HS - Discofurry Chanyowl - Nepeta/Karkat - NC-17 - 1/1
Porn, for the Kink Meme. "Nepeta/Karkat, size kink, xeno. Large and powerful hunter Nepeta rutting into small but tough Karkat. THIS IS ALL THAT I WANT!" Characters are adults post-ascension. Nepeta is a nice and fluffy top. Also some animal roleplay and cat puns everywhere because even adult and muscly, Nepeta is always Nepeta. XD
3300 words.
"You know," he pants in her ear, "this is -- technically -- abuse of the, hhn, the chain of command."
She pulls away from his neck, blinks; it's dark in the grassy hollow they (honest now, she) found, but the victory bonfire is still going in the distance; her eyes phosphoresce, huge and much too vivid a green-gold. "Um. Do you want me to stop?" she asks, dubious. She's got her whole body pressing into his; he knows she can tell he really doesn't. "Only I'm purretty sure that you haven't changed that much."
She's thrumming low in her chest, wound through her words and vibrating through her nice, firm rumble spheres and into his; the vibration shivers its way down his belly. He forces himself to scowl. His hands are clenched on her shoulders one breath away from popping his claws through skin. "What the hell does that even -- even mean, shit, do that again."
"Well, you've never looked much at rank befur yowling at people?" She puts her nose to his and grins, delighted. "You sassed me right in front of your furiends!"
Karkat groans, closes his eyes, thumps his head back against... okay, his jacket; doesn't hurt much. As a lowly culldet, sassing a hunterrorist, even at a party, got him a shit-ton of catcalls, and worse when she only beamed back down at him and laughed.
When she asked to catch up away from the crowd one of his hatefriends said shit about how he was so gonna get laid; if he'd rolled his eyes any harder they'd have been flung out of his skull and yet here he is. He's not too sure how it happened.
He just knows that Nepeta has been growing like a midblood, fast and hard, and either he's growing slow like a highblood (hah) or he's done already. And this should piss him off, and it vaguely does, even now, but they were having such a nice time reminiscing and then he tripped in the dark and she caught him, sure and effortless, and it was like every romcom ever only he was the heroine.
The ensuing makeouts he blames on the alcohol.
Not to say that when she lifted him off the ground by the waist to pin him to a tree and bring to more comfortable kissing height, his nook didn't flood like someone had dynamited a giant fucking dam.
She's all tight hard muscle and barely a hint of feminine padding, boyishly cute even after her adult molt; her hair is still kept in short curls. He combs his hands through them, joins his fingers on the nape of her neck, a little amazed that she is letting him, that she isn't growling even a little bit at his claws on her spine. It's humbling, so much trust born so many sweeps ago and still going strong.
There are... probably emotional ramifications to sort out, first. But it's been sweeps, surely she's just going for a chance to play out an old fantasy and that's it, she's not still a naive six-sweep-old, he's not leading her oonnhhfuck.
"You're still so cute," she whispers in his ear, and nibbles on his neck. He fucking chirps, flustered and breathy. He's not cute, he's a towering figure of manliness, he could wrestle another dozen men.
She could wrestle a cholerbear, he's sure, because his hands are under her shirt and the scars on her back can't have been left by much of anything else. Oh fuck, fuck, that's hot, her back is raked and crisscrossed all over, he can just see it, Nepeta wrist-deep in the bear's stomach as it clawed futilely at her to pull her off. He bet her back was coated in wet green, he bet everything was splattered in her shade and she just gritted her teeth and kept digging in.
"The cutest -- I just want, can I cuddle you all night," she says, rocking their hips together, and the competing signals say "flush" pretty loudly, but they say "let me pail you" so much louder.
Oh god. She could wrap herself around him so completely, even as she -- shit, wow, usually he likes it better mutual, legs scissored (maybe, if he likes them, he'll hold their hand), taking in and being swallowed at the same time. But she's tall enough -- he's small enough, this pisses him off but they'd fit that way, him on her lap with her arms around him so tight, and in that position he couldn't really penetrate her as well, and it's such a selfish thing to take her bulge, her genetic material, and give none in return but he would feel so cherished.
