Your name is Cronus Ampora and wow this was a mistake.

You'd been walking around when you saw Rufioh, all alone, just standing there. You certainly didn't see Horuss a few feet away, searching for something in the bushes. If you would've, you never would've started hitting on Rufioh, and you probably would be able to breathe right now.

You're not actually sure how dying would work when you're already dead, but you're pretty sure that if Horuss doesn't let you out of this headlock right now you're probably going to pass out. It's really a miracle that he hasn't broken your neck yet.

Rufioh's trying to get Horuss to let go of you, but he's not doing a very good job. Everything's sort of going fuzzy. You can feel Horuss's sweat sticking to your body and if you survive this you think you're probably going to need a shower. Or three. Or twelve. You have never regretted hitting on someone so damn much. You'd thought that, hey, Rufioh's a nice guy, he won't outright tell you to fuck off, and he's sort of an outsider, too, in terms of interests. Not in terms of romantic success. In that regards you're on totally opposite ends of the spectrum. Almost kind of like your blood colors, which you don't care about at all and not just because, even though you haven't given up yet, you don't have any chance with Meenah Peixes.

Eventually, Horuss lets go of you, and you basically just collapse on the ground, gasping for air and watching as they walk away. Rufioh looks like he's sort of worried, but he just goes along with Horuss. Hm. Maybe you should try to let people come after you. Then maybe people would like you. You really have no idea what's wrong with everyone.

You also have no idea who this guy in the pantaloons is. You push yourself up into a sitting position and look up at him. He's god tier. And human.

You can't tell if he's dead or not because he's wearing weird pointy sunglasses, but damn, from what you can see, he's not ugly at all. And a human. You wonder if he's ever seen Grease. Or The Outsiders. Or any of those other movies that you watch when you're feeling some doubts about your humankin thing.

He holds out a hand and, after a moment of hesitation, you take it. He pulls you up and maybe holds onto your hand longer than necessary, but that could be your imagination. You sure as hell hope it's not your imagination. He looks built, and sexy, and wow you really hope he's dead.

"What's your name, babe?" you ask, leaning against a tree and mentally congratulating yourself on not fucking up the 'w.' It happens. Usually when you have more than one in a row.

He raises an eyebrow. "Dirk Strider," he says. God damn, his voice. You really, really want to get in his pants. You know what human males have down there. You've seen stuff about that sort of thing. "And you, Greaserfish?"

You grin and wonder where your cigarette went. You need to look as cool as possible and while Horuss was strangling you you apparently dropped it. "Cronus," you say. "You like Greasers?"

"Well, you're no John Travolta, but you'll do," he says, and you feel like you could practically fly. He's seen Grease. He has to have seen Grease.

You take a step closer to him, getting a little close but he has to know you're interested. He's taller than you, but you still manage to look him straight in the eye. Well. Weird pointy sunglasses. "Wanna go back to my hive?" you say. Cutting right to the chase, sure, but you figure that if he's alive you'll need all the time you can get. He looks a little taken aback. You decide to add some stuff on. "I've got a real human bed and everything. You know how many things you can do in a human bed that you can't in a re... well, what trolls sleep in?"

He probably wouldn't know what you were talking about and you need to keep as many cultural differences out of it as possible.

"Really?" he asks. He's kind of red. You're kind of purple, you bet. Nobody has ever humored you this long, apart from Rufioh, but this guy looks actually interested. Well, maybe. You can't really tell behind the sunglasses and the fact that he's sort of emotionless.

You drop a hand to his arm. Holy shit muscles. Holy shit. Holy shit that god tier prince outfit thing doesn't do him justice. He needs a tanktop. Some shorts. Or nothing at all. Yeah, nothing at all sounds pretty good to you right now.

"Doesn't that get sort of hot?" you ask. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a little smirk. "I mean, you could always take it off."

"Do you want me to?" he asks. You nod.

And then he takes off his top and holy shit if you weren't already dead you probably would have died again because holy shit.

You're staring and your bulge is going crazy down there, you either need him to help you out or you need to head home to take care of yourself, because damn. You feel yourself blushing.

"Oh," you say. "I. Uh."

You can't shut up, for some reason. You've never gotten this far. Ever. He looks like he needs this as much as you do, and that is enforced when he grabs you by the shoulders, slams you against a tree, and kisses you. You squeak. Your bulge is going crazy and your nook is wet and you have probably never been this turned on, ever. You bury your hands in his hair, his incredibly light hair, and his hands have moved from your shoulder to your stomach under your shirt and now they're holding your hips and his thumbs reaching up to brush your gills and fuck.

You've never felt anything that good. You grind against him, feeling his weird human genitalia all hard inside his pantaloons.

One of his hands slips down into your jeans, going dangerously close to your bulge and you moan. Shit. You're making way too much noise. He moves his mouth away from you a little and you stare at him. You've never seen anything so beautiful.

You pull his head back to you and kiss him. He runs his tongue over your mouth and you let him in, careful not to bite it off. You let your tongue in on the action, though. He's lucky that he pulls his tongue out of your mouth before he touches your bulge because you're pretty sure you would've bitten it off. You moan, louder this time, probably bringing anyone in a ten mile radius toward you.

He looks a little startled when he first touches it. You hate yourself for being a troll more than ever in that moment. You hate it, you hate it, you hate it. Sometimes you think that, maybe, you don't really want to be human, but now you don't want anything more. If you were human it wouldn't be this fucking awkward. He wants to ask what it is. You can tell. God damn it.

You save yourself. You drop down to your knees and pull down his pants. You've practiced this. On popsicles, sure, but it still counts as practice, and you're pretty sure you're good with your tongue. His weird human... thing... is stiff. You waste no time, putting your mouth around it and starting a little at the taste, but you get used to it pretty quickly and soon you're going to town, holding onto his hips for balance. He's holding onto one of your horns and is making these cute little noises.

He suddenly shoves you away and you crumple back against the tree, wiping your mouth. Weird genetic material comes out of his human thing and you decide to watch more human porn so that you know better how this works. He's panting and his pants are around his ankles and you really need to take care of yourself but overall you think it didn't go to badly.

You really want to see more of Dirk Strider.

can you tell i don't know what i'm doing anymore

did i ever know what i was doing