Summary: "You love Dirk, you love everything that makes Dirk.
And you really, really love his body."
Godly
Posted: 30/12/2022
Status: Completed
Author's note: Into Homestuck again. Surprise?
This was supposed to be a quick comfy couch sex thing to get me back into the groove of writing, but then Jake decided to wax poetic and the next thing I knew I was writing my personal cure to dysphoria. Whoops? Anyway this is the most flowery thing I've ever written in my life, enjoy.
You love Dirk’s body.
You love his personality too, of course. His passion, how he loves so deeply that it hurts him sometimes. Even his flaws and insecurities, you love them because they are part of him. Part of the man you love so dearly.
And, oh boy, do you love him. Have loved him since the two of you were children, separated by miles of ocean and hundreds of years. Kept loving him once inside the game, when both of your flaws reared their ugly heads and made a mess of your relationship. Never stopped loving him, even after he broke things off when things took a turn for the worst. And, after the game was over and you finally had time to talk, you told him your feelings, finally put into words everything you’d kept inside, bared your soul to him. Exposed yourself to the judgement of the prince of soul, the destroyer of heart.
And he took you back, because he was the same as you.
You love Dirk, you love everything that makes Dirk.
And you really, really love his body.
He doesn’t understand your fixation with it, you know. He considers himself average, just with nice hair he styles meticulously and cool sunglasses that double as a computer. But even so, he lets you compliment him, lets you worship his body with nary a protest, unlike when you’re waxing poetic about his personality. He still has trouble accepting any positive description of his inner self. Still refuses to accept that no, he isn’t poison given human form, he’s just a boy who grew up in total isolation and took too much responsibility on his shoulders. His body, though, is easier to compliment. Bodies are just flesh and bones, they cannot be evil, cannot do evil unless they are instructed to by the soul controlling them. As far as you know, he’s never felt particularly self-conscious about his looks. His training has always been for his health and survival, rather than aesthetics. The only reason he carefully controlled what he ate was because he had to ration himself, both in the post-apocalyptic future and in your void session. Heck, he only started wearing binders because he was worried about what you and Jane would think of him, because of the cultures you both grew in. He stopped wearing them as soon as he realized the two of you had no grievances about him or his looks, going back to the simple, practical sports bras he was used to.
He doesn’t think he looks any special, so he accepts your adoration of his silhouette. Accepts the way your hands, big and calloused, explore his form, gentle and slow as if touching something sacred. He lets you run your fingers through his hair with only mild complaining, the platinum strands feeling surprisingly soft despite how much product you know goes into them. His eyes, sharp and the color of sunset, are so expressive despite his almost-permanent poker face. He is tall, just a little taller than you. All lean muscle, built for speed over strength, your opposite. You love to trace the freckles covering his pale skin, admiring the beautiful contrast it makes with your own, much darker complexion. To press your lips to his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his shoulders, his back. Love how he is firm and soft in equal measures. You adore the way his backside is small, yet perfectly rounded, fitting perfectly into your cupped hands. How well-defined his legs are, all curved muscle, powerful and elegant, like they were molded from the most holy of clays by the gods themselves.
(You also love having them squeeze around your head as you go down on him, drink up his plump folds like a man starved. Love hearing him sing for you as you massage his most sensitive parts with your tongue.)
Dirk is the most beautiful being you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, and it’s only fair that you would express your adoration for him in every way you know.
***
The two of you are lying down in the couch, watching a movie you’ve seen dozens of times. You’re on your back, laid across the shoddy-looking but comfortable couch, your head on the armrest. Dirk is also on his back, on top of you. His head is tucked under your chin, letting his soft hair brush against your skin, and his bottom half is surrounded by each of your legs on both sides, protectively caging him in. You’re wearing some random shirt you found at the back of your wardrobe. It’s a tad too small on you, enough to feel tight around your chest and biceps as well as expose the bottom half of your belly, but not enough to feel uncomfortable. With that, you’re wearing running shorts that you only ever really wear when you intend to do anything but run.
(You’re also going commando, as you often do on those relaxing, “stay inside all day” days. Dirk has yet to complain about that.)
