Quick author's note! Alright, so I apologize if my biology lessons bog you down at all. I tried to keep them brief-I really did! But alas, I've got too much science nerd in me to let my theories go unheard.

Homestuck belongs to the Huss. I am not the Huss. The Huss is not me.

Finally, you think as he saunters out of the 'shower'—as he insisted you call it. Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you've been sitting around for at least half an hour waiting for this ass to come out, and you'd actually resigned to try falling asleep before he got out. You flopped down on his bed, sinking into the disarrayed sheets lightly, and closed your eyes—only to open them up again just as quickly. You grimaced at the ceiling. Nope. Apparently it didn't matter if you ignored the fact, it still remained that these gog-awful beds weren't at all comfortable. You were seriously missing your recouperacoon.

Anyways, Dave was sauntering, right? Yeah, that was thing he was—is—doing. He's walking in from his unreasonably long shower and his shades are already back on, loose jeans sloping on his hips. This is, you guess, a bit weird because, really, this is his freaking room and there's no reason for him to be wearing pants just to walk down the hallway. Whatever. If you're going to question his unnecessary hiding you should probably start with his sunglasses—ridiculous things that follow him outside, inside, night and day.

But still—he's sauntering with a towel draped over on shoulder and water still dripping down his chest in places. Maybe he did his hair to walk down the hallway too, because it's pretty damned perfect for something that's still damp. You hate to admit it—or you don't, you guess, because it's only to yourself—but your roommate is a fucking gorgeous man.

You close your eyes again. No need to be caught staring, that's for sure. You're an embarrassment enough already and you don't need to add ogling to the list of stupid shit you do in front of Dave.

"Dude, what're you doing in my bed?"

You open your eyes again, glance at him, who's cocking an eyebrow, and stare at the ceiling.

"Not, uh, sleeping. These things are terrible," you say.

He snorts a little, and before you know it he's just flopped onto the bed sideways, his legs dangling onto the floor and his head resting on your stomach. You tell yourself that you're only the slightest bit ruffled.

"Well no shit. I think anything would be uncomfortable with those fucking crazy horns," he says.

It's true, that much is undeniable. Six inches of obnoxious red-and-yellow horn spread from the sides of you head on each side, the standing proof that the universe has hated you since you were hatched. You won't lie to yourself; it had still been a hell of a time trying to sleep in your old recouperacoon. Your neck was always a bundle of pain in the morning, but this is still somehow worse. Aside from being giant hazard-seeking pieces of bullshit throughout the day, at night your horns make themselves useful by proving it next to impossible to turn your head on the pillows. Okay, so maybe the horn situation isn't actually worse than it was before, but beds are still hella uncomfortable. Cold and stiff and way harder to move around in—humans were idiots to settle for them.

You huff at him.

"Man, if I were you I'd'a sawed those fuckers of a long time ago," he suggests.

"What? Gog no! Do you have any idea how painful that would be?"

You can't believe he'd even suggest such a thing! That might be more painful than sawing off your legs (assuming that you could feel them at the time; which you could now, so yeah, it'd hurt a whole fucking lot).

"No?" he responds, "I didn't think you could even, like, feel them at all, really."

You're confused now. Of course you can feel the suckers! Why wouldn't you?

"Why would you assume that, um, I can't feel them?" you ask.

He turns to look at you for a moment, what you can see of his face a clear look of confusion.

"Well I dunno, cause, see, on earth we used to have plenty of animals with horns and shit. Goats and bulls and deer and whatever, and you just cut the horns off of them and they hardly feel it. Like, I know they sorta felt it, but there weren't too many nerves in there for it to really be painful. Hell, the main purpose of horns for them was to freakin run into each others' with em. So I figured y'all's were like that too."

"Oh…"

You think this is pretty weird. But then, a lot about earth seems pretty weird to you, so you shouldn't be surprised.

"Well, ours are definitely not like that. Not for fighting at all. They're actually really, um, really sensitive," you tell him.

