Chapter Text
Kurloz’s boots are big and heavy, the kind of shoes that look more like fortification than a style choice. The eyelets are shaped like skulls, all fifty million of them, and every row of lace is yanked so tight that it seems impenetrable as armour.
They’re loud, though - so fucking loud, Jesus. It’s not like he’s trying to be sneaky, this late at night, but still. You could hear the echoing thuds from a mile away. You’re honestly astonished he hasn’t buckled the windowsill yet.
Speaking of which.
You’re not lying in wait just for shits and giggles; Kurloz’s been playing a clever hand, lately, seeming to have decided that you can’t beat him if you can’t find him.
You haven’t seen him for two weeks. That’s a problem.
When you wake up alone, the last living creature in KZ’s little room of horrors, you’re not particularly surprised.
Kurloz’s desperate grip on his self-control is always hard to prise away, even if it’s rewarding; he’ll retreat for a few days, brooding as he regains it, and then he’ll be back. After all, the game might be new, but your friendship is well-worn. It’s like a map you could draw from memory, a precise science - curated over time, a thousand different experiments for how to get what you want from him.
Speaking of. It takes you a second to remember it, but you wake up the reigning emperor of gay chicken. You’re pretty sure you must’ve set some kind of record. It takes some mad fucking skills for a blind-drunk dude to get a straight goth to suck his dick, let alone the way he kneeled down between your legs and let you use him. You might be a wizard.
You were super drunk, obviously. So drunk. The drunkest. Everyone knows that straight friendships get a little homoerotic after dark. KZ knows that, too. He’s just run off because- well, firstly because he’s a sore loser (his jaw definitely is), and secondly because while he’s panicky, you’re cruising. You roll with the punches. It must be driving him insane, being the unsteady one for once.
Still, Kurloz is resilient. There’s an eerie impermeability to him, sometimes, and you know he’ll resurface soon enough with his usual dead stare. Ready to fight, prepared to win.
That being said, there is something new and strange and unmistakably different; the next time he stares at you, composed or not, you’ll still see the dark, bruised swell of his mouth after you fucked it. That’s the kind of advantage that doesn’t go away.
So, yeah, you’ll give KZ his sulking time. You’re not a gracious victor, but you are a smug piece of shit, and you can’t deny a certain tingling satisfaction at the thought of how wrecked he must be, just how long it’s going to take him to shore his pride back up again.
You’ll let him have this.
Two days is fine.
Two weeks, though? Two weeks is suspicious. Two weeks is too long, two weeks suggests external influences, a break in the pattern. You lurk about for a while, growing steadily more and more impatient, until it hits day 15.
You know he’s not dead, because Rufioh Nitram’s car was found recently with every part of the engine methodically unwired. It’s crude, for Kurloz, but it’s pretty funny.
No, KZ isn’t out of town. The motherfucker is avoiding you.
He should definitely know better than that.
You’re not really expecting Kurloz to answer the door, but you’re still taken aback by who does. Gamzee stands in the doorway, tense and uncomfortable, and the cogs twist in your brain.
“Yeah?”
Rapid-fire red flags jump out immediately: he sounds even more like he’s been gargling gravel than usual, his fingers are digging into the door hard enough for the tendons to stand out, and his whole body is one tense, dangerous line. Most importantly, Gamzee’s eyes are sharp, wary and unmistakably lucid.
Holy shit, he’s sober. Actually-
You reassess his wary stance, the dark circles under his eyes. Bloodshot. Finger twitching. The intensity of his glare.
Woah. He’s sober sober. Off-his-meds sober. You know what that means.
“I said, motherfucking what?” The younger Makara repeats, eyes narrowing.
“Your dad’s in town?”
Gamzee glowers darkly at you for another moment - you almost forgot just how fucking intimidating he gets when he’s not high as a kite - then sighs. “Has been, yeah.”
“That’s why KZ’s been AWOL?”
“AWOL?” He pulls a face. “You know how it is. Big mofo’s all gone off again, though.”
“Uh huh,” you say, and shift forwards. “When?”
“What’s it to you, motherfucker?” Gamzee looms a half-inch closer, casually threatening, and you watch as his knuckles tighten on the creaky doorframe.
Yeesh. You probably shouldn’t antagonise this ticking time bomb, because KZ isn’t here right now to stop you getting your spleen ripped out.
“Dumbass question,” you tell him brightly, unable to help yourself. “Next.”
A dark shadow passes over Gamzee’s face as he looks away. “What the fuck do you want, heretical brotherfucker?”
At least he’s funny.
“Where’s KZ?” You ask bluntly.
Gamzee hisses out a breath, and it takes effort not to move back. He’s just- Jesus, he’s unsettling like this. You like unsettling, but you prefer the way KZ does it - stoic and silent and menacing. It’s a strategy game, interacting with him.
His brother, on the other hand, gets extremely volatile when he’s in this state. As a volatile person yourself, you know that the two of you probably shouldn’t be interacting right now.
Oh well.
“I dunno, man,” Gamzee says.
“What do you mean, ‘I dunno.”
You work to keep your tone casual, like you’re not twitchy and tense with frustration. Any other day, and you’d be enjoying yourself - you like puzzles, you like getting right up to the line and fucking pushing at it. But you’re off-kilter, rattled enough to get sloppy - Porrim’s wide-eyed glance when she realised you didn’t know where Kurloz was, either, is still ringing around your head. No one’s meant to know about this. You couldn’t give less shits if people see you fail, usually, but Kurloz is different. He’s off limits.
“Means I don’t motherfucking know, brother,” Gamzee tells you, and you scoff.
“You might be unhinged but you’re got- not- an amnesiac, dipshit. Tell me where KZ is or I’ll start contracting- contacting your friends.”
“Don’t have friends. All around me are ignorant infidels what no motherfucker could be all saving.”
Wow, he says it with such confidence that it’s almost not obviously insane. You’re definitely going to pester Porrim’s little sister; she’s the one who seems to keep Gamzee in line when necessary.
Gamzee twitches when you pull out your phone, apparently lucid enough to be worried about tall goth chicks. “Don’t-“
You blink at him innocently. “I hear there’s an intervention kit somewhere.”
“Fuck you, motherfucker, I’m going to rip out your entrails and use them as motherfucking-“
“How do you think Kurloz’d react to that.” You break in, words low but intent enough to capture his focus.
Boom. Trump card. There’s like, three people in the world that Gamzee listens to when he’s like this, and KZ is the ultimate one. Plus, you’re genuinely not sure which of you KZ’d end up irrationally backing; it’s not like he ever gives a shit about who’s in the wrong, just whoever he has a weirdly close bond with. Either way, it’s uncertain enough that you can see Gamzee’s mind change, the shift in his eyes as he steps back.
“Mofo comes in at night,” he hisses. “Through the window. Like a motherfucking bat. Locked his room up what no motherfucker could enter.”
You sigh. Dipshit. “Why the fuck is he doing that?”
Gamzee sends you a look of vague, bloodthirsty bemusement. You guess it’s what you deserve, asking for reasonable explanations from fucking Gamzee Makara.
“Cool,” you say instead. “Cast ya- catch you on the flip, Makara. Also, not like I care or anythit, but take your meds.”
His voice goes low and flatter than an arid plane. “What.”
“You look like death warmed over and you’re staring at me like I drove up in a molestermobile,” you point out, and wince inside when his face twists into a vicious snarl.
“Don’t need none of that MOTHERFUCKING POISON tainting my pan, mofo-“
“Jesus,” you take a step back, rolling your eyes. “Whatever. Keep being a paranoid head case with wack psychosis, if you want. Your dad’s probably overseas by now, Makara, get your shit together.”
There’s your good deed of the day.
Gamzee sends you a vicious look. “Brother don’t know shit about my father.”
“I know enough, daddy issues.”
He flips you off when you walk away, but to be fair, you do the exact same thing.
Now, you let KZ get precisely two steps inside the room, then launch at him from under the window. You grab his ankle and yank him down with you, pretty much the inverse of a trip, and he falls hard - not graceful, but efficient.
Obviously, KZ takes in one shocked breath and then flips back into control - he lets out a harsh oof as he hits the ground, gets his knees under him, and pins you down on your back in the space of two seconds. His face is blank, eyes distant with animalistic rage, and he draws back - you grin, nice and shiny, because if he punches you, you’ll laugh so hard that you’ll choke on all your newly-loosened teeth - before a spark of recognition seems to jolt him.
