chronologistics | IC Contact @ Asgard Eventide

[He must be going for a prize: How cutting can he be before she literally bursts open and bleeds all over him?

Terezi wants to slap his hand away, but she doesn't. She allows it to stay (allows the human warmth of it to burn through her shirt and sear into the coolness of her skin; he was always so warm to her), and instead offers her cane up as a warning, mirroring his outstretched arm by placing the back of the dragon's head up against his naked shoulder, where if he pushed himself forward to urge her back, he'd run himself into the spines adorning the dragon's scalp.

(They aren't sharp, but Terezi has ripped the flesh off someone's face with them nonetheless.) It's dumb and wigglerish, not even a threat, really. Don't come near or I'll jab you with plastic spikes!

With her empty hand, she reaches up, navigating around his arm to slowly slide her glasses off her nose, exposing scarred red corneas and thick black eyelashes. One arm is folded closed with the help of her chin, but Terezi twists her wrists and jabs the wire of the other arm into his chest.] I'm seven, now, [is all she can think of to say.]

[He had fully intended to nudge her out the door. To shut it behind her, finish his OJ, and maybe draw some comics until he wound up sprawled out over his couch, passed out until he decided to send a text to her the next day as he rolled himself into a shower.

(Time. Just time. That's all he had wanted; time to work on a comic, time to sleep until some stupid hour in the afternoon, time to not have to think about quadrants, or timelines, or saving a goddamn world, universe, pan-dimensional nexus --

-- time to just be Dave of Guy, that dude with the sweet shades and sweet comics; not the dude with an alien ex-girlfriend who had not quite figured out yet that she was going to dump him for greener pastures with an alien juggalo.)

But the intention to do so is gone with the feeling of the dragon's head pressing against his shoulder like some childish attempt at a threat; tossed right out the goddamn window like...

... ha, like a doomed motherfucker in a swag fucking suit who just met the business end of an unbreakable sword...

It brings everything down to something undeniably narrow.

She's close, so close; she's close, and she's all sharp edges, sharp teeth, sharp claws, and, wow he really should not be thinking about kissing her because kissing her would be so stupid, so fucking stupid for more reasons than just the fact that he's angry at just about everything involving her at the moment and he should seriously be dealing with those things instead...

(Behind his shades, his eyes move between hers. It's funny how, if he were anyone else he would probably be unsettled by them.)

... he's never been really good at dealing with said things.

This is how it always is, isn't it?

His shoulders deflate with a very slight sigh, like a quiet scoff, and he just moves.

Bringing his hand up to knock the cane to the side -- not to disarm her of it so much as to push past it without running himself through with the goddamn spikes -- and sweeping forward until they're belly-to-belly and he's grunting lightly in the back of his throat when her back meets the door that he had, a moment ago, completely intended to nudge her through --

You are so fucking stupid, dude...

-- and the other hand cups against her cheek as he tips her head back...]

Oh my god that sounds so fucking creepy...

[... and he nips a sharp kiss against her lips.]

Edited 2013-05-20 14:33 (UTC)

[The cane hits the floor with a smack.

Terezi lets him push her forward, just barely getting her glasses out of the way before their bodies meet in a hot, unsteady line, and the door becomes a steady presence at her back.

Well. This isn't making her leave, at least.

He kisses her. God, he kisses her and it's not even that good--too fast, somewhere between too hard and not hard enough, she's unbalanced and overemotional and feels as if he's herding her like a woolbeast, which is so not sexy, but those are her arms around his neck, holding him in place only a few inches above her head. Terezi recaptures his lips a second after they break contact, keeping it just as brief as his was.

A great thing about being blind is that she doesn't actually have to turn her head to sniff out the closest thing, and when she hooks her arm to toss her glasses at it, they land perfectly on target. With one arm already dislodged from its vice grip across his shoulders, Terezi loosens her hold and shifts her hands to his shoulders, lightly mapping the path of his collarbones with the callused skin of her palms. The smile is absent from her mouth as she presses in against his chest, minding her horns as she jams her face as close into the crook of his neck as she can, taking a minute to just...

breathe him in.

