dave/sollux anxiety stuffing sex

A black screen, illuminated by strings of white text forming across it's surface. Each letter was pixel-perfect, forming into words, blocks, only to be forced off the window by new glyphs and symbols. To any normal person, reading the paragraphs and lines would like reading some kind of ancient, alien scriptures, perhaps a religious document or poorly-formed tax bill. To the pale, grey-skinned creature behind the keyboard, however, each and every character formed a part of a larger construct, meaningless symbols becoming gears in a digital machine of inhuman scope. Years and sweeps of fine practice, combined with a natural affinity and a bifurcated view of knowledge, twisted strings of code into veritable behemoths of efficiency and effect, as if their author were playing God with flat shapes on a flat screen and yet bringing to life hulking golems and towering automations.

For Sollux, playing God was simply what he did. His modus operati, his entire point of existence, was irrevocably tied to the small white letters adorning the simplistic terminal before him. As he hunched closer to the dim screen, clawed digits rapidly tapping over keys at a rate that would make the whitest and nerdiest of humans falter, his mind was simultaneously blank and roaring. He couldn't think about what he was doing, and yet, the ideas and concepts of his asunder think pan flowed onto the computer, a deep and mediative autopilot taking control of his every move. As with any other day his coding hobby overtook his tenuously swinging mood, he likely would have stayed in his position, filling yet another cheap thumbdrive with devastating virii and worms, had his attention not been abruptly stolen by another.

There was a whoosh, the colors and shapes of the world flooding back into focus, before Sollux realized what had happened. The slight ringing of his ears slowly faded to the thumping and clicking of a briefcase being shut and locked, and he sharply jerked his head to look at the nearby bed. Atop sat Dave Strider, calmly yet forcefully cramming the last of his belongings into the overworked container.

"Sup."

"The thuck are you doing?" Sollux crossed his arms over his bony chest, red and blue eyes scanning over the human with apprehension. He hadn't even known they owned a briefcase, let alone had a reason to use one.

At the question, Dave paused, bringing one hand to cradle the bridge of his nose. "Are you fucking serious? Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

Oh. Well, that explained it. "No, not really. I mean I thigured ith you had thomething important to thay, you'd tell me to my thace." Mentally, the troll was kicking himself for once again completely missing the details of a conversation whilst he was engrossed in his work. "What'th wrong?"

"Look, I can tell you're busy, so I'll give you the short version. Got a gig. Didn't get much advance warning. Be back later." With that, Dave hauled the briefcase off the bed, walking towards the door. He was stopped short of his target, however, by a thin arm gripping his shoulder.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. What the thuck do you mean, 'going out'? You thaid you had nowhere to play thore."

"I didn't. Martha called me up, said they needed a DJ quick, said she'd pay extra, told me to be down there for noon."

"Martha? The thick from Hunter'th Creek? You're theriouthly going that thar right now?"

"It's not 'that thar', Captor. It's just one gig. Starts at noon, and I'll probably only be gone until, what, eight? I mean eight hours is a pretty generous estimate of how long you'd survive alone, provided you don't flip the fuck out and unplug your computer by accident."

"Eith hourth?!"

"Dude. Breathe. Vantas is on speed dial. Maryam is on speed dial. Fuck, if you really need it, that sweaty asshole's number's on the fridge." Pushing his roommate's hand off his shoulder, Dave gave the troll an almost undecipherable look over his shades, red eyes meeting multicolored. "I need to go. Hell, maybe we can buy more smoothies with the cash from this."

It was fairly obvious to both of them that Dave had won the debate. Gritting his fangs, Sollux sighed and turned away. "Thine. But thucking tell me the next time you pull this thit, Thrider. I mean it." With that, he sulked back to the terminal and resumed his coding as Dave silently exited. Although he didn't show it, the human teen was worried under his facade of coolness. He knew Sollux was...well, emotionally unstable was probably the most accurate way to put it. All he could do was pray that he landed the eight hours that the alien boy wouldn't freak out. With uncertainty gnawing at his mind, he took off in a brisk jog towards the bus stop.

---

Close the bracket, variable, two indents, if/end statement.

Silence.

