Actions

Work Header

We're Looking For Something Dumb To Do

Work Text:

"Hey," he says, edging closer to the troll girl he's almost positive is Terezi.

"Hey, coolkid," she says, grinning like a shark, and yeah, that's definitely her. She's smaller than he thought she'd be-- all the Troll kids are a bit smaller, something dainty and feral in their build, like the fine-boned near-human grace of monkeys.  Her candy-colored horns come up to his chin, her breasts are small and high, and her waist looks as if it could fit perfectly between his cupped hands.

"Don't even fucking thing about it, Human!" Karkat snarls, all pint-sized alpha-male wannabe, and so, yeah.

Yeah.

They're doing this.

She slides into his arms like they're old dance partners, hooks the dragon head of her cane around the back of his neck, a bright sliver of pain that sets his heart racing in a way that isn't nearly as ironic as it could be but is still definitely three to four times as ironic as anyone else could ever manage, so. He brings his hands up to the dainty ridge of her spine, lowers his lips just barely to hers.

"Oh, Dave," she murmurs throatily, doing one stellar impersonation of a swoon, and it makes him prickle all over. "Have you come to take me to school?"

"Human!" Karkat screeches. "No! Bad Human! Hands off!"

"Terezi, my horny wondergirl, I have come to take you to a land of dreams and rainbow magic, a land undreamt of by any amount of freaky alien babes, and that land--"

"DAVE," Karkat shouts.

"That land is school," he whispers as huskily as he can, and brings his lips to hers.

Her mouth is different, somehow, than he'd thought it would be. He's never kissed anyone on their mouth before, not in his whole life, but he wasn't expecting how warm it would be, like a furnace, or the taste of her flesh, like pepper. She rolls her tongue across his teeth and that taste hooks into him like a thousand million tiny knives, paring the world away from anything that isn't her and him and their mouths together. He breathes out, hard, and in again-- the smell of her, the taste, he can't lose his cool but how could he hang on to it when she's setting him slowly on fire from the inside?

He digs his fingers into the soft perfect curve of her ass, grinding their bodies together and she makes an inhuman noise, like a dogfight or a riot, a monster's noise, and her claws pierce sharply through the lapels of his suitjacket. And still they're kissing, her sharp teeth pricking his lips raw, her strange hot tongue rasping away his mind.

He breaks away, finally, with what little is left of his self-control, what little is left of his composure and fuck, fuck, he'd thought he was so cool, he thought he was such hot shit but it's all just been radically redefined by this tiny gray-skinned girl, cool and hot and want and need. He can't imagine wanting anything so much ever again as he wants to lose himself inside her. He takes a ragged breath of air with numb, burning lips, and swallows hard.

"What did--"

"--You just do to me, coolkid?" she finishes in a whisper, pressing her sharp claws against her own green-flushed lips, her long dark lashes shuttering down over her red eyes. It's enough to unhinge him again, like a door under attack from an army of carpenter gorillas, nothing left but shards of twisted metal and splinters and they're kissing again, breathing each other down to dregs, stoking each other up from ashes into brilliant flame.

"NO," Karkat says, shoving between them, breaking his grip on her hips, the soft slickness of her skin vanishing like a desert mirage from his fingertips and replaced only by the blunt frustration of Karkat's hand against his chest, a ring of five dull claws, and his hand against Terezi's shoulder.

Dave only barely keeps himself from giving Karkat a free sample of sword right through his fuckugly goddamn yellow eyes.

"I don't know what you just did, Strider, but--"

"Why Karkat," he drawls, fire singing through his veins, singing roaring pounding screaming, he takes Karkat's face up in his hands and draws the little monster close, and he drawls, "Karkles, darling, you should have said you were feeling left out."

Karkat should be backing off now, okay now, nownownowoh shit, he'd forgotten the Trolls are all gay all the time, that this isn't going to work. Karkat melts a little under his hands, whines up high in the back of his throat when Dave takes his lower lip between his teeth and bites down. His hands scrabble for the table behind them, send a keyboard crashing to the floor and then he's bent over backwards in a lithe arc of black and gray, his shirt riding up under Dave's hands, his skin just as dreamily warm and smooth under his fingertips as Terezi's, the long hard muscles of his stomach twitching as he strokes over them, as he presses his nose to the corner of Karkat's jaw and breathes in the hotpepper scent of him.

