Dave is in the process of cleaning after lunch (read: putting takeout boxes inside each other in order of size, with dirty paper napkins stuffed in the cracks) when his phone rings.
"Don't quit police work for journalism," is the first thing his brother tells him.
"Wow, I love you too, Dirkiepoo. My article on the buying habits of demons in grocery stores was a success and everyone knows it."
Karkat looks up at hearing the word; Dave shrugs at him. His demon is elbow-blade-deep in a marshmallow bag. It's already half empty. On second thought perhaps Dave shouldn't have let him choose the one he wanted.
"We got complaints from the vendor, you scared his other customers off."
"Pff, he'll sing another tune when everyone wants to buy shit from his store because it was once patroned by the illustrious Karkat Vantas. Also I asked him if it was okay before coming in and he said yes, so hey, it's all on him."
"You said 'service animal', you asshole," Karkat says, loud enough for the phone to pick up. Dirk scoffs. "You said, 'hello, Detective Strider, do you mind if I come in with my service animal, don't want to leave him in the street.' I should have chosen a bigger bag."
"There was no bigger, Jesus, Karkat, you could stuff your head in that and still have room for a shoulder. Anyway, Dirk, what do you want, answer is no, I'm on leave. Captain said so, you can't make me."
Anyway his latest #fuckyeahpetdemon tweet about Karkat with all his eyes huge as he beholds a veritable wall of confectionaries has about a bazillion retweets, so fuck that noise, Dave has internet fame, he needs nothing else. Another week and he'll totally be able to keep Karkat in the style to which he is accustoming himself way too quickly merely from fan donations. Maybe he should encourage Karkat to start a taste-testing blog.
"I wasn't asking you anything, or only the way a kid might ask another kid's dad permission to visit."
"Uh. Did you just compare yourself and Karkat to children."
"Nah, I'm talking about Erisol. We're attempting the disincarnating spell tomorrow night. It's pretty anxious about things, think Karkat would want to visit?"
"Yes," Karkat throws back, loud and tense, and then he gives Dave a nervous, defiant look like he thinks Dave's going to veto that. Makes him feel all guilty.
"Yeah, okay, we'll drop by. Six thirty PM okay?"
"Noted. I'll tell the kid. Later, bro. Try not to fall into a slave trafficking ring face-first before then."
"No promise, hot as I am I'm eminently traffickable, you know." He's talking to the dial tone by the end. His brother is an asshole. Both his brothers are.
The three of them are a well-matched set that way, he supposes.
"... I bet this spell will hurt like hell," Karkat grumbles, holding his marshmallow bag against his chest like a shield. He's sitting in the corner of the couch, wings curled over his shoulders like a cape. "It hasn't even been tested, too, I bet it could kill it."
"I already said we'd go, Karkat," Dave replies with a sigh. "And also, you've been eating way too much sugar today."
Karkat bristles, leans forward (thankfully so; he'd rip the couch with his flared back spines otherwise.) "It's mine! You owed it to me. You can't take it back from me."
... Bluh. Dave sighs. "I'm not. But remember how you didn't enjoy shitting, thought it was gross? Throwing up is worse, plus it stinks like vinegar, plus it hurts. You want stomach acid all up in your sinuses, bro, don't let me stop you, just make sure you're over the toilet bowl when you go."
Karkat glowers at him and stuffs another very deliberate marshmallow in his toothy maw, gnaws on it resentfully, and then tips off of the couch, landing on all fours on the floor. He purses his lip as he thinks about the logistics, and then stuffs the edge in his mouth and limps that way, glaring at Dave, daring him to say a thing. He scales the ladder, no doubt to go hide the bag in his nest; Dave gathers the takeout carcasses and goes to put them in the kitchen with the rest of the bags he needs to carry down, oh, last week.
Dave dashes back out of the kitchen, head jerking up. Karkat has gone all spines, wings spread menacingly, back arched, even his little tail up. He stalks closer to the window, a rattlesnake vibrato rising from his throat. Dave moves closer at a jog. "Karkat! What is it?"
Dave pauses with his head a little above the wooden floor, feet on the fourth rung.
"... It's... a crow."
