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The fluorescent lights of the principal’s office were flickering in a way that made Dave Strider’s head throb. At twenty seven, Dave didn’t have the patience he used to have. He was a producer in the music industry (a job that consisted of twelve-hour sessions, babysitting egotistical rappers, and staring at sound waves until his eyes bled.) He was tired.
Next to him sat a troll who looked even more exhausted. Karkat Vantas was wearing clinical scrubs that were a slightly faded shade of blue, a stethoscope still hanging around his neck. He was a nurse at the city’s largest hospital, and based on the dark circles under his eyes, he’d just finished a double shift.
They weren't there for work, though. They were there because of their kids.
"Mr. Strider, Mr. Vantas," the principal began, looking between the two of them. "We have a bit of a situation. Again."
Dirk, Dave’s twelve year old brother whom he’d been raising since their parents passed, sat perfectly still. He was wearing his tiny pointed shades and a blank expression. Kankri, the eleven year old troll Karkat had adopted, was sitting next to Dirk, looking deeply offended.
"It started in the cafeteria," the principal explained. "Kankri began a lecture on the 'inherent classism of the tater tot distribution system' or something like that. It lasted forty minutes. When a teacher tried to intervene, Dirk... well, Dirk had already built a pressurized steam vent system using the cafeteria’s plumbing to 'enhance the dramatic effect' of Kankri’s speech."
Karkat groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Kankri, we talked about this. No socio-political revolts during lunch break. It’s in the handbook I wrote for you."
"I was merely pointing out the intersectional disadvantages of the low-blood troll students, dad," Kankri said, his voice high and proper. "And Dirk’s engineering was culturally appropriate for the gravity of the situation."
Dave sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Dirk, no more steam vents. You’re gonna blow the school up one day."
"It was structurally safe, bro," Dirk said flatly.
After the meeting, the two parents stood in the parking lot. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the pavement.
"You look like hell," Dave said, leaning against his car.
"I’m a nurse, Mr. Strider. Hell is my secondary residence," Karkat snapped, though there was no real heat in it. "And your brother is a menace. A brilliant, terrifying menace."
"Runs in the family," Dave smirked, pulling off his shades. "Listen, my place is a mess, but I’ve got beer and the kids actually seem to like each other. You want to bring the sprout over this Friday? We can let them build a death ray or whatever while we try to forget we exist."
Karkat looked at Dirk and Kankri, who were currently standing three feet apart, whispering intensely about the ethics of robotics.
"Sure," Karkat sighed. "But if they start a fire, I'm blaming the human."
"Deal."
That was three years ago. Since then, the friday night hangout had become a sacred ritual. Over time, the awkward dads dynamic had shifted into a deep, complicated friendship, and eventually, into something much heavier. They were both older now, Karkat was 32 years old and Dave was 30. They were past the age of dramatic confessions. They just... fit.
It was Friday again. Dave was in his kitchen, the smell of garlic and simmering tomato sauce filling the air. He wasn't a world-class chef, but after years of feeding a growing Dirk, he knew his way around a stove.
The door chimes rang. It wasn't a polite ring. It was a rhythmic, aggressive pounding.
"Come in, Karkat! The door isn't locked, you dramatic crab!" Dave yelled over the sound of a beat he was mixing on his laptop on the counter.
Karkat kicked the door open, carrying a crate of apple juice and a bag of troll snacks. Kankri followed him, looking as pristine as ever in a red turtleneck that was tucked perfectly into his trousers.
"We are here," Karkat announced, dropping the bags. He looked at Dave, who was wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron that Dirk had bought him as a joke. Karkat’s eyes lingered on Dave’s arms before he cleared his throat and looked away. "The hospital was a nightmare. If I see one more broken leg today, I’m quitting and becoming a gardener."
"Rough shift?" Dave asked, stepping over to him. He didn't say anything else, just rested a hand on Karkat’s shoulder for a second too long.
Karkat’s posture relaxed instantly. "Awful. Give me a drink before I start yelling at the furniture."
"Check the fridge," Dave smiled.
