If y9--u'd like my atte--nti9--n, I suggest that y9--u make a--n app9i--ntme--nt. I d9--n't da66le in small talk. [[ Semi-Indie Tyrian Kankri RP Blog. ]]
An Audience }|{ A Daevit/Ka--nkri/Karkat Futurefic.
Your hands are tied above your head.
You brace yourself on your knees, with most of your weight tilted forward, held up by your hands, fingers laced together tightly and hooked over the headboard. Your wrists are tied, firmly enough to hold you, but not tight enough to sting or constrict. Your breathing sounds heavy in your ears.
A soft touch strokes your bare backside, and your breath hitches.
His touch slides gently down, over the back of your thigh, then slides slowly inward; your bulge already peeks from its sheath, but as his touch wanders back up, you feel it slide out further as if to meet him. Your muscles quiver slightly, and just when he gets high enough to brush your other thigh with the backs of his knuckles, just when you think he might touch you, he pulls back.
Your breath shudders, and you open your eyes to try and glance over your shoulder at him, as he comes around to your side, camcorder in hand.
“Daev,” you breathe, and he smiles, watching your face in the screen.
“Looks like we’re all set, Kankan,” he says, pulling his hand from the leather strap on the side of the camera, and carefully setting the object down on the bedside table. It focuses on your face, and you swallow, shifting your weight ever so slightly. He’s moving so slowly; you know he’s enjoying this.
He moves closer to you, pulling a strip of tyrian purple fabric down from around his neck, and you take a breath, tilting your head back and closing your eyes again. You hear him hesitate after his footsteps stop, and then you feel his touch again, first on your shoulder, then in your hair. He’s close enough that you can hear his breathing alongside your own. One of your fins twitches expectantly.
“Are you still good with this?” he whispers in your ear, “We can--”
“Yes,” you interrupt, too loudly. Your cheeks flush, and you’re more mindful the second time. “Yes, please. Continue.”
“Okay,” he acknowledges, and then his touch moves from your hair, lingering down your cheek, before finally disappearing.
Then it’s the fabric you feel. Soft silk caresses your cheeks, settling over your eyes as he directs it; you start to tilt your head forward before he pushes it down, and you startle, slightly -- but your bulge curls around itself in response and you shudder. He loops the fabric around you twice, secure, and you can open your eyes but it’s still dark. He knots it, and you grunt slightly as a few strands of your hair get caught briefly and pull.
He gives you a moment to get used to it, and you hear him take a step back.
“You’re still okay?” he whispers again.
You nod, and hold up the appropriate number of fingers with one of your hands, too, just to be sure he knows.
“Yes. Keep going.”
You hear him step back again, and then the bumping sound as the camera is picked up from the nightstand. His skin slides against the leather, and your closest fin flicks with every sound. The camera makes a small whirring sound every time it zooms in or out, but you can’t tell which; you wonder where he’s looking.
You feel a touch on your back and you jump, your spine arching as his fingers trace down it, no warning. His skin is soft against yours. The air is cool against your skin, but his touch is warm as he slides down your body, no doubt filming everything, every motion, every twitch. He slides down to your hips, slowly swooping around the curve of one. His hand reaches your cheek, and you shift slightly to move your knees apart.
His hand pulls away and comes sharply back down, and you yelp.
“Ah!”
His fingers grope your cheek, palm rubbing out the sting, and you focus on your breathing.
“You moved,” he explains, and you can hear him take a step closer -- then his voice, closer as he leans over you. You swear you hear his grin, too. “Naughty Kankan, I didn’t tell you to move.”
“Pardon m-- ah!!”
He does it again, freshening the sting, and you shiver.
“You can do better than that,” he says, with playful disappointment in his voice.
“What-- ah! mm!”
He smacks your other cheek, twice, rapidly, and you lace your fingers more tightly together against the headboard. Your lips hang agape.
He must have put the camcorder down somewhere, or tucked it against his shoulder or under his arm or something, because both hands smack you, first one, then the other, and they both grab you, kneading your skin hungrily. Your back arches to push you back into his hands, your skin feeling hot with the flush that his smacks must be drawing to the surface.