"It won't go away! Tell me I can go out of the window."
Dave gives a slow, slow blink. "How about... no."
Karkat spears him with a quick, incensed look, but apparently his staring contest with the crow is more interesting. "How about yes!"
"Nope. Karkat, what the heck, it's a bird."
"It's a bird that's not afraid. That's wrong. It's also a bird that can fly in when I can't go out and it's a bird that I think is relatively smart for some reason that I'm blaming on you, and it's a bird that saw where I hid my marshmallows!"
Dave pinches his lips really hard. Can't laugh. Can't. "Yeah, I've been feeding 'em, they're waiting for dinner."
"Well stop feeding them!" Karkat orders with an imperious look. "Starting today. They might as well start getting used to it now."
Dave is still not laughing. He's not sure how. "Yes, sir."
"Good. And also fuck you," Karkat adds absently, still staring his would-be prey in its beady little eye. It caws a mocking challenge; a second crow lands on the windowsill, entirely unafraid.
Karkat charges -- Dave can tell he's planning to stop himself before the glass, he's just trying to scare the birds.
He can also see when his injured thigh reminds him it exists. Karkat flinches, takes all weight off his hurt leg, stumbles and catches himself on his hands. Birds forgotten, he sits heavily on the floor, hands hovering anxiously over his injuries.
"I... something pulled weird. Inside. It -- hurts a bit."
Dave sighs and climbs the rest of the way up. He leans over Karkat's leg, nudges his big, armored, useless hands away to take a better look. The scabs on a couple of lacerations have cracked under the strain and blood is beading out. He feels out the flesh around them cautiously and doesn't get even the threat of his face torn off in retaliation; it can't be too bad. "If a muscle had torn back up I think you'd be making more noise than that. You probably just strained them. Wait here, I'll be right back."
He goes to the bathroom to get cotton and disinfectant, analgesic cream, to the kitchen to get an ice pack. He trudges back up, one-handed, dumps his loot on the futon.
"Come and sit here."
Karkat shuffles closer on his butt, moving himself with his hands and one foot, eyes down in embarrassment. He's all deflated, it's not a good look on him.
"Wounds 101, just because it doesn't hurt as much doesn't mean it won't give out on you." Dave cleans the scratches, puts little Mickey Mouse bandages on them, more as a reminder than because he believes they're needed. (Of course he has Mickey Mouse bandages, what else, seriously. He used to have Ariel and Simba but John took them all for his fingers the last time he broke one of Dave's glasses.)
He opens the tub of analgesic cream next, puts some on his fingertips, eyes Karkat's thigh. Tries not to think too hard that it's his inner thigh, that it's feather-soft. There's bruises blooming dark and painful, dark enough to see even through the shorn velvet covering them. Karkat won't like having them touched.
He'd let Karkat do it for himself, but the viciously curved, always out claws at his fingertips are no good for that sort of thing. Dave dabs it on here and there, starts rubbing it in, light as he can.
First he has to get it through the fur! It's maybe three millimeters long, that short, but it's densely packed anyway. it'd work better if he could push, but he can't. He keeps massaging in patient little circles, even if he feels anything but.
Karkat is very still under his hand. Good. They just sit side by side on the edge of the futon, Dave with his head bowed over his demon's hurt leg, the incongruous little Mickey bandages. He wants to photograph them, but this time he tells himself no. First, his hands are disgusting.
Second it'd be kinda pornographic. A little bit.
"There," he says, and wipes his hands on an old t-shirt. "It should start feeling a bit better soon. The ice pack should--" He looks at Karkat and Karkat is staring at him all weird, a disbelieving, confused look that has Dave pausing, frowning. "... Karkat? Something wrong?"
"There's not enough," Karkat says abruptly, and looks away. "Add -- add some more."
Dave breathes in. He's sure he's misreading it. Yeah.
He squirts out another dollop of cream, dabs it along the muscle on top of Karkat's thigh, along the shell, and in slow, thorough little circles down the slope of his inner thigh.
He tries not to look at the fork of Karkat's legs, at his smooth, featureless crotch.
He thinks there's scales and plates even here, he can almost feel their edges, only they're so thin and bendy it's almost like they're actually firm skin.
