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You’ve been watching Eridan Ampora.
It’s not as creepy as it sounds.
Well. Fine, it probably is. On a more positive note, you’re all doomed to die one day so who cares?
To return to your point: you’ve been watching Eridan Ampora. More specifically, you’ve been watching his clothes. The sleeves that always fall over his wrists, the high necklines and constant layers of trailing detritus - capes and scarves and second sweatshirts, just how many more items of clothing does one pretentious asshole need?
It’s a seadweller thing, like most of the things with Ampora are. As weird as he is, it’s actually Feferi who’s the unusual seatroll of the two: she’s the one with the short skirts that expose stretches of leg, with light-freckles on her arms and the slits of her gills on full display every time she leaves the hive. Eridan’s smothering formalities are the more conventional choice, inexplicably.
You don’t know why it bothers you. It might just be him - fucking Eridan, with his tense angular face and wavering accent and constant obnoxious comments - or maybe it’s your natural loathing for the smug and image-obsessed. Ampora never stops fidgeting, twitching the hems of his sleeves down like an inch of skin will kill him, dusting off his shoulders and tucking in his shirt almost compulsively.
When you’re in a block with him, you’re always hyper-aware of his subtly-moving presence. It’s a pain in the ass.
“Let me get this straight,” KK starts, when you finish your regular bitching to him. “You’re mad that fishfuck Romeo… tucks his shirt in.”
“No, I jutht think it’th funny that he groomth himthelf conthtantly like a pet fucking thquawkbeatht. He doeth know it’th not an athkew thcarf that maketh him completely unfuckable, right?”
Completely unfuckable might be stretching the truth. A tiny bit. A little.
(A lot).
Karkat just sighs. “I can’t believe I even have to say this, but no, Captor, I don’t think Ampora’s trying to attract attention. Quite the fucking opposite, honestly, only you and your contrarian bastardhood have foiled him again. Can we move on?”
“Did you jutht imply Ampora’th not a peacocking dumbathth?” You stare at him, betrayed. “He wearth a cape and he’th got hith own blood colour dyed into hith hair. What the fuck, KK, don’t tell me he got you with hith fithhy careththeth.”
“Cram it up your chutehole,” Karkat says succinctly. “Are you kidding, or is your pan just decayed from video games? Eridan dresses like a seadweller, for one, and his pretentious hair is unfortunately a thousand percent natural. As are other things. Don’t you know anything?”
You apparently don’t, but it’s not like you’d ever admit that. You’re not used to being the ignorant one. You’re a mage, you’re meant to know things, and what good are you if you don’t?
You open your mouth to ask, choke on your own pride, flip KK off, and feel your bizarre fascination with the seadweller grow everlarger.
You start messing with ED. Little things - you look at him more, listen when he speaks. Ask questions in a tone that, if not friendly, could be described as civil. It throws him off, much as you imagine a criminal would be thrown off by the hawk eyes of their legislacerator. You watch as his gaze begins skittering towards you, face tinted solid grape, while you stare flatly in his direction.
“Stop it,” he snaps once, and you raise a brow.
“Thtop what?”
Stop looking at him? Even for Ampora, that would sound whiny. You watch him flush harder as he glares at you, coming to the same conclusion.
“Stop smirkin’ like a fuckin’ wwriggler,” ED bites out instead, folding his arms in a failed attempt at composure. “No one wwants to see your fucked-up mutant mouth accoutrements.”
Oh no, your feelings. If he’d brought up your teeth specifically, you might’ve been pissed, but as an insult, ‘you have nonspecific oral mutations’ is laughably weak. Amused, you snort and stick out your split tongue, wiggling it at him so he can appreciate its fucked-up mutantcy in higher detail.
“Been thtaring at my mouth, Ampora?”
His reaction doesn’t disappoint: he squawks, rearing back like you just aimed a gun at him, and his fins snap out in a threat display.
Nice. You allow yourself a furtive one-second ogle then tear your eyes away. Your hypothetical fascination with seadweller fins cannot and should not extend to Eridan Ampora (at least not publicly), and if KK catches sight of you, you’ll never hear the end of it.
“Wwhat is wwrong wwith you?” ED snaps, ruffled. “That’s- that’s disgustin’. That you’d evven insinuate such horseshit, an’- stop it!”
You only relent because your tongue is not enjoying the dry night air. “Whatever. Don’t look at me and I won’t look at you.”
“I’m only lookin’ at you ‘cause you wwon’t stop starin’ like a depravved pervvert!”
Huh. On reflection, it’s possible that all your resentful glances at ED’s little waist and bony wrists and shit are extremely easy to misconstrue. Fuck.
“Don’t flatter yourthelf,” you reply, as nonchalantly as possible. Hopefully his staggering insecurity will do the rest. “And newflathh, aththhat, the only way you’d know if I wath looking - which I abtholutely do not admit to, by the way - ith if you were thtaring at me back.”
