Work Text:
This new planet sucks enough ass that you’re sort of wishing the helmsblock was an option again. You spend half your life scrambling to avoid it, and then you win the game and get dropped into the middle of a bunch of people, and suddenly being a machine that only has to deal with binary and beenary and hex sounds like fucking paradise.
Fuck people. Fuck them right up the ass with the blunt end of a culling fork. They’re clueless and obnoxious—and not in the same way KK is. No, he’s at least amusing when he’s failing at crap, but these guys represent you, and they do a fucking shitty job at it, dropping brackets and semicolons and failing to understand basic loops. For fuck’s sake, even KK understands how to break out of a goddamn loop. You’re getting really fucking tired of cleaning up their shit before Feferi gets access to these programs—and really fucking tired in general, you’ve gone five days on a scattered eight hours of sleep—so it’s no surprise to anyone in the hivestem when you lose your goddamn mind and start screaming at people to get the fuck out of the office and just let you do it. Again.
FF owes you a lot of favors at this point, and the next time you see her you are going to call in every damn one of them to make sure she ups the quality of coding schoolfeeds. Or maybe you can finally convince her to let you work from your own hivestem. The longer you go without sleep, the harder it is to control your psionics and your temper, so someone’s liable to get hurt if shit doesn’t change around here, and you really don’t want to do that. You quite literally died multiple times to ensure that these stupid fucking wrigglers even existed, so as annoying as they are, it seems oxymoronic to start injuring them now.
An hour after you throw everyone out, you’re up to your globes in shitty, malformed code, and you’re about to fucking cry.
Two hours, and you’re snarling and attacking your keyboard with a fury you’ve only seen outdone by KK.
Three hours and you’re violently slotting the final parenthesis into place with satisfaction.
—and a moment later, you’re groaning as errors come up during compilation. It takes five hours from start to finish for you to write code that would have taken those morons a perigee, and by the time you’ve sent off the finished program to FF, you’re falling asleep in your chair. When KK wakes you up near dusk, you nearly roll the chair over your glasses in surprise. The only question is if they fell off before or after you were done, because stuff was definitely getting a little blurry there for a while. You jam them back onto your face and turn to see KK, and it’s like the skies have started raining silicomb, because you’ve needed your moirail for fifty fucking hours now. You maybe cling to him just a bit while you complain.
“—wasn’t even a fucking Alternian symbol, I don’t know how the hell they even found that because it’s not even on the fucking character map—”
KK’s hand covers your mouth, and you stop. It’s instinct by this point—fuck if he can stop you bitching over Trollian, but when he shooshes and paps you in person you know there are good things coming. Only if you can shut your fucking mouth though—which is admittedly not your forte—but given what you’re about to ask him to do, you need him in a good mood.
He just holds his hand there until your breathing evens out, and then he scowls and sighs like he’s admitting defeat.
“I need a fucking drink.”
You go fluttery with anticipation, because you know what that means, and you didn’t even have to ask this time.
The walk to the club seems to take forever, and you can barely distract yourself from the anticipation long enough to actually talk to KK, but it seems like he’s had a similarly-crappy day. By the time the guys at the door test your blood you’re practically vibrating on the spot, and your face is hot and flushed. The cute oliveblood gives you a wink as she waves you in, and you find yourself grinning and hoping that you’ll last long enough for her shift to end so she can have a turn with you. Karkat makes a brief stop at the bar and tosses back a shotglass of bubbly pink liquid (you don’t even want to know). You gape at a pile of sweaty, moaning limebloods while he drains a second glass (purple, and you swear those are psionics dancing over the surface), and then he grabs you by your sleeve and hauls you further inside.
“Fucking rude, KK. You don’t see me yanking you—”
“Shut your squawk gaper or I’m going to fucking gag you.”
You swallow the rest of your statement. He will do it, that’s the thing, and you hate being gagged during this. You like being able to moan and squeak and have embarrassing noises wrenched out of you, because every time someone fucks a sound out of you, a little bit of that tension drains away and you can feel a little less responsible for everything. Being here makes you feel useful without having to be in charge, and fuck knows that’s a first for you in any universe.
And you’re not going to deny that you just really, really like being stuffed, because that’s definitely a thing too. Your bulges begin to squirm out of your sheath as KK pulls you through the hazy, rhythmic pulse of the dance floor, and you’re certain that at least three people go out of their way to rub themselves on you. By the time you get to the modified concupiscent platforms on the other side you’re already completely unsheathed and gnawing on your lip, scanning the crowd for acquaintances. A lot of the trolls from the game come here, but you’ve got no way of knowing for sure which ones you’ve pailed, which is way more of a turn-on than it should be. When the blindfold comes off and you’re covered in teal, it’s hard not to wonder if you just fucked Terezi. It’s polite to keep your hands off their horns for the sake of anonymity, but it’s hard not to notice a rack like Tavros’s even when you’re blind.