"Think this will be enough?" he asks, and his voice comes out rough and too low.
Karkat meets his eyes, holds them. His jaw is tense, his hands are planted on the futon behind him and his shoulders are up, defensively. His wings are half-curved around his arms.
"Other side. Too."
Dave breathes in, and out. He reaches across Karkat's lap. He doesn't even bother with the cream.
He trails his fingers along the edge of the thigh plate, follows it down to the knee, comes back up in soothing little circles. He switches from finger pads to knuckles, to the ball of his thumb, rubbing back-and-forth little arcs. It's so soft, so soft. Oddly resilient too, it feels like the back of his head that time he got a crew cut. He could touch it for hours.
Karkat exhales long and silent and shaky, toward the end. Dave's hand turns so he can fit his palm around the hard muscles of Karkat's inner thigh and squeeze, just a little, squeeze and release. Ah, fuck.
He wants to kiss him. He doesn't want to distract him. He wants to rub his dick where he has his hands, guide Karkat to close his thighs around his shaft, fuck him there; he doesn't want to be a selfish fuckwad and make Karkat's hesitant enjoyment all about him. It shouldn't be about him at all. It won't. He promises himself this.
When Karkat's long velociraptor toes curl, Dave digs the nails of his free hand in his palms to keep from palming his dick.
Then he rests it on Karkat's injured thigh, light and cautious, starts in on little circles. His other hand is busy smoothing down the hair toward Karkat's knee, and then in the other direction, it doesn't seem there's any ingrained direction but 'up' and they never stay down more than a few seconds.
With every pass his fingertips get a little closer to his crotch. He's sure Karkat can tell.
"Higher?" he asks anyway. His voice cracks.
"I. I -- mnh. Yeah. Why not."
Fuck, fuck, the tension in Karkat's voice, the badly muffled tremble. Dave's hands clench on his thighs; Karkat's toes twitch, his wings try to flare and are tightened, mantled back ruthlessly.
"You. Want to move forward a bit? Just a -- yeah, good."
He slides off the futon, shuffles on his knees, hands on Karkat's legs for what he pretends is balance, dodges spikes and claws to settle between his demon's legs. Karkat is seated at the edge of the mattress, not very high compared to a real bed but... yeah. Just. Yeah.
Dave nudges his knees apart. Moves a little closer. Drapes his forearms on Karkat's thighs, starts petting again, he doesn't want to just dive in.
Who is he kidding, yes he does. He touches a cautious knuckle to the flat of Karkat's belly, pets him there; the muscle jumps under his hand.
"Ticklish?" he asks with a little smile. Karkat growls, or makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a growl, and might actually be a groan. Maybe a choked moan.
"Fuck you, no." A deep, shaky breath. "Lower."
Dave caresses his way down, finally -- finally -- follows the curve of his crotch, the mound and then farther down, between his thighs.
Something feels damp there. Dave bites his lip.
"Do you -- if you lean back on -- like, your elbows, I could."
Karkat hesitates, wings flaring open behind him, hair bristled up. His pupils are huge, his irises glow like a forge. Is he scared? No, no, Dave doesn't want that, never that.
"It's okay if you--"
"Okay." Karkat throws himself on his back like he's throwing a challenge, glares at the ceiling. Two seconds later he's bouncing back up on his elbows to stare at Dave, suspicious and nervous and still here, still right here with his knees on both sides of Dave's shoulders.
Dave goes back to exploring. At this rate he's going to come in his pants like a teenager, without having been touched.
There's a plate going down, he feels, one that comes down straight from the belly, over his mound like a cup.
When he presses down at the joint, between his thighs, roughly where a woman's slit would start, he feels it give under his fingers.
Karkat makes a little hitched-breathing noise that almost undoes him. Dave pauses to let himself breathe, and nudges his thighs farther apart, leans in.
He can see the gap, this close in, the interlocking plates with the weakest point like a star, almost.
It's not a vertical slit, it's almost more of a T, with the foot of the T running back between Karkat's legs, maybe to end in whatever it is he shits from. It looks almost like snake scales in there, the edges barely visible through short fuzz.
