Summary: It wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. But it was far too late now. Gamzee's claws were in your chest and your fingers were at his throat and the shattered remains of whatever solid relationship you might have had was lying shattered around you.
Disclaimer: I shall never run out of creative ways to tell you I don't own things, and while the day may come when I don't have to, the fact remains that Homestuck is one the list of things I should never have my grubby claws grasp legally. Hussie already has my soul, so I don't really feel like giving him anything else in exchange for this work.
Author's Note: Haha, I'm a Homestuck, motherfuckers.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. But it was far too late to turn back now.
He was supposed to be your rock, your safe place. You were supposed to be his better half, his voice of reason. You were supposed to be best friends.
"I hate you so much," you hiss and as you rake your claws down his sides, you find you actually believed it. Purple blood wells up, sliding under your fingernails, making you feel filthy. Enraged, you gnash your teeth and grab his hair, pulling his lips against yours harshly. You regret it immediately: his teeth are longer than yours and he has fewer qualms about drawing blood than you do. His fingers pull ugly bruises from your darkening skin, and little rivers of red run down your limbs.
Hate hate hate hate hate hate
It's a never-ending chorus in your head, screaming at you to hurt him until he begs for you, even though you know it will be exactly the reverse. He always manages to wrestle you down with that despicable twisted look on his face. You'll feel his mind invade yours and you will scream and claw at things that didn't exist and then you would both limp away hours later covered in soda and scratches.
This wasn't a moirallegiance.
"Little mutant's getting all motherfuckin' big in the motherfucking head," he growls suddenly, pushing you off and almost launching you across the room. The table stops your flight and sends you to a hasty, short, and painful descent. He grins at your expression, shocked and disgruntled, and grabs a nearby can of no doubt flat soda. "Fucking runt trying to climb on top. Motherfucking funny." He takes a huge swig and as you watch a single orange drop slide down his skin, you understand how Terezi had hated it so. Disgusting. You reach out and ripped the bottle from his grasp, throwing it across the room. The smashing glass puts your every nerve on edge and your skin dances with fire as you pull him close again, this time dragging him down onto you. In recent months, you've found you're growing stronger, and while you still aren't a match for him, you have just enough power to feel like he isn't just humoring you for the sake of a stupid fucking quadrant.
"You shut your mouth, you filthy clown," you mutter, almost punching him as you try to wipe the soda off of his skin. "You fucking disgust me, you unfaithful grub-fucking failure."You refuse to kiss him now, not with that foul taste on his lips, and instead set about removing as much layers as possible. Weeks of the technical infidelity on both of your parts is revealed as you removed his shirt.
God you hated him so fucking much. This was so much blacker than anything either of you deserved.
You end up on the floor, your legs around his waist while he kneels, holding you against him while he left a trail of orangey slobber and smudges of red down your neck. You begin to feel it, the black weight pushing on your mind, and in spite of everything your instincts tell you, brace yourself for it.
Monsters begin to bite at your fingers and toes, and still you cling to him.
"I fucking hate you," you whisper again.
Something mutual in both of you slows down and yours lips, your claws, your arms become less frenzied. Your movements slow. His mind still presses on yours, but it's different.
Eventually the two of you come to be a halt. You can feel his hot, sticky breath on your throat, his tongue frozen where it had been dragging itself across your jugular. Your arms shake from supporting your own weight, but you refuse to let go. Refuse to be weak. If you are weak, you know, he would completely dominate you, and you can't allow that.
You hear him murmuring something. Your blood is pounding too hard in your ears for you to make out specific words, and all you manage in reply was a deep growl. You slowly lower yourself onto his lap fully, panting. You get to survey your own handiwork, deep scratches and puckered bites all over his chest. Something in your chest clenches tight at the sight and you trail your finger down one of the more recent wounds. He hisses and tugs at your hair, but you are both too spent to go further with your black solicitations.
It seems like a lifetime before the pressure on your think pan eases and his weird brain powers subside. His hand remains around your upper arm, his claws sliding into familiar grooves on your skin. You glare up at his face, his stupidly soft, blissful, pitiful, scratched-up face, and you start to remember how things used to be.
The kiss he gives you is far too tender for hatred.
This wasn't a fucking kismesistude. This was too red for you to fall comfortably into your loathing.
"You're all motherfucking pitiable with that stupid romantic look on your chubby little face." His voice is a thrilling mix of tender and hateful as his fingers grab your face, squeezing and making painfully obvious what baby fat you haven't shed yet. His face softens and his fangs are bared in a small, youthful grin. His thumb strokes your quivering chin. "You look like a motherfucking miracle."
And that's it. That little glimpse of your old friend, those words that brought back painful memories of a romance in a far different quadrant are what push you over the edge again.
You punch him.
While he's reeling, you're on top of him, ripping into him with all the hatred you don't know what to do with.
"I hate you!" you scream, even as your bodies begin to writhe together in a instinct-flooded exchange of fluid and movement. You sink your teeth into the nearest bit of flesh, even as you feel the terror begin to grip you in his sadistic retaliation.
Time is lost to you as your mind is stripped of its sanity until you are nothing but a swirling red haze of rage, pleasure, pain, and pure unspeakable terror.
Sanity doesn't come until the two of you are trembling, covered in smudged blood and splattered genetic material. You hiss with every exhale and he growls in return. Your hands cling to each other, digging into flesh and clinging with desperation the quadrants can't define.
This wasn't black. You pity him too much for that.
This wasn't red. He pisses you off too much, and no matesprit would unleash chucklevoodoos on their partner.
"I hate you," you whisper one more time, and he hums in agreement.
"I know, motherfucker."