the first of three. Exactly three wipes will be dragged across your
nook, dipped inside your tight entrance, down the length of your bulge, and
cupped around your shame globes. You shiver as he pulls the first one away and
holds out his hand for another. You quickly hand it to him, your pulse pounding
out of control. “You really like this, huh, Tav?”
"I-" Without warning, Dave starts to swirl the wipe over your shame globes
repeatedly. With each flick of his wrist, you let out a small chirp and he
rewards you by grinding his hips against yours. You close your eyes and spread
your legs a little further. You need this. His hand yanks at your horn and you
yelp. “Sorry bro, I didn't hear you, you're going to have to speak up when your
face is in my carpet.”
Your body tenses with pleasure. You would give him anything he wants when he
teases you like that. “Yes, I d-do like this.” The wipe glides across your
shame globes once more and, for good measure, he gives them a soft squeeze. You
whimper softly as he reaches out his hand for the last wipe. Your hand shakes
as you seize the last one. His denim covered thighs rubs against your bare ones
and you gasp.
He grabs the wipe from you and you go rigid in anticipation. This one is for
your bulge. This one he'll use to tease you to no end, arouse you and then
leave you panting, begging for more. You could almost swear that he pulls it
away quicker every time. Him teasing your bulge is simultaneously the worst and
the best part of the cleaning.
He begins to slide the damp wipe up your bulge and you close your eyes,
drowning in the sensation. The texture of the wipe is orgasmic. You gyrate your
hips into the warm, wet, soft wipe. “Aah, Dave-” Suddenly, he pulls it away and
you start to stammer. “D-Dave, wha-”
Your eyes widen in horror as he casts the wipe aside and puts his hand out
expectantly. “Problem, Nitram?” You open your mouth to respond, but all that
comes out is a short whine. He chuckles quietly, stroking a hand down your
side. “I didn't think so.” He knows exactly how to get to you each time. As
your frustration builds, so does your desperation and your pleasure. “So, you
going to grab the lube or are you still mourning the loss of hand to wipe to
dick contact?”
You rummage haphazardly through the box, Dave tapping out a familiar rhythm on
your sides impatiently and slowly grinding your hips together. You let out
short whimpers, grinding your hips back in return. The building friction almost
makes you forget the task at hand, but your fingers finally seize a cool oblong
bottle from the box. You place it in his hand and the friction stops.
"Forgetting something?"
You quickly grab a glove, handing it to him over your shoulder, a dark blush
spreading across your cheeks. Snap. The glove slaps against his wrist. The
smell of latex and banana lube fills the air and your mouth waters. You moan
and look over your shoulder, your mouth hanging open in awe as you watch him
coat his gloved fingers in lube. "Ready for this?"
You nod. Cold, wet fingers hit your nook and you gasp, spreading your legs.
"Cool."
His slick fingers rub slow, lazy circles against the entrance to your nook and
you let out a sharp moan in anticipation. He always takes it slow, making sure
that his fingertips coat your entrance throughly in lube and that you're
bucking and begging for more before he even inserts one finger. He reaches
forward and cups your shame globes. “Hnng! D-Dave.” He gives them a soft
squeeze before letting go, your think pan reeling with the loss of contact.
He reaches under the futon, pulling out a red metal pail and you can barely
breath from excitement. The cold metal hits the inside of your thighs. You
begin to thrust back into his hand, your inner thighs rubbing against the lip
of the pail. “Are you getting a little eager to drip into there and fill it up
nice and slow?” He inserts a fingertip and you bury your nails into the carpet.
“I should start calling you Mr. Coffee for that automatic drip.” He pets your
horn and you can do nothing but sink into the warmth of the pleasure, saliva
slowly rolling out of the corner of your mouth.
He carefully pushes the tips of fingers inside of you, working in and out
tortuously slow. You buck back into him, demanding more. He chuckles. "Calm
down, bronco, can't have you bucking like this and messing up my game." He
brings a hand firmly down on your hips and you moan as he wiggles his fingers
inside of you. You shut your eyes tightly, and focus on the feeling of his
digits slowly stretching the muscles inside your nook. “Ah that's g-good.”
"What can I say, Tav?" He pulls his fingers out of you and your nook tenses in
anticipation. He frees your hips, bringing his hand up to wrap around your
horn. You start to whine as he slides his hand down the length, gliding over
every inch again and again. Slowly, he eases his fingers in again and your eyes
roll back in ecstasy as he searches around inside of you, pressing against your
tight inner walls.
