Chapter Text
The first time you see him, he’s in your club all the way to the side, by the bar. You’re spinning your turntables like a pro but it’s not your greatest night. The crowd’s drunk and doesn’t care what sounds you’re spewing.
This troll, short and dark, seems to be the only one even remotely sober. Some girl- his girlfriend? His matesprit? (you’ve never really gotten troll romance)- You hope not regardless- is trying to shove something into his hands but the guy isn’t giving in. He’s in a short sleeved band t-shirt and looks horribly uncomfortable in it, but you admire the way it shows off his arms.
The track slows and you put on a playlist. No one’s paying attention anyway; it’s a Sunday night and turnout is lower than the club’s managers would like. You wander away to grab a beer and possibly scope out the cute guy. You couldn’t exactly see from where you were standing, but for some reason you feel like he’s got a great ass.
“Hey Egbert,” you slide into the bar, greeting the bartender. He beams at you, black hair everywhere and his dumb hipster glasses askew.
“Hi Dave!” John slides you a beer automatically and leans over the bar, his buck teeth clearly showing. “You look really hot tonight, are you okay up there?”
You raise a single eyebrow and take a drink. John laughs; you can feel the eyes of the group on you but you don’t look over. The beer is shitty but it’s all John has left by this point, so you make do.
“I meant sweaty and gross,” John pokes you in the arm, leaning back and grabbing a rag from underneath. He dabs at your hand, which is indeed covered in sweat, and you flip him off with a smirk.
“Just fine,” you tell him, leaning forward. “Who’s the cute troll over there?” You’re very careful not to glance in the group’s direction. John is far less subtle.
“Oh, her name’s Terezi and she’s blind! Also she licked me, if was hilarious,” John almost shouts over the music; it’s not even that loud and you’re sure the group heard him. You grimace.
“I meant the guy,” you say, and he just laughs.
“Oh, you mean the one with fuzzy hair and the great ass?”
“Is it better up close?” You ask, allowing yourself half a grin.
John waggles his eyebrows, a manic glint in his eyes.
“It is the plushest, like one of Dirk’s puppets, but a thousand times more hot,” he tells you.
“Oh god, John, don’t even go there, that shit isn’t kosher dude,” you suppress a shudder. How well you get along with your brother is directly related to the presence of smuppets. You grew up with them staring at you with their cruel, dead eyes and smooth dong-like noses.
“Whatever, Dave, you totally can’t hit on him.”
“Why not?”
Then John’s face flickers and someone sets a glass down next to you.
“Yeah, why the hell not?”
It’s the troll.
You fight the need to let your face slam into the bar.
“This is embarrassing,” you tell the ceiling. The troll laughs. “How about we start over?”
“Why the fuck not, maybe this time neither of us will make a bulge-searing fool out of ourselves, but I wouldn’t bet on it.” You turn to him, smothering a laugh of your own.
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, ….?”
The troll nervously pushes his coarse black hair out of his eyes. “Karkat Vantas,” he says. He’s got snakebites in his lips and he plays with them absently. His irises shine with a bright, mutant red. It’s a little unsettling to look directly into them; almost like seeing a reflection of yourself.
“Dave Strider,” you nod in return.
Karkat makes a face. “What kind of a grubfisting ridiculous name is Strider?”
“I dunno, about as ridiculous as Karkat Vantas, it’s like some moron looked out their window and picked the first two completely unrelated things in sight and strung them into a name,” so much for making a good impression. Karkat’s about as short as his temper apparently, with a mouth foul enough to rival your own, you learn when he calls you a shamefucking assmouth with no sense of cultural sensitivity. You like him already.
“So, Mr. Vantass, you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself among these fine specimens of human nature.” A little to your left and back, there’s a couple who seem to be wearing nothing but painted on sequins, and it is not flattering. Karkat shudders. “I can only assume that you’re on a quest to find the shittiest club in existence, and I applaud you for finding it.”