You know he’s still recording.
“I bet if Karkat were here, he could get you to say you’re sorry,” Daevit teases, pinching a bit of sore skin and making your breathing stutter. “Maybe he’d just leave you to think about it, or, ooh, I know, maybe he’d get a paddle. C’mon, Kankan. Say you’re sorry, for Karkat. I know he wants to get to the good stuff.”
“I,” you breathe, gasping as his thumbs slide farther than your cheeks, pulling them apart and exposing your nook to a cool draft. You feel a drip of tyrian purple slide down your thigh. “Nnh....”
“You can do it. Say you’re sorry. You wanna get to it, too, right?”
“I’m... I’m sorry....”
“Sorry for what?”
You hear the camera zoom, and try to focus on your breathing. He slaps the outside of your thigh, gently, and you jerk.
“I’m sorry for keeping Karkat waiti-- ah!” Another full slap, and your head goes back. “I’m sorry for-- ah! S-sorry for being bad! Ah! Mnh! Please, ah, Karkat, please!”
He stops, and your head drops back down, your chest rising and falling heavily with every gasping breath; you’re moaning as Daevit kneads you over again with one hand, working over the sting and working it out of your skin; you’re certain of a vibrant fuchsia flush across both cheeks, as your bulge drips fuchsia on the sheets.
“Good boy, Kankan, good boy,” he praises, practically purring. You moan a soft acknowledgement, hips swaying softly as you try to alleviate some of your need for friction. You hear him laugh a little, and you’d be annoyed, but you just want him to touch you.
You get your wish.
His hand leaves your cheek, and you growl, ever so softly -- before you feel the back of his hand bump your inner thigh, and your breath catches in you throat. You hold it until you feel his fingers wrap around the base of your bulge.
“Wow, I have to film all of this,” he says, and you shiver as he pulls your writhing bulge out from between your legs, stroking slowly in one spot close to the base -- sliding an inch down, then walking his fingers back up, then again, and again. It does nothing but make you throb with want, aching for more friction as your base gets slowly teased for the camera. “This is all of it, right? You’re all the way out?”
You nod, managing a quiet, “uhh, uh-huh....”
“Huh?” he says, even though you know he heard you. The tip of your bulge is curling around the rest of it, below Daevit’s hand, and as it strokes, it becomes harder and harder to think.
“Yes, yes that’s-- nnh-- that’s all of it....”
“Yeah, you look pretty keyed up to me -- but Karkat probably wants to be sure, right? Soo-o-o....”
His fingers slide up to your bone sheath, right up to where your bulge disappears into your body, and you’re blindfolded but your eyelids flutter anyway. His whole hand curls around you, at the thickest part of your bulge, and then he strokes, just a couple of inches down at a time, just like before, but-- oh, god, and there’s a pull in every stroke, trying to draw you out, as if you weren’t already as aroused as you could be.
“Nnh, oh, mmh, D-Daevit-- ohhh,” you groan, hips trying to roll toward him as he strokes, and strokes, and strokes.
“Don’t talk to me, Kankan, talk to Karkat.”
“K-Karkat, nnh-- fuck, Karkat, that is-- that’s it, I promise, I’m all out, hnnnn....”
“You sure?”
“Yes, yes! I’m all out for you, I promise, yes, nhh-- fuck me already, please!”
He laughs, and his next stroke travels all the way to midway down your bulge. You’re shuddering, panting, and your bulge is pulsing with want, trying to wiggle in such a way that gets Daevit to stroke you more, give you more, give you any sort of release--
“Sorry, Kankan, but this is for Karkat, so, if he can’t fuck you...” Daevit trails off, and your fingers tighten their hold until grey knuckles are almost white.
“You’re not going to-- nngh--” He’s still playing with your bulge, stroking his thumb along it and every so often hitting a cluster of nerves that makes it thrash, clouding your mind, making you hot. You try to stay authoritative, but your voice struggles against a whine. “Y-you have to let me come, D-- K-Karkat, hhhn, let me come, please.”
