Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/4235964.

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Explicit
No Archive Warnings Apply
M/M
Homestuck
Cronus Ampora/Kankri Vantas
Cronus Ampora, Kankri Vantas
Sex Toys, Bulges and Nooks, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Multiple
Orgasms, Desperation, Size Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot,
slightly awkward sexual encounters
Drone Season 2015
Published: 2015-06-29 Words: 15879

...But First, Some Terms & Conditions

by FindingZ
Summary

Cronus receives some mail that isn't addressed to him. Kankri asks for advice.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes

When you sat down to send a message to Kankri telling him that you accidentally got some of his
mail, you hadn't looked very hard at the package that you'd signed for before realizing it wasn't
addressed to you. You had lost interest in it pretty quickly after seeing his name on the label, had
tossed it unceremoniously onto your nutritionblock table when you'd sat down at your husktop,
and to be perfectly honest would have handed it back to him without the slightest flicker of a
second thought if he hadn't messaged you back a few minutes later in a panic, telling you to
"STAY RIGHT WHERE Y9U ARE," and "I'LL 6E RIGHT 9VER," in the longest use of the
capslock button you've ever seen from him.
You stretch (whoops, you heard at least four vertebrae crack, should probably stop doing that) and
look around. The box is upside down on your table, looking innocent and completely ordinary.
What could be in it? Obviously going as far as to openhis mail is out of the question, but surely
just...shaking the box couldn't hurt? Just a little? Enough to give you an idea of what's got him so
riled up?
Nope, nope, better not, you think. What if it's fragile? What if he ordered some sort of fancyass
china teacups or whatever the hell he buys online and you break them? You'd hate to have to buy
him a new whatever-is-in-there, would hate breaking his trust along with it. He's pretty much the

only one in your group who doesn't try to bitchslap you when you do something particularly
stupid. He's your friend, and you aren't that much of an asshole.
(but by the gods are you curious)
You don't touch it, of which you are incredibly proud, and when there comes a frantic, hammering
series of knocks at your door you open it with the thing in your hand (it's heavy, unusually heavy
for such a small box). Kankri is standing there with face flushed that peculiar color of his,
breathing like he couldn't wait for the lift and took the stairs three at a time instead. You're pretty
impressed. Not that you'd ever, ever say this out loud, but he doesn't exactly go out of his way to
keep a toned and lithe figure - taking the stairs musta been no small effort for him.
(which is okay! Perfectly fine, the soft give to his waist and his belly and the meat of his upper
arms is perfectly fine. More than fine)
(but you aren't going to think about that for too long, are you? Gods, he just came to get his damn
mail and here you are staring at him without saying anything while you think about how nice he is
to touch. Ugh)
"...terribly, horribly sorry for the inconvenience," he's saying, and his head is angled up towards
you but his eyes are firmly glued to the box in your arms. "Thank you so much for accepting it
regardless - I'm sure you know quite well what a hassle it is to deal with the infuriating
bureaucracy of the mail system. If you had rejected it, I likely never would have received it."
"Of course, yeah," you say, and you aren't even thinking about what he's saying, more focused on
his body language. He's acting like he's got marchbugs in his pants. His hands are twitching at his
sides, curving and uncurving from into tight fists. He's shifting his weight back and forth like he
can't wait to skedaddle. He's jittery as fuck. You should probably give him his package and let
him go about his business.
But he's fidgety.
(and you are enjoying watching him squirm. Does that make you awful? You are probably awful.
You should give him his fucking package already)
He's still going on about mismanagement of power at the local post office level when you shove
the box at him. He flails under it but you see his (neatly trimmed, barely sharp) claws sink into the
cardboard, one hand immediately coming up to cover the return address. His body angles away
from you, like he wants to take his prize and bolt. He thanks you profusely again, and you wave
your hand and tell him to shoo. He thanks you again for your trouble and stuffs the box as best he
can under his arm and makes like a tree, skittering away with more speed than you ever thought
he possessed. Doesn't even bid you farewell, just gets the hell out of dodge.
He really didn't want you to see where the package was from. What was the address? You must
have seen it when you signed for it, even if you didn't really process it at the time. You rack your
brains as you head back inside your apartment and close the door. It was, what was it, something
something warehouse? You try to visualize the glimpse of the label you got when you signed for
it. Blue-something warehouse. There was no street address or city, you remember. Just the name
in a fancy font.
You log on to your husktop when you go back inside and run a few searches for 'blue +
warehouse.' Nothing comes up. And normally you'd just give up, shrug your shoulders and go
back to your life because seriously, you've got better things to do than try to dissect Kankri's
online purchasing habits, but he's got you now. You aren't going to let it drop, not after you saw
him book it like his tiny little ass was on fire. Kankri is one of the most open, unabashedly

unsecretive trolls you've ever met. If you asked, he'd tell you his deepest secrets without batting an
eye, because he doesn't have any. Except.
Except.
He apparently does now.
You log off your husktop in frustration and kick around your room a little. The mailtroll made you
sign a receipt when they delivered it to you - where did you put it? You sure as hell didn't give it
to Kankri. Maybe that will have more information about it? Something more to go on, something
you could actually research.
You turn your whole hive upside down before you find a small piece of paper lodged under the
leg of the table the box had been resting on. You turn it over. "Blueblooded International
Warehouses" is printed neatly across the top in fancy blue lettering. You've never heard of it
before. Weird name - Blueblooded International, what, is it supposed to be a classy name? Inspire
confidence at the craftsmanship of the products? You hope whoever came up with the name didn't
put in hours and hours of work over it. Whatever. It's probably just fancy dishware or books or
clothing. Nothing seriously worth your time.
No harm in looking it up, right?
You sit down at your husktop again and find another message from Kankri, telling you he got
back to his hive safely (and, and why does he keep doing that, he literally lives two floors down
from you, yes you're interested in keeping track of his well being but damn, you trust in his ability
to not break his neck falling down the stairs or get crushed in the elevator doors), and, again,
thanking you for going to the trouble of taking care of his mail for him.
Maybe you're just imagining things. Maybe he wasn't actually as secretive as you thought he was.
You were probably just imagining it because you tend to latch on to drama like a starving rainbow
drinker. So you just ask him straight out. A friendly, "so vwhat vwas in that package? It looked
pretty important." And you sit back and wait for a response.
Except you don't get one. You get the notification that he saw your message, but he's ignoring
you. Ignoring you, and isn't that just gosh darn odd. You sit there patiently and time it, and it's ten
whole minutes before he sends you back a few words telling you that it was just some "things."
Uh-huh. Right. Okay.
What could it be, though? The only thing you can think of that would maybe make him so freaked
out about you finding about it would be those trashy bodice-ripper cegar-store romance novels,
but you've already caught him with a few in his bookbag. He knows you know about his aftersunrise reading habits.
You open up your browser again and type in Blueblooded International Warehouses. The internet
takes its own sweet time loading up your results. When the page loads, you almost close it
immediately because nah, no way anything interesting was going to come up. But.
But. Um.
Something did.
There is precisely one exact match at the top of the page containing the words you typed in.
"Blueblooded International - The High Quality Experience You Deserve," is bolded blue in the
link. There is no flavor text underneath.
Your bloodpusher picks up a little as you click on it (why is it doing that? It's absolutely going to

be cegar-store novels. You just know it, and then you're going to message Kankri and poke at him
for being so embarrassed about it).
The page, once again, takes its time loading. You should probably get your husktop checked. Or
maybe see if you can afford to upgrade your router. Probably not, but a guy can absolutely dream,
right? Ugh.
The page loads. You blink.
Your first sign that you might have guessed the box's contents wrong appears when the center
image of the home page finishes loading - a tealblood wearing some sort of harness with their
hands bound behind their back. Their neck is on display. Bruises have been sucked into their skin.
Teal fluid is pooled around them in suggestive puddles.
You click away from the tab for a second. You shake yourself and go back to it. Still there. You
close down the whole browser and pinch yourself. Open it back up and return to the site. The
same.
Okay, you think. Okay. You don't think anything coherent after that. Not after you numbly click
on the "products" tab and are assaulted with a rainbow of bulges. Fake bulges. Fake bulges that
look very lifelike. Kankri Vantas ordered a large box of concupiscent devices. For his own use
(his own use).
His own. Use.
Okay.
You keep scrolling until your head feels fuzzy and your crotch is doing things it probably
shouldn't, given the circumstances.
Okay.
You aren't quite sure what to do with this knowledge. The knowledge that Kankri is now in the
possession of concupiscent toys. That he didn't want you to know about. Because he plans to use
them.
You slam the lid of your husktop closed and busy yourself rummaging around in the
nutritionblock trying to find something to distract yourself. You are...
...much more interested in speaking to Kankri now that you have ever been, and you should
probably avoid him for that very reason.
You stay away from the internet for the rest of the night and spend your time glued firmly to the
couch with the video grub blasting at max volume. You get caught up on all the soap operas you
never once had any interest in, and by the time your eyes are starting to drift closed you think it
safe enough to turn off the mind-numbing shows and crawl into your 'coon for the day.
But as you close your eyes, the webpage flashes before you again. Your brain transplants one of
the bulges on the page - a purple one, very much like yours - into Kankri's hand. What did he do
when he first opened the box? Did he leave his toys in their packaging, tossing them aside for
later, or did he, did he, did he take them out immediately and run his fingers over the grooves and
bumps in them, did he turn them over and over in his hands, did he blush and chew on his lower
lip while thinking about what he was going to be doing with them later?
...Fuck.