One, two, three seconds dragged on as Sollux's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Instantly, he was aware of just how quiet the apartment was. A minute, tingling fuzz crept through his eardrums, his acute vibratory crevices picking up the unidentifiable sound of nothingness. On any given day, there would be some kind of noise. Crows, flocking outside the window. Cars, endlessly pacing back and forth between destinations unknown. The gentle hum of the freezer working to battle the Texan heat. The creaking of the floors and walls settling. The faint yet audible clink of steel on steel as two knights dueled on the roof, often followed by the steady thud-thud-thud of the lesser falling down the access stairs. Yet there was simply nothing, nothing but what had before been the tapping of his filed claws on the plastic keys, and suddenly he was hit by a surge of loneliness.

Abruptly, he whipped his head to the side, miscolored eyes focusing on the clock visible in the hallway. 4:14. He had been working for well over five hours now, and he knew he could easily work for five more. He turned back to the dusty monitor before pausing. It was just four hours. No, less than that. Three hours, forty-six minutes and seventeen seconds, assuming that clock was calibrated. The clock. Why hadn't he heard the ticking? Was the clock broken?

Sollux forced himself to his feet, deftly ducking through the door to the hall, and stood in front of the clock. There it was, the dull ticking; he must have been farther away than he thought. Turning to head back, he made it halfway back to his computer before the clanking of the rusty, metal stairs caught his attention. Was that...

Dashing to the window and throwing the curtains open, he squinted in the setting sunlight of the city, looking for the source of the footsteps. He felt a surge of hope (hope?) swell in the pit of his chest, only for it to deflate into a cold swirl of wind when a middle-aged pothead came walking up the stairs, heading off into the hallway below Sollux's vantage point. For a few fleeting moments he had hoped that it would be Dave, home early from the trip, and-

What was wrong with him?!

Dave was going to be gone for barely four hours. That was it. Nothing more. All he had to do was keep coding, lose himself in his work again, and before he knew it the moon would be shining in the sky and Dave would walk in and say something dumb and snarky and that would be that. He didn't even need Dave. He had triumphed over not one but two Sgrub sessions, he had wrenched victory from the iron jaws of coal-black demons, he had taken part in the reconstruction of two entire races. And yet here he was, falling into his childhood traps of anxiety and stress, when all he had to do was distract himself.

Fuck. Sollux stomped away from the windowsill, marching into the relatively cooler kitchen and throwing open the thermal hull. There, cocooned in a thin layer of plastic wrap, was the thick meat sandwich he had prepared several days earlier. He had been in a unusually good mood, and while conversing with Kanaya (he only wanted to contact Karkat via proxy but it was a nice day and the sky was blue and he was just so happy), she had suggested he take advantage of the positive mood swing and make sure he had something to eat in case he crashed abruptly. God knows he needed it; the last time an upbeat mood had burned out, he hadn't even tried to eat until Karkat called him up specifically to hurl obscenities at him for "his complete inability to function as a fucking living creature" and so on. He knew Sollux far, far too well.

Regardless, Sollux grabbed the sandwich, along with a cold can of Pepsi, and forced himself to walk back to the terminal. He was already feeling better, and as he sat down on the small cushion, he tore open the wrapping and ripped a sizeable chunk out of the snack. Before long, he managed to find a rhythm again, alternating typing with both hands and lifting one to sip at his drink, and lines of obscure code sprawled out across the dull screen of the monitor. He finished the block of programming he had been working on, saved it, saved it again, uploaded it to his thumbdrive, resaved it, and was about to open a new file when he was rudely interrupted by himself.

Or rather, his stomach. Apparently not satisfied with the meager sandwich, his gut gave a fierce rumble, pangs of hunger flashing through his lower body like electricity. When had he last eaten? He vaguely recalled grabbing some toast that morning, shortly before sunrise, but he had been enthralled in his work since then. Before he could get back up to scour the kitchen, he grit his teeth and focused on the lines of coding. He had to stay distracted, or he would start...worrying? Stressing? Whatever it was, he needed to keep his concentration on one thing.

It was roughly twenty seconds before he lost said concentration. Like an earthquake, the roaring of his empty stomach shook him out of his typing-induced stupor, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't ignore the urges any longer. In one last-ditch effort, Sollux grabbed the can of cola and tipped it over his head, only to find that he had already drank it's contents without realizing. Hints of panic were creeping back into his mind, a faint wind in his chest, and the mustardblood scrambled into a standing position, desperate to get something to eat and to keep his mind off his partner's absence. One foot forward, then the next, then the next, and soon he managed to pull himself back to the small kitchen.