Karkat pulls your attention back to him with a pale kiss, pressing a little harder than is probably appropriate, and he practically has to yell in your ear when he asks if you’re ready. You nod—fuck, are you ready—and not ten seconds later you’re blindfolded and being pushed back onto the platform. His hands slide under your shirt, and you feel a heavy weight settling onto you as he starts to strip you. A kiss to your neck turns into a bruising bite, and you arch up into his hands with a whimper. Fuck, you need this now, why the hell is he going so slow?
“Nn—KK…fuck, just—faster.” You grind against him to emphasize your point as he unzips you and yanks your pants and boxers off. He growls.
“I’ll leave them on next time if you’re too much of a pailslut to wait. I can guaran-fucking-tee you will only end up more frustrated when you can feel all those delicious bulges pressing up against you but have exactly zero of them inside of you.”
You groan. It might be nice to try at some point, but not when you’re this worked up. He is a terrible person.
There’s a disorienting moment where he’s not touching you, but then he’s over you again, flesh against flesh, solid and warm, and his mouth is on yours and his tongue is pushing past your teeth in a decidedly not pale wave of lust. He tastes fucking wonderful, and you try to make a mental note that maybe you do want to know what was in those shot glasses, but that idea falls by the wayside when his bulge twists against yours and he moans into you and fuck, he’s wonderful, what other moirail would do this for you, would understand that this is what you need? You’re so fucking pale for this bastard it’s not even funny.
His hands frame your face, stroking your cheeks just under the blindfold, and then they’re in your hair and he’s licking along your ear and panting hot, wet breaths as he shifts and slides into you slowly. He’s thick—decidedly not the tiny-bulged overcompensator that you had him pegged for when you were still hateflirting like it was going out of style, and that makes him perfect for your first bulge of the night. He fucks you slowly at first, working tense knots out of your neck and shoulders until you melt, and you whine at him to go faster, you’re ready, you can take it. He snorts in amusement, then bites down harshly on your neck again as he thrusts into you hard and fast.
“Are you that ready to—hhah—suck bulge, fucktoy?” His voice is stilted but understandable, that scornful, jeering tone of his rising to the surface, and fuck you love it like this. A sob tears itself from your throat, and you finally move your hand down to work your bulge.
“Aa—ah, yes, KK, fuck, I want to show them how good I can be—”
His hips jerk oddly—he loves hearing that, for all you’re pale—and then you’re being flooded with heat and fuck, it’s nice, but you’re not quite there—
He nips at your neck and stills your hand. “You don’t get to come until she does.” You hear an amused, feminine laugh to your side, and Karkat slides off of you, his material leaking between your thighs. Most of it stays in your retainment sac though, like it’s supposed to—a feat that gets exponentially more difficult to pull off as you’re pailed by more people.
“On your front, there you go. Your word is lime, by the way, since you seemed so entranced by the fuckers.” You manage to squeeze out a weak noise of approval while he’s cuffing your hands, and he brushes a kiss to your ear before he walks off.
“Pale for you, jackass. Have fun.”
“Fuck, KK, so pale for you.” A hand pats your back, and then he’s gone. A new set of hands digs into your hips and swings you around on the platform until you’re bent over and leaning on it, nearly standing up.
“Spread ‘em, pretty boy.” Fuck, you don’t think you’ve had this one before, but there’s confidence in her voice like she’s used to being obeyed—which is, incidentally, the exact thing you’re going to do. She slips between your legs as soon as you’ve got them spread and runs a hand along the curve of your ass, right down to the outer lips of your nook, tracing and teasing without dipping inside. You squirm back, trying to at least get some friction, but she stays frustratingly out of reach, and you whine.
A bulge slides heavy and wet across your face, and you twitch in surprise. You were so occupied by Nooktease that you sort of forgot you had other people to fuck. The tip slips into your mouth and you do your best to cover your fangs as it works its way further in. You’re not exactly designed for this particular task, but this one is at least on the thinner side. It’s cold, though, so you’re dealing with a highblood, not that that really means anything any more.
And whoa, Nooktease is not teasing any more. She finally presses her bulge tip against your nook and sinks into you in a long, slow thrust, and you thought this was going to be pretty vanilla but wow, no, that is a fucking piercing, how the hell does that not block off her sheath? The piercing rubs in all the right places and you wind up moaning around the bulge in your mouth. The owner gasps and pulls you closer by the back of the head as Nooktease stretches out over your back and murmurs a low-throated mmm, yes before sinking her teeth into your shoulder. She doesn’t stop though, just sucks at it, and you shudder in memory of your time on the meteor. She’s a rainbow drinker, like Kanaya. Fuck, it could be Kanaya for all you know, who the hell knows what she’s got going on in the junk department? But no—she’s got a ring embedded in her lower lip, and Kanaya definitely didn’t have one of those last time you saw her.