But he's celibate! You think, and mentally put on the emergency brake. He's celibate. So, the toys
aren't...for him? It was his name on the package, though, so it can't be that he was buying them for
somebody else, right?
You crawl out of the 'coon to look up the dictionary definition of the word. Just to be sure,
y'know. Not that you're checking for loopholes or anything. When you boot up your husktop
again and find it, you can't help but groan a little and tilt your chair back, flopping your head
backwards.
The internet defines celibacy as a commitment to the avoidance of sexual relationships. Not
activities. So yeah.
The toys are his, for sure.
You tap your hands on the edge of your desk. What did he get? You absolutely have to know
now. Did he go for the vanilla toys, going with the basics because you doubt he'd know very
much about the extensive world of sex toys, or did he, could he, would he have dug a little bit
deeper into the website and found other things that caught his eye? What would he have bought
first?
Your bulge is fully out and squirming frantically against your leg. You stare at the outline of it in
your pants, contemplating it (are you really about to jack off to your only friend?), but then your
brain replays the idea of Kankri turning over a purple bulge in his short, chubby little fingers and
hey, look at that. Pants, mysteriously on the ground.
He would have ordered the smallest size, you think, because better to be safe, right? He wouldn't
be used to a huge stretch. But he'd get overwhelmed anyway, he's sensitive, he has to be, you
caught him shivering like a leaf in the wind when you blew on his neck that one time you thought
you saw a fly land on him. He's sensitive and the bulge he bought would be tiny, tiny, you
probably wouldn't even be able to feel it if you gave it a shot yourself, but he, but he would, and,
and You curve three fingers up your nook as you think about Kankri slo-owly slipping that bulge into
himself for the first time, his whole body shuddering. The muscles of your abdomen are twitching
from the strain as you slip your fingers back and press them up against your empty sheath and oh,
would Kankri be loud? Probably not at first, he'd be too focused on stifling himself, but what if
later when he got accustomed to the feeling, got addicted, what if he started to let himself go?
What if he, what if you What if you were there, what if you made him loud?
Your orgasm feels like somebody is pulling it from you with a pair of red hot pliers. You curl into
yourself with a little whine you can't help and spill all over the floor. When you finally go
boneless, you can barely sit up straight. You press your forehead to the cool wood of your desk
and focus on not whimpering from the aftershocks.
Some dimly-lit corner of your mind whispers that you ought to feel bad about spilling all over the
place less than a minute after whipping your bulge out - to Kankri no less - but the rest of your
brain is offline and floating somewhere pleasant. Visions of Kankri's tiny purple synthetic bulge
dance in your head. You realize you've got a dumb smile on your face and try to compose
yourself. You fail.
It takes you a little while, but you eventually manage to drag yourself back to your recuperacoon
after doing as quick and careless a cleanup as you can manage. You're asleep in minutes, and your
dreams are colored red and purple.

***
You purposely avoid Kankri for the next few days. If left to your own devices (or a blank Trollian
text box), you can't even imagine what idiotic things you'd spew at him. Instead, you busy
yourself with menial tasks like reorganizing your closet, clearing out imaginary cobwebs in the
corners of your block, and refiltering your 'coon. If your mind wanders too close to a certain
website, well, you stop it right there and redirect your thoughts to something else. It would do you
absolutely jack shit to start pining after some fantasy version of Kankri that you cooked up
yourself, so you absolutely aren't going to think about anything bulge-shaped, or anything that
reminds you of how soft Kankri's skin might be if you peeled off his sweater, or how his hair
might look tousled and sweat-drenched, plastered over his face and open mouth, or You end up having to mop your floors more often than usual. And take more showers. And drink
more water.
When you initially get the notification that he's messaged you, three days after what you have
mentally dubbed 'The Incident,' you pretend you haven't seen it for precisely one and a half hours.
In the meantime, you order takeout and get through eight more episodes of that soap opera you
watched earlier. Eventually, though, you have to read it.
He's asking you to come downstairs to see him. To, he says, "offer him some advice regarding a
rather delicate subject."
You shoot him a quick affirmation and get up to leave, because how could you not, he rarely asks
you for advice, let alone so plainly, and who are you to pass up such an opportunity? Your
hormone-addled pan can just sit in the backseat and bitch at you in quiet, where it can't do
something stupid like make you stare at his fingers and try to pick out any microscopic remains of
genetic material in the pores of his skin.
You make sure to take the stairs instead of the elevator, taking them extra slowly so there's no
chance of you showing up to his apartment thirty seconds later with flushed cheeks and elevated
breathing. No chance of him thinking that it took effort to not rush down to him as fast as possible
so you could sneak furtive glances around his apartment to see if you could find the box (or even
better, find a trace of what was inside).
He looks exactly the same as he always does when he opens the door, which some part of you is
slightly disappointed at. He stands there for a moment, leaning against the doorframe and just
staring at you while you shift your weight and wonder if he maybe didn't hear the polite little "hey
there," that you gave him. But if he did and you went and repeated yourself that'd be just stupid,
so you stay silent and wait and wait until he finally draws back to let you inside.
"Hello, Cronus," he says. His voice sounds a little strained. Nervous? What the hell. He doesn't
look particularly stressed or anything. "I'm pleased you could make it."
"Anytime, chief." You try to look around without making it obvious you're casting your eyes
every which way. "What's up?"
He makes a little hmming noise and doesn't immediately answer you, ushering you into his living
block and all but pushing you down into one of the chairs. He takes a seat in the one across from
you and crosses his legs neatly. The leggings he's wearing have fraying holes in both knees. As
you watch, he starts to pick at the loose threads absently. His sweater is too big for him. If he
moved just so, it'd slip off his shoulders.
(why are you so focused on his bare shoulders?)

"I have, ah, a. Hmm. A problem. I have a small problem." He clears his throat loudly. He's
steadily making the holes in his leggings bigger and bigger. He closes his mouth.
"Okay...? What's cooking in your pan, Kan?"
"Give me a second, I'm trying to decide how to formulate this," he snaps. You hold up your hands
peaceably and his eyes soften. "Apologies. I'm just a little - a little on edge. This is rather out of
character for me, I know. Be patient, please."
You try to be patient. You don't say a word as he sits and fidgets and stares at you, and has he
ever stared at you like he is now? Like he's trying to sift through your pan and pick out what he
wants to know so he doesn't have to ask you out loud.
He looks and he looks and you're trying not to squirm in your seat because c'mon, you honestly
can't be expected to come out on the other side of that sleepy-sharp gaze unscathed. He's got great
bedroom eyes, you realize. Fuckin' stellar. Doesn't even realize it, probably. Just sits there as prim
as you please and chews on his lips like he's doing right now and has no idea how easy it is to
transplant his expression to a scene where he's under you, on top of you, looking at you with his
hair falling into his face...
"When did you first self-pail, Cronus?"
"Uh?"
What?
(what?)
His face is very red but his voice is calm and steady."How old were you when you first
discovered self-pleasure?"
"Um, five-five sweeps? Maybe? I don't - I don't remember. Uh, why?"
"As I thought." He finally - finally - looks away from you and gives you the space to not spend so
much energy on keeping your expressions neutral so he doesn't find out how much you're paying
attention to him all of a sudden. "You see, I have recently discovered that, ah, that even I am not
exempt from, from, concupiscent urges. I have yet to gather enough evidence to pass all the blame
onto the first stages of adult molt, but it is a, ah, a likely candidate. And as you are no doubt
aware, I received a package yesterday, and, um - "
(you should get the fuck outta dodge, you should just up and leave right now, you honestly cannot
be expected to sit there and nod and remain stonefaced while Kankri talks about self-pailing and
the toys he got in the mail - )
"And I need your help." He finishes. You feel like you've swallowed your tongue.
"The fuck?"
Kankri looks affronted. "There is no need for crudity. I am perfectly aware that this is considered a
taboo subject in many circles, but all I am asking is for your honest opinion on the best way to go
about things."
Your claws dig into the upholstery of the chair with a popping noise. Neither of you react to it.
Kankri Vantas is asking you to tell him how to self-pail in a tone of voice that suggests it's totally
reasonable, suggests you shouldn't have any problem with it, suggests, 'this is just what friends
do!' and expects you to agree and tell him which crevices to tuck his small, clever fingers into.

"Um. Okay?" (how could you not agree?)