Flinging open cupboards, Sollux began rifling through their contents, bags of flour and sugar haphazardly shoved aside in hope that they concealed more palatable treats. The bottom row lacked anything suitable; before trying the top half of the shelving, he wrenched open the fridge and scanned it's contents. The first thing to catch his eye were the four remaining cans of soda at the bottom, and he wasted no time in grabbing it, ripping it open, and taking a deep gulp. Under normal circumstances, he would have hesitated to try drinking so much of the sweet fluid, but the flighty feelings of anxiety were only growing.

He could both hear and feel the audible 'glunk' of the soda in his stomach, empty air being displaced by fizzing liquid, but despite the sloshing coolness the drink failed to drown the panic. Finishing off the can and stifling a burp, he slammed it on the counter, grabbing another from the lower shelf of the refrigerator and checking the others. On the second shelf, behind the various condiments and leftovers, was a wrapped plate of unfrosted, recently-cooked muffins, a small gift Jade had mailed the two teens not two days prior. Only slowing down to avoid breaking anything, he pulled the platter out, setting it on the counter with one hand while the other deftly pierced the thin can of Pepsi with the tip of it's thumbclaw.

Without even bothering to close the fridge, Sollux leaned forward and grabbed the first fluffy muffin. As he moved, he could feel the shifting weight of the liquid in his gut, but he refused to pay it notice, instead opting to focus all his energy on the soft, brown baked goods. He opened his mouth as far as it could go before cramming the entire muffin into it, squeezing his eyes shut and thinking only of the taste. The warm, homely taste, and not the panicked breathing from his nose or the thumping of his heart. Another swill of soda, mingling with the crushed muffin in this mouth, caused him to nearly choke, before he reluctantly swallowed the food. In response, his stomach gave a rumbling groan, the mass of mixed meal squeezing down his throat and splashing in the pit of his stomach. Deep breath. In. Out. Relax.

No. No, he was still panicking, still shaking. Now fully desperate, he raised the punctured can to his lips, downing the entire can in one wobbling swallow. Rather than the cool trickling movement of the drink, he instead felt pressure, a sharp and sudden jab around his waist. He was vaguely aware of his belt digging into his stomach, brought on by the abrupt influx of food and drink, but opted to ignore it in favor of grabbing another muffin and ravenously attacking it, scarfing it down, trying to do anything to keep his thoughts from wandering back to his situation. He just had to keep himself distracted...

---

As he stepped off of the 6pm bus, Dave was entirely convinced the world had it out for him. First the complete lack of warning of the gig, then it turned out the club was running on shitty and outdated DJ equipment. And then some asshole pothead showed up with his buddies and nearly burnt the place down. By the time the stint had reached the halfway point, the cops were pulling up, and he eventually decided to get the fuck out of Dodge while he still had a reasonable alibi. Sure, the pay wasn't quite as much as promised, considering he only played for half the time, but it only took a few good death glares to make the bitch in charge switch from no pay to slightly reduced pay. At least the house hadn't been blown up, he mused; when there weren't plumes of electrical smoke or optical lasers pouring out of the windows, it was relieving.

The lights were on as he entered the apartment. Unusual, considering most trolls he knew preferred them off, but whatever. He expected to find the mustardblood in front of his computer, on the floor, right where he usually was, but the worn-out spot on the carpet was mysterious unoccupied. Instead, there was a bundle of clothes and skin on the couch, curled up and facing away from the entrance. Dave could see little of the sofa's inhabitant, but from what he could see, the typically hueless grey of alien skin was tinged with a sickly yellow. As the coolkid closed the apartment door behind him, there was a pained groan, and Sollux slowly rolled over. Sweat caked his brow, and his heavy breathing was mixed with the deep, revebrating gurgle of his inner organs.

"Shit. You okay?" Standing over the troll, Dave let his face contort into a grimace. He had valiantly hoped that his partner's bipolarity wouldn't kick in while he was gone, but judging from the sight before him he was quite wrong. "Don't tell me you're allergic to the new air freshener we bought."

