Chapter Text
Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR, and your perpetual solitude has just been interrupted.
Or. Not so much interrupted, as infringed upon. Not even.
Fuck, you’re even irritating yourself with this vagueness.
Basically, it’s not a noise, or a sight, or a sound, or anything - although you thought it might be the heavy rain smashing at your windows. But it’s different: you’ve just got a, ugh, a feeling something’s off. You feel itchy. You feel tense. You feel like you’re waiting for something, even though it’s the middle of the night and you rarely let visitors in your hive anyway.
It’s probably just the grub whiskey you’ve got mixed in with your Faygo. Doesn’t make you feel any less paranoid, though, and it gets worse the more you drink. You’re not the kind of troll to put much stock in feelings, so the way you can’t concentrate - what is it what’s wrong - is really fucking pissing you off.
When you re-type the same line of code for the fifteenth time, read it cursorily, and realise it’s fucking wrong and now you’re going to have to correct twenty minute’s worth of work, you give up in disgust (you need to stop typing tipsy) and run through your mental checklist instead.
Bees? A simple psii signal shows they’re all safe and accounted for.
01011001 00100000 01110101 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110101 01110010 01101111 01110100 01101001 01100011 00100000 01010011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01110101 01111000 00001010 01010101 00100000 01100010 01111010 01111010 00100000 01101101 01101111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01101110 00100000 01110101 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101101 01100001 01101111
Chucklevoodoos? GZ doesn’t live anywhere near here. You check all your fenestrated planes and doors, but they’re locked, and you never use your kitchen shit anyway (except the thermaliser), so that can’t be it.
You’ve almost given up in frustration when you catch the tiniest snag on your drink-clouded psiis and realise, oh, it’s through water. FF must be headed your way. Why, though?
The tiny grubbish part of your pan, the one where you keep all your issues, reminds you with plaintive screams of the constant fear of HELM2HOOD. What if something went wrong, what if-
One of your mind bees prods you in the ear and you wrench your mind away gratefully. You’re being a dipshit. It’s probably just that she wants to talk, or maybe come onto you.
Ugh, if she’s trying to flush you again, you’d rather not be under the influence. Maybe you’ll just go to coon and hope she-
A muffled crashing noise echoes out from a small distance away.
Okay, there’s definitely someone outside. Too late for sleep-excuse avoidance, then.
But they’re staying outside. You wait for what must be at least two minutes, impatient, before you swing open your door and project through the sheets of water spitting from the sky.
“FF?”
No answer. Yep. No way it’s her.
“Uh. Private property? Intruderth have .5 thecondth to abthcond the hell out of here before I ionithe your nuclei.”
Dimly, a faint sound calls back. It’s not words, you don’t think, but it helps you locate the person, who is way too tall and way too skinny to be your sea dwelling princess friend.
Huh. Okay, well, putting aside the ludicrous, there’s only one person you can assume would swim here and then hover outside in the bucketing rain like a dickhead.
Electricity crackles through you.
“…ED?” You call out, and the silhouette flinches, stepping close enough to be at least partially visible.
Purple streak, big dewy eyes, fins and bizarre fashion. Bingo. Oh, fuck. If FF is someone you want to be in full possession of your mental faculties for, Eridan is…
“What the fuck are you doing here?” You demand, alarm growing when you see the light glint in trails across his cheeks. It could be rain, but with that lilac tint, it almost looks like-
“Captor,” Eridan’s voice is creaky and wrecked and congested, completely lacking the acerbic edge you’re so used to. Something about it is so helpless, it chimes in your pan like a bell. “Captor, I’m s-so fuckin’, fuckin’-
“Are you-”
He shakes his head, drops it, and makes the worst, most pitiful noise you’ve ever heard. “I’m just-“
“Is there a reason you’re lurking behind a shrub by my hive?” You ask, too harshly.
He comes into the light properly, face half-hidden by a long, sweater-clad forearm as he scrubs at his eyes, and his hair is a fucking mess and his mouth is quivering and yeah, fuck, Eridan Ampora is apparently crying outside your hive. Crying so hard he can barely get words out, no less.
Oh god.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you, and almost laughs, a sick shuddery noise. “I’m just so f-fuckin’ lonely.”
“…what?”
He just sways helplessly.
“Uhhhhh.” You speak up again when ED doesn’t respond, words shaking with confusion - this is not what you expected to see, you don’t have social skills at the best of times, and you’ve got absolutely no clue how to address this surreal bullshit. You’re not even completely sure this isn’t some weird hallucination - you’re a lightweight, you’ll admit it. Honestly, considering how you feel about him, you’re terrified. “Do you, um, need me to call FF?”
Maybe offering to call his ex-palemate is kinda shitty, but you’re not made of stone. Being this close to ED when he’s like this-
He hiccups out a sob, a melancholy noise so pitiful, it’s an active struggle not to step forward and do- do what? Throw away sweeps of self-control like a pan-fucked shithead? “N-no, just- just, I- I think I’m dyin’.”
You’d call him dramatic, but he looks it, too. “What happened?”
“Shit, I-“ He’s not even slightly making sense. “I’m just. Captor. I’m sorry, I don’t- fuck, I’m such a fuckin’ idiot, I just-“
“Don’t-“ You pinch your temples as he mumbles to himself, feeling yourself skip ever close to the point of no return. “Fuck it. Do you want to, uh, come in?”
Fuck, this is getting tricky. Morals vs feelings vs hermitage, as ever.
“No, I- you don’t havve to,” he manages, but look at him, he’s fucking wilting, posture all off like he’s trying to lean closer to you and hold himself back simultaneously.
You are a weak, inebriated troll, and the immediate future looks like it’s going to be awful and difficult. But you can’t just leave him like this, and a useless, pathetic part of your pan is fucking glowing at the thought of him coming to you. You’re not enemies, exactly, but he’s made it clear he only interacts with you because you have FF in common.
Does this mean- maybe- if he’s come to you for c- you hate the vertiginous swoop of your guts. Hate it.
Anyway.
You sigh. “Eridan, get inthide my fucking hive.”