Mituna.
You savour the split second of unconcealed emotion in his expression. A moment later, he’s got his composure back: the iron shields slide down over him, eyes going flat and distant, and he moves back so fast he almost loses his balance.
You don’t let him get far - you sit right up with him, nose to nose as you force him to acknowledge you.
“Aw, you do remember me, look at that!”
Kurloz shifts back further, drawing his height up and sending you his best icy glare. He looks tired. And explosively angry. What the fuck are you doing here.
You get to your feet as well, even if it barely puts a dent in the height difference.
“You’re avoiding me,” you tell him, and you’re not smiling anymore.
“I-“ His gaze skitters across the room, his shoulders hunching as he scowls. Tuna, get the fuck out of my house.
“Not til you explain yourself, chuckles.” You cross your arms.
Kurloz’s whole expression sharpens grotesquely, darkening into the kind of murderous stare he gives people when they ask about his family.
“I ain’t motherfucking asking.”
“Sucks to be you, then.” You stretch. “Seriously, KZ, the fucking window?”
Apparently near-speechless with rage, he glowers at you like he’s imagining your head on a stick. How the fuck did a mofo even…
“You think you’re the only one able to pick a lock?”
KZ twitches. Brother fucking broke in?
“Yeah,” you smirk at him, leaning back casually. “What are you gonna do, call the cops?”
You would love to see that pan out. You’re pretty sure cops don’t even come to this neck of the woods, anymore. Makara Sr’s still got a reputation, and he hasn’t even lived here in years.
“Tuna…” Kurloz pinches his temples and points at the door, emanating rage. “Get the motherfuck out of here. Now.”
Wow. He’s feeling talkative, clearly.
“Nah.” You say, blasé.
“Brother ain’t motherfucking up and joking, fuckhead,” he hisses. “Either you leave now in one piece, or you leave in motherfuckin cubes.”
You snort. “Sure.”
He’s still staring you down. Still calling your bluff. Kurloz’s eyes are stony and impossible in this light, almost black, and you know he’s wobbling on the edge of active violence.
God, it’s funny that he thinks this’ll scare you away. It’s the best thing about your friendship, the way you’re an unstoppable force and he’s an immovable object; every time he slows you down, every time you shift him just a touch - just the tiniest amount - jt feels like balance. Stability, almost; it’s a foreign concept to you, but you like it.
His voice drops, deadly and low. “You’ve got five motherfucking seconds before I go get the motherfuckin machete.”
He’s so full of shit.
“Psh.” You angle another grin at him. “You think I don’t know where you keep that shit, KZ? You’re in boots and I qualified for track.”
“I-“
“We both know I’d get there first, then it’d be me chasing you around with the machete, and I gotta be honest, I’m not interested in acting out your jerkoff fantasies right now.” You shrug, watching him wind tighter with every word. He’s testing, waiting to see if he’ll be able to psych you out.
But, as recent events have proven, you’re the king of this game.
He’s stone-still, fists clenched at his sides, glowering and raging and standing strong and then-
KZ folds himself stiffly down and sits on the bed. “Fuck you, Tuna.”
“Right back atcha, K-Loz.” You cross your arms, firm up your stance. “So.”
He glares at your shoes.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you repeat, and notice the way he stiffens.
Wild-ass old man was up and back in town, darkening a brother’s door, Kurloz signs, shoving hair out of his face. Ain’t had time to look away, you know what that Machiavellian fuck’s like.
“Yeah,” you agree. All of Makara’s extended family are fucking nuts. KZ always ends up AWOL for a few days when his dad swings back into town, cause he’d rather meet Makara Sr on neutral ground than have him in the house, around Gamzee. “But he’th gone now. So?”
KZ scowls blackly at your shadow on the floor, and the irrationality of it all frustrates you.
“Jesus,” you snap, harsher than intended. “Could you fuck- fuxing look at me?”
He glares away harder.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you toss your hands up. “You didn’t have a problem with eye contact when my dick was in your mouth.”
Kurloz’s head whips up. “Tuna.”
You barrel on gleefully. “What, should I just whip it out? Would that help?” He sends you an acidic stare, stone-faced until you reach down for your zip.
“Don’t-“ his voice skids up wildly, a moment of glorious panic.
You glance up, the picture of innocence. “What’s that?”
KZ reaches out for a moment, then whips his hand back, opting instead to grip his bed frame so hard it groans. Stop.
“Can’t hear you.”
“T- tttttuna.” His nostrils are flared. He’s so tense that his lips are bloodless, teeth glistening darkly behind their taut grimace. “Gonna break you. Your head open. And fucking all up and eat the squirming motherfuckin viscera what’s left be- behind.”
You grin. “I’m just fucking with you.”
He glares.
“Not literally.”
He glares harder.
“Sorry to get your hopes up.”
Kurloz grits his teeth and throws something at you. It misses, but only because he chose to.
“Good aim,” you tell him anyway, and he lets out a barely-restrained growl. “You’re thit- shitty at distractions, though, K-Loz. We’re gonna talk.”
Ain’t exactly a brother’s motherfucking specialty, he signs, jabbing the air like he’s imagining it’s your face.
“That’s literally never been a problem before,” you say flatly, and you’d planned to keep up the smug, patronising look this whole time - to hold control tight in your grasp, to not even give him a chance to grab it back. But for the second time this evening, you’re not smiling anymore. You’re indulging his tantrum because you know he’ll come sloping back, but you won’t take any bullshit beyond that.
You haven’t seen him in weeks. You can’t remember the last time that happened. Fuck, you think you hate him a little.
But saying that does jack shit to fix anything, so you lean back against the wall instead, swing one ankle over the other, and send him a careless shrug. “I’ll stay here all night, I don’t give a fuck.”
KZ stares at you for a long moment, head tilting. His eyes flick to the window - you’re blocking it - then the door, which is locked from the other side. He really shot himself in the foot, there; it’s his fault, though, for deciding that parkouring into his own room every night was preferable to risking you getting into his room through the front door - how, exactly, you’re not sure. Did he think you’d try breaking in through the front like a loser? Plus, an unmedicated Gamzee makes an amazing guard dog. Either way, play stupid games, win stupid prizes, and now he’s locked himself in his own room.
KZ’s still considering the door, a wild glint to his eyes, but you’re not too worried about that; if he put his back into it, he could definitely break the hinges, but it’d be a pain in the ass and take long enough to give you time to scheme. Kurloz knows this as well as you do.
Plus. The sound of metal creaking and groaning is loud, as is the sound of steel-toed boots stomping a lock in. If KZ’s unlucky, Gamzee’ll come running, and then his little brother might see him as anything other than perfectly composed. Even worse, you might say something compromising about him.
Failing all that, you’re in his room, his house. Where would he run to? He’d have to come back eventually.
You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he makes the same calculations, shoulders tightening.
When you say you’re much more of a manipulative asshole than people give you credit for, this is what you mean: Kurloz, face blank and hands balled into fists, chewing one of his lip piercings as his eyes dart around the room. He’s a trapped animal, and you’ve used your knowledge of him to design the cage.
“You wanna be calm and rational and in control?” You ask, softly. He sends you a look of pure contemptuous loathing. “Then sit the fuck down and let’th talk like adults, Kurloz.”
KZ stays on the bed, and you sprawl on the floor, arranging yourself to be as visibly defenceless as possible. You’re not actually trying to get your nose broken - not right now, anyway - and self-control or no, KZ’s still looking at you like he’s really considering it.
As recent events have shown, you’re pretty fucking great at goading him into forgetting his self-restraint and best interests. If you push him just a little bit further, there’s every possibility he’ll lose it and beat you into a red puddle on his floorboards.
You absently ignore the giddy stab of heat that goes through you at the thought. Maybe you need a hobby.
Then you look up to meet KZ’s eyes - he’s holding your stare like a personal challenge, now, and he’s got the same wild, intent menace as a panther. Fuck that, this is your hobby. He is.
Which is why you need to resolve this whole situation now.
“So,” you start, when it becomes clear he’s not going to. “What’s with the disappearing act, KZ?”’
Believe it or not, asshole, this motherfucker’s got a life outside you.
That actually shocks a laugh out of you, an undignified snorty thing that rattles in your lungs like a loose bead.
“No you don’t,” you tell him, obviously. It’s not an insult; you don’t have a life outside him either. You’re not even mad, just genuinely amused that he’d say something so hilariously wrong.