The guy in front of you whimpers, beginning to pulse in your mouth, and you taste salt just before he comes. You pull off as fast as you can, because you’ve tried the “half a bucket in your mouth” thing before and you’re not a fan of the choking and coughing and completely mood-killing watery eyes. A good bit of it shoots into your face, and holy fuck are you glad for this blindfold. He lets out a shaky “ohhhwwh” and crap, you think you just blew an Ampora. You hope it wasn’t that narcissistic douchefuck Cronus. (Fuck, how do you even manage to be worse than ED?) But you trust KK, so your money’s on Eridan, which—well, he’s not your number one choice of pailing partners, but KK made the right call. There’s an almost vicious sense of pride in getting him off, for some reason. You shake the last droplets of his slurry off your face and turn your attention back to Nooktease.
Nooktease is good.
Nooktease is really good.
She’s set a laid-back, steady pace ever since she started fucking you, and despite it not being rough it’s still driving you up the wall with its infuriatingly consistent, languid rhythm, and you need to come.
“Fuck, please, just do it—”
She chuckles against you and tosses her head back, her longish hair tickling at your shoulder blades. “How bad do you want it, cutie?”
“I—” You sob, mostly-incoherent, but you’re not any closer and you can’t fucking think, so you scream for it, beg her for it, fuck, please, anything. One hand moves to your hip and the other reaches around to your bulge, and she does something and squeezes just right, then her material is spilling into you alongside KK’s and she’s milking your bulges through one of the roughest, most desperate orgasms of your life. She laughs again, and nuzzles at your neck.
“You’re cute, Captor. I’ll be seeing you again.”
You shudder out the last of your orgasm, clenching uselessly around suddenly-empty space, and you can feel the weight and pressure of your genetic sac, heavy inside of you. Fuck. Two down and you’re already full.
Another set of hands grabs at your hips, and the angle tells you that the owner is significantly shorter than the rainbow drinker. There’s an almost-inaudible giggle, and then those hands are pulling you down to the floor with surprising strength, pulling your cuffs off, and laying you on your back. (Your back is going to hate you when this is done, but it can go screw itself for all you care.) You wrap your legs around her to help her out, and she carefully slides her already-unsheathed bulge into you. It’s almost as thick as KK’s and—well, if pressed to describe it you’d use the word bumpy, but they’re good bumps. Some of them nudge up against the place where the rainbow drinker’s piercing was, and it’s definitely an interesting feeling, a little painful and raw but satisfying nonetheless.
This one doesn’t thrust much—she coils inside of you instead, flicking and rubbing against your overfull material sac. It’s too much sensation, like she’s poking at a raw nerve. It might even delay another orgasm, fuck. While you’re wincing and panting and shifting to relieve the pressure in your lower half, someone sits on the floor by your head, and another person sits off to your side, and you’re going to die if all three of them—yeah, there it is. Another bulge slaps against your face, and this one is weird, all sorts of tiny, thin tendrils. One of them tries to crawl up your nose, and fuck that, you are not dealing with little mini-bulges up your nose. That’s about the least sexy thing you’ve seen all sweep. You shake your head to get it out, and the owner bends down enough that you can feel her cool breath on your face.
“Oi, Captor. What’s yer glubbin’ problem?”
Why the hell does this place have so many seadwellers in it?
“Well, if you hadn’t fucking noticed, your bulge was up my goddamn—ah, fuck!”
Sideline troll finally decided to get in on the action, apparently. They’re trying to wedge both of your bulges into their really fucking tight nook, with soft little moans whenever they take more. Fuck. You thrust into her instinctively, and she gives a little oh! as she settles flush against you. She clenches even tighter when you start to move, and fuck fuck fuck, you hope you get her again, because she’s the perfect degree of cool against your skin—not hot, not cold, but just right to feel amazing against you while you sweat with the effort of sex and the heat of the club.
And then she starts talking. Fuck, does she ever start talking.
“—every bit as amazing as the articles said it would be, but the authors, both obviously and unfortunately, did not have access to such a—oh—an exquisite set of—ah—bulges for research purposes, and I am forced to wonder what difference it makes in the experience. I suppose I’ll have to participate with a more standard group to get the full range of experience, but this is rather nice and does still manage to—ooh!—highlight some of the more exotic aspects of club culture—”
Thrusting harder doesn’t help at all. It just increases the pitch of her shrieks. Fuck.
