PLEASE READ THIS NOTE 'CAUSE IMPORTANT STUFF RELATING TO THIS FIC IS IN IT.
Also note, when I tagged "POV swapping" I didn't mean between Karkat and John. You'll notice throughout this story sometimes I will have a section of passage in which second person is used and then another, longer section in which third person is used. I do this on purpose, though it's not present in this particular chapter. "You" is a different person each chapter, and most of the time will consist of one of the Homestuck characters. I do this so the reader can guess who "you" is and how they will fit in to that chapter, because every "you" will have a rather large part in the situation at hand. Sometimes, however, "you" might be some random OC that will die later because I'm a mean person.
Well, this chapter is weird, but I'm warning you now: every chapter after this will be VERY different from this one. Firstly, something bad will happen in every single on after this, and secondly, it won't JUST revolve around romance. This series has a rather intricate plot and I plan to use it. ALL SORT OF NASTY THINGS WILL BE IN THIS FIC, INCLUDING AND NOT LIMITED TO: DEATH, GORE, PORN, DEMONIC POSSESSION, SUICIDE, A RAPIST, HARDCORE DRUG ADDICTION, ABUSE, AND MORE.PLEASE, IF ANY OF THOSE THINGS ARE UPSETTING TO YOU, DO NOT READ THIS ANY FURTHER THAN CHAPTER 1. DON'T EVEN READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU HAVE TO.
I think that's about everything important, so feel free to continue on now. Just know that the last bit is porn and it might suck because I suck at writing porn. My friend told me it was fine but I'm not sure I believe her.
John Egbert fidgeted in his suit, unsure how in the hell he had ended up like this.
The church around him was luxurious, of course. It was a strange church of unknown branch, origin, or followers, but built extravagantly, much like a Catholic cathedral. On the inside, its high ceiling swooped up into a glass dome sitting on the center of the roof, leaking sunlight into the otherwise romantically-lit inside.
Dark, polished pews lined the room, reaching back to the farthest wall, an upper floor full of yet more pews built in to make the whole thing look bigger, grander.
There were no stained glass windows, or any at all, unless one counted the dome sitting on the top of the church, and the front of the room was raised up onto a dais for the preacher or religious leader to instruct, a lush red rug rolling all the way back to the entrance doors. Candles were mounted into the walls, the main source of light here, glowing and soft against the sharp, intimidating atmosphere.
On the dais, standing off to one side with a preacher-like man in front of him, was who John could only assume was Karkat, crisp black suit clothing a lean, tall body, a thick black scarf tied around his neck, hair, and face, though a few locks of black hair poked through. Sunglasses sat on his nose, hiding his eyes and probably completely obscuring the guy's vision. It was incredibly suspicious, all in all, and not to mention a bit scary! Both the preacher and Karkat turned to look at him when John pushed the entrance doors open, standing in the doorway with his mouth dry and suit sticking to his wrists and armpits with sweat.
A few grim-faced people were sitting in the front pews, and quite a few others dressed to cover themselves like Karkat were with them, all of them staring at John as he momentarily paused, scared and unsure.
The start of an unseen piano jogged him enough for him to mentally shake his head and physically force his feet forward. He had to do this. No matter how weird, or scary, or how much his heart thudded and his stomach curled and his mind screamed, he had to. To back out now would mean . . .
John's eye drifted to find the Doctor, wearing a pressed white suit and a blank expression.
He gulped, gaze going back to the strangely-concealed Karkat.
John was supposed to inherit half of a popular joke shop with his sister, Jane, after the death of their dear father.
He had wanted it, to be perfectly honest. He had desperately, lovingly took care of that store, day and night and all the hours outside and in-between. John had poured himself into it, had slept at the register and ate all of his meals in the break room. A few times he'd even been forced to bathe himself with a sponge, a bar of soap, and the employee-only bathroom sink.
Unfortunately for him, while Jane had loved it only slightly less than him, she simply didn't have the time for a joke store. Jane was an ambitious, independent young lady who had recently opened her own business right before their father died, a bakery that sold the sweetest, best-made pastries in all of D.C. A new business took time and energy to maintain, especially when your only true reputation was through your father's prank shop, so Jane couldn't do anything with the store they had inherited.
However, Jane being Jane, she didn't want to accept money she wasn't actively working for herself, and so offered her half to John. John, too, was no ingrate, so he refused to take her half without paying for it himself, so with a lot of debate, arguments, and exasperation, they eventually settled on a solid albeit cheap price for Jane's half of the company.
