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Bad Impulses	By : grimreaperchibi Category: Web Comics > Homestuck Views: 1563 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck, nor the places, people, or objects within. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
- 1-Bad Impulses
- 1
A/N: This is still very centered in a separate universe I've created, but carries on an idea from a third (technically first) story and none of which will be posted here--see my profile for the alternate sources. The basic idea is that Dave's eyes allow him to see the flow of time; hence why he must wear the sunglasses all the time. Confused yet? Me, too. I need to stop listening to my matesprit's requests for porn.
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Striders are not known for being impulsive. When you spend your entire life fighting the very real consequences for even minor infractions, you learn to put a cap on whims and foolish behavior. The nightmares just aren’t worth it. It doesn’t mean the desire necessarily dies, though. You’ve just learned to really THINK about whether the results of whatever you see will be worth it. It also means you tend to avoid behaviors that would lead you to doing something stupid. For example, you don’t really drink and you’ve never done any other kind of illegal drug. (You are, however, hopelessly addicted to caffeine. Your brain doesn’t start until your second cup of coffee and sometimes the only reason you get home at night is because of the whatever energy drink you slammed before leaving.) Drugs remove inhibitions, but they don’t erase the nightmares of what you see. You’d kill yourself in an OD first, trying to escape that particular hell. And you only drink casually, never enough to get drunk. A beer or two at home, a handful of somethings at a club, and that’s it. Especially when you’re DJing, the alcohol combines with the music to act as a barrier, so even if the shades do slip, you can block the sights out before they get lodged in your brain.
It makes being with him sometimes incredibly difficult, especially when he’s like this. You don’t know what happened to him at work, can’t even begin to suspect. You’re only aware that it was probably really bad because he started violently undressing almost the second the door closed behind him. It doesn’t happen often, this rampaging demigod who’s still enough of your lover you want to comfort him, but still enough stranger that you don’t know where you stand. John’s not the one with the matchstick anger issues in this relationship, and Jesus fuck if you aren’t stumped about what to do with this particular mood. It’s the only time he actually wants a drink, and not his usually sissy shit. A couple shots of whiskey later, down to nothing but an undershirt and his shorts without a word about whatever pushed the master combination on his rage locker, and he’s started kissing and nipping at your neck and collarbone. He’s still mad, you can feel that in the sharpness of his teeth, but he’s still hitting all those little buttons that make you stop thinking with the head on your shoulder with precision. And damned if it isn’t hard to say no to him when he’s dragging you back to the bedroom, all dark and powerful and demanding.
Normally whoever starts the game gets to be on top. That’s not the mood he’s in right now, apparently. After he finished getting you out of your clothes and him out of the rest of his, he didn’t just let you fall to the mattress. Instead, he pulled at you, making you stay upright. At first you thought he was going to push for some kind of equality game, with both of you kneeling on the bed, arms wrapped around each other, hips grinding against each other. Then his kisses started trailing down your chest and stomach. Not much deviation in course, just him holding you steady, his mouth all teeth and laving tongue against your skin, giving you a horrid case of goosebumps. When he got to your hips, he slid his body under you, pulling you into a straddle over his chest, all the time lavishing some fucking amazing attention on your cock and balls.
It’s almost too much to take and still be on your knees, but that’s where he wants you, so that’s where you stay. He’s up on his elbows to give himself leverage, his hands on your thighs as both support and guidance. If you start to sink down too far, those hands slide around to your ass and push you back up with a couple rough kneads. He may be on the bottom, but there is no doubt that he is in absolute control right now. And it’s killing you to sit there and bear it. You’ve got your hands pressed against the headboard, hanging on for dear life as your legs shake and strain to keep you upright. You almost feel like you’re going to leave imprints in the wood, but you’re more afraid of just collapsing into a ball if you let go. How does he fucking DO this? He’s not even doing that much, for as badly as you want right now. Hell, he hasn’t even started actually sucking on you yet, he’s just licking and rubbing and petting, but you feel like you could cum at any fucking moment. It just keeps going on and on and on…
When he does finally decide to take you properly, he makes it an event. His hands splay out across your thighs, thumbs sitting just behind your balls so he can push them forward for a few licks and nibbles that make you jump. He chuckles at your reaction, quick to move on to avoid the scolding he knows you want to give him. First it’s kisses up your cock, then rubbing back down with his cheek, then those long, wet licks that just make you moan no matter what you do. You can feel him smile after each one. The final lick is long and broad, from base to tip with just as much of his tongue as he can press against you, and so goddamn hot. Then he’s up and over the top, sucking the tip of your cock into his mouth. You cry out as one of your hands tangles into his hair, making him moan in turn. It’s not fucking FAIR how good that feels. Something so simple shouldn’t feel that good. You resist the urge to do anything more with his hair than just hold on. It’d just make him stop what he’s doing, and you don’t want this to stop.