“—disagree over the exact threshold of individuals that constitute a true orgy, as they call it, but Earthian ancients were known to partake in this practice as well and they state that it’s more a matter of—”
“Just shut up and fuck him, Serket.” The seadweller, of all people, is your savior, and you tug at her arm until you feel a tendril brush your face. You suck on it lightly to get your point across, and she moves closer. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It’s difficult to know what to do with all seven of these things at once, but you make an honest effort and you’re pretty sure that your freak tongue gives you an advantage here because she bends and curses when you wrap your tongue around a group of them and tug. Ehehe, you definitely figured out what to do with them. Fucking score.
The one inside of you suddenly tenses and comes with the cutest fucking sex noise you have ever heard, something straddling the line between a purr and a gasp, but it’s hard to appreciate that when you can feel the material that was already in you shift out of place to accommodate the new fluid. When their bulge retracts, it’s followed by a small splash, and the material spreads in a pool between your thighs. You whine at the loss until you realize that Seadweller never stopped bending over you, and is in fact engaged in sloppy makeouts with Talky, who is blissfully not talking at the moment.
The reprieve doesn’t last long, though. The seadweller chokes out something that sounds suspiciously like “I’m gonna chum,” and you’re not able to process the pun and react appropriately before her material hits your throat. Oddly, there’s not much of it, but it’s bitter and still enough to make you choke when you aren’t expecting it, and it dribbles down your chin when you sit up a bit to cough it out.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Sparky—”
“It’s okay, I’m—holy shit—” The one that’s still riding you takes advantage of the new position to sink her claws into your shoulders and use you as leverage for—well, doing you. You hiss loudly in pain, but it’s honestly pretty fucking hot that someone wants to take you like this. Every time she moves you ache inside; your already-stretched material sac is absorbing more of the slurry that’s shifting inside of you, and it feels like you’re going to burst any minute now, fuck.
KK’s voice—his angry voice, the real one that’s not just his usual shouting—comes at you from somewhere vaguely leftish, but fuck if you can be bothered to pinpoint jack shit right now when there are rumble spheres bouncing in your face and claws embedded in you and the girl has switched from history lessons to yes, oh, yes! while she clenches tightly around your bulge. You barely have the willpower left at this point to listen to what he’s saying, but it’s part of the agreement, and you really want him to keep doing this with you, so you have to at least try to comprehend him and maybe even figure out how to make words work together to form a reply.
“Sollux, you little shitweasel. Do you need to stop? Because I am going to be mad as fuck at you if you are not okay and didn’t use the fucking safe word.”
“I’m okay—nngh—fuck!” You can hear the air whistling through KK’s teeth as he puffs up for a rant, and the girl’s grip on you loosens.
“It’s a good fuck, god, keep going.” You don’t hear KK deflate, but that’s probably because you’re busy focusing on the soft little sounds of agreement that she makes as her thighs start to shake around you.
“I—I’m close—and I—I don’t even know your name—”
You close your eyes—yeah, you’re blindfolded, but it somehow feels right anyways—and snort in disbelief. Apparently her informative articles, wherever she found them, were missing some details. “Yeah, that’s. It’s kind of the point—”
Your next thrust up to meet her is a little too vigorous, and your supporting arm slips out from underneath you.
A cool splash of her material hits you full-on in the face, and you’re still spluttering when another pulse spreads that slight chill over your chest. Admittedly, she made a better effort to warn you than the seadweller did, but you were expecting this to happen while you were sitting up. The coldness sinks into your bones, and you melt with a lazy lassitude that you wish you could bottle up for sleepless days. Talky lets out a final, shuddering ohhh and collapses over you, sliding off of your bulges, panting and stroking your hair and murmuring. Wow, you have a moirail already, she needs to cut that out.
You whine and reach down to jerk viciously at your bulges because you’re not quite there and you need to be, but Talky knocks your hand away.
“Here, let me. I suppose it’s only fair.” Her soft hands wrap around you and she presses a thumb into the nerves between your nook and your bulge, and it’s even better than her nook was, clenching around you. You come after only a few strokes, arching up into her skilled hands and sobbing with release, and then you’re left alone in a mingling puddle of highblood cool and lowblood heat, your bloodpusher beating double-time. Your material sac gives a throb inside of you, warm and a bit painful. Your pulse is slowing, and you’re about to beg for someone else, but that someone else finds you first.
An excited female voice pierces through the loud music of the club. “Oh my gosh, Dave, can we? Can we, please?”