He nudges with a knuckle again, feels it give, and it's so warm in there it almost burns. He catches a flash of shockingly crimson flesh, glistening. Karkat is tense like a strung bow, spine arched, body racked with long shudders.
He spends two minutes that feel like two hours just caressing the slit, up and down, before he nudges his fingertip in.
Karkat almost catches him in the head with his knee. Dave flinches back, shocked stupid, blinks up at his demon. "Uh -- Karkat?"
He wants to ask if he's okay, if Dave hurt him; he doesn't get a chance. Dave is between him and the staircase, so instead Karkat throws himself at the balustrade and vaults over it, blind panic all over his face.
Frozen in shock, Dave listens to the impact of his clawed paws with the floor, his mad scramble for the bathroom, the slam of the door.
Dave puts his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands and closes his eyes and tries to keep breathing. It's important.
Also tries not to get teary like a tool, because that'd be...
... He scared him. He scared Karkat. How long was he forcing himself to stay there and endure, anyway? No, no, he probably liked it at least some, he was the one who wanted -- when did that change? Why didn't Dave notice? Oh, right, he was too busy ogling his hole to care about his face, to even ask, he should have told him to keep talking, he should have -- fuck.
Doing it just for Karkat, yeah fucking right. God, he's such a disgusting bastard.
What if he hurt his leg again?
It's ridiculous how Dave is thinking he'll have to come back, his nest is here, surely he wouldn't abandon it. He'll have to come back anyway, he's bound, he can go nowhere else. Dave sits against the balustrade and pretends he's not hugging one of his knees. At least it's not both of them. He supposes. Fuck.
Latula seeps into his mind and he waits for her to speak so he can tell her to fuck off. But she doesn't speak at all, she just wraps her dragon wings all around him, cocoons him up in razor scales and banked fire, and waits for him to be ready to emerge.
About a half-hour later the bathroom lock clicks again. Dave sees movement from the corner of his eye. He closes them, bows his head.
No whining, he needs to make sure Karkat is okay.
He turns toward the ladder and Karkat is already perched on the last rung, staring at him. He jumps. "Shit! When did you learn to be quiet?"
Karkat doesn't reply. Dave deflates.
"... Shit. I'm sorry. Are you--"
"Do it again."
He stares at Karkat, who bites his lip once and then squares his shoulders and pads to him. He stares at Dave from underneath his bangs for a moment, and then he leans in and butts his forehead, not exactly gently.
Not in a mean way either, just a clumsy, not sure how to be gentle with you way.
"Ow," Dave says anyway. "No, seriously, the fuck. You want me to...?"
Karkat takes his forearm, tugs it down. He's biting his lip in concentration; Dave doesn't know why he lets him get away with it, save how baffled he feels. Karkat burrows closer to his side, pushes his pointy chin in Dave's shoulder, tugs his arm closer. Shit, is he going to try humping it? This is surreal.
"Come on!" Karkat growls, even as he turns his face down into Dave's shoulder so Dave can't see it. "Just -- just try it, I can't, not with my claws."
... Oh. Uh. So uh. Inside that bathroom over there, Karkat was experimenting. Huh.
Dave still thinks it's a bad idea, but he bends his wrist anyway, bumps his knuckles against the soft place between Karkat's thighs.
His grip on Dave's arm tightens until his claws almost pierce skin, and then he shudders and angles his hips away.
Dave immediately lets his hand go limp, lets it drop entirely to the floor when Karkat releases it to sit on his haunches a step away from him, elbows resting on his thighs, holding himself loosely.
It's funny, he sounded almost regretful. He's frowning, even now, looking down and away.
"Did I hurt you?" Dave asks, needs to ask. It's hard to look at him, too.
Karkat growls under his breath. "No. Yes? No. Not really, I -- just -- it was too much. I didn't -- I couldn't think or anything, it was -- I didn't like it."
Dave sighs, deflates against the balustrade. "Well, I guess now I know."
"And my legs wanted to kick!" Karkat snarls with sudden frustration, "And that would have hurt you and I'm not allowed to hurt you and I could barely stop them, I was this close to not being able to, what the fuck--"
Blink. "Oh. Uh. That's... normal." Also flattering. "I guess with the gear you're packing it's not as safe as it normally is."