Kurloz’s glower shows a flash of his teeth. You’re the worst motherfucker ever crawled out of-
“Yeah, and you love it, KZ,” you interrupt, and crawl towards him. You can’t be bothered to stand up, and you’re still breathless from laughter. “That’s not what this is about.”
How the fuck would you know that?
“Cause I know you better than you do, bro.” Snickering, your words come out light and whispery, almost like a secret. Kurloz breathes in sharply and stops moving altogether; his face flushes darker. “That’s how it’s always been.”
Tuna-
“So what?” You don’t want to sound as angry as you do, all of a sudden, but you guess not everyone has robotic voice modulation installed. “You want to throw it all away just caught- cause you’re a sore fucking loser?”
He blinks like you’ve feinted a punch at him, snapping an inch backwards. What.
“Don’t pretend that’s not what this is about,” you’re right in front of him now, crouched at the foot of his bed. KZ stares down at you, kinda like you’re a venomous snake. “You’re bitter that I got one over you.”
… He sucks in a breath. You’re a motherfucking idiot.
“I’m not.”
You’re so fucking idiotic. Brother really had to be up and proving the brain damage diagnosis, huh?
You know you shouldn’t laugh at that, but you can’t help it. “Fuckfacthe.”
Blasphemer. He half-smiles, for a quick guilty second. It’s like electricity, flashing through all the most impulsive parts of your mind.
“Lemme-“ you prop your chin in your hands, blinking up at Kurloz as he looms over you. “Lemme rephrase.”
His curls rustle as he tilts his head.
You smile, kinder. “You’re mad I got you to lose control. You’re so fuckin pissed I won, bro, cause it means you aren’t as good at this shit as you thought you were.”
KZ’s whole face goes blank and smooth as a piece of paper.
You laugh harshly. “Isn’t that fucking funny, KZ? You’re right, I literally have brain damage. I’ve never had a whim I didn’t act on. And I thtill got in your head so good, you completely lost it. You know Porrim thinks you’re gonna shoot up a school now?”
… You know that look. Shit just got exciting.
One second, he’s up on his knees and fucking lunging at you, twisted up with rage, and the next, you’re sliding out of reach just before his weight collides with yours.
“Oooh, too slow.”
Kurloz should eat shit, but he doesn’t; he catches himself with an animal grace, then twists round to stare at you like a fucking horror movie villain.
You missed him so much. Jesus. Giddy adrenaline rips through your veins.
When it comes to you, Kurloz’s bloodlust rarely lasts longer than a reckless second - provided you’re not stoking it, at least - but this is quick even for him. You watch impassively as his eyes go back into focus, as he knots himself into place, and then you move closer.
Tuna. He signs, then sighs through his nose and opens his mouth. “Tuna. Don’t- fucking- just get out before I snap a motherfucker’s neck.”
You can read behind the lines. He’s telling you he’s scared right now - he’s worried if you say something else, he’ll lose himself. One of the sweet things about Kurloz is how fucking terrified he is at the thought of what he might do to you.
Most of the time, KZ’s a sneaky motherfucker that deals in whispered rumours, not public rampages. Occasionally, though, there’ll be something that just gets him, like a grain of sand in a microchip, and the whole thing sparks and melts into mindless blank-eyed rage. You’ve seen the way he gets, then - it’s never a question of if he’ll lose it, it’s question of when, and usually it ends up with him absolutely mauling someone.
Like you said, it’s pretty rare. When it happens, though? It’s brutal. You’ve seen him go far enough that you’ve wondered if you’ll need to dispose of a body, far enough that you’ve planned out the coverup in your mind.
You probably won’t end up needing to go through with it. You would, though, no question. You’d hide a body for him.
You get why Kurloz is doing his angsty Cullen routine in the centre of his floor. He’s pretty much a danger to everyone around him, whether you care or not. Unfortunately, it also reminds you that compared to the shit you’ve done together - and to eachother - one lost game of gay chicken is fucking nothing.
“Tuna,” KZ rasps again.
Incensed, you ignore his attempts to shoo you away and lean closer, until you’re almost nose to nose again.
“Are you funk- fucking done yet?” You ask him, rolling your eyes.
He snaps right back to anger. You don’t have a fuckin clue of what you’re all speaking on-
“Better than you, clearly,” you snap. “You can’t even say it.”
Mituna.
You ignore him. “Yeah, you know what - boo fucking hoo, Kurloz, you got drunk and sucked dick. So what?”
A long beat of tense silence stretches out.
KZ pinches his nose bridge. Shut the fuck up.
“What, are you scared if I say it out loud it’ll be real?” You fold your arms. “Hate to break it to you, chucklefuck, but it’s a bitch, sorry, bit late for that.”
Shut up.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Kurloz,” you shove his shoulder, hard. He looks like he barely feels it - typical, but he also looks shellshocked, so whatever. “Are you seriously having an existential crisis about a blowjob?”
You don’t up and get it. He signs out.
“Then explain, fuckface.” You’re close enough that you can smell him, the itch-scratching smoke and salt that settles over you like safety.
KZ pushes up abruptly and goes to sit on his bed, yanking at a lock of hair like he does when he’s nervous. You linger in the centre of his room, waiting.
For a second, you can’t hear anything but your own breathing. Then Kurloz slowly sinks backwards, hands on his face, and tells the ceiling, “I’m motherfucking gay.”
Ah.
Ah, okay, you’re having this conversation.
The silence hangs in the air between you, a shrinking window of oxygen before you both suffocate. Or something. You’re kind of too caught up in the moment to think of a good metaphor.
You stand up, sigh, let out a breath and sprawl down next to KZ, unusually careful not to touch him. He could break your face in half, right now.
“…yeah.”
A dark, glittering eye lands on you from behind the bars of his locked fingers. “What?”
“Yeah, I mean. Makes sense,” you say, and shrug. A lot of things are shifting into place.
To your relief, that irritates him so much he flings his hands down to give you a fully-fledged glower.
What the fuck does that mean?
“Dude,” you send him a look, “You literally sucked my dick. Like. Wish- with your mouth.”
He flushes darkly. Fuck off.
“Did you forget why I was here in the first place?” You ask, all smug superiority, and let yourself lean a little closer - it’s a bad idea, but that’s never stopped you before.
Kurloz scowls, scrubbing a hand up his face. “I was motherfuckin wasted.”
You grin sharply. “You think I took advantage of you, KZ? Little old me?”
No, he rolls his eyes, and it’s such an elaborate movement - if he wasn’t a scary goth weirdo, you swear he’d be a theatre kid. Bitch thinks you don’t know about his theatre playlists. But you and I both got that motherfucking knowing all in our heads, brother, that a motherfucker gets up to all kinds of crazy shit when drunk.
“Yeah, man, people act on weird thoughts when they’re drunk,” you reach out to yank at his hair lightly. “They don’t thuddenly decide to sink down on their knees and let a dude-“
“Tuna.”
“That’s gay, man.”
KZ glares, but it’s more exasperatedly than with any real venom. “And what about you, brother? You don’t think getting head from a brother's all kinds of gay?”
“When you’re drunk, a mouth is a mouth.” You shrug, playing with a lock of his hair. “I probably thought you were a chick or something, with the eyeliner and the long hair and shit.”
He stares at you, unblinking.
You smile, then, because you can’t help it. It’s a slow, sleazy grin - the one you usually give people right before you get laid - and you’re not sure why it’s on your face right now, but you can’t figure out how to remove it.
“You’d make a hot girl, Kurloz,” you tell him, and your hand’s kinda shifted to the nape of his neck, he’s staring at you like you’re the centre of the universe. “If you asked real nice, I might even let you suck my dick sober.”
His mouth slips open, just a fraction. You watch him swallow.
You’re not lying, exactly - at least, definitely not about Kurloz making a hot chick. He’s got the creepy grey eyes, and cheekbones like fucking knives, and you have to be honest, if he was a girl, you’d already have him horizontal for way more fun reasons than awkward conversation. You would tap that shit so hard you’d probably end up married, or something. That might be a kinda weird thing to say to someone, but it’s not like he has a leg to stand on. You’re equally convinced you’d be a deeply sexy chick, anyway.
Your point being. That’s not a lie, but the rest of it? The rest, you’re just saying to mess with his head, cause even if you’re talking about your feelings, you gotta keep him on his toes.
