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Kissing was something you never got to practice before the world went up in flames. If you would’ve known there was going to be a gorgeous and achingly sensitive troll boy in your future you might’ve at least watched more Youtube tutorials about it.
Karkat’s lucky, cause he spent half his time – still spends half his time – reading romance novels that outline the art of the smooch in excruciating detail. You know this because when everyone else was sleeping you snagged one of his favorites from the common area and read about three chapters before you got embarrassed about all the porn in there. Maybe it was the illustrations that really did you in.
‘Embarrassed’ is Strider code for ‘too many lovingly depicted nooks getting the wriggling tentacle treatment and none of them are yours.’
Whatever the reason, you slammed it closed and put it right back where you found it while trying not to imagine Karkat beating off while reading it, which was a total failure, because then you couldn’t not think about it.
All that trouble and you still weren’t any closer to knowing what the fuck to do if you ever happened to find yourself with a lapful of Karkat wanting to mack on you.
You’re both bored, you’re on a meteor with half a year left until you get anywhere, neither of you have talked to anyone but each other in almost as long, and you’ve been getting progressively more tactile and affectionate. It was bound to happen at least once.
And inevitably, it does.
Most of the time, when you get too saturated in your own bullshit, you seek out Karkat to pull you out of it. And it works like a charm, he gives you a metaphorical kick in the pants and makes you do some fiddly task with him, or read a book or watch one of his movies, and the ratio of Dave’s bullshit to Other People’s bullshit is restored to appropriate equilibrium.
Of course, no system is perfect, so most of the time you linger around much longer than is strictly prescribed by Dr. Strider MD.
This, you suppose, is what he calls the human disease of friendship.
When his movie finishes, you’ll stay there on the couch with him, having drifted closer and closer over the two previous hours. He never pushes you away, far from it. He’ll lean into you, sometimes, and then others he’ll pull you down to rest your head on his thighs. This is usually the case when one or both of you has gone too long without sleep.
You have to make him take a nap on you sometimes too. Actually, it ends up with you both napping on each other, twisted up on the couch and snuffling yawns against each other’s necks.
You don’t ever leave each other, when one of you wakes up first. It feels too safe, too warm, to just leave a bro like that. Also, he chitters in his sleep and you could listen to it for hours.
It’s one of these times when your lack of kissing skill catches up to you.
Karkat has his head on your lap, and you’ve finally crossed the hurdle of whether or not it’s appropriate to pet his hair when he does this before the movie’s over. He solved the issue for you by butting his head against your palm when you left it resting near his horn. It made you happier than you’d anticipated, pushing your fingers through his thick hair and scraping your fingernails on his scalp.
He doesn’t purr, but he makes buggy noises when he’s really happy, and he’s doing that right now, the whirring, crackly chirp emanating from his throat.
When you slow your hand down and smooth your palm down against his head, raking your fingers through his hair gently, so it tugs but just enough to feel awesome, you know you’re gonna run into trouble.
His face goes slack, the chirping mellowing out into a lower toned rattle that you can feel where his body is resting against you.
“Dave.” And oh, his voice when he’s making that noise is unbearable in the best way. It gets a little double toned, but it’s rough and warm and you just. A shiver flashes across your body and he grins. “Dave, you stopped.”
But he’s already sitting up, letting your hand fall limply against your side. He lifts his butt up over your legs and sits himself down next to you so his lower half is draped over yours, and when he leans against the arm of the couch he rests his hand on your kneecap, giving it a squeeze that has nothing to do with keeping his balance. Fuck.
The easy grin still sits on his face, the tiny white points of his teeth digging into his lower lip a little.
And you want to kiss him so bad. You think he can tell.
Those teeth dig into his lip harder as he tries not to let the grin break wider.
“Dave, you seem distracted.” There’s a laugh in his voice that he isn’t letting out.
“Oh? Huh, well you know these uh. These movies have like. Five different plotlines so I don’t even know how I’m supposed to follow them when I have you reigning tyranny on my lap, demanding head pats and shit. It’s just not fair, can’t I get excused from the quiz, teach? Karkat was distracting me.” He baps the side of your face with an open palm, giggling.
“Shut up, nookface.”
“Make me.”