Karkat seems to be on a rant now and won't be derailed. "Not like I even care if I hurt you but I didn't decide to do it! Why did it -- why -- it was going weird everywhere and I could control none of it, it was fucking horrible!"
Dave is... kind of torn. Karkat thinking it's horrible means it's not happening again. Just... nope, restaurant closed for business, no dinner to be had. But at least his issue seems to be the loss of control, not that it felt bad or gross.
Sensory overload? It'd make sense. Wow. Duh. Especially if he's never had a wet dream or played with himself as a child before the hormones really start gearing up; nope, bam! straight into an adult's body.
He has no clue what to do about it, but one thing he doesn't have the moral fortitude to do today is to bring it up again. He kind of wants to bury the whole thing in a forest and forget it's there.
Karkat is glowering at him, still. It's more embarrassed than really angry. He can't help giving him a tiny smile. Even now the brat is cute as hell. (possibly literally! Dave is a funny guy.)
"I. Hrrm. I guess I didn't mind when you touched my thighs. Just not my crotch, leave it alone. Thighs are okay." He looks away, then, chin up haughtily, and suddenly the little tidbits of expression snap together and Dave realizes that if his weird shelled skin showed his blushes Dave would behold a spectacular one right now.
Dave chokes on a surprise burst of laughter, smothers it; his shoulders keep shaking with restrained laughs anyway. "You're going to kill me one day," he says, and leans in to kiss him. At the last second he changes his target to the bridge of Karkat's nose, affection instead of expectations, though he isn't sure Karkat would even read it like that when he has no clue where his erogenous zones even are.
"Can't, not allowed," Karkat grumps, but by rote more than with actual feeling.
"Yep, kill me dead, bam, no more Dave Strider." He kisses his nose again. Mostly because he can. Karkat wrinkles it but doesn't move away. Dave figures it's permission to nuzzle him.
Karkat nuzzles his face back. Dave's heart does a funny little somersault from pure cute.
He slips his fingers in Karkat's hair, scritches. Karkat butts his head into his hand; his horn ends up nestled in Dave's palm. Dave cups it, thumb playing along its inner curve. "Do you feel anything from those?"
"No. The base -- mnh. That's not bad."
He props his chin on Dave's shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded. Dave chuckles under his breath. "We'll make a hedonist out of you yet."
It feels all weird in his chest, warm and fragile at the same time somehow. It's not what he hoped for. It's what Karkat is asking out of him, though; he can give that, so he will.
He winds an arm around Karkat's shoulders; his spines are lying almost flat, so Dave doesn't cut himself when he guides him closer. They sit against the balustrade, Karkat curled against his side, eyes closed; after a moment he drapes a leg across Dave's lap.
"... It's late," Karkat says eventually. It's getting darkish outside; Aradia informs Dave it's seven twenty-five.
"What, you wanna get to bed early?"
He's not moving off Dave, though, Dave is starting to suspect with his honed cop instincts that he actually likes cuddles (how's that for a scoop.)
Karkat lifts his chin off Dave's shoulder to purse his lips sternly at him. "Hungry."
Oh. Duh. Dave sighs, eyes his unresponsive crotch. "Wow, the rollercoaster rides you take my dick on, it's a wonder it hasn't fallen off yet."
He's a healthy young man and Karkat is already breaking him off enjoying sex. His life sucks.
"You can touch my tail," Karkat imparts, with the frown and the decisive nod of a General who's figured out exactly how to ruin his enemy's shit.
It's more adorable than sexy but Dave agrees anyway. "Well. In that case. I propose we retire to the futon, my good sir."
Karkat rolls his eyes at him. "Retire? It's one step away, you pompous douche." He demonstrates by taking exactly one step and letting himself flop face-down on the futon, though he's still off it from mid-thigh down.
Dave just admires him for a minute, stretched out on his sheets, wings loose and strong back narrowing into a trim waist, ass borderline offered.
Yeah okay especially his ass.
That's a lot of exposed thigh from the back too.