“Thank you, I tried my hardest, I was looking specifically for the ratio of shitty music to shitty crowds with creepy patrons and just couldn’t pass this one up,” he looks like he’s trying very hard to be friendly without quite succeeding. You don’t much care if he doesn’t like your music. The dark rings around his eyes suggest he doesn’t get much sleep, and his hunched shoulders say he doesn’t like people much. You want to see if he’d change if you got him alone, or if he fucks the same angry way he talks. He’s obviously not that antisocial, since he is letting you flirt with him.
You wonder if it would be rude to just ask outright why he’s here when he’d so obviously rather be elsewhere, but he beats you to it.
“It’s her wriggling day tomorrow,” he tells you, jerking a thumb at the troll girl, who is trying to convince John to let her do shots off him. John is patiently trying to explain that this is not that kind of bar. Two other trolls, one dressed in something beautiful you don’t know the name of, and the other wearing what looks to be a pirate costume, are both egging him on.
“Is she your…?” You try not to blatantly look like you’re scoping him out, and fail. He considers you, and then seems to come to a decision.
“No, we’re just friends,” he says gruffly, looking down. It’s a sore spot, maybe he’s looking for a rebound. Maybe you don’t mind being that rebound if it means you get to bury your hands in that fluffy black hair-
“Well, good,” you say, awkwardly. Something like a smile tugs at his mouth, but he fights it down. His hair is dark and curly, almost hiding two nubby horns. They’re probably the smallest you’ve ever seen on a troll. His face looks delicate, and his skin looks soft. You want to reach out and see if you’re wrong.
“Why are you here?” Karkat asks you, suddenly. This one you can answer without making a complete tool of yourself.
“I work here,” you indicate the DJ booth. Karkat raises both eyebrows; it’s horrifically cute.
“Really?” he asks, obviously judging you. You can’t really blame him; the place is a shithole, and the pay is worse, but you get by. Without it, you wouldn’t even have a job. The only reason you have this one is John, who kindly put in a good word for you.
It’s not that you’re bad at keeping jobs; you’ve just had some bad luck recently.
“It’s not so bad most of the time,” you lie, trying to ignore the people all around you. Over at John’s end, the short troll girl is now chugging a beer like it’ll run if she doesn’t get it down fast enough. The fancier troll girl, with short black hair and elegant horns, is laughing so hard jade green tears roll down her cheeks. Miss Pirate seems to be trying to flirt with John while keeping her cleavage in check. To your horror, John seems to be charmed.
In another time, you would’ve intervened for his own good, but two years back your sister drunkenly sat you down and explained that John was perfectly capable of making his own decisions, that codependency was unhealthy and frankly unattractive, and that you should at least try to make more than two friends whom you found over the internet. You also found out that he’d slept with her in the same conversation. Overall, it had been a bad night.
“I’m so sure, there is no other vapid, pan-draining crapheap I’d rather waste my life in,” his arms have loosened slightly, like he’s beginning to relax in your presence.
You grin, about to reply, when a retching sound reaches your ears.
“Oh my god,” Karkat groans, at your side. You follow his line of sight and wince sympathetically. The short troll girl, who turns one year older this day, has just puked into a nearby potted plant; obviously the chugging was too much for her. You have many a time questioned the wisdom of keeping fake plants around, and this is the reason. Green troll makes her way over to you both, barely clutching the bar to keep herself steady.
“Karkat, I think we’re going to go home now, Terezi seems to have-” a particularly loud heave makes her wince. “Well, next time I will try to keep her away from my vodka supply.”
“Good idea,” Karkat grimaces, the tips of two fangs briefly showing. You find yourself wondering how they would feel against your tongue, and force yourself to look away.
The green troll glances toward you, then blushes. “Are you going to come with, or should I arrange to call you tomorrow to make sure you haven’t been murdered?”
“I might hang out a bit longer,” Karkat’s gaze flickers to you and then away. She seems to understand perfectly.
“This place closes in like, ten minutes, anyway,” you add, helpfully.
“Well,” she says, and then makes her way back to the other two girl trolls, not wobbling at all in her heels; you’re impressed.