God, he's good.

"S-- strider, this isn't funny," Karkat moans, fucking moans, and the sound of it does bad things to his dick, bad dirty awful gay wonderful things, and he grinds their hips together.

"Do you see my face, alien boy," Dave breathes out, "does it look like this is my funny face?"

"It looks like your stupid face," Karkat manages. He's flushing pink under his gray skin, and it's the only halfway normal thing about this whole deal.

"Weak," Dave says, because it's true. And he kisses him again, because he needs to.

Terezi growls from somewhere outside the fuzzy, blissful little circle of them getting their thing on, and bites the head of her cane into his bowtie.

"Forgetting someone?" she says.

"How about all of us, coolkid?" John says, and shit.

Shit motherfucking god damn fuckasaurus on a flaming bike.

"I know you promised me you'd learn me some of your sick moves once we all met in person," John says, grinning like the assclown Dave always knew he was, "but I think I might pass on lesson number Sick Gay Hump Rumpus."

"My room," Karkat says, fisting his claws in Dave's sleeve, in Terezi's shirt, "now."

Terezi cackles, a wild hyena sort of howl, and sinks her own claws into Dave's pants. "I declare Karkat's Deathly Ill Humpus Rumpus to be now in session!"

"Fuckin' whatever," Dave manages, his head spinning, his knees going AWOL, he thinks desperately don't crash in front of all these grubfuckers, just stay cool for another minute, another second--

Trolls scattering, his friends laughing, his legs skitter-sliding across the slick endless floors, they abscond.

The moment they transportalize into Karkat's room he and Terezi are on each other like a dogfight, rolling and snarling across the floor, biting and tearing at their clothes and it's Dave's turn to feel left out, but when he sees Karkat bite bloody gashes across Terezi's shoulder he changes his mind just a little.

They're naked from the waist up in a quick flash, claw-marked and slapping at each other's hands, when Terezi finally gains a bit of an advantage or Karkat concedes a bit of defeat or some crazy Troll thing, and she rolls on to her knees with him draped over her back like a shawl made of half-naked alien teenage boy and begins to rummage through her sylladex. 
 
"Come on," Karkat whines, leaning over her shoulder, gnawing hungry green marks into her neck, rolling his hips up against her ass. She elbows him off and licks eagerly through her captchalogue cards for a long moment until she apparently finds the right one and pulls out a large red plastic bucket.

"Oh fuck," Dave says.

"Oh, fuck," Karkat breathes, a good deal more reverently.  "Terezi, you massive freak."

"Hey, uh," Dave says, shifting his weight just a little uneasily, his crazy Trollsex buzz starting to clear from sheer force of weirded-outness, "just how exactly are you guys going to get your alien thing on with this thing?"

Terezi rises up from the floor, one arm looped through the wire handle of the bucket-- Karkat makes a strangled hissing gasp, eyes still riveted on the stupid thing-- and saunters back over to Dave.

"Well, first we get you naked, you fine pink piece of coolkid, you," she purrs, and sets her nails into the white satin of his bowtie. Dave gulps involuntarily as she pulls at it, deeply regretting wearing so many layers, tie and shirt and undershirt and jacket and pants-- he definitely regrets his pants, too tight, way too tight.

"Quit hogging," Karkat says, scrambling after her, though it's unclear whether he means Dave or Terezi or the goddamn bucket. He sets his own claws into Dave's jacket, shucking it just far enough off to trap his arms down at his sides.

"This would be a very bad time," Dave gasps, squirming a bit, struggling for the words, the cool, "to find out we're not compatible in the pants department."

"What do pants have to do with anything?" Terezi murmurs, undoing his shirt buttons, her hands deadly hot against his skin and oh, fuck, no--

"No," Dave moans, "no no no, very funny, Terezi--"

"Wait, seriously," Karkat says, unzipping his fly, "what are you OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT IS THAT."

 

Motherfucker. Dave leans his head back against the wall. "That's Dave Junior," he sighs. "Also known as what dudes are supposed to be packing."

"Oh, ick," Karkat marvels, peering at it. "You really are alien."

"You're the aliens," Dave retorts, slightly less cleverly than he might have. "And if you guys have tentacles--"

"No, nookstain, we're Trolls, also known as perfectly normal tentacleless people. We were here first, we're the sexiest, there's two of us-- notice that, us-- and we're not weird malformed pink alien things with wiggly dangly worm things where our seedflaps should be."