Also split in two holy fuck is that thing what he thinks it is. It's that or an anaconda.
Oh hell, he figures she's big enough to own the risks she's taking with her bloodpusher (though he'd feel like shit to hurt her, she doesn't deserve to be hurt,) and he (would really like one night of getting to pretend he has a long-standing matesprit and not one-day-stands and bucket-buddies once a sweep) needs to see if there's any way he can fit that bulge in his nook at all. At least half-way. For science.
She's still nuzzling and rocking, coaxing, hopeful meowbeast chirps rising in her throat. He growls, clacks his fangs in annoyance and shoves her shirt up her back, baring those gorgeous scars.
Karkat has a few of those himself, but nothing that impressive -- a couple of electrical and chemical burns, a few slices -- just dark blots and white lines too shallow to come out inked with his blood color (thankfully) (so lame.) He tries to see himself through her eyes and tells himself it must be pitiable to see one so unmarked, but he still feels a point of shame -- coward, refusing to take the blind stupid risk his brothers in arms take.
"Ah -- Karkitty?"
"Shirt off," he orders, laid out on his back under her; she giggles and flushes green, pushes herself up on her knees to yank it off over her head. He stares, of course he does, she is such a tomboy, no shock-padding at all, how can she take the kind of impacts he knows she must? Her belly looks a little soft, or it would if three blood-green claw-lines didn't curve around her hipbone to end pointedly a hair off from where her guts would have started spilling out.
Cursing under his breath, he fights his uniform clasps, bats her hands off his chest and then allows her to bat them off in turn because his pants are even harder to undo. There's the munitions belt, he takes it off a hundred times a perigee (never while faced with pants riding low on slightly curved hips, straining to contain a monster bulge) so why doesn't it come off today? (probably the bulge yes okay.)
Free, glorious Condesce's unrivaled derriere, free. His pants get tangled on a combat boot he can't be bothered to take off, his shirt hangs off him, baring him from throat to inner thighs, and she looks, he knows she does, he can see the way her eyes flicker in the firelight.
They could still do it mutual here. Face to face, it'd be -- his bulge doesn't compare to hers in either length or thickness but he's warm even for a rustblood (hah, if they knew) and he's told it compensates for a hell of a lot. He'd give just as good as he got. He wouldn't be selfish. He wouldn't let her... coddle him. Take care of him. He doesn't need taken care of. (It'd be nice, is all.)
He reaches up to trace ticklish-light claws around the curve of her perky rumble sphere -- more of a cone, really -- and down the side of her stomach, and she lets him.
"It's been sweeps," he chokes out, "I could gut you, you don't know--"
"Don't be silly," she replies, and leans down to nuzzle his face, lick his lips until he allows her in. He grumbles and nips, but kisses back.
"Because I'm too nice?"
"Beclaws you're too fur. Fair." She grins down at him. "Honorable! I like that a lot. And beclaws you always used to take care of efurryone, and I always told myself one day I'd take care of you in return. Even just a little bit." Her hand finds his; he lets her have it, lets her pin it to the grass by his shoulder. Her eyes flash down at him; they manage to look soft somehow. "Even just fur a night."
He chokes a little bit, he isn't sure on what. His eyes prickle. He can see someone getting cut in two (so long as he doesn't know them) and he won't cry (in public) but this -- shit, no, okay, that isn't fair, no tender firelit declarations. Ah hell, he's totally the plucky lowblooded love interest in this setup. No, okay, he's a soldier in his own right, today's battle will have him climb ranks because he rallied his asshole allies like a pro and he fucking deserves it, he's not the threshecutioner's tragic helmsbait planetside-sweetheart or who even knows what. He clicks in irritation and grabs a handful of hair, pulls her down to his mouth. Nips.
Nowhere near hard enough to make this darker. He doesn't even want it darker. He pulls a leg out from under hers, winds it around her hip. "Just -- you said you wanted to -- you said you wanted to do me," he snarls, face too warm, "okay, if that's what gets you off, who am I to spit on--"
She presses down on him and kisses his face, his forehead -- almost too pale -- his hair, she nuzzles between his horns in a gesture whose inherent trust is mostly symbolic considering his rounded nubs. It chokes him a bit. A callused hand pushes between them, down his bared belly -- he groans, the inherent danger and knowing he's safe from her, entirely so.