Meanwhile, in the living room, the kids had already claimed their territory. Dirk hadn't even said hello. He just pointed to a pile of boxes in the corner.
"Found some old server racks at the studio," Dirk said. "Thought we could build a multi-tiered citadel."
Kankri’s eyes lit up. "A fortress of discourse? Or perhaps a sanctuary for those marginalized by the current educational climate?"
"Just a really tall tower with lasers, Kankri," Dirk replied, already hitting the floor and opening a toolbox.
"Equally acceptable," Kankri said, sitting down cross-legged next to him.
For the next hour, the house was filled with the sounds of domesticity. The TV was humming in the background, playing a mindless news loop. The clinking of legos and metal parts came from the living room. In the kitchen, Dave and Karkat worked in a practiced silence. Karkat chopped salad while Dave finished the pasta.
They moved around each other with a fluid ease. When Dave needed the salt, he didn't ask: he just reached around Karkat’s waist, his chest brushing against the troll’s back for a brief moment. Karkat didn't jump. He just leaned back into the touch for a split second before continuing his work.
Out in the living room, Dirk paused his construction. He looked toward the kitchen, his eyes narrowed behind his shades. He nudged Kankri.
"Look at them," Dirk whispered.
Kankri looked up, adjusting his glasses. "It appears Karkat is assisting Dave in the preparation of nourishment. It is a vital communal activity."
"No," Dirk said, rotating a gear in his hand. "They're doing the 'look' again."
"The 'look'?" Kankri asked, tilting his head.
"The one where bro pretends he's looking at the pasta but he's actually looking at your dad’s neck. And Mr. Vantas is pretending to be angry, but he’s basically purring."
Kankri studied the adults for a moment. He saw Karkat laugh at something Dave said. It was a rare, genuine laugh that didn't involve shouting. He saw Dave reach out and playfully flick Karkat’s horn, and Karkat didn't even try to bite him.
"It is highly probable that they are engaging in a romantic entanglement," Kankri observed clinically. "The pheromonal shift in the room suggests a heightened state of emotional intimacy."
"They think they’re being subtle," Dirk said, shaking his head. "They’re thirty. They’re supposed to be smart. It’s embarrassing."
"Should we bring it to their attention?" Kankri asked. "Open communication is the cornerstone of a healthy family dynamic."
Dirk looked at the kitchen again. He saw Dave lean in and whisper something in Karkat’s ear that made the troll’s face turn a deep, dark red.
"Nah," Dirk said, going back to his tower. "If we tell them we know, they’ll get weird about it. As long as they keep making dinner and don't start acting like teenagers, I don't care. Besides, bro's been less of a jerk since they started 'hanging out' more."
"Fair point," Kankri agreed. "The stability of our environment is paramount."
"Dinner’s ready!" Dave’s voice boomed from the kitchen. "Wash your hands or I’m feeding your portions to the neighbors' cat."
The four of them gathered around the wooden dining table. It was a tight fit. The table was covered in plates of steaming pasta, a big bowl of salad, and various bottles of juice and soda.
The atmosphere was warm, but there was an underlying tension.
"So, Dirk," Karkat said, stabbing a piece of lettuce. "Dave tells me you’re trying to build a custom soundboard for his studio. Don't fry the circuits this time."
"It was a power surge, Mr. Vantas. Not my fault," Dirk said calmly. "Kankri helped me with the UI. He insisted the buttons be color coded by emotional resonance."
"It makes the creative process more inclusive," Kankri added, taking a small, neat bite of his food. "The artist should feel a connection to the frequency they are manipulating."
Dave laughed, leaning his elbow on the table. "I tried to explain that to a rapper yesterday. He told me to 'stop using big words and make the bass go thud.' I think I need Kankri to come to the studio and give a lecture. That would shut him up."
"I would be honored to provide a seminar on the ethics of sound," Kankri said, his eyes bright.
Karkat rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Don't encourage him, Dave. He’ll never leave. You’ll have a permanent resident in your booth."
"Wouldn't be the worst thing," Dave said. His voice was casual, but his eyes were locked on Karkat’s. Under the table, Dave’s foot nudged Karkat’s ankle.