He sputters. “That’s- I- I wwasn’t, I could just feel it.”
“Feel what, the love tonight?” You grin at him as ominously as you can, leaning closer. “Wow. Don’t tell me thith wath all one big tthundere theduction, fithhfathe.”
“…I don’t knoww wwhat the fuck you just said,” Eridan eventually answers, after a good few seconds of white-lipped, apoplectic rage. “No, don’t tell me, you fuckin’ lech. Your gratin’ vvoice’s done enough damage t’my ears, an’ from wwhat I can ascertain, you must be goddamn upright delusional as wwell, ‘cause the mere idea that I’d evver-“
“I-“
He holds up a finger, aquiver with emotion, and you let him finish. It’s free entertainment.
“Just leavve me alone, Captor.” He emphasises, slow and deadly. “Capisce?”
“I only pull your pigtailth becauthe I dethire you carnally,” you tell him with as much sincerity as you can muster, and cackle to yourself when he stomps away, bristling with speechless fury.
“At least you’ve got some semblance of self awareness,” KK pipes up, and you startle so hard your hair frizzes with sparks.
“KK!” How much of that did he hear?
Wait, why do you even care? You didn’t say anything incriminating. Not that there’s anything incriminating to say. “I wath jutht-“
“Hitting on Ampora, I know, I was unfortunate enough to be within hearing distance,” Karkat says easily, like he’s not the most misinformed troll in all of history. “You spit abhorrent game and I’m ashamed to know you.”
“Pithth off,” you retort automatically, and then, “Wait, fuck you, I wathn’t actually hitting on him.”
He bristles his eyebrows at you in his typical tiny tyrant fashion. “Oh, I’m sorry, you meant you desired him carnally in the nonsexual sense, my bad.”
“You overheard one thententhe-“ you pause, pacing yourself. “Firtht of all, dipfuck, there’re thethe thingth called irony and tharcathm, and-“
“Oh, don’t even fucking start.”
“But-“
KK slaps hands over his auricular receivers and shakes his head, glaring. “I have heard enough! Save it for your hatecrush, fuckface.”
You mouth virgin at him. He flips you off with both hands, walking backwards, and collides with a particularly sturdy tubefauna.
Nature triumphs again.
Nature unfortunately also triumphs later that day, when your spirited session of bulge-polishing somehow ends on the image of Ampora’s prissy asshole face and snarling teeth.
Yeah, you’re gonna blame the wild and unexplainable whims of nature on that one. He does have those fins, though - they’re frilly and they twitch a lot and you saw KK brush one of them once and the noise Ampora made, fuck-
In the ablutiontrap after, scrubbing off the shame, you decide you have to figure out this Ampora clothing thing. It doesn’t make sense, and your pan demands logic: that’s the only reason you keep circling back to him.
You need to understand this so you can go back to comfortably hating him. Objective set.
The actual process of fulfilling said objective is slow-going. Public indecency aside, there are very few ways you can think of to get Eridan Ampora, of all trolls, to strip - and wow, that sounded wrong. Scratch that from the record.
Eridan’s an arrogant dickhead, but from what FF told you, he’s also got an insecure streak that runs a mile wide. Maybe that’s why you’ve never even seen his bare knees, and why he starts fidgeting when he doesn’t feel adequately swamped in clothing. It’s difficult to believe that conventionally-attractive-with-doe-eyes over there struggles with self image, but that’s society for you.
But with ED, it’s not just the normal parts of the body that people get uncomfortable about - stomach, hips, thighs, whatever - that he hides, it’s everywhere. You just don’t believe Ampora’s so cripplingly self conscious that he can’t stand exposing his goddamn forearms, that’s too bizarre even for him.
Maybe he has scars or some kind of hideous skin disease - but FF would’ve mentioned that to you, and the rare accidental flashes of skin you’ve seen always look normal, pearly-smooth and sleek like every seadweller’s.
Feferi, by the way, is mostly a dead end. The only thing she tells you when you ask about ED’s suffocating outfits is that he’s ‘shellf-conchious.’ She then notices something shiny and is immediately enraptured by it, at which point you realise she’s moved on and won’t return. No way to reel in a free spirit, you guess.
Her puns are also obnoxiously contagious.
Either way, you eventually strike gold, motive-wise.
You already had a vague cultural awareness that seadwellers all used to grow up under extremely restrictive etiquette rules, which included shit about how sacred quads are and boo promiscuity and their Royal Bodies must not be exposed, etc, etc. Modesty and decorum and seadwellers do not debase themselves, boring drivel. You saw a photo of a violet etiquette guide once on a forum, accompanied by line after line of hysterical bronze laughter, and it was all about how masturbation was a crime to the empire. Unironically. You wouldn’t have traded blood with a seadweller back on Alternia if they’d offered you a fucking godhood.