She undoes the front of her pants and her bulge writhes wetly between their bellies. He stops breathing. Fuck, that thing wouldn't look out of place on Equius in his full growth (he wonders if Equius is smaller than Nepeta right now, considering their different rates of -- okay no he doesn't want to think of Equius, what the fuck.)
"You're so beautiful," she purrs, and nuzzles at his horns, bulge slithering down his half-unsheated one and coiling between his thighs. "I want to make you feel so, so good, you can stay on my bulge all night, that would be so purrfect--"
He gasps, cheeks burning. You can come just from the bulge of course, but it takes longer and it's more muted anyway, and she just -- she's offering to --
He winds his legs around her and yanks her hips down into his, and she gasps, startled, as her tip finds his nook and pushes in on blind instinct.
Fuck. The tapered tip slides in just like normal, but she thickens fast, keeps rippling her way deeper in past when he would feel the root of most of his rust and brown hookups. She isn't all thin and lashing at his insides like a whip; most of the stimulation comes from the relentless pressure on the walls of his nook, the way she stretches him open a little wider with each inch of depth, he's never felt so full. He tightens the grip of his knees -- ngh, making his nook ripple and tries to lift himself a little closer, to take her a little deeper.
She pulls out. "No, hey, what the fffngh!"
She pushes back in, smooth and long, bulge held almost straight.
"What the fuck -- are you doing -- shit, deep."
"Too deep?"
"...No."
He realizes his arms are around her neck and his claws are digging into her skin; she's purring, elbows propped up on the grass on both sides of his head to keep from crushing him. Her hips move weird, backward to pull her bulge out, and then closer to let it slither back in, instead of just moving close and staying there.
"What are you -- Nepeta, what--"
She giggles in his ear. "Can't do it the nyaormal troll way, silly, I'm too thick."
"Bragging," he starts, "is unattractive," only it's not bragging, is it, and...
Oh. Oh yeah. Should have thought of that. She wouldn't move inside his nook, she'd move his nook.
Could be nice for a while, he figures, but after that he might get bruises on his internal organs, which is not his idea of an awesome evening after. "What if -- you did it -- like, slow?"
"Mmm. Maybe later!" She nips at his ear, bows her head to get at his jaw, and his head rolls back without thought. It feels so weird but so nice, that empty-filled-empty thing, like the pleasure of initial penetration again and again and again, that rolling--
He groans and headbutts her shoulder. "Nepeta for the love of Equius' gross sweaty face tell me you are not breeding with me."
It's just so, he knows he's heard of animals that do it like that back on Alternia, bulge so stiff their hips had to do the work -- he's sure he's laid ganderbulb upon a great many furry RP logs, upon too many (once was too many) mighty musclebeast phallus.
It should turn him straight off. She pushes herself up on her hands and her whole body ripples, muscles down her sides and her stomach clenching and it's like being punched inside his nook in an insanely pleasurable way. His back arches off the ground; a second later he realizes he made that noise, that belly-deep groan.
"Um," she goes, and nibbles on the shell of his ear as her bulge tip curls against the edge of his seedflap. "Maybe a little bit? But it works purrty well fur me and I--"
"Fuck. Okay. I'll just. Don't tell me." He pants in her shoulder, arms gone tight around her neck. "Just. Keep doing that."
She does, gliding out, leaving his nook clenching, and stretching him back as she pushes back in. He can't help trying to draw her back, to push himself on her. It's awkward and he'd be messing up her rhythm if her muscles weren't braided steel; he doesn't shift her at all.
She speeds up, bit by bit, leaving him a gasping, shuddering mess. His pleasure rises faster than he thought it could, and he bites down on her shoulder to muffle his grunts, his whimpers. "I'm gonna, I'm," he tries to apologize; she kisses his brow and drives herself in two inches deeper.