There’s an amused male snort. “Go ahead, babe. I’m done for now. But don’t break him, he looks scrawnier than a mechanical pencil refill. Those fuckers break every time, it’s like the inventors were gonna be thrown off a cliff if they didn’t prove Murphy’s Law beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
You hear a light ffmp that sounds like clothes being dropped nearby, and the girl stretches herself over you, pressing herself as close to as much of you as she can. Her head nuzzles into your neck, and you shudder at the unexpected sensation of cold glasses on your skin, contrasting with the heat of her breath.
“Hi,” she breathes, shifting on top of you, and you’ve suddenly got the largest, softest set of rumble spheres you’ve ever (not) seen pressed against your chest.
“Hi,” you agree.
Her lips meet yours and she immediately slips her tongue into your mouth, bold and insistent. She tastes of some sort of spice that you can’t quite pinpoint, and her skin is warm and slightly sweaty against you, and she’s curvy and responsive under your hands, and her long hair tickles the side of your face, and wow, you like this girl a lot. She knows what she wants and doesn’t hesitate to take it, and the limited amount you know about her reminds you of Aradia and Feferi. You’re pretty sure you could fall for her. Fuck.
She squirms into a sitting position, and like this you can feel that she’s a lot heavier than Talky was. Her hips press down and her human nook grinds down onto your bulge, her thighs tightening around you to provide leverage, and holy shit, you’re pretty sure she’s like ninety percent muscle. It’s no wonder she’s so heavy—and it’s also no wonder that the guy said not to break you, because you’re pretty sure she could crush you between her thighs without a problem. Fuck, why is that so hot?
The two of you groan together as your bulges slide against the opening of her nook. She stills on top of you and pulses nearly around you, and fuck, you just want inside already. You whine, and she laughs at you out of what sounds like amusement.
“Calm down, silly butt. Now, do you want inside me, or do you want me inside you?”
What.
You didn’t feel anything that would allow for that, and you’re pretty sure you would have at this point.
“But—? I thought human females didn’t have bulges?”
She laughs again, her tone full of mischief. “Some of us do.”
Your mouth goes dry at the thought. You want her to wreck you.
“Then god, fuck me already.”
Another giggle, and she rolls off of you and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
You hear her murmur to the guy she came in with, but you can’t make it out. They’re still talking when a warm, ridged bulge presses against your mouth, and god, you’d know this one anywhere.
“Aradia.” You grin against the bulge and part your lips. The tip slithers inside, and the owner groans as you seal your mouth around it.
“Mmm, no. Aradia lose bet. I see if that tongue as good as it looks.”
You freeze, and almost choke. Damara’s not someone you want to fuck with. She’s dangerous and volatile, and your reasons for flicking your tongue over a line of ridges have absolutely nothing to do with a newfound desire to compare her to Aradia and everything to do with taking one for the team, because hey, as long as she’s fucking you she’s not out killing people, right?
Right.
Glasses girl is back, and she settles between your thighs, pressing something against your nook.
“Are you ready?”
You nod as emphatically as you can with Damara’s bulge in your mouth, and the human bulge slides inside of you in a slow, smooth thrust. Fuck. It’s big, and the same thick size all around, and hard and inflexible. You’re not made for this, and it hurts, especially when she draws flush against you and the tip of the bulge pokes into your swollen material sac. She pulls back a bit at the startled, muffled scream that instinctively tears from your throat, and you shake your head emphatically, spitting out Damara’s bulge.
“NO! Just—keep going, I can take it, fuck.” It’s a challenge now. You’ve never taken a human bulge, but fuck if you can’t handle anything a human’s packing. Your partners manage to deal with two bulges, for fucks sake, there’s no way this is any worse.
She pushes back in, and you’re expecting it this time so it’s a little better. The third time she presses in it’s got your entire nook throbbing, and then she does something and the whole thing starts vibrating inside of you, fuck. She gasps a little and squirms against you, which just pushes it more firmly into you, and fuck fuck fuck you are going to die. You can feel tears starting to leak from your eyes, but at this point you’re not sure if they’re more from pain or pleasure.
Damara’s bulge slaps against your face—rather purposefully, you think—and the tip presses into you again. She groans and sits up a little, and then she sits on your fucking face and shoves the entire bulge down your throat. You swallow reflexively, almost a gag, and force yourself to calm down and breathe through your nose. This isn’t the first time you’ve been face-fucked—and you’re glad for that, because your first time was a disaster. At least you have a clue what you’re doing now. The folds of her skirt flap lightly against you as she starts to rock her hips and squirm, and there’s a gasp from the human that turns into a moan and progresses into the wet sounds of tongues and mouths moving against each other.
