Chapter 19: Claiming and Care
Karkat’s release wasn’t a gentle wave; it was a seismic shudder that ripped through him, buckling his spine. A guttural groan tore from his throat, a sound so raw it scraped against the humid air of the cluttered bedroom. His hips snapped forward one final, desperate time as his cock pulsed violently within Dave’s tight heat. Dave gasped, arching off the sweat-slick sheets, feeling the hot, thick flood paint his insides, a claiming so profound it stole his breath. Karkat collapsed onto him, burying his face in the crook of Dave’s neck, the word “Mine” a hot, panting mantra against his skin, punctuated by each thundering beat of his heart. Dave could feel it, the sheer force of it—the twitching, the spurting, the sheer volume leaving him impossibly full.
As the final tremors subsided, Karkat softened inside him, but the intensity didn't fade; it transmuted. The predatory grip became tender. With hands that shook slightly, Karkat fumbled for the key on the nightstand, knocking over an empty energy drink can in his haste. The click of the handcuffs unlocking echoed sharply in the sudden quiet. Before Dave could even process the release of his wrists, Karkat was on him. Not with force, but with a frantic, overwhelming tenderness.
He cupped Dave’s face, thumbs brushing over the high cheekbones, smearing sweat and… something else. Then his mouth crashed down. Not demanding this time, but reverent. Kisses rained down – on Dave’s forehead, his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, the corners of his still-parted lips. Each press of his lips was an electric brand of pure adoration.
Karkat’s lips moved feverishly, tracing the sweat-slick line of Dave’s jaw before finding his mouth again. This kiss was deep, claiming, yet suffused with a trembling awe that made Dave’s stomach flip. "Fuck, Dave," Karkat breathed against his lips, his voice thick and ragged, "you were… you are… perfect." He pulled back just enough to stare, his dark eyes wide, almost disbelieving, drinking in Dave’s flushed face, the way his chest still heaved. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
Karkat’s thumbs wiped away the dampness tracking down Dave's temples—sweat, tears, maybe both. "Look at you," Karkat rasped, his voice wrecked but brimming with warmth as he pressed another kiss to Dave’s slack mouth. "My perfect fucking slut. You took it so good."
Dave flushed, the crude praise hitting like a live wire. "Shut up," he mumbled, turning his face into the pillow, the cheap cotton scratchy against his burning cheek. His freed wrist throbbed where the cuff had bitten in.
"Never," Karkat growled, hooking a finger under Dave’s chin, forcing his gaze back. "You sent me that video." His eyes, usually sharp with annoyance, were liquid soft, almost awestruck. "Playing with your tight little hole all alone. Showing me what you needed. Perfect."
"Wasn't that," Dave protested weakly, the memory of filming himself—fingers slick, hole clenching around three digits, breath catching in shaky whimpers he’d sent directly to carcinoGeneticist—making his stomach clench with humiliation now. "Just… proof. That I could."
Karkat laughed, a rough, delighted sound that vibrated through Dave's chest where they were still pressed together. He kissed Dave again, deep and messy, tongue sliding possessively over his. "Proof you’re a fucking natural, Strider," he breathed when he pulled back, lips brushing Dave’s. "Proof you needed my cock buried in you. Weeks, Dave. Fucking weeks without feeling you clench around me."
He slid his hand down Dave’s trembling flank, calloused palm rough against sweat-slick skin, tracing the curve of his ass. "Missed this," Karkat murmured, fingers dipping lower, finding the wet, stretched furl where he’d just emptied himself. Dave hissed, oversensitive, but Karkat just stroked the swollen rim gently, possessively. "Missed how you whine when you’re full. How you beg for it."
"I don't beg," Dave choked out, even as his hole fluttered weakly around Karkat's fingertip. The lingering ache inside was a delicious soreness, a reminder of the brutal stretch, the pulsing heat that had filled him moments ago.
"Sure you don't, sweetheart," Karkat teased, his finger pressing in just a knuckle, making Dave gasp. "Just like you're not gay. Just a bro helping another bro out, right? Filming his asshole getting stretched open and sending it over?" He leaned down, sucking a bruise into the tendon of Dave’s neck. "Fucking perfect bro shit."
