It's June. Two weeks left and school's out. You're seventeen now, birthday was January 17. Nice little shindig. Your hand's all healed, but it still feels weird when you move it too much. Karkat checked out the mirrors and found solid concrete behind them, which explains why the damage to your hand was so extensive. He got them replaced for you, but you made him let you pay for it. Sweet little bugger. You're glad you get to finish the year with your friends. Even Vriska seems okay with you, and Eridan can be nice when he wants. Oh, yeah. And you have a boyfriend.

It was at the New Year's party at Sollux's house. Pretty nice place. Everyone was drunk except you and Tavros. You were high as usual, and Tav is simply too good a kid to do "illegal things." Hell, even Karkat let loose – he took his shirt off on the dining room table and flung it at Terezi. Granted, he was wearing a long-sleeved undershirt, but hey. Props to him for trying. Terezi came out of the I'm-Not-Blind closet, probably due to your little note on her Christmas present implying she could see just fine, and people were surprised, but too drunk to really give two shits. She also bitched you out, called you immature and reckless and a bad influence on Karkat, and told you that she wanted to hatefuck the shit out of you. You just laughed and told her to come by any time; you'd be up for it.

But then it hit midnight and the strange tradition of kissing someone at that oh-so-crucial moment sunk in and couples kissed, and the singles just flocked around each other, snogging whoever they could get a hold of. Karkat turned deep red when Terezi tried to kiss him, but pushed her away in time for her to only get his cheek. He would only let you kiss his soft, unsullied lips. And it was a sweet, gentle thing, unsloppy like the other desperate, drunk kids in no committed relationships. He tasted like vodka and bitch-beer.

Tavros walked up to you slowly and unsteadily. He still got so nervous around you sometimes and you couldn't pinpoint why. You thought you'd gotten past that a while ago. The two of you had been texting a lot, every waking hour unless something was going on in which the phone wasn't the top priority. You also called each other frequently and hung out a couple of days a week. Never at each other's houses, though. Especially not yours. Only in public places. You wondered if maybe he didn't trust you enough to let you into his private life, but then you seemed pretty introverted yourself. Shady bastard. One time when the two of you had been discussing hanging out and laying down some sick beats (which was something you never thought he'd be interested in, this human disease called rapping), you suggested getting fucked up and making out. He had very little to say to that. Serious as you were, you played it off as a little joke.

He curled and uncurled his fists to comfort himself in the dark living room of the Captor house, lit only by strobe lights and glowsticks. You smiled down at him and patted his head, asking what was up. After a good minute, he cleared his throat and asked if it would be okay for him to kiss you. And of course it was. You liked him for so, so long, but let's face it. You're totally a piece of shit. And as much as you wanted to make this kid yours, your morals stood in the way, telling you to even go as far as to stop talking to him so you don't ruin the poor guy. But here he was, offering himself to you like religious freaks to a volcano. You felt your face instantly burn up and your jaw clench tightly with anxiety. You'd never been so scared to kiss someone before. How embarrassing. But you got over it, leaned down, and pressed your lips to his so softly, you may as well have not done anything. When he pressed back, eyes shut so tightly, face like a tomato, you eased up a bit and parted your lips a little more. It was so awkward and clumsy and shaky and adorable and perfect and you loved every motherfucking thing about it. Even if, deep down, you felt it was wrong. You remembered what you did to Karkat, how impure you are, how dirty you made him. And you felt all sorts of terrible because your conscience told you that you just made him filthy, too, and he couldn't even defend against such filth.

But when it was over, and he smiled at you so genuinely and lovingly, you couldn't help it. You had to have him. You bent down again, kissed his cheek, and said, "Tavbro, I'm so in lesbians with you. Would you all up and become my boyfriend? It'd mean an awful lot to a poor fucker like me."

And he made the cutest little squeak you've ever heard and nodded a little, clutching your shirt collar tightly. "Y-yes, Gamzee," he breathed out. "I've, um, liked you for a really long time. So, yes. Yes, yes, yes."