Karkat didn't pull away. He hooked his foot around Dave’s leg, anchoring himself. "Just eat your food, Strider. You're talking too much."
"Make me," Dave replied, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that always made Karkat’s heart skip a beat.
Dirk and Kankri exchanged a quick, knowing look across their plates. Dirk took a long sip of his juice, his expression unreadable, while Kankri simply cleared his throat and started talking about the history of pasta to fill the silence.
The dinner went on like that, a mix of Kankri’s long winded explanations, Dirk’s short interjections, and the quiet, electric back and forth between the two men. Every time their hands brushed while reaching for the bread, or every time they shared a private look over the kids' heads, the air in the room felt thicker.
They were both counting down. They were playing the role of the responsible adults, the providers, the guardians. They were talking about school, and work, and hobbies. But beneath the surface, they were both thinking about the moment the plates would be cleared, the movie would be turned off, and the house would finally fall silent.
Dave looked at the clock on the wall. 7:30 PM.
Two more hours, he thought. Maybe three if Kankri is on a roll.
Karkat caught him looking at the clock and smirked, a wicked, knowing glint in his eyes. He kicked Dave’s shin under the table, harder this time.
"Is something wrong, Dave?" Karkat asked innocently, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You seem... impatient."
Dave gripped his fork a little tighter. "Just looking forward to the movie, Karkat. It’s been a long week."
"Yeah," Karkat whispered, his voice rough. "A very long week."
On the other side of the table, Dirk just sighed and focused on his pasta, knowing exactly how this night was going to end.
After dinner, the table was a mess of half-eaten pasta and spilled juice. Karkat was trying to clear the plates, but Dave just grabbed his wrist and shook his head. "Leave it. It’s movie time. The dishes aren't going anywhere."
"They're going to grow mold, Dave," Karkat grumbled, but he let Dave lead him into the living room anyway.
The kids were already ahead of them. Kankri and Dirk had dragged every pillow they could find from the bedrooms and made a nest in front of the TV. It was actually peaceful for a second. They weren’t fighting or screaming. They were just arguing over which Shrek movie to watch.
"The first one is a classic, Dirk! We must understand the origin of the ogre’s isolation," Kankri explained with that serious little face he always made.
"Whatever, just press play," Dirk muttered, already tunneling under a heavy wool blanket.
Karkat and Dave sat on the sofa behind them. It was one of those old, slightly saggy couches that forced you to lean into the middle. Dave grabbed the big green fleece blanket and tossed it over both of them.
"You're warm," Dave whispered, scooting closer until their shoulders touched.
"It’s called body heat, Dave. It’s a biological function," Karkat replied, but he didn't move away. In fact, he leaned his head back against the cushion and let out a long sigh.
As the DreamWorks logo faded and the movie started, the room went dark. The only light came from the TV, flickering across the kids' heads. Kankri was totally absorbed, narrating the plot under his breath, while Dirk just stared at the screen with his arms crossed, pretending he wasn't enjoying it.
Under the blanket, things were different.
Dave’s hand found Karkat’s thigh. It wasn't a sudden move. He just rested his palm there at first. Karkat stiffened for a second, glancing down to make sure the kids couldn't see, but they were too busy watching Donkey talk. Dave started to move his hand, his thumb rubbing small circles through the fabric of Karkat’s pants.
Karkat felt his face heat up. He tried to focus on the movie, but all he could feel was the weight of Dave’s hand.
"Dave," Karkat hissed under his breath.
"Yeah?" Dave didn't look at him. He was staring at the TV, looking perfectly calm, but his hand moved higher, his fingers slipping under the hem of Karkat’s sweater to touch the bare skin of his waist.
Karkat’s breath hitched. Dave’s skin was a little rough, but his touch was incredibly steady. He started stroking Karkat’s side, his fingers tracing the line of his ribs. It was driving Karkat crazy. He wanted to push him away because the kids were right there, but he also wanted Dave to move his hand even further.