His back arches so hard he manages to shift her off the ground. He vaguely hears her laugh past the tinkling in his ears, barely cares. Warmth explodes from his nook, engulfs his belly, throws tendrils of warmth up his spine. He digs his knees in her sides, hips twitching, nook clenching to pull a last spasm of pleasure out of her bulge before she, oh, right, she hasn't been touched half enough to come anytime soon.
"Uh -- Nepeta -- that was nice. Wow. Do you want--"
She shushes him, rough fingers across his lips. "I told you I wanted you on my bulge all night long!" she replies impishly, nose to nose. "Do you still want that?"
He'd almost deny, mortified by his selfishness, but his nook answers for him, clamping down to hold back a bulge that isn't trying to slip out even a little bit.
She sits up, his thighs spread around her hips, holds her hands out for him to take, so she can pull him up to straddle her lap. Like she promised -- she wants to curl around him and, and yes, shit yes, he wants that.
But he -- yeah, okay, he's allowing someone to spoil the hell out of him, he could maybe -- he could give a little back. He slaps her hands off, manages to plant a shaking foot on her hip, to push himself off. She gasps and makes a low, mournful noise as her bulge slips entirely out of him, and he grits his teeth against how empty he feels, how much pleasure he still wants, how his seedflap tingles from not having received a single drop of her.
He curls up on his side, catches her eye -- rolls on elbows and knees, limbs tucked under him, and lifts his hips. His face burns, his ears, even his horns feel warm, he could die from how embarrassed he is.
Nepeta chirps, startled and hungry, and then she's on him, nipping at his shoulders, the back of his neck. Her thighs nudge his ass, her bulge curls against the small of his back. "Karkitty -- Karkat -- oh, oh, I was suppawsed to spoil you -- you don't mind?"
She looks so overwhelmed, so happy that he manages to snort somehow, to throw over his shoulder, "What does it look like? C'mon, purrbeast, hop the fuck aboard already."
It's just ridiculous enough that it becomes funny. He rests his cheek on his crossed arms and pretends he's not smiling.
Okay, now she's on him. Her arms wind tight around his waist -- trapped -- and the tip of her bulge finds him and then she's ramming herself back in. He screams.
"Shit, shit, did I hurt you, I'm sorry--"
"Keep fucking me!"
She does. It feels strange and unnatural and so, so good, so overwhelming. She doesn't fuck like a troll, half-feral that she is, she's wild and strong, he'll be bruised after all and who cares, he'll make her apply the bruise cream with her tongue, see if he -- oh, oh fuck, yes, the way it rattles his whole body, the way the tip coils against his seedflap, muting the impacts just enough to make them horribly good.
She ruts into him and his whole nook is oversensitive, overwhelmed, his ass feels spanked from the way her thighs impact, and she's purring, he feels it rattling through her rumble spheres and straight into his own chest.
She closes her jaws on the back of his neck and he comes again, screaming into his uniform jacket.
She keeps moving for a few seconds, and then she shudders, slows her thrusts down to mere rocking. He moans, gloriously sore.
"Karkitty? S-stop, or -- more?"
He bets she's close. He's not sure how she managed, with only her bulge. Though the tender way she licks at the bite marks she left on his neck...
"I got two," he manages, throat raspy. "S'okay if you--"
"But I wanted to cuddle you on my lap," she mewls plaintively.
Karkat tells himself it's the nice afterglow hormones making him think it's cute and sympathetic instead of annoying.
"We can do that after. C'mon. Finish." He could take another orgasm, yeah, but the sheer satisfaction of having a flap full of genetic material could compensate.
"Umm. I wanted to cuddle you on my bulge," she mutters, embarrassed. The tip of it curls inside him on blind instinct, tickles his seedflap, and Karkat's mind is made.
"Your company's hiking with ours for another perigee, right? Keep something for the day after tomorrow."
She squeals, hugs him tight around the middle, drives him back on those last inches of bulge that slipped out; he'd bet she didn't even mean to. He wheezes, dizzy with too much pleasure and not enough air.
"'cause tomorrow," he growls, breathless, as she starts thrusting with renewed enthusiasm, "I will be -- sore as fuck -- and I swear to our glorious tridentfucked Empress I will cull you if you -- if you tell me anything about the cubs you're dreaming of planting in my guts!"