His dick is seriously getting whiplash. Wow. "Karkat? I'm gonna trust you to keep your spines the hell down, okay?" he asks. Wow, that idea. Head rush.
Karkat cranes his neck to watch him shuffle closer, an eyebrow arched, tucks a forearm under his chin to prop it up. "Hm?"
Dave hover over him, kneeling on the edge of the futon. "Do you mind if we do it like that? With you on your front, I mean. Like that."
"Huh." Karkat considers it, dubious. "With you on top of me? Hm."
"I'll move off if you tell me to."
A heavy, 'humans are so annoying' sigh. "Okay."
Woohoo. "Thigh petting?"
"Granted," Karkat says, managing haughty, and then ruins it by burrowing his face between his crossed arms. Ngh. "But no crotch action!" he reminds Dave hurriedly, voice muffled. "I'll kick you and it won't even be my fault, and you'll probably fall off the mezzanine and break your fool neck. It'll be perfect. On second thought, maybe--"
"Shh," Dave says, and curves his hands around the back of Karkat's knees.
There's plating there, and tendons that he touches delicately, but while Karkat seems to feel them they provoke no reaction. They feel like hardened steel. He follows them until the spots where they disappear under the edge of a plate, and then to the soft fluff at the back of Karkat's thighs.
He straddles them, because he can, and when he thinks about the bladed murder weapons at Karkat's heels that he might get in the back if Karkat kicks back too far his cock twitches in interest. God, he's fucked up a bit.
(All those shell segments up Karkat's spine, all those folded-down blades like waiting butterfly knives, the spines at the wing joints and the clawed hooks at the ends...)
More than a bit.
He caresses his way up Karkat's thighs, between them some, fingertips nudging till they're caught in between, he tickles; Karkat's tail shudders, flicks like a lamb trying to get a fly off, it's so cute it kills him.
"Permission to grope your ass?"
"Is my ass now my crotch somehow," Karkat drones, annoyed, "the things I learn about biology," but his face is still hidden in his arms, head bowed. Dave wants to kiss his neck, nibble on it. He's pretty sure Karkat wouldn't feel it.
"Taking that as a yes, knead it like it's dough and we're on Iron Chef."
"Shut up. Also make me dinner when we're done."
Karkat probably thought he was kidding. Dave sets his hands on a firm, muscled ass and starts kneading. Clench-release, slide a bit, clench, release, clench, thumbs rubbing, rolling, smoothing fuzz. He slides down to the back of his thighs, thumbs digging in his inner thighs, spreading them a bit. Karkat's wings are oh so slightly raised from the bed, tense, membranes quivering, his tail arches off his ass (presenting, Dave tries not to think), his spine curves to press his belly in the mattress.
He likes it, it doesn't even fucking matter he doesn't want Dave to try to make him come, he's enjoying it, Dave can tell. It's -- yeah. It's good. It's more than good. It's awesome. Dave is feeling pretty awesome, too.
So is his Stridernator. Woo.
He massages his way back up, to the top of Karkat's ass, the armored base of his spine, digs his thumbs in at the edge of the plate; Karkat groans quietly. Wow. Okay. Massages work. Too bad he has so little exposed muscle.
Dave nudges the underside of Karkat's tail with his thumb; it twitches.
It's so soft underneath.
He needs it on his dick. Like. Right now. His other hand fumbles with his fly; he shuffles higher up astride Karkat's thighs as he fishes himself out, pumps his length a couple of times to alleviate the need some, and leans in.
Fuck. That fuzz on his dick. Karkat's little tail arches up, hesitantly curls back down, covers the tip of his cock, shit, yes. He parts Karkat's ass cheeks, nestles his dick in between. Oh yeah. Yeah.
"If you put that in me," Karkat growls, but he seems more nervous than threatening. Dave pulls himself away from trying to burn the image in his memory, looks up. He can only see one of Karkat's smaller upper eyes; it's watching him, all tiny and anxious.
Dave curls a hand around his armored hip, rubs it soothingly. "I give you my word," he says quietly, "I will never do that without your express consent."
Consent is an iffy term with bound demons, though. Dave frowns to himself.