He reached down and grabbed Dave’s hand, intending to stop him, but instead, he just ended up interlocking their fingers. Dave squeezed his hand tight.
"Shrek is very misunderstood," Kankri suddenly said loudly, turning around to look at them. "Don't you think, Mr. Strider? He uses his anger as a defense mechanism for his deep-seated insecurities regarding his appearance and social status."
Dave pulled his hand back just enough to look casual. "Uh, yeah, kid. Totally. He’s a deep guy. Very layered. Like an onion."
Karkat let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "Just watch the movie, Kankri."
By the time the credits rolled, the parents were exhausted, but the kids were the exact opposite. Something about the movie (or maybe the sugary juice they drank) had given them a second wind.
"I am Lord Farquaad! You cannot hide in my castle!" Kankri shouted, jumping off the sofa and pointing a plastic spoon at Dirk.
Dirk didn't even say anything. He tackled Kankri into the pile of pillows. They started rolling around, laughing and yelling, completely ignoring the fact that it was past ten o'clock.
"Okay, that's enough!" Karkat yelled, standing up and trying to catch Kankri by the back of his shirt. "Bed. Now. Both of you."
"No! We have to build the tower!" Dirk protested, dragging a laundry basket into the middle of the room.
It took another forty five minutes. There was crying, there was more jumping, and at one point, Dirk tried to hide in the bathtub to avoid brushing his teeth. Dave and Karkat worked like a tag team, rounding them up, forcing them into pajamas, and eventually shoving them into Dirk's room where the two mattresses were pushed together.
"Stay. In. Bed," Karkat warned, pointing a finger at them.
"Fine," Kankri puffed, tucking his stuffed crab under his arm. "But I expect a full debrief on the morning's breakfast menu."
Karkat shut the door and leaned his forehead against the wood. "I hate children," he whispered.
"No you don't," Dave said, walking up behind him. He put his hands on Karkat’s waist for a split second before heading toward the kitchen. "Come on. I need a smoke."
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the light over the stove. Dave opened the window, the cool night air rushing in to clear out the smell of pasta. He leaned against the windowsill and lit a cigarette, the end of it glowing bright orange in the dark.
Karkat sat at the small kitchen table, watching him. He looked tired and there were dark circles under his eyes but the way the moonlight hit his face made Dave stop and stare for a second.
"Give me one of those," Karkat said, reaching out.
"Since when do you smoke?"
"Since the kids decided to become a professional wrestler at midnight. Just give me the damn cigarette."
Dave handed it over, and Karkat took a long drag, coughing slightly. He handed it back, and their fingers brushed again. The tension from the couch was back, but now there was no movie to distract them and no kids in the room.
Dave put the cigarette out in a glass tray and closed the window. He didn't go back to his chair. Instead, he walked over to Karkat, standing between his knees.
"You're still stressed," Dave muttered, his voice dropping an octave.
"I'm always stressed, Dave. It's my default setting."
Dave didn't respond with a joke this time. He reached out, grabbed Karkat by the waist, and lifted him up. Karkat gave a small yelp of surprise as Dave sat him down on the cold granite kitchen counter.
Karkat’s legs instinctively wrapped around Dave’s hips to keep his balance. The height difference was gone now. They were eye to eye. Dave stepped in close, his chest pressing against Karkat’s, his hands sliding up to cup Karkat’s face.
"Dave," Karkat breathed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The kids..."
"They're asleep," Dave whispered, his lips brushing against Karkat’s. "And if they aren't, they're Dirk's problem now."
Dave leaned in, kissing him hard. It wasn't like the gentle touches under the blanket anymore. It was desperate and heavy. Karkat’s hands flew to Dave’s hair, pulling him closer, his nails digging into Dave’s scalp. The kitchen was silent except for the sound of their breathing and the dull thud of Karkat’s heels hitting the cabinets.
Dave’s hands moved down, gripping Karkat’s thighs and pulling him even further to the edge of the counter, his intent very clear.
Dave's hands moved fast. He grabbed the waistband of Karkat's scrubs and yanked them down. The pants slid off Karkat's legs, pooling on the floor by the counter. Karkat kicked them away, his eyes locked on Dave's face.
