Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13860525.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Minor_or_Background_Relationship(s)
  Character:
      Equius_Zahhak
  Additional Tags:
      Meteorstuck, Masturbation, Unrequited_Crush, Alternia_is_Terrible, Bulges
      and_Nooks, Quadrant_Confusion, Bad_BDSM_Etiquette, boy_does_Equius_need
      some_help, sweaty_boy, Cultural_References, bad_porn_dialogue, Bad_Dirty
      Talk, bodicerippers_are_eternal, hemocaste_references, Hemospectrum_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-03 Words: 2771
****** lorem ipsum ******
by oncewewerezombies
Summary
     Equius gets off to highblooded porn with dialogue as seen in Paradox
     Space.
     I will peel the flesh from your bones as is my right by blood, every
     second of breath you draw is a gift I have given to you. (sure thing,
     bro)
Notes
     (Troll Fifty Shades of Flush is a masterpiece unlike its human
     equivalent, fuck you)
Equius had brought a lot of things with him in his sylladex to the meteor.
Robots, parts of robots, tools, crockery, towels. Everything that a STRONG
growing blueblood could possibly need. He had also brought some books. Everyone
had their own favourite volumes tucked away into their sylladexi, it wasn't as
though he was the only one. And for the most part, his were actually practical,
tomes on engineering, etiquette, culture. Books on how to build things. Books
about how things should be. Things they could use to maintain who they were, as
trolls. Useful books.
Those were the ones he had out in the open, at least. The ones everyone knew he
had. There were...other volumes. Things he wasn't quite willing to admit he
owned in public, that he had actually gone out and bought them. Ordered them
over the ormrnet under an assumed name, more like, and tried not to think about
where it was recorded as he did so, blue flushed to his hairline as he sweated
steadily through yet another set of clothing. He would never have dared to go
into the sort of lewd store that would have stocked them in physical person -
not that he liked to leave his hive anyway. The sort of book that arrived in
brown paper packages, that he never let his lusus see the inside of. Aurthour
had really raised him better than that, but he just couldn't resist once he'd
read the first one when he'd ordered it by accident, thinking that he was
ordering a book of instructions, to better assist him to understand how best to
serve and fulfil his purpose in life.
It had been nothing of the sort.
And he'd been hooked.
He had had texts stored on his husktop as well, of course, as anyone did, but
he preferred things he could hold in his hands. And he wasn't always the best
with the fragility of technology manufactured by someone else. If they were
known for nothing else, his robots were quite sturdy - because he built them
that way. People did not build husktops with the same technical specifications
in mind as his strong nature. And besides from all of that, holding a book was
easier than making sure he didn't smash the keys of a keyboard. He could tape
back together the book much more easily, for one.
It was getting to be late in the morning, as they've reckoned time on the
meteor. Everyone was asleep, or should be. Equius pulled down one of those
books from out of his sylladex, since he was alone. And likely to remain so.
Karkat had Nepeta quite busy with her trolling, he was just taking a break.
Which he was allowed to do. And he doesn't need that abomination's permission
to do so. It was with a guilty thrill that he opened the book with its
carefully nondescript cover, starting at the beginning. The young, naive
tealblood has just agreed to her hatefriend's desperate plea of going to
interview a high up subjuggulator on her behalf as a joustalister, despite the
danger inherent in the position of petitioning a highblood about anything when
your blood was several shades lower.
Licking his fingertip briefly, he turned the page and started to read ground
that he'd already traversed many times before.
It always took a while to get to the, ahem, more interesting parts of the
novel. It wasn't what he would call very well written, but in an attempt to
seem as though he wasn't simply reading it for tawdry reasons, he always tried
to read at least the first few chapters of miserably paced plot. With its
strange insistence that this tealblood was so miserably ineffective, if she'd
been an actual live troll, Equius was quite sure she wouldn't have survived
three sweeps. Not only does she not have a husktop, but she seemed quite
ignorant as to what subjuggulators even are. A near suicidal sort of ignorance.
Still, the later parts of the book were somehow very compelling despite their
lack of literary merit. Equius chewed on his thumb nail before realising that
he was doing it and putting his hand down guiltily, and looked around as though
someone could have seen him doing it.
Then he reached down to undo his shorts.
I exercise hellacious control in all motherfucking things, miss Steele
Equius gasped a little, and touched his grubscars lightly. Imagining the scene
as his gaze raced along the page, the lines of text describing the meeting
between subjuggulator and pretend joustalister. How, if the supposed blueblood
had had pale leanings towards this tealblood, had she sent her to entertain a
subjuggulator in his own lair? He had never agreed with that reading of the
text. Even when they exchanged pleasantries and Anasta brought her hatefriend
and hivemate food she'd prepared herself. A traditional part of moirallegiance,
a literary trope usually, but...no, he was getting off track. Pale romance,
hinted at or otherwise, was not what he was here for, this morning.
