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Furnishing Arguments

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The thing about being around humans is that they are not only stupid, some of them are cheerful about it.

Cheerful.

As though leaving soap around is the kind of thing you'd do where your commanding officer could see, let alone friends when they came to visit your new apartment which you were renting with your - whatever.

Karkat frowns in the hopes that this will cover up the (flush) color in his cheeks and goes to start yelling.

+++

"What the fuck is this! Why is it here! Why are you leaving it where other people can see it, you exhibitionist fuck!"

John giggles. His teeth are stupid. His hair is stupid and sticking up. His thinkpan is so stupid it makes float tentaculars, who actually have no thinkpan, look like Isaac Newton. (Was there a human Isaac Newton? The real Isaac Newton was a philosophistraitor and was, after developing several numberstudy and matterlogic theories, executed as is customary.)

"It's just soap? I thought it would be okay," John says, still smiling. Karkat, because he is a paragon of xenocultural understanding, does not shake him until his foodmashers rattle.

"No, nooksniffer. It is not okay." It is so not okay that Nepeta, if she ever came to visit (over his extremely deceased non-resurrectable maggot-ridden body), would probably write NG-9-rated RPF about his and John's soap-using xenosexual habits and show it to Equius. Who would probably sweat over it. Gross.

"But it's behind the shower curtain! And not a bucket," John says.

"Still not appropriate!"

"But we're the only ones in the apartment."

Jesus killed in order to save pitifully weak trolls in order that real trolls might find matesprits. And then Karkat had to meet John, who is stupid beyond even Jesus's powers of redemption.

"That doesn't make it okay!" Karkat grabs the soap from the ablution partition and shoves it into the cabinet under the running-water basin.

John just grins at him. "If you want to put it there that's okay too."

Karkat growls in complete and utter frustration and turns to leave the ablutevac chamber.

"Wow," John says.

Karkat freezes. That tone of voice, coming from John, is never a good sign. "What, bulgemuncher?"

And then John laughs. "I totally am, you know?"

"What the fuck? Has your thinkpan finally –"

"No, I mean," John says, and reaches over to lay his hand on Karkat's shoulder, "I totally am a bulgemuncher. It's funny."

"Yes, funny like like your miserable attempts at pranking."

"…Kaaaaarkat," John says, and okay, Karkat turns around, only to get a faceful of Egderp attempting to kiss him.

It's pathetic. John is clearly too helpless to be trusted with anything. So Karkat gives him a hand. Food flap. Whatever. Fuck it.

+++

Which is how they end up completely naked standing in the ablution partition with water pouring over them. Which is ridiculous.

What is also ridiculous is how incredibly warm and soft and furry John is. Karkat has no idea how soft furry things became the dominant species on the original Earth; trolls used to be spined and horned and had poison spurs, back in their earlier stages, though their scaling has reduced a lot, and most trolls nowadays don't secrete actual poison anymore, unless they have one of the recessive –

John's teeth close over the softer skin of Karkat's throat, hard enough to be almost-a-threat, and Karkat freezes instinctively. John lets go a little, enough to talk, and says, "Hi. It felt like you were thinking about how much awesomer trolls are than humans again. And." He lifts away and smiles dorkily at Karkat, squinting because he left his glasses on the counter.

"Why are you so dumb," Karkat says, and kisses him again, letting John take the brunt of the water spray on his back and sinking his hand down between their bodies. John shivers a little against him and keens softly, like a wounded animal.

It's pathetic and – okay, a little hot. And it is a fucking shame that male humans don't have nooks, because if the way John reacts whenever Karkat touches his, what's the stupid word, penis, is any indication, Karkat could probably make him scream.

(And no, fuck no, there is not going to be any of this waste-chute usage that John talks about, ever, no, gross, bone bulges do not go there, that is what nooks are for, and it is a fucking shameful waste of biological real estate that human males don't have them.)

Karkat nudges John's legs apart with his feet, wedges his other hand in between their bodies, feeling the water run down John's back and then onto his own hands before it spills onto John's leg and runs down to to the drain.

John is clinging to him, now, breathing heavy as he rocks into Karkat's hand. He's warm and strangely soft, pitiably defenseless.

"Are you out yet?" John asks, though there's a gasp in the middle of it. "Is it okay? Can I?"

Like he couldn't feel Karkat's bone bulge digging into him. What a moron.

Well. Extenuating circumstances.

"No, what the fuck, you are so overwhelmingly unattractive that I'm totally cold," he says, and then when John makes a hurt little noise and tries to pull back, as though Karkat doesn't say this every single time they have sex, "Jesus, do I have to tell you everything, yes, of course you can, my bone bulge is yours for the molestation, if you –"

John, who not thirty seconds ago had his hands on Karkat's centrolateral joint bone flares, now has one hand sliding the length of his bone bulge and the other around behind him, reaching inwards to stroke at the folds of his empty combined genetic material sacs.