Karkat's boxers were soaked through. A dark wet spot spread across the front, and Dave could see the outline of Karkat's bulge pushing against the fabric. It was thick and wriggling a bit, like it was eager to get out. The air smelled musky, full of Karkat's arousal.
Dave stepped back just enough to look down. His own cock was hard in his pants, straining. He met Karkat's gaze. "So, what’s the move? You want to take the lead or am I handling this tonight?"
"Oh my god, Dave, skip the logistics. I don’t want a floor plan or a fucking itinerary. Just fuck me already," he snapped, his voice rough and demanding. His legs tightened around Dave's waist, pulling him back in close.
Dave grinned, his hands going to his own belt. He unbuckled it quick, shoving his pants and boxers down in one go. His dick sprang free, hard and throbbing, the head already leaking pre-cum. It bobbed in the air between them.
Dave pressed forward, rubbing his bare cock against the wet fabric of Karkat's boxers. The heat from Karkat's body seeped through, making Dave groan low in his throat. He ground slow, feeling the bulge twitch under the cloth.
"I missed this. Every time I touch you lately, it’s just passing a kid or a plate of food. I missed you," Dave said, his voice dropping soft for a second. He leaned in, forehead resting against Karkat's.
Karkat's legs wrapped tighter, hugging Dave close. He tilted his head up, crashing their mouths together again. The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue.
"I know. It’s been too long. Don't... don't pull away. I need this," Karkat murmured against Dave's lips, his breath hot and ragged.
With Karkat lifting his hips a bit, Dave hooked his fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. They caught on Karkat's thighs for a second before sliding off. Now Karkat was exposed on the counter. His bulge was out fully, slick and coiling like a living thing, the tip glistening with cum. Below it, his nook was wet and open, pinkish-red folds shining with slick. It clenched a little in the cool kitchen air.
Dave stared, his cock twitching at the sight. He reached out, wrapping his hand around the base of Karkat's bulge. It pulsed in his grip, warm and flexible. He stroked it slow, from root to tip, feeling it squirm against his palm.
"Damn, Karkat. You're practically vibrating. Someone's a little more than 'stressed' tonight," Dave said, his thumb rubbing over the slit where more cum beaded up.
Karkat hissed, his hips bucking. "Yeah, well, blame yourself for that," he growled, but his voice cracked into a moan. "You knew exactly what you were doing with your hand under my sweater."
Dave's other hand slid lower. His fingers found Karkat's nook, tracing the wet entrance. He pushed one finger in easy, the tight heat sucking him right in. Karkat's walls clenched around it, slick and hot. Dave added a second finger, curling them to rub against that spot inside that always made Karkat lose it. He pumped them in and out, slow at first, then faster, his thumb touching the bulge above.
Karkat's head fell back against the cabinet, a loud moan ripping from his throat. His bulge writhed in Dave's hand, spurting a bit of cum that dripped down onto the counter. From his nook, more slick gushed out, coating Dave's fingers.
"Fuck... Dave..." Karkat panted, his claws digging into Dave's shoulders. But then his eyes flashed with anger. "Fuck me already! Stop teasing!"
Dave pulled his fingers out, slick shining on them. He lined up his cock with Karkat's nook, the head pressing against the entrance. "You asked for it," he said, and thrust in hard.
Karkat's nook took him deep, tight and wet, gripping like a vice. Dave groaned, bottoming out in one go. Karkat's legs locked around his waist, heels digging into Dave's back. Each thrust made a wet slap echo in the kitchen, Karkat's bulge slapping against Dave's stomach.
Dave set a hard pace, non-stop. He gripped Karkat's hips, holding him steady as he fucked into him. Karkat's nook clenched with every push, milking Dave's cock. "So fucking tight," Dave grunted, his hips snapping forward. Sweat beaded on his skin, dripping down onto Karkat's chest.
Karkat clawed at Dave's shirt, yanking it up to expose his chest. He leaned forward, biting at Dave's collarbone, hard enough to leave marks. "Harder," he demanded, his voice breaking. His bulge coiled around Dave's side, rubbing against him, leaving trails of slick.