You start squeezing your bulge again, working fingers through the fork and rubbing your thumb alternately over the tips. Glasses girl makes an approving sound and grabs your other hand, and you find yourself with an overflowing handful of bountiful rumble sphere, nngh. She must have made a lucky guess. Most trolls aren’t into them, but you have been since you started getting turned on at all, because wow, there are two of them, how perfect can you get? You slide your tongue against Damara’s bulge as well as you can while it’s burrowing down your throat, and fuck, Damara’s rumble spheres are brushing against your arms too.
There’s sensation everywhere—wriggling, sliding, softness, wetness, the pounding music of the club, the click of a camera that you think is coming from the human’s partner, judging from the murmured mmm, yeah, just like that, babe that accompanies the sound. You turn all of the attention you can muster to Damara, because you really just want only the human to be fucking you right now and the best way to get rid of Damara is probably going to be by getting her off. Sure enough, a moment later she gasps out a phrase in some language you don’t know, and she pulls out and covers you in warm slurry. Some of it drips from her nook, and she moves back to smear it against your face with a laugh. You lick off what your tongue can reach.
“Yeah, well. Fuck you too, Damara.”
“Mmm, too much other chances here. Another day, I think.”
You groan, because that was totally not what you meant, but Damara is gone and now it’s just you and the human driving into you, panting and letting shameless moans slip from her mouth when you roll your hips up to meet her. She changes her angle a bit to lean down and kiss you, and it slides the tip of her bulge across your taut sac and presses her rumble spheres tight against you, and you clench and lose yourself in the experience of her, begging and praising and coming in waves, dropping curses and pleas from your lips without having the faintest fucking clue what you’re saying. The small splash of liquid across your stomach doesn’t match the intensity of the experience at all, because you’ve been so thoroughly fucked that the only material you have left at this point is probably the puddle you’re lying in and the mixed slurry in your warm, throbbing sac.
The human jerks against you when you come, and her thighs tremble as her movements become smaller and less rhythmic. You lick into her mouth past awkward teeth, pull her as tight against you as she can get, and run your hands over her back, letting power flicker between them. When you reach the small of her back she cries out loudly, exhaling a strong, warm puff of air against your face. It takes her a while, but she eventually stops shivering against you and reaches down to turn off whatever's causing the vibration. She flops against you and plants slow kisses over your flushed cheeks, and you realize that she’s bulgeless again. Interesting.
Her fingers slip through your hair, and fuck, that feels nice right now, because it helps dry some of the sweat that you’re covered in. You purr and spark with satisfaction, and she squeals in what you hope is excitement.
“Eeee! Can I—is it okay to touch that?”
“What?”
“The lightning-y stuff. That is really, really cool!”
“Heh. Sure, go ahead, why the fuck not.” Right now you’d let this girl do anything she wanted to you.
One of her hands runs along the curve of a horn and you nearly come again, your body jerking hard against her.
She squeaks and yanks her hands back.
“I am so sorry, oh my gosh!”
You force your breathing to even out again. “No, it’s okay. They’re just sensitive while I’m using psi. Sort of got me going again, ehehe.”
She lifts herself up a bit, and her hand wraps around your bulge. “I can see that. Do you want—?”
“Please.”
She half giggles, half snorts, and starts to work at you. Fuck, you like this girl. She could run you ragged, and you’d love every second of it.
And you do love it, especially when her tongue swipes over one of your bigger horns, and you see stars. You bite back a scream and arch upwards so hard that she nearly falls off as she pumps you through the orgasm, and KK’s voice comes from nearby.
“He’d better be okay or I am going to murder you, Jade.”
“He’s fine, fuckass. In fact, I think he’s more than fine, so nyeh. Suck it.”
KK growls, and you feel the need to intervene before this gets out of hand. Fuck. You really hope you’re not flipping ashen on him.
“No! No, KK, it’s—I’m good, I’m fucking fantastic, okay?”
He huffs. “Fucking—fine, there’s one more pair, do you need me to send them away?”
You shake your head, and the girl slaps you on the chest. “Of course he doesn’t, he’s a trooper.” You grin at that.
“Damn right, I am.”
She leans down and lowers her voice until you can barely hear her. “So, do you come here a lot?”
You let out an overwhelmed breath. If she’s suggesting what you think she is—
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Welllll…maybe next time my boyfriend will be up to joining us. Sound like fun?”
You don’t trust words, so you just nod in a manner that you hope comes off as more enthusiastic than desperate, and she kisses you one more time and leaves. Damn, that was good. You might be crushing sort of hard on her.
Someone new crashes onto you, energetic and rough, and bites into your neck. Fuck. You groan, and hiss between your teeth in irritation that nobody even warned you. Someone else’s hands thread into your hair.
The guy on your neck moves and rests his forehead on yours. His tongue darts into your mouth and you can taste blood, but the more interesting bit is that the tongue is split.