“Are you s-shore-“
You gesture to your door and glare, narrowing your eyes, because irritation is how you deal with discomfort. Except, shit, you fucking dumbass, now he’s flinching and pale and you’re worried he’s going to fall over and shatter into a thousand pieces.
“I’m sorry-“
“No,” you interrupt, too harshly, and wince as you try to soften both your tone and resting bitchface. This is a delicate balance, but it’s goddamn integral that you don’t overcompensate too hard and push him away. “I mean. Fuck. I’m thorry, okay? Jutht get in. It’th fucking raining, you look like you’re two thtepth from death, jutht get inthide and get warm.”
Uncharacteristically, he obeys, huddling into his cloak as he wavers past you. Now that concerns you - ED making dramatic, confusing monologues is commonplace, and he’s enough of a hipster bitch to skulk around in bad weather, but the Ampora you know doesn’t mindlessly listen to anyone except FF. He’s not the same insufferable 6-sweeper, but he also doesn’t trust just anyone enough to command him, least of all you.
When you close the door and turn, still grasping wildly for any semblance of a plan, you see he’s awkwardly hovering by your loungeplank, swathed in his soaked cloak like a wounded flapbeast. Small and lost and- this is going to be such a long night.
“Thit down,” you tell him, because you’re pretty sure if you phrase shit more politely, he’ll shoot you for being an imposter. He looks comforted by the terse words, but still hesitates.
“…I’ll g-get your couch wwet.”
Your face scrunches in confusion. “Who giveth a thhit?”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, ear fins fluttering in a way you’ve seen before - flicking back and forth, restless. He only ever does that when he’s rattled, but you’ve never seen him this bad before. Unless he usually hides it better?
“Don’t fucking apologithe-“ you sound like such a massive asshole, goddamn it, why do you suck at this so hard? “Jutht. Thit down. Take off that fucking cloak before you freeze to death in my rumputhblock, okay, Fithhprinthe?”
You brought in the insult to lighten the tension, but it comes out less like a jab and more of a strange, reverent title. He does look like a fish prince in your half-lit block, ethereal and tragic as a consumptive poet. You can’t look away.
“…okay.” Eridan’s lips barely move, shoulders still curved down in a posture so unlike his regular straight-backed military stance, he looks like a completely different person. His chest is still moving up and down jerkily, thin lilac tears streaking his face. It hurts to look at him.
When he reaches for the clasp on his cloak, his usual dexterity is understandably absent. He’s freezing, he’s shaking, he’s clearly not focusing, he’s like a helpless little wiggler, and you-
ED makes a tiny, shocked noise in the back of his throat when you stomp over to wrestle with his buttons, ear fins snapping up to flare around his face in a threat display. Trying to look bigger. Joke’s on him, though, because he’s so soggy and weak and piteous right now, you don’t even care that he could shoot you with one finger and a prayer.
(You’d let him put the muzzle in your mouth to make him smile.)
You manage to gruffly divest him of his dripping cloak, trying not to give the impression of creepy lingering or of antagonistic briskness. It’s weirdly hard, though, because his skin feels slightly different to yours, and you’ve never been so close to him in a non-violent context, and it’s all incredibly dangerous.
“…thanks,” he mutters quietly when you’re done, arms twisting around himself.
“Whatever,” you hang his cloak up to dry and return to lurk awkwardly, scruffily a hand through hair so messy, he’d usually be having conniptions over just having to see it. “Uh. God, jutht thit down, dude. The plank doethn’t bite.”
“Sorry,” he’s almost whispering as he sits down, curling into his soggy little ball. He looks oddly naked without his cape - not naked, that’s a slippery slope - smaller and less of an ostentatious caricature. It’s like all his insecure bluster and bravado got removed with the heavy violet garment, and now he’s just shivering on your couch, face in his hands, looking like the saddest thing you’ve ever seen with your two ganderbulbs.
“It’th fine,” you tell him stiffly, then cross your arms to feel like you’re doing something. “Uh. What’th wrong?”
Great phrasing. Well done, asshat.
“N-nothin’, I’m sorry, I just-“ Eridan breaks back into heavier tears again, shuddering apart like a swarm of your bees when they’re panicking. “Fuck.”
“Hey, it’th okay. Don’t, uh, jutht breathe-“ too pale? Oh shit, he might be losing his mind but you don’t want him to think you’re overstepping. “Tho. Like. You thure you don’t want FF? It’th no trouble, dude, I can-“
…Call someone you actually like because you hate my guts? Your pan finishes nastily. Because I’m fucking incompetent and keep making you cry more?
God, this situation is more important than your pity-jealousy, not that you even have that, really, it’s just a tiny thing and-
“No.” ED’s voice breaks through, rough and painful but certain. “I’m sorry, please don’t-“
“It’th okay,” you repeat, more and more worried by the minute. He’s not breathing properly, and he seems absolutely wrecked, not to mention you’ve never seen him so discomposed and poiseless. And he doesn’t want FF?
An unpleasant thought seizes you. “ED, did thomeone, uh, hurt you?”
He smiles palely through his tears. “N-no, I’m just- just dramatic. Sorry, fuck, wwhat am I- I don’t-“
“Breathe,” you instruct him again, and he sinks his face back down between his knees. “Do you need a paper bag or thomething?”
He shakes his head. “N-no.”
You fidget for a few interminable, agonising minutes. “…do you want to talk about it?”
Shake, shake.
“Do you want KK?”
Frantic shaking.
(Does that mean he wants you specifically? Don’t think about it. Don’t-)
“Do you need anything?”
He finally looks up, anxiety saturating his face. “N-no, I’m sorry, I didn’t- I’ll exp- I’ll be outta your hair, I p-promise, I just-“
“Fuck no you won’t,” you retort, sharp enough to have his fins flaring again. “Thhit. I mean, you’re not going back out in that. Obviouthly. You can jutht thit, if you want. I don’t care.”
When ED meets your eyes, there’s a tiny crinkle between his furrowed brows. “…I c-can just sit here?”
