Hot Cocoa

Summary: A surprise visitor? Wow! John finds himself with a once again grumpy Karkat and many, many questions. Well, more like one question over and over again.

Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck or its related characters.

I finish picking up the last of my things from my room when the door rings. Excitedly, I race to the steps and slide down the railing for the fun of it. I am a laughing mess by the time I open the door a little surprised at who I see.

"Karkat?" I peek my head outside, feeling the cold, and look down the street in either direction. "Where is Dave?" He said that he would come over this weekend and I had finally gotten around to cleaning, or more like stuffing things under my bed and in the closets. I look back at a shivering Karkat. He had a little beanie and his turtleneck; no winter jacket even though it was well below freezing out here.

"Going to let me into your pig sty, snort barrel?" I laugh a little at his tone. It is funny really, seeing as how he is hugging his arms to himself in an attempt to stay warm and still yelling like usual.

"Sure Karkat," with that cheery reply I step aside to let him walk in and then close the door behind him not wanting any more frigid air to get in. I turn and see him looking over the room and rubbing his hands against his arms. I realize that he has not ever been in my house before and was suddenly self-conscience of the harlequins from my dad's hobbies scattered around. A few here, a few there, of course Dad wasn't actually here himself; work still.

"Hey, Egbert," he glances back at me and then back to my dad's obsessions, "something psychotic you're not fucking telling me?" I take the question in stride, smiling genuinely.

"No of course not!" I laugh again. "I do not collect these, my dad does." Casually I walk over to a couch, moving anything of my dad's. "Sit here, I will get you some hot cocoa."

"Hot cocoa?" He looks at me questioningly but does take a seat on the couch with his legs crossed and his arms still around him. From here, I can see that his lips are a blue and gray shade. I put that off to the cold and looked away quickly. "What kind of useless, scum sucking human lowlife thing is that?" I choose not to register the insult to the human race, as obvious as it is.

"Only the best thing there is after a cold day!" I use a fake serious tone as if saying 'yes' to my next question is some sort of crime. "Are you telling me that you have never had hot chocolate before, Karkat?"

"Yeah," he answers plain and simple. If by 'plain and simple,' I mean sneering, then yes, completely and absolutely 'plain and simple.' Very, very plain and simple. I just smile, pretending again, not to have noticed.

"Well, you are going to try a good cup of it right now!" I bound off for the kitchen as I said it. In there, I reach for a mug in the cabinet, coming out with a blue one. As I wait for the water to warm, I pull down a tub of hot chocolate and a bag of marsh mellows, glad that Betty Crocker has nothing to do with this delicious brand of hot chocolate. After dumping a few spoonfuls of the powder into Karkat's mug, I figure 'why not' and pull out a second mug and another spoon for myself. At this point, the water is warm and I pour some in each mug, grab the spoons and mix the concoctions. Remembering at the last minute, I spoon in three spoons of sugar for each cup and mix them both again. Everything gets put away then I grab the cups and carry them over to a grumpy Karkat.

"Finally, spaz maggot," he steals the cup from my outstretched hand, I place mine down for it to cool, and before I can warn him, he takes a huge gulp from his.

"Wait it is hot!" I exclaim as my hands, free of my own mug, reach out to stop him. Somehow, I do not know how, he still manages to swallow it.

"Great job with the fucking warning, imbecile. Really think a delayed word of the warning type is going to help after I've already started at your poison filled concoction?"

"How...?" Before I can stop myself, I wonder aloud. "That had to be scorching! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, no thanks to you, your worthless warnings, or your inferior think pan." I find myself looking closely as he talks, to see if he looked even a bit burnt. I can not believe it, but there are not any burns, at least none that I can see. I must be looking for too long or moving in too close, because with his next words, he leans back from me toward the armrest behind him. "Why is the deformed thing you call yourself staring at my mouth?" I pull back immediately, looking down at my hands still around his hands still around the hot mug. His hands really are deathly cold but I pull mine away, a little curious as to why he did not try to insult me for still holding them. For a moment, when I glance up, I think I see a look of disappointment flash across his features. I figure I am wrong though, because he is back to normal in less time it takes to even blink; even taking a careful sip of the hot cocoa.