He clasps his hands in his lap. His face is still flushed with blood. "If you will wait here a
moment...?"
You give a helpless, confused little nod and try to keep your jaw closed as he saunters away. Is
he...what is he...oh gods.
He comes back with a box. The box, the mystery box, also known as the no-longer-a-mystery
box. He sets it down on the floor next to him and sits down again.
"I asked for your advice because I think I am right in assuming that you, out of all the members in
our little social group, have the most experience with this matter. To be perfectly honest," he says,
and gestures to the box, "I've never...never really found self-pailing enjoyable with my own two
hands. And, as I'm sure you know, concupiscent devices are more than prevalent in our society, so
I...ordered several."
(oh gods)
"However," he continues, "I'm afraid that I'm rather out of my league. I have absolutely no idea
where to start, and this is where you come in."
"Um."
"I need you to go through the contents of this box and tell me whether or not I may have bitten off
more than I can chew, as the saying goes. I'm afraid I panicked at the vastness of the selections
available to me and simply...ordered a little of everything."
(oh gods)
"So, will you?"
"Gods," you blurt, and feel yourself blush (you! blushing! like a virgin from a novel!). "Um.
Okay?"
"You don't sound very sure. I assure you, if this is beyond your comfort zone, you are free to - "
"No! No, no, it's fine. Totally fine. Lay 'em on me, Kanny."
He watches you for a few harrowing heartbeats before slowly pushing the box across the floor
towards you with his foot (he's got such thin ankles, why didn't you notice before?). "Help
yourself, then."
You feel detached from your body when you bend down to pull at it tentatively. When it comes
open, you close your eyes and lift it into your lap (it's still as heavy as you remembered). You
peek through one eye, and try not to squeak when the rainbow of colors assaults your retinas.
"Um."
"Well?" He asks, but you are too busy trying not to have a brain hemorrhage to answer him
immediately.
He really was not kidding when he said he bought some of everything, was he? You see at least
three different bulges, two vibrators, a fucking sheath plug, horn clamps, bulge clamps, and "What the fuck?"

From the box you lift what is perhaps the largest bulge you have ever seen, synthetic or otherwise.
It easily spans the distance from your elbow to your wrist. It's covered in whorls and bumps and
grooves and the tip is stylized in such a way that tells you it's meant to breach the seedflap with all
the subtlety of a punch to the jaw. It doesn't taper like a bulge would - it's the same width at the tip
as it is at the flared base. You shiver, already imagining what something like that would feel like.
It's huge. Even a seasoned vet such as yourself would have trouble getting that thing into you
comfortably. Good lord.
"Ah. That. Yes, um...believe it or not, it was automatically added to my order. There was a sale.
Spend one hundred cegars and get that for free. I had no choice in the matter."
And it's purple.
You are very, very glad the box is in your lap because your bulge unsheathes like greased
lightning.
"As hideous as it may appear, you are quite missing the point, Cronus. I am asking you for a
simple recommendation. I did not call you over here for you to mock my...my collection."
(it's purple it's purple and it's huge and you are absolutely envisioning Kankri taking every last
inch of it into his tiny little body)
"Right, right. Sorry, pal." You cough and put what you are heretofore dubbing The Beast back
into the box. "Um, try this?" You grab a toy at random (gods what even is your life) and toss it at
him. He makes a high pitched noise when the (indigo, slightly smaller than average) bulge nearly
smacks him in the face. "Sorry, sorry, um, yeah. That one looks pretty beginner friendly."
He turns it over in his hands. "Are you quite sure? Because it looks...rather...hm." He flushes.
"Well. That's beside the point, I suppose." He stands up and comes towards you, and for a
moment you have a hard time breathing because all you can think about is him coming towards
you with that toy in his hand and oh, what if he crawled into your lap and made you lick it until it
was dripping wet, and, and He takes the whole box from you, disappearing back into his block to squirrel it away. You take
the opportunity to stand up and head for the door, angling yourself so that when he comes back
you can hightail it out without him noticing the massive wiggly you're sporting.
He doesn't even say anything when you tell him you've got to fly. Just nods and holds the door for
you and bids you a good night.
(maybe because he was eager for you to leave so he could try out that bulge? Gods, what if he
was slipping his clothes off right then, right as you head back up the flights of stairs?)
You barely close the door to your block behind you before you're sliding down the wall with both
hands shoved as far inside your pants as they'll go. You come a few minutes later, thumping the
back of your head against the wall and arching your spine at the thought of Kankri in your lap
with that indigo bulge in his hand. Which is all fine and dandy, you know, whatever. Sure, that's
the second time you've come with him plastered across your pan, but who's counting, right? So it's
fine. He doesn't ever have to know. It's fine.
It's fine, until you are woken up from your orgasm-induced nap several hours later to a message
blinking at you from him. You drag yourself over to it after checking the time (two in the
afternoon, what the fuck is he doing up this late?) and open it, still rubbing the grit from your eyes
and the gills on your neck.

Your vision is still blurry when you read the message, which is why you take the time to pause
after processing the text to scrub at your eyes again. You could have sworn you just read, "I'm
afraid y9u give rather p99r advice, Cr9nus."
No, that is absolutely what is scrawled across your screen in red text. That one line. Poor advice.
Period. That's it. Your bulge gives a halfhearted twitch. Poor advice - he thinks the bulge you
threw at him was poor advice? Meaning he tried it and decided he didn't like it. Your pan
immediately plays you a scenario where you were both jerking it at the same time in your
respective apartments and even though he lived several floors down from you his frustrated little
noises would still carry all the way up to you...
The message is timestamped barely a few minutes ago. Your legs decide it is an excellent idea to
carry you to the shower to clean the excess sopor off before getting dressed and hopping into the
elevator.
It isn't until you're ten paces away from his door that you realize you have absolutely no idea what
you're going to say to him. There's no reason for coming all the way down here just because - no,
especially because - he said he disliked the indigo bulge. No reason at all. You should have just
typed out a cheerful, carefree "oh well, better luck next time!" and left it at that. He probably
wouldn't have mentioned it again.
(or would he have?)
But there you are, raising your fist to pound once, twice on his front door. There's a noise from
somewhere inside.
"Kanny? S'just me."
You aren't positive, but you think you hear a small squeak of alarm.
"Just a moment!" He calls. There are a few more shuffling noises, and then a loud crash. Silence.
"...Kankri?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine - the door is unlocked!"
It is indeed. You look around for him when you enter, but don't see him - the living block is
exactly as you last saw it, and the nutritionblock appears to be empty as well. The door to his
block is closed. In your haste to head over to it, you bump into the coffee table and make a noise
of pain. The door opens a crack and Kankri sticks his head through. He looks distinctly unruffled.
"Good evening, Cronus," he says, and yawns. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"S'not evening, it's still light out," you say. "And - " (oh to hell with it) " - you said you were
havin'...some issues?"
He goes very still. Deathly still. Doesn't even blink. "What?"
"You said...you, that I, that I gave poor advice? So, uh, I came to give you a s-second opinion?"
You don't stutter. Nuh-uh. You are not the stuttering sort.
Kankri continues to not blink. He swallows loudly. Licks his lips. You can hear it across the room
(shitfuck). "You are suggesting...?"
You feel like you've dug yourself a fine grave. You clamber into it. "I could, uh, take another look
at the box if you want?"

He shivers. His whole body convulses and jesus, your bulge is all over that reaction and shuffling
it to the forefront of your pan for immediate in-depth analysis, because he shivered which means
he likes the idea, right? He's thinking about it, thinking about it and his pan went to the same
places that yours did which maybe means that he's interested in the same things you are, or at least
is thinking about the same things you are (and you'd never thought there might be a day where
you and him were on the same mental page, never ever).
"...You may," he says, and pulls the door open a half a hair wider before his eyes bug out. "Um,
wait a minute, please, I'm not decent."
(you are not going to think about the implications of that, you're in enough trouble here Ampora,
just stand there and say nothing, think nothing, don't do anything until he opens the door again
and stands there in front of you in this fuzzy white bathrobe thingy that you could probably take
off with a single motion)
His block is impeccable and boring as usual. Bland furniture, freshly-filtered recuperacoon, books
everywhere, not a dust mite to be seen. The few times you've been in here, you've gotten out as
quickly as possible - it's clean enough to make your skin crawl. Absolutely stifling.
He shuffles to the closet in the far corner and retrieves The Box (revealing a mess inside that looks
like he tried to stuff something onto a shelf that then collapsed on him) before turning around to
face you, clutching it with bloodless fingers. A beat passes. Then "Well don't just stand there in the doorway," he says, and sets his prize down on the ground next
to his recuperacoon. "Come in."
You close the door behind you automatically when you do. You freeze, wondering if he'll say
something. You were just invited into his block to look at concupiscent toys and you closed the
door behind you. Maybe he'll read into that and kick you out?
He doesn't even glance up at the click of the latch. He sits down on the ground on one side of The
Box and gestures for you to be seated on the other side. Something about it raises a red flag in
your pan.
His behavior is off. You can't place what it is specifically, but there's a fluidity to the way he
moves and an undertone to the lilt of his voice that is unusual for him. Something is glittering
behind his eyes that invites further examination, except that he's right there and regarding you
calmly over a box of vibrators and synthetic bulges.
"Are you uncomfortable, Cronus?" He asks, and extends a hand and freaking pats you on the
shoulder. "I hope I have not installed any feelings of obligation within you. There is absolutely
nothing keeping you here, I assure you - "
"Hang on," you say, and try to sound properly miffed. "I was the one who suggested I come on
back here."
A funny expression crosses his face, and he pats your arm again. "So you did," he says after a
second, "so you did."
And he just keeps watching you so eventually just have to dig into the box to break eye contact
with him. The Beast is still there, and you are absolutely not looking at it while you dig around.
You're stalling, though - the fuck are you supposed to do, just pull out a vibe and hand it to him
and say, yeah, this should do the trick - and when he reaches out and gently catches your wrist
you just about jump out of your skin.