His fingers click against that nub inside of you and you scream out in
pleasure, arching into the touch. You want more of that sensation, his
fingertips slamming into that place inside of you, rubbing against it and
making your bulge throb. “Don't clench, Tav.” You nod in agreement, not wanting
him to pull his fingers out. He rubs it again and you let out a harsh whine.
You are suddenly startled by the sound of something hitting the metal bucket
beneath you and you try to snap back, but his hand shoves your head forward.
“Aaah! D-Dave.” Another obscene trickle of genetic material hits the bucket and
you push back into the fingers buried deep in your nook, aching for more of
that feeling, your bulge slowly pulsing out cum, his hot fingers sliding up and
down the length of your horn.
“It's like a fucking dairy farm all up in here.” You want to protest, tell him
how that doesn't even make an ounce of sense, but all that comes out are
strangled noises, soft gurgles, and a stuttered “th-th-tha-tha-” as the slow
release of ecstasy takes your body by storm and refuses to yield.
His fingers curl into you again, the slightest brush of pressure inside of you
making your eyes roll back and your head loll. “What was that Tav? Are you
thanking me?” You try to shake your head, but his hand holds your horn in
place, before sliding up and down the length once more. Your mouth opens in a
silent scream, another trickle of cum hitting the bottom of the metal bucket.
“What can I say man-” Hot fingers down your horns, tracing along your scalp,
that hot pressure building inside you, the gentle emission of cum pulsing from
your bulge- “There's no abuse in this fine establishment-” You yelp as his
fingertips brush that nub again- “Just the finest care and attention to ensure
absolute pleasure of everyone involved.” His hand separates from your horn and
you whine. “PETA would eat this shit up.” He slides a finger down the length of
your bulge and it's all you can do not to gyrate your hips, demanding more
stimulation. Another loud tickle of cum lands in the bucket, and you hear a
faint sound akin to splashing. You gasp, a shudder rippling down your spine.
“Heh, filling up quite nicely tonight, Tav.” His finger massages your bulge
once more from base to tip and you keen ever so slightly into the touch. “Grade
A product right here, I'm proud.”
“Hnng... Da...ve...” You pant out, clenching your eyes shut and kneading the
carpet once more.
“No, seriously man. So many manly farmer tears.” He starts sliding a second
finger down your length and you let out a soft clicking whine, “I should give
you a blue ribbon for this. You're the best in show, no doubt about it.” His
fingers drag over the tip of your bulge, your genetic material hitting them in
a soft spurt. He drags it down your length and you clench your teeth tightly,
hissing through them. “Enter you in the county fair, see how far we can make
it.”
“D-D-Da” You gasp out, not quite finding it in you to form a complete word,
Dave's name being overridden by the numbing sensation of building pleasure,
your mind slipping further into the depths of pleasure, rewiring itself to
nothing but more more more. You've lost control of everything, even your body
is not your own choice as the world crashes down to just a point, just the
sensation of fingers inside of you, your shame globes tensing and milking out
the last of their contents, the grooves of his fingertips on your bulge
massaging you faster, teasingly, and-
He wraps his hand around your bulge and begins to pump faster. You let out a
yelp that borders on a scream and you are too far gone to be embarrassed. You
are too wrapped up in his teasing lips kissing up your spine, too lost in that
one-two rhythm of in and out, in and out, too-
He nips at the junction between your jaw and neck, his hot breath ghosting over
your ear and you cannot take it any longer. Your body trembles and spasms with
the heat of orgasm rushing over you.Your body tingles, every nerve standing on
edge as he eases the last of your cum out and you practically collapse from
exhaustion. He pulls his fingers out of your nook and throws the glove to the
ground. You want to offer him relief- anything you could do to let him know how
amazing that was. You want to reach out and grab him, holding him over the
bucket and making him whine with pleasure, but your body is still not yours to
move, the sensation of your climax planting you firmly in place still.
“Tav, you never disappoint.” He turns to go, his breathing slightly uneven. You
whimper, wishing that he didn't leave every time and wishing you could touch
him. “Make sure to clean up man.” He walks to his room with an odd gait as
quickly as possible and swiftly closes the door behind him. The lock clicks and
you shudder.
As the paralyzing bliss of orgasm ebbs off, you can only think about one thing;
next time there's nachos, somehow Dave Strider will be the one in your
position, no matter what.
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