A/N: My first story on here, and it's basically PWP. I'm a terrible person. For the purposes of this series, assume that everyone is in the Veil and no one is dead. Also, for some reason, Tavros was never paralyzed. I certainly didn't forget about his robolegs, nope. Altered biology headcanon is active as well: Trolls have tails, scales on their limbs, backs, and faces, and digitigrade paws with appropriate legs. They are also hermaphrodites. Long-ass author's note is long, but required nonetheless!

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are currently stuck in furry hell.

Clearly you must have pissed off some kind of yiff deity earlier in life, and he or she has seen fit to trap you in what must be ironic purgatory, wasting your days forever regretting your mockery of the sanctity of an anthropomorphized kangaroo rat fucking a six-limbed centaur-cat.

But, in all seriousness, trolls are really fucking weird.

You suppose it was silly of you, believing that they would be nothing more than weird-colored humans with maybe pointy ears and fangs, just like in your Japanese animes. But this? This was way more freaky than you had any idea it would be. You were not expecting paws and claws and tails and scales, nor were you expecting your thoughts to start sounding like the bastard offspring of a Dr. Seuss book. You did not intend to become Max, king of all the wild things. Carol and KW can go suck it, you're getting back on your fucking boat and going home.

Except you can't, because you're here for a reason, and also because when faced with freaky shit Striders do not run. They stand their goddamn ground and deal with it. Except, that's a little hard when there's a pair of hugeass cow eyes just staring at you from the corner, barely even blinking. Jesus fuck.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you are blatantly ogling the coolest coolkid you've ever met.

Except, that actually sounds more than a little creepy, but you kind of can't help that since that's totally what you're doing. You've seen him before through Trollian, of course, but the fact that he's here in front of you is kind of overwhelming in a couple of ways. You can't help your gaping, although for once you're pretty glad almost no one pays attention to you anyway. Your tail starts to flick of its own accord, sweeping across the ground and very nearly getting trampled by your esteemed leader, who's too busy screaming at everyone to shut the fuck up and stuff their tongues back in their faces ('THAT MEANS YOU, PYROPE.' 'M4K3 M3 K4RKL3S :]') to notice.

You kind of giggle a little despite yourself; John starts talking at the same time as, and then over Karkat, a feat in itself. He then proceeds to declare them 'best palhoncho friendleaders for life' and hugs him and wow you didn't realize Karkat was that tiny until John just sort of picks him up, still hugging him. Karkat screams something unintelligible which everyone takes as a dismissal, as you all begin dispersing into your own little groups.

Now's your chance, all you have to do is go over there and take it.

Any second now.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're starting to lose your cool a bit.

What? No, what are you thinking? Striders do not lose their cool ever, under any circumstances. This is not a thing that happens.

But Christ, it's more than a little terrifying that five minutes later, those huge golden cow eyes have not left your face. You pry Terezi from where she had been clinging to your entire body ('BUT D4V3, YOU S1MPLY MUST 4LLOW M3 TO T4ST3 YOUR M4RSHM4LLOWY D3L1C1OUSN3SS' 'it stopped being a taste the second your tongue went down my shirt') and, well, stride over to the bull in the headlights. If anything he only seems to get worse, shaking like he's about to tip over and his tail flying straight up. You attempt to break him from his trance, but succeed only in flustering him further. The round-faced grey wall before you looks like he's about to topple over, but he doesn't.

Instead, he books it out of there way faster than a guy his weight should reasonably be able to.

Not ten seconds after that, Terezi.. Well, sneak isn't exactly the right word for someone as heavyset as Terezi. She sort of charges over and sniffs around for a bit before loudly inquiring as to where Tavros has gone. You shrug, at which she scrunches up her face, and asks you what you said to make him bolt. Again, you shrug and again, she scrunches her face. The crazy dragon lady then charges you with the task of finding Tavros and bringing him back, grinning the whole time.

Great. Well, that shouldn't be too hard, right? After all, where could he possibly be hiding?

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you are currently trying to be rid of the fluids oozing down your thighs.

As terrible as that may sound, no. You have not pissed yourself although you must admit, that was your initial thought. But no, what was sliding down your legs was far too thick for that.