"What the fuck ever, man," Dave concedes, because his wriggly Dave Junior thing has definite opinions on ticking off someone who's got fingernails like that while depantsed. "I'm just saying, you're an alien to me too."

"I have an idea, bulgemunch, let's fucking vote on it. All in favor of Dave being the alien say aye. Aye."

"Aye aye," Terezi says. "Hey, can I lick it?"

"Terezi," Karkat says, in tones of grave betrayal.

"It looks like candy," Terezi says defensively, crouching down.

"Okay, rule one, no teeth," Dave says, grabbing at her hair.

"Sure, sure--"

"And rule number two, no teeth--"

"Dave--"

"And rule number three, just so we're perfectly clear here: No. Fucking. Teeth."

"Aye aye, captain cool alien kid," she purrs, blowing a mocking kiss up at him with those blue-black lips of hers. She hands the bucket on her arm off to Karkat, who squeaks, and clutches it gingerly to his chest. Then she gives his dick a long, thoughtful lick from tip to root.

It is pretty much the best thing anyone has ever done to him in his life.

"Wow okay," Dave says, and slides down the wall. His flagging enthusiasm for the whole affair unflags itself with pretty much an audible dig, his enthusiasm pretty much just taking those flags and throwing them away so hard there would be flags in space, all floating around weightless that's how unflagged he just gotten. She follows him down, wet and warm and intent and he could probably die right now, jelly-legged and flagless.

"You're going to catch something," Karkat mutters, clutching at Terezi's bucket like he needs to protect it from the utter depravity of Dave and Terezi's special rendition of First Contact. "You're going to catch some awful human disease like babies and when little pink monkeys explode out of your eyeballs I will just sit there and laugh."

"Shut the fuck up, Karkat," Dave says.

"Fuck you," Karkat grumps.

"Fuck you."

Terezi giggles, her soft lips still pressed plush up against his dick and Dave almost comes right there.

"Karkat, come down here and try this right now," Terezi says. "We're being multicultural."

"We're not doing any such stupid thing," Karkat says, taking a step back and clutching at the bucket like a little old gray lady clutching an intensely tacky set of pearls. "You're being freaky as hell, and he's being some horrible alien thing, and I'm standing here flipping my goddamn shit, okay?"

Terezi leans back a little and meets Dave's eyes with her own blind ones. Then she grins, slow and wicked.

Out comes the cane in a flash of white-and-red and down comes Karkat, stumbling to his knees, his sharp nails catching on Dave's shoulders. The bucket goes clattering across the floor.

"Fuck," he hisses, "I'm too young for crap this kinky--" and Dave gives him his absolute best smirk and lays one on him, a kiss full of teeth and tongue and fingernails scratching against his jaw-- he's not up to Troll standards in the pointy edges department but he does his best, finding Karkat's tongue and biting down and Karkat fucking coos and melts dazedly against his chest. 

He's pretty like this, Dave thinks, his yellow eyes heavy-lidded and soft, his cheeks flushed pink. He's pretty like this and so warm, too warm, and for someone with so many edges kissing him is like plunging into some fantastic alternate dimension made only of soft wonderful things, soft wet blissful things, and everything is so amazingly alright.

"Dave," he gasps, when Dave lets him get some air. "Dave, Dave, oh, fuck you-- fuck you so much--"

Dave, tired of his crabby Trolly shenanigans, experimentally grabs him by a horn and squeezes firmly. He has apparently found the jackpot of Troll hotspots, because Karkat shuts right the hell up, his arms going stiff and his eyes going wide. Terezi snickers, pillowing her head on his Dave's thigh and enjoying the show. Dave circles the velvety point of the horn with his thumb, takes a good hard note of the wild tremble it sends down his spine, and keeps the pressure up.

"Your turn," he says firmly. "Lick me, alien."

"I'm not touching that freaky thing, fuckface," Karkat sneers weakly, practically humping the floor. His shoulders are buckling inwards, his eyes fluttering away from Dave's, every line of his body screaming ask me again.

"Motherfucking lick my motherfucking dick, Pinkface McCrabass, and do it now," Dave growls, shaking him a bit, and Karkat gives the most gorgeous whine and crumples into his lap, licking everywhere, sloppy and wet and a total mess and Dave is absolutely the king of everything awesome, ever.

