YEP HOMESTUCK

Love seemed to be a very popular topic with trolls. The humans couldn't escape it no matter how hard they tried when the species were mingled, so they complied, pretending to love each other. They wouldn't, for any reason, lower themselves to loving a troll, but they were okay with saying "I love you" to one another in public.

Karkat had made it very easy for them to figure out who was going to repopulate with who. John and Jade were related, so they couldn't go together. Same with Dave and Rose. That left Dave with Jade and John with Rose.

Over the short span of time that they'd been faux-dating, as it quickly developed, Dave had really come to like the nerdy 'sister' of John. Subtle things like her odd humour and goofiness had caught on, and he worked around her easily-set temper and general lack of remembrance of most things. He'd reminded her of his own name a couple times before, even, and still found himself staring at her.

The 'fake-date' thing had grown on both sides of the relationship. Jade started stumbling over words with eagerness to make him laugh, and it was so farfetched of her to do, to completely fall head-over-heels when she saw him, that a small blotch of red would creep over his features and allow him to succumb to her will, letting out a small chuckle if any thing. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't as composed as, say, Rose or himself, that drove him to her: he didn't know. It didn't matter that much, any ways.

That was all a while ago, though. Even with having to save the world ("Or whatever," Dave always said about it. He had no huge grasp on why it was he was doing any of what he was), he found time to tell her that he loved her, and actually mean it. He always gave her soft kisses, never going past what she wanted, taking it slow and at a comfortable pace for her. He pestered her a lot with his iShades or laptop or whatever he had at that moment, and she loved it all up.

You are Jade Harley. Your boyfriend is Dave Strider.

This boy probably talks to you more than you talk to yourself. You really love him, because he's not like all the boys you've met in the past. They were all about fart-jokes and rapping and gum and whatnot. They were all pretty dumb and rather immature. He made you so happy, made you feel like you mattered. Every time he placed a hand on your hip and pulled you in for a kiss, an expectant tingle made you shiver, and one day you acted on it.

You had sexual encounters with Dave Strider, and very often since then.

Yes! You, Jade Harley, had sexual relations with the coolest guy alive, Dave Strider. He laid you down, pressing hot kisses all along your neck and chest, making your whole body bubble with intense anticipation, stripped you of your clothes, and all the foreplay that came with. You decided to try out what you once read was called a 'blow job' first, since he was willing to let you and you were still nerved by the though of sex.

It was not what you expected it to be.

Not that it was gross or unpleasant or any thing, you expected that and didn't mind it. It was how long he lasted that left you baffled. You'd read enough romance novels and experimented with going to porn websites and whatever teens do to know that a boy lasting about two minutes, at best, was not very long at all. In fact, it was a sadly short amount of time. Maybe sucking someone off wasn't your idea of a field day, but you liked all the noises your boyfriend made, and how he appreciated what you did. Not that it was the only thing he appreciated, but sexual-pleasing is important in a relationship.

You shrugged it off, telling yourself that you just had mad skills from day one and he simply couldn't take it for that long. You shrugged it off every time the two of you went to bed and you pleased him, which had been too many to count by this point. He always became exhausted after he had his orgasm, and you told him not to worry and that you were too nervous to actually have sex any ways.

But then the time did come, and you and Dave Strider did have sex.

It was not was not what you expected it to be. At all.

It was very uncomfortable, to start off. He was very awkward and skittish about it, pulling out of you when he thought you were hurting when you were only moaning, which wasn't too much any ways since he was so terrible at it. Again, the guy couldn't last very long, and when he did, it was because of the start-stop procedure. You had faked every orgasm but one, and the one time you didn't fake was because you had played with yourself in the middle from being so displeased. He seemed to either be too engulfed in himself to notice, or really was just very stupid and only acted cool.

Either way, you couldn't take it any more.

Dave Strider, the coolest guy in all the galaxies and universes, came into your bedroom late one night. You didn't know what he'd been doing till then, but you were ready for him. You were dressed in a light-blue lingerie outfit, complete with soft, blue slippers. Your make-up was done meticulously, including mascara, eye-liner, and bright red lipstick. Your hair was curled and currently hanging over your shoulders delicately. The look on your boyfriend's face could be best described as 'floored'. He had no idea what to do with what was in front of him, so he just licked his lips and flushed a dark-red colour, fumbling your name out his lips in a questioning manner.

"Shh," you say, sauntering in front of him and placing a soft finger over his pursed lips. You lean in and kiss the top of his earlobe, down to his jaw then nibble on the bottom of those tight lips, and he opens his mouth to kiss you passionately. Your tongues battle for a moment, exchanging saliva and moaning into one another's mouths. Finally you break off when you can feel the heat in his pants against your leg, and sit on the bed with one leg over the other. He goes to follow you, but you rise from your sitting-position and stand next to a stereo you both agreed on having in the room. He looks confused when you put your finger on the play button, without pressing it.