John happily took if off her hands after that, and for a good while, the joke store—named Egbert Island, which was kind of awkward but it always used to make Dad chuckle to see the name, so John, of course, kept it—flourished. Customers loved to go down to Egbert Island and have prank wars in-store with John, who was the very master of all things humorous. He almost always won, but the visitors were gleeful enough just being allowed to throw pies at people's faces and squirt water bottles on their friends to be too hung up over losing.
Things were awesome for those few years. Egbert Island had an amazing reputation as both a fun hangout and a store with items of wonderful quality, so the money was pouring in. More even than Dad Egbert used to make when he worked the store.
There wasn't much of a downhill drop, to be honest. When it hit, it slammed into John and his little store hard.
It was a normal day like any other, with John pranking and laughing and showing people how to work everything. There was nothing suspicious or concerning that he noticed around the store, despite being on the patrol at all times.
He didn't know that someone had somehow replaced the water in a of the few squirt bottles with perfume, which didn't sound harmful in theory, only there was a little girl in his store at the time who was deathly allergic to just that brand of smelling odors. With a prank war going on 24/7 in his shop, it didn't take much before the girl suffocated and died right on his floor.
Though he hadn't had time to call an ambulance, and much less know she was on the ground, dying, he and his store took a big hit. The police and law didn't blame him, but no perpetrator was caught, and the fact that no one had noticed as someone withered away and died in his store scared most of the customers—especially parents with children—far, far away, never to return. He didn't blame them, really, but after that his store took a nose-dive in profits. John tried to advertise everywhere, sending messages that he had upgraded his security, that it was safe now (he even sent money and apologies to the family of the girl who died, though he didn't publicly release that information). Still, none of it was enough. Within the year, he was forced to stop buying cool prank stuff, sell everything he could, and close the doors to his shop for the last time.
Jane was sympathetic, obviously. She rushed to his side, offering cookies and lending money and shelter if he ever needed it. He was grateful, both then and now, but there was no way he could just sit around and let her babysit him forever.
John didn't have anything above a bachelor's in business. When he was younger, he used to daydream about becoming a comedian one day, so he looked into it. He took the Internet's advice and bought a notebook to write down jokes, funny thoughts, and funny stories as they occurred to him, had Jane look them over and help him perfect them.
They were pretty good, at least in his mind. With the help of Google, he was even able to find an open mic session at one of the restaurants downtown. He set himself up a spot, practiced his expressions in the mirror, and recorded his voice telling his own jokes just to make sure it was as amusing as possible.
But it wasn't meant to be. The restaurant had an accident and ended up burning one night two weeks before the open mic session.
John was horrified and disappointed. Jane suggested he tried somewhere else, so he did.
The next place was robbed at gunpoint the day before open mic, and a few people were even killed by the culprits. It was tragic and even more horrible than the last one, especially since the first restaurant had gone down without hurting anyone!
John may have fallen into a bit of a depression at that point, and poor Jane simply didn't know what to do with him. She joked that maybe his guardian angel had fallen for him ("Get it, John? Fallen?"), but he didn't think it was all that funny. It felt more like his "guardian angel" had abandoned him.
Luckily, he ended up finding an ad in a newspaper asking for a janitor.
It wasn't the first thing he would have picked, and certainly wasn't anything desirable, but money was money. He called the number on the paper and set up an interview without so much as being asked for a resume, which, when he thinks back, should have been a bit suspicious.
However, he was just overjoyed that hey, maybe now he could have a source of income again! Whoop-dee-frickin'-doo!
So he went to the interview in a nice pair of pants and a button-up, though he didn't really see what the point of dressing up was if he was only applying for a position as a janitor. Whatever, Jane wouldn't stop harping at him about it anyways, so he guessed his dressy clothes would just have to do. He really, really needed this job.
The building he was told to go to was out in the middle of nowhere, really. However, when he drove up to it he couldn't help but gape. It was huge and fancy and oh crap, would he have to clean the whole thing? Please, please, please tell him they had other janitors on hand.
A bit nervous, he parked in the visitor's parking lot, marked by a handy little sign proclaiming it as such, and made his way inside, feeling jittery and ashamed that he was only walking into such a high-end place for a janitor's position. Then again, who even put such a fancy workplace out in the middle of nowhere like this? Weren't these sorts of places supposed to be in, like, New York and Boston and stuff?
He ended up having to talk to the pretty receptionist, who was civil enough, and then was escorted up into an elevator to one of the upper floors, where a man in a white suit awaited them, face strangely plain and head completely bald.