You didn’t think he was a girl, obviously; he’s Kurloz. You’re not the kind of dude who thinks women are all softness and tits, but the girls you’ve dated in the past have all been pretty similar: short, athletic, curvy. They’re usually enthusiastic, confident enough to ask you out (you‘ve never asked for romantic commitment, but you’ll agree if you’re bored). You don’t have a type, but you guess you attract one.
Kurloz is precisely none of those things. He’s an animated skeleton in Tripps, he’s got more piercings than a Claire’s storefront, you’ve seen him punch a hole through drywall, and he’s ridiculously paranoid. Not to mention, he’s more than a head taller than you, and distinctly lacking in tits. You knew exactly who you were getting off with.
He doesn’t need to know that right now, though. You take a second to enjoy the look on his face, which is transforming into a slow, reluctant kind of flattery.
“Brother, that’s got to be the weirdest fucking compliment I’ve ever gotten to receiving.”
“You’ve got pretty decent control over your gag reflex for a newbie,” you tell him brightly, and he groans. “You didn’t puke or anything-“
Kurloz flails out a hand to cover your mouth, his face settling somewhere between disgust and amusement. Has that happened to you??
You grin, feeling the way his skin brushes against your lips. “I’m gonna lick you.”
Hastily, he snatched his hand back. Don’t.
“Too late, you asked for it-“
“Brother-“
KZ lurches backwards and you lunge after him, pressing him down into his sheets and snapping your teeth. He squawks, flailing - like he couldn’t stop you with one finger, the performative dumbass - and stares up at you, eyes going strange and intense.
Distracted, your nose bumps his. Your fringe is in his eyes.
Dude, he’s totally blushing.
“Wait. Do you-“ you speak slowly, a massive, evil grin warping your words, “KZ, do you think I’m hot?”
Silence. He shoves you off so fast your head spins.
“Relax,” you say, flopping back carelessly. “I’m not saying you’re in love witch- with me, I’m just saying- I’m hot as shit, and you’re gay, so you totally think so, right?”
A long pause. “No.” He finally grits out.
“What?” Your brows crunch together. “Why not?”
Pressing his lips together, Kurloz glares.
“Dude, I don’t believe you,” you insist, genuine indignation starting to well up. You can tell by the slight twitch of his eyes that he’s starting to regret not just laughing it off. “I’m hot. I’m totally hot.”
“Your personality is motherfuckin rancid,” KZ rumbles.
“That’s usually what girlth say right before they hop on my-“
“Tuna.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m your best friend, loser, that’s clearly not a problem for you.”
Instead of replying, Kurloz just inhales deeply and cracks his knuckles, a nervous tic you haven’t seen in ages.
Fine. You’ll relent, just this once.
“Whatever. Hey, KZ?”
He startles slightly when you cuff his shoulder, apparently still thrown off.
What, he signs, already rearranging his face back to calm.
“I hate to admit it, dude, but I think you won gay chicken.” It's kind of hard to get gayer than being actually gay.
Kurloz blinks.
You grin at him, and okay, it was worth sacrificing your pride a little to see him lost for words. You never admit defeat, he’s actually gawping. You should shut his mouth for him.
He’s not astounded enough that you manage to, slapping your fingers away automatically, but you change direction and sling an arm up around his angular shoulders instead. It’s honestly more of a wrist teetering around his collarbone, the lanky fuck - dissatisfied, you hook your fingers into his neck and tug, pulling til he leans down for you.
“Anyway, this connects to another think- thing.”
Kurloz groans, and you elbow him in the side. It’s as ineffectual as ever.
“What.”
“So I was thinking,” you tell him, gesturing with your free hand. “Things have been weird, right?”
He sends you a look like, duh.
“And when things get weird, you hide away in your room like a creepy incel,” you continue mercilessly.
KZ tilts a brow at you.
“So we need things to not be weird-“
Brother. He already looks alarmed.
Ha.
“Bathically, I think you need to let me suck your dick.” You tell him, and woah, you’ve never seen his face go that bloodless before.
Kurloz stares at you for what feels like a full minute, pale-lipped and aghast.
“What the fuck are you talking about.” He croaks. “That ain’t motherfucking funny.”
“First off, yeah it is, it’s unexpected, that’s like, the first rule oft comedy,” you explain, and crawl a little closer. “Second, shut up, I’m not joking.”
“Tuna,” he retreats an inch. “You’re fucking insane.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” you shove KZ lightly, trying to get him to lie back. “Let me suck your dick.”
He half-lowers down, eyes wide and darting. “Are you all up and fucking high right now? Tuna, what the-“
“No,” you say. “Let me explain, dumbass. I figure, the problem is the unevenness here.” You gesture between you two.
Kurloz stares, propped up with his elbows behind him like he can’t decide whether to fight or flee.
“Because you sucked my dick, and shit.”
“Tuna,” he says reedily.
“So basically, to fix the problem, we just gotta even it out. Balance the scales.” You swing a leg over his excessively long ones and settle on your knees above him, running your fingers down his sides to find the edge of his hoodie.
Holy shit. He signs, fast and erratic. Tuna. What.
“Stop squirming like a virgin, asshole,” you chide him, entertained. “Pro tip, girls usually don’t love it if you do the worm- wait, shit, I don’t know if guys do.”
“What’s a fucker all even talking about?” He hisses, voice cracking.
You press your hands to his shoulders, holding him still. “Like that, capisce?”
Kurloz flails harder, then goes abruptly - obediently? - still as your fingers hook around his waistband. A second later, his hand shoots out, gripping your wrist so hard that the bones grate and scream out in sharp sparks.
“You- you ain’t motherfuckin gay,” he tells you, in an impressive attempt at his usual calm. “Cut the fucking bullshit, Tuna.”
“It’s called extenuating circumstances, edgelord.” You sit back on his legs, half-amused, half-exasperated. “It doesn’t count if I’m thtraight and doing it to stop our friendship imploding-“
“How-“
“Plus, Porrim told me doing one gay thing doesn’t make you gay.”
He opens his mouth, shuts it, and waves his free hand in front of your face, flushing darkly. You talked to Porrim about this?
“Nah, she just started telling me about it like a month ago.” You snicker. “I think she thinks I’m closeted.”
KZ doesn’t even respond to that, just gapes at you with wild eyes and continues to crush your wrist.
“So-“ you cut yourself off when he shifts slightly, and you suddenly realise he’s hard. Obviously he’s hard - you’re hot shit and he’s into that, apparently - and it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve encountered this, but.
It’s different when you can feel him under you, pressed hot and hard against your ass. Real, tangible, about as explicit as it gets.
“That was fast,” you say, and Jesus, your voice just cracked like you’re some kind of pubescent virgin. KZ doesn’t seem to notice, luckily, but still. Yikes. “Guess my-“ your mouth is dry. That doesn’t bode well. “Guess my personality ain’t that bad, huh, clownfuck?”
Kurloz seems to come alive all at once; one hand flies up over his face, and the other vices down around your wrist so hard you can feel bamboo shoots all up your arm.
Your personality is the worst, he says darkly, and his tight grip yanks you an inch closer.
“Your boner disagrees,” you say back, even as your voice goes breathless. “Admit it, I’m hot. If I wasp- was gay, you’d totally want to hit it. Hell, I would.”
KZ stops covering his face to pinch his nose bridge instead, exasperation collecting in the fine points of his features. “Is that was this is motherfucking about? A brother’s upright braindead fucking ego?”
You shrug, and you genuinely mean it just as an annoying gesture, but the effect is more of a… bounce. Which leads to Kurloz panting out a long, startled noise, and you getting some decent friction in.
“Fu-“ he trails off. “Fuck you, Tuna-“
He definitely intended it as an insult, but the way his voice wavers turns it into a question.
“Cool your jests- jets- skullface,” you say back, and the words come out weird, heady. It’s different now that you know he wants- that he probably thinks about you. About this. He’s probably thought about it more than once.
You think you’re flattered.
“I can’t feel my fingers.” You continue, instead of saying any of that.
KZ blinks slowly. “What?”
You nod towards his punishing hold on your wrist, and his grip relaxes. He doesn’t let you go, though; his fingers stay circled around your skin, a steady constant pressure.