"Oh god yes," he gasps, and comes all over Karkat's face.

"Ugh!" Karkat squawks, jolting back. Terezi cackles and leans in, licking eagerly at the pearly come spattering his gray skin and it's totally hot, even with Karkat squirming and fussing under her attention.

"How's it taste?" Dave asks.

"Like awesomesauce," Terezi says, digging her nails into Karkat to keep him still.

"Like some freaknub just crotchvomited baby humans all over me," Karkat says.

"You're my favorite troll," Dave tells Terezi.

She giggles.

"Right," Karkat says, pushing Terezi off his face, and sits up. "Right," he says again, "Okay, so. Are we-- let's have actual normal-people sex now, okay?"

"Go for it, fearless leader," Terezi grins, and Dave sketches his best sarcastic salute.

"So now it's time for crotchvomiting baby Trolls all over buckets, huh?" Dave asks. "All pail bukkake up in this joint, I can't wait. I bet you lay eggs."

"Pshh, we're perfectly normal," Karkat says disdainfully, and shucks his baggy gray jeans off while Terezi writhes a bit more gracefully out of her own.

Dave really needs to stop getting hopewhiplash up in here.

 

"Okay, so what the hell is that," he demands.

"Vestigial pleasure apparatus," Karkat grunts, setting the palm of his hand against the whatever the hell it is between Terezi's legs and grinding down. It's a complicated sort of folded vertical orchid-looking thing, just different enough from what a girl-- or a guy-- should be sporting down there to raise the hair on the back of Dave's neck. She lets her head fall back and cooes, breathlessly, like a vulture in love.

"No, I mean yours," Dave clarifies.

"Mine is Karkat's vestigial pleasure apparatus," Karkat snipes, "and it's not feeling very fucking pleased, would you get your fucking hand over here or what?"

"Dude, it looks like a pussy. You have a pussy."

"A what."

"Never fucking mind," Dave sighs, scooting gingerly over to Karkat and reaching a hand between his legs. Nothing ventured, nothing gained in the valuable, valuable field of pubescent xenobiological clusterfucks. He's doing science.

Rose would be proud--- oh god, don't think about Rose.

Karkat's junk is as soft as the rest of him, a strange flower-petal dry softness paired with a rubbery resilience, and there's nothing much to hold on to, just long paired folds and mounds. He grunts with annoyance as Dave pokes at him, trying to gauge whether he's got anything like a clit, but shivers and melts a bit when Dave flattens out his hand and presses against the whole thing at once.

God, they really do hump the damn buckets, Dave realizes, keeping his palm as flat and stiff as he can while Karkat shakes and keens and rests his head against his bicep.

"You smell so fucking good," Karkat pants. "I hate you. Don't stop."

Terezi, meanwhile, is completely gorgeous, leaned back on her elbows in a long gray streak of girl-shaped dangerous lethal beauty, her mouth curled around a private vocabulary of pleasure and the lean lines of her stomach twisting and bunching with every rock of her hips.

"G--get the-- the oh, fuck, oh fuck Dave please-- get the pail," Karkat gasps out. "We need-- we have to-- oh." He whimpers when Dave eases away, and Terezi's cries redouble in volume as he turns his attention more fiercely down on her.

Dave has never been so turned on before in his life. He scrambles to comply, his face burning, feeling dirtier than he'd ever felt when he was living cheek-to-cheek with his Bro's circus of kinky puppet rump when his fingers slide across the slick red plastic of the pail. Maybe a lifetime of putting up with someone else's ridiculous fetish has prepared him like some kind of olympic-level sex champ to springboard straight off the platform of complete batshit insanity and do a triple frontflip into the crazy alien jerkoff nutfest awards...

The Trolls give identical relieved sighs when Dave fetches the pail back over and sets it down between them.