The interview was . . . weird. The man introduced himself as Doctor Scratch, and proceeded to ask John a bunch of riddles he didn't understand that seemed to have a dark, highly personal context that would have made Rose very, very interested. Unfortunately, he wasn't Rose, so he mostly felt awkward from the time he sat down to the time the Doctor announced John had the job.
John had asked if he was sure, but the Doctor insisted he knew what he was doing. It was weird, like really weird, but John was too relieved at having a source of income to protest too much.
He started the very next day. Jane didn't like it, said it was highly suspicious, and while he definitely agreed, he didn't see himself having much of a choice.
So John went to work. It was pretty much the typical janitor job, just with creepy atmosphere and a few paranormal scares here and there. Sometimes he'd randomly fall asleep and wake up sprawled out on the floor, wondering, What the heck? And every now and again he'd find objects had been misplaced or disappeared entirely around the halls and offices. It was kind of strange, but when he continuously reported his findings, everyone assured him it was normal here.
That was even weirder, and highly alarming, so John decided not to tell Jane.
Things came to another abrupt halt a few weeks later when Jane had a heart attack from working too hard. He rushed her to the hospital, making her promise to take it easier and have more vacation time when she needed. They were still living together at that point, so John told her he would make more of an effort to help with bills and food if she just let herself relax a bit.
She had to stay in the hospital for a while, and when she did come back, the bills were more atrocious than he thought. However, he didn't say anything, just tried his best to stretch his money across food, bills, and hospital fees.
It didn't really work out so well, and Jane ended up returning to her harrowing work schedule sooner than John would have liked.
Doctor Scratch heard about the news and offered John more work hours, which he gratefully took, thanking his boss over and over again. The Doctor just waved them off with a dismissive hand and politely told him to tell Jane to get better soon.
But that wasn't the end of it. Only a month later, Jane fell asleep in the car and crashed it into a tree. Luckily, she came out alive, but the car was ruined and she was in intensive care at the hospital. John silently freaked, panicking to his long-distance buddies Rose and Dave, who offered their condolences. John ended up having to drain even more money to replace the car so he could continue driving to work (which he now sorely needed, gosh, they were so entrenched in debt it felt like they'd never be free citizens ever again). Meanwhile, Jane was completely comatose.
It broke his heart a little bit, going home and spending time by himself or visiting a sleeping Jane at the hospital. Made everything more lonely, more surreal and dark.
After a while, he became financially desperate. He couldn't afford cable, so he had to cut it off. Electricity was a daunting task, and he'd actually had to go without a few times before the year ended.
Life sucked, and Doctor Scratch seemed to know it.
Like the devil he was, Doctor Scratch materialized while John was working and offered him a . . . proposition. Apparently, one of the Doctor's "clients" had a thing for him. John, creeped out beyond anything else, politely declined the offer and went back to work feeling as though he'd throw up and ruin the newly-polished floor any minute.
He couldn't talk to Jane about it, and it was too personal to discuss with Rose or Dave or Jade, so he kept it to himself for the time being. They'd just tell him to quit, anyhow, and he really, really needed his job right then.
Things only became worse.
Because he had stopped paying for electricity entirely, his fridge no longer worked, and half of his food and all of his drinks except for tap water had spoiled. John always paid the hospital bills—and on time, too!—but they started sending him late notices, and when he called to protest or complain, they found his credit card company wasn't paying. They claimed John had never placed a deposit or payment, but he knew he had.
It wasn't going so good.
Doctor Scratch seemed to know this, and reappeared one day when John was working, nonchalantly announcing that his proposition was still open, and would be for . . . well, the foreseeable future.
John knew it was probably a bad idea. He knew it. But he was hungry, he was tired, he was stressed and lonely and thought, Why not? Some sex couldn't hurt about now. So he asked what this "client" wanted from him, exactly. Sex wasn't the answer, surprisingly enough, but neither was physical labor.
Marriage was out of the question. He would not be paid to marry some person he'd never met before. That was way too skeptical, and besides, John believed in marrying for love only.
So why, on his third week drinking tap water and eating Poptarts, did he find himself in Doctor Scratch's office, asking what that so-called "client" was like.
Doc gave him an extremely vague, rather generalized overview, but John was able to gather that it was a young man. Sketchy, very sketchy, but somehow, knowing it was a male around his own age made John slightly more . . . relieved, he guessed. Not like there weren't dangerous guys his age, but. At least it wasn't some gross old man.
He asked if the client had money. The Doc snorted and said he wouldn't have offered if the guy didn't have enough cash to let John off the hook for the rest of his life.
He asked why him. The Doc just shrugged, asked why did John think it was him.