Dave groaned, humiliation warring with the undeniable rush of being wanted like this. Karkat withdrew his finger, shifting his weight instead, pulling Dave bodily against him. Dave went limp, his body utterly spent, his head finding the solid warmth of Karkat’s shoulder. Karkat wrapped strong arms around him, one hand settling possessively low on Dave’s back, the other cradling the nape of his neck. The lingering scent of sex, sweat, and Karkat’s cheap body spray filled the air, mingling with the stale pizza smell from a box near the overflowing trash can.
"Seriously, though," Karkat said, his voice dropping to a low rumble against Dave's hair. "Proud of you. Know that shit wasn't easy. Sending me that… taking me back in after fucking forever." He squeezed him tighter. "My good boy."
Dave stiffened slightly at the endearment, but exhaustion pinned him down. He buried his face deeper into Karkat’s neck, breathing him in. "Shut up," he muttered again, the words muffled against skin. "Just… shut up and hold me." His own hand crept up, fingers tangling hesitantly in the worn fabric of Karkat’s band tee.
Karkat chuckled, the sound warm and content. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dave’s head. "Yeah," he breathed, his body relaxing into the mattress, Dave a welcome weight against him. "Can do that." The hum of the neglected computer and the distant city sounds drifted back into focus as the frantic energy of minutes before bled away, leaving them tangled in the quiet, sticky aftermath.
The hum of the neglected computer and the distant city sounds drifted back into focus as the frantic energy of minutes before bled away, leaving them tangled in the quiet, sticky aftermath. Dave felt impossibly heavy, boneless against Karkat’s solid warmth, the lingering ache deep inside a throbbing counterpoint to the exhaustion dragging him down. Karkat’s hand remained a possessive weight low on his back, fingers tracing idle, soothing patterns through the drying sweat.
"Still alive down there?" Karkat murmured, his voice rough but soft now, lips brushing Dave’s temple. His thumb rubbed slow circles over the faint indentation left by the handcuff on Dave’s wrist.
Dave grunted, burying his face deeper into the crook of Karkat’s neck. "Define 'alive'. Feels like you rearranged my fucking guts." The words were muffled, lacking their usual sharp edge. He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at tender, stretched muscles. "Christ, Karkat. You weren't kidding about missing it."
Karkat chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly against Dave’s cheek. "Told you weeks without burying myself in that tight ass was driving me fucking insane." His hand slid lower, fingers gently probing the swollen, sensitive rim Dave was still clenching instinctively. Dave hissed, arching slightly. "See?" Karkat breathed, his fingertip pressing in just enough to feel the slick heat and the residual stretch. "Still greedy for it. Even after taking every fucking drop."
Dave flinched at the contact, his oversensitive hole clenching tight around the faint intrusion. "Fuck, Karkat," he gasped, trying to squirm away, but his muscles screamed in protest. "Too much."
Karkat instantly withdrew his hand, smoothing his palm over Dave’s trembling flank instead. "Shit, sorry," he murmured, genuine concern softening his usually sharp tone. He pressed a kiss to Dave's shoulder. He shifted, carefully rolling them onto their sides, pulling Dave flush against his chest, spooning him protectively. Dave’s back pressed against Karkat’s solid warmth, the steady thud of his heartbeat grounding the frantic pulse still echoing in Dave’s own veins. Karkat hooked a leg over Dave’s hip, pulling him impossibly closer. "Okay?" he rumbled against the nape of Dave’s neck, his breath a warm puff.
"Yeah, ," Dave breathed, floating again in the afterglow. His body slowly unclenching in the secure hold. He felt wrung out, hollowed and filled simultaneously, the deep ache a constant, almost welcome throb. Karkat’s arm tightened around his waist, fingers splayed possessively over his stomach. Dave tilted his head back, seeking the familiar curve of Karkat’s shoulder, the scratch of his stubble a grounding sensation against his temple.
Karkat nuzzled into the space, his lips grazing Dave’s hairline, then his temple. He traced the shell of Dave’s ear with his nose. "C'mere," he whispered, his voice rough with a tenderness that made Dave's chest tighten. Dave complied slowly, shifting just enough to bring their mouths within reach.