“This is all up and a motherfucking terrible idea,” he murmurs, and his tone is dark and dazed. You can just make out a hint of turmoil - he’s still so fucking good at keeping his face blank, even with someone in his lap, you kinda resent it, but you can see his eyes, the liquid black of his pupils, and the way his teeth tug at his lip. Conflicted. You wonder if he’ll do the same when you’re- when you do the thing, or if you’ll be able to draw some noises out of him.
Friction and daring and the satisfaction of a good play coalesce in your guts, a molten heat swooping through your body. You can feel the blood flush your face, tingling like a sunburn. He’s staring at you, and he’s so close, inches away, lips right next to yours - god, you wish someone else were here. Kissing him was fun, but it’s not like there’s a reason to if it’s not a power play.
But you can do this. You’ve set it up perfectly, actually; he’s leant fully back during your conversation, and now he’s supine, inky curls pooling in a halo around his head - his eyelashes fan out in delicate spikes over his skull paint. He’s watching you, seeing what you’ll do. Waiting for you to make a move, or maybe to skedaddle the second you realise he might call your bluff.
Slowly, he raises an eyebrow.
“Does a brother even fucking know what he’s all up and doing?”
You snap your teeth just to watch him shiver, teasing at the hem of his shirt. The skin underneath is cool and smooth, tense, like he’s holding his breath every second you touch him.
“It’s not pocket science, KZ.” You slide your hands up his shirt abruptly, no warning, and he jerks like you’ve shocked him. Fish out of water. You can feel bones beneath skin, protruding and angular. “So? Are you gonna tap out like a loser?”
He flushes, sucking his head down for a second, but when he returns your stare, his eyes are cool and flinty.
“I’m motherfucking- no.”
You grin, a little ridiculously. He’s wearing like five belts and you have no idea how you’re going to get through them - it’s like a goth chastity cage, you swear - but it’s so characteristic. Spiky asshole.
You shove them up out of the way instead, until they’re crossing over the juts of his bare hipbones. That done, you reach out and take the zip of his jeans. Look up to meet his eyes.
“Then let me suck your dick, KZ.”
He stares at you, unblinking, and your grin gains teeth. Then his hands are tightening on your wrists, reeling you in closer, an unspoken challenge. Oh, he liked that.
That’s- that’s interesting.
“Cool,” you say, and sit up before you forget. “Oh, one sec.”
Kurloz’s eyebrows jump back up his face when you reach down to the floor. “Is that-“
“Yeah,” you waggle the bottle of Absolut at him. “You want?”
He pauses for a second, hand extended. “…what are you doing?”
“Getting shitfaced before I blow you,” you say bluntly. “I already told you, I’m evening thingth out.”
Back to the hand gestures. And that involves getting blind drunk.
“Yeah. I mean, you weren’t exactly blind drunk, but you were drunk enough to suck my dick, so now I’m getting drunk enough to return the favour.” You explain around the burn of alcohol still in your throat, lingering like fire and tasting like bleach.
Kurloz closes his eyes. I ain’t going to- motherfucker ain’t doing this if you’re motherfucking inebriated, you fucking lunatic.
“Why not?” You look up, intrigued. “Also, it’s not like you have to be sober. C’mon-“
You press the lip of the bottle against his mouth, already feeling tipsy and relaxed. KZ, if anything, just gets several degrees bitchier.
He turns his head to avoid it, but his hands come up to hold your waist anyway. You’ve sat like this with your girlfriends, only you’ve never been on top before. It’s kind of tripping you out, actually.
“Get that shit out of my motherfucking face,” he mumbles. You cackle, grab a handful of his hair and pull him down to eye level.
“Don’t be a pussy. Here,” you tell him, and when he just glares at you mutinously, you get a better idea.
Swigging from the bottle, you push up on your knees and reach his mouth. He lets out a muffled noise when you kiss him, which is all the opportunity you need; you lick his mouth open and pour vodka into it from your own.
Very efficient.
Kurloz sighs, kinda muffled, and makes a show of swallowing instead of spitting it out. When you draw back, flushed and giddy from your own victory, he pulls the bottle out of your grasp and swigs from it, eyeing you judgementally.
Tiny mofo like you, probably takes a sip of this shit to get you fuckin trashed.
You roll your eyes. “We can’t all be funtin- fucking trees, asshole. Speaking of which….”
KZ watches you gulp down alcohol with a clinical eye, and he’s so good at seeming distant and callous that you almost forget you’ve got him pinned to a bed between your knees.
“Too much,” he says eventually, and pulls the bottle from your resisting grip with an annoying lack of effort. “Nn- no more.”
You laugh, lean in close close closer, til the skin of your lips is dragging across his jaw. “Fux- fuck that. Gimme.”
He places the Absolut further away. You’re not entirely sure you were talking about it.
“You’re already fucking out of it.”
“Shh,” you tell him. Your tolerance is bad, but it’s not that bad. “Don’t pussy out on me now, Kurloz. You’ve been so good for me up til now.”
That apparently pushes him over the edge.
Tuna, KZ snaps, brother’s all up and fucking whacked in the head, this is all some motherfucking moronic bedevilry, I ain’t doing this.
You raise your brows, twist a smirk at him like, oh yeah? He’s still hard, and you can feel it, pressed up against your thigh like some kind of declaration.
“Just cause you can’t hold your liquor-“
Mofo just drank 3/4ths of a bottle of straight vodka, it ain’t happening, KZ snaps, and then he’s shoving you away, standing up. Jesus fucking Christ, Tuna, you’re a goddamn disaster.
Mildly confused and slightly wasted, all you can manage is a sarcastic smile. KZ vanishes off into the bathroom (not suspicious at all, he’s so terrible at this) and when he returns, he keeps his distance from you. It’s not enough that you can just say it, like ‘why are you sitting two chairs away? Why are you leaving room for Jesus in your fucking mausoleum of a room?’ But it’s there, and you notice it.
There’s something hot and caustic that curls up in your chest. You got close, tonight. You almost got him, almost beat this level. This might be a setback, but you can handle those. You can handle anything he fucking brings at you.
You end up watching yet another of Kurloz’s inexhaustible supply of godawful slasher movies, and by the time the final girl emerges victorious, you’re both half-asleep and beyond awkwardness. It doesn’t ever take long for you to get tangled up in eachother again, like roots under the earth.
You both pass out on his bed (it’s big enough for two dudes, as long as you don’t mind clashing elbows). KZ gives you this kind of look when you flop down next to him, like he’s trying hard not to care about what he’s saying.
“Brother’s all up and certain he still wants to…”
Like just because he’s gay now, it means he’s not safe to sleep around? Ha. You wish.
“I theriously have no virtue left to sully,” you mumble, and steal a pillow. “Not like you would anyway. Pussy.”
You’re pretty sure he says something back, but your eyes are heavy and your mind is slow, calm, for the first time in - oh, 15 days or so.
You sink into sleep like a warm bath, KZ next to you.
(You’ve never actually shared a bath. You’re playing chicken, not some kind of weird fratboy porn charades).
(That being said, it might be worth it just to see the look on KZ’s face if you asked).
You wake up all tangled into Kurloz. It’s one of those early mornings that’s all silvery and unreal, and you’re not a person yet who has to think about mindfuckery. It’s nice.
You don’t even need to open your eyes to see that you’re all curled into him. It doesn’t surprise you; you’re reminded of the year before last, when you got a mild concussion from an extremely small car crash (no one ever lets you forget it). It wasn’t serious, but you’re apparently at extra risk for brain issues due to aforementioned brain damage, or whatever, so you spent the next fortnight under constant observation.
Kurloz took it on himself, both the responsibility for your concussion (he wasn’t even there, the dumbass) and the responsibility for your observation. He stuck to you like fucking glue, even more so than usual; you got home from the hospital and woke up to him clambering in through your window, less graceful than he is now but equally determined. You blinked open your eyes in the morning to him plastered all over you, knobbly knees and spidery limbs, and you lay there, and grinned.
It took you like two weeks and 150+ unread texts to remember you had a girlfriend. Emphasis on ‘had.’ You kinda forgot about her, and she was pretty boring anyway - plus, Kurloz had shadowed you around, attention-grabbing and intriguing, until you couldn’t be bothered to check your phone.
Kurloz never likes your girlfriends. When that one broke up with you, he gave you the Kurloz equivalent of a smirk - twitch at the corner of his mouth, creases at his eyes - and slept with a hand splayed over your back, right between your shoulder blades. You’ve always liked that, the possessiveness in him. You like it when he’s unreasonably, unhealthily fixated on you.
