Chapter Text
He looked into your eyes and said miracles. You try to maintain your composure and fail miserably. It’s raining in the living room of an apartment in a city in Texas just on your face. That’s a perfectly legitimate reason why there’s a droplet rolling down your cheek. You hear him take a step forward and feel him wrap his arms around you. He feels warm. You just can’t wrap your mind around that fact. He’s warm, he’s human, he’s alive, and most importantly he’s here with you. You wait for the imaginary music to swell, for him to sweep you off your feet or to crush your lips with his. But none of those things happen. The two of you stand by the door content to listen to the other breathe, to hear their heart beat, to know that the other exists, that it isn’t a dream. This isn’t the romantic reunion that you had imagined, because you never imagined one.
Eventually you migrate to the futon. He tells you how he woke up as a human with two sons, a mortgage, and a small business. He describes his faded memories of him as a boy playing football in middle school, high school, and then earning a scholarship for college where he met his wife who would later leave him with their children. He knew he was human but he was plagued with dreams that he was not. His dreams felt more real than the time he spent awake. A few weeks ago he opened his front door and found a college student sobbing as he screamed ‘I’m not fucking doing this a second time so you better fucking remember me.’ At that moment he knew his vivid dreams weren’t dreams at all.
Vantas told him that he lived with his pre-scratch self, who the game decided to make his twin much to his chagrin, and his wiggler Karkat, in his mother’s house along with her pre-scratch self and wiggler. His mother was engaged to Dualscar, who still kept in contact with Captor. Once Vantas had convinced them that they were not suffering from a mass delusion, which thankfully did not take much convincing at all since all of their human memories were vague at best, Psi was able to track all of the other former trolls down in a matter of hours. The humans took a few days. You took longer since you’re a motherfucking secretive bastard. Makara found out that the apartment next door to your new one was available and his plan was set.
“So your masterful plan was to move in next door and hope for the best?”
“Yep.”
“And if I didn’t remember?”
“How could you not remember this motherfucker?” His chuckle fades quickly into a drawn out sigh. “I hoped,” his hair is wrecked from him playing with it. “I hoped that I could get you to fall in love with me again.”
“By being my neighbor…”
“It worked the first time bro,” he grins. “I even brought the te-kill-yah to go along with my charming self.”
“How dare you use alcohol to deprive me of my virtue you dastardly brute.” You put the back of a hand against your forehead and swoon. Your head ends up resting on his shoulder.
“Virture?” You can feel his accompanying laughter vibrate through you. His eyes haven’t left yours though. You linger on his for a few moments longer before trailing down to his lips. So many things have changed but you can still hope.
His kisses are the same even if his temperature is not. His scruff is rough against your skin, his lips are chapped, but you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. He shifts with you on the futon, turning to face each other. You lean up, he meets you in the middle running his fingers through your hair and stopping at the back as you fist your hand in his. You pull him down with you. He follows eagerly. You didn’t think that dry humping on a futon could be arousing and nostalgic. He bites your bottom lip and lets it slide between his teeth as he draws back. You grind your hips up against his and he growls switching his focus to your neck. He licks a broad stripe up the side before working his way back down with wet kisses. You shiver as he lightly drags his teeth over the crook of your neck. It’s not so much for the feeling but for the implication. You can take the troll out of Alternia but you can’t remove his instinct.
“Makara.” He looks up at you like you are a bowl of ice cream and he is the spoon. You seriously contemplate finishing this on the futon, but give in to the call of your queen sized bed that’s only ever held one. You motion in the direction of your bedroom and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Eagerness tramples on any sense of gracefulness and coordination that that two of you have, but the both of you manage to get off the futon with few injuries and make your way back to your room.
You shut your door and he pushes you up against it sticking to you like a piece of cling wrap. You stifle a moan with his lips and then his tongue. He slides a hand underneath your shirt drawing a map of you with his fingertips and uses his other to grope your perfectly plush rump through your jeans. You hastily untuck his shirt and move on to attack his buttons. He breaks contact to shuck his shirt and you peel off yours.
“I’m going to bite you where you can’t hide it so everyone knows that you’re mine.” You smirk and unfasten your belt buckle. He watches you slowly draw the belt through each belt loop and toss it on the floor. Your hand hesitates over the button on your jeans as you remember that you gave Dirk and Dave the last of your lube and condom samples before they left. “Shit.”
“What?” Makara asks alarmed.
“We need lube.” Your boyfriend is no longer a magically self-lubricating troll. This could be a problem. “I think I might have some packed in a moving box. I just don’t remember which one.”
You are the emperor of a porn empire built on the plush felt rumps of hard working smuppets and your dirty imagination. You shouldn’t be digging through boxes at the bottom of your closet searching for lube and condoms while your boyfriend who you never thought you would see again languishes on your bed. Blame it all on your lack of libido. Your dick hasn’t gotten up since that day unless it knows it’s going to work. But now, now you have a raging hard on and one remaining box to root through. You find a few stray condoms that haven’t expired yet in an old pair of pants and after a bit more digging a half full bottle that will do just nicely.
Makara sits up as you saunter over to the bed victorious. He holds his hands out ready to catch the bottle.
“Have you done this as a human?”
“No, but I did find your website and got my gander on.”
“Then you know that I still need to prep it’s … been awhile.” You don’t need to be kneaded like Play-Doh but you do need to relax. Makara grins, holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers.
“Bro I don’t have motherfucking meat hooks anymore. And you know what else this fucker don’t have?” You watch him run the tip of his tongue along his teeth with rapt attention. He chuckles when he sees that you understand his message loud and clear. You hastily unzip your fly and push down your jeans and boxers in one go. He then proves to you just how much attention he’s paid when watching your videos with his fingers and mouth. You have to forcibly pull him up off your cock by his hair to get him to stop before you end things early.
“Get a condom on and get in me now,” you pant. The bastard takes his time removing his pants and getting himself covered. He watches you squirm on the bed as he slicks himself up. “Tease.”
He snickers. “I wasn’t the fucker that wrote pail me on my own motherfucking chest.”
“I can do that again.”
“Or you can just say it bro.”
“Alright.” You scoot until your back is propped up on pillows. You spread open your legs and bend your knees letting him enjoy the view. “Makara. I want you to fuck me.” And he does. Twice, with a water break in between. And it is glorious.
You wake up the next morning to the smell of pancakes and rumpled sheets on the other side of the bed.