Feferi’s a fuchsia, not a violet, so it makes sense that she’d have been exempt from the disturbing seadweller repression racket. Eridan definitely wouldn’t’ve, though, which fits perfectly just looking at him. He still walks like he thinks everyone is watching him, waiting for him to trip, and his posture is a strange mix of arrogant and paranoid. Constant hunched shoulders and darting looks, even around friends, even on a world that he helped to create. You used to think he was just an image-obsessed dickhead, but considering new evidence…
If it’s true that his self-consciousness is the result of a shitty seadweller upbringing, it would explain a lot. Like how flustered and bitchy he gets when someone mentions pailing in his vicinity - all fluffed fins and panicky eyes. God, he has to be pent up as fuck. You bet he’d be a hellcat in the sack.
Moving on again from that completely irrelevant aside, you think you’ve found a pretty decent hypothesis in the ‘seadwellers were freaky fucks’ angle. That still doesn’t help you prove anything, though. To do that, you need to see what happens when you get those layers off him - for science - which has you circling back to your original issue.
How do you get Ampora to strip?
You’re definitely not asking anyone you know that question, but groogling it helps precisely not at all. Turns out how two make 2omeone who hate2 you 2triip just yields a lot of porn videos, creepy incel threads left over from the human Earth, and a few judgemental articles on the importance of consent. The closest thing you get to an actual tip is ‘dump a glass of water on a hot girl in a white shirt so you can see her jut duffels,’ which is simultaneously incredibly sad and not exactly ideal.
Luckily for you, nature once again intervenes in your favour. You’re beginning to suspect the new universe is trying to apologise for a grubhood marked by ill fortune and migraines. It doesn’t make up for the doom bullshit, the dark cloud you grew up under and never quite escaped, but at least it’s kind of helpful when you’re trying to get Ampora naked.
Not naked, just not fucking covered from nugbone to nub. For science. What’s wrong with you? Gogdamn KK and his baseless insinuations made it weird.
The important thing is, nature intervenes in your favour, in the form of Gamzee Makara: stoned clown lunatic extraordinaire.
For whatever insane reason, someone (you suspect Noted Soft Touch and Clown Apologist Tavros Nitram) entrusts the perpetually high buffoon with a container of hot water for NP’s tea, the next time all of you decide to congregate at the beach. Earth C is pretty decent, for something you and your ridiculous friends built, and the coast is unambiguously beautiful - but it’s far less beautiful when Gamzee cavorts wildly, smacking straight into Serket, and four people are abruptly showered in boiling water.
KK, sensibly, screams like a demon and tears his shirt off, to much appreciative human whistling. Gamzee honks, apparently oblivious, then yips in surprise when KK pushes him straight into the cold tide. You make a noise reminiscent of a squeakbeast getting stepped on and remove your own shirt to significantly less human applause.
But Eridan?
Eridan hisses, low in his throat, and yanks the fabric of his shirt away from his body. It’s a close cut, though, and he got the worst of the hot water, not to mention he’s the coldest-blooded of the four of you, so it’s about as effective a tactic as simple denial. You’re all gaping, hypnotised by the inexplicable decision to remain in steaming clothing while extremely vulnerable to heat.
“What the fuck, Ampora?”
“Take your shirt off, dumbfuck!” KK manages over the warbles of burnt, soggy clown.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” ED exhales instead, face twisting in pain, and you give up and reach for him. It must be shock delaying his reactions, you assume, except the second you get your prongs on the fabric to remove it yourself, you’re letting out a pained grunt as he nails you straight in the knee. Jegus fuck, he’s got a mean sidekick.
“Keep- fuck- your prongs- fuck fuck oww - offa- shit oh gog-“
“What the fuck ith wrong with you?” You manage, then remember the generally accepted priorities when a troll is currently burning in front of you and spin around.
“Fuckshitshitowwfuck-“
“Push him in the surf!” KK barks from the sidelines, trying to hold Gamzee in place.
Instead, you lurch close enough to Ampora to reach him without risking your shins, and pour a bottle of cold water on him. Turns out creepy internet tips for wet tshirt contests helped after all - the cold water distributes evenly as fuck.
It works enough to get him to stop cursing and breathe, but whatever his shirt is made of, the fabric seems to be sealing the hot water in. You tug at his sleeve again, speaking as calmly as possible.
“Hey, dipfuck, I’m taking thith off before you end up with third degree-“
Crack.
Your nose crunches, and then explodes in pain. When you finally blink away the white spots of blinding agony, you’re able to make out KN’s statuesque silhouette, grappling a raw-knuckled seadweller away from you.
“Ith your head cracked?” You demand, feeling gingerly at your thankfully-not-broken nose. “What’th your damage?”
“I told you no- not to fuckin’ touch me,” Eridan seethes, raising his arms as though to cross them, only to yelp in pain.