Now, when you wake up, it’s different and the same; the smell of him, the coolness of his skin, the scratch of his hair against your cheek. But the differences are more pronounced, overwhelmingly so - your arm over his side, the way he trembles, the rapid thud of his heart. You pause, wondering if you’re imagining it…
Ah.
Another glaring difference: your hips pressed flush against his ass, the obtrusive throb of your morning wood pinned between your bodies. The way your leg’s shifted, so you’re pretty much rubbing off against his thigh.
Oops.
You’re sleep-addled and dazed enough that your first reaction is honest-to-god just panicking, but then you realise you can hear something.
In and out, in and out, the ragged catch-release of his breaths. He’s not asleep. Your hard-on is ground insistently into his back, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been moving around for some fucking time - you can feel your pulse in your dick, you’re so turned on - and KZ’s just. Still.
Well, well, well, what have you uncovered here? Kurloz, subjected to your unconscious groping. Kurloz, unmoving, deadly tense, like he doesn’t want to wake you. One of his hands is gripping your arm over him tight enough to hurt a little; the other one, from what you can see through half-closed eyes, is pressed in a fist to his mouth. He’s keeping quiet on purpose.
Hm.
You could start laughing, that’d be fun. You could recoil and end up cracking your head into the wall out of shock. Instead, though, you do what you always do: you test the limits.
Your mouth is pressed to his neck, already, and you can taste his skin, inhale the smoky scent of him. When you flick your tongue across it, his grip on your wrist relaxes, like he’s really fucking lost in it, and you send your fingers skimming just a bit higher - they’re already under his shirt, so.
Seriously, how long have you been doing this for? How long has he been awake for it? Did he mean to let it go on this long, or did your accidental grinding just shut off the part of his brain responsible for common sense? It’s exhilarating.
You guess he really is gay.
Kurloz’s whole body goes frighteningly rigid when your hand inches up, enough to brush the edge of a nipple piercing. You hold your breath, waiting, waiting….
He lets out a shuddery noise and rocks his hips back against yours. You bite back a grin - he said he got the piercings cause he ‘liked the aesthetic’. Sure he did.
Still, as fascinating as it is to see this new angle of KZ - unguarded, so weirdly unwary - every second that passes, the odds he just gets up and leaves increase. You’d rather not have this end so soon, especially after how exciting it started. KZ is at his most fun, it turns out, when he’s just on the edge of helpless.
Slowly, you slither closer, letting your floppy limbs tense and curl around his. He’s letting out a low gasp, too out of it to notice, so you’re not particularly worried he’ll choose now to realise you’re awake. You stroke your fingers delicately over smooth skin, the bumps of his ribs and the flat planes of his stomach, loosely lacing them together under his chest. Ready to trap him close.
Then you pounce.
“Good morning.” You say loudly, straight in his ear, and sink your teeth into the meat of his shoulder.
“Ack-“
You can only describe KZ’s reaction as a full body spasm - turning to stone under your hands as he jolts, head whipping over his shoulder to send you a look, like-
Fuck, you can’t even explain it. Pure intensity, sizzling out of his eyes like lightning. That might have to do with the way his jaw collides with your face, sending all kinds of stars sparkling across your vision.
You grin at him, mouth tasting like iron and sweet victory. You broke the skin of his shoulder, and you can feel your teeth embedded in his flesh, like you’re one person, a sick Tuna-Loz amalgamation-
“Tuna,” Kurloz manages, croaky and breathless and deeply, deeply horrified.
Your smile widens, and he thrashes for a second. You wince internally as your arm joints strain - if he dislocates them, you’re not going to be able to skate for like a week - but he subsides as soon as he realises, even while a dark wash of scarlet is bleeding over his skin.
One hand comes up to cover his face, clawed up like he’s thinking about jabbing his own eyes out. The other he sends behind him, in your space, to flail wildly.
What the fuck????
“What the fuck is right,” you tell him gleefully. “Exactly my thoughts when I woke up to my good bro KZ-“
Tuna.
“Guess I am pretty fucking hot, huh?”
He muffles another horrified noise into his hand. You slide your hand down to his hip, settle it right where the dip of his hipbone provides a good hold, and feel him shiver.
“So, how long did you just lie there?” Your words come out conspiratorial, whispered. His ears are burning red. “Does this happen a lot? You just sit back and let me-?”
-It wasn’t-
“What, too hard to resist? What got you so fucked up about it?” You pry, watching as absolute mortification compounds with immense frustration. “Is it a freaky somno kink, or something? Or like, the fear of getting discovered?”
God, you’re so mean to him. He’s still hard, though; maybe those two factors are linked.
“No,” Kurloz hisses, trying to turn. You lock your arms around him tighter, and enjoy the unintended side benefit of friction between your dick and his body.
“What about power? You could just roll right over and squeeze the shit out of my neck,” you murmur, and he freezes again. “Is that it? Cause I gotta be honest, you got off way harder on being choked than-“
Tuna, his hand movements are shaky. Shut the fuck up, seriously-
You snort. “I’d ask if it was just the proximity to a dude, but that would really recontextualise all that time you spent snuggling me when I was concussed.”
That, apparently, is a step too far for Kurloz. He goes from zero to a hundred real fast; his hand lands on yours, punishingly tight, and breaks your hold like it’s made of wet tissue paper. From there, he grabs you around the wrists and flips you over on your back, his forearm pressing hard into your throat.
“Shut up.” He rasps.
You grin. “Uh oh, did I guest- guess right?”
Shut up. He repeats, wild-eyed.
You lift your thigh an inch to press against his boner. A ripple of arousal shakes through him, eyes dark and unguarded, mouth wide, before he grabs your chin and snarls in your face like a feral fucking animal.
“Aw, did I get in your head?” You goad, and suddenly you’re desperate for it, for him to just - just fucking do it already, snap and lose control. You’ve been waiting. You’ve been anticipating this for ages. You’ve never been particularly patient. “Did I read you like an open fucking book again, Kurloz? Are you scared of me now?”
He leans over and glares, nose inches from yours as he holds you down.
“Ain’t got nothing to be scared of. You’re just a motherfucking sack of flesh and meat,” he rasps, pupils blown out like black holes. Hungry, hungry, hungry.
You pause, thinking over your response. Because sure, he could actually rip you apart when he gets like this, but you can feel him, so close to snapping you can smell it like burning wires in the air.
“You’re literally all over me,” you tell him lightly. He’s so fucking strong, holding you down effortlessly, but now he’s lost conviction. He’s wondering whether this was your plan all along. He’s-
Kurloz wraps a hand around your jaw and thuds your head back against the wall. It’s not nearly as hard as it could be, more of a sting, but something about it is exciting - there’s part of you that sparks when he does it, something interested.
“Careful,” you say, breathless. “One of these days you’ll give me another concussion, and then I’ll be a fucking vegetable for real.”
He stares at you, unreadable.
“Unless it’s all part of your plan, get rid of the brain and keep the hot bod to use as a body pillow.” You wriggle under him unsubtly, your hipbone grazing his boner, and his whole face twists up with blind rage. “‘S that what you want, baby? ‘Ve you been using me for my body all this time?”
You’ve said it before and you’ll say it again: for a mime enthusiast, KZ really can’t take a fucking joke. Today, this manifests in him drawing back, teeth grinding together, and slamming his fist into the drywall just far away enough that it doesn’t take off your head with the plaster.
Detritus crumbles down next to you. Kurloz stares, you stare back.
“Wow,” you say eventually. “You really showed that war- wall. Great use of time.”
Fuck you.
You use your free hand to reach up and twine a curl of KZ’s hair around your finger. He doesn’t seem to notice, eyes fixed firmly on you, jaw set.
“Hey, I offered you a BJ, dude-“ you rock your thigh up again, just to remind him what he’s missing. “You’re the one who said no.”
Glaring, Kurloz shoves your knee away with his own. A moment later, he pauses, genuine shock capturing his face as he finally processes your similar state.
“You’re-“
You cackle, watching his eyes dart around your crotch. “It’s called morning wood, dumbass.” You grab his wrist and he lets you move it closer, til his hand is on your dick. Nice. “You were literally just rubbing yourself all over it, don’t tell me you already forgot.”
Motherfucker wasn’t- KZ starts, harsh gestures to hide his panic.