"Cronus," he says quietly. "Are you quite all right?"

"What the - yeah, 'course, why d'you ask?" No you are most definitely not all right. You fumble
for a toy at random and push it at him. "Uh, so anyway, this one might do the trick."
(fuck)
He takes it from you and doesn't comment on the subject change. "This goes...where?"
Empress help you. "Your, your bulge. Wraps around it. It, um, there should be a switch on the
bottom. It can probably go inside, too."
He goes, "oh!" when the (smooth, white, average-sized) bulge shakes itself from his fingers and
clatters to the floor, where it continues to vibrate loudly. He scoops it up again and turns it off
hastily.
"I see," he says, and coughs. "The other one, the one you first suggested, it didn't...well, it doesn't
matter if I didn't like it, I suppose."
"It does too matter!" You interject, and have to physically keep yourself from cringing when he
gives you this look. "I mean, uh, quality assurance and so forth. Y'know. If you ordered the best
you shoulda gotten the best, right? If you didn't like it, then you should return it. Or something."
"...Or something."
"Exactly. I mean," (what the actual fuck, you've said "I mean" at least ten times in the past five
minutes. Get your shit together, Ampora) "if you need a second opinion I could always, uh, stay?
To help with the quality assurance?"
You are expecting him to hit you, frankly, given the way it looks like you just pulled the floor out
from underneath him. Except...not? Because his whole body relaxes bit by bit and his posture
opens up and he...
leans over to you?
"Actually, Cronus," he says, and he's whispering but you don't want to lean across the box to hear
him better because what if your breath smells like that coffee you made earlier that you let brew
for half an hour by accident? "If you are indeed up to such a task, that might be very helpful
indeed."
"Oh...yeah?"
"Oh, absolutely." He tilts his head down towards the box without taking his eyes off of you.
"Because I truly haven't the faintest idea where something like this goes, and forgive me if I am
mistaken, but I believe you do." He moves so quick that you flinch, and when you open your eyes
he's dangling a long string of fat bullet vibrators under your nose. He pulls them away quick and
he's smiling - he's smiling at you, he's doing this on purpose, he lured you here - and he tucks
himself neatly back into his own space. "If it is all right with you, I'd like to pick your pan clean."
(that fucking smile)
"Su-sure, chief." You risk a grin but don't make it past baring your front fangs at him. "S'all
yours."
"How nice of you," he says, and there's something ominous about his tone of voice. This is not
how you usually imagine him behaving (and not even how you imagine him behaving, not even

in your most flushed out hallucinations). "To begin, I have a few questions. Regarding this,
actually." He twines the string of vibes through his fingers (you try not to stare). "It seems
impressively versatile, but I fear the lack of a singular intended use would make it perform
halfheartedly in general. Statistically speaking, something that goes out of its way to attempt to
please the entire group rarely pleases anyone. Don't you agree, Cronus? Nevertheless, I am rather
interested to see why this product in particular garnered such unanimously positive reviews."
(help, a small voice squeaks in your ear)
"I mean," (shit) "vibration is pretty much an idiotproof method for gettin' off, so, um, it's probably
just fine?"
Kankri considers this. "Problematic use of 'idiotproof' aside, I do believe you are correct." He sets
the thing down at his feet. "Another."
"Another what?"
He looks at you meaningfully. You blurt, "oh!" and hand him the first thing your hand touches.
Hammered metal bands clink together in his palm as he makes a sound of recognition.
"I know what these are. Mituna has some."
He cracks a smile when he sees the face you make. "Not these specifically. I am fully aware of the
difference between his electromagnetic stabilizers and a cheap pair of horn clamps, Cronus. It
interests me to learn the difference, however - cosmetically, at least, they look nearly identical."
He hands them back to you. "Regardless, I'd rather not make use of these right away."
"Right away?"
"Of course not. Horn clamps require extensive trust in one's partner, and while you and I have
indeed grown rather close, I have yet to become comfortable with the idea of you holding that sort
of power over me."
"In one's p - what?"
He tilts his head to the side. "Surely you know why I've invited you here, Cronus."
He didn't - no, wait, wait, "I was the one who invited...myself, uh - "
"You did no such thing," he says primly, and picks up the vibe string and the bulge from before
and pushes the box away from the both of you with his feet. "Did you honestly think that I would
invite you over to look at toys, Cronus, if you harbored nothing but platonic emotions towards
me?"
Your stomach goes cold. Shit. You can't let him know he's right, you should probably "Sit." Kankri intones, and the reverberations of his growl - he growled, Kankri Vantas growled at
you (you should be too anxious to find that hot as fuck) - freezes you in place. "I know very well
what you feel for me, Cronus, and must say I admire your self control. To be honest, I hadn't the
faintest inkling of your intentions until earlier this perigee. Given your history with romance, I at
first expected you to attempt to blunt force your way into my flushed quadrant like a four sweep
old wiggler."
(you are too stunned to be offended. He's inching closer and closer to you and tracking his
movements is the only priority in your thinkpan)

"However, you had me shocked! You gave no outward sign of what you were feeling, which
seemed to require more strength than, I must admit, I expected from you."
"Th-thanks?"
"You are most welcome. And so I began thinking, this is entirely unusual behavior for him! It is
clearly causing him strain and distress, so he ought to be given some sort of positive reinforcement
to ensure that these sorts of behavioral patterns - that is to say, self-restraint in the face of an
unknown outcome, as was the case regarding your choice to confess to me or not - come more
easily in the future. And then I asked myself, how might I go about that? How might I go about
that, Cronus?"
The question fails to register for a few seconds. Your bulge is caught in a bizarrely tantalizing
stage between terror and all-consuming arousal. "Kan, c'mon now..."
"Answer the question, please. After all, you know your own desires best, do you not?" He shifts
and you try not to jump at the heat of him pressed flush against your side. "What would make you
happy?"
"Hey now," you say, and inch away. "Just stop, okay? Fuckin' stop. If this is some sort a joke to
you, can we just skip to the part where you make fun of me before kicking me out? I don't want to
have to sit through - "
"Oh, no. No no no, you misunderstand me entirely. This is no joke. You have my word on that."
"Sure I do." You're debating kicking yourself out.
"You do," he says. "And if you refuse to give me a proper answer, I will have no choice but to
make your decision for you."
"What decision?"
The corners of his eyes crinkle. "Forgotten already? I'll have to decide how to encourage this
recent streak of behavior, of course."
"Kankri..."
"Cronus. After all the sweeps we've known each other, do you truly not hold an iota of trust in
me? I have already told you this is no joke. Believe me when I say that there are no tricks here."
You don't say anything (can't say anything).
"So I think," he continues, "that there is a very likely probability that, given my inexperience with
concupiscent toys, I will end up using them incorrectly."
"I-is there?"
He nods (smiling, fucking smiling). "Absolutely. This is why I require your close supervision."
You've pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. He is absolutely
fucking with you and you want to say sure fuckin' thing, chief, let's get this show started, but you
know him and he's fucking with you because he knows once you say yes you're in the palm of his
hand.
Your pan whispers it'd be worth it, maybe, and you do your best to ignore it while he shifts across
the floor to sit across from you. His kneecaps brush your shin.

"You see, Cronus, given my vows I am forbidden from entering a sexual relationship with
anyone. However, it does not explicitly prohibit sexual activities. This, obviously, permits
masturbation, both with and without an audience. You, in case I have left anything unclear, are to
be the audience."
"Obviously?"
"Obviously."
A lot of things go through your mind. Your immediate (physical) response is yes please, please,
let me see what you look like, but your pan orders you to keep your mouth and sheath shut as tight
as a drum. You expect Kankri to look frustrated or disappointed - here you are, refusing to fall into
his trap, you've learned your fucking lesson now, haven't you? - but instead his mouth twitches
wider and wider as you continue to stay silent.
"Cronus, I will need your verbal consent for this. You are under no obligation to stay; I merely
thought that this might be a nice surprise as a reward for your - "
"I'm not your pet." You snap, and he instantly draws away from you. He actually looks rather hurt
(good, you think, that's good, that's a good sign, maybe he's really - ). He reaches out and touches
three fingers to your cheek.
"No," he murmurs. "No, you absolutely are not. I'm deeply sorry that I ever did anything to give
you that impression."
The rest of his hand joins the three fingers and he cups your cheek in his palm. His eyes are
darting all over your face but they keep returning to your mouth, so when he licks his lips and says
very calmly, "may I kiss you?" you aren't as completely bushwhacked as you might have been.
His eyes are wide and sincere and he smells soft and warm and he's right in front of you, so what
else would you say but yes? When he leans forward and lightly - chastely - brushes his closed
mouth over yours, he hums a little. Like he's thinking. You don't move except to return the press
of his lips, except to shiver when he sighs and the air flows down to tickle the flushed skin of your
neck.
"Cronus," he says, and barely pulls away to speak the words. "I would very much like for you to
watch me."
"Watch you?" You try to say, but his mouth is on yours and you end up mumbling nonsensically
into his skin. You feel the stretch of his smile.
"Watch me. I ask that you do not touch me, however you may remain at this close a distance to
me as long as you keep your hands to yourself. Is that agreeable?"
Your spine is soft and liquid and you've already taken in so much of the body heat radiating off of
him and warmed your bones with it so you nod yes, yes, absolutely chief, whatever you like, jus'
say the word.
(he seems to like your response very much, if his expression is anything to go by)
"No touching." He repeats. You nod once, stiff and jerky, and he pecks your lips again. He leans
back in a way that makes his robe-thing gape open at the torso; you see the lines and folds of his
stomach and bring your gaze back up to his face as quick as you can, before he says anything.
He's paying very close attention to you, and the longer you look into his eyes the brighter the
shine behind them becomes.

