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The Fuckening

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The whole room is filthy and disgusting, it smells exactly like what's it's used for and you shouldn't be as visibly excited as you obviously are. Or how you would be, if your sheath wasn't plugged to keep your bulge within and your nook wasn't teasingly filled with a bare thumb's length of silicone. Enough to tease, never enough to satisfy. You blow through your nose and let Karkat lead you step by careful step into the cubicle with its teasingly obvious hole in one wall, hands wrapped in latex mitts and strapped behind your back. You know how to stop this if you need to, you could free yourself in a pusherbeat from your 'restraints', but you can't imagine that you will.

You are so very. Excited.

You can feel yourself trembling, and you go down onto your knees in front of the hole easily when Karkat puts a hand on your shoulder. Swallowing with difficolty, you lean your head back as he caresses the side of your face around the straps of the bit-gag's harness, meeting his gaze as he looks down at you. Obviously fretful, concerned, even if you don't understand why. You're naked, except for the straps of the harness around your waist and thighs, around your head and soon that second is removed, with careful consideration by the troll you would never have imagined in this situation two sweeps ago. One sweep ago. He'd certainly showed his leadership abilities to you before you'd reached the new understanding you have, but this - this - is newer. Precious.

"You really want to do this?" he says softly and you nod eagerly, shivers racing down your spine along with the sweat. Arousal like electricity racing through your veins. His hand, rough around the fingertips and the knuckles grips your chin, forcing you to look him directly in the eye. You force yourself to hold it as he wipes his thumb across your chin, wiping away a string of drool from having the bit between your teeth that you hadn't been able to swallow. You're a mess. A filthy mess, you can feel the air moving across the wetness on your thighs. Even with your nook stoppered (so insignificantly, so meaninglessly), you're still dripping preslurry everywhere like a - like - a - a - a slut. Trash. You're perverted trash and it's wonderful. "You're sure?" he presses, and you nod.

You realise after a moment, that he's waiting for an actual answer. A verbal one. So you gather your thoughts, when all you'd been thinking of is how you can make him proud, show him what uses you can so easily be put to. How glad you are to debase yourself for him (for yourself). Finding words to express that seems nonsensical, impossible.

"Yes, I'm sure." You lean the side of your face harder against his hand, keeping your eyes fixed on his. That blazingly scarlet stare. It would be intimidating to have him scowling at you so ferociously if you didn't know what emotions truly prompted it. "I want to." You kiss his fingers, lipping at them a little gently. Watching his expression soften. It thrills you in a way that isn't at all erotic, but it does...feed into that. You can't help yourself; you are what you are and Karkat has helped you accept this part of you. "I want to show you. How good, I can be for you."

"You're already fucking good, you cold-blooded bastard," he growls, but he shuts the door to the cubicle all the same, walling the two of you into this small space. Smelling of slurry, of strange pheromones. The floor is stained, the hole is bordered with strips of electrical tape like some make-shift, impromptu exercise in obscenity. You can feel your excitement increasing, and it's hard not to fidget but you manage to keep yourself in check. Only just. You keep your pose, helped by the pressure of the restraints around your forearms and shoulders, reminding you implicitly to keep your shoulders back, your hands together at the small of your back in their tightly curled fists. "You're ready for this, Equius?"

"Yes," you croon, feeling a trill rising up inside your chest. They can't see you, and you won't know who they are. All you'll know is the colour of their blood when their bulges come through that enticing hole in the wall. Identity is not the way this game is played. You rub the side of your face up against Karkat's pants and feel your nook clenching hungrily around the bare inch of toy that you've been allowed. It lets you crumble into pleading for what you want - for what you both want. You feel safe enough to do that now. With him. "Please. Please, Karkat. Please."

He leans down to kiss you, catching your long ponytail of hair in a forceful grip that really does make you chirp needfully before he pulls away. Presses a button that you didn't notice, too focused on him and the aura of the situation to take in all the details, and a buzzer sounds. He grins down at you, teeth sharp in ways you think of nostalgically (the scar on your shoulder twinges in remembrance), expression sharp and focused in a way that makes you shudder. Another drop of slurry traces its way down your thigh and you pant helplessly, hopelessly aroused from your place. On the floor, at his feet. You've never felt such a strong sense of belonging, of comfort, as you do right now. It's exhilarating.

"Alright, you needy, sloppy bucketbitch. Let's see you do your thing."

He pushes your head, your face, your mouth to the waiting hole and you whine softly.

You hear the door to the outer room open, and his thumb presses softly against your ear, rubbing the edge gently. You open your mouth, and are rewarded with the bitter taste of slurry and warmth pressing over your tongue. You hear the troll on the other side curse, a soft thump and the thick bulge in your mouth only presses deeper. You close your eyes.

You let yourself go.