For his part, Dirk is wearing sweatpants and a tank top that is so large on him, you can see everything inside it from your position, from the small mounds of his chest, all the way down to his stomach. You’re pretty sure it’s one of yours, and some primal part of your brain rejoices possessively at the thought of him casually wearing your clothes, despite all the risks of wardrobe malfunctions.
(You so greatly enjoy seeing him stretch while wearing this specific shirt, because it gives you a perfect view of the junction between his breast and shoulder. Dirk says you have a sideboob fetish. You say you have a Dirk fetish. He calls you a weirdo with strange tastes, but keeps wearing clothes that expose his sides anyway.)
His glasses are off, laid on the small table in front of the couch, next to a half-eaten bag of chips and two empty glasses previously containing soda.
At the moment, you’re more focused on the film, idly sliding your hands over Dirk’s torso under his shirt. You massage his chest gently with one hand, while the other explores his firm abs and the cute, pudgy part of his stomach. You have Jane to thank for making sure you all got proper nourishment; Dirk was already stunning, but the way he filled out after he started eating normally made him even more charming.
Dirk isn’t paying attention to the screen, but then again, he often doesn’t when you lay together like that. He prefers to bask in your warmth and your small, casual attentions. It’s not rare for him to fall asleep halfway-through, lulled by your lazy caresses. This time, though, he doesn’t look ready to fall asleep anytime soon. He hasn’t really moved since you plopped him between your legs and on top of you, but you can tell that he’s a little fidgety. A quick look down confirms your suspicions as you see the subtle pink dusting his cheeks and the way he presses his legs together.
Dirk may not fully understand your appreciation of his form, but he is still very responsive to the way you express it to him. When he doesn’t fall asleep to them, he tends to get a bit worked up by your wandering hands.
With a smile, you slide the hand on his stomach lower, until it reaches the bit of blonde hair peeking out from under the waistbands of his pants and underwear. Another thing you find fascinating about him, the way he can’t seem to grow any sort of body hair, except for his eyebrows and that little tuft of hair between his legs. It’s just as soft as the hair on his head, and you suspect he gives them both the same amount of attention during his grooming sessions. You press there, gently, and use your other hand to trace circles around his nipple, not quite touching the sensitive flesh. He squirms in response, and tilts his head slightly, just enough for sunset orange to meet forest green, his gaze accusatory.
“Hello, tangerine”, you greet. His face makes a funny sort of grimace. He doesn’t know how to react to your pet names, but has yet to voice any complaint or displeasure at your usage of them.
“Hey” he answers gruffly. Judging by the roughness of his voice, he probably wasn’t too far from falling asleep, before he started feeling aroused by your ministrations. You probably brushed over a sensitive spot while you were focused on the film you’re now ignoring.
“A bit worked up, aren’t we?” You tell him, teasing and indulgent. Your thumb slides just barely under the waistband of his sweatpants, atop of his boxers. A silent question. Often, when he gets excited, he welcomes your touch with open arms (and legs), but sometimes he doesn’t, preferring to hug it out and let the feeling pass on its own.
Dirk hums and lays his head back down, goes boneless in your arms.
“And whose fault is that?” He accuses, voice barely above whisper, but lets his body relax and his legs separate. An answer.
You huff a laugh and tilt your head down to press a kiss atop his head. He lets you, then moves just enough to expose his neck. You gleefully accept the invitation, and let your lips brush to his ears, then down to the crook between his neck and shoulder. He shivers at the feather-light sensation and lets his eyes fall shut. The hand on his chest finally moves to tease his nipple, which earns you a delicious sigh from his lips. Meanwhile, your other hand moves down inside his pants, one finger sliding over his clothed groin, rubbing his clit and between his folds through the already damp fabric.
He doesn’t move to reciprocate, doesn’t try to guide your hands, just lies there, accepting everything you wish to give him. Letting go, handing the control over to you. You love it when he does that, surrenders to your touch, trusts you with his comfort and pleasure. Lets you worship him like he deserves.
You know it’s hard for him, to simply let go, to be at the mercy of someone else’s whims. So his easy surrender now fills you with warmth.
