Your name is Dave Strider and you feel like shit.
Currently, you are sitting on your futon, curled up in the comforter that resides on the back of said futon, shivering and sniffling and coughing and sweating and fuck this sucks. (But on a more serious note, why the hell does the extra comforter stay on the futon? Shit has no business being on the futon. Shit belongs stored in a closet, or on a fucking bed, dammit.)
You woke up about twenty minutes ago, and had barely made it to the bathroom before proptly hurling the entire contents of your stomach, the taste of bile strong in your mouth. After a good fifteen minutes of purging vomit, stomach acid, and spit, you weakly brushed the taste out of your mouth and stumbled into the living space of the appartment.
When did it get so fucking cold in here? You pull the comforter tighter in a futile attempt to keep in the heat. Thermostat must be set to "Ball Froster." Fucking stomach flu.
"Dave?" You look up from your ball-frosting sulk fest to see Tavros standing in the doorway to the hall, blinking sleepily. You momentarily forget that you feel like absolute horse shit, overridden by the most adorable sight you've ever laid eyes (err, shades) on. He is wearing one of your t-shirts, slightly big on his shorter frame. So. Fucking. Adorable. (Not that you'd ever admit that out loud.)
With a sudden sharp pain in your stomach, you give a soft whine instead of a proper response. This is getting ridiculous. Dave Strider doesn't whine. Oh, who the fuck cares right now? Your stomach feels like a knife is stabbing through it, and the room is suddenly ten billion degrees.
Tavros is next to you, no longer in a sleep-fuddled haze. His eyes are wide with concern as he lays a gentle hand on your forehead. "Dave, you're sick?"
"No, I just like puking my intestines up for fun. You should try it sometime." The bite on your words is lost as you cough violently. You're starting to think that your lungs are trying to escape from their imprisonment in your ribcage. "Oh, goddamn, fucking-"
"Medicine." Tavros cuts off your string of profanity. "Wait here." He disappears into the hallway again, returning with a bottle of dark red liquid.
Your eyes narrow behind the shades. "That shit is nasty."
He lets out a little sigh. "Dave. You won't get better if you don't take this."
"I'd rather vomit all of my stomach lining, thanks."
He frowns, moving to sit next to you. He opens the bottle as he's talking, measuring out a dose. "Don't be a child." He holds out the medicine. You obediently take it, solely from the surprise at Tav's sudden authoritative tone.
He smiles now, capping the medicine. "I'll, um, be back in a minute." When he comes back, he's holding a movie and another bottle: apple juice. You allow yourself to grin like an idiot. (Ironically. You grin like an idiot ironically. You are sick, yet happy about apple juice. It's ironic. And it's definitely not breaking your cool-kid not-persona.) You hoist yourself up a little futher and kick off that god-forsaken comforter. Tavros places the movie in the DVD player, and settles down next to you on the couch.
Sometime later, after you have finished your apple juice and watched whatever shitty movie Tavros had put in, you begin to doze as he moves about the appartment, doing a little picking up and making you some toast, really the only thing you can keep down right now. You are starting to feel better, but still can't stand without dizzily falling down and can't breathe out of your nose.
Chilly metal on the sides of your thighs make your eyes shoot open. Tavros, now sitting with his knees at your hips and seated gently on your lap, places a hand on your chest to push you back, keeping you from moving. He is flushed a bronze under the gray of his skin, and is growling something unintelligible as lips collide with yours.
You are in shock of this new development. Tavros, gentle, stuttering Tavros is straddling your lap, aggressively bruising your lips. You can't even process...
Fuck it.
You grab fistfuls of his hair, accepting the clack of teeth on teeth. He growls again, sliding his fangs along your bottom lip. You wince, and he takes the opportunity to slip an agile tongue into your mouth. The battle for dominance is short, with a surprising victory from him. The kiss is harsh and feral and just so intoxicating. The control that he's taking is embarassingly arousing... but you don't care. Actually you're rather enjoying yourself.
He moves from his assult on your mouth, fluttering slightly disinterested lips against your jawline, becoming eager when they hit your neck. It doesn't take long before he finds the sensitive hollow underneath your ear. Your ragged breathing turns into a soft groan when his teeth skim the artery in your neck. You feel his mouth curve into an uncharacteristic smirk, and he continues licking and nipping and sucking down towards your collarbone.
Unable to take any more of his torement, you tug on his hair, guiding him back up towards your mouth by his mowhawk. He slips his hands underneath your shirt, grazing your stomach with sharp nails, not breaking skin, but still making you hiss in pain. You grip his head tighter, and the tips of your fingers brush against his horns. He takes a sharp breath, then purrs slightly when you readjust your hands so that your thumbs rest around the base of his horns.
When you bite at his lower lip, he growls, turning the two of you so that he can pin you down with his lesser weight, your head not quite to the end of the futon. Though you don't believe that he can get even more aggressive, he does, and you start to run out of air.
Your breathing shortens, and you break away, gasping. Your nose is stuffed up, and you momentarily can't breathe. You only take a second to catch your breath, and are ready to attack his mouth again-
"I'm s-so sorry!" You look at Tavros in disbelief, and the fact that he pulled away and is no longer kissing you and that you're now so fucking horny and why the fuck did he stop and... wait, is he crying?
You prop yourself up on your elbows. "Whoa, wait, what?" He isn't crying, thank god, but his eyes are bright and his face is flushed a heavy brown against the ashiness of his skin.
"I-I didn't m-mean to t-take advan-vantage... w-well, I did, b-but-"
You cut him off with a hand over his mouth. "Tav. I was obviously enjoying that, and if you got me all hot and bothered, only to stop before we even have the chance to get pants off, without explanation, I may just do something drastic. Now, explain."
He takes a deep breath, his face still brown. "Trolls by n-nature are ex-extremely violent, unst-stable, and possessive. I'm n-not quite as, b-but it's still there. My second nature is... is..."
You blink, then chuckle. "So, you're saying that because I was vulnerable from being sick, the predator side of you told you to fuck me into oblivion while you had the chance?"
His cheeks, which had been cooling off, flare bronze again. "Y-yeah, especially since you always top..." His eyes widen, and he claps a hand over his mouth, as if he can't believe what he just said.
You laugh now, loudly. "Then why in fucking hell did you stop? Get your ass down here!" You don't even have to give him a nudge before his mouth is on yours again.
Maybe it's not so bad being sick.
Author's Note:
Wheeeeeee! Hey, sorry suckers! Guess who's wasted hours upon hours of her life reading Homestuck? Yeah, I'm officially ruined.
Thanks to my good friend Emily for helping to edit, and Carlie, I hope you like it!