And you'd never been any fucking happier at that moment in your life. Shit only got better, too. And that party was hella fun. Even the part where Sollux and Aradia banged so loudly in the closet didn't seem to damper anyone's mood. Tavros got super embarrassed, Aradia being his best friend and all, but he still managed to giggle at it and have a good time. Still, he wouldn't let you drive him home, and you wouldn't let him see your place, either. He took a bus, you supposed, and you drove your dumb ass, and Karkat's drunk ass, back to your place at around five in the morning and girled out until you both passed out after another hour of romcom nonsense.

It's been five months of utter perfection between you and your lovely boyfriend. No one's said the L word yet, but you talk all the time and kiss when you can. But you're quite afraid to touch him anywhere under his clothes. You know he wants more – fuck, you do, too – but both of you are fairly embarrassed by your bodies and you're actually quite shy about doing anything sexual with him. You don't know why. Maybe because you really, really, really like him. Like, love him, even. You fucking love him so much. Any minute now, you'll probably spew that out to him in as many ways as you can manage.

You plan something snazzy for the day. You decide that you're done being a vagina; you're gonna get down to it. But more romantic than that. You pick him up from his cute, little house in the cutest neighborhood with the cutest people and the cutest lawn gnomes. You walk in like you own the place, practically living there these days, and say good morning to his mom. She smiles up at you, penny-colored eyes alight with a mischievous glow that makes you want to see what's going on in her pretty little head. She tells you to sit your butt down because she's almost done making breakfast. Tavros comes bounding down the hall with such childish innocence that you almost feel bad for putting your mouth on his, and feel awful for what you're going to do with him today. He wraps his arms around your neck and kisses your cheek softly, enough for his mom not to see or hear, and bids you a good morning. You smile and rub your cheek on his and tell him the same. His mom calls you two over as she places your favorite, French toast, on some plates on the round, glass table in the center of the kitchen. The house isn't terribly big, three bedroom, two bath, kitchen that merges seamlessly into the living room, but it's friendly and makes you feel like you belong. His mom does, too. She likes you, how you are with her precious baby boy, but she dislikes how thin you are. You can never say no to anything she makes for you, not that you'd ever want to. She's just too sweet. Just like Tav.

The day you met her, you were so motherfucking nervous. In the only other relationship you've ever had, the only reason you met her parents was because they were your dealers. But this was so much different. The lady doesn't drink or smoke or do drugs – straight-laced like her little boy. You tried to convince your boyfriend that she wouldn't like you and that it would be better if you never got into meeting parents, and he just smiled and patted your back softly.

"I like you," he said cutely, all bubbles and rainbows. "A-a whole lot. She, uh, she'll like you, too. I promise."

And, ah, God. You can't say no to such a perfect bundle of adorable. So you pulled up to his house after school, some time in March, with him reassuring you the entire way, and felt something cull your anxiety when you took in its features. White picket fence, yellow and orange and pink roses on both sides of a clean, three-step porch made of wood and stained a bright white. The grass was cut short and was greener than politicians. The outside was a rose color with a dark brown roof and the doors and windows were decorated with small fixtures and animal attire. This was a home. It was so beautiful. You almost cried when you saw the humorous welcome mat reminding you to wipe your paws, and blushed terribly when Tavros laughed at you actually doing as it said and wiping your feet off. You didn't have much bud to get you through it, shown clearly by your desire to run and hide, but it was Tavros and his home and his poor, widowed mother. And he's different. He's good. So they all must be, too, right?

You wrapped your arms around his waist as he unlocked the front door, placing your head atop his fluffy, black mohawk, enjoying the breeze and the pretty noise it made with the wind chimes hanging from the hooks on the sides of the door.

"Thanks, Tavbro."

He just nodded absently and patted your arms, opening the door and tilting his head toward the diabetes-causing sugary sweetness that was his decorated entry room. The Shoe Room, he called it. Oh man, was it cute. Polished wood floor, leading to a gray-carpeted hallway full of pictures of baby Tav and works of art and wooden signs with inspiring phrases hanging on the cream-colored walls – it made you smile so big and stupidly, anyone would assume you were either handicapped or having a stroke. Tavros groaned dramatically as you hopped on in and aw'd obnoxiously at his pictures, looking back at him and pointing at the one of him maybe two years old, riding on a giant rubber ducky in a metal bath basin like it was his mighty fucking steed into Mordor.