“Yeah. Unlethth you’re here to thtab me, in which cathe-“ why did you say that why did you-
He drops his face back down and starts crying again, and you’re the worst person you know. You know he’s sensitive about how hard he chased you for kismesis when you were both asshole 6 sweep olds, you know he struggles with that quadrant, why in the hell did you bring it up?
“…that wath a joke.” You trail off. “Thorry.”
Eridan stays hunched in his wriggler position, breathing uneven, for something like twenty minutes. You sit and fidget, wanting to help, knowing all you’re going to do is act like an idiot and ruin things.
You should really call KK, he knows how to handle this shit. He’s a thousand times more qualified than your socially-stunted mutant ass. But-
Fuck it, you need a soft drink. Something to balance out the lingering alcohol, to disperse the stupid recklessness coursing through you.
ED jerks like a puppet with its strings cut when you turn to leave, letting out a croaky breath. You stop.
“…are you-“
“‘M’fine,” he says, but he’s paler than usual and breathing way too hard again.
“Okay.” You hedge, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you think. “Uh. Can you come to the culinary block with me?”
Great going, Captor, now it sounds like you’re worried he’s going to steal your silverware. You can’t have fucked it up too badly, though, because Eridan nods quietly and stands up to follow you.
You’re distracted for a moment by the wet spot on the loungeplank where he sat - you weren’t kidding when you said you don’t give a shit, but it’s dark enough to be alarming.
You turn around and grab his arm, and he startles so hard his knees wobble. “Ah-“
“Thhit. Thorry,” you mutter, pulling back. You’re immediately distracted, though, by peering at him, and holy fuck. He’s wearing a black shirt and dark striped trousers, both of which hide the fact that he’s completely waterlogged fairly well to the casual glance.
“Holy thhit,” your voice fluctuates wildly between volume levels as you press your prongs to his sleeve. “Holy fuck, ED, you’re thoaked through- why didn’t you thay anything, you fucking idiot?”
He doesn’t look at you. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologithe, jutht-“ you yank a hand through your hair, reflect yet again on how entirely incompetent you are at this, and then reach for his arm as gently as possible. “Fuck, do you want hypothermia? Come on.”
“I’m a seadwweller, Sol,” Eridan points out as you drag him across to your ablutionblock. “I don’t-“
“You’re thtill not meant to get that cold or that wet on land for almotht an hour, you incompetent noob,” you hiss, channeling KK. “How fucking long were you out there for it to get all through your fucking cloak?”
He smiles wryly, an expression somehow the polar opposite of happiness. “Forgot to put it on.”
“Jeguth.” You exhale and lightly shove him into the ablutionblock. “You’re gonna have to borrow my clotheth.”
“Wwhat?” ED calls back, sounding alarmed.
“Like hell are you thtaying in that thhit,” you snap, as you plop folded clothing into his arms. If you sound angry, it makes your actions much less blatant. “Take the peathant clothing and deal with it.”
“…thanks, Sol.” He tells you softly, violet eyes swallowing up his face, and your bloodpump pounds until he shuts the door.
You’re so fucked.
twinArmageddons [TA] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]
TA: what2 ED been up two?
CG: FISHDOUCHE?
CG: I DONT KNOW HE HASNT BEEN ANSWERING MY PESTERS FOR A WHILE
CG: WHY
You type out a quick reply and exit the chat, sighing. Well, that was useless.
You look up from your phone, panicking, only to stop dead as ED shuffles nervously into your culinary block.
He’s wearing your clothes.
He’s wearing your clothes, and they don’t fit, obviously, they’re just big enough for him to look small and vulnerable and so fucking pitiable, it’s like you’re in one of KK’s romance novels.
You can actually hear all the breath in your body whoosh out in panic. Morals. Remember those, Captor?? Morals.
(You put the ii in moirail, your pan beeps uselessly).
“Thorry thothe don’t fit,” you tell him awkwardly, even though you’re absolutely not. Eridan Ampora is in your clothes. Fuck. Fuck!
“It’s okay,” ED replies hesitantly, looking at you through unruly curls. Without product, his hair is waving madly about his temples like a tide breaking onto the beach, and you’re just writing poetry now, you’re so fucked.
“…uh, Sol?”
You jerk unsubtly, feel blood rush to your face, and stomp harder on the urges trying to overwhelm you. “Right! Fuck. You jutht. Uh.”
Words. His hands are shaking, his mouth is a full, wan curve like the moon, and you can’t think of any words.
Thankfully, you spot the hydration cylinder. “Oh. Uh. Drink thith,” you blurt, and thrust the scalding leaf water at him.
He stares at it like he’s worried you poisoned it, so you roll your eyes, take a deep sip of your own cup, then switch it for his.
“…thanks,” he mutters again, and you bite your cheek and pray for mercy.
“It’th fine.”
He sips it, then pauses, wrinkling his nose. “…’vve you been drinkin’?”
You flush and step back, because if he can smell it on your breath, you’re too close. “I don’t judge what you do in the middle of the night, aththhole.”
ED doesn’t dispute that, just stares blankly at you until you sigh and pull the bottle out. “You want thome?”
He nods slowly, and you decide this night is a fucking lost cause. You pour the griskey straight into his leafwater, vaguely concerned when he doesn’t even protest, and match your own.
“That kinda night?”
“…Yeah.”
You spend the next hour or so sitting with Eridan as he clutches his cup like a lost wriggler, still shivering. He sits down right next to you, and he keeps inching closer, which is great but you don’t know how you’re meant to interpret it. Most likely, he’s just freezing cold and trying to leech your body warmth.
You’re totally fine with that.
Eventually, ED finishes his last sip of spiked leafwater (side note: tastes appalling) and places the mug down with a sigh.
“Here’s to f-fuckin’ singledom, I guess.”
“Oh?” Your brows rise cautiously.
He shrugs. “Vvris dumped me again, ‘bout a wweek ago.”
You stop moving. “Oh.”
“I think…” he picks at his cuticles, chewing his lip, the picture of stress. “I think it m-might be permanent, this time.”