“Let me buy you a drink,” you suggest. Karkat turns back to you, clearly thinking. Obviously, he isn’t too bothered by what he sees, because he lets you.
“So, what’s a troll like you doing in a place like this,” you ask, doing your best to keep a straight face.
Karkat stares at you for a second, as though trying to discern how serious you are.
“No,” he says, finally, and it takes all your self control not to cackle at the expression on his face. “Never say that again, no matter how not serious you are, that was truly, spongeshittingly, awful.”
“You haven’t even seen the worst of it yet,” you grin at him, before wondering what the hell you’re doing, smiling at a stranger like a braindead tool. Your brother would be ashamed.
Karkat’s face scrunches as he frowns at you, fang worrying his bottom lip. He keeps playing with his piercings and it’s just a little bit distracting. No, nope dot jpg, think unsexy thoughts, it’s very possible you will get fired and also lose a chance to see this guy naked if your pants don’t stop trying to throw a fucking party.
“Who says I will?” he challenges. You shrug.
“No one,” you say, taking another sip of your drink. The silence hovers awkwardly for a moment, before he apologizes.
“I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing,” he confesses, studying his claws. They’re filed down to regulation, which you always thought was a bit harsh, but there’s government for you. The new Empress, not much older than you, has done wonders for troll-human relations and claw trimming was one of the compromises. “Embarrassingly enough, I can honestly say that I’ve never done this.”
“Done what?” you ask, playing cool. Your heart has sped up, and you think if he just leaves it might stop. A pair of glutes that round have got to be illegal, you should probably call the cops on him, hello yes 911 I have an emergency. This hot troll with a criminal ass might ditch me at a shitty bar, please advise.
“This,” he gestures at the room. “Whole, drinking, dancing, and stupid shit flirting, thing.”
“Whoa, you were flirting? Thought we were just passing the hours, you know, admiring my physique, literally the figure of David.” You motion to your face. He laughs at you, like you knew he would, and you feel a little bit better.
“Whatever gets you to sleep at night,” he takes a long gulp of the drink you bought him and almost chokes. You shouldn’t find that endearing, but you do. This whole night seems to be shaping up into a reluctant attraction slug fest. Grimacing, he pushes it away slightly.
“You could get me to sleep at night,” and it’s such a bad line, even for you, that you laugh with him.
You poke fun at each other for a few more minutes, and you finish his drink, before your boss forces you back to the booth to close out.
“I’ll see you soon, maybe,” you say, trying not to hope too much that he sticks around.
“Yeah- uh, will it take you long to, you know,” he asks, staring fixedly at his hands like they might tell him what to say. You need to get close to this absurdly cute troll, pronto, or you might just die.
His face is a little too close to yours, and it’s not your fault that you end up kissing him. His lips are soft, and they move under yours in a way that makes you want to ditch your job and take him right there, against the fucking bar. The kiss is a little awkward- your shades get in the way and his nose crushes up against yours, but you find yourself wanting to do it again. Your boss coughs awkwardly and you just might be out of a job again, so you pull away.
“I’ll be back in five,” you promise, and maybe you run back to the booth, and maybe he laughs at you for being the desperate tool you are, but you’re pretty sure he’ll still be there when you come back.
So after you’ve packed up all your shit and collected your pay from a grumpy boss, you’re a little worried that he’s not around. Your stomach sinks down to your soles and you berate yourself for caring at all. So what, you’re not going to get laid tonight, big deal.
You step outside, where the crowd has quickly dispersed; it’s almost deserted. You spot John walking down to where his car’s parked, and you think about asking for a ride. You heft your duffle bag full of equipment over your shoulder and start to walk after him, before you see Karkat.
He’s leaning against the wall of the club, looking very uncomfortable, and it’s like you just won the lottery. He spots you around the same time you spot him, and you relish the way he relaxes just a tiny bit.
“Hey,” you say, when you’re close enough.
“That was longer than five minutes, I thought you’d ditched me,” he grumbles, kicking at the gravel. You can barely make out a faint blush on his cheek in the lamplight. “Would’ve served me fucking right, too, you know.” His breath mists the air, it’s so cold out.