Maybe he really did get burnt a little. I lean over and pick mine up, balancing it on my knee before raising it to blow over the surface and take a sip. The next time I glance at him, he is starting to do the same as he drinks. I smile and laugh, jumping right back into the swing of being cheery.

"You are copying me, Karkat!" I exclaim.

"What are you fucking talking about? Copying some scumbag," I have to admit, his nicknames for me are different today, "like you is not near the top of any to do list I have fucking planned. Good lord, that's lower than trying to screw a rotting, maggot infested corpse out on the road." I wait for him to blow over the mug and take another sip before piping up again.

"Look! You did it again!"

"Shut your overused mouth flap, John." He mumbles back as his lips rest on the rim of the mug. I notice more color coming back to his face; seeing it even out, except for a light tint on his cheeks that continues to stay darker than the rest of his face. I remember how cold his hands were again and wonder if they still are. Thinking it a disguised way to check, I poke his hand when I speak next, trying to make it look like I am only mocking him in some way.

"Make me, Karkat," I smile, trying to make it look a bit more mischievous on account of my disguised way of checking if his hands are still cold, which they are. He just glares at me. I am actually prepared for a full on attack of words, but he only glares. I set my mug down again, slide his beanie up a little, and touch his forehead with the back of my hand. I wonder if he caught a really bad cold or something like pneumonia out there and that that is why he is not attacking me with words. I don't really know how to check for pneumonia, but I figure, that like a cold, it would at least give him a fever. I am surprised when he watches my actions calmly (a rare feat for him) and it takes a few moments too long for him to smack my hand away. Definitely long enough for me to find that he does not seem to have a fever.

"Are you okay?" I give him a questioning look.

"Of course idiot," he keeps glaring... "Why the hell wouldn't I be, all cooped up in this inferior place you think counts for a home?" He is back into sarcastic insults but they still are not what they usually are.

"You are acting weird that is why."

"No I'm not, penis poop"

"Yes you are," I counter.

"Not fuckface," Better, I think, not finding it weird at all as to how I am judging how he is insulting me and using it as a measure of just how 'okay' he really is.

"Are to, Karkat,"

"Quit it," he growls in a low tone. I blink in confusion.

"Quit what?" I ask earnestly. Sitting criss-cross on the couch and facing him, I prop my head up with my hands and my elbows on my knees. "What am I supposed to quit?" I watch him as he places his mug next to mine then as he mimics my position exactly.

"'What am I supposed to quit?'" He copies me in a tone similar to my own, continuing in the same way. "'Karkat, Karkat, Karkat,'" he snarls sounding very primitive, like a jungle animal or a big cat. I did not even know he could do that before now. "Quit pretending your fucking ass off, John," his voice is cold and I try not to let anything show.

"Pretending?" I smile, hoping it looks light-hearted. "I do not pretend, Karkat." I let my sentence carry and hang on in the air. He grabs at my wrist unexpectedly and I feel as trapped as a bit of prey, though probably more flustered than one. I find myself wondering if he has to hunt for his food because he seems to be acting like a predator right about now.

"You're a pretending and an insufferable liar now?" he looks as cold as his hand still is.

"H-hey, I'm not lying," I try, almost desperately, to pull myself away but his grip is strong and kind of hurts because his nails dig into the inside of my wrist. I try to pry his fingers off and get two of them to let go in the silence before he grabs and moves that one out of the way too.

"Karkat?" I wish I can still be cheery about this, but he is managing to scare me. When he does not reply, I keep going. "Karkat, what are you doing?" I resist the urge to state, once again, that I am no homosexual and then scramble away in whatever happens after that. He stays silent and still, watching my left wrist—the first one he grabbed—intently. I think the silence is killing him a little on the inside; he is never quiet. I understand why as a shock of pain runs along my arm at the sensation of skin breaking.

My yelp brings him out of whatever trance he was just in and he looks at me. His grip loosens and his eyes soften, like he is actually sorry. I am about to answer with a jumbled 'it is okay' but don't get it out fast enough. His fingers, cold but still pleasant now that they are not digging for my blood, hold my face and the most surprising thing: his lips hold mine.