“Good,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.
ED’s mouth twists. “Oh.”
“Becauthe thhe treated you like thhit,” you say sharply, filling in the blanks of his unspoken answer.
“Ain’t that wwhat kismeses do?”
If he didn’t seem so fragile right now, you’d point out that kismessitude is supposed to be based on respect, investment, and reciprocity, three things theirs never was. “No. Thhe’th jutht an aththhole.”
“Wwhat, you think you’d do better?” There’s the tiniest hint of a spark in his eyes, like he thinks he understands you for a second, and you have to fight the childish urge to scream, hiss that you’re not going for pitch, fuck it, you don’t hate him. Maybe you have a friendly black-flirt now and then, maybe he’s infuriating as shit, but you want to kiss him more than you want to break Serket’s nose, and you don’t mean black.
But he doesn’t want to hear it, and you don’t want to ruin everything, so you just sneer.
“Anyone could. Never got why you’d be with her.”
“She wwanted me,” he replies simply.
“Lotth of people want you.”
“You’vve pointed out in the past that they don’t fairly often, Sol,” Eridan disagrees. “An’ the fact remains that she wwas my only quadrant left. I am, as evver, fuckin’ alone.”
You are going to kill her. “Thankth.”
“You knoww wwhat I mean.”
“You’ve got friendth, fithhfucker, you jutht ignore them to chathe after the world’th bitchietht FLARPer.” He looks dubious so you count on your fingers. “You’ve got KK, FF, TV, NP and the retht of thothe aththholeth, and me.”
ED’s brows rise when you list yourself. He keeps going, though, “Yeah, but- fuck. Sol, I don’t knoww howw to explain this shit. They jutht- they all havve someone they like more.”
Not you. Your bloodpump is embarrassingly captive, as evidenced by his presence in your hive block for longer than five minutes. Not to mention your continuing reluctance to call KK to clean up the mess you’re longing to be responsible for.
You can’t say that. “Yeah, I guethth.”
“An’ none of them wwant to be in my flushed quads, wwhich-“ he seems to mistake your rigidity for judgement. “I knoww they ain’t the only important quadrants, but I just-“
Eridan’s eyelashes flicker down, words coming out low and guilty. “…I just wwant someone to like me. I just wwant literally anyone to think I’m cute enough to pail or snuggle, an’ hold my hand, an’ not hate me. Just. I’d take any conc, evven a pitch one wwhere she seemed bored all the time, an’ it’s probably my fault anywway, an’- Is that terrible?”
Your words are raspy. “No.”
“An’ you knoww I try, an’ I’m not great, I knoww that? But evvery relationship I’vve evver had ended up so bad, an’ I’m so fuckin’ lonely, an’ I think it’s me. I think I’m just bad.”
His voice cracks on that last word, the last straw breaking through your common sense, and next thing you know, you find your face inches from his, his cool breath ghosting over your mouth.
Your fingers lace with his, and he makes a startled noise. “Sol?”
You stare down desperately, looking for something to help you cluckbeast out, but all you find is the bewildered face of the most beautiful boy alive, gazing up at you with wide dark eyes. You’re frozen in the world’s weirdest staring contest, until his tongue flickers out nervously to wet his lips, and you can’t help it.
You sway forward, curling a hand over his jaw, and kiss him.
Your gross monster teeth snag his lips at first, and he makes a small, surprised noise and opens his mouth for your split tongue, even despite the blood. He tastes like alcohol and salt, like the way pearls look and-
You stop thinking when he gently touches your shoulder, like he’s worried you’ll shake his hand off, and your usual control shorts out catastrophically for a second. It’s all his tongue and his lips and his pretty eyes and the way it feels to have his body pressed up against yours, to enjoy the tiny shred of trust he demonstrates by letting you so close. Suddenly, he’s pinned under you and you’re exploring his mouth, hungry, fucking reckless to the point of sloppiness - his fins flap when you accidentally draw blood from his lip again, and you lick over it soothingly, reverently gentle. You don’t want to hurt him and he’s so pliant, so close, you really think he understands. There’s a crazy joy welling up in you at the noises he makes and-
And, you’re lying on top of a guy who just came to you after a breakup, one who tends to barely tolerate you, one who’s as vulnerable and breakable right now as a soap bubble.
Not just any guy. The Guy.
Even if you’re tipping towards capital-D Drunk, that’s not right. What the fuck are you doing?
You launch yourself back so fast, it takes your psiionics to cushion the fall. You float there for a moment, gawping in guilt-struck petrification, at the darting wideness of his eyes, the swelling tenderness of his mouth.
“…Sol?” ED says, fingers brushing over his lips. “…Sol, I-“
“Holy fuck,” you interrupt. “I don’t know what the- thhit- fuck, I’m tho thorrry, that’th- fuck. I’m drunk. I thhould-” Go, you mean to finish, but then he’s got his slim fingers curled around your wrists, and you’re as anchored as if he’d chained you.
“No, I don’t…” he’s just staring and thinking and staring and thinking, and you’re the one with psiionic powers, but you’re starting to feel like he has x-ray eyes. Your bloodpump is squishing and crinkling with every thud.
“I- fuck,” you give in. “I’ll call KK.”
Eridan’s lips part slightly, distractingly, and it only reminds you how extraordinarily close you just came to doing a genuinely fucked up thing. “Wwhat?”
You bury a hand in your hair, feeling licking flames of embarrassment tease at you. You’re too keyed up and worried right now to process them, but when you do-
twinArmageddons [TA] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]
TA: KK II NEED HELP.
CG: ARE YOU DYING?
TA: not techniically?
CG: I’M GETTING LAID SO GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.
carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering twinArmageddons [TA]
TA: kk ii wiill remotely explode everythiing you hold dear.
carcinoGeneticist [CG] is now an idle chum!
“Fuck.” You spit, louder than you intend.
Opposite you, ED’s trembling harder. Oh fuck, is he scared of you now?
“I’m thorry-“
“Did I do somefin wwrong?” He asks, voice like broken glass, and you wince.