Skipping forward a few chapters as his excitement settled in, he sighed as he
realised he had gotten to the point where the Mister Grey had opened his hive
to her and showed her his dungeon. Fungeon. Fun dungeon, a place of terrible
highblooded desires, and he can almost picture the towering height of the
subjuggulator alongside the midblood as he brought her inside. His paint, his
circus horns, the vile things he'd have on the walls and the vast concupiscent
platform. The buckets. They're described as being right out there in the open,
waiting and almost looming. How decadent. Equius' breathing deepened, and he
tried not to bite his lip or grind his teeth as he flicked through the pages,
moving through the salacious text as the highblood demonstrates all the things
he could use on her. Wants to use on her. In the utmost, loving detail.
Miss Steele continued her foolhardy defiance of the highblood's wishes, and
Equius grunted a little as he turns over the bed. I got uncommon appetites,
Miss Steele. I don't think you could accommodate them, and live. Hand now
firmly in his shorts as his breathing became heavier and heavier, rasping.
Sweating so much that the towels he had placed down as a precaution start to
really come into their own. It wasn't not just sweat, he can hear his hand
moving inside his shorts, slick and wet. In a moment, he removed them to free
himself, kicking them off the platform that has taken the place of the sorely
missed recuperacoons. He misses sopor. Sleeping properly. These human
inventions are no sort of substitute.
Except - right now. He supposed in this situation, they're handy. Not too
large, comfortnubs readily available to prop himself up so he can read the book
and still attend to the situation that was occurring between the stocky muscle
of his thighs. Broken fangs gnawing on his lip as he pants, bulge squirming
around his fingers. He imagined - wondered - what it would be like to have a
highblood saying such things to him. If there had been anything like a
highblood worthy of the title on the meteor.
Miss Steele, you've got a hide worthy to rip off to make hymnals of, worthy to
be set out in the high chapel. Look at how soft it is, how it colours to the
caress of the scourge I used just now.
How utterly exquisite.
Makara - if he had constrained himself to the traditions of his caste. If he'd
been - if he'd spoken like this -if he'd acted the way his blood demanded that
he should speak, instead of being the sopor eating idiot that he actually
was...
Oh. OH.
I'd colour all the walls of my office with your motherfucking blood, lil miss,
don't you think that'd be a fine sight? I'd always be able to get my gaze on of
you...no matter where you went, some part of you would never leave a pitysick
motherfucker.
Oh, he might have done something other than hate him then. The worst thing -
the worst thing - was that Gamzee didn't seem to hate anyone, not at all. Not
even the slightest bit, he was just unceasingly defective. He was not in the
slightest bit like any of the highbloods in the texts he read. None of the
highbloods were, any of them, at all anything like the coldly cruel and
calculating, territorial, culturally appropriate ( supremely attractive)
highbloods who knew what they were, and exactly where everyone else, every
other troll deserved to be. Underneath them. Both literally and metaphorically.
Equius jammed two fingers into his nook almost vengefully and cried out into
the comfortnub near his face, muffling himself.
He still couldn't be too loud. The worst thing he could think of was to have
someone come in while he was attending to his...needs. It was still a need,
wasn't it? It was absolutely something that wasn't being fulfilled in his
normal interactions. Even Aradia - even - oh, fudge. He managed to suffocate
his moans, bulge curling strongly around his wrist and feeling his nook clench
and tremor around his fingers.
There's just one thing I pity most about you, Anasta. You don't know rightly
where you belong, not in your head. But your bones and I agree on one
motherfucking thing - you belong beneath me. I'll get your thinkpan on board,
eventual. So just let a motherfucker do.
The highblood in the story, he put - he used - Equius whined into the pillow,
not daring to try and replicate exactly what the highblood was doing to the
tealblood of the story as punishment for disobeying his wishes. He could barely
even think it, feeling sweat appear over what felt like every inch of his body.
Turning the sheets he was lying on into a sodden mass as his fingers
relentlessly pushed and thrust, curled inside his nook. Eyes almost teary,
while he just managed to keep the text where he could read it. So he could keep
imagining what it would be like to be so at the mercy of a cruel, powerful,
territorial highblood. Owned. Controlled. Subjugated.
To belong to someone in that way.