"By which I mean you have to want it in, seriously, you not me. I mean ideally I'll also want to but we don't even know if it'd fit, anyway--"
"Oh sweet holy douchewhiff, I got you the first time, go back to rubbing your gamete ovipositor tube on my glutes and shut up!"
Dave bursts out laughing. "Ow, fuck, we said no more rollercoaster for my poor balls, stop making me laugh."
His dick is not that much softer than it was a minute ago, which is to say he might well be able to find employ as a diamond mine drill if the cop thing doesn't work out.
Karkat growls, impatient. Dave rolls his hips.
Karkat's ass cheeks clench a little on him; surprise, probably. It's so good. Dave plants his hands on the mattress on both sides of his hips and rolls them again, finding and trying to keep a slow, easy rhythm.
Takes him about a minute of watching his cockhead disappear and reappear under Karkat's tail and he's spreading his knees to brace, leaning more of his weight on them. He thrusts harder, feeling millions of silky bristles rubbing him, hard muscles holding onto him, fuck.
His belly traps Karkat's tail under him; he feels the dull edge of spines against his skin. If Karkat flicked them Dave would be spilling his entrails in a hot second. The spike of adrenaline that dashes up his spine only makes his pleasure stronger, his senses wider open, his body more alive.
He fumbles a hand up Karkat's back, feeling the way the wing attaches with shaking fingers, the delicate interlocked plates and tendons, gorgeously alien.
Touching the membranes, light as he can, makes Karkat flap them and give a full-body clenching twitch that has Dave groaning and desperately trying to breathe. He does it again.
"Ghh-- stop, you son of a fuck -- shit!"
Huh? Dave forces himself to slow down, blinks. "Whuh -- does it hurt?"
"No, but if you fucking do it again I can't guarantee your organs are going to stay in, okay?"
Karkat wriggles under him. It feels like the hardest thing he's ever done to sit back (oh no his baby cannon is all cold now) and lift himself up to let his demon flip on his side, curled up a bit and glaring defensively, spines flicked half-up. Karkat is breathing a little fast, and Dave's lust-addled brain reads it as arousal. His fingers itch to do it again.
"Are you sure I can't--"
"Stop making my body do things!" Karkat snarls back. He rolls on his back, and then he's winding his arms around Dave's neck and pulling him down on top of him, which Dave realizes pretty fast he is pretty okay with.
He nuzzles at Karkat's neck, nibbles a sloppy line along his jaw, his cock pressed between their two bellies. He loves Karkat's arms heavy around his neck, the demon's breathing in his ear, a bit unsteady still.
"There -- do it, hurry up."
Dave is thrusting against his belly, and it's nice with the pressure and the soft bits and all but not as good as a firm hold. "Trying!"
"I can feel it," Karkat growls in his ear; Dave shudders. "You're close, just -- what do you need?"
Dave's mind is blank. After a long, embarrassing moment he manages to gasp, "Claws, down my back -- light, don't blood -- bleed, don't do that but ah fuck yes." He kisses Karkat's face, sloppy and blind, feeling the lines his claws raise on his skin.
Karkat nips at his chin, his lips when Dave finds his mouth, Dave presses their lips together, tongue exploring rows of sharp teeth, the warm softness of Karkat's own tongue. Karkat is a little furnace under him, he can't get enough of that.
He fumbles for one of Karkat's hands, lifts himself up -- argh, cold, cold, no -- places Karkat's hand between them, so his dick comes to nestle in Karkat's palm. He can feel the edges of Karkat's knuckles dig into his soft belly, his palm is unyielding -- so warm, though. He checks quickly that his weight isn't going to push Karkat's claws inside his own belly, and leans on him again.
It almost hurts. It's perfect. He kisses Karkat again, a little off-center at first; Karkat bites and makes a strange growl-chirp noise and scratches his back again.
Dave thrusts in the hard tunnel of his hand and imagine that soft, wet place, so vulnerable instead, and comes so hard he actually legit sees stars.
Okay, just weird black-light stuff on his clenched shut eyelids, but. Wow. Fuck. He goes limp on Karkat, gets nipped; oh right. it's the hardest thing ever to lift himself just enough to let Karkat take his hand back, and then he's flopping down on him again, nuzzling at his neck, and he will deny to the end of days that pleased little moan he makes there.