Fuck.

... Okay.

Her fingers twist at the base of his scalp, curling in his hair as she drags him down to her level again, pushes up onto her tiptoes and presses her teeth into his cheek. It's not a threat and it doesn't come out as one--it's a playbite, gentler than a wiggler's first pointy soft-jawed mouthings, and jegus dick he is such a fucking asshole she should bite through his stupid fucking face, but instead she play growls into his cheek and then assaults his cheekbone with her forehead, careful not to stab him in the nose as she scrubs her bangs back and forth between their skin.] You--

Are so-- [She cuts herself off with her mouth on his, cool and hungry and seeking out his strange red-blood warmth with a sweep of her tongue.

Frustrating. Horrible. Annoying. Cruel. Beautiful. Hilarious. Brilliant. Stupid. (She wants to rip his stupid amazing wonderful-smelling eyeballs out and choke him with them.)

Ngh.

Her weight shifts and Terezi leans fully against the door, pulling him with her. She forgets what she was going to say.]

[Too fast, too light, too sharp... it's a lot of things, and sexy isn't one of them, and for now he's pointedly not thinking about it.

(Pointedly not thinking, clearly, because this is so fucking stupid and he should really fucking stop...)

Because it's not supposed to be sexy. It's angry, and it's frustrated, and with every pass of lips on lips it's getting even more angry and frustrated because it's the same old fucking song and dance way after the fucking music had ended and the fucking dj packed his shit up and got on the bus to the next town.

Yee-fucking-haw.

But he doesn't stop, as much as he knows he should, because when she isn't kissing him she's nosing around his throat as if trying to find a good place to take a chomp out of him, and he's coiling tighter around her and pushing her tighter up against the door and trying really, really hard to not let the shudder he knows is building at the back of his neck race down his spine.

(Keep it cool, asshole.)

She nips, and he suddenly rolls forward almost in reprimand, though silent under the little growls and purrs and sounds he knows she's going to make.]

Awesome -- [I'm so awesome, what the fuck are you going to do about it?

She leans back, and he immediately follows, one arm suddenly whipping up to brace himself against the door -- to keep his center of balance -- and the other arm coiling around her to keep her in place and effectively trapped against the door.

He barely manages to pull away when he speaks, so his voice is a muffled, almost growling, sort of murmur before he dives right back in again.]

Now shut up.

Edited 2013-05-20 16:22 (UTC)

Fuck you, Dave, [she spits out, careful not to cut him as she drags her claws down the back of his scalp and over the swoop of his vertebral column, latching onto his side and drawing him forward to meet a roll of her hips. He's so close, but it's not really good enough yet. She squirms up against him, purring in vicious delight.

Terezi lets herself get high off the scent of his frustration, swallows the anger transferred with every nip and lick, trilling as she bucks up into him.

The wall isn't a problem, but she feels small and crowded. Dave looms over her, boxing her in like a squeakbeast cornered by a meowbeast, trapping her like she's his prey.

Fuck that, she thinks, and thrusts her thigh up to his hip.

The entire length of her torso undulates, rolling her up the face of the door as she braces her hands on his shoulders and scales him like a motherfucking tree. Terezi chirps in triumph, a high sound that wavers in the middle of her throat; her thighs clamp tight around his waist and for the first time in what feels like too long her lips split into a genuine, broad grin. Her legs are strong enough to hold her up with very little effort as Terezi nonchalantly leans flat against the door, even going so far as to remove her arm from its hold on his shoulder and tuck it behind her head almost lazily, so that the connecting point of their hips is the only thing keeping her from falling.]

You want to do this, Dave? Let's do it.

Come get me, Strider, [she says, teeth bared in a wide, feral smile and neck tilted back just so. She twists her hips and laughs.]

[For a guy who everyone thinks is made of time, it sure as hell doesn't feel like there's enough of it for him to ask, What the fuck is this even??