You almost wish you could see his cock right now. He’s got to be just as hard as you are, if not harder, but you don’t move. Something’s going to crumble apart if you move from this locked up, tense positioning you’re in and you’re pretty damn sure that something is you.
And that’s when you get the terrible idea. No, not terrible. Batshit fucking awful is what it is. But you want to anyway. You want to look. Your shades are already off. They’re usually one of the first things to come off when he starts undressing you. You wear them out of habit as much as anything else, but you don’t really need to at home anymore. You don’t know what Rose and Jade did, but within the confines if the apartment, your sight tends to stay normal unless you really concentrate. It definitely makes intimate moments easier, but it also leaves temptation.
A tingle of fear runs through you, cold compared to the way the rest of you feels, and your stomach twists in the exact opposite direction of pleasure. It always does whenever you seriously consider using your fucked up sight. It’s better than it used to be—you can impose a time limitation on it now. It’s not longer EVERYTHING that was, will be, or could happen. You can never be sure what it will show you, though. There’s still a lot of shit out there, which reminds you that there’s a bit of orange in your red, and most of the time it’s more bad than good. But right now, with the way he’s going down on you, the options of where this is going are almost endless, and damned if you don’t want to see them all. Just once.
You can feel him starting to shift his hips around, which is making him moan. Oh fuck. He wants as much as you do and that thought alone is enough to send a hot pulse of need straight to your already over-stimulated dick. With his mouth still wrapped around you, every single one of those moans just scrambles your brain. Fucking scrambled eggs, right here. You shudder as another moan almost causes you to cum, but you hang on, your hand tightening in his hair.
Now or never. Deep breath. And look.
You can feel your eyes widen, your jaw drop as everything in your chest freezes. The rest of your body tightens to the point of snapping. This is… well, you don’t know what you were expecting, but this…this is…fucking hell...
You can see yourself cumming in his mouth; see him swallow it with a hungry noise; pulling back and taking it on his face and chest, deliberately licking it from his lips. Turning around and sucking him off as he’s doing the same to you; leaning forward and shoving him back onto the bed with your cock still in his mouth until he almost chokes on it. You sitting back and purposefully painting his face; sitting back and grinding your cocks together until you orgasm; sitting back and taking it up the ass. You reaching back and giving him the most unneeded handjob ever to finish him off. Pulling back and taking him until he comes on your stomach; flipping him onto his knees and taking him from behind as he’s screaming your name. Him flipping you onto the bed in three different positions, pounding into you until you’re both drained.
Your brain shuts down as your body strains. Your vision has a black edge that’s caving in fast. You can’t breathe, and your heart feels like it’s going to crack your ribs. You can feel your body shuddering, your hands clench into bone-breaking fists, and your everything give out. Then you feel nothing.
“…ave? Dav…DAVE!”
Hearing your name called in a panic jolts you back to your sense with a gasp. The motherfuck? You become aware that there are hands around your face. His hands, fluttery, nervous, papping and soothing and shaking. You try to swallow, but your tongue gets in the way. It takes a couple of tries with your mouth so dry. You’re on your…back? The room’s doing this lazy barrel roll as far as you can tell, screwing up your sense of gravity and direction. Opening your eyes is exceedingly difficult, and getting them to focus is even more so. He’s hovering over you and that dark seductor who dragged you here (bedroom; you’re in the bedroom) has apparently caught the last train out of town because those impossibly blue eyes are way too close to crying for your liking. That motivates you into getting things functioning again. Everything aches as you pull him in for a soft kiss, although it’s worth it to see him calm down some. He goes from active panic to fretfully fussing over you now that you’re apparently okay. You’ve obviously scared him pretty badly, and you can’t get your throat to work and make sounds yet, so you kiss him to quiet and comfort him for the moment.
When you can, you ask him what happened. He stumbles on the words, embarrassed and shy, but finally gets it out that everything was going great. Apparently too great, because you came so hard you passed out. Any chagrin you might have felt for having pulled such an uncool (not to mention needlessly worrying) move gets instantly smothered by guilt as he rushes into the apologies. At least you can cut them short with another kiss. It takes a minute to process what he said, but when it finally all clicks into place you start laughing. He doesn’t like that much. You’re sorry for laughing, you really are, but when faced with the infinitely (literally) hot orgy you just witnessed, cumming hard enough to pass out is actually kind of an acceptable response. And now you have his attention. Shit. Fair’s fair, though, you suppose, and do your best to explain what you saw, to make up for scaring him.
He looks at you for a moment after you finish, kind of flushed from everything you’ve just told him, then kind of smiles in that slightly evil way that makes you shiver. “So…what option do you want to use to finish this game?”
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The end.
- 1
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Bad Impulses