"Alright," he said, his face crimson as he pulled you away from the epicness that was his baby self and down the hallway to the kitchen where a woman, about forty and shorter than him with light brown hair and tanned skin, was staring at a book propped up on a marble counter top with a finger on her chin and a hand on her hip, her copper eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Moooother," he sang out, letting go of you and bouncing to her with his arms out.

She turned around and smiled big, opening her arms to catch her son in a hug. "Aw, baby!" she cooed, squeezing him and placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. "How was school?"

He giggled and pulled back, holding her hands loosely. "It was great! We made, uh, little 3D stars in art. I put them in that jar I made last week – the stained glass one – so you can put it in the window here and it'll make pretty colors pop out. C-cool, huh?"

She put a hand on his cheek and smiled affectionately. "Very cool, honey. Oh! Is this . . . ?"

His face turned red and he walked her over to you, smiling softly. "Um, this is Gamzee, Mom."

She narrowed her eyes again, intense and critical, looking you up and down to get a first taste of who you could turn out to be. She was the fucking master. You weren't jack shit. However, it did make you feel like you were about to release a torpedo from your bum and cry in shame, you unworthy sack of ass-vomit.

"Uh," you mumbled, feeling your face, as well as your hands, go cold and numb, her gaze boring into you like worms to an apple. "H-hi, miss. I don't know what Tavbro has said-"

"Jeez, you're huge!" she breathed out at last, looking up at you with a huge grin and the mischief in her eyes that you've come to adore. "Maybe it'd break the curse of shortness in this family if you get my son pregnant."

"M-MOM!" her son blurted, turning to you quickly and shaking his head. "I n-never said I wanted to get pregnant by you, I swear!"

You stared wide-eyed at them for a while and then tilted your head back to look at the ceiling, letting out the breath you'd been holding. You chuckled softly and said, "Oh, thank God. I thought you were gonna mantis me and cut my head off. You have no idea how glad I am that you're not normal."

Now the nervousness and unfamiliarity is but a sweet memory, and you love being here. Tink, his mother, is as sweet as can be. No doubt she's been told of what your life is like, and she goes out of her way to make you feel like you're not alone and sometimes you wonder if you're stepping into incest territory because she's like a mother to you, too. You love her like one. Or how you think one should love a mother, never having one of your own to remember. Certainly isn't romantic. She always makes you breakfast when you pick up her son in the mornings, and you two chat it up until Tavros gets done getting ready and then the three of you are like a picture-perfect family. She seems to have taken in Aradia as well, having nothing but nice things to say about her. You don't know the girl with eyes almost as red as Karkat's, but you feel like she's a nice gal, just based on how Tink and Tav speak of her. Apparently, she's a bit nerdy, too. Her and Tavros play a whole mess of video games and even LARP together. It's adorable. Her LARPing outfits are hand-made and well-made and gorgeous. You know that, even if you have absolutely no interest in fashion. Or LARPing. But it's cute on them.

Tink always gets mad when you help her clean or cook. You do it anyway, though, because you love her and want to show that you appreciate all she's done for you. She looked like she was about to cry when you mowed and trimmed the foliage for her. You don't even do it to make a good impression or kiss her ass; you genuinely want to help her.

"So," she begins today, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in her hand. You look up at her and raise your eyebrow, twirling your chunk of French toast in a puddle of syrup. "Why do you always wear long sleeves and pants, no matter the weather?"

You see your boyfriend look at you curiously from the corner of your eyes and you sigh and put your fork down gently. "I'm always cold," you say quietly, staring down at your mostly-empty plate. And that's not a total lie. You are.

"Hm, I dunno. You did yardwork in a sweater. What's up with that, Stringbean?"

"Mom."

Tavros's stern voice makes you jump a bit. You've never heard him sound so dominant or serious before. You stare at him with wide eyes and shove the last of your breakfast into your mouth like a gluttonous cow.

"Don't be a pester pigeon."

"I'm not," she defends, taking a sip of her coffee to hide her grin. "I'm simply being a concerned cauliflower."

"More like a bugging Beethoven."

"And I'm an awkward apple," you cut in, getting up and washing your dishes despite Tink's protests.

Your boyfriend laughs a little and does the same, saying, "Well, uh, we'd better go now. Love you, Mom."