“Take off your thhirt, you fucking idiot, you’re thtill burning-“
“Sollux,” Kanaya breaks in sternly. “Enough.”
You watch on in silent resentment as she snags ED by the arm - no sucker punch for her, you notice, although that could just be self-preservation speaking. Funny, maybe he does know what that is.
“Follow me,” she orders you, nodding at your chest. When you look down, you’re genuinely taken aback to see irritated skin; you were so distracted by trying to save Fuckface von Sucker Punch from himself, you forgot that you probably got the second worst burns.
KN takes you to a nearby ablutionblock, and orders you and ED to ‘Apply Cold Water To Your Injuries Yes Including You Eridan There Is No Excuse For Needless Suffering.’ As if this situation weren’t irritating enough, you’re now painfully aware that Kanaya knows more about Eridan’s bizarre behaviour than you. It makes sense, but it’s irritating nonetheless.
Unfortunately, the ablutionblock only has one sink, so after you’re done soaking a hand towel to plaster to your lightly singed skin, you gesture him forwards. Flinching, Eridan shakes his head.
“Are you theriouth?”
“I’m f-fine.”
“KN’th gonna rip your head off,” you try, incredulous. God, he looks small and delicate when he’s shivering, wet and pitiful as a soggy meowbeast, and it’s hard to sustain your frustrated anger. “Doethn’t it hurt?”
He tries to look superior. “It’s- it’s nothin’. I’m not a fuckin’ wweaklin’.”
“No, you’re jutht completely unhinged,” you say, point blank. “You think I can’t thee you winthe? Get over yourthelf, I don’t care what you’re hiding, it’th not worth the pain.”
“I don’t knoww wwhat you’re talkin’ about,” Eridan mumbles, and you sigh hard.
“…fuck it. I’ll thhut my eyeth and turn around. I’ll open them when you thay you’re done, and you better have fucking hand towelth attached to every inch of your body. Jeguth. You know how dangerouth that ith?”
You don’t give him time to respond, turning instead to face the wall and reluctantly cover your bulbs. You don’t like limiting your vision - it reminds you of the game, the bad end - but it’s for a decent cause, you guess.
Behind you, you can hear tiny, shallow breaths as ED finally starts to unbutton his stupid heat-trapping shirt. He lets out little noises all the while, which, if not whimpers - because Ampora absolutely does not whimper - are definitely in the same area code. It’s surprisingly difficult, staying quiet and useless in the corner while you try to ignore the muffled sounds of nearby pain.
Even considering the hisses of distress, not to mention your ongoing objective, you vow that you’re not going to creep on him. The pursuit of science, while noble, doesn’t justify the level of assholery to prove a point. As such, you want it to be extremely clear that you didn’t mean to -
Well. It happens in a predictable sequence of events: Eridan must’ve reached a particularly uncomfortable spot, because his voice transitions abruptly from a hoarse hiss to a pitchy scream, and you automatically whip around so fast the block spins.
The seadweller immediately brings his arms up around himself, shrieking louder, but it’s too late; you catch sight of something under the pale gooseflesh of his forearms, and it sears into your pan like a brand on cattle.
“What the fuck?”
“Wwhat is- go awway! Captor, fuckin’ go!” He squeaks, higher and higher with every word, but you pace closer instead. “You s-said you wwouldn’t-“
“I thought you were theriouthly injured,” you tell him furiously, and box him in against the wall. “And it turnth out I wath fucking right, Ampora, what in gog’th name?”
Eridan’s physically stronger than you, but he’s a panicky shock victim and you’re a determined jackass. You bat his hands out of the way and look down at him, mouth wide.
“…what?”
When you first caught sight of stark violet, the only thing you could think of was blood. His blood, his distinctive Tyrian shade, coagulated or seared into burns because you couldn’t overpower a sizzling seadweller.
What you see now is vastly more confusing.
“You said you wwouldn’t look,” Eridan repeats stubbornly, but there’s a panicky waver to his voice. “Captor, don’t look-“
Instead of serious damage, there’s miles of smooth skin, shallowly seared in places but mostly fine. That’s not the weird part. The weird part is, the skin is clear as liquid glass, opaque in some areas but very much translucent enough for you to see the plum-tinted mess of his insides.
“Holy thhit.”
The coiled ropes of his guts and the fleshy fist of his heart tucked behind his ribcage and- it’s all there, you can see them move, his pulse kicking, rabbity, and the surge of blood in his veins, holy fuck. You can see it gush through an intricate web of capillaries, as cleanly as in an anatomical model. It’s incredible.
“Uh,” you manage, and Eridan lets out a noise like a death rattle.
“Stop-“
“That’th fucking gorgeouth,” you blurt, and he gapes. Heat rushes to your face. “I mean. It’th cool ath thhit. I’m not hitting on you, I’m jutht thaying.”
