Your name is Dirk Strider, and you have no idea where you are.
You were floating around out here after Jake's crazed grandma did some weird shit that apparently had something to do with the fact that she's a fucking furry, but you must have gone in the completely wrong direction or maybe you just fell asleep because you're pretty sure Jake mentioned something about that blue alien girl over there that he liked to talk to when he fell asleep.
She looks at you as you approach. "Hello?" she says. Yeah, she's probably not used to seeing a human guy in pink Godtier pajamas (pantaloons. panta-fucking-loons why couldn't you have gotten something else) wandering around.
"Are you Jake's blue alien girl?" you ask, and yes, you're aware that that sounded incredibly stupid. She blushes blue underneath her gray skin and, apart from being really fucking weird, it's kind of funny.
"I suppose you could say that," she says. She looks like she's going to keep talking and while you'd absolutely love to hear about your ex-boyfriends blue alien crush, you really want to find a way to wake up and get back to finding the others.
Thankfully, you don't have to find a way to get out of listening to her because someone else interrupts her.
"Who's this?" he asks. He has a weird accent, but when you turn around to face him, you realize that he looks almost weirder.
He's dressed almost like a 1950's greaser - greased back hair, cigarette in his mouth, the whole deal. The only thing wrong is the fins, horns, and gray skin. You wonder if he's the same kind of troll as the one who you gave a completely bitching high-five to right before entering the game. He sure as hell looks a lot different than Little Miss Blue Alien Lady.
"Dirk Strider," you say, stepping forward to shake your hand. He's about an inch or so shorter than you, but damn is he scrawny. He's grinning, and slouching in a I-don't-give-a-fuck kind of way. He sort of looks at your hand for a while before taking it in both of his.
Of course. Aliens.
You pump it up and down a few times and untangle your hand. He recovers quickly.
"Cronus Ampora," he says, and you think that he's sort of hot for an alien with gills and fins and horns and gray skin and fucking blank eyes. "Want me to... show you around?"
He's trying to be sexy when he says this and you almost laugh. You accept, though, because you've always sort of had a weakness for greasers and he's sort of funny. You hear blue alien girl start to say something but you can totally dismiss her now - sure, your friends are possibly dying but hey, you're asleep anyway, why not hang out with some greaser fish troll while you're at it.
He babbles about nothing almost the entire way, slipping innuendos in where they definitely don't belong and overall making a huge fool of himself. But you stick with him, partly because you feel bad, partly because you think it's funny, and partly because you're walking behind him and he's got a really nice ass. He's wearing jeans, a hell of a lot better than your fucking pantaloons.
Dirk Strider's gay, but apparently not everyone knows that so, hey, why don't we give him panta-fucking-loons.
"What'cha thinkin about, chief?" he asks, and you jump. He's looking at you, a little smirk on his face and you find yourself wondering why the hell he keeps an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
"Nothing," you say, because why the hell would you talk about your fucking pantaloons with him? "What are you thinking about?"
You're awkward as fuck but he doesn't seem to be much of a social genius either so it doesn't really matter.
"You," he says, and he winks. He fucking winks. "Want me to show you what I was thinkin' about exactly?"
You're really starting to like this guy. He's hilarious and basically the furthest thing from Jake you could get.
He's waiting for an answer and right before he opens his mouth again you take a step forward, backing him against the side of a weird troll house thing. You can see a faint blush underneath his gray skin - purple.
You kiss him and he makes a weird little noise in the back of his throat. It's kind of cute. You keep kissing him and, despite the stuff he was talking about earlier, he seems totally inexperienced in this sort of thing. You keep kissing him, because, despite him being dead and a different fucking species, he's kind of hot and you need something to do that will maybe take your mind off of the shit that's been going down for a few minutes.
He hesitantly brings a hand up to the back of your head, slipping it into your hood and you feel it on the back of your neck - cold, is he coldblooded, what the fuck?
Your hands are up on either sides of his head and you break the kiss. He's breathless and about as purple as an eggplant. His hand is still on your neck. He draws it back.
"I, uh," he says, speechless as well as bright purple. You smirk.
"Is that what you were thinking about?" you ask, and he opens and closes his mouth but it's like he can't find any words. You decide to kiss him again because, hell, his lips were soft even if you're a bit nervous about putting your tongue in a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. He makes that cute little noise again but he responds more quickly than last time, pushing down your hood and tangling his fingers in your hair - he's got sharp fingernails, they feel almost like claws filed down to a normal length but they're still sharp. You run your tongue over his mouth and he opens it with a gasp.
To hell with it. You're a Godtier, maybe your tongue will grow back if he bites it off.
You slip your tongue in there and he moans a little - god damn this Greaserfish is loud. Your hands move down to hook in his belt loops, and your press yourself closer to him. He's so cold, so alien and foreign and different, but he's wearing jeans and his hair is so greased up that you swear he just stepped out of Grease. You can feel something through the fabric of his jeans and your fucking pantaloons, something writing and fighting to get loose. You wonder what, exactly, he has down there - it sure as hell doesn't feel like a dick.
You move away from his mouth - he was cautious, he didn't really even use his weird, alien tongue all the much, let alone bite your tongue off - and kiss his jaw, his neck, nipping at his collarbone. He moans again - it sounds more like a whine than a moan, almost, and he grinds against you. You tug at his belt loops, giving whatever he has down there a little breathing room. His hands are making fists in your hair, tangling it up and seriously restricting your movement. You shake yourself free and give him a quick peck on the mouth before tugging his pants down. He whine-moans again, and you stare.
You really have no idea what the fuck you're looking at. It's... almost like a tentacle. Purple, of course. Long, and writhing. You swallow. "Uh," you say. "Mind telling me..."
"That's my bulge," he says, half-whispering it. "I um. I know humans are different. Down there."
"Yeah," you said. You have successfully destroyed the mood. "Sorry for..."
"Yeah," he says, and his voice is a little high. You step away from him, flushing. He tugs his pants up. "I need to go. Back to my hive."
You nod, still silently cursing yourself for destroying the mood. Destroyer of souls? Fuck, you're the destroyer of sexual tension. "Well," you say. "See you later?"
He regains his former bravado and grins. The only thing missing is that unlit cigarette, which is probably on the ground somewhere, trampled into the dirt. "Hope you're ready for something good," he says, throwing in another wink. "'Cause there's more where that came from."
You decide not to mention the fact that you did all the work and that he's a total uke, because it would probably make him feel bad. Instead you smirk again and throw up your hood and walk away, wondering how the hell you're going to wake up.
wow great aurora first homestuck fanfiction it's this I don't know if I got the characters quite right but hey whatever