She gives him a tight hug and you smile a little and go to leave, but she stops you in your tracks by holding onto your bony wrist and flips her long hair out of her soft, slender face. "Where do you think you're going?"

You gasp a little as she pulls you into a warm embrace. She's soft and delicate against you and smells wonderful in every way. You slowly wrap your arms around her shoulders and close your eyes. "I-"

"Don't wanna hear it. You're family, Gamzee. You sweet boy."

You hold onto her tighter and sniff back tears. "Thank you."

She holds onto you just as tight and nods. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too . . . Mom."

Moms are nice. You lost your first chance with one before you even knew how to shit on a toilet. It's a good start to the day. They're warm and kind and gentle and good at giving you love and care. Or maybe it was just Tav's mommy who was so wonderful. But the rest of the day is nice, too. You spend your Art class thinking about what you're planning when school's over, giving your peanut butter man sneaky looks and wiggly eyebrows, much to his curiosity and fear. When he asks what you're doing, you simply mutter, "You."

School is over before you know it, and you run out into the parking lot and give your best motherfucking friend the best motherfucking hug ever. He lets out a big oof when you crush him to you and stares at you like, "What the fuck, dude?"

What happened with him doesn't really matter anymore. It did happen and you can't take it back, but you still love him to pieces and wouldn't trade him for the world. You feel horrible sometimes because when he sees you with Tavros on some days, he looks like someone just punched him in the throat and he quickly looks away and rushes on. He doesn't tell you anything about it, though, and you still hang out when Tav can't. But that hurts you, too. You don't want him to feel like a rebound or consolation prize. You don't press him for information on the subject out of respect, but you let him know all the time that he can tell you anything and everything. You do love him. So much.

"Makin' motherfuckin' miracles today, bro," you say into his ever-fluffy hair. He pushes you off of him and shakes his head with a disgusted look.

You laugh and pat his head, and he smiles and pats your hand, but still looks a little unhappy. "Good luck, then, shitface," he mumbles, putting your hand to your chest and walking back to his car with a sad wave.

"Where are we going?"

You turn around to see your little lovebull clutching his satchel to his chest anxiously with the cutest smile ever spread across his face. Smiling back, you tousle his little fluff of hair and say, "Somewhere all sorts of special, Tavbro."

He doesn't question you even as you pull into the park that's about a mile from your house. It's bright and green and sunny, and just cool enough that you can wear your jacket comfortably. You pop open your trunk and pull out a blanket and a basket full of food that Tink helped you make (bless her heart). Taking his hand, the two of you walk a little way out and you decide that the weeping willow near the back corner of the park is a good spot to set up this little picnic. Lookit you, all romantical and shit. Savvy.

"W-wow, Gamzee," the little guy says as you sit down and place the food all around. "This is really, um, sweet of you."

"Like motherfucking sugar," you reply with a smirk, patting next to you on the blanket. "Now won't you all up and dine with me?"

The food is, thankfully, pretty damn good. But you lack the stomach capacity to eat very much, even with his mom fattening you up a bit. He says he's full soon, anyway. So you pack up the leftovers to save for when you get the munchies. Inevitably soon, after Tavros has left. He lifts up his sleeves to help pack the stuff up, and you always forget how toned he is. He isn't bulky or ripped, but he's moderately defined. Shocking, you guess, due to his sweet nature and shy personality. People assume too much or too little of the two of you, you swear. You could be labeled as anorexic to some. You're a little toned here and there, but mostly just bony. You'd be even skinnier if it wasn't for Tink. She's not pleased with your progress, but it's a start.

Tavros comes up behind you and gives you a hug as you pack the blanket and basket back into the trunk of your car. You smile and rub his hand affectionately.

"I wanna take you somewhere else," you murmur, turning around and bending down to place your forehead against his. "It's quiet and lonely and a little scary. But I think it's because it hasn't met you yet."

He giggles a little and holds your hands. "And . . . Where might that be?"

"My house."

He's never even been down the road to your house. You've been reluctant to show him anything about it. It's big and nice, but cold and dark and feels like prison. Being the passive type, he hasn't questioned why you haven't shown him your house. You don't call it home. His house is your home. This is just a building structure in which you sleep.

"Woooooow," Tav says airily. "Th-this is where you live?"