"You want to listen to music while we...?" He asks bashfully, ticking a brow up as high as the ceiling. You want to laugh, because he thinks you're experimenting, but only a smirk breaks your otherwise-bored look.

"No," You say, voice relaxing. "I wanted to sing you a song." You explain. You motion to the spot on the bed where you'd been sitting. He complies, sitting with his hands in his lap. You smile and press the 'play' button, the happiness on his face fading with nervousness.

The song starts out sounding rather Southern, and you want to point out that it'd match him perfectly, but you don't. Instead, since the stereo was on the side of the bed and he was at the foot, you step your way over in front of him, about a foot away, to the beat of the song, and he watches very carefully. You then open your mouth just the slightest, inhale, and begin to sing.

"Oh, he treats me with respect, he says he loves me all the time," You've started to rock your hips left and right to the song's tempo. "He calls me fifteen times a day, he likes to make sure that I'm fine," Your eyes close, and your arms begin to raise, lightly set on your collarbone. "You know I've never met a man who's made me feel quite so secure." You see the uneasiness drop from him, and you can't help but let the sneer itching to come out plaster itself on your face as the lyrics start to roll out easily. "He's not like all them other boys, they're all so dumb and immature."

You start clapping off-beats with the song above your head, waving your head side-to-side just the slightest and the wave of your hips becomes more bouncy and pronounced.

"There's just on thing that's getting in the way, when we go up to bed, you're just no good: it's such a shame!" This was what you've been waiting for all day, and you sing it with such a prestige sort of perfectness that his stomach turns and he frowns with his mouth open, glancing at you from above his shades. "I look into your eyes, I want to get to know ya'. And then you make this noise and it's apparent it's all over." He's now completely startled, and you giggle before proceeding, eyes flicking open quickly to meet his with a proud, almost maniacal stare.

"It's not fair, and I think you're really mean, I think you're really mean, I think you're really mean, oh! You're supposed to care, but you never made me scream," You've approached him, still in-time, and pat his cheek comfortingly as you sing. "You never made me scream." You wiggle again, stepping back and circle in place as a banjo or some sort of string-instrument becomes prominent in the music then fades away into the background again.

"Oh, it's not fair, and it's really not okay," You're now glaring, and he swallows thickly: you can see it. You're glad your point's coming across clearly. "It's really not okay, it's really not okay, oh! You're supposed to care, but all you do it take," You snap instead of clapping that one, rolling your hips and dropping so your knees are close to the ground then come back up, giving him a look of lust: the one you always give him. The fake one. He seems to be figuring it all out. "Yeah, all you do is take..."

You've got your ground again, hands back to your sides, touching your hips with that same grace as before, pretty lids covering your prettier eyes. You know how he's feeling - ridiculed. If only he knew how good you felt, how the warm colours of the sun only glanced off you to make you happier as you completely defaced his ego. "Oh I lie here in the wet patch in the middle of the bed, I'm feeling pretty damn hard done by, I spent ages giving head."

Oh yes, the peek you took to see his reaction to those words was worth it. He's twiddling his thumbs, staring frantically at your hypnotizing, swinging sides and sweating up a rather embarrassing amount much alike one of the trolls who wandered these halls."Then I remember all the nice things that you ever said to me. Maybe I'm just over-reacting, maybe you're the one for me." Your look is sympathetic for a very brief moment while the words slide off your tongue so slippery smooth, but it coils back into that cold, hard, freakish grin.

The song doesn't stop even when the chorus is repeated then that banjo comes out for it's time to shine, but you pull him up just to emotionally rattle him some more and dance around him. You make sure to turn your back to him as often as possible, giving him a view of your nicely-shaped rear before dancing to the song on him, his hands in yours, your moves making him go along with it. So little that it was almost unnoticeable. Almost.

The chorus comes up once more and you shove him on the bed with gusto, his rough voice making a grunt. You just dance like crazy all over the room, running fingers up your legs; your voice coming out like silk and honey; dastardly, unmentionable motions and communications through eyes all pointed towards him; hands all over his chest and thighs, driving him wild. He's becoming overwhelmed as the song nears it's end- as he nears his end, and when the last note draws out, you kiss him as long as it lasts then leave the room with a wave. No looking back.

You are Jade Harley.

Your boyfriend is Dave Strider.

The sex sucks.

Everything else is good.

You served him.

lolololololololol

Song - Not Fair by Lily Allen