“Excuse me?” ED asks, in a tone of blank incomprehension. “Did you just say-“
“Cool,” you emphasise. “Not in a thexual way.”
Oh, amazing, Captor. That didn’t sound suspicious at all.
“Like a medical dithplay,” you add belatedly, and he stiffens.
“You- you can’t tell anyone.”
“Right,” you shake your head, unable to look away. “What the fuck happened to you, Ampora?”
Eridan flashes his teeth at you, still tense and curled into himself like a little prey animal. “Are you listenin’? I said, you can’t-“
“I mean, there are a lot of interethting qualitieth to Earth C, but the water thhouldn’t be turning your thkin clear-“
“Are you insane?”
“Pluth-“ you bring your hand up to press gently against the bare skin of his chest. It has the typical frozen-butter give of seadweller flesh, but it doesn’t lose translucency. You can feel his heart racing under your skin in sync with how it thuds in a bed of bones and flesh. It’s dizzying. “-thith feelth like regular thkin.”
“It is regular,” he snaps, trembling like a leaf. “It’s genetic, okay? Are you happy, you fuckin’ freak?”
“Are you theriouthly making fun of me for being mutated right now?”
Oh shit, maybe this explains some things.
“Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ hypocrite. Satisfied?” Eridan sends you a look that could melt steel, but you can still feel the hammering of his pulse under your prongs.
He squeaks when you slide your hand up his skin, intrigued.
“Wwhat are you-“
“Tho you’ve had thith thince you were a wiggler?”
“Tha-hat’s wwhat genetic means,” he grits out, twitching back. You watch with fascination as the swell of his lungs expand and deflate, trailing your fingers back and forth over the glassy surface.
“Fuck,” you start finally. “I’ve never theen anything like thith. You mutht be rarer than KK, god damn.”
“You really don’t knoww anythin’,” Eridan says with genuine surprise. “I’m not rare- I mean. The extent of the, the glass is rare. But it’s a seadwweller thing.”
“What?”
“I thought you kneww. FF didn’t say?”
You squint at him, bemused. “I’ve theen FF naked before, aththhole. Thhe didn’t have anything like that.”
“Yeah, wwell, most of us ain’t that lucky. She told you all my other secrets,” he sniffs, and you roll your eyes.
“Believe it or not, but Fef and I didn’t thpend that much time talking about you.” Absently, your prongs rub between his rumblespheres, right over his throbbing bloodpump. It’s beautiful.
His rumblespheres aren’t bad either.
“I’ve never heard about thith thhit before. If it’th tho common among waderth, why don’t I know about it?” You raise your eyebrow. “And why were you acting like thuch a little bitch about taking your thhirt off?”
ED breathes in shakily. “There’s- there’s a reason you don’t knoww about it, mudfucker. It’s- I wwoulda been culled. It’s a secret.”
“What?”
“Makes us look wweak. Makes us look like freaks.” He spits, like he can’t stop talking. “Especially if it’s your wwhole fuckin’ abdomen. I’d be culled an’ they’d make it hurt, you idiot. It’s not a fun cosmetic mutation, it’s a hide or die situation.”
“Holy thhit, you don’t think I’m a grothth affront to nature,” you realise. “You’re jealouth of me.”
The seadweller curls his lip at you. “They ain’t mutually exclusivve concepts, flashlight. An’ you try livvin’ your life knowwin’ one slip a’ your clothin’ could get you killed. Understand the cape yet?”
You consider. “Huh. You do know we’re not on Alternia anymore, right? No one giveth a thhit if your lungth are vithible.”
It’s kind of hot, actually, you don’t say.
“Lifelong habits are hard t’break.” ED chews his lip and looks away. “Besides, it’s still fuckin’ gross.”
“Of courthe you’re inthecure about it. I don’t know what I wath expecting,” you mumble to yourself.
Of course Eridan Ampora, the most hideously gorgeous jackass you’ve had the dubious pleasure of meeting, has a secret sexy mutation. Of course he’s insecure: as though the set of his shoulders and jut of his chin when he walks didn’t already scream that. You kind of want to lick him.
“Who elthe knowth about thith?” You ask idly, thumbing the bony ridges of his ribs.
“Why do you evven care?”
“Humour me?”
“I’ll fuckin’ humour you in the face, ruffian,” he mutters nonsensically, then exhales in a large whoosh. “Kan. Fef. Kar. Cro, unfortunately. An’ noww you, I guess.”
You can’t stop looking at how shivery he is, the way his fins are fluttering like he can’t quite control them as rigorously as usual. “Did you tell them, or-“
“No.”
“No?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. They just found out,” ED tells you, voice low and almost secretive. Ashamed, maybe. “I wwouldn’t- I didn’t choose this. An’ it’s not gonna be public knowwledge, Captor, so-“
“I get it.” You pause for a second, weighing the risks, and let your prongs rub more deliberately over his smooth, see-through skin. He bites down on his lip, hard, and his hands go tight.