He didn't know, honestly. He honestly, totally, completely didn't know or understand why any of this was happening, mourned and grieved and hated it all in equal measure, but he told the Doctor that he'd think more on it.
An expensive vase was smashed the next time he was working. John didn't do it, but he was blamed. He didn't have the money to replace it, either.
Doctor Scratch reminded him he had an option when John was seated in front of the man's desk, and as John fidgeted and sweated and was generally making a nervous breakdown in the man's office, Doc warned him that no matter what he decided, he should know that taking the client's offer would be a permanent thing. As soon as John said "yes" there would be no backing out. If John had to die to keep to the client, then the Doctor said he'd kill Egbert himself.
He didn't want to. He really, really didn't.
But he accepted it anyway.
John forced himself to breathe past the lump in his throat. They were looking at him, every last person training their attention on him as he walked himself down the aisle.
It was strange, being the "bride" of the wedding. John could feel all the attention on him, a hushed silence as he ascended the dais and took his place opposite of Karkat. He had honestly always thought he'd be the groom at his own wedding, but apparently he would simply have to let go of that dream.
The preacher began to speak, but it was in tongues of all things, weird and creepy and it made John shudder to hear it.
He turned to Karkat, who was facing him, though he couldn't tell if the other was actually looking at him what with those large sunglasses on his face. This close, John could tell something was off about his husband-to-be. Obviously there had to be something anyway, since Karkat was covered head to toe, but now that John was only a few feet away, close enough to reach out and touch, it just felt like there was something more to this. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
By now he had completely tuned the strange preacher out, staring at Karkat with furrowed brows. He probably looked like a total weirdo, but he didn't care.
His eyes ran over Karkat's outline, duly noting the few locks of hair that escaped the scarf, black and silky-looking, the total absence of exposed skin, the expensive garments dawning his tall, wiry form. Karkat was actually an inch or two taller than John, which surprised him, since John, himself, was pretty up there. It was unusual for him to meet people taller than himself, but here Karkat was, radiating a quiet self-confidence as he stood facing John.
Scanning over his partner, John couldn't help but feel like this man was somehow . . . maybe . . . familiar. It was an odd feeling to have, especially since John was positive he'd remember a name like Karkat, but the longer he stared at the other, the more certain he became that he knew this man from somewhere else.
How was that even possible? John reminded himself he technically couldn't see what Karkat looked like yet, but his body was humming with the yes, I know him feeling.
The worst thing was the longer his brain whispered it knew Karkat, the more he felt his body involuntarily relax. It was a gradual, slow process, with the preacher's unknown language a background music, each individual muscle in his back and shoulders going unclenching or uncoiling one at a time. He shouldn't be relaxing, he knew this. Strangers were staring up at him, Karkat was probably staring at him, but it was almost as if he couldn't help himself. His body trusted this man, which was as interesting as it was creepy, and it seemed to act outside of John's will.
The preacher paused, and John's ears quickly tuned back in when the man switched to English. ". . . John Egbert, do you take Karkat Vantas as your lawfully wedded husband?"
He wasn't sure why, but hearing the preacher knew his name surprised him. "Uh, yes-I mean, I do."
Preacher Guy nodded and switched back to his other language, talking fast and without pause. When he finally did break, John watched Karkat nod and say something along the lines of "Vesh ni'ine."
John guessed that was the unknown-language for "I do".
More was said, but John was no longer listening. If this continued like a traditional Christian marriage, John figured he knew what would come next, though he couldn't seem to keep his mind focused on the wedding at hand. Instead, it was fixated on Karkat's face, on the husky, deep voice that had responded to the preacher only a second ago. His ears rang with the other's voice, eardrums screaming I know that voice! But he didn't see how he could.
He honestly wasn't sure what he was doing when he reached out towards Karkat. The other didn't flinch, though he shifted away slightly, face hidden behind his makeshift mask. John, for whatever reason, was not deterred. His hand practically moved of its own accord, seeking Karkat's face, brushing across the temple of the other's sunglasses.
His ears picked up Karkat's sharp inhale, and while his brain screamed in confusion at his body working against its orders, his fingers curled around the sunglasses and carefully pulled them away.
Fiery, inhuman eyes stared back at him, blazing with something loud and intense that John had no hope deciphering. The sclera was a fierce golden color, abnormal and so, so different; the irises were a red so deep, so bright, it almost hurt to look directly into the other's eyes. And yet, despite John's surprise, the bone-deep sense of familiarity only increased.
"I know you," John breathed ever so softly.