It comes out quieter than you meant, with more intent behind it than you thought you could give it. Just last week the two of you watched one of the human movies on board, and it had a shut-up-make-me-now-we-kiss moment in it. And you just did that. There’s no way Karkat won’t notice.
His laughter falls away, and the smile fades into something coyer.
“You want me to make you? I think I can handle that.” The hand that was smushing your cheek drops to your collar, bunching the fabric and tugging. “You really sure you want me to make you shut your fucking mouth?” His teeth are bared now, but his eyes glint playfully.
“Aha.” Your mouth is dry. You’re going to explode. “Not sure you can take me on, dude. You’re welcome to try, but don’t feel bad if my lush lips are just too powerful for you.”
There it is. Transmission sent. Received y/n?
Karkat circles yes.
Nothing like human, is what you think when his lips press against yours, dry and smooth, his skin thicker and firmer than your own, like a soft exoskeleton, with a slightly rubbery quality. There’s nothing unpleasant about it, though, and your own lips make their clumsy attempt at molding against his.
If he notices you don’t know what you’re doing, he has the grace not to point it out. He just releases your collar and slides his hand around you, coming to rest at the small of your back and urging you closer into him.
His lips part, and you follow his lead as he delicately cups the side of your face to guide your head to the side so he can slot your mouths together. You suck in a sharp breath through your nose. Holy shit.
It feels – you don’t even have the words. He’s warm, warmer than you, and his rough, catlike tongue flickers slightly against your skin when he pulls away a fraction of an inch, pursing his lips just the littlest bit against yours.
And then he’s gone.
No, not gone, you realize as your eyes blink open. His arm is still around you, thumb swirling at the base of your spine, stroking the bit of skin exposed there. He’s staring at you with a fond, absent smile on his face and you feel like a giant tool because your shades are still on.
“Hey asshole.” His voice is soft.
You slide your shades off the bridge of your nose. “Sup, dickweed?”
“Just checking in. You froze up.”
Oh. You didn’t realize. “I. Uh. Just don’t really know what I’m doing here, Karkat. With the kissing thing, I mean. Sadly it’s not a Strider area of expertise.”
He snorts. “Not everything has to be, you know. You don’t have to be the master of something to enjoy it, you ridiculous douchebag.” A wrinkle forms in his brow and he withdraws his arm, instead taking your hand in his. “But you also don’t have to do it if you don’t want to? You aren’t a ridiculous douchebag for not wanting to keep kissing me. You’re a ridiculous douchebag for so many other reasons. Wait that didn’t-“
You laugh; you can’t help it. Falling forwards against him, you lace your arms around his waist and laugh against his chest. “No, man, you’re too good for me, what the hell.” You didn’t mean to say it like that but there it is, its out there. “I wanna kiss you. A lot. I’m just really, really shitty at it.”
He grips you by the shoulders and pulls you up to eye level, fixing you with that ‘I’m going to say something very important’ look of his.
“Strider. Dave. No matter how terrible you are at kissing, I’m going to check and see if you’re okay with what’s happening. That’s- do you understand me?”
“I- yeah, yeah.” You resist covering your face with your hands. “I’m sorry. I feel like a giant dork.”
“Is that different from usual?” He’s back to ribbing you gently; it’s a comfort.
“Says the Captain of the Dork Guard.” You smirk as you lean forward again, nudging your nose against his cheek. “The way I see it, though, is that we can debate who the bigger dork is, or you can kiss me.”
The chirp starts up again, and you rest your hand on his chest. The vibrations feel good, making your arm fuzzy-sensed and warm.
You explained to him what stimming was awhile ago, and he lets you press your palm or cheek against his chest as he whirrs his happy-noise.
Now, as he threads his fingers through your hair and breaches the last little distance between you, the buzzing is an anchor in physicality as your mind flutters and melts, awash with kissing him, him kissing you, and how he lays you down on the sofa while keeping his mouth against yours.
When you make a high, frantic noise because there’s just so much, too much, he stops immediately, still holding the back of your head, and whispers “I got you.”
He helps you sit up, squeezes your hands rhythmically in the way you like when you need to be rooted, and lets you tuck your face in his neck to feel the chirps there too.
You used to be afraid your sensory processing issues would make doing anything with anyone a hassle, would make them give up.
Karkat chirps louder and plays the scales on your thigh with his fingertips and you don’t even have to ask him.
You aren’t afraid anymore.