“Why?” You aren’t trying very hard not to watch him play with his lip piercing.
“I ditched my best friend on her wriggling day to maybe get in some hot human’s pants, what a stellar troll I am,” he huffs. You really don’t know what to say to that, except maybe some stupid ramble, but his comment about ‘getting into some hot human’s pants’ has your brain stuttering a little. You kiss him to avoid saying obviously he’s already a bad person but the sight of you is enough to put the devil in anyone, and also the devil is my dick. When you feel his tongue against yours, you forget how to think for a few seconds.
You slam him up against the wall outside the club, claiming his mouth. His body is flush against yours; you find out his ass really is as great as it looks, it’s better than you could’ve imagined. You are struck with the desperate need to have this troll in your bed. You push a leg between his knees and he grinds down on it; you try not to wonder just how wet he is already.
His mouth is hot and wet and tastes like shitty beer, and you can’t get enough of him. His legs are pressed against yours and his hands are fisted in your hair before he finally pulls away. His lips are wet and swollen.
“Technically,” he pants, and your face flushes with the knowledge that you kissed him breathless. Fortunately, it’s dark so maybe he won’t notice. “Technically, this is public fucking indecency.”
You can’t help but snicker. Karkat thumps your shoulder, glaring, and it’s the cutest thing. He’s got deadly sharp fangs less than a foot from your throat, and that shouldn’t be cute but it is.
“You take this somewhere it can be private indecency?” you ask him, hands resting on his hips. You can feel how turned on he is through your jeans; you’ve been with trolls before, you know how they work, although none of them have ever been as warm or as striking as this one. You’re a little tipsy, sure, but you know what you like, and you really like Karkat.
“Only as long as you’re not a serial killer, or if you promise to never make an innuendo that shitty again,” he says, trying not to squirm. His bulge twists against your dick, you felt it; your stomach tightens and you have to pull away to remind yourself to think with your upstairs brain. “Do you have a car, I mean, shit, are you even fit to drive?”
“I haven’t drunk that much, I should be fine. I’ve won Mario Kart when I was more intoxicated than this,” you say, automatically. You don’t quite manage to take your hands all the way off him.
“That is the least reassuring thing I’ve ever heard, and you’ve seen my friends,” he says, not even trying to move away. His hands almost burn against your skin, like he’s got a fever. “What kind of a dunderfucked DJ are you even, that you literally get shitfaced on the job? How desperate does that place have to be?”
“I make minimum wage and I have to watch intoxicated troll girls puke onto fake plants,” you remind him, and he grimaces. “I am that kind of dunderfucked DJ.”
“Sorry about that,” he says, and you kiss him again. It’s starting to become a problem for you, kissing him. You want to kiss him all the time, even though it’s freezing and also three o’clock in the morning and there are places you could be that are not so cold that you could feasibly lose small appendages. You use this as an excuse to pull Karkat closer; he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Can you drive?” you ask him, “because it would be really weird to ask John to drive us to my place or something.”
“Just call a fucking taxi, you unadulterated cheapskate,” he punches you in the shoulders. You call a taxi.
You expect the ride back to be awkward, but it’s not. Mostly it’s just trying not to stare at him, or touch him, and failing kind of a lot.
Then you’re at your apartment and wondering if he’s going to ditch you, because there are thousands of stairs and the elevator has been broken since forever. He doesn’t, but you do stop a few times on the way up, to refresh your memory of his mouth. He kisses you like he’s afraid of what words will spill out of his mouth if he doesn’t. By the time you get your key in the lock and shove open the door to your apartment, his shirt is half off and you’re already kicking off your shoes.
Karkat takes a moment to look around your apartment while he pulls off his own shoes. You’re a little embarrassed; you hadn’t been planning on company and it shows.
“I know it’s a sty,” you start, but Karkat shrugs.