Why him?
The other person laughs, and you hear the distinctive slap of a high-five. “That’s hot, babe.”
Mituna cackles. “Hot? I’m fuckin' radioactive, ‘Tula. Hiiii, Sollux.” Two bulges squirm against you, and you sigh. Winning the game healed his burnout, but—well. You can’t fix a personality like that.
“God damn it, the whole point here is that I’m not supposed to know who you are.”
Mituna snickers and leans down to lick a long stripe up your chest and over your neck, then flicks his tongue into the hollow behind your ear. Your involuntary shudder only encourages him. “Shh, Sollux. Only fucking now.” The tip of a bulge twists into you, and yeah, okay, maybe you didn’t want to fuck him because you’ve got a blackcrush and you feel like you’re taking advantage, but—fuck, you’ll take it if the jerk wants it this bad, and you’ll make it the best fucking lay he’s ever had.
You fist your hand in his hair and pull him off of your neck. He screeches. How the hell do you even make a noise like that? Fuck. You need to shut him up or you’re going to go deaf, so you take your best guess at where his facial features are, and end up biting down hard on his lower lip. Perfect hit.
He bites back, and you’re quickly locked into a competition to see who can draw more blood. It’s a clusterfuck of a stalemate until you growl and roll him over, and he finally lets go of your lip, gulping for breath. You snarl again. There’s a heat rising inside of you even though you were nearly fucked-out five minutes ago, and all Mituna does is fan the flames.
“Tastes a little black, mini-me.” You hear him spit, presumably to get blood out of his mouth.
“Too fucking right it does. You’re rotten from the inside out.”
“Ehehe. Thank you, Sollux. I’m flattered.”
You sink your claws into his chest, and he tugs at your head sharply, ripping through fabric and pulling the blindfold off. His stupid fucking hair is pushed back out of his eyes, and there’s a quirk to his grin that makes you want to either punch him or fuck it off of him. Maybe both. Your fingers prickle with the stray flickers of uncontrolled psionics, and he definitely notices because he starts up a crackle of his own and pushes his hands against yours roughly. You amp it up and push back, and he ups the power to his again, and you decide fuck it and throw the largest surge of energy into him that you think he can handle. It reflects off his hands and back into you, and you’re thrown off of him and back into the puddle of goo. God damn it.
He’s on you again before you can scramble back up, and he flips you over onto your stomach, causing the slurry inside of you to swish around and make you a bit nauseous. His bulge runs up the crack of your ass and you shudder, and then he actually pushes inside and you almost sprawl flat on your face in surprise.
“Are you seriously so pan-rotted that you think that’s where that thing goes? Because it doesn’t! It goes in this lovely little thing we call a nook, you nubslurping fuckweed!”
He chuckles, and his other bulge slides into your nook.
“Mm, seems to be occupied already. Not sorry.”
If this happens again, you are going to tie him down and fuck him with a rusty spoon.
KK is staring at the two of you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He slaps his hand over his face and mutters I can’t fucking believe this before sinking down onto the floor and giving you a look—a look that you pointedly ignore because you’re currently getting it on with what you’re pretty sure is now your kismesis and you have no intention of stopping any time soon despite the random-as-fuck orifices he sees fit to shove himself into. It doesn’t hurt, it just feels weird, and you actually find yourself starting to enjoy how the two bulges work together inside of you. They coil and stretch you in all the right ways, and you’re forced to admit that the guy knows what he’s doing.
And are you just gonna sit here and take it?
…yeah. Yeah, you are, because he’s older and stronger than you psionically, and he’s more physically fit from thousands of sweeps falling down on boards and getting back up, and you’re exhausted enough that you know you don’t have a chance right now. If he tries this when you’re fresh it’s going to be a much different story, but for now you just need to pass out in slurry, then go home and forget about the shitty week you just had.
Latula has mostly been silent, but she’s working three fingers into her nook, and her bulge is trying to wrap itself around her hand, so you jerk your head to get her the fuck over here already. She grins, then lays back with her legs open and scoots up to you, holding her bulge back with one hand so it doesn’t work itself into her. When you trace your tongue along the folds of her nook, her head falls back and she practically melts. Mituna slams into you and doesn’t pull back out at all, just starts wriggling and coiling against your full material sac as his nails dig into your hips. You weren’t planning on getting marked up this much tonight, and you realize that you’ll probably still be feeling this at the end of the weekend. The thought of shifting in your chair at work, itching the healing scratches, makes you smirk against Latula’s nook as you dip your tongue inside of her.