“I don’t know... it’s not really fair....”
“If I don’t get something inside of me right now,” you start to threaten -- not hearing Daevit tuck the camcorder away again, not until-- “Ah!!”
“Mmh, mayyyybe...” Daevit says, while you’re shivering from the smack. He strokes your bulge while he gives you another, and you cry out, trying against your restraints.
“Karkat!” you bite, growling until the next smack, “--ah! Ah!”
“Well, I guess since you’re so desperate... but you haven’t been very well-mannered....”
“Please,” you insist, impatiently. Your whole body yearns.
“Okay, okay... if you’re so desperate for anything, I won’t stop you.”
You should be suspicious, but you’re not. Not until you feel him turning your bulge up, up toward your nook, and you throw your head over your shoulder in alarm, trying to see what he’s doing but you can’t, you can’t, you can only feel--
“Nn-- Daev, that is not what I-- hhhhhn!!”
You feel yourself being penetrated, and you feel yourself penetrating, all at once; you squeeze your eyes shut and open your mouth wide for air, gasping, thrashing your hips to one side and the other. He only has to push you in for the first two inches, then he lets go -- and you feel yourself surge forward to fill your empty space, crying out as your bulge writhes into you, as you swallow yourself up, every empty space filled as your bulge wiggles in.
“D-Dae-- nnnh, Karkat! Karkat, this-- nnh, ha, ah, mmhah, oh!”
You thrash against your own walls, your hips bucking as if to push you farther in, and you pull at your restraints but you don’t really want free, you just want more, need more--
“Wow,” you hear Daevit breathe, and you think he’s talking into the camera now; you can barely hear him moving but you know he is, he’s getting the best angles while you fill yourself, until you can’t any longer, until almost two feet of thick, coiling bulge is in you, the wet, staccato sounds that fill the room the sounds of the thrusting and squirming as you fuck yourself harder, harder, harder!
“Wow, he’s really-- really begging a lot. Wow, that’s-- haha, he took in, wow, a-a lot....”
“Ah, ah, hhn, mm, ah! Please, ah, mmh!”
“P-please what?”
You can’t think, you can’t see, you can’t breathe -- all you can do is feel the pleasure as it builds, and builds, swearing that your bulge swells inside you, or maybe the walls around you constrict, squeezing you more, fucking you harder as you cling to the ropes, no longer the headboard, swinging forward and back not with the force but with the need.
“Nnh, m-more!!”
You hear him mumbling to the camera over the sounds of your own breaths, of your own begging -- and you do beg, crying, while he tells Karkat how you’re drooling, how you’re dripping on the sheets, and the camera whirs and Daevit moves and the pleasure builds and builds and--!
“Come for us, Kankan.”
You burst, inside of yourself and around yourself, and you throw your head back as you fill yourself up, your own hot material spilling against your walls and making you shudder, shaking with shocks and aftershocks as your bulge pumps you full, and the thrusting slows to a stop, leaving just your breathing as the only sound.
You breathe so, so hard; you almost don’t hear Daevit stop the recording, closing the camcorder screen with a click.
He moves to your side, where you’re limp against the ropes, barely keeping your knees solid on the mattress as they shake, and your material drips out onto the sheets. He undoes your blindfold, so tenderly, and you blink a little in the light before deciding to keep your eyes closed.
You do see his smile, though, and it’s so gentle.
“Good?” he asks, softly. “Or was it too much, next time we can--”
“It,” you interrupt, swallowing, opening and closing your lips for want of water. You hear him grab a bottle. Sweet matesprit.... “It was great.”
He holds your chin lovingly as you drink, and when you’re done, he uses a cupped hand to splash some over your gills, too -- even at your sides, not just your neck. Then, he begins to undo the ropes.
He gives you several seconds of silence, to recover, while he tends to your bindings.
Then, as you slowly pull yourself upright, resting on your knees, you open your eyes, and he smiles at you again -- sheepishly. He adjusts his pants.