"Hm. Sensitive, like, how?"

"What do you mean 'how'?" you ask.

"I guess maybe I mean more like, why are they there then? Like, are they some sort of antennae or some crazy shit, or are they for something else?"

You can feel a slight orange blush climbing onto your cheeks. This is really not something you want to be telling Dave about. Troll horns are a complicated thing, and you've no clue how to explain them.

"Um, they're for something else, yeah. Primarily, they're for right after you're a grub, but other than that, uh, it's just kind of… complicated, I guess. They're actually kind of useless unless, I guess, you want to use them for mating…" you trail off.

You think you might be on fire right now, considering all the heat that's building in your cheeks. Gog, you really wish he'd shut up. You look at him, and he's staring up at the ceiling. Or maybe he is; you can't actually tell with his shades on.

"I get it, I think," he begins, "They're like head-nipples."

"Head-whats," you ask.

"These," he says.

You stretch up and follow to where his hands are pointing to a couple of pinkish circles on his chest. They're… odd, to say the least. At least you know that your horns had served a purpose once but those… what in the hell had they ever been needed for?

"Those things?"

"Yeah, them."

"But do they even do anything?" you question.

He smirks.

"Nope, not a thing. Not for me, anyways. They actually have a function for chicks, which is making milk, but for me they got absolutely no fucking business to be here."

You furrow your brow. By this point, you're almost not even embarrassed anymore. Now, you're just intrigued. As well, Dave is, for some spectacular and unfathomable reason, not being an ass at the moment, which is a great confidence boost.

"Then is that one, too?" you ask, pointing to a different spot in the center of his stomach.

"Nah, that's different."

Different, he says? Maybe—maybe it's like yours? But humans are never grubs, so that wouldn't really make sense. Unless it would. You don't exactly know. It was possible that something had attached there… You suppose you might as well ask.

"So then, is it like, um, like where grub-legs fall off or something?"

"Where what fall off?"

"Uh, grub-legs. Cause when we hatch we're grubs, and there are six legs, but then you lose them, and…"

He's starting to seem really confused now, and there's that little bit of embarrassment creeping back up on you again.

"Here, uh…" you trail off as you start fiddling with the buttons on your shirt.

It's probably just easier if you show him, you reason. And besides, Dave's been shirtless the entire time. He doesn't give a single shit about it. Not one, tiny, unimportant shit. So you shouldn't either. Dave is the fucking master of cool, and here you are the most heated little fucker around, and you best damned well sit back and take a lesson.

Your fingers shake lightly as they undo the last buttons. You shrug the black fabric off your shoulders, wad it up, and set it down next to you.

"See, um, these?" you ask, motioning down your sides to the three raised circles down each of your sides.

Dave's sill staring, his mouth opened slightly, and you can't think of another moment in your seven sweeps that you've been more self-conscious. Your fingers twitch where they lay on the sheets, and you look up to the ceiling and close your eyes. This whole night is driving you fucking nuts, it seems, because—jegus fuck—there is no way you would be here doing this if you were a sane person. You do, of course, account for the fact that sanity is a luxury you're lucky to have, considering all the crazy shit you went through in the SGRUB disaster. How funny, you think, that out of this glorious shitstorm of bad luck that has been your life, you've finally got this one crumb of fortune called sanity.

Your train of thoughts stops completely when you feel the light trace of fingers over one of your scars. Maybe you'd been clinging to some shred of cool a minute ago, but it's gone now, ripped far the fuck away by the little tingles dancing on your skin. This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Dave might even be ridiculous at this point.

"Fuckin cool," he breathes.

You let out a nervous giggle.

"Eh, thanks," you answer, "So anyways, trolls are born as grubs with nubby little horns and six legs, and these kinda roundish bodies, and thos're what's left when the legs fall off."

"So your legs… fall off? How does that work, even?"