He looks very pleased.

He disrobes quickly after that, and takes his time to carefully fold his clothing neatly, setting it an
arm's length away on the floor. He looks so soft. Easy to touch, so easy to run your hands over.
His skin is completely unmarred, not like yours, not like anyone you've ever seen - he possesses
not a single scar and it takes your breath away. How has he managed to live without injury? He
looks almost ethereal. Like a painting. Entirely unreal. Yours?
(not yours, nobody's, he's his own being and you are being permitted to watch him be)
"Why?" You croak.
He pushes a lock of hair from his face. Tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. "Because I have
always wanted to try toys like these, and I would be lying if I said I did not find things to pity
within you."
"So - " (he pities me? He's lying, he has to be lying, nobody ever - ) "so this is a test."
He huffs out a sigh. You're drawn to how his ribs expand, how his whole body moves with the
motion. "If you consider accepting my terms of consent a test - "
"No! No, no, I just..." You just. You know him and you know yourself. Kankri Vantas is not the
sort to make himself vulnerable to individuals like you.
(but he's not vulnerable, not right now)
"You just?" He's crossed his legs and you are absolutely not looking where his position is telling
you to. "Answer, Cronus."
You can't answer, can't come up with the words to explain yourself. He still nods, though, like he
gets it.
"I see. I still do not have your explicit verbal consent, though."
"...Yes." You whisper.
You've known him since he was tiny, since his grub scars had just barely healed over, since the
night he marched right up to you and jabbed his palm with a needle and watched your face as his
blood oozed out, daring you to say something. Daring you to call the authorities to have him
escorted away. It would have been so easy, look, you could have said, look, he's a danger to
himself, take him away. But you didn't. You didn't, you just stood there and watched him and
might have mumbled out an inane little 'huh' of confusion, and when he met your eyes you saw
something in there that wiped the idea of getting him culled from your pan completely. That same
something is blazing out at you now, and you're helpless to do anything in the face of the energy
within him.
"No touching, but if you like, you may kiss me again. Hands to yourself, mind."
When he leans forward the second time, his eyes flutter closed and you have to take a second to
focus on your breathing because he's vulnerable like that, what is he thinking? He told you not to
touch and somehow trusts you, trusts you to not take advantage of him while he's naked and
exposed (why would he trust you?).
(maybe he isn't lying about his pity for you after all)
(gods but isn't that a thought)

Having to lean forward without using him for support puts an awful crick in your neck, but are
you going to complain when Kankri is breathing quiet and steady puffs of air against your skin?
He makes a small noise into your mouth, a good noise, a friendly noise, and when you pull away
to breathe you see his bulge already unsheathing, uncoiling from a tight spiral to leave strings of
pre-material over his stomach and thighs. If you moved just ever so slightly closer it might very
well end up being your stomach and thighs stained with him, but, but "Cronus, what did I say?"
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to - " it was just kneecaps, just your kneecap brushing his but you
know what he said He tilts your jaw up with a hand. "Goodness. Such anxiety, Cronus, I don't believe I've ever seen
this side of you before. Are you going to be all right?"
You nod once, swallow (you feel like your mouth should be dry, but instead you're nearly
choking on the excess saliva pooling under your tongue), and offer a quiet, "it'd probably feel
pretty good if you wrapped that string around your bulge. Jus' a thought."
He looks down and back up. His face splits into a wide smile (he's got dull, flat teeth. Utterly
ineffective teeth). "I do believe you're on to something there. Here."
When he pools the toy into the palm of your hand, you lose your breath. "You want me to - ?"
"Remember what I said," he says, and leans back, putting his weight in his palms. "I'm sure you
are more qualified for this part than I am."
(is he serious? He looks pretty serious. What a fucking joke, your hands are shaking like it's your
first time getting some, here you are not getting some and you're nervous as fuck)
You end up letting one end of the string drop down past the base of his bulge, letting it clatter
against the floor (so close to his nook, is he wet yet? You can't tell from this angle). You've got the
other end of the string pinched between your fingers, and you slowly spiral it around his bulge,
twisting your wrist in small circles to swing it around and around until he's wrapped up tighter
than a drum.
He doesn't make a sound - if he did you'd probably pass out - but there's a fine-level tremor in the
flesh of his abdomen (squishy! You want to touch, you want to - ) that you notice when you sit
back to admire your work. The way his tongue peeks out between his lips says everything to you.
"Look at me, please." He grabs your chin - kinda roughly, forces your mouth open a little (you
don't mind) - and licks his lips. "Turn it on."
"I-isn't that, uh - that's kinda...not really the audience's job..?"
"Are you objecting?"
"No."
"Then proceed. Lowest setting, please."
His legs are still crossed. You have to be careful - so damn careful, he's watching you like a hawk,
don't want to disappoint him - not to brush the insides of his thighs as you reach down, down,
down past the base of his bulge, past the heat of his nook (he is wet, gods, more than you
expected him to be, does he get off on ordering you around or something?), to retrieve the other
end of the vibe and pull it back up to get at the controls.

The switch is a simple slider. Your thumb bumps it up a notch and the thing whirrs to life, barely
audible at all over Kankri's immediate sigh. His claws scrape against the floor and his eyelashes
flutter.
"Oh, excellent job, Cronus." His teeth worry at his (swollen, red and inviting) lower lip. He's so
wet, dripping all over the floor already. "It feels lovely."
"Want a lil' more?" You're giving him the lowest of six settings, it probably feels like next to
nothing and already his voice has gone all breathy.
"No, this is fine for now. Remove your shirt, please, or I will have to do it for you."
"My shirt? You want me to - "
"Yes, Cronus, good lord, your shirt. Arms up." Warm little fingers skitter up your sides, pushing
your shirt up to your armpits.
"I'm touching you."
"No, I am touching you. There is a world of difference."
"That so?" So if he initiates it, it's okay? You wonder what you could do with him (to him) if
that's his only limitation.
You'd be a little unnerved by how he looks at you if his pupils weren't blown to shit. "It is indeed
so. Arms up."
When he gets the shirt past your face his hands drop again, tracing dual lines just underneath your
grubscars. He makes a soft noise when you twitch. "Cronus, you look lovely."
You manage to squirm the shirt the rest of the way off. He snatches it from you when you start to
ball it up and instead starts to fold it as precisely as he did his own.
You're probably getting way ahead of yourself, but, "these too?" You gesture to your pants.
"No. Keep the rest of your clothes on."
"Then why - ?"
"I wanted to see you, of course. Why else?"
His expression leaves no room for response, so you bump up the vibe a notch instead. Hope he
won't get too mad you didn't wait for permission (you just want to see him, is all).
He doesn't get mad. His back spasms once, almost-not-quite reaching an arch. His head drops
back and his posture sinks a little, like he was close to collapsing to the floor before he caught
himself. Doesn't make a single sound, though (but he's chewing on his lip something fierce).
Doesn't scold you either.
You have to awkwardly inch out of the way when he uncrosses his legs to lie down on his back.
You end up crouched on your heels at his side, clutching the controller in one hand and your
opposite elbow in the other. Your pusher is starting to pick up in pace and your bulge is out and
your nook is starting to drip along the seam of your pants in a way that makes you shift this way
and that, trying to relieve some of the teasing sensation of wet fabric slipping against you. Your
hands itch to curl around his bulge, to feel that soft give-and-slide that precedes the grip of his

insides. You want to know the temperature of his skin.

