You know you begin to hate yourself as much as you claim to hate him, as you walk down the dark alleyway. You know he's just taunting you, honking his horns as you step closer and closer. The honks echo through the alleyway with a mocking, bone-chilling sound, and you scowl as your feet seem to move on their own accord. Normally it would be too dark for anyone to see, but that doesn't matter to you now, even though you are no longer blind. Another step, another, and then another down the corridor, the mocking, cruel honks growing louder and louder with each step. You can smell his filthy, pungent stench that smelled of faygo and something else you do not recognize. You take a few more steps, and then you stop.
The alleyway is cold, dark, and the walls are narrow. The entire place stinks of decay and stagnant water that was pooling along the entrance. Several dirty trashcans lay spilled on the concrete ground, adding to the unpleasant odor. But you still smell him. He's been waiting for you.
"Gamzee?" you call out, knowing all too well that he was watching you from some unknown hideaway. No response.
"Gamzee!" you yell again. You hear a loud honk! in response. He is obviously playing games with you, just as he always had. Always keeping you waiting and watching, always staying just out of predictability. As much as you hate to admit it, it was exciting to you, and it made your teal blood race faster in your veins.
So when a rough, sharp-nailed hand runs down the back of your neck and traces your spine, you don't yell out in shock. You shiver, tensing your body until he turns you around to face him. You just barely see him, but you can feel his breath on your face, his hands now moving to your shoulders and lightly running his nails down to your elbows. You give him your best scowl, and you can hear him chuckle, barely making out his outline in the dark.
"Hey there, motherfucker," he whispers in your ear.
You stand there, not responding or moving, letting his face linger only inches from yours. You don't know what you want, but you are growing impatient. He can sense this, obviously, and that only amuses him further. He grabs your hand, not gentle in the slightest, digging his nails into your skin. He lifts your hand, drawing blood with his nails, and presses his lips to your fingers. He doesn't say much, and neither do you. Little is needed to be said. You pull your hand away, turning your face away from his.
"Why you gotta be that way little girl?" he asks softly, a wide smirk spreading across his face. You raise your eyebrows, challenging him to take exactly what he wants from you. Because despite the cool, smooth demeanour he enjoys putting on in front of you, he is impatient with his wants. He places a hand on your cheek and turns your face to his, leaning forward ever so slightly so that his breath brushes against your lips. You feel yourself tensing in anticipation. You want this, even if you hate yourself for it, and refuse to admit it to yourself. You grow impatient, waiting for his hungry mouth to press itself against yours, against your jaw, your neck-
He chuckles. It's like he can smell your desire, and enjoys taking advantage of your helplessness in his presence, which you know is nothing but the truth. He leans into your ear once again.
"What's up little girl? Cat got your tongue?"
You don't say anything. You only grab his shoulders and close that tiny gap between the two of you that feels like miles rather than mere inches. His lips meet yours, hungry and impatient, and his hands grab your own, leaving you immobile. He stops and grins wickedly at you, knowing he has you under his full control, both mentally and physically if he so desired. But it doesn't matter, because you like it, and you need it.
"You're mine now, girlie," he murmurs. It is not the first time he has said this to you, and you are fully aware it is nothing less than the truth. Gamzee Makara, the clown whose name you curse on a daily basis has you weak in the knees, and your breath coming in quick gasps as if the oxygen itself had grown thinner. Yet somehow, you find the breath to choke out a few simple words.
"You wish."
And now you are in control, fully and completely. You free your hands and run your nails down his neck, causing him to shiver where he stood. Although it was nearly too dark to see, you watch as his eyes flutter shut at your simple caress. Down his neck and to his collarbone, you take care to move slowly, to make him want this more than you do. You shove him against the opposite wall, kissing him and pressing your hands against his chest with enough force to make him gasp in pain.
You grin just as he did as you pull away, but that sly, knowing look is still spread across his hideous face. For a few seconds, all you do his lock eyes, daring one another to make a move. Almost without warning, he leans forward and bites your chin, taking your arms in his hands. He looks at you with mock curiosity, almost challengingly, moving his teeth up to your cheek and biting down almost hard enough to draw blood. You gasp at the pain, your fists clenching and your back arching slightly. He chuckles, tightening his grip on your arms. His back is still against the alley wall, but now it's him that's pulling you closer, moving his teeth down your cheek and stopping at your jawline, where he stays motionless, waiting for a response from you. Gritting your teeth, you let yourself fall against him, barely noticing as he pulls away from your jawline, slowly moving his hands up to your face and removing your glasses. Instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut. Few people have seen your bare eyes since before the accident, and it was an intimacy she did not willingly share.
"Come on, pretty girl..." he murmurs in your ear. "Let's see those bright little eyes of yours."
You don't show people your eyes if you can help it. You don't know why. You just don't like it. At all. But his voice, rough yet like liquid honey to your barely responsive mind, makes you weak. You flutter your eyes open, and he grins triumphantly, licking his lips as he brushes your bangs aside. You are really only aware that you hate him, hate him for making you feel this way, and hate him for every fucked-up thing he did to you and your friends. But you can't bring yourself to care. His lips and teeth return to your jawline, moving down to your neck, making you blush and tremble. You can feel his hands gripping at the back of your shirt, pulling you against him as he bites your throat harder, hard enough to draw blood.
But somewhere in the back of your mind, you're angry, annoyed that he's taking advantage of you once again. You run your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders tightly as he pulls away from your neck to stare you straight in the eye. You grin and bite down on his lower lip, hearing him inhale sharply and feeling his grip tighten on your shirt. His mouth closes around yours, and you let out a small whimper...but you're winning this game now. You can feel it. You pull away, and this time you're the one biting his neck, pinning him between the alley wall and yourself and keeping your hands on his collarbone. You turn your head upward, giving him a wide smirk. His eyes flash with anger, and suddenly the hands that were gripping the back of your shirt are now tangled in your hair, forcefully pulling your face to his. He kisses you hard, hard enough that you let out a whimper of surprise. You hate this, you hate how willingly you let him do this go you, how much you crave it like an addict. You hate him. But nothing matters, not the fact that you are kissing him back, or that his hands are now sliding down your back and slipping underneath your shirt, his nails digging into your waist.
"I fucking hate you..." you gasp, arching your back. He drags his nails up your back, and runs his fingertips back down to your waist. His face, only inches from yours, is grinning again.
"I know, motherfucker." He chuckles and bites your earlobe, and you grit your teeth. His teeth move down to your neck again, and you unwillingly tremble and tense against his body. He runs his tougne and his teeth across your skin, covering every inch of your neck. Your eyes flutter shut, your breath coming in quick gasps as he grabs your waist again, turning you around and shoving you roughly against the wall in his place. Gamzee Makara wanted to be in charge with every little game, every little kiss and bite and scratch that he put on your body. You don't even care anymore. You let him take control, and you don't say a word. Not when he pins your arms to the wall above your head, kissing you mouth forcefully, or lifting your shirt above your head.
Whether it's hours, or minutes later, you have no idea. You vaguely remember sitting in his lap, his arms around you, and eventually falling asleep. You wake up in your own bed the next day, in the clothes you had on last night. Anxious, you jump out of your bed, grabbing your glasses of your night table and run outside to the Hall, where everyone was gathering to organize more focus points involving the humans and SGRUB itself. Gamzee spots you first, much to your embarrassment. A smug, triumphant grin crosses his face as he begins to laugh, hard, and you raise an eyebrow in anger.
"What?!" you demand furiously, a blush creeping into your cheeks as you remember last night with clarity. It's Sollux that points it out to you.
"Uh, TZ, your shirt is on backwards."