"-because I am surrounded by a bunch of horn-fondling imbeciles-"
"Karbro," interrupts Gamzee, "these pink motherfuckers don't even got horns."
"Then presumably they fondle whatever the pink fleshy equivalent is." Karkat's eyes are squinched up in irritation as he paces back and forth around his block. Gamzee, sat backwards on his desk chair, watches him. "And the Strider human keeps smirking like the squelching sack of runny hoofbeast refuse he is-"
"Now, Karbro," Gamzee interrupts again, "you know you don't up and mean that." Karkat looks like he's gearing up for a rant to prove just how much he does mean it, and Gamzee doesn't like seeing his palebro all upset, so he summons his meagre reserves of assertiveness and says, "c'mon, Karbro: pile time."
Karkat stares at him. Ganzee demonstrates by wandering over to Karkat's pile of beanbags and sprawling in it. He has to admit, it's a lot more comfortable than horns, and quieter. He rolls lazily onto his back and sees Karkat still hanging back. He holds out his hands, beckoning, and at last Karkat awkwardly walks over to the pile and lowers himself into it, lying down on his back. After a few moments, he rolls over to face Gamzee, eyes fixed on the beanbags.
They aren't touching: Gamzee wouldn't have minded if Karkat had just sat right on him, but Karkat comes over all shy about piling. Well, that's no good. Gamzee wriggles closer so their knees are touching and their faces are close together so Karkat has to look at him.
This close up, he can see Karkat's blush - that strange human-red blood - start in his ears and spread to his cheeks. It's only now they're almost nose-to-nose he can tell it from rust. Karkat gets embarrassed so easily, even though he's got nothing to be embarrassed about. But Karkat gets embarrassed over getting embarrassed too, so as cute as Gamzee finds it, he wants to stop him from getting more worked up and running off like the first couple of times they piled. Karkat takes care of him when his panvoodoos are acting up, when he loses time: he wants to do something for Karkat, make him feel good.
Slowly, he reaches up to touch Karkat's cheek with his fingertips. He has to be careful: his hands are big and Karkat is small, and neither of them want his long claws too close to Karkat's eye socket. But he must do it right, because the furrow between Karkat's eyebrows smooths out as Gamzee pets his face.
They could have a feelings jam now, let Karkat get that irritation out of his system - can't be good for him, so much rage in such a small troll - but even though Karkat can talk at length without needing Gamzee to contribute much, Gamzee never feels happy with how he can't give good solutions to Karkat's problems. Karkat has a way of complicating situations beyond what Gamzee can understand: but then he's clever is Karkat, though he always denies it when Gamzee tells him so.
So no feelings jam, not until Gamzee feels he's got some clever words to make Karkat feel better. But there are other ways to make Karkat feel good, and Gamzee knows them just fine.
So far they've only papped each other, papped and shooshed all romantic-like until they were both pacified and dozy. But while Gamzee didn't pay attention to much of his school-feeding, he remembers something in that section on quadrants that he wants to try.
"Hey, Karbro," he says quietly - it's hard to modulate his voice these days - "you got some cute motherfucking horns."
Predictably, Karkat starts blushing again and grumbling about how he's not cute, how blind or shit-panned do you have to be to think that, and so on. Gamzee lets it wash over him: he knows Karkat doesn't mean it.
Next step: Gamzee takes his hand off Karkat's face and lifts it to circle one of his nubby horns with a fingertip, just once.
"Motherfuckin' cute," he says firmly.
Karkat shuts up and stares for a moment, Gamzee's hand resting on his hair, before collecting his words.
"What are you talking about? You're the one with the nice horns." He gestures vaguely in the direction of Gamzee's head. "Those are some Troll Hollywood-standard horns, or at least they would be if you took care of them. Sometimes I just want to-" He shuts his mouth abruptly.
"Cool," says Gamzee agreeably, "that's the kind of shit I was up and getting at." He presses his thumb to Karkat's horn, giving it an experimental rub - and, wow, Karkat's eyes just about roll back in his head.
"Nnrgh," he says. Gamzee rubs again, and watches Karkat's eyes close and his mouth open to reveal gleaming teeth, nubby to match his horns. He nestles closer, taking Gamzee's shirt in his fist, and Gamzee lets go of the horn to rearrange them so their legs are properly tangled and their chests are almost touching - Karkat's solid but small, easy to lift with highblood strength. He has to bend his arm back to take hold of Karkat's horn again, but it's worth the slight discomfort to have his palebro in his arms, warm and real.
He scrutinises Karkat's face, slack with pleasure. Karkat's so self-conscious that this is the only way he can really get his stare on, properly appreciate the miracles in his Karbro's eyelashes, his snub nose, the point of his ear. He's got miracles running under his skin, too: the kind of miracles that can be dangerous if too many people behold them. Gamzee wants to paint in that colour, that bright candy-red, but Karkat was shy about telling him about it because he was afraid that Gamzee would crack him open to get at his colour, so Gamzee doesn't tell him about that.