Nepeta giggles against his neck, and sees about filling him with so much oliveblood spunk that later when he has to limp back to camp for a bucket he does feel like he's carrying her litter.
3300 words.
"You know," he pants in her ear, "this is -- technically -- abuse of the, hhn, the chain of command."
She pulls away from his neck, blinks; it's dark in the grassy hollow they (honest now, she) found, but the victory bonfire is still going in the distance; her eyes phosphoresce, huge and much too vivid a green-gold. "Um. Do you want me to stop?" she asks, dubious. She's got her whole body pressing into his; he knows she can tell he really doesn't. "Only I'm purretty sure that you haven't changed that much."
She's thrumming low in her chest, wound through her words and vibrating through her nice, firm rumble spheres and into his; the vibration shivers its way down his belly. He forces himself to scowl. His hands are clenched on her shoulders one breath away from popping his claws through skin. "What the hell does that even -- even mean, shit, do that again."
"Well, you've never looked much at rank befur yowling at people?" She puts her nose to his and grins, delighted. "You sassed me right in front of your furiends!"
Karkat groans, closes his eyes, thumps his head back against... okay, his jacket; doesn't hurt much. As a lowly culldet, sassing a hunterrorist, even at a party, got him a shit-ton of catcalls, and worse when she only beamed back down at him and laughed.
When she asked to catch up away from the crowd one of his hatefriends said shit about how he was so gonna get laid; if he'd rolled his eyes any harder they'd have been flung out of his skull and yet here he is. He's not too sure how it happened.
He just knows that Nepeta has been growing like a midblood, fast and hard, and either he's growing slow like a highblood (hah) or he's done already. And this should piss him off, and it vaguely does, even now, but they were having such a nice time reminiscing and then he tripped in the dark and she caught him, sure and effortless, and it was like every romcom ever only he was the heroine.
The ensuing makeouts he blames on the alcohol.
Not to say that when she lifted him off the ground by the waist to pin him to a tree and bring to more comfortable kissing height, his nook didn't flood like someone had dynamited a giant fucking dam.
She's all tight hard muscle and barely a hint of feminine padding, boyishly cute even after her adult molt; her hair is still kept in short curls. He combs his hands through them, joins his fingers on the nape of her neck, a little amazed that she is letting him, that she isn't growling even a little bit at his claws on her spine. It's humbling, so much trust born so many sweeps ago and still going strong.
There are... probably emotional ramifications to sort out, first. But it's been sweeps, surely she's just going for a chance to play out an old fantasy and that's it, she's not still a naive six-sweep-old, he's not leading her oonnhhfuck.
"You're still so cute," she whispers in his ear, and nibbles on his neck. He fucking chirps, flustered and breathy. He's not cute, he's a towering figure of manliness, he could wrestle another dozen men.
She could wrestle a cholerbear, he's sure, because his hands are under her shirt and the scars on her back can't have been left by much of anything else. Oh fuck, fuck, that's hot, her back is raked and crisscrossed all over, he can just see it, Nepeta wrist-deep in the bear's stomach as it clawed futilely at her to pull her off. He bet her back was coated in wet green, he bet everything was splattered in her shade and she just gritted her teeth and kept digging in.
"The cutest -- I just want, can I cuddle you all night," she says, rocking their hips together, and the competing signals say "flush" pretty loudly, but they say "let me pail you" so much louder.
Oh god. She could wrap herself around him so completely, even as she -- shit, wow, usually he likes it better mutual, legs scissored (maybe, if he likes them, he'll hold their hand), taking in and being swallowed at the same time. But she's tall enough -- he's small enough, this pisses him off but they'd fit that way, him on her lap with her arms around him so tight, and in that position he couldn't really penetrate her as well, and it's such a selfish thing to take her bulge, her genetic material, and give none in return but he would feel so cherished.
Also split in two holy fuck is that thing what he thinks it is. It's that or an anaconda.