Interesting.
“Tho, have you ever let them thtudy you like thith?” You ask him casually, and he snaps his teeth at you.
“You’re n-not studyin’ shit-“
“Hath no one ever touched you here at all?”
He goes silent, then, face glowing violet and chagrined. It’s an answer in itself.
“That explainth a lot,” you continue, watching as he shudders. “You’re thenthitive.”
“Fuckin’ Christ, Sol, shut up-“ Eridan sputters, before you fan your hand out along his chest and he wheezes like you’ve punched him.
The fingers of your other hand trail up his side and dance towards his fins. “I can thee your heart rathing,” you point out, entranced.
“That’s-“ the second you make contact with his left aural fin, ED lets out a noise you can only describe as a keen and flops back against the wall. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“That’s delicate, you can’t-“ he breathes out long and low. “You havve to be careful.”
That’s not a no, you notice with interest.
“Hey ED?”
The seadweller snaps his head up to glare at you, exasperated. “Wwhat?”
You hook your finger in the waistband of his sodden trousers and grin. “How far down doeth it go?”
“Ww-wwouldn’t you like t’knoww,” Eridan mutters, haughty facade in shreds.
You raise your brows. “Hey, you thhow me your mutationth, I’ll thhow you mine.”
Glancing up at your mouth, he sends you a quizzical look. “I’vve already theen-“
His words cut off abruptly when you nudge your hips into his, taking a gamble that his flustered reaction overcomes his natural uptightness.
“Oh my god.” ED strangles out. “That- Captor, that better not be wwhat I think it is.”
“I have bad newth for you, then.”
“You’vve really got…”
You grin wider. “Wanna find out?”
Eridan scowls and pushes his hand flat over your chest, not hard enough to move you away. A token formality to protect his pride. “Is your pan sick? Wwhat about this is sexy to you, you creepy asshole?”
“I can thee your gutth.”
“That’s not hot, that’s disgustin’.”
“I can thee your heart hammering away for me.” You continue, leaning ever closer until his head hits the wall.
He swallows.
“I could thee my bulgeth fill you up with genmat like a fucking dithplay vathe, ED. That’th hot.”
Flushed, the seadweller looks down. His lungs are wheezing in little half-breaths. “I don’t…”
“Pluth,” you pause to give him an appreciative leer. “You’ve got great titth.”
He pauses, then shoots you a look of pure outrage. “I don’t- those aren’t tits, you upright menace, it’s muscle.”
“It feelth nithe to thquithh.” You point out, and his fins flap wildly.
“You’re so fucked up,” Eridan sniffs. You have a feeling it would more scathing if you weren’t currently groping his chest, and if he wasn’t ever-so-slightly leaning into it.
You take his wrist and guide it down your stomach, staring at him with unspoken challenge. He doesn’t look away, even when his breathing stutters, even when you lead his prongs straight down to the swell of your bulges.
He does breathe in sharply when he encounters your wriggly, though. You watch, unsure what he’ll do, as his fins flutter nervously. “Captor…”
“Tho,” you say finally. “You firtht.”
“Me?”
You nod to his waistband until he gets the picture, and immediately ruffles up again.
“Wwhy do I-“
“Becauthe I’ve given you enough hintth by now. C’mon, Ampora, are you in or out? Fold or raithe?”
ED sends you one more searching look, then drops his head back against the wall and mutters, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Fuckin’ do it, if you care so much. Just don’t blame me wwhen you end up expellin’ your stomach contents all ovver the floor.”
You don’t bother responding to that, you just focus your attention on unclasping his belt. He doesn’t try to help you or stop you, but by the time the belt slithers from his waist, he’s clutching at the wall like he doesn’t trust his knees to stay stable.
You rest your hand over his heart - thud thud thud thud thud thud thudthudthudthud - and try to look reassuring. You have a feeling it unsettles Eridan worse than your regular blank contempt.
When you ease the fabric of his trousers and underwear down his slender hips, you’re instantly captivated by the view - the slow, almost marbled transition from lake-water clear to a cloudy opaque, then finally blending to silky grey. The translucence reaches just down to the tops of his thighs, almost gone by his hipbones. It’s fucking beautiful.
“…I told you it wwas-“
“It’th fucking beautiful,” you cut him off, and he startles. You slide your hands over the cool skin of his hips, wanting to touch him all over; he lets out a strange, pitchy noise when your head tilts forwards unthinkingly to press a kiss to his collarbone.
“Sol!”
“You’re like- holy fuck,” you mumble, and shift close enough to feel his highblood coldness radiate against your body. “Holy thhit, ED, I can’t handle thith.”
“I-“
“I’m going to die from all the blood draining out of my pan to my bulgeth.”