“Oh, dude, no. I jutht, fuck. I don’t know what I wath-“
He swallows, and you watch the long, intricate movement of his throat like a starving animal. “C-can I stay, then?”
You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, but he keep going, pleading-
“Please, I mean, I wwon’t pull any shit, I wwon’t- Sol, I just, I wwon’t evven bug you, you‘ll barely evven notice me an’-“
You waver like a leaf in the wind. Jegus. The universe really does find new ways to flip you off every day, huh? “I don’t- I don’t think that’th a good idea, ED.”
“Please?” He whispers, and fuck, without glasses his eyes are ridiculous, big and gleaming and desperate, and you don’t want to say no.
“I’m not, thith ithn’t-“ you look at his face, sighing, and change track. “Why do you want to thtay here, anyway? KK hath the romanthe movieth.”
“I just…” the seadweller’s words are coming out more accented than usual, a hazy slur. “I swwear I wwon’t be any trouble, Sol.”
“But why me?” You push, only slightly masochistically.
His shoulders slump. “I’m lonely. I already fuckin’ s-said that.”
“Tho you came to my hive? ED, I’m thorry, but I don’t know what you want here-”
“You said wwe’re friends earlier,” Eridan’s quick to remind you, “An’ you get it. Kar’ll just yell at me an’ Kan’ll judge me because she told me so an’ Nep’ll start updatin’ her furry charts instead a listenin’ an’-
He thinks you get it. The need to go pat every square inch of his body is weirdly in sync with your less virtuous desires, and yeah, no, you need to hand ED off to someone like he’s an orphaned wiggler, fast.
“I’m going to call KN,” you mutter, trying not to look at him. If you just avoid his eyes, and his rumpled hair that needs patting, and his shivering frame that needs warmth, and the fucking loneliness dripping off him- just ignore it, and you’ll manage until she responds.
“No, Sol, please-“ he’s leaning forward, beseeching, a hitch in his voice. “I just wwant to stay here for a little bit. Wwith you.”
You’re shaking your head again, trying not to let the lingering buzz influence you. “ED-“
“Please?”
“-ED, you need to go before I do thomething we’ll both regret,” you say, all in one breath.
“Wwhat do you-“ ED starts, looking at your claws ripping the couch cushions, the thinning restraint in your expression, and then his face twists with an odd understanding.
“Oh,” he says, lips parted, and you stare at him through your peripheral vision, unable to look him in the eyes. “Oh. That’s wwhy you- okay. T-that’s okay.”
You gape. “What?”
“You can,” Eridan tells you earnestly, and then you’re stiffening with shock as he shifts closer to you. There’s still blood on his mouth, taunting you. “It’s okay, Sol. That makes sense. You can, it’s fine, wwhatevver you wwant.”
“Whatever I…” you really don’t like the picture coming together right now.
“You can fuck me pitch, if that’s wwhat you‘re after. You can beat the shit outta me or choke me or wwhatevver, I don’t care.”
Finally, far, far too late, the alarm bells start ringing hard inside your pan. Your head snaps around to look at him properly. “What the fuck, ED?”
“I get it. I’ll let you,” he continues, calm and even despite his trembling. “Anythin’, seriously.”
“You’d let me kick the thhit out of you?” You clarify, pan twisting in horror.
He doesn’t even look fazed - in a sick, sad way, he looks comforted, like the realisation he has something you’d use him for is helping his world make sense again. “Shore, Sol. D-do you wwant me to-“
“…I don’t get it,” you mutter, wrapped up in your own disturbed confusion. “Ith it- do you want that? You want me to hurt you?”
You can’t tell if you’re starting to feel crushingly disappointed or just shell-shocked.
His aural fins, the same frilly violet you’ve caught yourself staring hungrily at a thousand times, twitch slightly, but his voice is steady. His eyes are great bruised circles in a pale, pointy face, violet like his blood, as raw and fragile as the glistening lavender meat of his insides. “If that’s wwhat you wwant.”
“What do you want?” You ask helplessly.
“You,” he replies easily, like he’s following a script, like you’re about to call him a bad boy and bend him over your couch. Like this is the kind of plasticky kismesis porn you occasionally projected him onto, back before you knew him, instead of a death by a thousand cuts for your stupid bloodpump. “Please let me stay?”
You let out a guttural, frustrated noise, and wince when he flinches back minutely. Like he’s just been waiting this whole time for you to hit him, you realise despairingly. Like he’s expected you to use him just for wanting a person to be around, a refuge, whatever it is that he came here for. Like he really thinks you’re that much of an asshole.
Like he can’t see anything fucking wrong with you doing that!
He’s lying, too. He can say he wants you all he likes, trying to appeal to your ego or something, but you can see the way his fingers are twisted anxiously around his shirt hem, how he’s not trembling but fully shaking all over, the terrified flapping of his fins. He just broke up with a pitch partner who was, let’s be honest, fucking abusive at best, and he came here for comfort, and he even told you that he wanted flush quads more than anything- but now he’s pivoting, saying you can fuck him pitch if it means he can sleep on your shitty couch or something? Is this a weird rebound thing, a pitch crush (please no) or just desperation to be around someone as isolated as him?
“Why the fuck would you let me do that?” You ask, bewilderment and reluctant understanding coming out coated with fury.“Why the hell would you- what kind of fucking monster do you think I am, Ampora, just- what the fuck?”
He shrinks back, and you smart all over, even though it’s probably for the best. You feel like you’ve just been bludgeoned over the head, honestly, and distance isn’t the worst reaction. You focus on your clenched fists in your lap, ignoring the way your side feels cold and empty, now.
“I-“ he stutters, curling back into himself. “I’m sorry, Sol, I didn’t mean- I just thought you-“
Thought you what? Thought you would take advantage of a miserable, shivering troll, a friend of yours, someone you care for?
He must think you’re the worst troll alive. What the hell is wrong with you?
“It’th fine,” you grit out. It’s not. But he’s not, and it’s not the time, and your throat is starting to feel thorny and constricted.