"More?"
"Mm-mm." His lower lip looks bruised. "No, no, this is quite fine for the time being. Go into the
box, please, and retrieve the clamps."
"The - "
"The grubscar clamps, Cronus." (his voice is high-pitched and airy and if you upped the vibe just
a little more you could probably make him whine)
"I didn't see any of those."
"I assure you that they're there, given that I ordered them."
"...You're killin' me here, Kanny," you don't realize you say aloud until the box is in your lap and
he's laughing at you.
"Am I? Goodness, Cronus, why didn't you say?"
"Eh?" You've found two of the clamps (little tiny things, nothing but narrow strips of metal hinged
together to pinch in all the ways claws can't) and the undertonesto his voice make you lose your
grip on them.
"If you are experiencing discomfort due to prolonged arousal, by all means help yourself. The
gods know there is enough in there for more than one individual."
Your globes go yes please! and contract with a hard pulse that makes you fail to stifle a loud chirp.
Fluid slicks down your thighs. Kankri zeros in on the growing wet patch on your pants.
"I thought as much. Go right ahead, Cronus. I'm sure you'll find something in there you'll enjoy."
"Wouldn't that..." (have to make sure, don't you? Have to make sure one last time) "...make me a
participant?"
"Absolutely not. The only thing that changes is that I myself become an audience member as well,
because I will be watching you very closely."
(Jesus fuck) "So then do you want..." You start to hand him the controller but he shakes his head.
"No, you are still here to supervise."
"But if I'm doing you and me, that would make me - "
"Nonsense. If you make good on the opportunity to please yourself, it will be nothing more than
mutual masturbation."
"But if I'm, the vibe - Kanny, I'm fucking jerking you off here."
His scowl is ruined by the flush to his cheeks - and how is he so composed, his muscles are
jumping, his bulge is having a fit, his nook is flooding over like there's no tomorrow, but his voice
is just fine. "You are most definitely not. You in this moment are merely an extension of my own
two hands. A steadier, more experienced extension. Is that clear?"
(It clicks, then. It clicks so hard your hands clench and your breathing picks up because oh, you
get it now. Good lord do you get it)

"...Crystal. So do you want more, or - "

"No, Cronus, I will tell you when I would like more." His whole body is trembling. His eyes are
starting to look ever-so-slightly glassy. "Go ahead. Take care of yourself."
A hunch forms in your gut. "Which one would you like me to use?"
His next exhale is a harsh puff through his nose. His eyes flick to the vibrating bulge to you and
back again, and his mouth opens. He breathes in unsteadily.
That's more than enough of an answer (you were right, you were right, he fucking loves being the
boss of you, you shouldn't be this surprised). You scoop up the toy with one hand and wrestle
your zipper with the other, just in time for Kankri to make a little stuttery 'oh' of a noise.
He clamps his mouth shut when you look at him. Tries to pretend you didn't just hear what you
heard (and boy do you know you heard it, that shit is ingrained in your memory now), and
demands you continue when you risk raising an eyebrow at him. You shuck your pants and
underwear off (fold them, even, aren't you a good boy) and sit with your legs splayed out, just far
enough to the side of him that if you thrash by accident you won't come into contact with him.
You're wet enough that you could take the bulge up the base in one motion, but you don't want to
seem desperate or anything. Kankri leans over (from this angle you can see his nook squeeze out a
rush of fluid when he moves) and runs a curious finger up the synthetic surface.
"Well go on, then. Catch up. No need to suffer on my account."
Catch up, he says like you aren't pooling pre-material all over his pristine floors. The bulge slips
into you with ease, no stretch at all, but you still spasm and yelp. You're riled up and ready and it's
warm, it's warmer than you and your nook clamps down on it like it's your last salvation. It's so
warm.
You register a hand on your arm. "Cronus, you aren't allowed to orgasm until I say, understand?"
"Yeah, I do, I got it, I - "
His breath tickles your ear. "At this rate you will be kept waiting a rather long time. Did you
forget what you came here for already?"
(you don't even have the proper angle to move the bulge around, but already your spine is
shivering from the delicious clench and release of your internal muscles. You're close, you're
melting, jesus fuck you're about to spill all over the place like you've been at it for hours and
Kankri - and Kankri - )
The remote is pressed into your palm. You fumble blind, eyes glued to the ceiling, hear an uptick
in noise and then In your peripheral vision you see him jerk, see his toes curl, see his fingers scrabble at the floor.
You hear the sound of his breathing change as his mouth opens, hear the drag of air against his
teeth. Something sounds very, very wet.
"Kiss me," he says, and turns your head with a hand to your jaw. You barely have a chance to
register the thin line of blood running down his chin (he's trying so hard to keep himself quiet,
why, why is he, if he asked you here to - why is he - ) before his mouth seals over your bottom lip
and pulls. Teeth prickle against the sensitive flesh and you moan into his mouth. One of his hands
comes up to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek, tongue curving alongside yours. When

he pulls back you follow him, follow him with your whole body until he puts a hand flat on your
chest to keep you at bay. The heat of it makes you whine. You've never had anybody touch you
who runs as hot as he does (must be his mutation, must be the blasphemous sludge that runs in his
veins). You want to feel him everywhere.
"You may increase my vibrations, but only if you use your own toy properly."
"Proper-properly? Whaddya mean, I'm totally using it pr - "
"Cronus."
You know what he means, know that he wants to see you on your back working the bulge in and
out of yourself. He wants to see you squirm and that's fine, that's fine, you want to squirm for him
and whine and have him tell you when to spill, but gods, you just, you just want to see him
undone, so you aren't thinking much else other than what noises you can finally wrangle from him
when you crank him up to the max setting.
You're expecting a chirp, maybe, or a startled little cry as the best case scenario, but no, no you
don't get either. Instead you get the privilege (the fucking privilege) of watching his eyes glaze
over, watching him lose his tentative, one-elbowed balance and collapse to the floor with a
shudder. You get to see him come.
You get to see his fingers twitch and grasp hard at nothing, you get to see all his muscles tense, get
to see the slurry seep out from him, but he doesn't make a single sound. His mouth is wide open in
a scream you don't get to hear, pushing air out from his lungs that you'd like to stuff back down
his throat so you could shake up and have him scream for you again with his vocal chords
engaged so you could just hear him He recovers fairly quickly. He glares at you - fucking glares at you, like you didn't just reduce him
to goo, fucking ungrateful as fuck - and uncoils the vibe from himself, tossing it to the side.
"...What?" When you struggle to sit up on your elbows, your nook clamps down on the bulge in
you hard enough to make your hips shudder forward.
"I'm rather disappointed in you." Now his voice quavers, in sync with the spasms travelling
through him. "That was a rather cheap ploy indeed. When I said you would have to wait your
turn, I did not mean 'get me off as fast as possible and then you can come.'"
Oops. "Aww, c'mon Kan, you didn't specify what you wanted or nothing."
He sits up and crosses his arms. "Common decency dictates not thinking of your own blind need
at every possible moment, Cronus."
Man. Not what you want to hear from him. "Not much of an afterglow person, are ya?"
"Because of your impatience, you are going to have to wait even longer for your own release." He
says stubbornly. "Choose another toy for me to go again with. Then it will be your turn."
"Kankri - "
"Do it! Another one, Cronus, or else you are free to take matters into your own hands somewhere
else."
Fine. "Fine." You consider your mood officially lost now. You've got a small toy up your nook
and you're wet and awkward as fuck and still weirdly horny and he's not going to let you come
yet, so you know what? Fine.

When you hand him The Beast, you take an unhealthy amount of joy in the shocked apprehension
that crosses his face. His face goes very pale then very red very quickly.
"You cannot be serious."
"Oh, I am."
"Cronus, that is a joke toy! It is not meant for actual use!"
"Sure it is. Why? Think you aren't up to it?"
He looks furious. You are delighted. "It is not a matter of being 'up to it,' it is a matter of being
physically impossible!"
You pull your own toy out with a gross noise (clearly you aren't getting off for awhile, but that
might actually be okay because holy shit if you can get him to - ). "Nooks are made to stretch.
What about those lowbloods who fuck highbloods? You callin' that impossible?"
"Absolutely not, but - "
"S'no different. Anything's possible with determination." You're watching him chew on his lip.
You've got him, you've fucking got him because he loves a challenge and he hates being wrong
but he loves a challenge more and for once you feel like you're actually going to come out on top
of this situation you've got going on here.
He snatches it from you in a way that tells you it was all his idea. "Very well. Be prepared to eat
your words, as the saying goes, when I prove to you that it. Is not. Possible."
You stretch and brace your hands behind your head. "Whatever you say, chief. Didja get some
lube to go with it? Might need it."
"I don't believe I will." He actually looks fucking miffed, like he can't believe you'd suggest such
a thing. Wow, okay. You tilt your head to check out what's going on for him down below, and...
He might not actually need lube. That is a thing you didn't think you'd think given the size of what
he's about to take into himself, but, uh...he's still dripping slurry all over the place and his thighs
are red and the floor is red and, and, yeah.
Your bulge twists itself into a loose knot. He doesn't comment, doesn't even spare a glance your
way, just picks up the toy and holds it gingerly for his own bulge to twine around (you notice his
nook pumping out more slick when he does, notice the soft note in his exhale). He's hesitating.
You take a moment to feel like a bit of a bastard for effectively pressuring him into it, but hey, if
he really didn't want to do it he'd have put up more a fuss than he did, right? So you don't feel too
bad. You're perfectly content to sit back and watch his bulge slobber all over the thing until thick,
syrupy strands of fluid drip slowly down to the floor. He glances up at you, taking one deep
breath, another, and another, and then slowly (slowly, like he's moving through sopor) drags the
blunt, synthetic head along the lips of his nook.
"That's it," you find yourself saying aloud, "keep goin'."
He's not paying attention to you. He readjusts his grip, and after a moment's thought rearranges
himself so the bulge is balanced on its flat base on the floor and he's kneeling above it (and what a
fucking sight. Flushed and rumpled, dripping everywhere...absolutely a scene you'll remember for
the next sweep or ten). He lowers himself a fraction of an inch, then another, gnawing on his
lower lip the whole time. The first two inches sink into him without much of a fight, and he sighs.

"See? Wasn't so hard."