(And it's not like he never wants to slit open Karkat's chest, or Terezi's, and make them into his art, but he's got impulse control these days. And when he doesn't, Karkat paps the urges out of him. Karkat's good to him).
He just keeps petting Karkat's horn, rubbing his thumb in circles, pressing harder on the downstroke. Karkat's legs twitch occasionally and he makes small hiccupping noises which abruptly turn into a quiet rattle.
Karkat's eyes fly open and the rattling noise stops. Colour floods the thin hide of his ears. He looks surprised at himself.
"No, shoosh, that's good." Gamzee gathers Karkat into his arms, wrapping tight around him. "Shooooosh." He leans into him, bringing their faces close together again; Karkat, still pink, looks to the side.
"C'mon, Karbro," he says, quietly, "I wanna make you feel all good. I wanna hear you up and motherfucking purring for me."
Karkat turns an astonishing shade of red and splutters.
"Gamzee, have you been watching pale porn, oh my god I cannot believe-"
"Nope, just saying what's all up in my motherfucking heart at you," says Gamzee, honestly. That's Karkat's problem: never outright saying what he wants. Luckily, Gamzee's learning to read what he doesn't say. And right now, what Karkat's not saying is that what he really wants is Gamzee stroking his horns, only he can't outright ask for it so he's grumbling without actually moving away. Why he can't outright ask for it, Gamzee has never understood: does he think that Gamzee will laugh?
Something to ask the Rose-human about when Kanaya's safely busy elsewhere. In the meantime, Gamzee will just have to give his moirail what he knows he needs: he gets both hands on Karkat's horns and goes back to giving his best attempt at a horn-rub.
Karkat lets out a breath and closes his eyes again. Gamzee wraps his frondnubs about Karkat's horns and gets to exploring the little ridges in them. They're more sensitive towards the base, like his own: he teases his thumbs there, digging through Karkat's shaggy hair to his scalp, and that gets Karkat to start up his sweet crackly purr again.
This, right here, is the most pitiful motherfucker Gamzee has ever seen. He starts purring a little in sympathy. Karkat wriggles in pleasure and - holiest of motherfucking miracles - the crease between his brows evens out and he smiles, mouth open to reveal pearly teeth and the tip of his black tongue.
Pity swells in Gamzee's breast, too huge to express. He feels a HONK building up, but that's not very restful-like, so he swallows it down and contents himself with leaning over to press a tiny kiss to the tip of Karkat's left horn. Karkat sighs, relaxed bonelessly among the beanbags. He absently slings a leg over Gamzee's, and Gamzee makes a tiny throttled noise. Yes, yes, yes. Karkat does so much for him, Karkat who knows so much about how quadrants work and how to deal with other people, and Gamzee who knows nothing about either is happy, so happy, to be able to do this for him in return.
He works Karkat's horns for a while, eyes fixed on his palebro's face, feeling little shivers of pleasure occasionally pass through him. He leans in and closes the gap between their faces, pressing the tip of his sharp nose to Karkat's snub one. Karkat's eyes open a fraction, then close. Gamzee can see every individual eyelash, but keeps losing track when he tries to count them.
Finally, when Karkat no longer seems conscious, he takes his hands off his cute nubby horns and wraps his arms around his torso instead. Karkat keeps purring, and after a moment Gamzee squeezes him tighter so his head is just under his chin and he can feel the vibrations all through his thorax.
He closes his eyes and drifts. He doesn't quite fall asleep - his sleep cycle's all messed up these days - but he sees colours on his eyelids and watches them form into shapes and then into others.
When he comes back to himself, there's no change in the quality of the light because they're a long way from Alternia's sun and the meteor has no light cycle. Karkat is conscious again, but his smile still looks doped. He's wriggled out from under Gamzee's chin and is watching him.
"Best friend," he says in his rough little voice, which he has never said. Gamzee forgets a lot of things these days, but he would remember that. Then Karkat untangles his claws from Gamzee's t-shirt and, without any shame or hesitation, reaches up and takes hold of his horns.
Gamzee is completely unprepared for the thrum of pleasure that races through him. He's touched his own horns, of course - once or twice while thinking about Karkat - but the shocking intimacy of the touch takes his breath away. He sighs and lets his eyes slip closed as Karkat gently rubs his horns, moving his thumbs in little circles - just like what Gamzee had done to him.
"You got clever hands, best friend," he says, and he doesn't have to modulate his voice at all. He feels Karkat's solid form against him, his back under his spread fingers, the sheer physical reality of him here, now. Satisfaction and pleasure roll through him and he holds onto Karkat, who is small and soft and so warm. Good Karkat. Best moirail. He thinks that rumbling noise is his own purring. If anyone tried to take Karkat away from him right now, from this pile, from this moment, he'd kill them.
Karkat's touch on his horns becomes fainter, then finally stops. Gamzee wants to hold him tighter, but his arms are heavy. His eyes are open, and he can see the top of Karkat's precious head as he nestles closer, feel his nose and clawtips pressing into his chest. He thinks his palebro might be smiling. Little miracles.