Chapter Text
This isn’t the first time you’ve video chatted with him. Far from it. Over the sweeps, you’ve gone from internet co-trolls to best bros, to, well, whatever the fuck you are now. Neither of you have stepped up to put a name to it, and while part of you wishes that maybe he would, the bigger part of you knows there’s no way you’d be able to tie it all nice and neat in a quadrant. So it’ll stay messy and nameless. He likes it better that way.
You’d met him when you were only—fuck how old were you? Like five? He’d barged into one of your favorite game forums and chewed you out. It’s probably because of him that you started your trademark rants and extended metaphor insults. Anything to fight back at the nookwiff spitting venom at you over the internet.
Needless to say, you became fast friends.
Now you’re almost 10, and you have a close up of his crotch on your laptop. Stubby claws are slowly unzipping jeans, and it would be horribly sexy if that noxious laugh wasn’t filling up your aural cavities and teasing you for the face you’re pulling.
“Fuck kk, if I knew you were going to be thith into it, we would have done thith ageth ago. You’re face man, you thould thee yourthelf. You can thee yourthelf, fuck.”
You lean in real close to your webcam, and roll your eyes, hard. Then you realize he can’t actually see you, as he’s all but straddling his own husktop.
“Rolling my eyes,” you clarify. “And I didn’t give you permission to stop. Keep fucking going, nerd lord.”
There goes that laugh again, and no, fuck, he’s pulling away from the camera. He plops down on the board he calls an ass, catching himself on an elbow and staring directly at you.
“Nah.” He adjusts his glasses—you wish he’d take them off. His eyes are kind of freaky, but it would be nice to see them anyway. “C’mon,” he says, sliding a hand down his pants, rubbing, “Give me thomething to go off of.”
You huff. How is he so nonchalant about this? Fucking exobisionist steak. Your pusher is racing in your chest, and you’re really fighting not to squirm in your seat. You reach a hand behind you, yank your sweater up and forward, plopping it in your lap.
He frowns. “KK, you’re thopothed to do it thethy.”
“Oh my fucking— are you serious? What more do you want for me? Am I not stripping for you? Is my chest not bared to the heavens, all supple gray skin, so smooth and strokeable? Don’t you just want to, uh, take a hold of my grubscars, and, uh, lick up my neck? Or something? I’m bad at this.” You start off strong, claws ghosting over your skin in a pleasant, ticklish manner, but you end up facing away from him, hands up to cover your blush. You still haven’t told him your blood color. It’s going to make things difficult.
“Eheh, nice. Here’s how you do it.” He tosses his glasses off, sits up and forward. He scoots his husktop forward and adjusts the angle of his camera, making sure both his eyes and his crotch are in the picture. He looks directly at you. He’s still rubbing at his junk, spreading his legs a little wider, and yep, wow, he has definitely moved on to fingering his nook.
“Fuck yeah I want to lick it. I want to lick all of you. If I was there kk, I would be all over you. I wouldn’t even bother tharting off thlow. I’d be in your lap, theath right up against yourth, tho that I could feel you get turned on, thlowly thart to thide out—yeah, get your hand down your panth, ith ok. Ehehheh, ith kind of the point—I’d have you by the hair becauthe your hornth are too fucking nubby to get a grip on, pulling your head back and thucking on your neck. You’d thart panting, bucking up a little againthed me, juth from that—No fuck you, look at me—I’d thart thliding out of my theath, prething up againth you. How would it feel? Would I be warmer? Cooler?”
“Cooler,” you mumble. You didn’t really mean to. You don’t regret it either. You’re too focused on trying to maintain eye contact, which is unsurprisingly hard, with the supereffective combo of lispy dirty talk and a firm hand rubbing your closed sheath—not that it’ll stay that way for long.
You’re blushing too much, he’ll see. Flustered, you reach out, tugging your husktop down so the focus is on your own crotch. He goes to protest, but quickly shuts up with a little, “Oh,” when he sees the focus. Now free to blush as much as you can, you spread your legs a little and rub in big circles, shuttering at the effort of keeping yourself sheathed.
“Tho you’ve thought about it.” You can’t see him, but there’s a breathiness in his words that tells you he likes that. Fuck damn it, this isn’t going to work. You skip the witty retort in favor of doubling over and ruffling through the bottom drawer of your desk. An array of snarky complaints come through your speakers about the sudden change of position, but you’ll only be like this until you find the damn thing, so you flip a tweetbeast in his direction and keep frumbling.
There, got it. External webcam. You hold it up to your husktops camera, grinning slightly.
“Oh come on kk, you made me wait for that? Whath wrong with you internal one?”
