Gamzee: What those horns do tho
"So, uh, horns," you say, like a chill motherfucker who hasn't been throwing looks at this growly little motherfucker's head since you met him this morning.
"I've heard of them," he says, sass-mouthed little emperor with his tiny horns tossed like a challenge. Starts off toward the next block, and goes and takes the crown off his horns and peels his shirt off like it ain't no thing. You knew he was a solid little armful, but damn.
"Damn," you say, out loud, and he turns back to look at you like he's about to ask what's up and then sees you getting a full motherfucking ogle on and goes reddish at the ears and horns again.
"Yeah, yeah," he says, and waves off your looking at him. "So, horns?"
Oh shit, right. "Horns," you say back, and hurry on up to come after him. Are you supposed to take your shit off too? Way they trained it, if the emperor wants one of them touched he touches and if he wants their skin out he says so.
...Karkat turns away from you to fuck around with folding his shirt up, and shows you the whole length of his back, bared at you. You get kinda motherfucking stupid about it. Damn.
When you step up on him from behind him and put a hand real careful on the side of his neck, he goes tense and then eases slow--when you tilt back his head a little bit, he lets you.
"Out at the yellow, shit's about texture, I got told," you say, and just rest the blunt tip of a claw to the blunt tip of a horn. there's a little edge of ridge up and around; you can click the flat of a claw up along where it fades away, real light and slow. With his shirt off and his weight resting back on you, you can feel him shiver. "Gotta play nice if there's not a lot to get your grip on of, but you can rattle the fuck out of 'em if they're longer."
"Like yours," he says, intending at some shit. You had it shown at you how it feels to lock horns, not slamming against like a challenge but shifting around and clicking and catching together. Goes all down your posture column, like sparks. He's not got the horns, but you felt how strong his fronds are and he's sure the fuck got claws.
"Like mine, yeah," you say, and make distraction at yourself about how that might feel by sliding your grip on down and getting the heel of your frond right into the base of his horns.
You knew he'd like it, on account his ancestor's shit's been mapped and marked a hundred sweeps. But it still makes you feel like the emperor your own damn self, when he goes "Hhha, fuck," all shaky and sways back hard against you.
"Down at the red," you say, and press just like how you got taught, deep and slow, smoothing down his shaved-down hair along how it lays, not against it. "Gotta give some motherfucking pressure."
He says "Oh, fuck," again--and again, like it's about all he can think to say. Breathes slower, leans harder, grasps back and grips at you behind him. "Oh, shit."
"Gotta push harder than you figure," you say, for all your voice sounds cracked and not yours. "Head conciliatrix smacks the shit outta your knuckles if you go too light--feels like you're gonna hurt a motherfucker but if you get in there real good--"
You press again and he makes like to curse and only lets out a whine like pleading instead, crooning under it in his rattlebox. Bites it off embarrassed a second later, but holy shit. Fuck.
"--That shit'll undo knots all the way to the motherfucking ground if you do it right," you finish off, and for a beautiful miracle of a second you don't think about being pissed, or scared, or ghosts or emperors or any other bullshit. Just how he goes loose in your grip, barely keeping his feet. "Motherfucker, you sound so fucking good."
"I'll pay you back with interest," he croaks out, brave show but wavery. "In the evening. We need to sleep. Hha, shit. C'mon, 'coon."
"Tonight" again, huh? Lotta shit happening tonight. Who fucking knows how your life's gonna shake up by this time tomorrow morning.
You think you can just about motherfucking live with that.