They sit up and set the bucket between their tangled legs, hands still slapping at each other until Karkat lets go, and Terezi bows her head down to give him a surprisingly tender forehead-to-forhead nuzzle. Karkat's breath hitches and he presses back, his hands white-knuckling on the bucket's rim. It's got to be the horns: when they rub together both kids gasp and moan sweet Troll nothings like oh fuck you, you tremendous nubsucker, whine harder, move more sharply, breaking off for sharp toothy kisses that leave them licking blood from each others' teeth afterward. They're getting all hot and bothered and it's definitely bothering Dave, too, watching them work themselves up, and he finds himself running his fingers uncomfortably through his own hair, breathing hard, kinda wishing--

It should be weird or gross or embarrassing, really: Dave's seen the Discovery Chanel, late at night when the programmers know what you really want to do is get sugarhigh on freezer-burned ice cream and laugh at a bunch of lions or zebras or whatever riding the baby train, it should be as inhuman and ludicrous as baboons bouncing on each other's gray-brown monkeydicks in a bush somewhere, teeth bared, eyes wild.

It's not. It's inhuman, and it's strange and kind of a little bit embarrassing, but mostly it's really hot. Their faces are vague and foggy with pleasure, breath fast, voices worn down to throaty murmurs of oh and yeah and more. These two kids are people, people he kind of knows and kind of likes-- kind of really likes-- and people who right now he would really like to fuck the good old fashioned human way, his sore dick rallying magnificently to the possibility of a second round of being touched by someone besides Mr. Lefty.

"Um," he says, and doesn't actually know what to say next. "Should I... go?"

"Get your scrawny pink butt over here, coolkid, and be schooled in the ways of proper hump rumpasing," Terezi commands breathlessly, and hauls him over by a hank of his hair. As soon as he gets close enough Karkat runs his own hand through Dave's hair, absently, and then grimaces.

"God, that's weird," he says, rubbing at where Dave's horns would be if he were really one of them.

"Fuck off," Dave says, and goes in for another kiss. It's rough and sharp and needy, drawing blood almost immediately, absolutely uncool and he doesn't even care. The pepper taste is overwhelming, is like being socked right in the brain with a fistful of ohgodyesyesyes. The Trolls trade him back and forth between them like a toy, a tool, and he lets them, caught up in the lightning-strike jolt of their teeth, the velvet rasp of their horns under his hands and their sharp nails through his hair and the filthy fucking noises that wrench up from their throats as the pail shakes and bumps between the tangle of their thighs, the sound of their drawn blood dripping pip pip splash pip from their lips into the empty bottom.

Finally Terezi makes a final low, overwhelmed scream, leans over the bucket, and spits out a great torrent of green-blue blood. The peppery smell increases, rising from her skin like Tabasco perfume, thick enough to choke on.

"Oh, fuck," Karkat sobs mindlessly, "oh fuck oh fuck, Terezi--" and joins her. They bite and pet at each other, shuddering and grinding their horns together in soft, sweet little motions, their blood dripping in glittering streamers from their lips.

"Um, eurgh," Dave says, leaning back a bit. Terezi snickers, through the blood and the drool and the shuddering, and spares a hand from Karkat's hair to reach for his dick.

"Yeah, we're pretty great," she pants. It doesn't take more than a firm squeeze before his eyes are rolling back in his head and he's coming messily all over himself.

The three of them sit there and wheeze for a long moment, and then Terezi captchalogues the bucket-- oh god it's still full of blood and spit-- and the three of them just sort of tiredly flop into a three-way pile. Trolls are apparently, of all unholy things, cuddlers. It's weird and kind of damp and sticky-- he's still got come on his chest and all three of them are pretty bloody and sweaty-- but in the interest of cultural appreciation and not getting eviscerated by someone's fangs Dave magnanimously rallies to the occasion and gives as good as he gets in the ancient and noble battle arena of post-coital snuggles.

It's actually not so bad. Extremely uncool, but not so bad.

"Did any of his gross humansauce get in the pail?" Karkat asks finally, from somewhere around the vicinity of Dave's stomach.

Terezi leans groggily over from the kingdom of Dave's thighs and smacks him limply in the face. "Like it matters, you big nookstain," she mumbles, dropping back down. "No drones around here, anyway."

"Mmngh. Yeah, okay," Karkat says. He smacks vaguely back and curls into a warm little ball. "Whatever."

The two of them quiet down, their hands almost but not quite touching over Dave's hip, ten sharp claws kneading gently into his skin.

In the interests of cultural appreciation, Dave thinks whatever, and closes his eyes.

He'll just let them do their alien nap thing for a little while.

It's not like he's even tired or anything... he could go all... all night.

"Sure, coolkid," Terezi mumbles. "Sure."

"No," Dave says, and is asleep before he can get out "really."

None of them dream.