Oh hell, he figures she's big enough to own the risks she's taking with her bloodpusher (though he'd feel like shit to hurt her, she doesn't deserve to be hurt,) and he (would really like one night of getting to pretend he has a long-standing matesprit and not one-day-stands and bucket-buddies once a sweep) needs to see if there's any way he can fit that bulge in his nook at all. At least half-way. For science.
She's still nuzzling and rocking, coaxing, hopeful meowbeast chirps rising in her throat. He growls, clacks his fangs in annoyance and shoves her shirt up her back, baring those gorgeous scars.
Karkat has a few of those himself, but nothing that impressive -- a couple of electrical and chemical burns, a few slices -- just dark blots and white lines too shallow to come out inked with his blood color (thankfully) (so lame.) He tries to see himself through her eyes and tells himself it must be pitiable to see one so unmarked, but he still feels a point of shame -- coward, refusing to take the blind stupid risk his brothers in arms take.
"Ah -- Karkitty?"
"Shirt off," he orders, laid out on his back under her; she giggles and flushes green, pushes herself up on her knees to yank it off over her head. He stares, of course he does, she is such a tomboy, no shock-padding at all, how can she take the kind of impacts he knows she must? Her belly looks a little soft, or it would if three blood-green claw-lines didn't curve around her hipbone to end pointedly a hair off from where her guts would have started spilling out.
Cursing under his breath, he fights his uniform clasps, bats her hands off his chest and then allows her to bat them off in turn because his pants are even harder to undo. There's the munitions belt, he takes it off a hundred times a perigee (never while faced with pants riding low on slightly curved hips, straining to contain a monster bulge) so why doesn't it come off today? (probably the bulge yes okay.)
Free, glorious Condesce's unrivaled derriere, free. His pants get tangled on a combat boot he can't be bothered to take off, his shirt hangs off him, baring him from throat to inner thighs, and she looks, he knows she does, he can see the way her eyes flicker in the firelight.
They could still do it mutual here. Face to face, it'd be -- his bulge doesn't compare to hers in either length or thickness but he's warm even for a rustblood (hah, if they knew) and he's told it compensates for a hell of a lot. He'd give just as good as he got. He wouldn't be selfish. He wouldn't let her... coddle him. Take care of him. He doesn't need taken care of. (It'd be nice, is all.)
He reaches up to trace ticklish-light claws around the curve of her perky rumble sphere -- more of a cone, really -- and down the side of her stomach, and she lets him.
"It's been sweeps," he chokes out, "I could gut you, you don't know--"
"Don't be silly," she replies, and leans down to nuzzle his face, lick his lips until he allows her in. He grumbles and nips, but kisses back.
"Because I'm too nice?"
"Beclaws you're too fur. Fair." She grins down at him. "Honorable! I like that a lot. And beclaws you always used to take care of efurryone, and I always told myself one day I'd take care of you in return. Even just a little bit." Her hand finds his; he lets her have it, lets her pin it to the grass by his shoulder. Her eyes flash down at him; they manage to look soft somehow. "Even just fur a night."
He chokes a little bit, he isn't sure on what. His eyes prickle. He can see someone getting cut in two (so long as he doesn't know them) and he won't cry (in public) but this -- shit, no, okay, that isn't fair, no tender firelit declarations. Ah hell, he's totally the plucky lowblooded love interest in this setup. No, okay, he's a soldier in his own right, today's battle will have him climb ranks because he rallied his asshole allies like a pro and he fucking deserves it, he's not the threshecutioner's tragic helmsbait planetside-sweetheart or who even knows what. He clicks in irritation and grabs a handful of hair, pulls her down to his mouth. Nips.
Nowhere near hard enough to make this darker. He doesn't even want it darker. He pulls a leg out from under hers, winds it around her hip. "Just -- you said you wanted to -- you said you wanted to do me," he snarls, face too warm, "okay, if that's what gets you off, who am I to spit on--"
She presses down on him and kisses his face, his forehead -- almost too pale -- his hair, she nuzzles between his horns in a gesture whose inherent trust is mostly symbolic considering his rounded nubs. It chokes him a bit. A callused hand pushes between them, down his bared belly -- he groans, the inherent danger and knowing he's safe from her, entirely so.