“I just thought you ww-wwanted m- this, for a second.” Eridan says softly, and your eyes dart to his before you can talk yourself out of it. “I’m sorry. I think I’m prob’ly drunk, too- I knoww you didn’t mean, like- I d-don’t knoww wwh-“
God, he’s crumpled on the other side of the loungeplank like a discarded tissue, a pile of bony joints and vulnerability. You’re so out of your depth here.
“Sol…?” His shuddering worsens when you reach tentatively. You’re just trying to pat him on the shoulder brusquely, because fuck, you’re not qualified for this shit but he needs something. He jolts and seems to misunderstand, though, because the next moment, he’s back at your side and his mouth is on yours again, kissing you so deep and sweet and hungry, it feels almost real.
He tastes like grub whiskey, and his lips are chapped, sharp sharp teeth hidden away, and fuck, he’s so soft like this. He’s so fucking soft and open.
You can feel the temptation tugging at you, how easy it would be so succumb and melt into it like sugar into scalding leaf water, but you can’t stop hearing his voice tremble as he said ‘lonely’ and ‘you can’, and you can’t, you can’t, god, you can’t.
ED whimpers when you force yourself away, trying to follow you, nosing at your cheek. This fucking dumbass hasn’t got a goddamn clue, does he? How intricately cruel this is?
He must be terrified. He looks terrified, looks frantic, like he’s so eager to prove himself. Eager to get it over with, maybe. Knowing VS, you doubt pitch pailing is something he actually looks forward to.
You heave out a sigh and tell him, as gently as possible, “Thtop.”
“But…”
There’s a building pressure behind your eyes - migraine or dismay fluid? “ED, fuck, what are you doing?”
His words are lilting and juddery as a ship during a storm. “I’m just tryin’ to m-make you feel good, Sol.”
“You don’t need to.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
You want him to fucking mind! You want him to either want you or not, anything but this soul-destroying, morally impossible, fucked up scenario.
You can’t even be angry at him, is the thing. You’re worried. What the fuck happened during that breakup to strip all the pride and prickliness from the seadweller? You’ve known him for years. You’ve never seen him so raw.
“Lithten,” you start firmly, fighting to keep your shit together. One of you needs to be sane here. “Lithten to me. I don’t want you to let me fuck you, ED.”
You’d kind of expected that to calm him down a little. Instead, he goes even paler and his fins flare out, wobble in his voice betraying him even as he tries to sound unworried. “…you wwant me t-to fight it?”
For what feels like the millionth time tonight, your jaw swings open in pure, unadulterated horror. “What?”
“-‘cause-“ He bites his lip, squirming further and further into a tiny space, and you think he might be trying not to cry again. “‘Cause I c-can do that. If you wwant. I c-can struggle an’-“
“ED!” You blurt, way louder than you meant to. “What the fuck? No, I don’t want to fucking thexually aththault you, what the fuck, what’th wrong with you?”
“No, it’d-“ he shakes his head falteringly, hands held out to protect him. “I d-didn’t mean to, to insult-“ that was definitely a sob. Your whole body seizes up. “-just. If you wwanted to, to pretend that-“
“I don’t want to act out molethting you either, dude,” you rasp, torn between an all consuming the desire to move closer, to comfort him, and the knowledge that he’d only be tolerating it. “What in the gogdamn univerthe maketh you think I’d want that?”
Somewhere in the back of your pan, you’re remembering casual duels, the crazy lengths you’d go to to beat him just to get his attention. The grins you couldn’t hide when he stomped over to talk to you.
The way you just split his lip with your fucking clumsiness, how gruff you’ve been to hide your panic, how much of an asshole you tend to be to people you want- fuck. Oh, fuck.
“You k-kissed me-“ Eridan begins, so low it’s like he’s worried you’ll fucking jump him for mentioning it.
“I know. I’m thorry. It wath- it wath fucked up, I’m tho thorry,” you mumble. “But that’th not-“
“I thought you hated me!” He bursts out. “I thought you- you hate me! You do, Sol, an’ that’s- that’s okay, I don’t mind, it’s wworth it, but, but I don’t knoww wwhy you’re actin’ like this. Wwhat’s the angle? Wwhat do you wwant? You can havve it.”
You want so many things. You want to forget any of this ever happened. You want to spool back time, redo this whole fucked up mess like a competent adult, do it so well he trusts you and nestles into your shoulder and stops crying. More abstractly, you want to kiss him. You want to hold him. You want to pail him, pretty much any way possible as long as he wants it, and you want him to want you back. It could just be a casual thing, not the meteors currently ravaging your insides, you’d take that - but you want him to have propositioned you in any other fucking way than this.
You can’t stop looking at him, this black hole of misery that sucks pity from your darkest hiding places like it’s nothing.
You want to hold him. You want to hold him in your lap, arms around him, so he feels safe and content and drowsy. To have him fall asleep on you, to breathe slow and steady on your touch-starved skin- fuck. You’d do anything for that, maybe. You want to touch his hair, soothe it back down into place, because he always feels better when he looks the way he wants. You want to purr with him, scatter tiny kisses along his face and hands and any skin he’d let you, and you want him to understand that it wasn’t just some freaky exploitative sex thing. You want to finally feel his fins against your prongs, or maybe your lips, but he’s too exhausted and miserable right now for anything more.
You want, most of all, to beam your goddamn thoughts straight into his head so he can see how you see him. So he knows someone’s angry on his behalf, someone wants to fucking take care of him and make him smile and chirp and fuck fuck fuck-
“Sol…?” Eridan finally breaks the silence, and you remember you’ve just been sitting next to him, staring intensely at the floor like a pining goddamn idiot, and, and- “oh my gog.”
You look up at him, and his hand is clapped over his mouth. “You’re cryin’.”
“Fuck,” you try to hiss, but it comes out as more of a choke.
“I’m so sorry,” ED’s gabbling, you realise distantly, “I’m so so sorry, Sol, I didn’t mean to, fuck, shit, I’m so-“
Gog, you’re kinda actually drunk. You raise a heavy-feeling arm to scrub at your face, just like he did earlier. “Not your fault.”