-- because when she scales him like a goddamn tree he presses her tighter against the door, and when her thighs clamp around him like some kind of vice he rolls flush against her, breath escaping him in a quick pant.]

Jesus-- [That fucking grin on her face -- he lunges for her lips.] -- Christ what --

[Whatever he was going to say dissolves between gritted teeth as he pushes off of the door with her in tow and spins around. He crosses the living room in three large strides and collapses onto the futon with another roll between her thighs.] -- what part of now shu up don't you understand, oh my god...

[Though she tenses up when he starts to move, the instant they begin their freefall into the futon Terezi erupts in riotous, delighted laughter. She gasps out an oomph when he lands on her, but doesn't mind too much; a trill rolls cheerfully in the back of her throat as she strokes and pulls his hair in turns, kissing his mouth, his chin; digging her teeth ineffectually into his jawline; nosing under his jaw so she can latch on with a long, somewhat rough tongue and insistent black lips, sucking a pretty red-purple splotch right onto this little mark on his neck that's brown and takes like caramel mixed with the salty butterscotch of his skin.

She remembers his stilted words an untold amount of minutes later, and breathes a laugh into his neck, licks up to his earlobe and bites there.] If I don't shut up, it's your fault for not keeping my mouth better occupied, [she teases, flicking her tongue up the shell of his ear.

The skin of his back, his firm muscles feel lovely under her palms, resistant to her nails while still being delicate enough to remind her not to press too hard. Her thighs are still locked around his hips, the hard points of his bones pressing into her squishy parts; she merely clenches tighter around him, tries to coax his human bulge into its foreign hardness with the lilting pressure of her body. It's so present when it happens, a strange indicator of his investment in the moment, and it perplexes her as much as it interests her. She's only touched it a small handful of times--half of those were through the cloth, besides, so it's still somewhat of a mystery to her. In some ways she appreciates how physically straightforward it is, how nice that firmness feels rubbing between her legs where trolls are nothing but soft, rippling wetness.

It's nice, it's so nice, but she wants to feel more of his skin; claws thoughtlessly at her own stomach trying to worm her hand between the flat spaces of their abdominal muscles and tug her shirt up.]

[Her fingers and nails are passing through his hair and over his scalp and he tips his head back with a hushed sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a groan; which was apparently a good idea because it gave her room to latch onto his neck like some sort of overgrown leech and it's...

... tingly.

Tingles spreading along his neck, over his shoulders, and down his spine until the heat is pooling low in his gut and holy fuck --]

There's a whole Knight of Time buffet spread out right in front of you and yet you still can't think of a god damn thing to occupy your mouth with besides -- [Mm] -- not shutting the fuck up?

[He bends slightly, and sucks his stomach in, to give her hands room to work her shirt up; as soon as it uncovers the flat of her stomach he eases back down so they're belly-to-belly and skin-to-skin.

He's seen her shirtless before, which is why when she does get it over her head (he fumbles to reach up and jerk it out of her grasp so he can toss it carelessly onto the floor before returning to smoothing his hands over her thigns and hips) that its so easy to duck his head down and leave open kisses against the hollow of her throat.]

[Bonelessly, she arches her back so severely that her horns meet the surface of the futon and press into it. They're over-sensitive and the material isn't really that smooth, the texture causes a shudder down the length of her spine, eliciting a quiet, choked sound.

Terezi's fingers are strong at the back of his head, one combing through his hair fitfully while the other fists in it, holding his head in place as he works his mouth against her. Her spine is a curved bow, pressing her rumble spheres into the angled planes of his collarbones while she breathes out high sounds of encouragement and flustered giggles. The curves of his bonecage dig into her stomach and the new position disrupts the hot friction between her legs, parting them by an unacceptable number of centimetres.

Frustrated, squeaking, she squirms in an attempt to contort her body into a shape that connects them all over, and only succeeds in making herself gasp again when the fabric of the futon rubs against her horns.

She's a little too distracted to choke out words, but she hasn't quite given up that ghost yet.]