Dave obliged, pounding deeper. The counter edge dug into his thighs, but he didn't care. He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot inside Karkat over and over. Karkat's moans turned to shouts, echoing off the tiles. Cum leaked from his bulge, smearing between their bodies. His nook squirted a little with each thrust, soaking Dave's balls and dripping down to the floor.
They kept going like that, Dave's cock dragging in and out, relentless. Minutes stretched, the rhythm building. Dave's breaths came in pants, his muscles burning. Karkat's face was flushed, eyes half-lidded, mouth open in constant noise. Dave leaned down, sucking on Karkat's neck, leaving red marks on the grey skin. Karkat's hands roamed, one tangling in Dave's hair, pulling hard, the other scratching down his back.
Dave shifted his grip, lifting Karkat's ass off the counter a bit for better leverage. Now each thrust went even deeper, his cocks head bumping the end of Karkat's channel. "You like that? Taking my dick like this?" Dave rasped, voice rough from the effort.
"Yes... fuck, yes," Karkat gasped, his body rocking with every slam. His bulge kept leaking, the slick material coating Dave's abs, making their skin slide together. The counter was getting messy, puddles of slick forming under Karkat's hips.
Dave's pace didn't let up. He fucked steady, then fast, varying it to keep Karkat on edge. Karkat's nook fluttered around him, walls rippling. Dave reached down again, stroking the bulge in quick pulls, feeling it throb. Karkat bucked wild, chasing the touch.
Sweat poured off both of them now. Dave's shirt stuck to his skin, but he didn't stop to take it off. The kitchen filled with the sounds of their bodies, slaps, moans, heavy breaths. Karkat's legs trembled, but he held on tight, urging Dave deeper.
Dave felt the burn in his thighs, but the heat in Karkat's body kept him going. He ground his hips in circles sometimes, stirring his cock inside, making Karkat whine high in his throat.
"Gonna make you cum so hard," Dave promised, teeth grazing Karkat's ear.
Karkat's response was a growl, his claws breaking skin on Dave's shoulders. Blood welled up a little, but it only spurred Dave on. He thrust harder, faster, the counter almost shaking with the force. Karkat's bulge coiled tight around Dave's hand, ready to burst.
The build-up dragged on, tension coiling like a spring. Dave's balls slapped against Karkat's ass, wet and loud. Karkat's nook gushed more slick, running down his crack and onto the granite. Dave's cock slid easy now, coated in it all.
Finally, Dave felt the pressure building in his gut, his balls tightening. He leaned down, capturing Karkat's mouth in a bruising kiss. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, voice strained. His thrusts got erratic, harder, chasing the release.
Karkat moaned loud into the kiss, his legs pulling Dave impossibly closer. "Do it... fill me up!" His body tensed, nook clamping down tight.
Dave thrust one last time, burying himself deep. His cock pulsed, cum shooting out in hot ropes, filling Karkat's nook. The warmth spread, flooding the tight space.
Karkat came right after, his whole body shaking. His bulge erupted, cum spraying across their stomachs and dripping down. His nook spasmed, pushing out some of Dave's cum mixed with his own slick. It spilled out around Dave's cock, leaking onto the counter in thick streams, pooling between Karkat's thighs and running off the edge to the floor.
They rode the aftershocks together, breaths mingling. Dave stayed inside, grinding slow. Karkat's body kept twitching, more fluid seeping out, making a mess everywhere. The counter was slick with cum, the smell heavy in the air.
Dave finally pulled out, his cock softening, a gush of cum following from Karkat's nook. It splattered on the granite, sticky, white and red against the grey. Karkat slumped back, chest heaving, a satisfied growl in his throat.
Dave wiped sweat from his brow, looking down at the mess. "That was... amazing." He helped Karkat sit up, their bodies sticky and spent.
Karkat smirked, weak but smug. "You're on cleanup duty. I’m not touching a single paper towel," But his hand lingered on Dave's arm, pulling him in for a softer kiss.