“My place is worse,” he says, and kisses you again. You want to stop, and ask him why he’s doing this. It’s a little obvious he’s not a virgin but it’s been a while; his arms are stiff when he wraps them around your neck. Instead you just pull his shirt the rest of the way off, guiding him toward your bedroom. You dodge the futon where your brother used to sleep before he moved out, and Karkat tosses his shirt over it.
Your room isn’t much better than the rest of the apartment, but Karkat doesn’t seem to care.
“Still think I’m a serial killer?” you ask him, sticking your hands in his back pockets like a cliché motherfucker.
“Like you’re organized enough to be anything other than a shitty DJ,” he tells you, pushing you toward your bed. He looks a little hesitant.
“This okay?” you ask him, and in response he kisses you again; he’s definitely worked out how to shut you up. You pause for a moment to take your own shirt off, barely remembering to set your shades out of harm’s way first.
Karkat falls back onto your bed, jeans unbuttoned but not pulled off. You help him with this, stripping him down to his boxers. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of them, soaked through already. You’re unzipping and stepping out of your own pants in record time. You fall on Karkat like a breaking wave, kissing him again. His hands rake over your arms and back, like he’s trying to feel every inch of you he can reach. You bury your hands in his hair and rub his horns, feeling him flex and writhe beneath you.
Then he stiffens, and you know you’ve done something wrong.
“Karkat,” you freeze, looking at him, hands falling away. The faint light from the streetlamp outside illuminated his face, twisted in confusion. He cups your face in his hands and stares, chewing on his bottom lip. It lasts maybe two seconds.
“Your eyes are fucking creepy,” he says at last, relaxing.
“They’re the same as yours, fuckstain,” you laugh, you’re so relieved. You’ve never been good at personal problems, not even (especially, Rose would say) your own.
“I know,” he says, and grabs your ass. As a change of topic, it was pretty transparent, but you’re not complaining. You push into the touch, kissing his neck at the same time. The startled whine you get out of him makes your dick twitch, and yeah okay you really need to get at his junk, right now. Breaking away, you crawl down the bed until you’re at eye level with his boxers. You glance up to see Karkat watching you, bottom lip between his teeth. He nods, and you pull at the elastic of his underwear, smirking.
“Dave,” he starts, hoarse voice beginning to rise warningly. With one smooth movement, you pull his boxers down to his knees, freeing his bulge. Like his eyes, it’s bright red. Unlike his eyes, it’s wet and writhing and is pretty much the hottest thing you’ve seen in a long while. You pull his boxers all the rest of the way off and throw them somewhere to your left; hopefully he’ll be able to find them in the morning.
You spread his legs and crouch between them, raking your eyes over every inch of smooth grey flesh you can see. Karkat squirms, and when you take a second too long in your staring, he kicks you.
“Watch it punk,” you catch the offending leg and press your mouth to the place right above his knee. Then you kiss upward, making your way up his thigh.
“I hate you so fucking much, you damn tease,” he gasps, when you’re about three inches away from his dripping nook. You use one hand to keep his bulge out of the way; your dick throbs between your legs, as you take a moment to wonder what it would feel like curled around you. You ignore that in favor of licking a long stripe across the opening of his nook, barely applying any pressure. He whines, one hand fisting itself in your hair loosely. You play with the folds of his nook, never quite entering it, just teasing him. The hand in your hair tightens when you finally dip your tongue in. You fuck him with your mouth until his bulge starts to thrash. He hisses when you pull away.
Sweat beads on your back and neck, and Karkat’s bangs are sticking to his forehead. He guides you back up his body, hand curving down your neck to your back. His blunted claws make you shiver. He cups your hips and pauses.
“Enjoying the view?” you ask him, propping yourself up on your elbows, waiting for him to make the next move.
“Maybe,” he growls, and you feel his legs shift under you. His bulge twists against your stomach and it’s taking all your self control not grind against him like a horny teenager. “Fuck, Strider, can you, fucking,” he groans, turning red.
“Anything you want, hey, I won’t judge,” and the worst part is you won’t, because just having him under you is doing everything for you and you’d do anything to return the favor. He twists your hips and you let him roll you onto your back. He straddles your hips, nook dripping, and you realize with a jolt that he’s going to ride you.