“I just caught you humping your bed, now’s not the time for a moral stand.” That feels really fucking good, actually, and you’re struggling to remember where you were going with this. Maybe this is why dudes are gay - big hands. More to work with.
You watch his flush deepen as he stares at you, stricken, and pulls away.
Brother-
“I did!”
You can’t just motherfucking say shit like that, Kurloz glares. Typical, typical; he deals in whispers and half-truths, and the way you always say things out loud just kills him.
You could remind him of that, watch his brow furrow as he scowls. You could taunt him further, manoeuvre him around with barbed words until you’ve got him twisted around your finger.
Or.
“Why don’t you do something about it, pussy,” you say, more of a challenge than a question, and widen your legs a fraction. Inviting him in, maybe. This is a dance you’re both getting used to.
His shoulders stiffen, but his face does the opposite; the forced impassiveness falls away, a bestial wildness showing through, and then he leans forward and crushes you down.
Kurloz isn’t necessarily a good kisser - you’ve dated good kissers, and there tends to be a lot more technique and a lot less spit, to be honest. But you’re enjoying yourself anyway, maybe because you haven’t gotten with someone in a while, maybe just because you’re breaking KZ down again. Every uneven breath, every tremor, every frantic movement of his lips and hands is another point in your favour. Plus, he’s doing it to you, so it’s not like you asked for it or anything.
He tastes good. Like metal and skin.
It’s actually distracting enough that you almost forget about your dick, which is one hell of a compliment. Good for him! That said, you do remember your raging boner eventually, and then you have to wrangle a deranged KZ back into lucidity.
“Kurloz-“ he tilts to reach your mouth, his long limbs encompassing you effortlessly. You find yourself laughing, situationally weird as it is. “KZ- dude, stop-“
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, voice like gravel, and swipes his tongue against yours.
“Kurloz-“ you get a hand up and force his face away, cackling, helpless. His piercings scrape across your skin as his mouth turns to your wrist - the delicate inside, veiny and fragile. You squirm as he levers your arm up and out of the way, resisting with a fair amount of strength just to watch how easily he ignores it. His motions are so smooth, you can barely tell he’s trying at all.
“Kurloz-“
KZ pushes past your words, kisses you again, chasing your mouth when you turn your head. He’s heavy, like all his bones are made of fucking concrete, and you’re pretty much entirely immobilised. It’s almost cartoonish, his body between your legs, his huge fucking hands pinning your wrists at your sides like an illustrative diagram of coercion. Bruises cooling on your neck, the muscles of your right arm straining from the useless exertion of fighting against him. You think you should feel threatened, intimidated, and if it were anyone else you would - you’re not stupid, you know that you’re trapped, technically, and that there’s no one here to hear you scream - but. Well. The difference in size and strength is intriguing to you. It excites you, somewhere deep down, and you don’t feel out of control. You feel indulgent.
Fuck it, you’ll let him think he’s in charge for once. Why not?
At one point, you spot an opening he’s clearly too distracted to guard. It’s not fun if you just lay back like a fucking hooker, so you go for it; Kurloz lets out a surprised oof when your elbow cracks into his side, but he’s fast enough that he catches you as you can flip and start slithering away. He gets an arm on the back of your neck, pressing you down face-first into the sheets, and wow, he’s strong.
You’re so hard you could cut freaking diamonds, Jesus. You’re starting to think you’ve conditioned yourself to associate him with horniness.
You ain’t going fucking nowhere, blasphemous little shithead.
“Listen, the psycho impression is funny and all, but I’ve-“ you cackle as he leans down harder, eyes steely. “Ack, I’ve got a life to live.”
“Earlier,” he says abruptly, yanking your shoulder around so you’re face-up and eye to eye again. You grin, watching his eye twitch. His fingers have wrapped around your jaw, a pulsing ache that hinders your ability to speak. “Earlier. You asked what it was-“
“-getting you awll hot and bothewred?” You manage, and he glares. “Yeah, man. You feewing chatty now?”
“Sleep. Proximity. Vulnerability.” Kurloz’s eyes are drilling into you, words curling darkly off his tongue. “You ever get to all up and fucking considering in your tainted pan, brother, that it might be this?”
“What, an early morning q&a?”
He ignores your interjection. “You, right by me. Helpless, fucking trapped. Right where I motherfucking want you for once, and there ain’t shit you can do to stop me.”
You raise a brow. KZ’s voice is low and raspy as ever, but there’s an unusual note of hunger in it.
“You ever think about it, motherfucker? How you’re just a weak little thing living cause I let you? I could hold you down and-“ his teeth scrape against your neck. “-take whatever I fucking wanted from you. Could beat you bloody, little mofo. You ever think about that?”
You tip your head, considering. He’s so clearly convinced he’s got all the power here, and he should be right, but there’s a reason he’s not. How do you put this…
“Yeah,” you tell him lazily, shifting to get more comfortable. “But you’re not going to.”
He blinks.
“Prove me wrong, or whatever,” you really draw out the tension on those words, slow and sultry. “But I just don’t think you’ve got the fucking stomach for it.”
Kurloz’s face draws together in a kind of livid confinement. “What did a brother-“
“Hey, I’m here and I’m helpless,” you spread your arms out. “But we’re still doing what I want. You haven’t done shit yet, even though I’ve given you, like, evety- every fucking opportunity, and either it’s cause you’re a coward or it’s because you’re a selfish creep like me and you don’t want to deal with a world where I might not talk to you. Probably both. Isn’t that right, dipshit?”
He stares.
“What, speechless? You need me to hold myshelf down, free up a hand for you?”
“Brother, I’m going to fucking crack your skull and eat your brain.”
“Go ahead.”
He’s close enough to kiss, if you had any hands free. Too bad.
“Tuna-“
“Be my guest, chuckles.”
You already know he won’t. Kurloz, see, is very scared he’ll hurt you too bad one of these days. He thinks you’re fragile, so you’re somewhat invulnerable. That’s the difference between power and control, you guess.
He kisses you again instead, furiously and way uncoordinated. There’s bloody lips and teeth and it’s wild, seriously, you’re enjoying it. You let him hold you down for a while, amused by the way he snarls when you try to push him off, then catch his tongue piercing between your teeth and raise your brows.
“How attathed are you two thith?”
Kurloz glares, but when you release him, he shuffles back obediently. What?
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you advise him, snickering at the way his scowl deepens. Then you brace your foot on his solar plexus and press him down onto his back again.
“Brother-“ he’s confused and wary, but he holds in place when you ruck his shirt up. Interesting, you really thought his weird modesty would kick in. You’re kinda obligated by curiosity to push the fabric up to his collarbones by this point, smooth your hands up and down his chest. Seeing what you can get away with.
What the motherfuck do you want from-
He goes suddenly, tellingly silent when you tweak one of his nipple piercings. You grin; you can feel his body tense under you - he’s fucking huge, and all god-knows-how-many feet of him is straining with the effort of staying still. He’s so fun.
“Aesthetic, huh?” KZ really does like it more when someone else is in control, you think. It’s pretty amusing.
“Ffff-“ scarlet, he throws his hands up like a shield. Fuck you.
“Original.” You lean down just enough to flicker your tongue over his skin, and he shivers like he’s got the vapours.
I’m gonna fucking end you, Tuna.
“Wow, big talk from someone who can barely speak half the time.” It’s a low blow, but it’ll have to do. You’re kinda having trouble thinking straight right now. You wonder what noise he’s gonna make when you lick that piercing.
Kurloz narrows his eyes, all pissy Victorian schoolmarm and metal-studded torso. Weird combo. Tuna.
Right, you’ve got a mission to accomplish. No more getting distracted by KZ’s weirdly captivating chest bling. You sit up and gather yourself.
Tuna?
“How about you make yourself useful and ditch the pants,” you suggest briskly. The coiling anticipation that’s been growing in you for fucking days has suddenly become white-hot and untenable; you need to do it now. You’re going to explode, seriously, you need to do it now.
KZ curls his lip at you and starts fiddling with the weird chains and spikes on his jeans. You realise, suddenly, that he must’ve slept with his piercings in - he’s lucky none of them accidentally tore, what with all the rolling around and tussling you’ve been doing. You’ve seen it happen before: there’s a little ridge of scar tissue behind his right ear from the time his conch got hooked in the sheets, and right below that is the shiny half-healed scar from when he tried to repierce it with a fucking safety pin. You had to drive him to the hospital on your learner’s permit, and you almost got community service cause it was 2am when you noticed he was literally running a fever and oozing pus.