What are you doing? His mind shrieked, alarms ringing through his skull. How could you possibly know this guy? Look at his eyes! The rest of him is probably freakier than this! How could you know someone like this and not remember? How do you know he won't kill you later for showing everyone his eyes? This man could be deadlier in his little finger than you in your whole body and you just touch him like you know and love him?! Are you insane?
Probably, he thought back to himself grimly.
Instead of dropping back to his side, his fingers continued onward to the gray skin—Gray! What even?!—around Karkat's eyes, thumb lightly drawing across the top of the man's cheekbone.
He really needed to stop. Now would be good. But his fingers didn't stop, they just stayed happily where they were, tingling everywhere they made contact with Karkat, his eyes trained on the other's. John couldn't tell how Karkat felt about John touching him, which was nerve-wrecking as heck, but the not-human didn't seem to hate it, at the very least.
That had to count for something, right?
Preacher Guy cleared his throat, effectively startling John into splitting his attention between the preacher and Karkat. The preacher softly announced, in a voice that entailed he was now repeating himself, "Osh dien larte'vez."
. . . Yeah, John had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
As it turned out, John didn't need to know what it meant, because Karkat had him covered. The not-human-man slid forward, taking the wrist of the hand touching his face with one hand and wrapping his other arm around John's waist, pecking him lightly on the mouth through his scarf. The fabric felt strange against his lips, rough and wool-like, and when Karkat pulled away to quiet applause, he found all the nerves in his lips felt as though they were rioting.
His eyes found Doctor Scratch in the crowd, who nodded once at him, and John quickly looked away.
A gloved hand pressed itself into his, Karkat gently tugging on it until John began to walk with him back down the aisle, the people in the pews turning to watch as they went. He was pretty sure most weddings didn't end with the newlyweds leaving the church, but then again, they weren't really a normal couple.
Once they were outside, Karkat dropped his hand, put his sunglasses back on, and gestured for John to follow, which John happily did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at this point.
Instead of leading him to a car, Karkat led him around the block, the sounds of the bustling city around them somehow comforting in light of recent events. They stopped in front of a clean-cut apartment complex with fancy cars more expensive than John parked out front, and when Karkat turned to approach it, John couldn't decide if he was surprised or not. Doctor Scratch had heavily implied his husband would be rich, so he guessed it only made sense.
John followed Karkat inside the building into a cold, spacious lobby. The floors were white and black tile, sparkling and polished, the walls a dark mahogany, the reception desk a beautiful black marble thing, sleek and shining under the bright light of the room. John could see a section of the second floor above, a narrow little hall with beautiful wrought iron-like railing on the side facing John and Karkat, the other side a normal wall lined with numbered doors.
He heard elevators dinging somewhere to the right, and up ahead, two back doors made more of glass than wood allowed him a glimpse of a concrete pathway out back. He wondered what was out there.
Karkat waved at the beaming receptionist, who chirped out a hello as they passed. John made sure to smile shyly at him, and saw the worker's eyes widen slightly before he smirked. He probably thought Karkat was bringing him home to . . .
John's cheeks reddened, but this probably wasn't that different, he guessed. Karkat could very well expect them to . . . do it once they got up to his room.
It kind of worried him, to be honest. As they ducked into a section of hall to their right, facing a group of elevator doors with glowing numbers above them, John couldn't help but agonize and ponder and imagine it. Having sex with Karkat.
What did he even look like? John knew he had gray skin and those strange eyes, but was his whole body gray? Did he have something weird down there? What else did John need to expect from this guy?
His eyes couldn't help but flicker over to his new husband, eyeing his body, half-curious and half-anxiously.
At least Karkat looked like he had a decent body. It was hard to tell if he was muscular or not with his clothes in the way, but he didn't seem to have anything wrong . . . other than the whole, you know, not being human thing. Of course, that could very well be why Karkat hid himself so well, to hide something even weirder . . .
The elevator doors finally pinged and opened, releasing a small crowd of chattering women. John and Karkat waited patiently for them all to get off before they stepped inside, the doors sliding shut after them. Karkat hit the button for the fourth floor, and the two of them stood in awkward silence all the way up. It was heavy and horrible—John had always hated silence, it was why he was always such a chatterbox—and he had to breathe a mental sigh of relief when the doors opened again and they walked out into the fourth floor hallway.
He followed Karkat down the hall and to room 416, fidgeting nervously as he waited for the door to be unlocked.
As soon as Karkat let him inside, his eyes were darting around the room, analyzing the interior and mentally comparing it to Jane's house. It was obviously smaller than her house, being an apartment, but it was much, much cleaner.