[He works his way down, down, down until the only way he can go any further is to shimmy downward -- and fuck that, if he's going to detract himself away from where he's hot and hard against her.

So he sweeps his way over her skin, tasting her, mouth hot and tongue twirling. His shades are starting to slide down the bridge of his nose, and so his eyes flick up to watch her expression over the rims. There's something oddly infectious about Terezi's giggles and trills, something that leaves him grinning around where he's flicking his tongue against the center of her cest.

Heh--

-- he suddenly surges upward and squirms until he's wedged between her and the back of the futon, mostly so he can free at least one of his hands to cup around her face before shamelessly carding his fingers through her hair.

(If he touches one of her horns, it's purely by accident.

Maybe.)]

Fuck, Dave, oh, oh God-- [Her nails maybe dig a little into the back of his neck as his mouth maps over her chest, the swells and dips of flesh there, settles and teases at all her most sensitive points (and she keens, riotously responsive, a never-dying font of perpetual motion, sliding her hands over him and rubbing against him and laughing, gasping, setting up a purring low in her chest that she is too hazy to wonder if is tickling his lips) working her over, slow and efficient. She can feel the spaces where he grins against her skin, and just knowing he's happy makes her laugh, a sharp, bright sound that is immediately cut off by a high whine when he moves his mouth just north of where she wants him to be.

Dave moves, twisting to the side, and she mumbles a protest into his mouth when he both crushes her thigh and again puts his cock out of touching range of the now considerable dampness at the apex of her thighs. Terezi grumbles and kicks at his legs, rearranging them until they're interlocked and then grinding down against him forcefully in reprimand.

And then his hand brushes by her horn and she lets out a low, startled moan, tensing her fingers in the hollow of his shoulderblade. Terezi twists her neck without thinking, turning her horn so it glances the fleshy base of his thumb.] Do that again, or so help me-- [she growls, yanking him down so she can bite his bottom lip.]

[You should know by now, Terezi, how much of a tease he is going to be. Up until now, none of this is very different from anything they've done on the meteor.

Admittedly, it takes a good amount of control not say, Yeah, I know, you don't have to keep reminding me of how sweet I am, but he's easily preoccupied with leaving a series of open kisses (ones that sometimes end with too-loud suckling sounds, one ones that sometimes grow clumsy when he's a little too distracted with the swell of pressure building in his gut from when she grinds against him) against the side of her neck.

He makes a startled, protesting sound when she bites his lip, and he jerks his chin away slightly to keep peering at her over the edge of his shades.]

What? [His fingers card through her hair again, and the ball of his thumb brushes her horn. He idly strokes it.] That?

[It's like an electric shock through her body, a trembling musical note that races down her spine and traces the paths down her nerves from there. Dave's hand is gentle and casual but she feels it in her toes, curling and digging them into the back of his knee as her hips cant a quickening rhythm.

For a hot moment she kisses him, hurried and deep and full of tongue and just a little bit of teeth, swallowing down the taste of him, but his touch is too soft, more spanning the length of her scalp than it is focusing on her horns; he's such a bloody tease, drawing her along, making her whine for it when he can. (When she doesn't just clock him in the mouth and straddle his thighs and whisper endeared insults into his temple.)

You're a dick, she thinks, but she can't make her mouth form the words, because fuck only knows he'll make it worse, hold off longer, keep her squirming until her whole body is flushed teal and oversensitive and unfulfilled. Even now her face is probably bright with blood, lips swollen and the dark grey of her nipples tinted with blue-green thanks to the attention of his tongue.] Yes, [she breathes, lips parting against the corner of his mouth and releasing soft pants.] More, Dave; c'mon, candy boy... [She doesn't use the nickname a lot. It's kind of private, something just between them that she whips out when she's feeling particularly sentimental or endeared to him.

Or, apparently, when he has her half under him and strung out on heat and hormones and the smell his hair takes on when slightly damp. Nng.]

Jesus -- [More?