What would it actually feel like to have someone insert something - for someone
to, a STRONGer someone, someone who was in control of him, his actions, so he
didn't have to be - to have someone do those sort of lewd, depraved things to
him. Not even satisfied with just the nook - to use the wastechute as well. How
wrong, how udderly taboo. Yet even at just the thought, the consideration of
doing something so vile, he felt his body pulsing with a new surge of
frustrated arousal. He wanted - no, he needed - and he couldn't have it. There
was nobody on this gosh forsaken meteor who would even dream of doing anything
with him, let alone the urge to make him kneel the way he wanted to.
Good girl, the text read, and Equius shook his head hard to shake it out, hard
enough that he had to spit a loose lock of hair out of his mouth, closed his
eyes and let the book drop. His breathing came faster, harder, calloused
fingers rocking deeply into his nook as he smothered choking sounds into the
pile of comfortnubs. Rolling onto his knees, face down in the softness of the
sleeping aids and other hand coming down between his thighs to stroke his
bulge.
Good boy, his brain supplied in replacement for the phrase that had made him
drop the book on the floor, and he groaned deeply, feeling the sound
reverberate through his chest and throat. Yes - yes he would have been so good,
so good so good - if anyone had bothered - if there had been one single
highblood worthy of their blood. Of their heritage. If any of them had cared in
a way that actually mattered. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe he
would have been different.
The repressed parts of his libido supplied alternate trolls to the three placed
higher in the blood hierarchy than him, the ones who by right of chromatic
hemohue should have had him on his knees. Blindly worshipping, serving. And
instead left him twisted in corners around himself, and so very very empty. Of
purpose, and more (what would it actually be like to do - to have the sort of
things in those plain covered books enacted on his own person). Equius panted
wetly into the smothering fabric of his pillows, eyes firmly shut as he tried
to imagine what it would be like if it wasn't his own fingers and hands on
himself. Another troll. A different troll.
Possibly a warmer troll - not a colder one. As though that was more attainable.
Resolutely, he turned his mind back to the highbloods he knew. That he had
known. Cold hands, cold fingers, icy touches pressing him onto his knees, his
back, into a corner. Not forcing, no. He'd have gladly done something if he'd
ever thought - if any of them could have spared one moment to think of what
they should be. Instead of wasting time on all of these other things. If they'd
only had half the authority and grace of one of the highbloods in his books! He
imagined, now, instead possibly coming to the attention of the subjuggulator of
Fifty Shades Flushed. Having what he imagined as a low, threatening croon
speaking those words that the foalish tealblood saw fit to spurn. To run from,
as though she had the right to make her own choices in the face of a
highblood's whims. He wouldn't have - he would never.
He would have been - he would have enjoyed - he wanted it so badly. To have
those kind of seductive phrases and rough handling turned on him, until he was
weak. To be treated like a treasured possession, instead of an annoyance. A
liability. An inconvenience. That guy who stood in the corner and stared. He
couldn't stop his fingers from moving inside his nook, curling them, trying
wretchedly to mimic the coil and writhe of a bulge as best he could. Not that
he'd ever experienced the real thing.
What would it be like if Makara was like the subjuggulator in the book he'd
been reading? If he told him how his blood suited him the best in how it meant
before one of his stature he belonged on his knees? Equius whined breathlessly
into the pile of comfortnubs at the mere thought, the spectre of a grinning
Gamzee with his cheerful paint looming over him bearing in on him in his mind.
Imagining the feel of having his foot against his chest, pressing him down.
Ensuring that he knew his place.
On his knees, in submission, throat bared and body waiting to serve the
highblood in whatever lewd ways he saw fit.
Equius grunted, and came with that image in his head. Feverish imagination
trying to add in potential details, slick blue coating him from his nook to his
knees as he stained his bedding. Gasping a little, he pulled his hands away
from his crotch and felt the almost usual wash of shame and regret, chasing
hard on the heels of his orgasm. The wave of emotion was made up of so many
things.
He was a pragmatist, after all. But...he did know that there was only so much
sopor left on the meteor. And that there wasn't very much.
Possibly once his dulling soporific was no longer available then,
perhaps...then perhaps.
Maybe they would all see a different side to Gamzee Makara.
Groaning a little once he peeled himself off his now sodden bedding, Equius
dutifully began his clean up. He would hate for anyone to know what he had been
doing. Maybe he should have taken a nap instead, but this was restful in its
own way. He felt much more stable, for one thing. Not so frustrated. He'd
just...clean all this up, then go back out to the computer lab to continue
labours that gained not one whit more thanks than his efforts to ensure that
some fragment of Alternian society continued even if the planet itself no
longer existed. A shower to cleanse himself of sweat and the lingering scent of
his shameful behaviour, and then the slumberplanes to be put in water to soak
to complete the task of scouring away the evidence of his self-amorous
escapades.
Next time, just for a change, he might read the next book in the series
instead.
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