He’s still staring, though, eyes blown wide and words melting in a slurred drone. You’re not even sure he heard you. You’re reasonably sure he’s never seen you cry. “-an’ anythin’ you wwant, Sol, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m such a fuckin’ asshole, I didn’t mean to-“
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you bark gruffly, hideously embarrassed but too fucked up at present to care. “It’th my fault for being thuch a fucking tool.”
It’s your pan’s fault for running wild, even though you know he’s still lost pale for FF - probably red too. Even though you don’t know what you want from him, exactly, just that it’s not possible anyway.
“Did- do you wwant me to ask nicer, Sol?” His voice is pitchy and scared. “Are you gonna be okay? Did you wwant me to beg? I can do that. Please. It’s okay.”
I don’t need you to coddle my pitiful onesided pining when you’re clearly in the middle of a massive fucking breakdown, and I’m worried about you, and maybe I’m love with you, and I know you can’t even imagine that, but you can still trust me, because I think I’d jump into the sun if I ever intentionally hurt you, you think. You start to tell him the first part, but you only get as far as “I don’t need y-“ when he stiffens, tightening up.
“…I shouldn’t havve- god, I fucked you up. I’m a disease. Wwhat am I- sorry,” he’s almost crying again for the third time as he stands up, and jegus Christ, this night was soggy enough. “I should- do you wwant me to go?”
Even through your staggering insecurity and his thin attempt at disguising his tone, you can hear the desperate longing in his words not to go. Is he really that lonely, that he’d beg you to stay despite all the fucking shit he thinks of you?
None of that ends up being relevant, by the way, because the second he suggests that, something in your pan shatters like glass, and you lurch forward to stop him leaving. “No! No, no, fuck, pleathe don’t.”
You try to loosen your iron grip on his wrist, but you can’t make your prongs comply. Fuck. You’re losing it. And he’s just looking at you, mouth and eyes in perfect circles.
“Wwhat?”
“Pleathe don’t go,” you repeat, pride a distant memory. “Fuck it. ED, pleathe, I’m thorry, don’t go.”
“I don’t-“ he sits down heavily and you lean close, letting yourself gorge on the minimal body heat in the inch or so of space between you. You’ve always been easily addicted to things: now you’ve allowed this much, you need him like breathing. This is all so fucking stupid, but you can’t keep going like this, you’re going to lose your mind.
You’re really feeling it, tonight.
“Sol?” He ventures, and your breath whooshes out in a block. “I d-don’t understand?”
Well, that makes two of you.
You give in to temptation and let your side press to his, drunk all over again off the modest contact. “Fuck, ED.”
“So you d-do wwant me to s-stay?” ED asks reedily, and you can’t tell whether he’s still genuinely unsure or if he just needs to hear it again, but you nod anyway.
“I want you to thtay.”
“Oh.” His voice cracks. “Ww-wwhy?”
“I want you here.”
He looks almost frustrated, which feels like a good sign. “But ww-wwhat do you wwant me for?”
You press your nose to his shoulder, smelling clean water and salt and gunpowder and hair product. You feel insane. “Hath it never occurred to you that I- that I might-“ fuck. “That I might enjoy your company?”
You fucking dickhead, that was too close.
“That’s h-hilarious,” Eridan replies dolefully, and he actually thinks you’re being sarcastic, what the fuck. “But really-“
“I’m not being tharcathtic-”
“Sol-“
“I jutht-“
“This doesn’t make sense.” The seadweller murmurs, a tiny little whisper of words. “Are you just playin’ wwith me? ‘Cause I wwant to stay, an’ I’ll do anythin’, but I just don’t-“ his breathing comes out hoarse and shuddering, wet, “I can’t-“
“I don’t-“
He sighs out like his soul’s escaping. “Fuck it. Just. Stop beatin’ around the bush, I- this is cruel, Captor, because I knoww wwhat this is an’-“
“But-“
“An’ I just wwant you to stop pretendin’ like- You knoww howw much I- Just- just tell me ww-wwhat you wwant. Please.”
You shouldn’t say it. You’ve been hiding all this shit so long, and now you’re so sleep-deprived and hopped up on adrenaline, and that spiked tea is really kicking in, and you feel strange and overstimulated. Maybe you should give in.
“I want to hold you.” You say quietly, and his shoulders relax in relief, before he’s squinting, a suspicious expression on his tearstained face.
“You wwant wwhat?”
“I want to. Hold you.” You feel like your psii are rushing about under your skin, electrifying you. Emboldening. “Pleathe. If that’th okay with you.”
“An’ then wwhat?”
He looks so fucking confused, like he can’t understand someone wanting to hug him, and shit, everything about this troll makes you crazy.
“Nothing,” you continue, tired. “Yeth or no?”
Eridan stares at you for a few moments, as if he’s waiting for you to yell psych! “I guess?”
Oh, thank god. You twist to face him, clumsy in your desperation, and circle your arms tentatively around his shorter frame. He watches you like a mouse watches a hawk.
“Can I…” you indicate him, and he nods, even though he seems perplexed. His wary silence turns to a startled squeak when you carefully lift him into your lap, where he’s the perfect size for snuggling. He’s small enough to fit and tall enough that his head rests comfortably against your neck, and he’s this cold, shaky armful, with an expression that transcends mystification.
“Fuck,” you sigh, and pull him in close enough to hear his bloodpump race. “You poor thing.”
He squeaks again, still gaping, but he lets out a shuddery breath when you start to stroke his hair, and slowly starts to release his tense posture. “Sol, I don’t-“
You’ve got him in your arms, voluntarily, and 7-sweeps Sollux - the one with the pale crush that expanded abruptly red after a certain point - is losing his damn mind. Or you are. But he’s so quivery and uncertain, holding his breath, and you want to pat and smooth him into security.
“It’th okay,” you reassure him. His hair is silky and his eyes are drooping lower and holy fuck, holy fuck. “You’re okay, ED, can I, uh-“
“Wwhat?” He asks wearily.
“…finth?”