The first room, the one he was currently standing in, seemed to be a cross between a dining room and a living room, with a long, dark wooden table full of chairs off to his left and a gathering of leather couches facing a large TV in front of him. To the left of the dining stuff, right before the TV was a narrow hallway that held a few closed doors John supposed were probably closet, bathroom, and bedroom. Behind all of that were sliding glass doors leading out to a balcony, but he couldn't see the view from where he was standing. Off to his right was a tiny, but cute little kitchen, done up mostly in gray and black and metallic, the countertop a gorgeous granite and the floor what looked like stone.
John cautiously walked further inside and heard the door close behind him. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Karkat staring at him, gripping the door handle so tightly his glove molded to his knuckles.
"Is . . ." John swallowed quietly. "Is everything okay?"
Karkat nodded, but the movement was jerky and a little too fast. "Fine. Perfect. Peachy."
Well, alright then. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, biting his lip. "So, um, h—are, uh, you going to take all of that—" he waved at Karkat, trying to indicate the scarf, shades, and gloves, "—off or . . . ?"
Though nothing he just said really specified what he was talking about, Karkat seemed to know instinctively and raised a gloved hand to the scarf covering his face. When he spoke again, his voice was slow and uncertain. "Are you sure you want me to do that? You saw a little of what I look like already, and I can promise it only gets more fucked up from there."
John blinked, gulped again, squared his shoulders and said, "Yeah. I'm sure. I have a feeling you aren't going to eat me no matter what you look like."
Karkat nodded, but instead of unwrapping the scarf from his head, he carefully pulled his sunglasses off and laid them on the dining table. His glowing eyes found John's, as if asking permission to continue, but when John didn't do anything, he huffed and reluctantly peeled the gloves from his hands.
His hands were gray like the skin around his eyes, fingers long and callous, nails yellow and sharp like claws. Again, once the garment was off, his eyes flicked to John. And again, John didn't react much except to curiously look over Karkat's hands.
Growling, a sound that was low and rumbly and made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up, Karkat tore the scarf from his head, balling it up and throwing it onto the dining table with his gloves and sunglasses, hunching his shoulders and looking angrily at John as if to say, I bet you regret this now, don't you?
Only, John couldn't really say he did.
Karkat's face was different, he'd give him that. It was more angular than John was used to, harsh and sharp in places that weren't normal for humans, his lips puffy and black, his overbite causing a top row of white fangs to poke out between his lips. Candy corn-colored horns sat on top of his messy, dark hair, bright and short but pointed enough on the ends to hurt shoulder Karkat choose to head-butt anyone.
Honestly, John thought he looked kind of cool, and though he tried to linger on the horns, the fangs, the claws, anything that should alarm him, he couldn't dredge up anything but his intensifying certainty that he knew Karkat from somewhere, and with that certainty, a growing warmth that whispered this guy was safe. How his brain could come to that conclusion, especially in the face of fangs, horns, claws, and wicked growls, he didn't know, but it was there and it was strong.
Cocking his head to one side, John's legs slowly carried him closer to Karkat, who tensed, backing up into the door. He looked like he was ready to run or pounce, but he did neither as John moved ever closer, Karkat's eyes never leaving him.
When John stopped, standing so close he might as well have been breathing Karkat's air, he reached out and cupped the not-human's cheek, staring up at him wonderingly.
He wasn't scared of this man—this whatever. There was no fear inside of him, no uncertainty or worry or doubt. Just . . . this overwhelming feeling of knowing him. It was weird and John didn't really understand it, but there wasn't much to do but go with it at this point.
"Karkat," he said, soft and warmer than he thought his voice could ever sound. Karkat sucked in a sharp breath.
"John."
"Have we met before?" It wasn't necessarily what he meant to say, but it was a good question. Or at least, he thought so until he saw the deer-caught-in-headlights look on Karkat's face. "We have, haven't we? It's just I can't get over how familiar you are. Um, maybe I'm just being weird though? I don't know. I just . . ." He dropped his hand and started back pedaling, hands held up instinctively to show he meant no harm.
Karkat's hand went back to the doorknob, flexing against the metal like he was having to physically struggle not to run away. "I know you. We haven't met before, but I know you."
John wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. "I . . . What?"
His husband took a breath, as if bracing himself, and spoke between clenched teeth. "We haven't met. I've only been here for a little while. But I know you, and if I feel familiar to you I guess your subconscious remembers me for fuck knows why."
This wasn't confusing him any less. What did he learn from this? He learned that Karkat was terrible at proper explanations. "Dude, that doesn't make any sense. How can we know each other if this is the first time we've met?"