You step out of the car and open his door for him, holding out your hand. "Living is a relative term," you say back, closing the door behind him and locking it with a honk. "But I guess so. S'where I crash. Mostly on the third floor, though. The second's more like a motherfucking barrier. Need all sorts of barriers, I suppose. But I clean every-fucking-thing and make sure din-din's there if Dad's home. S'okay. Anyway, go on up the stairs to the third floor. My room's at the top of them."

He nods nervously and goes on without you as you lock up and put the food in the fridge. You're suddenly very self-conscious about your body and you wonder if you really should try to "make a move" or not. Dilemma, dilemma, dilemma. You cleaned everything spotlessly and your room doesn't smell like weed, but then there's you. You look like shit, bro.

Before you know it, you're locking your bedroom door and humming along to your stereo as Tavros looks around, asking you what some things are and their stories behind them. You laugh a little when he comes by your corner of kush and asks what your bongs are. You have three different ones, but you prefer your glass pipe. It's a little classier, you think.

"Why's it all black?" he asks, turning the pipe over in his slender fingers.

"Years of burnin', bro. Have you ever seen one before?"

He shakes his head and puts it back down, coming over to you while wiping his hands on his pants. "Doesn't seem very sanitary . . ."

"Better than needles."

He blinks at you as he sits down by your side. You sigh and lay down with a thud and close your eyes. Maybe you shouldn't even bother. You don't want him wasting his first time on a piece of shit like you.

He presses his lips to yours softly and whispers, "So, what about dessert?"

Fuck. Maybe you should.

You reach up and take his face in your hands, pulling him closer to you. He gets the hint and gets on top of you, pressing himself as close to you as possible. He gasps when you grab his ass and force his pelvis against yours. Ah, but you're getting too carried away. You tone it down a bit and pull back to look him in the eye.

"Tavbaby," you say, caressing his face in your hand. "Are you sure? I'm a no-good motherfucker and virginity's a gift that you can't take back. I don't want you all up and hatin' me for-"

"Shut up," he says smoothly, pressing a finger to your lips. "I know. I had sex ed. Gamzee, I . . . I l-love you."

And here you thought you'd be the first one to drop the L-bomb. You smile and quietly reply, "I love you, too. But that don't mean we have to bangarang to prove it. I mean, yes. I would love nothing more than to have you under me, all sweaty and blushin', crying out my name as I fuck you deeper and deeper, biting up on your neck and shoulders so all those motherfuckers out there know that I fucking climbed Mount Tavros and made it my little bitch and popped its cherry and had it fucking writhing underneath me with pleasure."

His face is so red that you're expecting steam to come out of his ears. He's gripping your shirt tightly and staring at you with plate-wide eyes. You swear there's something pressing against your hip bone.

"Uh," you continue sheepishly. "But, heh, we don't gotta do none of that. Just so . . . Ya know . . ."

"That," he starts in a small whimper. "That just made me w-want it more. Climb this m-mountain."

You stare at him for a while and then start laughing like an idiot. "God, we're too fucking retarded to do this."

He laughs, too, and nods. "Yeah, really. What's wrong with us?"

You push him down gently and kiss him softly and sweetly. "Tav . . . I'll take that challenge. And place my motherfucking flag on your peak."

"Oh, God. Stop. Please."

But then you remember what you look like and sit up quickly, looking up at the purple and green ceiling. With a sigh, you close your eyes and ask, "Hey, bro? What do you think of scars?"

You can feel him looking up at you quizzically, but you feel too embarrassed to look back down. "You, uh, mean your hand?"

With a sad smile, you shake your head and mutter, "Don't freak out, please."

You unzip your jacket and toss it to the floor. You grab the bottom of your shirt and finally look down at him apologetically, pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it onto your jacket. His eyes are wide. Really fucking wide. You stand up and turn around so he can see your back, too.

"It's – I'm – really fucking ugly."

He chuckles softly and you turn to look at him. "You're not ugly. You survived. And that's the most beautiful thing I can think of."

With a sad smile, you walk on over to him and go back to your place above him. Your face is hot, probably red, as he cups it in his hands. "I really do love you, Tav."

He smiles and hm's. "I really do love you as well, Gamzee." He kisses you so gently, it makes you melt inside.

