A/N: Thanks for your patience! I just need to say that for some reason these days my smut is nowhere near as good as it was three years ago which is strange but true. So...don't hate me too much if this isn't okay. And if you guys want it there may possibly potentially be a bonus chapter. If you want it.

THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW LIKE CRAZY MAN BUT NOT AS BAD AS IT COULD BE

These losers belong to the Huss and nobody can say otherwise.

Your heart is pounding like mad and your hand is shaking so much you wonder how you can possibly manage more than a feeble knock on Dave Strider's apartment door.

Dave opens the door seconds afterwards. A soft beat thumps from somewhere deep inside his home. You glare at him, he stares at you from behind his shades, and now you really wish you'd just listened to his damn song. Then you wouldn't be standing here on jellied knees nursing an impossible crush on this douche.

"We need to talk, Vantas," he says before you can speak. He turns from you and you follow him inside, grumbling to yourself as you close the door.

Dave offers you some apple juice, which you colorfully decline before demanding to know what is so God damn important that he asked you to come to his fucking apartment at four in the afternoon You've got better shit to do! Or, so you like to think. He shrugs and sits on the couch in front of where you stand, awkward, in the middle of the room.

"Seriously, Strider, I've got other shit I could be doing, I don't need to be here listening to you blab like you do all the fucking time."

"Karkat," he snorts, "you and I both know you don't have a damn thing to do."

You're silent.

"What is your problem with me, kid? All I've ever fucking done is be a bro to you, bro, I don't think I deserve to be ignored half the time. And don't stand there silently like you do, give me a fucking reason."

You feel rage build up inside you. "Bro?" you repeat. "Bro? You've been a bro to me, is that what you fucking call it?"

"Call what, man? I—"

"The only reason you've been nice to me, man," you hiss, "is to make fucking fun of me and I'm fucking sick of it! I could take being pushed around, I can deal with broken bones and bloody lips and bruises every fucking week, but I am sick to shit of people acting like they care! Because nobody cares, Strider. They care about you, sure! Everybody LOVES Dave Strider! Not about me. Not about the albino f-freak Karkat Vantas."

By the end of your rant tears are streaming down your face and you're shaking worse than you were earlier. You realize this and turn your face away from his, which you can tell is shocked even despite the glasses, and clench your fists to try to stabilize yourself.

The next instant his arms are around your shoulders. You tense, but when he doesn't try to crush you (not that he could, he's not as big as those other kids) you relax and let yourself hug him back, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Why the hell did you let me stick around, then, if you hate me so much?" he asks you softly. That low Texan drawl hits your ear with a burst of warm breath and you're not sure if staying in this position is going to be the best if he keeps that up.

"I don't hate you," you grumble begrudgingly. "I don't hate you, Strider, I—"

Your voice catches in your throat. You can't speak. You can't even function and do you know why? Because while you were talking that ass hole pulled back, tossed his sunglasses somewhere, and right as you got a glimpse of his intense—RED—eyes, his lips met yours.

You push him back with a gasp and tilt your head to look at his eyes, see if you were right. Yup, red. Red red red red red. "You're…"

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up against him, kissing you again. You wobble, but throw your arms around his neck for balance as he carries you, kissing you, towards the source of the bass still thumping through the place. His lips are skilled but sloppy against yours and you don't even bother with questioning it because you aren't alone after all and this feels so damn good.

Before you know it you're on his floor on your back and his lips have moved to your neck. You've got your fingers wound all up in his hair and he's smirking against your skin as you whimper and moan and tug at his hair, arching up into his touch.

And oh is his touch ever sweet. His fingers ghost over your abdomen beneath your shirt. His left thigh is rubbing lightly at your crotch, with just enough pressure that you're starting to get hard. His teeth pull gently at your skin and his tongue soothes any sucks too intense for comfort.

"Shit, Strider," you gasp as he moves his hand down between your legs. You feel your pants being undone and for half a second you let him do what he wants with them. You're perfectly content with his hand slipping beneath the concealing garments, and you're perfectly happy watching it happen. That is, until you realize that it's actually happening.

"Stop!" you exclaim, sitting bolt upright and grabbing his wrist.

"What! What's wrong?" he asks, concern, surprise, and annoyance seeping into his normally cool and careless voice.

You stand, a string of curse words leaving your mouth as you rid yourself of your stupid clothing. You notice for the first time that it's pretty dark in here for being close to five in the evening, and you figure that may be for the best, since neither Dave nor you have your shades on.

You turn around to find Dave sitting on the edge of his bed, also having removed his clothing; unlike you, however, he kept his boxers on. You feel a little disappointed, but quickly push that thought away, because how creepy is it that you're disappointed about not seeing another guys dick.

With a shake of the head you walk over anyway and sit on his lap, straddling his waist. "I need to know you're serious about this," you grumble quietly, your usual glare put back in place.

One of his hands gently grips your wrist as you lace your fingers behind his neck. Red eyes search purple, purple search back, and whatever conclusion is reached results in more feverish kisses and Dave being shoved onto his back. Once in this position he wraps his arms around your midsection and grinds his clothed erection into your bare one. The sensation makes you gasp, and he parts his lips too, which gives you the opportunity to suck his lower lip in between yours and nibble at it.

After a moment you hoist yourself up on your knees and reach down towards Dave's waistband. He helps your shaking fingers tug the garment down until you can hold the full weight of his dick in your hand. You shiver simultaneously, he because you're touching him, and you because holy fuck you're actually touching him. You're making Dave Strider bite his lips and shut his eyes. You are the one making Dave Strider come undone as you stroke his length. It's all you.

You try hard to concentrate on what you're doing; you've never done this to anyone but yourself and you really hope you're making him feel as good as you think you are. But trying and succeeding are very different things, and this fact becomes more and more apparent as time goes on.

Dave's long, skilled fingers wrap around your erection, and you gasp, throwing your head back. Someone's touching you. And what's more, it's him. You can't remember how many times you'd wondered how many people he'd been with, but none of them matter because now it's you, now it's the both of you, and nothing's changing that.

His hand pumps you in long, even strokes, and your supporting arm is starting to shake. You collapse, no longer able to keep yourself up, and no longer able to pleasure the boy beneath you. But you practically melt into his chest, mouth agape and teeth bared as you struggle to but fail at keeping the moans from escaping your throat. You can hear him panting softly in your ear, and oh what a lovely sound it is, especially when on his breath are small words of encouragement, even though you aren't even doing anything.

And in the next instant, you're gone. You absolutely cannot handle any more than this. He shifts his hand and arches into you, grinding your erections together, squeezing, setting a pace to take care of both of you at the same time. The room is getting way too hot. You've got your faced buried in the pillow that rests under Dave's head and your nails are digging into his shoulders and fuck, you can feel it, you're so close. His name falls from your lips and your hips move with his hips and his hand, which moves faster and harsher until all you can see is white, all you can feel is bliss, and you're coming, spilling into his hand and onto his body.

Dave's body. Dave's pale, luscious, toned, swordsman's body. Dave's hot chest heaving against yours. Dave's large hand lazily milking your orgasm for all that it's worth, and you didn't realize that he came, too. Dave's breath. Dave's voice. The hitch in Dave's voice that shows you he really has lost all of his cool, and for what? You.

You lower yourself fully onto him before pulling your head back to look into those red, red eyes. He gives you a small smile as the two of you catch your breath, and a kiss as he rolls to the side and curls around you.

You don't think you've ever been so happy about being wrong in your entire life.