You dashed off to your room to go investigate, and maybe to change your clothes, unwittingly leaving a sticky brown trail for anyone to follow, should they be doing so. Any troll would have recognized its lewd stain instantly for what it was; nook lubrication fluid, although typically there wouldn't be anywhere near this amount. Something must be very, very wrong.

Something had been wrong for a while though, truth be told. Reflecting on the past week, you had been quite clingy with your friends, especially Gamzee, and had to self-pail far more than one should need to in such a short span of time. But now it seemed that all of that had merely been in preparation. The real event was taking place now.

You remove your clothes so that they are not ruined further and gape at the full extent of your arousal. While your bulge is just beginning to awaken, the skin around your nook is flushed and swollen, your fluids very nearly steaming as they leave your body. The slippery organ, once it's fully out, seems much slicker than normal and is far more sensitive to touch, something you figure out rather quickly.

Well, you've had to deal with it already this week, right? If you could do it before, you could do it now and hopefully not be too loud about it.

Having Karkat scream at you to stop fondling your bulge loud enough for everyone on the meteor to hear was mortifying enough once.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're busy wondering what the fuck you just walked in.

And by that, you mean you just nearly avoided having an intimate sloppy makeout session with the floor. The floor which seems to be covered in amazingly dangerous warm brown goo. You're about 80% certain the trolls aren't that uncivilized though, so what even is this mess?

Upon closer inspection, by which you mean wiping some off the floor and sniffing it, it doesn't smell like shit. The scent isn't one you can really describe however, all you know is that it kind of makes you feel warm. Gross, but not as much as the alternative.

Troll fluids are all their blood color right? You must be on the right track then.

At this point, you think you start to hear a sound. It's continuous, and quiet to the point of being nearly unhearable. But no, there it is, a low clicking noise that grows louder the farther along the trail you go. Something weird is definitely up.

You follow the trail of mysterious liquid all the way to a door, decorated by a brown Taurus symbol. Found him.

When you push the door open, you start with 'you know its uncool to just leave a guy hanging like that-' but stop very, very quickly.

Um. Wow.

Holy shit.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and if you weren't so horny you'd be utterly mortified.

But, as it is, you're too far gone to fully appreciate the situation at hand. Instead you make a quiet, wanting noise in your throat and try to turn your head. You had settled down on the floor with a bucket, the same way you had all those times before and touched yourself. After all, the quicker you got off, the quicker you could go back before anyone realized you were missing.

The only problem was your body did not seem to want to cooperate.

It's only been around an hour, but when you have spent literally all that time doing nothing but self-pailing, it seems so much longer. The bucket has long since overflowed but your body is still going, and your hands on your own hypersensitive flesh has put you in one hell of a stupor. As of right now you're laying on your stomach on the floor, legs spread wide and tail twisted to one side. Both hands are quite occupied, one spreading and fingering your soaked nook, the other lightly toying with your bulge. Your eyes are very much unfocused, and when you manage to stop your vision from doubling you see Dave just standing in the doorway, thunderstruck.

It figures that the first time you see him displaying emotion, you can't really see it. If your legs weren't jelly, you would probably run away and hide again. You're vaguely aware of your throat making sounds: a series of fairly loud, churring clicks. Your mating cry, you realize long after the fact. Fuck. You've been lying here totally undefended for the better part of an hour, calling out to your fellow trolls. It's pretty damn lucky that it was a human that answered and not, say, Vriska.

Except now, said human is stock-still and just as frozen as you were when you first saw him.

Great.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are far too interested in the troll pussy currently staring you in the face.

Not that it's actually staring, that would be terrifying. Trolls are freaky enough as is. But the sight of Tavros face-down on the floor, legs spread wide and showing off a dripping-wet hole is giving you way more feels that you're prepared to deal with. You.. actually kind of want to hug the poor thing, helpless as he looks. Your dick on the other hand, is interested in something much, much different.

It takes you a while to regain control of your body, but when you do you slowly approach the dazed troll, lightly placing a hand on his scaly spine. He arches up into the touch, whimpering a bit and you flinch in response. Tavros is burning up, his whole body flushed deep bronze, and he doesn't seem to know what he's doing. You briefly ponder the morality of having sex with someone drunk off their own pheromones, but quickly decide to figuratively and literally screw that once the brownblooded troll's bulge curls back and rubs at the tent in your pants.

