shake it left, shake it right (fuck me through the night)
wordcount: 1K
tags: established relationship, mating cycles/in heat, hair pulling, biting, rough sex, porn with some plot
synopsis: Riff gets his shit fucking rocked
note: this one goes out to the Trolls fans, I see u, I hear u, heres some smut for the girlies with no Ao3 account. wrote this before i fully grasped the intensity of Floyd's queer-coding so uh, ignore the very starting paragraphs. if you enjoy consider dropping a like or checking the Ao3 port
https://archiveofourown.org/works/52567057
The last time Floyd slept with a guy was when he was nineteen. He sort of decided to swing straight away after that, going after women because they were dying at his feet whether he liked it or not. Why not make use of that knowledge, just to see where it would get him.
It got him surrendered to Velvet and Veneer by a group of K-pop Trolls that had him absolutely enraptured is where it got him. A kiss, some tantalizing words he did not understand, and he'd be willing to go anywhere they asked him too. And that was used against him, brought to Mount Rageous and used as a drug for talent.
He retreated to Rock the second he could, his home away from home. The one place he felt safe enough to shed his vest despite gnarled scars from varying origins. Where he could tell dumb horny jokes with an impossibly explicit vocabulary and get an uproar of laughter instead of offended gasps. Where he could just be, even with Pop origins he felt a lot better in Rock.
Apparently he felt safe enough to slip into heat, a cycle he was sure he couldn't attain anymore considering the whole 'life force drained' thing that happened. But he could, and he wakes up with this twist in stomach and he obeys the heat under his skin before he can think about it.
"Riff," It's this long, expectant, whiny sound clawing it's way out of Floyd's throat. He slings himself against the drummer who near instantly picks up the heady scent, it makes him shiver.
"Yeah?" Riff answered with.
"It's that time of the month, no ones around," He keeps his words on Riff's ear, hand wrapping around his boyfriends tail, it twitches and furls. He's purring, a deep rumble in his chest he hasn't been able to shut off all morning. This was inevitable, he decides, having sex with his boyfriend of many months. The heat spurred it on just a bit, but it's been on his mind for a very long while.
Riff gives this nervous sound, this almost nervous sound, "I got a show babe."
Floyd lurches back from Riff, "How long is it gonna take?"
"Not super long, the average length," Riff answered with, "And then, after the show, we can do it."
"You can swear you know," Floyd answered with, he had the audacity to cock a hand on his hip. The motion made Riff freeze, a short circuit in his brain, "Just say fuck, it's hot."
"You're hot," was all Riff could supply in response to the statement.
===
It's Riff whose bending over backwards for Floyd.
It's Riff whose begging and pleading due to whatever freaky mode the heat put Floyd into it.
It's Riff whose losing a semblance of sanity and control under his boyfriend even though he was sure it'd be reverse.
"Say it again, louder," Floyd prompted, hands tracing across Riff's front as he went, tactfully sliding away from wherever it would spark pleasure. Avoiding any and every where that he guessed would make Riff go insane, just for fun, to get a grasp on what he'll be working with.
There's heavy panting before Riff can even form a syllable, "Please," It's a choked sound followed by a euphoric note as Floyd scrapes over those soft expanses of flesh with dulled claws. The motion leaves a searing trail of pleasure behind even as the same hand wrenches into Riff's hair at the base and yanks. He jerks further back against his crazed boyfriend and he's still heaving his breaths, near writhing.
"Good boy," The words ghost against Riff's neck alongside teeth so sharp they have to be artificial (they aren't, they aren't, they aren't, and Riff fucking loves his boyfriends fangs). He partially sinks down, swiping pin prick fangs across flesh and reveling in the way Riff's breath hitches in time with the hand working him.
The adrenaline from the show has long since been replaced, something entirely different rushing through Riff. Initially, Floyd was running hot, an impossible amount of degrees hot for a Pop Punk Troll. Now Riff feels like every single inch of his body is on fire, sparks bursting under his skin and barely appeased by the touch that Floyd is offering him.
He's ravenous, he barely registers himself as such with those softly spoken words worming into his brain. They're sugary sweet, probably because Floyd is Pop Punk, they make his brain feel full of cotton candy. All stuffed up and turning a blank whenever he tries to bring himself to beg louder so Floyd will hurry the fuck up and give him everything.
This should be reversed, deep in the roots of Riff's desperation he knows it should be the other way. That Floyd should be the one bitching and moaning and begging and pleading, but it isn't. No, Floyd is just barely edging Riff closer, holding onto him like he's a lifeline, nails digging into flesh. It's oddly euphoric, to be nearly torn into but not quite, to be nearly bit but not quite, it just shoots him into an entirely different state.
"C'mon sweetheart," Floyd urges quietly, words a snarl against Riff's ear, "You can cum for me."
He does nothing to shift his ministrations, nothing to speed up or slow down. Nothing at all aside from a tightening grip in Riff's hair, and apparently that's all it takes with the words to jolt him over the edge. His body jerks but Floyd holds him perfectly still, fangs still tracing over the crux of his throat, resting at his pulse. He doesn't let go even with the slick dripping down to his thighs, his breathing is labored yet quiet, a soft susurrus sound.
"Holy," Riff pauses to catch his breath, his entire body is shaking more than he thought possible, "Holy fuck."
"Ready for round two?" Floyd asked, already tracing along Riff's inner thigh expectantly.
Riff swallows thickly, "Round two?"
"I'm gonna be jacked up for a long time, Riff," Floyd purred, tapping his nails a little further up his boyfriends thigh, "If you need to get some water go ahead, but we'll be right back at it the second you enter this room."
Riff shudders at the snarled promise because he knows Floyd will go through.
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