“Shove it nerd lord. This way my screen isn’t tilted as fuck to give you the view you so rightly crave. I want to see when you stop teasing and start actually fucking stripping. Which you should do. Which I order you to do.”
“Eheh, roll play, ith that what you’re getting at? Kinkier than I would have exthpected from you. I can work with that. Not tonight though.”
“Fuck you, just st—“
“Eheh, you and I both witth kk. Now thhh, leth do thith.”
Yeah, that sounds good to you. The fact that he’s shuffled back up to his knees, straddling his husktop until his crotch takes up your whole screen kills any protests you have left. You take a moment to adjust your cam, focusing it on your own crotch, or rather, your hand grinding against your crotch. Then you’re free to sit back and watch the show. At least until you start leaking. But who wants to plan that far ahead?
“Tho, I thought about having muthic to go along with thith, but turnth out I have no thenthe of rhythm, tho you’ll have to make due.” His hips sway from side to side shyly, the first hint of hesitation you’ve seen from him tonight.
“Stop saying ‘sexy’,” you growl, trying in your own abrasive way to get his confidence back, “You’ll butcher any scraps of mood we’ve got going here.”
A huff comes through the speakers, and the screen suddenly changes, his face, set with determination, fills the screen. He stares for a moment.
“Sexy,” he says slowly, almost chewing the word in an effort to get the sounds right. A grin cracks his face in half, and for the first time ever, you think those oversized fangs are more attractive than dorky. Fuck, you’re starting to get wet .
“Fuck it, if you won’t strip, then I will.” He raises his eyebrows at you, grinning that stupid toothy grin. You ignore him, standing up from your computer chair, adjusting your cam. He wants sexy, you’ll give him sexy. You’re the sexiest motherfucker around. Your fingers work over the button of your jeans. Wait. Wait. Oh fuck, you’ve so fucking got this.
“Husktop,” you bark, “Resume song. Volume up.” The voice controls work for once, and shitty dance music you’re almost embarrassed to admit you listen to starts up. You hesitate for a moment, then spread your legs to a little wider than your shoulders, bend your arms and extended them, and then, on the bass beat, rock your left foot up to your toes, popping your hip out in one of the few belly dancing moves you know. You get into a rhythm, bring your hands in slow, tracing them down your chest. You glance down at your screen, mostly to make sure all of you is in the picture, and get a quick glance at Sollux. He’s biting his lip, pants and boxers down under his knees, still hovering over his husktop, yellow bulge weaving itself through his splayed fingers. The last inch is bifurcated, just like his horns, and wow, you really want that inside you.
He notices you staring, and makes eye contact. Abort abort, too sexy. Eye contact is way too intense, and you don’t want to cream your pants in front of him. You close your eyes, bringing your hands up to ruffle your hair, switching your hips to go in a wide circle. Your hands trace back down you, slowly unbuttoning your pants and, here, you step a little closer to the camera, unzipping them.
“Wow, you're good at thith part.”
“Shove it,” you mumble, turning slowly in place as you shimmy your pants down, until your ass is in full view.
“Yes sir.”
Ooh, you like that. You growl, deep in your chest, to show your approval.
You step out of your pants, do a lame attempt at a body roll, though Sollux doesn’t comment. Probably because your thumbs are now in your boxers, stretching the elastics, giving him a brief hint of your ass. You sway your hips in half time, pulling your boxers down a little with each sway, and soon their around your knees.
This is risky. You’re not dripping yet, but your nook is wet. You’re not sure if you’ve got any material visible between your legs from the back, but the fear of discovery is mixing with the thrill of dancing for an audience. You slowly pull your boxers off anyway.
Now completely nude, you drop a knee into your computer chair, shift your weight into it, and push off with your other foot, sending the chair into a slow spin. While the back is still to the camera, you shuffle back to a normal sitting position, your junk out of view from the camera.
“Craptop, stop music,” you say, voice still a low rumble. You like seductively dancing, you decide, and not just in the privacy of your own respiteblock.
You’re smirking, eyebrows wagging as you switch your camera back to the internal one.
“Worth the struggle of getting an external cam, you perverse douche nozzle?”
“Fuck yeeeeth,” he whines. He gives a few more jerks of his bulge, then brings his hand up to his mouth, bifurcated tongue tips wrapping around his fingers, licking his own material off. “Why’d you thop?” You stare for a moment, nose wrinkling as you watch him lick his fingers clean. His eyes flutter closed as he pulls a finger into his mouth and sucks.
“You’re fucking raunchy.” You deadpan. It’s got your bulge out though, and you don’t want to think about why. You slide forward a little in your chair anyway, bringing too fingers down to your nook and scooping the material there forward, up to the base of your bulge as you wrap your hand around it, and slide it to the tip. Your other hand moves to your hair, curling firmly around a horn. Mmn, yes, that feels good. Much better than alone. You let your eyes close and your mouth part open.