She undoes the front of her pants and her bulge writhes wetly between their bellies. He stops breathing. Fuck, that thing wouldn't look out of place on Equius in his full growth (he wonders if Equius is smaller than Nepeta right now, considering their different rates of -- okay no he doesn't want to think of Equius, what the fuck.)
"You're so beautiful," she purrs, and nuzzles at his horns, bulge slithering down his half-unsheated one and coiling between his thighs. "I want to make you feel so, so good, you can stay on my bulge all night, that would be so purrfect--"
He gasps, cheeks burning. You can come just from the bulge of course, but it takes longer and it's more muted anyway, and she just -- she's offering to --
He winds his legs around her and yanks her hips down into his, and she gasps, startled, as her tip finds his nook and pushes in on blind instinct.
Fuck. The tapered tip slides in just like normal, but she thickens fast, keeps rippling her way deeper in past when he would feel the root of most of his rust and brown hookups. She isn't all thin and lashing at his insides like a whip; most of the stimulation comes from the relentless pressure on the walls of his nook, the way she stretches him open a little wider with each inch of depth, he's never felt so full. He tightens the grip of his knees -- ngh, making his nook ripple and tries to lift himself a little closer, to take her a little deeper.
She pulls out. "No, hey, what the fffngh!"
She pushes back in, smooth and long, bulge held almost straight.
"What the fuck -- are you doing -- shit, deep."
"Too deep?"
"...No."
He realizes his arms are around her neck and his claws are digging into her skin; she's purring, elbows propped up on the grass on both sides of his head to keep from crushing him. Her hips move weird, backward to pull her bulge out, and then closer to let it slither back in, instead of just moving close and staying there.
"What are you -- Nepeta, what--"
She giggles in his ear. "Can't do it the nyaormal troll way, silly, I'm too thick."
"Bragging," he starts, "is unattractive," only it's not bragging, is it, and...
Oh. Oh yeah. Should have thought of that. She wouldn't move inside his nook, she'd move his nook.
Could be nice for a while, he figures, but after that he might get bruises on his internal organs, which is not his idea of an awesome evening after. "What if -- you did it -- like, slow?"
"Mmm. Maybe later!" She nips at his ear, bows her head to get at his jaw, and his head rolls back without thought. It feels so weird but so nice, that empty-filled-empty thing, like the pleasure of initial penetration again and again and again, that rolling--
He groans and headbutts her shoulder. "Nepeta for the love of Equius' gross sweaty face tell me you are not breeding with me."
It's just so, he knows he's heard of animals that do it like that back on Alternia, bulge so stiff their hips had to do the work -- he's sure he's laid ganderbulb upon a great many furry RP logs, upon too many (once was too many) mighty musclebeast phallus.
It should turn him straight off. She pushes herself up on her hands and her whole body ripples, muscles down her sides and her stomach clenching and it's like being punched inside his nook in an insanely pleasurable way. His back arches off the ground; a second later he realizes he made that noise, that belly-deep groan.
"Um," she goes, and nibbles on the shell of his ear as her bulge tip curls against the edge of his seedflap. "Maybe a little bit? But it works purrty well fur me and I--"
"Fuck. Okay. I'll just. Don't tell me." He pants in her shoulder, arms gone tight around her neck. "Just. Keep doing that."
She does, gliding out, leaving his nook clenching, and stretching him back as she pushes back in. He can't help trying to draw her back, to push himself on her. It's awkward and he'd be messing up her rhythm if her muscles weren't braided steel; he doesn't shift her at all.
She speeds up, bit by bit, leaving him a gasping, shuddering mess. His pleasure rises faster than he thought it could, and he bites down on her shoulder to muffle his grunts, his whimpers. "I'm gonna, I'm," he tries to apologize; she kisses his brow and drives herself in two inches deeper.
His back arches so hard he manages to shift her off the ground. He vaguely hears her laugh past the tinkling in his ears, barely cares. Warmth explodes from his nook, engulfs his belly, throws tendrils of warmth up his spine. He digs his knees in her sides, hips twitching, nook clenching to pull a last spasm of pleasure out of her bulge before she, oh, right, she hasn't been touched half enough to come anytime soon.