"Well, um,"

You find it just a slight bit difficult to concentrate on your words while Dave's still messing around. Which is weird. Why is he not stopping? You think maybe he's high or something. Yeah, that must be it, some human drug. It doesn't matter that Dave says he's clean, because that's the only reasonable thing that could lead to his fucked up behavior. Just keep talking an ignore him, you think.

"See, um, after you get hatched from the mothergrub, er, well, not you but me, you kinda wander off, and then you find someplace to stay for a while, and you go into a, like, I guess a hibernation for like half a sweep. Then a, cocoon, is maybe what you'd call it, forms around you, and it's really hard and looks like a rock. In there you just sort of, well, lose them, and while you're there your other limbs and stuff grow. So do your, um, your horns, and then you use them for the only thing they're ever actually good for, and you break out, and that's it, I guess."

"Huh," is his only response.

His hand's still drifting lazily around the circles, and you know you've never seen Dave this weirdly transfixed on anything. It reminds you a lot of the way Gamzee stares at things when he's had a few sopor pies, which goes along perfectly with your high theory. Since he's still going though, you think that maybe—just maybe—maybe it'd be okay if you touched him back. After all, when do you think you'll ever get another chance to do it? Never, that's fucking when, and you've got that human expression Dave told you about to live up to, don't you? Dave says it's a way to be confident, so you should try living up to it.

Yolo, you whisper silently as you suck in your breath and extend an unsteady hand to rest on his collarbone. He doesn't move in the slightest, so you begin to trace a clawed finger over his freckled shoulder.

You can't honestly recall ever really touching Dave before, skin-to-skin. Sure, you've bumped into his sleeved arms plenty of times or brushed legs clothed in jeans, but you don't think you've actually felt his skin before. It's surprisingly soft to the touch, much softer than Alternian skin. And smooth, too, but with tiny, fine hairs everywhere. You don't blame him for being amazed by yourself, when you're gray and rough and hairless. You're curious about what human grubs are like—are they even grubs? You've been too shy to ask any of the kids about it, but now seems like maybe a good time.

You clear your throat.

"So, um, what about humans, then?" you ask.

You really want him to start talking again. He's acting like a—a—what are those dumb things the humans made up for their films? They weren't vampires, because vampires were dead, yeah, but they were way smart too. And really attractive, usually. Dave matched for that but—stop that, Tav. You have an important word you're trying to think of. They were—they were… they were zombies! Yeah. Zombies. Dead and mindless and transfixed on flesh. That's what Dave's being, a zombie.

He seems to jolt back into consciousness, and he takes his eyes away from my torso to stare absentmindedly at the room.

"Alright. It's a lot different than trolls, to start. See, humans always got legs and arms and stuff, they're just real small to begin with. And we don't hatch or whatever. Instead, humans grow inside of each other—in females anyway, 'cause males aren't made for that—and they're kind of like incubators while the baby grows all the essential crap. While they're in there you still gotta feed it though, y'know, so there's this tube that's attached at the navel—that's the third one—, and when the mom eats, nutrients and junk go to the baby. And eventually when it's got all the crap it needs, it comes out, and then somebody's gotta take care of the stupid fucker."

Listening to him, you think that what Karkat says about humans being weak as a species might be a little true. You've always thought of yourself as pretty damned pathetic as far as survival goes but, looking over Dave now, you kind of feel better about it? It's true; they're not made to fend for themselves. They've got no claws or anything, no skin that protects them—hell, they don't even blend into stuff on their own planet. They're completely reliant on the structures they build and the weapons they make, the clothes they sew, the machines they run. The only strength their bodies have comes in numbers.

"So then, Tavros, I've got another question for ya."

"Yeah?"

"What's troll mating like?"

Your face is back on the burner again, and you manage to stammer out, "E-excuse me?"

Dave's face is completely blank as he continues speaking, blank as it ever is.

"Well, what's it like? I mean, aside from the bland crap Karkat says about filling a pail of whatever 'genetic material' and putting it out for the 'imperial drone'. Fucker won't even tell me what you guys got goin on down there."