She keens, and Mituna cackles, sliding out of you only to bury himself deeper. He runs his hands over you while his bulges start twisting again, and every inch of you suddenly thrums with static, pricking at you and driving you mad. Fuck, you’re going to die. You’re going to bite off your tongue or collapse from exhaustion or maybe even just drop dead from pleasure.
Latula grips you by the hair and presses you deeper for the space of a few seconds, and then she’s gasping and trembling and coming for you, her material running into your hair and matting it together as you lick a final slow stripe to clean her up a bit. She’s gorgeous like this, blissed-out and smiling weakly, her chest heaving as she comes down from the high. Mituna’s hand snakes around to grab your bulge, and his fingers curl just right because he’s the only other person in the goddamn universe who really knows what they’re doing with one of these things, really knows that you lose your shit when you tease at the fork rather than straight-up touching it.
“Fuhhckk.” You’re whining, and you don’t give a shit.
“Yeah,” he agrees, and pulls you back at a sharp angle to bite at your neck.
You go to bits then, shuddering and clenching and forgetting to breathe. You’re coming but you’re not coming, because there’s nothing left this time. Mituna pulls you flush against him and bites at your ear, and whimpers into it, and floods you with heat. The new material in your nook stretches you to your limits, dripping out around his bulge to trickle down your thighs, and the material leaking out of your ass confirms that you do, in fact, have limits there too, and when he lets you go and you drop to the floor you feel like you’re gushing fluid from every damn hole you’ve got. If you took any more slurry right now, you’d explode.
There’s a small spatter of liquid against your back, and you look back wearily to see that he’s shaking the excess off of his bulge. You groan and collapse onto the floor. A moment later he’s in front of you, yanking you up by the hair and making you stare bleary-eyed into his obnoxious face.
“Find me later if you’re up for round two, ehehe.” His tongue darts out and flicks over your lips, making you seize up with a shiver—fuck, why is he so hot?—and he drops you again. The world glazes over as you ponder the benefits and drawbacks of a round two.
Karkat rolls you over and grimaces, poking at you with his foot until you sit up a bit. “Ew. And no. There will be no round two. You’re ninety-nine percent dead and I like you just enough that I’d prefer he not finish you off, if it’s all the same.” He squats in front of you, and you reach up to pap him on the face.
“That’s nice.”
“God, you’re fuckdrunk, you stupid bastard. Let’s get you taken care of.”
“That sounds nice too.”
He helps you get up and throws a towel over you, which you find to be hilariously absurd given the situation. He throws a wad of cash at one of the attendants to cover clean-up, and helps you limp through the club, stopping briefly at the bar to grab one of the buckets the humans use for chilling fancy soporifics. You blink and find yourself in an ablution block stall that you really don’t remember getting to. KK’s got three fingers jammed up your nook, and he’s muttering something under his breath and into your neck that you really can’t be bothered to decipher at the moment because his fingers are bumping up against your swollen material sac, and he’s pressing against your stomach with his other hand, and you’re convulsing and shakily emptying yourself into the pail between your legs.
It’s an ugly, muddy brown, the shade of tension and anger siphoned off and made physical. It’s beautiful, in its own way. Bliss is an overflowing pail of muddy slurry. You giggle. It’s hilarious. You should become a poet.
KK flicks you on the cheek with stained fingers, and you nuzzle into them. He huffs like you just insulted his lusus, and presses something into your hands. It turns out to be some sort of crappy nutrition/energy bar hybrid that you almost spit out before you catch the look he’s giving you, like he knows what you’re thinking. Next is a bottle of water, which you pour over yourself because you’re fucking sticky everywhere. He growls and hands you another one, and he towels you down while you drink it. You almost feel like a troll again.
He leads you to one of the sleep-it-off rooms at the back of the club, insulated a bit against the noise and not quite as hot as the press of bodies tends to make the main floor, and you sink onto what you think is a human couch that swallows you in plush cushions. It’s warm and soft and big enough for you to stretch out on, so you do. Your entire body pulses with sluggish heat, and KK has said something to you and gone, and you’re sore from the inside out. Your sac is still aching, and you can’t figure out any more if it’s because it had too much slurry or because it needs more.
You jerk out of sleep some time later, and decide that you need more.
The door is locked.
Can’t a guy trust his own moirail?
You sigh.
You go back to sleep.
The next time you drift out of sleep, you’re home. You peek your head over the edge of the ‘coon and see KK gnawing on something that’s spraying crumbs all over whatever book he’s reading so intently. Has to be a romance.
“How the fuck did you get me here, KK? Last I remember, you locked me in a room and left me to die.”
He looks up from his book, and an evil grin forms on his face. “Oh, nothing special. I walked, and Mituna carried you.”
Fuck. He knows where you live. Your life is about to become insufferable.