“Are you touching yourthelf?”
“Ah, yeah,” you pause to let out a little hum, “Obviously.” Clever remarks are not in the cards right now. Embarrassment is also out the door.
“I want to thee.” He’s moving, shimmies out of the remains of his clothes, and props himself up on the arm of his couch. He slings one bony leg over on the back , letting the other one fall open. His nook is in full view, dipping yellow slowly, bulge twisting on itself leaving smears on his torso.
“C’mon kk, I want to theeee.” He does the eye contact thing again, and it makes you trill under your breath. The hand around your horn curls, other slipping into your nook, a single finger pushing slowly inside. You curl it forward, and, mmn, yeah, that’s good. You let your head fall back against the chair with a small gasp.
“KK, you’re tho fucking thexy right now.” His hand comes to life, small sparks dancing from his fingertips, and he traces around the inner folds of his nook. You’re enraptured, and quickly move to copy his actions. It’s not enough, but you want to last.
“Look at you,” he goes on, “Your hair ith all muffed, thath my favorite part. And you hipth, hot damn, I want to grab them, get your bulge inthide me, and forcibly rock you in.” He pulls three fingers together, holds them up to you. “Ith thith big enough?”
“What?”
“Your bulge, ith it thith thick? Juth fucking thow me,” he huffs.
“Not going to happen.”
“Thath the whole point!” he yells. “My nook is dripping on my keyboard in prime viewing pothition! At least let me thee for a thecond!”
Your dip your finger back into yourself, letting yourself gasp louder than you would if you were alone. “No.” Your voice is the breathy one now, as you start rocking your hips down.
“Why?!”
“Blood color.”
“Are you theriouth! I know your rutht!”
That throws you for a loop. But you’re not going to object. In fact, you couldn’t be happier for that assumption.
You look him dead in the eyes. There are little sparks dancing out of them. That’s adorable. He’s losing control over you. Suddenly you want to show him your bulge, make him really lose control, know you’re the one responsible for that. You thrust your finger a little harder into yourself.
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing.”
“Your thit at dirty talk, remember?”
“I’ll be loud.” You think for a moment. “And I’ll get up close so you can see me give myself a horn job.”
He considers, shrugs. “Whatever, I’m lothing my wriggly while you’re over there—“ he cocks his head, watching you rock in little movements. It makes him bite his lip again, you’re almost afraid his fangs are going to break into his lip. “—you’re over there finger fucking yourthelf.”
You grin. “Yeah, it’s pretty great. I hate to admit it, but you put on a good show even when you’re not trying. And four fingers.”
He grins that cocky smile. “Four fingers?”
You sigh, take your hand off your horn, fold your four fingers together and hold them up to the camera. “Four, not three. My bulge.”
“Hoofbeath thit.”
“I’m thick, not long.”
He shrugs, crams his four fingers together, and, without stretching himself or even lubing up his fingers, shoves them all inside himself and starts thrusting.
Your mouth falls open. Holy shit, how does that not hurt? The thought of taking that much makes your squirm. No thank you, one finger and no stretching is just fine with you.
You lean forward and plop your face down on your desk, horns now close up on the camera. True to your promise, your start stroking one, letting out a small moan. You don’t have much horn to work with, but they are extra sensitive when you’re aroused. Which you are, without question.
You make eye contact for a split second, quickly looking away. You take your hand off your horn, make eye contact real quick again, then lick down your palm. You make contact again, and this time he growls before you can look away. So you hold it. You lick down your first three fingers, then bring them into your mouth, and suck. You close your eyes as he starts talking.
“Fuck, yeth. Ith like your thucking my bulge, hnn. You like that, huh? You like having my fucking amathing bulge in your mouth, thlithering down your throat, you little pail thlut?”
You’re eyes flick open, and you glare. Go as far as to let out a warning growl.
“Ok, ok, noted. Gear thift. You liked thith before. Imagine I’m there. I’m thiting in your chair inthead of you—you’re on the floor between my legth. My bulge is out, and you nuzzle it a little, teathing me until I beg.” He pauses. “Ith thith ok?”
You take your fingers out of your mouth with a little pop.
“Yeah, that’s ok. I liked the you begging part.”
“Eheheh, of courthe you did. Nice little power trip for you, eh? You really got a kink for that, don’t you?”
You don’t acknowledge him other than a roll of your eyes, focusing on keeping a blush from coming to your cheeks. Your bring your saliva slick hand to your horn again, hard around it. You let out a couple of pleased sounds under your breath, then remember you’re supposed to be loud. You moan. It feels fake.