You still stare at him, gaping. This is seriously something he hasn't already weaseled out of anyone else? It's something you figure he would have had no problem asking around. You know certain people that would have told him in the beat of a blood pumper.

He shrugs in defeat.

"I just get curious, okay? You don't have to tell me."

His hand stops moving,—you hadn't really noticed it was still there—starts to pull away. You don't think about it, it just comes as a reflex, as your hand darts to halt him. When he stares at you, perplexed, your mouth opens and closes a minute like an aquatic animal.

"No—um, I will. Just," you pause, "you have to tell me first."

You don't look at Dave as the question leaves your mouth. This is another thing you've been afraid to ask anyone about, and you've been wondering for a while. You really wish sometimes that the computers were still working, for if they were you'd've found out a long time ago.

Quickly, his hand goes back to where it was, seemingly unconsciously, moving before but then—holy fucking gog , then there are lips. There is a pair of lips pressing swiftly to the skin of your stomach, and you feel kind of woozy but in a good way, and for just a second your spine tingles the same way it always does in the cliché human fictions. When he pulls back you look down to see him smirking at you, and gog if your face wasn't flushed before it fucking is now. Then, just like that, he's staring off like nothing of it.

"Fair enough," he begins.

"I guess I'll start with the basics then, sound good? So males, we got this thing called a penis. And it's honestly fucking hard to describe if you haven't seen one before, but I guess I'll try. So, okay, it's this kinda dangly thing and it's usually about three fingers' width, hand or so long, and then there's the scrotum, and that's like a couple of ping pong balls—you know what those are, right?" you nod, "Anyway, like two of them in a sack. And then our 'genetic material' is white, and that's where it comes from."

It feels increasingly strange to try imagining such a thing. Whatever you're picturing, you're certain it can't be what the actual thing looks like, because that seems disgusting.

"Then about females. They have a vagina—and I won't lie, I've never actually had contact with one of these so forgive me if you ever find my description inaccurate. But the gist of it is it's this slit they have, and there's a few parts to it, I guess, but it's mainly got a hole that, well, the penis goes in. But now, when it comes to the actual sex part, there's a million different ways to go about it. As I said, the most basic goal is to put a penis in a vagina and—hooray!—you had sex! Or you could put in a butt or a mouth or you could put something else in a vagina, but I don't really want to get into that. Besides, I'm sure your people must be plenty innovative too."

You giggle at the last part. Yes, yes they certainly are.

He looks up at you and smiles—like really actually smiles. What you're seeing is not a smirk. Nu-uh, that shit is a full-on fucking genuine smile, and gogdamn that is a fantastic sight.

"Um, okay then, so maybe it's really not, um, actually that different between our species."

As you speak, you replace your hand and run it gently through his hair. You expect that he'd protest because, frankly, you're making a mess of the hair he'd so nicely styled in the event he might pass you in the hall or, say, find you lounging around in his bed to piss him off, yet he doesn't. He just continues to lie there, stroking your side with a presumably tired arm.

"To, uh, begin, all trolls have the same genitals, girl or boy. And also, we have a kind of combination of both of your species'. Like, so I guess where you have your, um, your penis, there's the bulge, and it's pretty similar. Except, there's no, uh, scrotum, and I guess it's kind of a tentacle. We can't control them or anything, but that's basically what it is. Then, um, right under that is the nook, which is I guess no different from a human vagina. And that's it, really. Just sort of do the same, uh, the same stuff that humans do."

He nods in an ever-sagely manner.

"I see. Well then, this has been a nice conversation."

"An awkward one," you add.

He snorts.

"Fuck yeah it is."

A grin spreads across your lips, and you let out a shaky huff of breath.

"So, man, you gonna be staying in my bed all night?"

"I might."

You look down with your best impression of Dave's smirk, only to find that he's staring at you with… with something. You can't place it with those stupid glasses of his on. It's sort of blank or maybe a bit surprised, or possibly it's confused, but whatever it is it makes you realize what you just said, and suddenly you're burning. You glance away from his face.