He could do more. He could definitely do more. The thought that more might mean going beyond anything they've done on the meteor only vaguely occurs to him. It sends a twisting bolt of anticipation through his chest, and he tries to quell it by throwing himself into the next kiss, and he's all lips and mouth, hands and fingers.

Yeah, he could totally do more. It would probably be consiered some sort of troll kink if he were to lean up and kiss her horn; flick his tongue over it...] -- can you possibly get any more --

[The ball of his thumb makes another pass over it instead, then another, and he lets his hand ripple back down her face, neck chest -- the touch lingers there long enough to feel her nipple peak beneath the pad of his thumb] -- needy?

[Deadpan joke.

He lowers his head to leave a slow lick in the center of her chest, and splays his hand along the jut of her hip.]

[Her thighs are actually trembling where they're clenched around his leg, but Terezi really doesn't want that right now. She almost wishes he was wearing a shirt so she could manhandle him better, but like fuck she's letting that stop her. Dave's tongue works up the ridges of the bones beneath the thin stretch of skin, wonderfully smooth and slick, but that can wait, she needs to-- she, fuck.

With a very acrobatic twist, Terezi slides her thigh free from where she'd jammed it between his, and grabs ahold of his shoulder with one hand, fingers tight enough to bruise; her other fists in his hair. She kisses him as she pulls him halfway on top of her so his torso is pressed over hers but his hips are still along the edge of the futon, giving her just enough space to squirm her knee under him and get her legs high up on his waist. The pants he's wearing are flimsy and loose and his bulge arcs up, barely restrained, firm and pulsing with heat. Terezi lines herself up with it and pushes down, wishing she didn't have thick black cloth between him and her nook, wishing maybe even that the hopelessly soaked mess of her boxers were gone and maybe that she could just feel the soft, strangely dry but impossibly silky length of him against the folds of her nook, sliding steady and slow, pressing upwards between their taut stomachs until on an upward thrust the strange ridge along the top of it slid against the base of her bulge, and maybe he wouldn't even be grossed out when it coiled around him, squeezing and twisting, maybe he'd pant against her mouth and increase the rhythm of his hips against hers, maybe--

A snarl rolls in her chest. Not an angry one, just kind of delirious and flustered and overwhelmed because it's all at the same time too much and not enough, so Terezi doesn't think or hesitate before plucking his hand right off her hip and folding his fingers around her horn. Her neck bends forward and she doesn't wait for him to get the message before she rubs her horn into the calluses of his palm and lets out a soft, satisfied moan.]

Get fucked, I'm not needy, [she says, and takes a moment to be amazed that she got her mouth to make coherent sounds, because she's knotted herself into a ball around him, shoulders hunched and hips curled and knees almost in line with the juts of his bonecage; she's a coiled spring, panting and shaking like a leaf in a rainstorm.

(Like fuck you aren't needy; you're rutting your horn into his hand and you've wet through your boxers just rubbing yourself against his dick. He hasn't even touched you yet. Probably doesn't need to.

But, hey, there's an idea.)

She hasn't been this okay with anything in a long time, but it's a perfect moment, tense and beautiful and kind of damp in some interesting places, but Terezi doesn't mind that at all, doesn't mind the cool lines of saliva on her chest and over the curves of her rumble spheres, the places where her neck stings from the tiny marks he leaves, the way her thighs squish just a little every time she rocks down. She doesn't even mind that he's a godsdamned bulgetease who runs away from erogenous zones seconds after discovering them like touching them too long will set him aflame. It's okay. She's here to set him straight.

(She's always here, just for him, in more ways than one.)

Now if he could just get his mouth back on her body.]

[It's a little weird.

Maybe.

Whether it's a little weird because Terezi is twisting him around like he's motherfucking Gumby, or it's a little weird because he's pretty sure this constitutes as a form of troll fingerfucking, he's not really sure.

But it's a little weird.

Weird or not, his fingers close around it. Gently, but firmly. Enough to put up the slightest bit of resistence.