Karkat couldn't seem to look at him anymore, his fierce eyes glowering at the kitchen. "Obviously, I'm not human."
John snorted, earning a glare from Karkat.
"Anyway," he continued, turning away from John again, "I used to be an angel. A guardian angel."
He waited, probably assuming John would interrupt again, but he was too busy gaping at Karkat. The angel didn't notice, as he was still looking away, so he continued onward.
"I wasn't very good at my job. I won't get into the details since I'm sure you don't care, but in Heaven, they give you three chances. I struck out three times, so I fell. Simple as that."
It took a few minutes for John to find his voice again, leaving the room submerged in thick, electrified silence. When he finally found his words, it felt as though he was fighting something sentient to be heard. "I . . . I still don't understand. Do all angels look like you? Aren't you guys supposed to be all sweet and not curse? And . . . And why would you marry me?"
Karkat tensed even more, if that was possible. "Angels don't look exactly like me, but yeah, we look pretty similar. Since I've fallen I started losing my angelic nature and appearance and becoming more demonic. I'm trying not to . . . But humans don't understand how difficult it is. Heaven didn't have anything bad or any shit to deal with, and Earth is fucking drowning in it all. It's why just about every single fallen becomes a demon; we . . . It's hard, alright? It's hard and there's not a whole lot of others who understand."
". . . So why did you marry me?" John asked.
His shoulders bunched up around his face, knuckles going white against the doorknob. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, lips pressed tight together and eyes hard. However, eventually he deflated, leaning his weight back against the door, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I was your guardian angel, asswipe. Do you know what it feels like to watch a person from birth to adulthood? To protect them because they're too much of a dumbass to keep themselves out of danger? You form a bond with them, John. A spiritual and emotional one. When I found out you were still around, I . . . Well, I can't help it. As far as I know, most guardian angels will do anything to have that bond again, so there you have it."
"So . . . You're taking the role of my custodian through marriage?"
Karkat actually shuddered. "Fuck no! I would rather shove a rusty sickle up my nook and birth a plethora of disgusting blade-wrigglers than act as your shitty custodian!"
John made a face. "Gross! Who even uses the word 'plethora'? Just . . . Ugh. Anyway, let's just go to bed, okay? I don't know about you, but I'm tired and I still have work on Monday."
"The sun is still up," Karkat pointed out, frowning at the doors to the balcony.
"Then I'm going to take a nap. Where do you want me to sleep?"
Karkat scowled at him for a few minutes, but John was serious when he said he wasn't scared of the angel. Karkat seemed to realize this and growled in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers and waving at the little hall. "Go sleep in my bed. It's the only one in the apartment and you'll be in the way if you sleep on the couch."
"Okay." He nodded, shuffling towards the hall.
"It's the very last door," Karkat called after him.
"Okay! Thanks!"
He thought he heard Karkat grumble out something, but he wasn't sure what, so he ignored it and opened the very last door at the end of the tiny apartment hall (if you could call such a small space a hall).
The bedroom looked like your average male's room—there was a large, messy bed in the center, without headboard or footboard, and pushed close to the wall, a curtained window next to it on the left. To the right of the door was a pair of wrinkled pajamas, and opposite of the bed was a small bookshelf full of romance novels and newspapers circled and marked up with Sharpie. The left side of the room held a dark, wide desk with a rolly chair pulled up to it, a nice laptop whirring on its surface, balled up papers littering the rest of the space, despite the fact that the waste bin was literally right next to it.
John closed the door behind him and stripped down to his boxers, folding his clothes into a neat pile and laying them on top of the bookshelf before he threw himself on the bed. Face-down in the sheets, he inhaled the smell of warmth and goodness before he realized that wasn't the laundry detergent, that was Karkat he smelled. Immediately he flipped over on to his back, flushing.
Nice going, John. Because that wasn't gay in the least.
He forced the thoughts out of his head, crawling under the covers and keeping himself face-up so he wouldn't do anything embarrassing like sniff the sheets or drool on the pillows before he closed his eyes.
It was comforting, being in his guardian angel's bed. John didn't think any more about why that might be; instead he fell into a dreamless asleep.
When he woke up again, the room was dark with night time and he had somehow rolled on to his side. The mattress creaked and groaned loudly, a gruff voice cursing as another body radiating warmth wormed under the covers. Looked like Karkat decided they might as well share the bed. John could be down for that.
Shrugging internally, John started to close his eyes again when he felt solid warmth curling around him. He opened his eyes when he felt hot, wet breath puffing against his neck, and with widening eyes, he realized Karkat was spooning him.