"If your commentary is meant to be encouraging, I can assure you it isn't."
"Aw c'mon, I'm trying to be supportive here. Give a guy points for effort, yeah?"
"You shall get - ah - no such thing. You are enjoying this much more than I."
"You sure about that?" That little noise was music to your ears. "Didn't sound much like it."
He's got about three, maybe three and a half inches in and he's stopped, breathing much harder
than he was a moment ago. Whenever his thighs twitch with the strain of supporting himself
there's a loud squelch between his legs that delights you to hear. His ears get darker and darker
with each little sound, and holy shit is he actually getting legitimately turned on by his own
noises?
(as much as it kills your ego to say it, you're fairly sure you aren't contributing much to his
enjoyment by being here. S'all him, and you are perfectly happy to just sit back and catalogue it all
for your mental perusal later)
(unless he gets off on being watched? Maybe that's why he invited you here?)
(nah, can't be, that'd be way too convenient for you)
"That's as far as it will go." He says. His thighs are trembling. He's breathing hard. You raise an
eyebrow to annoy him.
"You sure? Sure doesn't look it. You still got a good seven or eight inches to go."
"I meant within me, you fool. There is absolutely no way I will stretch beyond this point."
"Hit your seedflap yet?" (It hasn't, you'd know if it did, even someone as insufferably quiet - hah as Kanny wouldn't be able to keep something like that from you)
He's one of those full-body blushers. Fucking fantastic. "Of course not. It's not possible for
something like this to reach - "
"Gotta say, chief, that thing is absolutely designed for that one sole purpose."
" - to reach the seedflap without causing internal injury!"
He's really stuck on this, isn't he. And yet if he was actually worried about it he'd have hopped off
the thing and chucked it already. You sigh. He's being an obstinate little shit about it just to be
difficult, huh. Well.
You pick up the vibes again. "Use these again. They'll loosen you up a bit. You gotta relax you're designed to stretch. Swear by the Empress. The whole thing's the same width, anyway.
You can do it, promise."
He wavers a little bit. You can't tear your eyes off his legs - he's shaking like a leaf, it's gotta be a
huge strain to keep himself in that position for long, he's gotta either sit down on all the way or
switch positions, but you know he's too stubborn to do either. "I don't need loosening, I'm as loose
as I'll - "
"Kanny, I swear to fuck your body is designed for this." That's you, supportive to a fault. "Just
give it a shot, yeah? If it hurts like a bitch and you bleed everywhere you have full permission to

punch me into the next perigee."

You catch the briefest hint of a smile. The teensiest, most microscopic little grin you've ever seen
on a sentient being, but it's there and you've fucking got him in the bag. "Oh believe me, I will
take you up on it."
"Want me to do it?"
"Punch yourself? As humorous as the situation would be - "
"No, I mean...if you wanna lie back down again, I can take over. If you want."
He grimaces. "No I do not want. Why on earth would I want - you're insufferable, Cronus, I can't
believe you, why don't you just - don't you just - "
"Yeah?" His legs have to be on the verge of giving out. Have to be. He's gonna drop those last
inches and he's gonna shriek and gush everywhere and you are probably going to cream your
pants like you're a teenager again but that's just small potatoes in the face of the big picture...
He drops a hand to the floor to brace himself (yes, fucking hell yes) and stares you down
defiantly. "Focus on yourself right now, Cronus. I never said you could stop."
What was that you had said to yourself about your nook having lost interest? About the mood
having been killed? Your bulge vehemently denies it and creeps back out to the open air like it
never left. Kankri's resultant smug expression makes your nook drip and your hands scuttle across
the floor to retrieve the vibrating bulge. He tosses the vibe string at you as well.
"Use both. Don't even think about climaxing before I do."
"Seriously, Kan - "
"Do as I say! Do as I say or I'll, or I'll - "
"You'll what?" You're going to do as he says, of course you are (you want to get off, you aren't a
masochist), but, but "I won't let you come."
You pause for a second and let him think you're seriously considering disobeying him before
slipping the bulge into you as far as it will go. Not even close to your seedflap, but that's just fine
because the look on Kankri's face when he finds his is going to be worth everything you ever
wanted from this life and the next.
"Now the other, do the other one," he says, and he's got both his hands propping himself up now
and you just want to nudge him with your foot and make him lose his balance and slam down on
the monster bulge, make him wail and chirp and cry out for you, for you. Gods but you want to
see him wrecked. "Be sure to turn both on."
You aren't expecting to go from zero to sixty in half a breath when both toys buzz to life. It's
good. You thought you've calmed down during your little intermission, but it's really good, and
you're embarrassed as fuck when you whine like a bad porn actor. You've always been a sucker
for dual stimulation and he's just sitting there looking like pailing on legs, and how else would a
sane person react but to make stupid noises and thrash under his gaze?
Kankri starts at your sounds, goes oh, oh, and tips over backwards, landing firmly on his butt with
his legs splayed out to the sides. He comes down on his toy hard, but the angle is off - the thing

ends up grinding up into the roof of his nook. You swallow. He gulps. Still no noise, but his
whole body is throwing itself into revolt, trying to shake the feeling from him in violent tremors.
You can see each individual ridge on the toy through his skin. He looks so tiny and soft and he
looks like he's feeling good but he's not, he's just not saying anything.
"You all, um," you have to clear a groan from your throat with a cough, "you all right?"
"Ye-yes I'm all right, for heaven's-heaven's sake, Cronus!"
His voice is shivery and blissed out. This has to be hard on him - has to be, the toy is fucking
huge, if you were in his place you'd be whining and squirming and maybe (maybe) would have
called the whole damn thing off because a stretch is nice, sure, but there's a stretch and then there's
a stretch.
(but maybe Kankri likes it, likes the pleasure/pain that steals your breath)
And that's a thought, good lord, that is a fucking thought that has you clamping down on the vibe
inside and chirring out loud. Kankri's lips part, just a little, and you wish he'd wear that expression
all the time, for every second of his existence, just so you could revel in the way it makes your
shoulders pull your spine back into an arch, how it makes your nook ooze slow, sluggish delight
down your thighs and grasping fingers. The vibrations are an unrelenting punishment, rocking
through you with no mercy. You're close.
"You're making a mess," Kankri breathes. "Cronus, you're making an a-ah-absolute mess."
"All for you, babe." All for you, all of this is for you, I'm flushed for you, so flushed.
He makes an attempt at a scoff. "Don't be absurd." His fingers are scrabbling at what's left of the
toy still outside his body (quite a bit, but there's so much in him already you don't know which end
to focus on), twisting and rotating it around and around inside him. Must feel fantastic - the sight
and sounds alone have you practically drooling. He's as red as the sunrise, as the squelching fluid
seeping from him in little spurts.
"'S true! It's true, you look great, you look, it's all, it's all for you." When you shift towards him,
the vibe in you grinds up against something that makes you stutter, makes you squeeze your eyes
shut and dig your claws into the floor.
"Oh." He sounds like you hit him with a brick. You wrest your eyes open and he's got a hand
over his mouth, fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks. His eyes are very big and completely,
utterly focused on you. "Oh, Cronus, do you - oh, goodness." He makes a tiny, tiny hiccupping
noise that makes your toes curl and rocks into his toy with perhaps a little bit more force than he
intended to because his mouth snaps shut with an abrupt click. He curls in on himself, stomach
bunching into rolls as he draws his legs up to his chest, hands still groping furiously at his bulge
and nook. He's on full display for you, utterly immodest in his race for completion.
"You look gorgeous, babydoll. You look so - fuckin' amazing, you look, I can't even, Kankri, I'm
going to - Kanny, you've gotta let me - "
You're close, you're close, it hurts, it's good but it hurts. It feels like you've come already and are
being strung along on the precipice, rattled and off-balance from the vibrations coursing through
you. You're going to come whether or not he lets you. That shouldn't distress you as much as it is.
(you want to be good for him, you do, you do, you want him to let you but you aren't going to
last, you aren't going to fucking last - )
He chokes out a stuttering gasp. "No, you can't, Cronus, don't you dare, you can't - !" He

scrambles between his legs, pulling at his bulge frantically with both hands. His legs skitter
restlessly, jostling the toy with each twitch. You watch the lips of his nook clamp down and
release on it in a steady rhythm and you're done, that's it, you've tripped and fallen, you're falling,
your seedflap is shivering and your pusher is plummeting like you've slipped on ice and you, and
you "Cronus, don't!" echoes inside your head but you have to (you have). Sensation slams up your
spine and envelops your pan like a pillow over your face. You can't breathe, can't feel anything
but your bulge cramping in its haste to be rid of its slurry, can't do anything but writhe and whine.
Someone is muttering Kankri's name over and over.
It takes you forever to come down - you do so unevenly, drifting down in fits and spurts like a
feather caught in a draft. When you land, you're splayed out on your back, gripping your bulge
like it's going to fall off. Slurry has pooled under your ass and you're trembling from ears to shins.
Someone is breathing harshly in your ear (it's not you, who - )
The act of rolling your head to the side takes a good three seconds. Your vision is fuzzy, but not
fuzzy enough to blur out Kankri, watching you with his mouth gaping and eyes like saucers. He's
just tugging at his bulge now, hips jerking up and into the toy ineffectively. His hair is plastered to
his face and his eyes are glazed over, bright and helplessly pleasured, watching you like you're his
lifeline.
Thinking is like wading through melted sugar. You grope around and discard your toys, rolling
over onto your belly, flush against his side.
"You didn't - you were supposed to, supposed to wait until I told you." He gasps. One hand
comes up to grasp your forearm, smearing red all over your skin.
"Sorry," you say, and let a hand hover over his nook, not touching but close enough to let him
know your intent. "Want some help?"
His hips jerk towards you in two quick, involuntary spasms. He licks his lips. "No, no touching, I
said."
"Won't touch. Just this." You tap your index finger against the flared base. He squeaks and slaps a
palm to the floor. "All right?"
"Yes, yes, that'd be just fine, just, um, okay."
"'M gonna make you feel nice. You want that?"
"I already said I did!"
"Uh-huh. Jus' makin' sure, you know? Hang on for the ride."
He has the presence of mind to try to glare at you. "You try a line like that - "
He's loose and wet enough that corkscrewing the bulge up into him an extra inch goes smoothly,
without any resistance. He claps one hand over his mouth. Another twist, and his free hand claws
at your wrist, leaving little white scratches behind. Another, and the tiniest, most muffled moan
you've ever heard bubbles up from his throat (makes your sheathed bulge twitch in interest).
"Cronus, I - " His voice falters.
"Yeah?" You relish how his hips come up when you tug on the toy like you plan on removing it.
He's greedy in his quest for release and it makes you giddy.