Dave chuckled, kissing back. The kitchen smelled of sex and them, the counter and floor a disaster of spills. He didn't mind the work. It was definitely worth it.
But they weren't done yet. Dave's cock twitched again, half-hard already. "Who said we were finished? I think I’ve got a second wind," Dave asked, voice low.
Karkat's eyes narrowed. "You have to be kidding me. My knees are shaking, Dave. And this granite is killing my ass. It’s incredibly uncomfortable."
"Then let’s move it to the floor. Rug's softer." Dave said, already giving puppy eyes.
Karkat was groaning but already letting Dave pull him down. "I hate you so much. Fine. But I'm not even moving a single muscle."
Dave lifted him down, laying Karkat on the tile. He spread Karkat's legs wide, diving back in. His mouth went to Karkat's nook first, licking up the mess, tongue delving inside to taste their cum. Karkat arched, claws in Dave's hair, moaning fresh. Dave lapped at the folds, sucking gently, then harder, cleaning and teasing at once. Slick and cum coated his chin, but he kept going, tongue thrusting in deep.
Karkat bucked against his face, "Dave... shit..." His bulge wriggled, leaking more onto his stomach.
Dave moved up, taking the bulge in his mouth. It filled his mouth, pulsing on his tongue. He sucked light, then firm, feeling it spurt a little. Karkat's hips jerked, hands fisting Dave's hair.
Soon Dave was fully hard again, flipping Karkat onto his stomach. He entered from behind, cock sliding into the slick nook easy. The rug was cool under Karkat, but Dave's body heat warmed him. Dave gripped Karkat's hips, thrusting steady. Karkat pushed back, ass slapping against Dave's groin with each move.
Dave reached around, stroking Karkat's bulge in time with his thrusts. The pace built quick, bodies slapping loud. Karkat moaned into the floor, cheek pressed to the tile. Cum from before smeared under them, making it slippery.
Dave pounded harder, sweat dripping onto Karkat's back. "Take it... all of it," he grunted. Karkat's nook clenched, pulling him in.
They came fast this round. Karkat first, body shaking, cum shooting out onto the floor in arcs. His nook squeezed, milking Dave. Dave followed, cum filling him again, spilling out around his cock to join the puddle.
They collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs, the only sound in the dim kitchen being the synchronized, heavy rhythm of their breathing. Dave leaned over, his voice a low, gravelly rasp as he pressed a lingering kiss to the delta of Karkat’s shoulder. "Love you, you grumpy bastard."
Karkat let out a weak, tired grunt, though he instinctively tilted his head to give Dave better access. "Yeah, yeah. I love you too, Dave. Now seriously, get me off this floor. Between the kitchen counter and this rug, my back is officially shot. I’m pretty sure my spine is just a collection of loose bones at this point."
Dave chuckled, the vibration of it warm against Karkat’s side as he stood up and haphazardly wiped his hands on his jeans. Instead of just offering a hand, he reached down and scooped Karkat up in one fluid, slightly strained motion.
Karkat let out a startled, "What the hell! Put me down!" but his arms wrapped firmly around Dave’s neck anyway, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Dave's neck. Dave carried him down the hallway, stumbling slightly in the dark over a stray toy Dirk had left out, and kicked the bedroom door shut behind them with a definitive thud.
Down the hall, the kids' door was cracked open just a tiny bit.
Kankri sat up in his sleeping bag, blinking his large eyes at the ceiling. He could hear muffled thuds and the sound of something creaking against the wall from the next room. "Dirk? Why is my dad making those weird noises? Is he okay?"
Dirk was lying perfectly still in his bed, staring intensely at the wall with wide eyes. He looked like he wanted to disappear into his mattress. He knew exactly what those noises were.
"He's just... wrestling with bro, Kankri," Dirk said, his voice flat and slightly traumatized. "Go back to sleep. Don't go in there."
"Wrestling at midnight?" Kankri whispered, sounding genuinely confused. "That seems very counter-productive to a good sleep schedule."
"Just close your eyes," Dirk groaned, pulling the covers over his head. "Please."