Relax! His brain exclaimed, He's an angel! It's not like he's going to do anything. Karkat said there was nothing bad in Heaven, so he probably doesn't realize the implications of what he's doing. It's just a misunderstanding.
Yeah. Yeah, that was probably it. Karkat didn't know and he wanted to cuddle. That's all this was.
John started to relax again, because yeah. Just a misunderstanding. However, it certainly didn't feel like a misunderstanding all of a sudden when Karkat moved so his mouth was by John's ear and whispered, "I want to be inside of you."
Okay, okay. Just breathe. No need to freak out yet. Inhale, exhale. Do like that.
There wasn't an inch of Karkat's body that wasn't pressed against John's. His hot legs were tucked into the bend in John's, his hips and chest pressed flush around John's, arms circling John. Karkat's face buried itself in John's neck, and the human felt his angel inhale deeply and heard the dirty moan Karkat released.
So, okay, he'd admit it. John was aroused. But, in his defense, no one had ever acted like they could get off just on the smell of him before, and if Karkat's filthy noises were anything to go by, the angel was implying exactly that.
John had never had sex with anyone before. He had been hot and heavy with a few girlfriends, but Dad Egbert had raised a boy who was taught to wait for marriage, so that's what he had always tried to do. Now, however, he was married. He was married, he was aroused, and he was apparently wanted.
Slowly, so Karkat would know what he was doing, John reached a hand behind the angel's head, curling his fingers into dark, soft tresses. Karkat continued sniffing him and making hot noises, so John used his distraction to mentally brace himself before popping his hips back to press tightly to Karkat's.
Karkat choked, so John cocked his hips forward and did it again. And again. And again.
Karkat became a keening mess behind him, thrusting up into John and panting hard against him, licking and nipping and kissing at John's neck when he seemed to have enough of a brain to think about it. John was delighted in this response. No one had ever reacted to him like this before, as if they couldn't get enough, as if him touching them alone made them stop functioning. He loved it, so he continued.
"John," Karkat groaned, claws bunching into the sheets above John's stomach. "I'm dying. You're killing me."
"Let's see if we can't revive you," John whispered back. Oh man, that sounded so stupid. That was probably so dumb. He hoped he hadn't killed the mood.
However, the way Karkat hissed and thrusted back into him made him feel like Karkat was perfectly fine with John's stupid responses.
Rolling to face his angel, he noted that Karkat was only in a shirt and boxers, and the front of those boxers was wet with precome.
Holy crap. Karkat really, really wanted him.
John was quick to rid him of his boxers and position himself between Karkat's legs, taking a bony gray hip in either hand and pinning them to the mattress.
"What . . . What do you think you're doing?" Karkat hissed. "Get back up here, you piece of shi—iiiiiiiiiiiiiittt!"
John's lips enveloped Karkat's gray shaft, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed his head, pleased by Karkat's loud gibberish and flailing hands. Claws swept the back of his head and left to fist in the sheets, probably too scared he'd scrape or pull out John's hair or something, whimpering when John licked the vein on the underside of his cock.
"Jooooooooooooohn," Karkat groaned.
Honestly, John wasn't even that great at giving a blowjob. His lips and tongue felt clumsy against Karkat, and his mouth was already starting to ache from working Karkat's girth.
He separated from Karkat with a pop, smacking his lips as the angel whined and moved to shove John's head back down. John batted his hands away and moved back up the angel's body, his erection accidentally brushing Karkat's through his underwear. They both hissed and jerked toward each other, moaning low.
"Take your atrocious human garments off this instant!" Karkat demanded, yanking at the waistline of John's boxers so hard they ripped.
Neither of them really cared at this point, too high on their own pleasure to think about the regret they'd feel tomorrow, John at sleeping with a practical stranger and Karkat at having sex of all things.
It didn't take long for them to descend into John grabbing their cocks and the two rutting against one another, noisy and desperate for a release. Karkat was the first to go, sinking his teeth into John's exposed shoulder to muffle his scream of ecstasy, and John, caught off guard but pushed over the edge by that display, came hard immediately following, orgasming so brilliantly he felt like he had shattered into pieces.
Instead, he came to in one piece, tears leaking his eyes and soaking Karkat's shirt, their shared come slathered over John's hand and their hips and torsos. Karkat's shirt was particularly disgusting, but the angel didn't seem to care. He simply held John close, chests pressed together and faces smooshed into each other's hair, breathing hard as they came down from their high.
After a while, John fell asleep like that, filthy and curled on top of his angel.