I can not tell which scares me more, the fact that I'm not pushing him away yet or that he did this just after drawing blood from my wrist. Soon, I do push him away as his hand tries snaking up my side. I pull my legs up to my chest and then wrap my arms around them, not caring if I get blood on any of my clothes. Well I do care, but just not now anyway.

"Karkat," I ask unsure, "why did you do that?" I bite my lip for a moment, which is not hard to do with my funny teeth. "I am not a—"

"A homosexual," he snaps, looking at the two mugs on the table next to us. "You think I don't know, John?" he continues. "I know..." he is almost talking to himself now. "It's wrong by your introverted human death trap of a culture." He looks back at me, making it clear that he hated it. Our eyes meet, and I again feel like an animal trapped in the eyes of a predator. Something makes me do it; makes me close the distance between us. A magnet in his eyes pulling me or one of Dad's harlequins pushing me toward him, but we kiss again, this time because I—no the magnets and clowns—make it happen.

I do not try to get away from him when my back falls against the couch, instead, I sneak his beanie off and try to relax as I run my fingers through his hair. It is very hard to relax. His kisses made my heart beat all over the place and I find a part of me wishing that they did not so that I could remain completely calm and get out of this right now before it is too late. I know it is already too late as his tongue runs against my lip and with a quiet moan, I let him prod at my mouth. I try to keep away from his teeth but still twisting and tangling with him. I rub a thumb over the little horn on his head and hear the...purring? that follows. Little parts of me command me to stop, break free, and scramble away, but a much bigger majority of my being wants me to pull away to point out Karkat's odd noises. So I do the latter, laughing with my words.

"Karkat, you are purring!" I rub his horn again to see his face this time. It stays unchanged, still flushed quite a bit, but strangely at peace, likewise, I can hear it again: the purring. I grin, knowing that I am right.

"Am not, asshole," he grumbles. I find myself remembering the pain from my wrist rather well and decide not to go there again with arguing how I am right. I wait silently for him to kiss me again. Then regret feeling disappointed when he does not, but instead looks toward the door. I remember my dad, and soon after, hear his car pull in. I scramble out from under Karkat and stuff his beanie on his head, smiling at the grumpy look he gives me. We both make it to sitting across from each other with our cups of hot—I mean cold—cocoa in our hands just as Dad walks in. He glances at us two before walking up the stairs. I wait until I hear his door close shut. With no explanation, I start with first giggles, and then full out laughter. I feel Karkat watching me even though I can not possibly see him through the tears that keep on building up in my laughing.

"Shut up, retard," from his words, I know that he is glaring at me, but probably for a different reason than from earlier, "before he stumbles back down like a ditched date." he hisses as I hear the quiet clank of his cup being put back on the table and then feel him pull mine from my hands and do the same. "Shush, John. Oh for god's sake, shut your fucking trap." My laughing dies down as he forces a kiss out of me to silence my laughing. I remember again why we scrambled when we heard my dad roll in and feel awkward all over again. When he pulls back and smiles, my eyes widen, not having ever recalled him smile before, definitely not one so genuine.

I rest a hand on his cheek watching his smile before he realizes that he is smiling and wipes it clean off his face. I try to keep it in my mind, smiling at him free of care. We sit for a moment watching each other, catching our breath.

"Are you still considering your sad self 'not a homosexual,' John?" I don't know how to answer for a moment, having been caught off guard.

"I" I think for a moment. "I...don't really know, Karkat." For a split second, he looks hurt and then angry for just as long. He cleans up well but it is enough to feel guilty and I almost wish for him to actually get really pissed again so that at least he is not locking anything away. Instead, he stands up and leaves.

"Good to know, dumbass," the door closes shut behind him.

I sit, letting myself feel guilty, and stare at the two cups on the table. It is one of those stares where you can not possibly imagine yourself looking away from until the time comes where you have to blink or pay attention else where. And now, I find myself desperately recalling Karkat's smile because I am not sure when I will see it again, if I do.

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