He sputters, pressing his thighs together, and you notice for the first time the more obvious contender for your attention: the slick, damp folds of his nook, the tip of his bulge squirming between his legs. Oh, fuck. You can see the root of it, writhing tightly in its sheath just under his pelvis. Behind it, his seed flap is swelling, plush and eager, in anticipation of a pail.
He can’t hide anything from you like this. For someone so obsessed with rigorous self-image, you can’t image how helpless he feels.
“Oh, gorgeouth,” you whisper, slipping your hand down to feel him. A strangled whimper escapes the seadweller’s mouth, and then your prongs are gliding across what you can only describe as a soaking nook.
“Mngh Sol-“
He’s turned on, you could already tell, but now you know he’s been turned on for a while. Even with how wet seadwellers get when they’re horny, this isn’t snap-decision premat.
“When did you thtart thlicking up for me?” You ask, and he trembles.
“I didn’t-“
“I can thee your heart rate pick up when you lie.”
He lets out another breath, heavy and uneven. “I- wwhen you- wwhen you pressed me against the wwall.”
“You liked that?” It’s a redundant question; you’ve got violet gloss coating your fingers, way more than enough to prove how much he did.
“…yeah.”
“Do you get off on thith? Me theeing you all thtripped down and helplethth?”
He keens and arches towards you, trying to rock into the almost-enough friction your prongs are providing.
“No, I th-thought you wwere goin’ to laugh at me.”
You grin at him again. “Lotth of thingth to laugh at you for, Ampora, but being thtupidly fuckable ithn’t one of them.”
To your amused surprise, Eridan moans like you just fucked him to the brink, twice. He likes compliments, then? Interesting. You take advantage of the momentum to drop to your knees, still grinning like a maniac, and lean your head between his thighs.
He goes suddenly, breathlessly still. “Oh god.”
You suppress a snort and run a finger over his twitching nook, admiring the sight. It’s got the faintest hint of translucence, maybe, plum-tinted and pretty and fucking gushing from a few touches and a little praise. His bulge is curving around like it’s tempted to slither straight back into him, and god, if that happened, you could see it from the outside. Watch him fill himself up.
Jesus Christ, you don’t even know where to start, here.
“Hey, ED, want to thee an advantage to mutation?” You ask. He stares down at you, seemingly lost for words, until you stick your forked tongue back out again and he whines.
“Sol…”
“Yeah?”
ED bites his lip. “Can I ask somethin’ wweird?”
“Yeth, I have two bulgeth. No, they can’t get eachother off.”
“No, no, I just mean-“ he squirms on the spot. “Could you kiss me?”
“What?”
“I’vve nevver- I just, I don’t- it just seems like the right order,” Eridan blurts, and you open your mouth to say no - because you have elaborate rules about this type of shit, and you’re a sucker for kissing, and you don’t want this to be something you can’t live without - and instead find yourself straightening up and pressing him hard into the wall. “I- oh-“
In your defence, he’s got this pretty mouth like a Renaissance angel. He tastes like the grub sauce he must’ve drank earlier, and like cool, clear water, and suddenly his whole weight goes limp. It’s pure luck that you manage to catch him in time.
“Knees-“
You lower him gently down and curl his tongue up against yours. His heart is pounding so loud you can feel it in his mouth, like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.
“Thhould I thtop-“
“Don’t stop,” Eridan gasps out, so you bury your face in his neck instead, mouthing over translucent skin. You make your way down his body - biting hard at the skin over his chest as you do, leaving violet marks in your wake - and slide your fingers back inside his nook. He’s tight and clutching and you could- damn, you could fuck him to the sound of his pulse without much effort at all.
He shudders when you look at him, so you keep it brief. “Hey, ED, headth up. I’m going to put my bulgeth in your nook.”
The seadweller freezes like an ice sculpture. “I- no wway, Cap- Captor, they wwon’t fit, it’ll break somethin’.”
“Not at the thame time,” you clarify. “Not unlethth you athk nithely.”
He looks over at your crotch apprehensively. “…is one goin’ to fit?”
You try not to look smug, and feel yourself fail spectacularly. “Thcienthe thayth yeth.”
Eridan rolls his eyes and spreads his legs, hands coming up to cover his face as you arrange him.
“Captor?”
You look up, one bulge twining cautiously around his. “Yeah?”
He’s so flushed he’s lilac, and he looks almost tearful. “Is it- is it goin’ to hurt?”
“Oh.” You rub his thigh, more comforting than you mean to be. He’s just - he seems fragile, suddenly, and you’re great at breaking things but less good at piecing them back together. “No. It might be tight, but it thhouldn’t hurt.”
“Are you goin’ to hurt me?” He asks, hushed and darting-eyed.
You raise a brow. “What? No. Unless you want me to?” Somehow, the idea is less appealing than you remember.
“Don’t hurt me,” Eridan whispers, so low you barely hear it. “Please.”