"It's too, it's too - it won't go any deeper, there's no room - "
You twist the bulge sharply but don't go much deeper. "Sure there is. Still a ways to go to your
flap, kiddo."
"Don't call me that, you - ah, ah - "
"I, ah, ah?" He's fucking delicious. Maybe if you get him off nicely enough he'll let you tongue
his nook for awhile, let you suck him stupid. He smells amazing - probably tastes even better.
"Shut up, shut up, oh, Cronus!"
"'M right here. Just a lil' ways to go 'n it'll be all over, just hang in there."
The next slow, wet corkscrew has you angling it up a little, so the blunt head scrapes along his
empty sheath. His back snaps into an arch and he tries so hard to hide the trill forming in this
throat but he can't. There's only a few inches left, he's so close, you're going to get him off (you
are going to make Kankri Vantas orgasm, a fucking dream come true), you're going to get to see
him fall apart under you - properly, this time, properly, all because of your actions, no remotecontrolled release for him this time.
He keeps opening and closing his mouth like a gillbeast. If you waved a hand in front of his eyes
you doubt he'd even blink. He's gone, he's so gone, all you have to do is give him a little more and
he'll explode into pieces, but first "You're fantastic, Kanny."
He goes 'uh?' in an absentminded way, not focused on anything other than what he's feeling.
Because of you. You allow yourself to bask in greedy, selfish pride as you jiggle the bulge
roughly, watching him yelp and squirm as you mutter stupid little things in his ear that he won't
remember later, things about how pretty and soft he is, how you've always, always wanted to do
this, how happy you are he let you do this for him.
He's about to reach a plateau, you think. Won't come without an increase in stimulation, won't do
anything but lie there and take what you give him, too far gone to demand more.
Too far gone to beg?
You lean over him, holding yourself up with your free hand. Your hair brushes his cheek.
"Do you wanna come, Kanny?"
The noise he makes is fucking gorgeous, makes you bite back a snarl at the panicked exultance of
it. You give the toy a harsh jolt, watch his eyes roll back.
"I said, do you want it?"
"I do!" Said in a hoarse almost-shout (he's loud, you've made him loud, your life is amazing).
"You're gonna hafta ask nicely."
"You - " He scrapes clipped claw-stubs down your back. "Give it to me, you absolute idiot, you,
you - "
Ah, well. Maybe next time (next time? There has to be a next time - he wouldn't dare make such
ecstatic sounds for you - for you - if at least a small part of him didn't want to do this again, wasn't

already planning another round). You'll get him to beg eventually.

(oh, how you'll make him beg)
When you thrust the bulge in the rest of the way, when you feel it connect with the wall of his
slurry sac, you're hoping for a moan, maybe a high-pitched cry and seizing muscles. You don't
expect him to screech, don't expect him to convulse under you like you've shocked him. Don't
expect him to grab your face in both hands and drag you down to him for a sloppy, utterly
uncoordinated kiss. Saliva slicks down the side of his face. He cries out repeatedly against your
skin, swallowing against your lips, gulping air in the most pitiful way.
A vicious little voice tells you to jerk the toy in deeper, to put more pressure against his flap. You
fumble blind, accidentally squeeze his bulge before slipping down (he hiccups and clutches you
closer to him). You grasp the base of the thing and shove, and he howls, fucking howls,
uninhibited and gorgeous, lost and desperate for you to let him down, to let him release his slurry
and drift into peaceful afterglow, but you don't want him to, you want to keep him there, make
him feel this, make him feel how good you can be for him, make him feel everything you've
dreamed of making him feel His breaths are coming hard and uneven now. He's thrashing and yelling, bucking against you and
trying to claw your back to ribbons, trying to chew on your lips, trying to gasp out a coherent
sentence but he can't, he just can't.
You have to let him down eventually, though. You see tears forming in his eyes and take pity on
him (you pity him, you do, you do), and reluctantly pull the bulge free. He gushes everywhere,
drenching you up the your forearms. Material spreads out in a pool to mix with yours on the floor.
He's whimpering, caught in a hard, unforgiving series of full-body spasms, even after you've
pulled the toy free and he's done spilling. He's completely disoriented, fucked out and delirious.
You pet his hair while he gathers himself and try not to smile when he leans into your touch
automatically. You smooth the locks from his eyes, drop a kiss on his sweaty forehead.
"That was beautiful, darlin'."
"Cr-Cron-Cronus, ah, you, you, I - " He's still out of breath but coming back to himself. He's
touching you all over, running his hands over every bit of you he can reach.
"Hang on a sec," you tell him. "Don't let go of me."
"What?"
He squawks when you scoop him up (and try not to stagger, he's heavy and you're not as fit as
you used to be). You prop him up against his 'coon and retrieve a washcloth from the ablution
block, wipe the both of you down with it so he won't have to deal with the slurry drying later (an
awful mess to clean up once it's dried. You almost wish he had carpeting in here - better to just rip
it up and burn it than what you're going to have to do to his wood flooring to get it clean). Pick
him up again and lower him into the sopor, watch as he comes back online, blinking sleepily up at
you.
"Cronus," he whispers. His voice is absolutely wrecked. You lean in to hear him better. "I said
you couldn't come before I did. Plus you touched me."
Oops. "Sorry 'bout that. What c'n I say?" You bop him on the nose with a finger. "You were too
hot to resist."
He gives you his best shot at a disgruntled expression. He's falling asleep. "Your self-discipline

still has room for improvement."

"Does it? My bad." You drop your face into his hair, inhale the I-feel-really-good pheromones
oozing from him. "Guess you'll have to punish me."
"I suppose I will." He's struggling to keep his eyes open. "Another time, though. For now I think
I'm going to...I might have to..."
"Sleep." You scoop up a handful of sopor and drip it into his hair. "Go on. I'll deal with the
mess."
"Will you? That...would be...quite nice of you...thank - "
He breaks off mid-sentence. His head drops forward against the rim of the 'coon. He's out like a
light.
You stand there watching him for longer than you should, long enough that if he woke up he'd
have good reason to scold you for creepy behavior. You shake yourself from your daze and
retrieve your clothes, wrinkling your nose at the mess surrounding you. You look back up at
Kankri again. His eyes are jittering underneath his eyelids. You wonder what he's dreaming about
(wonder if he's dreaming about you). You run a hand through his hair again. He shifts a little and
mutters a sleepy little, "mm?" under his breath. A smile flickers across his face and he sighs,
nuzzling into your hand.
He might not be flushed for you, or not be as flushed for you as you are for him, but that's all
right. He trusts you, trusts you enough to take care of him while he's sleeping (while he's spilling,
while his neck and belly are bared), and that's more than you could have asked for, to be honest.
You broke his rules and he rolled with it, didn't call everything off, didn't get angry that you
decided to switch it up a little, and that speaks volumes to you. He doesn't like change, but he
relented, just for you. Even offered a next time.
(said he'd punish you. You very much like the sound of that)
You whistle as you head back to your apartment, whistle while you gather up the necessary
chemicals to clean up your mess, whistle while you're doing it (quietly, don't want to wake him).
When you're done you pull up a chair next to the recuperacoon and sit down, leaning against the
side. If you wanted to, you could touch your temple to his. He might wake up, but he might not
mind.
He might not mind. Holy fuck.
You've fallen a bit harder than you originally intended.
You decide that is absolutely fine and dandy.
Kankri's hand is draped over the rim of the 'coon. You twine your fingers through his and try not
to smile like a sap when he sighs a little. You have to twist your arm a bit awkwardly to get
comfortable, but by the time you start to drift off you've forgotten all about it, because you've
decided that you're going to kiss him first thing when you wake up, and he might not mind.
Your life just got exponentially better.

End Notes

I was SO close to tagging this as failsex, 'cause Cronus is an awkward bean. But I figured
everyone got off and was happy in the end, so why bother? But I still kinda want to.
Alt title to this fic is "in which they live in the same apartment building because that makes
everything hella convenient for me."

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