A/N: As always, for the purposes of this series, assume that everyone is in the Veil and no one is dead. Also, for some reason, Tavros was never paralyzed. I certainly didn't forget about his robolegs, nope. Altered biology headcanon is active as well: Trolls have tails, scales on their limbs, backs, and faces, and digitigrade paws with appropriate legs. They are also hermaphrodites. Long-ass author's note is long, but required nonetheless!
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you are motherfucking pissed.
When you notice the disappearance of a certain pair of obnoxious horns, you go around looking for your best bro, only for your search to come up empty. But you can deal with that, after all you got to give a motherfucker his space right? Right.
What you cannot deal with however, is Tavros and Dave wandering back together way, waaay later with their scents all mixed up together like they done got to knowing each other all intimately. You cannot idly sit back and avoid noticing the way Tavros gawks at him, the subtle but noticeable way his cheeks darken whenever Dave says something to him. While normally, you'd be cool with a brother getting flushed for whoever he wanted, this is.. different. This is making something very, very deep inside you thrum with rage at the blatant flirting taking place in front of you.
How dare this, this, human just appear and start making eyes at your best bro? Were you better at being a highblood, you would flay him alive for touching what was yours-
Wait.
Since when do you define Tavros as yours?
You shake your head and settle back down into the horn pile you weren't aware you had even risen from, frowning. Okay, so maybe you were still a tad sore about never getting an honest answer from him. Sure. That was it.
You decide you really, really need to just chill alone with a pie somewhere before you go and do something you'll regret.
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you're now stuck searching for a useless heap of clown-themed bullshit.
And by that, you mean none other than your so-called 'best friend', Gamzee. You don't want to go looking for him of course, but the last time you didn't he nearly went batshit crazy on everyone you were supposed to lead. You cannot risk this fuck having himself another mental breakdown. This isn't so much because you're worried as it is obligation.
Yes. Obligation. There certainly aren't any sugar-white affections floating around in your shriveled, unfeeling blood bladder. Nope.
You continue to tell yourself this as you go searching for the worthless, sopor-slathered, Faygo-guzzling beast that is Gamzee Makara. Maybe you can talk some sense into him while you're at it. After all, how far could he have gone? It had only been around ten minutes.
It isn't long however before you're tired and more than a little irritated, the indigoblood still nowhere to be found. For someone as gargantuan as he is, you have to admit the damn clown has a way of making himself disappear when he doesn't want to be found. Sighing, you almost make your way back to the common area when it hits you; his room. Past you is a fucking retard for not thinking of it sooner. It doesn't take you long to make your way to his room, knocking on the door before deciding that it probably won't matter if he's high, and walk inside.
You've just closed the door and begun lecturing him when you realize something may be very wrong.
That something being a very large highblood with slime dripping from his mouth snarling at you like an animal, his tail hooked and flicking about.
Why the fuck is this your life?
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you are most definitely not high.
Which is a serious goddamn problem, considering you've probably had about five pies by now. Sopor slime is supposed to calm you down. It's supposed to soothe your rage and make you less of a murderous chucklefuck. And yet here you are, five pies in and about as high as an ocean trench, which is to say you're so far from high that you're literally about to break something clean in half.
Preferably something pale that wears shades and steals bros.
You start pacing around on all fours, unaware of your own tail sweeping behind you and tripping over it at least twice. It is at this exact moment as you approach the peak of your anger, that Karkat wanders in yelling something about leaving without telling people. You don't feel like hearing his bullshit right now, and you let him know as much with a sound you didn't even know you could make; a low, guttural trilling that leaves your throat a bit sore. Your body has organized itself in much the same way a cat might, with your legs tucked up against you and one arm prepared to strike. Another trill leaves your throat as you circle around Karkat, still very much pissed off. Your best friend's nubby little tail doesn't tell much, but the way its twitching tells you he's more than a little freaked.
Good. A weak little lowblood like him ought be scared, especially when you get done with- where the fuck is this coming from?
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are resisting the urge to abscond.
Why would you be doing that, after all there's nothing to be afraid of here. Just you, a possibly-high possibly-psycho murderclown, and the metric shit ton of pheromones he's pumping out. Wait, how did that last thing get there, you don't smell any pheromones.
And just as you think that there they are, practically flowing off the other troll in waves. His pacing is starting to make you a bit dizzy to be honest though, maybe it would be best to just sit down and chill out while Gamzee had his way with yo- wait.
What the actual fuck are you even thinking, how did that get there and why is it not going away. You are not going to sit here and let his (not your, because there is no way in all of paradox space you would think that on your own for any reason,) fantasies take over your brain. Still though.. for a sopor-slurping degenerate, Gamzee is actually kind of attractive in a weird sort of way. Your thoughts occupied as they are, you only vaguely notice that he has ceased his noise-making; instead, he seems to be completely quiet, tail held high over his back and the tip flicking gently back and forth as he paces around you. Aw yeah, way to drift off in the middle of a dangerous situation. Grade-A leadership skills right there. Once again, you mentally bitchslap past you for being so much of a dumbfuck that he's gotten you stuck in this mess.