Karkat’s kiss was different this time. Not the frantic, claiming pressure of minutes ago, nor the possessive reverence immediately after. This was slow. Deliberate. His lips moved against Dave’s with a deep, unhurried warmth, coaxing rather than demanding. He sucked gently on Dave’s lower lip, tasting salt and skin. Dave sighed into it, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as he relaxed into the sheer care of it. Karkat’s hand slid up, cupping Dave’s jaw, thumb stroking his cheekbone as their mouths moved together in a languid rhythm. It felt endless, this slow exploration devoid of urgency, just the slide of lips, the soft sigh of breath. Dave lost track of time, anchored only by the solid weight of Karkat behind him and the soft, persistent pressure of his mouth.
Eventually, Karkat pulled back just enough to look at him, his dark eyes soft in the dim light filtering from the hallway. "You're a fucking mess, Strider," he murmured, brushing a sweaty strand of blonde hair off Dave’s forehead. "Come on." He disentangled their legs and sat up, the mattress groaning. Before Dave could protest or even form a coherent thought, Karkat slid one arm under his knees and the other firmly across his back.
"Whoa! Fuck, Karkat!" Dave yelped as Karkat effortlessly lifted him off the bed. Panic flared briefly, but the arms holding him were steady, secure. "Put me down, you caveman!"
"Nope," Karkat stated, shifting Dave’s weight higher against his chest. Dave instinctively looped his arms around Karkat’s neck, clinging despite his protest. He felt strangely weightless, utterly dependent, and acutely aware of the drying sweat cooling on his skin, the sticky residue between his thighs. Karkat carried him past the neon posters and cluttered desk, navigating the cramped space with surprising ease, his bare feet padding softly on the worn carpet. Dave buried his face against Karkat’s neck again, breathing in the familiar scent of cheap soap and sweat and him, letting the ridiculousness of being carried override the lingering tremors of sensitivity.
Karkat kicked open the bathroom door and flicked on the light, flooding the small tiled space with harsh fluorescence. He gently lowered Dave’s legs until his feet touched the cool tile, keeping a steadying arm around his waist. Dave swayed slightly, his legs still shaky. Karkat reached past him to turn on the shower, adjusting the taps until steam began to billow. "Need help standing?" he asked, his hand still firm on Dave’s hip.
Dave shook his head, pushing the foggy exhaustion aside. "I got it." He straightened, wincing slightly as muscles protested. Karkat watched him for a second, then nodded, stepping into the shower stall himself, pulling the curtain mostly closed behind him but leaving enough space. The hot water sluiced over Karkat’s tan skin, plastering his messy black hair to his forehead instantly. He reached out a hand. Dave hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping under the spray, the near-scalding water hitting him like a physical shock. It drove the remaining tension from his muscles in a shuddering wave. He groaned, leaning his forehead against the cool tile wall.
Karkat moved behind him, his hands landing gently on Dave’s shoulders. "Lean back," he instructed softly. Dave did, letting Karkat take his weight again, trusting the strong arms that braced him. Karkat reached for a bottle of generic body wash, squeezing a generous amount onto a worn washcloth. The scent of cheap, clean soap filled the steamy air. He started with Dave’s shoulders, the rough terrycloth moving in slow, firm circles over tired muscles, working down his spine. Dave let his head loll back against Karkat’s shoulder, his eyes drifting closed. The heat, the pressure, the sheer care being taken with his battered body was overwhelming.
Karkat’s hands slid from Dave’s shoulders, fingers threading into the wet, tangled mess of his blonde hair. Dave flinched instinctively, expecting roughness, but Karkat just cradled his skull, tilting his head back gently under the steaming spray. Water streamed over Dave’s closed eyelids, down his temples, washing away sweat and the phantom sting of tears. Karkat reached for the cheap bottle of shampoo balanced precariously on the ledge, squeezing a dollop onto his palm.
He worked the lather into Dave’s scalp, fingers massaging in slow, firm circles. The scent of generic coconut filled the humid air, clashing faintly with the lingering musk of sex. Dave sighed, the tension leaching from his neck and jaw as Karkat’s blunt nails scratched pleasantly. "Fuck, your hair," Karkat murmured, his voice a low rumble close to Dave’s ear, almost lost under the drumming water. He gathered the sudsy strands, squeezing gently. "Like fucking silk. How? You use that cheap-ass tar soap on it."