"If, um, I mean if that is an acceptable thing for me to, uh, be doing, that is."

He smirks, pulling himself further onto the bed as he sits up. You kind of wonder what the fuck he's doing but then holy crap there's his hand cupping your cheek, turning your head around, and then there are those fucking lips from earlier on your own, and your blood-pumper is trying to fly away or some shit. It crosses your mind for a split second that this is actually only the second time your lips have touched someone else's (at least while you were alive, anyway), but that's kind of washed away.

You don't have the faintest clue what the fuck you're doing right now, but you kiss back, your eyes fluttering shut, and it's sweet. The thing about Dave is you thought he'd be a pretty heated guy when it came to this,—and maybe he is—but right now it's a tender, chaste kiss, and it doesn't last nearly long enough before he pulls back.

The hand you still had in his hair slides down to rest on his neck, and you rub light circles under his jaw with your thumb.

"That okay?" he asks, and it's the most unconfident thing you've ever heard from him.

Thinking for a moment, you tell him, "Almost."

Before he can object your hand is raising the sunglasses off of his face, setting them down on the shirt beside you. You place your hand back on his neck and find that he's got his eyes scrunched shut.

"Open up, um, please," you order, or try to order, anyway.

For a second, he doesn't, and you're afraid you just did something really fucking stupid, but then he does, and you can't help but smile. Sure, they're not his original eyes, the real ones, the colorful ones he wouldn't let anyone see. But still, they're his eyes, with all their white, blank stare, and it's the first time you've actually seen them, dead or otherwise.

"What?" he asks.

Your smile broadens.

"You're, um, kind of beautiful," you mumble.

Dave's face relaxes, smirking back.

"I know."

And there they are again—those fucking lips. They're soft at first, gently caressing yours, but they're quick to become more aggressive, and you can't quite believe it's as nice as it is. The hand on his neck reaches up to tangle in his hair, the other reaching around his back, tracing up and down the ridge of is spine. His tongue brushes past your lips asking for entry, and you gladly comply. If he thinks he's dominating you that fast, though, he's shit outta luck as you engage in battle. He tastes like… like candy, you guess. It's sweet, but you've got nothing to compare.

Little tremors are going through your body, way better than the tingling you had earlier. His arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you closer, to the point where he's in your lap, and his hand's running up and down your side. The other one—oh man, the other one wraps around your neck and begins rubbing your horn. A moan escapes from your mouth, followed closely by Dave's own, and gog you want to hear it gain, but alas, the two of you would rather not asphyxiate. You separate briefly, panting lightly, before setting your lips on the pale skin of his neck. You trail soft kisses down until you find a hollow spot, and you suck, careful of your fangs, and there he goes again, that moan. His grip around your horn tightens, and you gasp against his skin before trailing back up and landing another kiss on his lips.

You pull back, eyes closed, panting, and you rest your forehead against Dave's. His breath slides across your skin, warm.

"You tired yet?" he asks.

"Uh, no."

"Still sleeping?"

"Heh. Yes."

"Good," he breathes, sounding relieved.

You giggle to yourself. Not to say you're all that up for it either, but still! He pretends like he's fucking sex on a silver platter yet now he's just got his jimmies all shaken at the thought.

Slowly, you sink back into the mattress, and he rolls off to the side of you. He pulls back the covers, and you sink into them gladly. Dave snuggles up to the side of you, as awkward a position as it is, and rests his head on your shoulder. You rest your head atop his as well as you can without concussing him with your horns, and do your best attempt of wrapping your arms around him.

He sighs contently, and after a few minutes, he asks you,

"So does this make us like boyfriends now or some shit?"

You smile.

"Uh, yeah, some shit."

He lets out a tiny chuckle, and you close your eyes, and for once—motherfucking once—that shitty bed of his is almost comfortable.