Okay. Time to calm down and review the situation.
Gamzee is almost definitely in rut, and you happen to be a weaker troll that wandered into his territory. The indigoblood is trying to seduce and/or rape you, and you've unintentionally gone right along with it like the idiot you are. Even if you wanted to abscond, Gamzee is a) bigger than you and could probably stop you with one hand, and b) faster than you and could easily catch you before you even moved a full inch.
Well then.
Shit.
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and your body has gone completely haywire.
If it hadn't, you were fairly certain that you wouldn't have pounced on and pinned Karkat to the ground, teeth still bared and tail still held high. You would never have bent forward and bitten him, teeth grazing his throat hard enough to bruise but not enough to draw blood. You are little more than a prisoner in your own body, head fuzzy with lust as you claw apart his clothes and mark up any flesh you can sink your teeth into. Every still-coherent part of your think pan screams in protest, but buried under the fuzzy, lust-driven madness of your rut, they remain unheeded and unheard. Still, deep inside you, you know that this is wrong.
Karkat is your best friend. This is not how best friends treat best friends. Stop it, stop it, stop it, why can't you stop? More importantly, why don't you want to stop? Your claws shred through his pants with ease, and the though of how easy this will be the next ti- no, bad thoughts, there won't be a next time. Karkat is not yours, goddamn it, no matter how much of your scent is clinging to him. Fingers that don't feel entirely connected to you rub softly at his slit, which earns you an incoherent whine and your first glimpse at the tiny troll's bulge.
Even in this state, your reaction can't be helped. A loud, barely restrained snort and giggle burst from your mouth at the sight, long fingers going to coax what they can from his sheathe. Just like the rest of him Karkat's bulge is stunted-looking and rounded, barely the length of one of your fingers. If your brain wasn't hormone-addled as it was it would be more than a little adorable, but as of now you have more important things to worry about. Namely, the inviting-looking wet slit below it. Hopefully it isn't as shallow as he is long.
Well, no way to know but to try, right?
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and apparently rock bottom has a basement.
Any and all dignity that might have remained after you'd been claimed and bared to the world died violently when the clown actually managed to pause in his lust-craze just to laugh at the tininess of your bulge. You cover your face with your hands and pray that whatever bullshit god that's up there is merciful enough to strike you down now. But of course that's not what happened; what happened is that you got a bony finger taking a one way trip where it didn't belong. Your nook clenches in defiance around the intruding digit; while it's more than deep enough to accommodate its length, it's also far too tight for anything much wider. Something bulge-sized going in is a definite no-no, and you vow to flay Makara alive with his own spine if he tries it anyway.
He seems to sense this though, sticking to fingering your nook and rubbing his unsheathed bulge against your leg. A jerky and uncontrolled trill of pleasure erupts from his throat as he does so, thrumming inside your chest and making your bulge throb just that much harder. A trail of candy-red follows the stubby organ as it wiggles against your abdomen and you barely suppress a surprised moan as Gamzee's bulge frees itself from his pants and wraps around yours. It curls around almost twice before squeezing possessively, the long, thin finger buried inside your nook pumping in and out of you, and this time you can't stop the sound that rips itself from your throat. You moan, loud and shaky, and in reply he growls against your chest, pleased.
It isn't long until you can't take it anymore and with a whimper you climax, messily spilling bright red genetic material between the two of you. After the white clears from your eyes and your breathing returns to where it belongs, you open your eyes again only too see Gamzee looming over you looking perplexed and more than a little disappointed.
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you still haven't gotten off.
Okay. That really didn't work out the way it did in your head. Karkat was not supposed to be that tight, or sensitive enough to climax so early. You hadn't even finished stretching him out yet, but to try finishing now would be.. It wouldn't be right. You lift your head and bury it in his neck, inhaling. Testing. Almost immediately, you come to the conclusion you really should have made a while ago; it isn't his time. Your itty-bitty best friend isn't going to be doing much of anything for a long while, and you've got to find someone else.
You're not mad, not right at this second anyway. After all, it's not his fault you're an idiot. Still, it feels wrong to just leave him soaking in his own release, all fucked out for you to forget and rediscover later. With little difficulty, you place him on your back, stuff your bulge back in your pants and head to his room. He deserves at least a bath and a new outfit after what you've put him through. The tiny bundle of rage shifts on your back, nesting his head between your shoulder blades.
You'll worry about your issues later. Right now, your best friend- no. Your moirail needs you.
A/N: Shorter than the last one, but eh. Can't be helped. R&R is appreciated!