Sollux rolls his eyes. Or at least you think he does. “Ith hotter when you’re natural kk.”
You try a different approach. You twist again, and gasp. Gradually fuck your fingers harder into yourself. “Mmn, yeah Sollux. Ah, fuck, yeah!”
On your screen, he’s arching his back, staring you down, one hand pounding his nook and the other jerking his bulge. He’s a horrible mess, dripping from every orifice. His horns are sparking bad enough that hap hazardous shadows are being thrown around the room in little bursts. His whole body is moving in time with his thrust, chanting, “Ah,” softly under his breath each time he rocks his fingers fully into himself.
“Keep talking,” you definitely do not whimper. You almost screw your eyes shut, but don’t want to miss this. Your hand does the little twist again, and your hips twitch at their own accord.
He groans. “Theriouthly? Nn, fuck, I can’t,” he pauses, eyes closed tight for a second, “I can’t exactly, haa, thit kk, I can’t even get, ah, two wordth out.”
You growl at him. He sighs.
“You’re hovering a-above me. And you’re not, fuck, haa, going thlow. No, wait, a-ah, you’ve got me by the, hnn, hornth.” He gives another exacerbated sigh, let’s go of his bulge, and roughly pulls on one of his larger horns, forcing his head back and exposing his neck. You’re pretty sure he can’t even see you. His hand lets up its pace, moving slow enough to squelch and ooze. “You better fucking appreciate this kk, I was so fucking clothe. Now thop fucking that tight little nook of yourth and thwitch to palming your bulge. It’ll work better.”
You stare skeptically for a moment. You like your nook. You’re pretty sure he’s gathered that. But you trust him. You do as he says, letting out an actual moan at the empty feeling. “What if I want you in me?”
It’s his turn to stare. “You want my mutated junk inthide you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Well. Next time. Thith will work better. You’re jerking yourthelf, right?”
You nod, adding a little twist to both your horn and your bulge at the same time.
“Good. Ath I was thaying. You’re on top of me. You’ve got my head pinned back, and your thucking on my neck. You thlide into me nice and thlow.”
You nod, hand copying the movement on your bulge, gripping too tight in a weak impression of a nook. You whimper.
“I, um. I run my fingers through your hair. Kiss up your neck, pressing my forehead against yours, and kiss you. Uh…I kiss you deeply?”
“Eheh, kk, your tho cute.” He wags his eyebrows at you. “You want thith tender? Romantic?” He sighs dramatically, taking his fingers out of his nook and tracing yellow trails up his chest, to his face, where he nuzzles into them, smearing material all over his face.
Eww, gross. That’s definitely gross, but you’re bulge likes it. Not the direction you want though. You like his dirty talk. So you try talking again.
“I press my forehead against yours. And I move my hips. We’re rocking together. My…uh…my bulge…my bulge twists inside you.”
He snickers, his hand tracing back down, down, into himself again. He brings his head back up, making eye contact and starting to twist his hand on his horns.
“You’re bulge ith twithing inthide me. You rock in harder, and I—I, hnnn, yeth, fuck kk, I bring my legth up around you, forthing you into me harder. I like it fucking rough. Your nailth dig into my thideth, your teeth thcrape againth my neck—a-ah, kk, getting cloeth? Cuth I am, didn’t really come down from before.”
Your voice is shaky. All of you is shaky. You nod, whimpering, fisting your bulge so hard it hurts. Your hips are moving up of their own accord, and your desk chair is squeaking with your movements. You hope Sollux can hear it.
He’s shaky too. His voice is coming in gasps. “Can I, aahhah, kk, can I thop the dirty talk now?”
“Yeah. Mnn, yeah. Any second now.”
He trills, fucking trills to you, and spreads his legs farther than you thought he could, and really pounds his nook.
“Gonna, nn, beat you.” And he does. His back arches, and his head goes back. Yellow dribbles from his bulge onto his stomach, and leaks from his nook onto his couch. He doesn’t even care, digs his heels in, raising his back even more.
You stroke yourself, just for a few moments more, before you follow him, but it’s enough time for him to recover enough to watch you. And he does, enraptured. You jerk, convulse, double in on yourself, bright red dripping onto your hand and you don’t even care. You let yourself slouch onto the desk, eyes closed and breath heavy as you let the last surges of orgasm overwhelm you.
“KK, theriouthly, you thould be in a porno. You’re cumming face ith fucking amazing. Can I record it? That wath tho intenthe.”
You grunt, looking to the camera and roll your eyes.
“You’re not bad yourself Captor. And no. We’ll just have to do this again. Enough to keep you sated.”
“Deal.” He snorts, sitting up. “Next time you’re thowing me your junk.”
You sit up to, and groan, wiping your hand on your thigh.
“Maybe.”