You can feel your dick rising to attention, under Dirk’s lower back, but ignore it for now. This is all about him. His supple body, pliant under your hands, the soft sounds he makes as you kiss behind his ear where he’s so sensitive, as you brush his most tender spots on his chest, press into his entrance through his boxers. He is beautiful, radiant, captivating. Oh, how you wish he could see himself as you see him. As someone precious, to cherish, to pamper.
Every day, you think about how fortunate you are that he took you back. Accepted your love for what it was, despite your many issues.
Gently, you grab Dirk and move him up a bit, so your heads are aligned without the need to lean down, and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. He turns to face you, briefly looking into your eyes, striking orange full of fondness and lazy heat. You close your eyes and bring your lips together. The kiss is deep, but unhurried. You have all the time in the world, quite literally, what with being gods. There is no rush, no sense of haste that you would get in the game. Just you and him, basking in each other’s presences.
In the same movement, you release his chest and stop teasing his opening to grab hold of his pants and underwear. You slide them both in one go until they’re about halfway down his thighs, exposing his sex to the warm air of the room.
You release his lips, and reach under him to free your dick from its confines. Then, you slide it between his legs, and nudge them until they’re pressed together and around you. You give a few lazy thrusts, using his relaxed thighs to give yourself some nice, slow friction. He doesn’t squeeze you, wouldn’t even think to do it unless instructed, far as he is into that hazy zone in-between arousal and sleepiness, and that’s just fine. You don’t mind doing all the work, love it, in fact. Taking care of him and bringing him to climax is the best part of this, your own pleasure is accounted for, but secondary.
Your hands go back to their exploration of his angles and curves, giving some well-deserved attention to his other nipple, previously neglected. Your other hand goes down, splayed over the bottom of his stomach. You tease his folds with your shaft, spreading his slick all over your length, and let a pleased hum at the feeling. He sighs dreamily. You notice his eyes have closed again, though he is far from asleep, his breath hitching as you roll the nub of his nipple between your fingers.
By now, the movie is long-forgotten. It’s fine, you’ve seen it many times before, and you’ve got something much more interesting and precious in your arms right about now anyway. Dirk is putty in your hands, immobile save for the occasional jolt of pleasure when your lips brush his neck and your fingers pinch his nipple. From this angle, you can’t rub against his clit with your dick, and while you could easily reach it with the hand on his stomach, you let it be for now. You know he loves it, when you use his body to pleasure yourself, another part of him giving all the control over to you. Of course, he is priority in your mind, but you don’t mind indulging him like this, can feel how it gets him going by the sheer amount of slick getting spread around you as you hump between his legs. Wet as he is, you know you could easily slip inside his warmth right now, plunge deep into him, but you won’t. Maybe later tonight, if he’s up to it, but for now, this is perfect.
You let your hands wander, massaging his arms, his stomach, the outside of his thighs. You circle his clit gently, not quite touching it directly, but the touch stimulating him nonetheless. Dirk is so sensitive down there, you know, it wouldn’t do to overwhelm him, this isn’t this kind of play.
Pleasure mounts slowly, a delicious, languid build-up of sensations born from light touches and lazy movement. You’ve been at it for a while, the end credits almost over already. You can tell, from his quiet moans, to the heat you feel growing in your belly. It’s a simple affair, a satisfying conclusion to a long performance; as you hear his breath catch and feel his thighs squeezing your length, you finally reach down to rub his clit proper. You keep your slow trusts going, chasing your climax all the while stroking him through his own. When he whines, and whispers your name right into your ear, you’re gone, releasing between his thighs, your come and his juices dripping onto both his legs and yours.
Your breaths are deep, but quiet in the room, and you can’t help but look down at Dirk adoringly. His cheeks are a healthy pink, a small, dreamy smile making his face glow with contentment. His muscles, usually so tense, are completely lax, as if they’d become liquid in your hands.
How gorgeous. How resplendent.
Once more, you can’t help but think. About how lucky you are to have him, to have his forgiveness, his trust, his love.
You love Dirk. You love everything that makes Dirk, and you will keep expressing it in any way you know, any way he’ll accept, until he sees it for himself too.