Karkat's other arm is still draped around his shoulders. Mm. Yes. Nice.
"Fuck you, you squirted baby glue all over my hand again."
Dave snickers. Maybe he shouldn't have, because a second later Karkat is thoroughly wiping his hand on Dave's back. Urgh. Dave wrinkles his nose and moves not an inch. It'll wash off.
A sigh. Karkat doesn't wriggle under him to make it the most uncomfortable afterglow ever, though. He might even -- oh. Oh, he's sliding his claws up Dave's spine, to the base of his skull, where he scritches the way Dave scritches him. Oh.
It's all light and ticklish, the knifepoint of his claws can't put any more pressure in without slicing in, but it's nice anyway. The physical feeling, and the gesture itself.
"Is it really that good?" Karkat asks, quiet and serious. Dave cracks an eye open and lets his head roll back a bit so he can see his face.
"I sense that you already know petting is nice, so, uh... Sex?"
Karkat looks away, but pushes his question out anyway. "Orgasms. It looks -- it doesn't look like it, your face twists like it hurts and your whole body seizes up, and then there's your heart exceeding all fucking speed regulations, it sounds like something you should go to a healer for."
Dave tries not to laugh, but the best he can do is to make it a soft chuckle instead of anything more explosive. "It's fucking awesome. Some orgasms are better and some are so-so, but even the so-so ones are pretty nice, usually. Occasionally you'll get one that peters out sadly and you're left with a cramp in your arm wondering why you did all that hard work for this result, but it's not the most common."
He drops a kiss on Karkat's chin, just because it's here.
"You just gotta remember, your control comes back pretty fast. It's better to do it on a bed, though. Less accidents. I'm so not gonna want you coming up against the shower wall, wow, that'd be a royal mess. Bet we'd fall through the glass."
He lies, he does want it very much. But, restaurant still closed for business. It's okay, Dave has awesome sandwiches.
"Wow, sex standing up, that sounds like the most risky bit of stupid ever. Slippery floors, too. How does anyone ever top that."
"Sex in a running car? Sex in an airplane? Open window?"
Karkat fixes him with a flat, incredulous stare. "What. No. No one can be that idiotic. I refuse it."
Dave lets himself slip off him, regretfully, though he keeps an arm around his chest. "Remind me to show you the Darwin Awards website."
Oh hey if he stretches his arm a bit he can get at Karkat's other wing from across his chest.
He only figures out he's made his own award attempt a second after he's started trailing light, light fingers on the membrane. Bam! demonsplosion.
"What the fuck! No! Don't ever, shit!" Karkat is snarling, backed up in his nest corner and bristling all over the place, incandescent with rage.
His wings are not an erogenous zone, his wings are a kill zone.
Dave sits up. "Holy wow are you ticklish. That's about a Defcon Three, I'd say."
He narrows his eyes thoughtfully. Tilts his head.
Wriggles his fingers.
"I will kill you in the face."
karkats physical yays cont.
13. marshmallows (confirmed best/worst idea i ever got)
14. dim sum (confirmed but maybe only a three or four on the scale of yay)
15. thigh pettins (confirmed woohoo)
16. ass massages 8D
17. not sex (sob)
18. wing pettins NO. HOW DO YOU TAKE THINGS OFF A LIST. NO. ALSO, NO.
19. your typing says no but your sweet sweet wings say yes
20. BITING MY SUMMONER. I LIKE THAT. ALLOW ME IT.
21. enduring privations
22. SLEEPING ON THE COUCH.
wing pettins there happy YES, THANK THE FUCK OUT OF YOU.
24. BEING FED ON TIME. HINT.
25. yes sir
26. ALSO, DELETING STUPID SHIT.
27. owning his own phone to put his own claws through the keys YES, OKAY, YOU MAY ATTEMPT THAT.
28. ruining me THAT ONE IS ALSO EXACT.
being way too damn cute for his own good BITING YOU. IN THE FACE.
30. *~BEING FED ON TIME.~*
31. haha okay<3
[Chapter 9] -- [Chapter 11]