I supp9se we’ve simply gr9wn up in different circumstances. I grew up learning that every life matters, 6ig 9r small, 6ut I kn9w 9n this planet l9ng 6ef9re the last ruler’s reign, there was c9nstant vi9lence and little t9 n9 respect f9r the lives 9f 9thers, s9 I supp9se it’s really all a69ut perspective, as y9u said. I d9 see, th9ugh, that y9u’re n9t with9ut reas9n, s9 I w9n’t think t99 harshly 9f y9u until I’m given a reas9n t9.
…In a way that’s cute, I supp9se. Y9u are much like sharks, then, in s9me ways. I see n9w that I was judging y9u much t99 quickly. I ap9l9gize f9r that.
C9mpari--ng me t9 a shark is --n9t i--nacc--urate. I h9ld a similar place 9--n the f99d chai--n -- exc--usi--ng filterfeedi--ng sharks, 9f c9--urse -- as well as 6ei--ng similar i--n size.
F9rt--u--nately, th9--ugh, I p9ssess the a6ility t9 sleep.
just all being polite most times makes thinking such a thing easy. nah. realist, too. optimism’s a precious stone, don’t need to be wasting it on situations where it won’t plain apply.
Actually, I did. I’m glad y9u didn’t injure them. Admittedly I was 6eginning t9 think y9u were t99 much like my 9ther alternate f9r my tastes. Which is t9 say 6l99dthirsty and vi9lent f9r a6s9lutely n9 reas9n. I’m glad t9 see that’s at least s9mewhat inc9rrect.
I’m slightly surprised they want t9 spend time with y9u if y9u kill f9r sp9rt, 6ut I supp9se fish fl9at ar9und sharks as well, s9 I w9n’t questi9n t99 much.
I like t9 thi--nk I am rather civil f9r my sta--ndi--ng a--nd the circ--umsta--nces 9f my empire, pers9--nally, 6--ut I s--upp9se fr9m y9--ur perspective it m--ust seem differe--nt. At least y9--u ca--n rec9g--nize I am still a reas9--na6le pers9--n. Hardly a m9--nster, a--nyway.
Fish are fish. They stick cl9se either f9r c--uri9sity's sake, 9r t9 gai--n s9me 6e--nefit. S9metimes f99d -- I'm --never t99 dirty, 6--ut clea--ner fish seem t9 fi--nd thi--ngs a--nyway -- 9r pr9tecti9--n fr9m 9ther predat9rs.
After all, if they are t99 small f9r me t9 69ther with, 9r I'm --n9t h--u--ngry, I p9se little threat t9 them. 9ther thi--ngs that w9--uld, are scared 9f me. Simple.
Alright, if y9u insist. I still say y9u d9n’t hurt the p99r 9ct9pus. They’re 96vi9usly just l9nely. And perhaps y9u were a 6ad ch9ice in c9mpany, due t9 n9t wanting them ar9und, 6ut I think y9u sh9uld feel flattered the little sweetheart picked y9u.
Perhaps y9--u missed the part where I tickled the creat--ure l99se.
I --never said I did--n't wa--nt him ar9--und, simply that I did--n't wa--nt him latched --u--nc9mf9rta6ly t9 my arm.
F--urtherm9re, I'm a prime ch9ice f9r c9mpa--ny, tha--nk y9--u very m--uch -- a--nd as a res--ult, havi--ng sea life ha--ngi--ng ar9--u--nd me is hardly s9methi--ng I'm --u--nfamiliar with.
Mm, likely. My ancest9r was an amazing tr9ll, and made it much m9re peaceful than I ever expected 6ef9re I’d even had a chance t9 gr9w up. Apparently that’s n9t the way things are supp9sed t9 6e, acc9rding t9 m9st timelines at least.
Life is still life. When y9u die, y9u sh9uld 6e h9n9red, even if y9u’re n9thing 6ut a cracked shellfish. Fairness is key t9 earning respect, which in my experience is m9re useful than fear when ruling.