“Oh fuck,” you breathe, and when he wraps a hand around your cock you arch your hips into the touch. He smirks a little bit, the other hand spreading over your stomach. He rakes his blunted claws over your side, too-slowly moving his hand around you. You make a noise somewhere between a moan and a squeak; later you’ll be embarrassed, but right now he’s just too fucking hot. “Oh fuck, Karkat, shit,” you moan out, watching with wide eyes as he leans down to spread his tongue over the head of your cock, licking away a single bead of precome. Your heart is thudding in your chest and when he straightens up you make a small noise of disappointment.
Karkat fixes you with half glare, half grin. He looks so relaxed as he guides his bulge to your dick. You gasp and grip the sheets, bracing yourself with your ankles pressing deep into the mattress. It feels better than you thought it would, wet and tight and pulsing around you.
Karkat breathes in sharply, spreading his legs wider and slipping a hand between them. You jerk your hips up to the rhythm of his bulge and watch him finger himself, his eyes fixed on your dick. It’s so fucking hot, you’re worried you might come and have to stop.
He slips another finger into his nook and shudders, his fangs drawing blood from his lip. You surge upward to lick it clean, to feel the bitter iron against your tongue. Karkat slides further into your lap, skin sweat-slicked and burning. He runs his tongue along your lower lip, rolling his hips at the same time. He swallows down your moan and pulls his fingers from his nook to wrap around you both. You palm his ass and pull him closer to you, until his bulge around your dick grinds against both your stomachs.
“Fuck you,” Karkat groans, nipping at your ear, running his tongue over the shell. His bulge tightens and his claws dig into your shoulders. “Fuck you to hell, Dave,” and then his bulge releases you and before you can get in a word of protest, he sinks down onto you.
His nook is hotter than you expected, and so fucking tight. You don’t know if he’s ever done this before, if you’re hurting him, but the sound he makes when you fill him convinces you he’s fine. You bite his shoulder and feel his nook spasm around you. He moves his hips frantically, and you move with him, falling onto your back and taking him with you. He curses under his breath at a near constant speed, breaking off only when you slide your tongue into his mouth. His bulge squirms between you, spreading red troll come all over your thighs. Karkat lets out the best noise when you take it into your hand.
He comes with a muffled cry, his face buried in your shoulder. His nook shudders and twitches around you, tightening like it’s trying to keep you there. You dig your fingers into his thighs and fuck him hard while he shudders and moans through his aftershocks. His teeth clench around your neck, drawing blood, and you lose it.
After, he lies slumped against your chest, panting. You take a moment to catch your breath, and to enjoy the weight of him on top of you, before it gets a little difficult to breathe.
“Have fun, Karkitty?” You laugh, rolling out from under him. Your stomach and thighs are unpleasantly sticky, but you don’t much care. Karkat punches you in the shoulder.
Round two is almost better- he rides you against the wall next your bed, legs wrapped around your waist. Your back stings from the claw marks and you can’t get enough of him.
You fall asleep when the light is already streaming in through the window.
When you wake up, it’s four in the afternoon and Karkat is gone. You tell yourself it was to be expected and try to ignore the empty feeling inside you.
You take your time getting up, stretching stiff muscle, and wincing every time something touches your back. You should probably do something about all those scratches, but you’re too lazy to. You take a hot shower and feel somewhat better. You go to wash your sheets and tell yourself you’re being stupid when you hesitate, because it smells like sweat and sex and a shampoo that’s not yours.
You’re not developing feelings; Karkat was just hot like a jalapeno pepper lit on fire. You’re bummed out that you don’t have his number or anything to contact him with to arrange a second night, that’s all.
There’s a note pinned to your fridge when you wander into the kitchen. For a second, your stomach drops because it’s just what Bro used to do, but when you pick it up the handwriting is unfamiliar.
I stole your Froot Loops, it says on the front. You flip it over.
Fuck you-wait, I already did. -Karkat
You laugh.