-- his fingers flex around it, though, when she grinds down against him (he vaguely registers the sound of it, haha holy shit) and he has to drop his head down to muffle the (totally uncool) moan that wants to escape him against her lips. There's a bit of an upturned ring to it, like a crack in his voice that's almost like a whine, and for a moment he just hopes it sounds more restrained when being pushed into a kiss than he knows it would have sounded if he'd just let himself toss his head back.

She grinds down, he meets it with his own roll, and he's pretty sure he's starting to slip through the fly of his pants because everything feels like its wire-tight and god when was the last time he was this hard?

Dave tips his head down, panting softly as he breaks away from where he's kissing her with a too-loud smacking sort of sound that he's pretty sure is resonating through the goddamn walls (damp, blonde hair will probably tickle her forehead and nose) and takes a quick glance down.

Yep. Full salute.

Sir, yessir.

Welp.

For a moment he has half a mind to tuck himself back in -- it's what he would have done if they were in the block he'd claimed for himself on the meteor, after all -- but instead he just angles his hips to grind into where her thighs are fucking clamped at his hips, and he leaves a light nip on her chin.

They're going to stop soon, he knows they will; they're rapidly reaching that plateau just before limbs untangle from limbs, and panting dissolves into giggling (her) and bitching (him). And soon after, he will have enough blood rushing back through his veins to keep himself from feeling lightheaded when he stood, an he'd stumble off to find a cool shower.

It's an inevitability.

But until that moment comes, he's perfectly content to leave little nips and licks along her throat, and collar, until he's shamelessly taking a nipple between his teeth and kneading her skin with his free hand.

Shades are fogging. Never, ever did he think he would ever think this, but he's pretty sure they're starting to get in the way.]

[It's several moments before Terezi notices that Dave's clothing has failed to cover him as adequately as promised. But she feels the length of him more prominently against her thigh, and a second after Dave looks down, Terezi does too.

She smells blood, lots of it; pulsing beneath thin skin, smooth as the softest things she's ever touched and twice as warm. In a giddy, half-there impulse, she wants to get her hand around it, feel its enticing hardness, marvel at the way it doesn't twist and squirm the way a bulge does but still seems strong. Sturdy. Not as delicate as the fragile wetness of her own anatomy; it stays put, allowing her to stroke her fingers anywhere she pleases, methodical instead of fumbling, and watch Dave fall apart. God, she loves it when he moans. The sound tastes like vanilla and strawberries.

Her fingers inch down her bonecage.

Dave moves purposefully and his cock, naked and firm, rubs right along the swell of her bulge where it twitches fitfully inside her pants. A high keen bursts from her throat: somehow the splotches of colour make it better, smelling the pink of his skin against the black of her jeans, stripes of his red pants beneath it all. Terezi feels teeth in her skin and her head snaps back instantly, offering her thoat.

Somewhere between the rasp of his fingers against her horn drawing full, demanding shudders down the length of her body and the point in which a perfect set of flat human teeth close around the peak of her nipple, Terezi's back breaks its contract with the surface of the futon and she bends like a sapling, as if there's a hook in her middle and the reel is locked inside his chest. She'll die if she doesn't reach him; he'll pull out her stomach straight through her skin, take her apart and watch her dissolve with her need.

It hits her out of nowhere, like a sack of bricks to the face.

The entire expanse of her body is comprised only of contact points where their flesh is aligned: mouth-to-chest, hip-to-stomach, pelvis-to-pelvis, his thigh a steady force against her backside and her hands cradling his neck and skull, clasping herself to him like a parasite, a leech. Everything is too heavy for a moment; her face lights up in cold flames. She's melting and she can't hang on but her nose bumps the top of his head anyway and the only indication she has that she's making noise are the vibrations making her bonecage rattle, compounded where it meets the curve of his forehead.

Terezi anchors herself around his shoulders with her arms, trembling and clammy, and buries her face into his neck for a number of seconds before the horrified realization hits her. She breathes out a raw, shocked sound.

Her pants.

Are soaked.]

[His first thought, of all things, is that he's gone too far.