Under normal circumstances, you would probably make some kind of joke about bulls and horns, but the warm wetness slowly seeping into your jeans kills any potential metaphors you might have been coming up with. Instead, you wrap one hand around the wiggling appendage (of course it's a tentacle, because there doesn't seem to be a limit on the what-the-fuck-ometer when it comes to trolls,) and hastily tug off your jeans with the other.

While you don't come close to matching his freaky tentadick in length, as long as you rub it against his slit he doesn't seem to care. Wide hips start pushing back against you and holy shit, troll juice may have nearly killed you earlier but you're willing to forgive it if it doesn't stop being the best lube you've ever felt. Tavros moans the more enthusiastic you get with your rubbing, and soon he's lifting himself up off the floor. Not long after that he has you pinned down under him, and if you hadn't noticed how heavy he was before you certainly are now.

You should probably be more afraid of being stuck under him like this, but the way he keeps grinding down against your dick helps to stave off any worries you might have had.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and there is nothing in the world as good as this.

Once you managed to stop drooling and get your think pan to work like it was supposed to, it became abundantly clear that the way this was going, nothing was going to happen until either the human finished or you made it happen. While you were in no way accustomed to starting things, not doing so would be a crime of epic proportions.

You are no criminal, and as such you have taken the initiative.

Dave isn't quite as big as you would have liked, but having something inside you at all is enough to make you moan happily, nook eagerly taking the human down to the base. Your body clamps down on his length as you lift your hips back up, only to slam them down once again. Incomprehensible sounds fall from your lips of their own accord, and it isn't long before you're rendered insensate. Dave takes over when that happens, rolling the two of you over until he's leaning over you and thrusting deep into your body. Your tail is going completely insane, batting against his legs as it tries to flail about. The blonde grabs your horns for purchase and you nearly throw him off with the way you arch up against him.

As close as you already were, it isn't very long before you climax, copper genetic material splattering between the two of you and nook tightening around the length inside it. He's shaking and moaning and almost right after you finish he does as well, warmth flowing inside your slit. When he recovers, Dave tries to pull back but you don't let him, legs wrapped around his back and pulling him closer. Just like before, while you had managed to get off your body remained unsatisfied, bulge still out and wiggling softly.

While you may not be very confident about, well, anything really, you are more than determined to make this last until you're finished. The human looks more than a little dazed, and you can feel him softening inside you. Well that's not going to work.

...Fuck.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're tired in ways you didn't even know you could be tired.

After the first time, you assumed he would be fine. You should have known better, especially given what they say about assumptions.

You kept telling yourself that, even as it bled into the second, the third, fourth, and twelfth times. After round five or so, you may or may not have blacked out for a while although you can't quite be sure. All you know is that the Troll Energizer Bunny was still going and that there was probably a reason those Viagra ads warned you about having an erection for more than four hours.

Most people would think it would be nice to go out with a smile. Were any of those people to express their sentiment, you would spit on their faces. Death by sex is not something you would wish on anyone, especially not death by troll sex. All you could think once Tavros had finally, finally let you go was that the buckets made sense now. The buckets made so much sense.

Sleep overtakes the both of you almost immediately after that, and when you finally come to you realize the two of you have been gone for way too long. You also become aware of a certain scent pervading the room, one you recognize from earlier. Troll juice.

Wait. It takes a bit for your sluggish brain to fully comprehend, but when you do, oh are you pissed.

Pyrope.

She knew. She must have known; there was no way she couldn't have. A psychotic, draconic, blind alien amateur lawyer just basically sentenced you to death by snu-snu and was, in all likelihood, still laughing about it now. That bitch.

But, as a large grey-and-brown mass shifts against you, head very carefully nestled in the crook of your neck, you can't even bring yourself to be mad anymore. JUST1C3 will be served when naked sticky snuggle time stops being a thing that's happening. As you slowly drift back off to sleep you think that maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this.

A/N: Well, first in the series, how was it? R&R is appreciated!