Dave grunted, leaning into the touch despite himself. "Told you. Just shampoo. No conditioner bullshit." His voice was thick with exhaustion, stripped of its usual defensive edge. Karkat’s hands were surprisingly skilled, methodical, rinsing the suds away with careful sweeps of his palms, ensuring no soap stung Dave’s eyes. The heat seeped deeper into Dave’s bones, the rhythmic pressure on his scalp lulling him towards a state of near-oblivion. He felt boneless, cared for in a way that scraped uncomfortably close to something real.
Karkat’s thumbs smoothed over Dave’s temples as he rinsed the last traces of shampoo. "Feels like I’m washing a goddamn cloud," he muttered, almost to himself, his tone a mixture of disbelief and soft wonder. He tilted Dave’s head forward slightly, letting the water cascade down his back. Dave just stood there, swaying gently, letting Karkat guide him, the fight utterly drained. Karkat’s hands lingered for a moment, fingers tracing the damp line of Dave’s jaw before reaching for a towel hanging outside the curtain. He pulled Dave back against his chest, wrapping the thick, slightly scratchy terrycloth around him, cocooning him in warmth.
They dried off in silence punctuated only by the dripping faucet and the rustle of fabric. Karkat was efficient, briskly rubbing Dave down before attending to himself. Dave stood passively, towel clutched around his waist, watching steam curl towards the ceiling vent. Karkat tossed him a pair of worn grey sweatpants. "Yours are probably fused to the floor in your room," he stated bluntly, pulling on his own. Dave didn’t argue. His own apartment, specifically his bed, was indeed a disaster zone of tangled sheets, discarded clothes, and the undeniable evidence of their earlier, frantic coupling. The thought of navigating that mess felt impossible.
Karkat steered him gently by the elbow out of the humid bathroom, back into the cooler, pizza-scented air of the apartment. Neon light from a Mortal Kombat poster cast long shadows. Karkat flicked off the main light, plunging the bedroom into near-darkness illuminated only by the standby LEDs of various consoles and the faint city glow bleeding through the blinds. He pulled back the rumpled comforter on his own bed – marginally less chaotic than Dave’s – and nudged Dave towards it. "In," he commanded, his voice low but leaving no room for debate.
Dave crawled onto the mattress, the sheets cool against his flushed skin. He sank down with a groan, every muscle protesting weakly. Karkat slid in beside him, settling back against the pillows. Without a word, Dave shifted, rolling onto his side and pressing himself against Karkat’s solid warmth. He buried his face in the hollow between Karkat’s neck and shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of cheap soap layered over Karkat’s own familiar, musky warmth. One arm draped heavily across Karkat’s chest, fingers curling loosely into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Karkat’s arm came around him immediately, a heavy, grounding weight across his back, his hand settling possessively on Dave’s hip.
Silence settled, thick and comfortable. Dave listened to the steady thump of Karkat’s heartbeat beneath his ear, felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. The frantic energy, the sharp edges of denial, the desperate need – it all felt distant now, muffled by exhaustion and the profound sense of safety enveloping him in Karkat’s hold. Karkat’s fingers traced idle patterns on his hipbone through the thin sweats.
Then, without warning, a bubble of laughter rose in Dave’s chest. It started as a choked huff against Karkat’s skin, then burst free – a low, disbelieving chuckle that shook his shoulders. Karkat’s hand stilled. Dave lifted his head slightly, just enough to see Karkat’s profile in the dim light, his brow furrowed slightly in question. Dave met his gaze, a wide, incredulous grin spreading across his face, utterly devoid of his usual guarded irony.
He laughed again, louder this time, the sound raw and genuine, echoing softly in the quiet room. He shook his head, burying his face back into Karkat’s chest, his shoulders still trembling with mirth. "Fuck," Dave gasped, his voice thick with laughter and something else, something like surrender. He lifted his head again, looking directly at Karkat, his red eyes wide and startlingly clear even in the gloom. A final, breathless chuckle escaped him. "Karkat. Dude." He paused, the grin softening into something quieter, more profound. "I'm so fucking gay."