06 February 2012 @ 11:47 pm
fic → blood sport  
homestuck, gamzee♢karkat; pg-13; 554 words
for the [community profile] sixteenkarpileup challenge!

He is behind you. You don't turn around.

"BRAVE." His voice scrapes over you like sandpaper on your skin. "Too bad there's NO MOTHERFUCKING POINT."

Your calves are already starting to tingle with blood deprivation even though you've only been kneeling for a few minutes. He sees you shift and pounces, pushing you to the floor with his claws digging into the back of your neck. "I know what you are," he hisses.

"Of course you know what I fucking am," you snap, "I wouldn't be in this goddamn place if you didn't."

He pulls your head back by the hair and smashes it into the ground. You gasp with pain, your vision going white and then red as your blood drips into your eyes. "SHUT THE FUCK UP," he growls. "When I want your opinion, I will MOTHERFUCKING ASK for it."

You spit out a tooth. "Don't forget to say please."

He picks you up and throws you, so casually, as if you were one of Terezi's scalemates. You hit the wall hard enough to set your head spinning but nothing seems to be broken. Maybe he won't kill you after all—but you doubt that.

He stalks towards you, paint elongating his sneer until it stretches all the way across his jaw. This design is more sinister than his usual face, not least because of what he becomes when he wears it. Who he becomes.

"THE SIGNLESS," he thunders. He is tall and lanky, limbs like twigs, but he fills up the space around him until you feel claustrophobic. "Our Empress will be PLEASED TO SEE YOUR BLOOD FOR HERSELF."

"Your Empress," you correct him. He backhands you, and a torrent of blood spills down your chin when your lip splits.

"You just can't KEEP YOUR MOTHERFUCKING MOUTH SHUT, CAN YOU?" His claws stroke through your hair, perversely gentle; and then he grips you and pulls you up by the scalp until you're looking into his eyes, streaked with indigo veins. His color is coming in.

"Red," you say, and he drops you.

You lay shaking in a sticky pool of blood. Across from you, he drops his head between his knees. When he raises his eyes again, it's Gamzee looking at you. "Was it good for you, motherfucker?" he asks, and you very nearly sob with relief when his voice breaks. He must see it, because he crawls over and curls up behind you, knobby knees fitting into yours and a slick hand wrapping itself around your stomach. He smells like blood and sweat and you let his long fingers probe gently at your wounds. "You alright, bro?"

"Nothing I won't survive." You try gingerly to move your jaw and wince when the span of gum where your tooth used to be throbs. "You didn't hold back at all though, did you? Bastard."

The hair behind your ear blows forward when he huffs out a laugh. "We're going to be motherfucking pros by the time we find kismeses."

You snort. "Something like that." There are a few minutes of comfortable silence, his thumb rubbing over the grubscars on your belly, and then you say, "Hey, Gamzee."



He kisses the patch of skin behind your ear, pale as the shape his fingers form on your stomach. "You are motherfucking welcome."

- Gamzee [1]
- dressup (clothes & costumes) [3]
- roleplay [3]
- sensation play & markings (bruises, cuts, bites, burns) [3]
- caretaking [3]
- Rails Before Pails [3]
- Snugs and Cuddles [5]
TOTAL: 22 points