"Wow," John says, like he always does, and thrusts a little harder into Karkat's hand. The water is spraying off him and onto Karkat, now, and they're both sweating despite the water, and then John says, "Can I…"

"Can you what." There's a blushing silence where John grins and gets pinker than he already is, and Karkat says, "Fine, bulgemuncher," and then John sinks to his knees, grinning even wider. At the same time as Karkat gets a torsal plane of hot water, John starts licking at his bone bulge, his fingers passing soft over the area near his nook, getting him used to the touch.

There's water running down Karkat, now, and – and then he realizes that it's running from his bone bulge onto John's tongue, into his mouth, and then John closes his lips over him and swallows, water spilling over his cheeks –

It's not like Karkat was deep in him. But it looked good, and was even better to think about. John is squinting from the water and his own nearsightedness, and Karkat reaches down and rested one hand on his forehead, just because John's hair is completely bedraggled and is probably dripping in his eyes, or something, and it's stupid and a little pathetic and Karkat would get angry about it except – except John's mouth is warm, the air full of steam. Karkat's chitinous surface layer is hot with arousal, and everything feels good enough that it's just a fucking pity fest in his thinkpan.

And then John pushes back against the hand in his hair and starts to move.

Karkat looks up at the wall of the ablution partition, but that means he gets faceful of water, so he goes back to watching John, who has his eyes closed like he's really concentrating on what it feels like, like he's really enjoying it. Which is sick but also hot. You aren't supposed to put your mouth on someone else's bone bulge and enjoy it; with a matesprit, it's always about pitying them so much that your own enjoyment is irrelevant, while a kismesis makes you do it as a show of power. Never like it's partly for yourself.

John opens his eyes, briefly, and takes his other hand off Karkat's centrolateral joint bone flare, reaching for Karkat's other hand, the one that isn't in his hair, and closes his eyes again, sinking down –

Karkat gasps, his breath catching in the back of his throat on clicks, and the shape of John's mouth around him changes, almost like a smile.

"John."

"Mm?"

Karkat takes a moment to breathe, loosening his fingers from where they've tightened around John's.

"Get up here."

John hums a falling note that makes no fucking sense whatsoever so Karkat says, "Get up here or I'll use you as a pail and not touch you again for a lunar cycle."

John pulls off and looks up at him, grinning like it's a joke. "That is the dumbest threat ever."

"And you're human."

"I really am." But John stands up, and Karkat pushes him sideways into the wall of the ablution partition, water streaming down them both, and kisses him, rutting against his hip and feeling John push back against him, John's hands sliding down Karkat's back as Karkat holds John's hips to keep him close, and it's perfect and wet and hot, and then John bites him, right on the side of his neck, somewhere between the threat zone and the mating-claim area, and the ambiguity shocks through him, that cold spike of fear at the same time as yours yours yours and, trembling, Karkat comes against John's hip, staining John's already-flushed skin and the water red, and then pink as it washes down, and the fact that there isn't even a bucket involved is the kinkiest part of it, the pure fucking hedonism of doing this because they want to, not because there'll be Imperial drones coming in two nights and they need to fill their combined genetic material sacs in preparation.

John must not be done yet, since he's still hard, so Karkat keeps grinding into him, the water making his hands slip over John's skin even as the noise of it covers up the desperate thrum of John's voice. After a little while Karkat tries to vary the rhythm of things, make their bodies out of sync, and John gasps and tightens his grip on Karkat's lower thoracic osseous gap and moans, lowly, so Karkat sticks with that, feeling superior as always that he doesn't have to worry about going soft if he finishes first, and doesn't stop until John freezes and dribbles his own genetic material onto them both, waiting for John to be done before he pulls away and lets the water wash things off.

John kisses him once on the spot where he bit, letting his tongue slip out briefly, and Karkat shivers a little with it before he turns the water off, and then he shivers as the cold air starts seeping in.

John pushes the ablution partition curtain aside, grabs a towel, and like an idiot tries to wrap them both in it, before Karkat slips away and out of the ablutevac chamber, naked. The cold makes his bone bulge finish retracting back into its sheath, and he starts thinking about maybe crawling into his recuperacoon, taking a nap until things warm up, as he pulls on a shirt and pants.

"Sleepy," John says from behind him, spilling out on the bed, naked but mostly dry, his human boneless bulge-thing floppy and stupid.

"I'm not going to do your mammalian cuddling on that thing," Karkat says. "If you want to do that, crawl in the recuperacoon. Otherwise you're going to get eaten while you're dreaming about fucking mammalian squeakbeasts."

"Are you threatening to eat me?"

"You try fucking dreaming of horrorterrors and not find you've eaten a raw squeakbeast in the morning."

John pauses, staring at him open-mouthed, and then says, "I hope you're kidding?"

Karkat glares at him and pointedly goes to stand by the recuperacoon.

"…are you going to be naked? Because I'd be okay with, you know, christening every piece of furniture in the apartment," John says hopefully.

"Fuck you," Karkat says, and starts stripping.