Another groan, intermixed with a pained burp, and followed by a weak "thuck you" was the response. Now on his back, Sollux looked even worse than before, and it was hardly a secret that the poor teen had fallen into his historical routine of chronic emotional overeating. Sollux was perhaps the thinnest of the trolls, only truly comparable to Vriska and perhaps Kanaya minus the Virgo's eye-catching hips, and it only made the effects of his binging more prominent. Under the sharp contours of his ribcage, his stomach protruded visibly, a swollen, rock-hard lump of undigested food that continuously emanated noise as it tried to handle it's burden. A red line stretched across it's surface, clearly from the now-unbuckled belt once looped around it's lithe structure.

Officially entering damage control mode, Dave eased himself onto the couch next to his roommate, and edged one arm under the troll's torso, attempting to lift him into a sitting position. As he bent forward, Sollux gave a sickly, drawn-out belch, and his stomach squelched and rumbled as it was forced into a different position. The troll could only whimper, slightly-visible beads of yellow forming under his eyes, as the vibration from his roaring tummy burrowed into the base of his spine, and an unwelcome gurgle crawled up into his throat. For his part, Dave leaned Sollux's weight onto his shoulder, using his free hand to caress the curve of his patron's belly. It was as hard as it looked, taut and unyielding under his fingertips, and although he wanted to press slightly to gage it's fullness, even a slight touch caused both an audible and tactile sloshing that only added to his pain.

The two of them stayed like so for quite some time, Sollux breathing shakily into Dave's shoulder as Dave did his best to comfort Sollux. Their silence was eventually broken, not by the continued indigestion, but by Dave's voice, somewhat quiet. "You know what? This was a terrible idea."

"What wath? Going to th-urrrp-the gig? Or the muthins?"

"I was going to say the gig, but those muffins were pretty terrible too. I never did trust Harley's cooking."

"Me either." Sollux seemed to chuckle slightly, only to be cut off with a hic-urp and another wave of nauseous churning from his midriff. "Thuck, Thrider, you're a therrible matheprit. I'm thurprithed you don'th have a thucking kithmethith at thith rate."

"Are you suggesting I can't give as good as I look, Captor?" The hand that was previously rubbing Sollux's tummy was now traveling downwards, slipping through the opened fly of his jeans. A shudder wracked the alien's body, resulting in another vibrant squelching from his gut, and his head leaned back.

"Thuck no. No, Thrider, not n-rrp!" By now, Dave's hand had reached it's target, wrapping around the wet, slippery shaft of his partner's junk. Above, his wrist lay against Sollux's bloated gut, the rumbling and quaking of his intestine wobbling Dave's grip slightly.

"Well shit, you seemed pretty eager to prove me wrong." His voice the perfect picture of smug, Dave leaned in closer to Sollux's ear, leaning more of the troll's weight onto his chest. "You know we Striders don't back down from a challenge, Captor." Another firm tug at the yellow-soaked member, another gasp of pleasured pain from it's owner. "Jesus, do you realize how wet you are right now? You're getting off on this, aren't you?"

Sollux wanted to reply, but he was too busy writhing at the human's touch. It was true that he was much more aroused than he had ever thought he'd be, and the agonizing discomfort from his stretched stomach only made the feel of Dave's digits on his bulge more and more intense. Yellow blood was rushing to both his dick and his belly, and with a spasm of his digestive tract a rapid-fire hiccup gurgled up and out his mouth, followed up with a short, gasping belch. "Thuck, THU-burrrrp-CK-"

Dave continued pumping his roommate's shaft, wrist gently thumping against the drum-like surface of Sollux's lower abdomen as he whispered into his ear. "You can't even hide it. Maybe we ought to do this more often. Just get you muffins every night, since they make you so hot." Squeeze, slosh, burp. "Of course, apparently I'm a terrible...what, matesprit? I guess we can't, then." Pump, gurgle, hiccup. "So. You can just be a good little kismesis, then, because I sure as fuck don't know how." Grip, churn, gasp. "Well? Is this good enough?"

He couldn't take it anymore. As the rumbling and swelling of his gut reached a crescendo of gurgling and sloshing noise, Sollux gave a guttural cry, and he came into Dave's waiting palm. Thick, yellow seed mixed with sweat and precum, dribbling into the tight jeans, dampening and dying them a faint yellow, and his entire body fell slack against the human's. As he gasped for air, indigestion all but forgotten despite the furious roaring of his tummy, he could faintly hear Dave's voice on the edges of his consciousness.

"Jesus fuck, Captor. I didn't even need to take my pants off."