He sends you a distrustful look, then burrows down into your chest. “F-fine.”
You pause in your pale-red-who-the-hell-knows-euphoria. “You- if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”
“They’re sensitivve,” ED mumbles into your shirt. “Don’t- please don’t hurt them. I mean. You can. But I don’t really- other places wwould be better, probably-“
You hate hate hate the anxious high pitch of that last word, like he thinks it’s such an outrageous request to ask you, politely, not to injure some of the most vulnerable parts of his body. There’s so much pity in your right now, you’re worried it’ll ooze out of your eyes and nose and ears.
You let your head drop down atop his, rubbing your face against his exquisite curls. His horns gleam on either side, sharp and elegant, but those are a minefield and you’re not risking it. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He’s quiet for a long time after that. It takes you ages to register your purr, and then you slowly become more and more aware of little cautious clicking noises leaking from the boy in your lap. When you gingerly reach out to touch his fins - literally fucking trembling with the force you’re putting into being careful - he tenses up all over, then goes limp with a soft sigh as you brush lightly against the delicate membranes.
“Oh.” His own cowed purr is starting to rise a little, wavering and trembling but real, and you have to focus on breathing and look away so you can handle it. The texture of his fins under your prongs is completely novel, smooth and tissue-thin and elaborately frilled, and they stir nervously at first but slowly droop down with his eyelids.
You stay like that for a long time, cupping the nape of his neck to comb through his hair with one hand, rubbing his gills with the other. Even when your limp noodle arms start to ache, you keep going, because holy shit, you think he’s falling asleep. On you.
You stare raptly at his sleeping face, the perpetual furrow of his brows and the anxious tint that stays even in unconsciousness. He purrs louder as he sleeps, wheezy chirps and flutes, gills whistling with his breath. You’ve never seen something so pitiable.
He curls around you, seeking warmth, probably. Or maybe he’s just so lonely, he can’t stop running after companionship even in his sleep. Either way, his weight finally sinks fully into your chest, and his head lolls back against you, hands resting slightly below.
You’re selfishly disappointed when he shifts and mumbles, even though you’ve got stuff to do and this isn’t exactly sustainable. It’s just. You don’t get a lot of physical contact, and you’re usually alright with that, but-
“…Sol,” he murmurs quietly into the fabric of your shirt.
You almost don’t recognise your voice, soft and unsarcastic, when you respond. “Yeah, ED?”
He rubs his face into your shirt. “This’s so nice,” Eridan flutes out. “I. Wwell. I wwish it could last.”
You swallow around your bloodpump, fighting to stay casual. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He shakes his head and just sighs, pressing close to you. “Shore, Sol…”
At some point you must’ve fallen asleep too, because you half-wake up with a crick in your neck and the vague awareness that ED’s talking.
“I like these ones,” he says drowsily, face pressed back into your neck. “These are the best ones.”
You hum back, too tired to process anything but the sweet lilt of his voice.
“I used to get ‘em more,” he continues. “My favvourite one wwas kinda like this.”
“Mm?”
ED wheezes out a breath. “Yeah… You pail me sloww an’ nice… an’ kiss me, an’- an’ leavve me drippin’ slurry, an’ then… you clean me up an’ hold me an’ purr.”
Something in his voice, despite your sleepy incomprehension, sounds strange. You tilt forward, squinting your eyes open. “What?”
He lets out a tiny half-laugh-half-sob. “Just th-“ his words trail off as he looks at you, eyes narrowing, and a second later, you’re snapping wide awake at the noise he makes when he scrabbles back. Adrenalin rushes through you when you see his face, the tiny pinpricks of his pupils and pure alarm saturating his expression.
“…this isn’t a dream,” ED says slowly, and you nod, perplexed. Alarm shifts to absolute despair the longer he stares at you, face bloodless and eyes tearing up. “Oh god.”
“It’th-“
“Oh god,” he cuts you off, loud and hysterical. “Oh fuck, oh-“
“Okay!” You stand up and clap your hands together awkwardly, figuring you’ve done enough damage for one night. “You’re clearly falling athleep, tho let’th go to- I mean, individually, let’th go to coon, I’ve got a guetht coon thomewhere-“
“You don’t havve to-“ he tries again.
“It’th in the thame block ath mine, but no creepy thhit, I thwear-“
“Sol-“ there are tears in his eyes.
“ED…” You can’t fucking help yourself. You’re already in too deep. You reach out, slow enough that he can avoid it if he wants, and rest a hand on his shoulder. Not papping, that’s too far. “Thhoothh.”
He shudders under your prongs, going limp. There’s still a question in his bulbs as you lead him to the guest coon and flick out the lights, but it’s subdued and hidden under the pale calm you just crammed in him.
You’ll deal with this tomorrow, when not every single twitch of his little fins makes your pan melt.
When you get up to go to the ablutiontrap way later into the night, Eridan’s sitting on your kitchen floor. You finish up, wash your hands, stumble towards him.
“Horrorterrorth?”
He nods, mouth pulling low, and you’re kneeling down to gather him into your arms before you can really even wake up.
“C’mere,” you mumble, words pitching up involuntarily like a question.
ED goes easily, wriggling to lock his arms around your back the moment he’s situated in your lap. His breaths are shaky, despite the blankness on his face, and you hold him as solidly as possible, murmuring soothing nonsense.
Eventually, he speaks. “Captor…”
“Yeah?”
“I-“ he bites his lip nervously, and you wait for the well-deserved outrage over how you treated him earlier. Instead, he inches slightly closer again. “…I can’t sleep by myself.”
Your hands are molded perfectly to the little curve of his waist. You’re almost too tired to feel horny about it. “M’kay.”
So that’s how you end up sharing your single-person coon with ED of all trolls.
Stranger things have happened, probably. Not many more pleasant things, though: you’ve never woken up tangled in a chimeric puddle of limbs before, with someone else’s ankles bracketing your own and their mouth half-open against your shoulder and their arms clutching into you.
It’s possible you owe KK an apology. A lot more of his shitty romcoms make sense now.