“I’m not going to,” you tell him, as earnestly as you can.
“Wwhy not?”
“What?”
“Wwhy not?” He hisses. “Is this- is this a trick? Somethin' to- to humiliate me, or wwhatevver?”
You blink. “No.”
“Then wwhy are you-“
“Eridan,” you interrupt, and nod down at your bulges - twisting enthusiastically in the air like overeager bark beasts. “I don’t know how you don’t know thith, but you’re depreththingly attractive, okay?”
He drops his eyes.
“I’m turned on. You’re turned on. That’th why I’m doing thith,” you admit. “I’m kind of lothing my mind, here, man. You’re like- I kind of want to kithth you until we run out of oxygen and die. I’m into thith. Are you?”
“Like you don’t knoww.”
“Thenthitive doethn’t equal willing, fuckfathe.”
“Yes!” Eridan bursts out. “Yes, okay? I ww-wwant you to fuck me, an' it’s scary, an' you’re goin' to hurt me an'-“
“ED,” you crawl forwards and kiss his jaw, inhaling the scent of fear and cologne. He closes his eyes and lets out a muffled noise. “I’ve theen you thtrife. From thith pothition, you could break my neck fifteen different wayth with your bare handth. I won’t pull anything, but you could handle it if I did.”
He chews his lip harder, until a shiny bead of violet trickles down his chin. “Do you promise?”
You nod, then reach for his wrists. He lets you guide them up, watching you warily as you press his hands around your neck.
“Wwhat are you-“
“One wrong move, and you could thnap my neck,” you tell him. “Okay?”
His eyes are huge and wet, pupils dilated. “Okay.”
“Tho-“
Eridan breathes out shakily and shifts impossibly closer. “Do it.”
You’re not particularly experienced at gentle sex; too much affection makes you twitchy and uncomfortable. That being said, though, you’ve always been the one getting treated like a fragile doll for your pan issues. It’s different when you’re the one holding him gently, easing your bulge into him while he shivers and moans.
He’s almost too tight to be comfortable, and his nook clutches down on you like a fucking bear trap, but Eridan manages to keep his fingers locked around your throat anyway. He squeezes lightly when you rock into him, again and again, until you’re fucking him to the racing pound of blood in your ears.
You get caught up enough in the glorious push and pull of railing Ampora that it takes you maybe too long to realise his grip is only tightening. Your throat is on fire, your pan feels light and dizzy; you know you should stop, but it’s good, it’s so fucking good, and you’ve never had the best self preservation.
That, and any semblance of thought in your head right now is completely futile in the face of Eridan’s noises, Jesus Christ: he sounds like you’re blowing his mind, and he looks it, too. His eyes are shut, mouth wide as he writhes under you like a fucking eelbeast. Incoherent with pleasure is a good look on him.
ED lets out another breathless keen when he comes, melting under you, and it’s all you can do to hold on for your life. His hands around your neck grip so tight you cough; then you’re spilling inside him, panting and choking and lurching forward to press your mouth back to his.
You lie together for a quiet eternity, gasping for air and tangled like the Gordian knot. Eventually, his prongs release your windpipe and slide slowly up into your hair, holding you close - your face resting on his chest, so you can feel his ribcage shake and his lungs rise and fall.
“That wath good,” you manage finally, in the largest understatement ever witnessed by this new galaxy.
“Yeah,” He sounds content. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting to look down at you, but your head is in a blurry daze. “Oh, fuck, Sol!”
“What?”
When you tilt your face up to glance at him, his eyes are blown wide and guilty.
“Um.”
“What ith it?”
“Uh. I think I might’vve burst some blood vvessels in your eyes. An' your neck. Um. You sorta look like you got strangled.”
You still. "That’th tho hot.”
Your words startle him into laughter: he jerks then snorts, snickering to himself.
“I don’t- okay, Sol. It suits you, I'll givve you that.”
It takes you an obscene amount of time to get around to extricating yourself from him. He makes for a glorious body pillow. The moment you do, though, you lurch right back in again and gawk, because you were right-
“Sol?”
-you can see your fucking genmat in him, filling up his gene bladder, and it’s- fuck, it’s a genuine effort to keep your shit together.
“My thweatthhirt’th dry,” you tell him faintly. “Put it on before I jump you.”
“You already did,” he points out.
“And I’ll do it again, coward.”
“I don’t knoww,” Eridan shoots you an arch glance. “You look like you’re about t'keel ovver, Captor. You sure you’re-“
He stops talking when you kiss him again, slower and softer in the afterglow. Between the two of you, you manage to redress in slightly soggy clothing, sneaking touches back and forth like you’re fucking seven sweeps again, and prepare to reenter the fray.
“Am I dethent?”
“Sol, I can see my distinct fingers all ovver your neck.”
You shrug, grab his hand, and tug him out to go face your no-doubt smug friends.