You realise you’ve been staring into space while KZ waits, zip undone. You guess you’re just going to hope it comes off as a power move.
He shivers when you place your hands on his hips.
Is a brother seriously gonna-
“I’m not dipping out,” you say, trying to sound like you know what you’re doing. You kinda do - you watched porn for tips, and you’ve been on the receiving end. As far as you can tell, it’s really not that complicated. Also, you’re not drunk, so you should at least be more coordinated than he was.
Maybe you should be drunk. You’re pretty sure KZ’s going to fry you with his laser eyes if you get up now, though.
“You ready?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him.
He tips his head back and sighs, all spread out beneath you like some kind of sacrificial offering. Whatever a brother’s gotta do.
You pause.
“I don’t ‘gotta do’ anything.”
Kurloz shoots you a look like you’re wasting his time. Like he’s not so hard his whole body’s humming like a live wire.
“Maybe I should make you ask nicely,” you murmur, and he tilts his head away.
Fuck off.
He’s holding still, not moving closer but still trying to pull you in - like he’s conflicted.
Or like he wants plausible deniability.
Two realisations strike you in quick succession.
One, he’s going to let you. The hold on your arm isn’t to restrain you; if anything, it’s keeping you close. He’s sprawled out, neck bared and jeans open, like he’s waiting to be ravished. If you reach down and press a kiss to his hipbone, he might arch his back or gasp or choke back your name, but he won’t stop you.
Two: that’s not good enough.
You’re not sure why this suddenly feels like a concession - you’ve never been reluctant to take what you want, if it’s offered like this. But looking at him, the tight control of his face and the way he’s clenching his jaw, you realise that this isn’t a loss, in KZ’s eyes. If you do it, he gets head and he gets to tell himself it was your idea. Like you’re the one losing control for him.
Somewhere in your ribcage, a match sparks. This is the shit, seriously, this is the good stuff. That lanky asshole is the best opponent; even now when you’ve literally got him on his back, it’s still not a win unless you play your cards right.
You want to get this done. But there’s no point if you do it wrong. And as much of a power rush it is to pin KZ with your hips and slither all over him, you’re a competitive fuck and you want to beat him - and for that, you need him to ask for it.
It takes a long moment for you to decide your next course of action. Kurloz lolls his head back, looking up at you, and you hold his eyes.
“Not going to say anything?”
You slide your fingers back up his stomach, warm against his cold skin. Tracing the edge of a hipbone. He shivers minutely.
“Motherfucking… disastrous,” KZ mumbles. “N’gonna fix shit, Tuna. You shouldn’t…”
You can see it, then, the moment when he expects your hands to keep going and your grin to widen. You’ve never once quit when you should, so why would you stop now?
Joke’s on him. You hate being predictable.
Instead, you blow out a breath. “Fine, whatever, your loss.”
KZ’s half-lidded eyes snap open.
You shift off him, swinging one leg then the next over the side of the bed, and hide a smile when you see his expression.
“It was a limited-time offer, by the way. So sucks to be you, clownfuck.”
You’re not-
“Yeah, I mean. You said no,” you shrug, and send a malevolent grin at his crotch. “Like I said, your loss.”
Right.
“I’m gonna go piss,” you tell him lightly, and saunter towards the door.
He doesn’t stop you, apparently too horny and/or confused. You make your way to the bathroom without looking back.
As soon as you’re out of sight, a grin splits your face open. Oh, you’re so fucking back. He thought he got what you were doing, even if he didn’t get why, and he really believed he could find a way to stay impervious. You respect his quick thinking, seriously, but what a dickhead. It’s cute that he thinks you’ll stay consistent.
It’s like he doesn’t know you at all.
KZ doesn’t emerge from his room for a long time after. You play shitty video games with Gamzee as he rambles about something, laughing and honking intermittently. It’s only been a few days since your last conversation, and the change is giving you whiplash.
You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He looks so similar to Kurloz - they’ve both got the crazy Makara hair, the angular faces with long, sharp noses, the height and lanky build - but the differences, few though they are, stand out starkly. His eyes are darker, almost black, and it makes his whole face look softer. A loose sprawl is visible in his limbs and his expressions are vivid, nothing about him hammered into place like KZ - there’s something animalistic about Gamzee, sometimes, like he’s just a little more creature than the rest of you. Kurloz is similarly weird, but in a more rigid way.
“What’s a motherfucker all looking at?” Gamzee asks, and you startle. “Also, is it gay for a brother to be getting his sick mack on with another dude?”
“Nah,” you say automatically, then register his words properly. The question is unexpected enough that you spit soda down your shirt. “What?”
Your first thought, stupid though it is, is that he’s somehow onto you.
Your second is that Gamzee Makara is creepy as hell.
“Is it gay for a brother to be all mashing lips with-“ he repeats, eyes not moving from his game controller.
“What d- why are you asking me that shit?” You demand.
He blinks. “Cause KZ’s jerking off upstairs and you know all kinds of motherfucking things.”
“He is?” You pause. “Oh. Yeah, I guess. How do you know that?”
Gamzee shrugs. He freaks you the fuck out, sometimes.
“Uh, whatever.” You stab at your controller, watching your character onscreen soar ahead as Gamzee’s veers off the track. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh. This brother I kinda know got all up’n handsy with a mofo, but I think he’s all kicking that heteroshituality.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
“Eh. Don’t overthink it. Just play tonsil hockey with whoever you wanna.” You shrug. “It’s fun. Just don’t overdo it onte- on the tongue or they’ll totally choke and die.”
“Dude,” Gamzee says, wide-eyed. “Fuck, I don’t wanna be killing anyone. How do you-“
You consider. “Want me to show you?”
A second later, Gamzee’s staring up at you with big dark eyes from halfway across the room. He blushes just like KZ does, you notice with amusement: crawling up his neck and the tips of his ears, until his whole face is flushed.
“I- motherfucker, a brother might be flattered but I’m all up and preferring my head on my shoulders, these days-“
“What?” You stop. “Oh. Dude, I wasn’t going to kiss you.” You were going to show him with a useful diagram scribbled on the nearest takeout napkin, actually.
Because life is a bitch, this is when KZ enters.
“Who piththed in your thereal?”
Sollux looks up when you enter the room, but only to ask an obnoxious question in his standard inflectionless techgeek lisp. Typical.
“Kurloz,” you grunt, and he grimaces.
“What, are you two having a marital dithpute?”
“Marital diththpute,” You mimic back to him, because even with literal brain damage, you’ve got better control of your lisp. If you can do it, so can he. He pulls a face at you.
“Kill yourthelf.”
“You first.”
“Whatever,” he says flatly. “Jutht like. Text me your location for corpthe retrieval when he inevitably thnapth and goeth on a killing thtampede.”
“Why does everyone think KZ’s going to go on a rampage? He’s a fucking chickensthit pussy,” you mutter, probably too bitterly.
He gives you a Look. “Becauthe he’th a Makara. You know hith creepy brother’th in my clathth, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He’th two freaking thecondth away from aththault at all timeth.”
“I know,” you hiss. “I’m fucking familiar.”
“Oooh, Kurloz’th gonna be jealouth.”
Your mouth purses without permission. “Ugh, don’t joke about that-“
“Why?”
“For a second, KZ thought I was hitting on him.” You sigh.
You don’t know why the fuck you admitted that. All hell breaks loose: Sollux laughs so hard he knocks over his bowl of cereal, your bowl of cereal, the cereal box, and a ton of old mail. Everything smells like sugar, the milk is drying, and you have achieved nothing.
KZ shows up outside your house in the morning like nothing ever happened, seemingly determined not to acknowledge the brief, hideous moment when he walked through the door, heard your sentence, and went puce. Apparently the extremely relevant point of not kissing his brother was lost on him, because you genuinely considered using Gamzee as a human shield.
Anyway. You have no doubt he’s brooded it off, and now you never have to think about it again.
Halfway through the day, KZ leans over to you and signs surreptitiously, If you fuck my brother, I’ll kill you so motherfucking dead they’ll never find evidence a mofo even existed.
“Dude,” you say loudly. People are watching, but none of them seem able to understand him. You’re not even slightly hesitant to take advantage. “I’m not gay!”
Hushed murmuring ensues. KZ breaks his pencil.
(You both get detention).