"Uh -- Nepeta -- that was nice. Wow. Do you want--"
She shushes him, rough fingers across his lips. "I told you I wanted you on my bulge all night long!" she replies impishly, nose to nose. "Do you still want that?"
He'd almost deny, mortified by his selfishness, but his nook answers for him, clamping down to hold back a bulge that isn't trying to slip out even a little bit.
She sits up, his thighs spread around her hips, holds her hands out for him to take, so she can pull him up to straddle her lap. Like she promised -- she wants to curl around him and, and yes, shit yes, he wants that.
But he -- yeah, okay, he's allowing someone to spoil the hell out of him, he could maybe -- he could give a little back. He slaps her hands off, manages to plant a shaking foot on her hip, to push himself off. She gasps and makes a low, mournful noise as her bulge slips entirely out of him, and he grits his teeth against how empty he feels, how much pleasure he still wants, how his seedflap tingles from not having received a single drop of her.
He curls up on his side, catches her eye -- rolls on elbows and knees, limbs tucked under him, and lifts his hips. His face burns, his ears, even his horns feel warm, he could die from how embarrassed he is.
Nepeta chirps, startled and hungry, and then she's on him, nipping at his shoulders, the back of his neck. Her thighs nudge his ass, her bulge curls against the small of his back. "Karkitty -- Karkat -- oh, oh, I was suppawsed to spoil you -- you don't mind?"
She looks so overwhelmed, so happy that he manages to snort somehow, to throw over his shoulder, "What does it look like? C'mon, purrbeast, hop the fuck aboard already."
It's just ridiculous enough that it becomes funny. He rests his cheek on his crossed arms and pretends he's not smiling.
Okay, now she's on him. Her arms wind tight around his waist -- trapped -- and the tip of her bulge finds him and then she's ramming herself back in. He screams.
"Shit, shit, did I hurt you, I'm sorry--"
"Keep fucking me!"
She does. It feels strange and unnatural and so, so good, so overwhelming. She doesn't fuck like a troll, half-feral that she is, she's wild and strong, he'll be bruised after all and who cares, he'll make her apply the bruise cream with her tongue, see if he -- oh, oh fuck, yes, the way it rattles his whole body, the way the tip coils against his seedflap, muting the impacts just enough to make them horribly good.
She ruts into him and his whole nook is oversensitive, overwhelmed, his ass feels spanked from the way her thighs impact, and she's purring, he feels it rattling through her rumble spheres and straight into his own chest.
She closes her jaws on the back of his neck and he comes again, screaming into his uniform jacket.
She keeps moving for a few seconds, and then she shudders, slows her thrusts down to mere rocking. He moans, gloriously sore.
"Karkitty? S-stop, or -- more?"
He bets she's close. He's not sure how she managed, with only her bulge. Though the tender way she licks at the bite marks she left on his neck...
"I got two," he manages, throat raspy. "S'okay if you--"
"But I wanted to cuddle you on my lap," she mewls plaintively.
Karkat tells himself it's the nice afterglow hormones making him think it's cute and sympathetic instead of annoying.
"We can do that after. C'mon. Finish." He could take another orgasm, yeah, but the sheer satisfaction of having a flap full of genetic material could compensate.
"Umm. I wanted to cuddle you on my bulge," she mutters, embarrassed. The tip of it curls inside him on blind instinct, tickles his seedflap, and Karkat's mind is made.
"Your company's hiking with ours for another perigee, right? Keep something for the day after tomorrow."
She squeals, hugs him tight around the middle, drives him back on those last inches of bulge that slipped out; he'd bet she didn't even mean to. He wheezes, dizzy with too much pleasure and not enough air.
"'cause tomorrow," he growls, breathless, as she starts thrusting with renewed enthusiasm, "I will be -- sore as fuck -- and I swear to our glorious tridentfucked Empress I will cull you if you -- if you tell me anything about the cubs you're dreaming of planting in my guts!"
Nepeta giggles against his neck, and sees about filling him with so much oliveblood spunk that later when he has to limp back to camp for a bucket he does feel like he's carrying her litter.