Somewhere between her throwing her head back (he does strain to try and nip at the side of it, near where a human's pulsepoint would be) and her back peeling off of the futon (his free arm whips around her back to pull her closer) he went too far, and now some weird alien thing was going to happen and he's going to be caught with his dick out his pants.

Welp.

Immediately, and almost uncharacteristically, his hand around her horn comes down to support the back of her skull, and he brings his forehead down to rest against the harder bone in the center of her chest before he falls impossibly

impossibly

still.

(She'll probably hear him swallow thickly.)

[It's probably more than a little absurd, how long it takes for him to register how his own pants are damp and very rapidly growing damper and damper.

Holy

fuck.

Against his better judgment -- because who knew if troll jizz would be acidic to humans, or something, and he's pretty sure its now trickling down the dick that he really should have taken the half-second to tuck back into his pants (Jesus Christ he did not think this through...) -- he refuses to look down. Instead, his shoulders deflate with a bit of a winded breath, and he tips his head back to peer up into her face.]

Really?

[If Terezi could see, she'd bet on the likelihood of her face being radioactive bright, flushed with a mortified shade of teal.

She just--

She'd--

Terezi Pyrope had just shot off in her pants.

She came in her pants.

All over Dave's futon.]

Oh my god.

[Dave looks at her and her ears turn blue and she jams her face back in his shoulder, hands coming up to block off the spaces where it isn't adequately buried.] Oh my God, shut up, [she mumbles against his skin through quick pants of breath that are still racking her body, regardless of her level of embarrassment. (Fuck, it'd felt amazing.)

He didn't even touch her. She came and all she did was rut her crotch against his dick and get his hand on her horn and she'd gone off like a firecracker.]

... will you still laugh if I say this has never happened before?

[... Hold on.

Wait for it...]

Are you kidding me..?

[Hell fucking yes he would.

With loud, riotous, and almost hysterical laughter that proceeds the most unflattering snort through his nose and shakes his whole body from shoulder to toe.]

I....

Holy shit... [He drops his head down so that his face is (appropriately) buried in her chest again.] ... You...

[It's obvious he's laughing because he's uncomfortable. Not that he blames himself for being uncomfortable at all. How many other people would be comfortable with being half-dressed, covered in alien jizz that's probably dripping all over their only couch, with their dick prairie-dogging out the fly of their pants??

And he can't stop.]

Jesus Christ, I didn't even have to --- [There's some kind of snarky remark about pants tentacles, but it's lost in another bout of laughter against her chest. Haha...] ... Oh my fucking god.

Dave.

Dave.

[The back of her cranial dome hits the futon and her hands fold over her whole face, muffling a groan. Regardless of the convulsing human on top of her, she feels the slightest bit giddy and boneless, but her afterglow is somewhat ruined by the riotous fucking laughter.

Hissing ineffectually, she swats him on the back of the head, then at his shoulder. The fingers of her other hand spread out to cover the exposed bits of her face.] Dave, stop, it's not funny!

[Her lips twitch. She hasn't seen him laugh this hard in months, and maybe only twice before in all the time they've known each other.]

It's not that funny. [It doesn't count as smiling if her lips are hidden behind the rasp of her calluses, rubbing against the chap on her skin as she tries to keep her mouth straight and fails. Fuck, he sounds adorable laughing. Fuck.

The soft, fleshy part of her fist hits the curve of his shoulder once more, probably no more painful than being whapped with a pillow, but to be fair, Terezi hits hard, even in pillow fights. She hits him again, for good measure, when the laughter doesn't stop. And he's doing all of this with his face wedged in the shallow dip between her rumble spheres, mashed partially together by her upper arms.

No fair.]

[...

No, hold on. He's not done yet.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: rating jump, teenage sexuality

and alien junk

can't forget about the alien junk

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

holy shit this is raunchy

You mean lovely. There, I fixed it for you.

Can't it be both?

...... it can be both. Also, 1/2

2/2

no subject

1/2

2/3

3/3

no subject

1/2