You've had sex before. A lot. Most of it, though, you were high as fuck. Sometimes, when you were indulging in the needlework, you actually did it toget drugs. In all that promiscuity and iniquity, however, you never did it with someone you liked so much. The ex was good to you and all, and you really liked her and cared about her, but you didn't love her. No. Not like Tavros.

He's naked and panting as your fingers slide up and down him skillfully. You're going to make sure this is the absolute best thing ever. And the times after, too. You smile at the thought of giving him this again and again. His face is so pretty: red, sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead. You want him to keep that face. You lower your mouth from his to his neck, down to his chest, then his stomach, his hips, and finally, with a little chuckle, you run your tongue up his shaft slowly – agonizingly slow.

Which gives you an idea.

"Just a second," you mumble, reaching over him to your dresser. Aaaand there they are. You unscrew the top ball from your barbell and pull it out, replacing it with a barbell with a much bigger bead – a rainbow coosh-looking motherfucker – and screw a metal bead on the bottom of the bar.

He stares up at you with wide, innocent eyes and you smile and kiss him before going back down. You tighten the accessory and laugh a little when he jumps at its buzzing. Soon, though, his anxiety melts away in a series of moans as you take him in, swirling your tongue all around with your vibrating bead. Why didn't you think of this earlier?

"Ah, G-Gamzee," he gasps out, grabbing at your hair tightly. "F-fuck. M-maybe you should s-stop, I-"

"Mm-mmh," you cut him off. Yeah, you'll show 'im. You take him in deeper until every inch of him is in your mouth. That gets him to shut up. At least, with protests.

The only time you've ever heard more expletives is when Karkat got bitten by an ostrich your first and last time at the zoo together. You didn't even know this kid had it in him to spew such vulgar language.

"Shit, G-Gamzee," he whines, backing his hips up hard. "Y-you shouldn't- I'm gonna-"

He tries so hard to pull back but you don't let him and he moans and gasps as you swallow all he has to offer you. You chuckle a little and lick your lips – he must eat a lot of fruit.

You crawl back up to him with a small smile. He's covering his face with his hands and mumbling apologies over and over and over, saying something along the lines of "should've held it in."

"Now don't get all up and sobstory on a motherfucker," you purr, pulling his hands off his slick face. "That was kinda my goal, ya know. I ain't done just yet, either."

He stares up at you with his amber eyes boring into your own strangely-violet ones. His are as wide as a McDonald's regular, his face all cute and flushed. You feel a little shitty and ask if he's still willing to sell his soul to the devil, otherwise known as you. He nods nervously and looks away. "J-just be gentle, please."

"I wouldn't make a damn thing painful to you if I can help it, Tavbaby."

Reaching over him again, you pull out a small bottle of personal lubricant. It's fairly full, having not had sex since moving here and not really getting handy with yourself, either. He knows what it is and shakes a little with anxiety, excitement, and fear. You talk him through it, calming him down a little because knowing about things make some fear die down. The unknown is a scary bitch.

You place your left hand by his head on the bed while your other hand slowly, slowly slips its middle finger into him. He lets out a low hiss and clings to your arm and shoulder. You murmur words of comfort into his ear, kissing as much of him as you can as you add another finger. He squeezes his eyes closed and cringes, groaning between his clenched teeth. You ask him if he's okay and he nods and holds onto you tighter.

"Good God, fucking – augh!" he growls against your chest when you add a third and final digit. You tell him you're sorry and that you have to because he's a virgin and you're not exactly itty-bitty down there. You swear your shoulder is bleeding due to his Iron Maiden grip on it.

You run your free hand gently on his face, stroking his cheek as you do your best to calm him down. You don't think you've ever popped a cherry on a sober person before. They were too high to feel it, really. Your first time hurt so fucking bad. Then again, you didn't want it and your eleven-year-old body wasn't exactly able to accommodate a full-grown man. Especially dry and forceful. Hell, even doing everything right would've hurt. You were a fucking child. That almost makes you stop, but he refuses to let you and swears it isn't so bad. Little trooper.

Deciding that that's good enough, you reach over him one last time and get the bottle and a condom. He stares at you and lets out an "Oh shit" when you slide off your boxers. You weren't kidding about being no tater tot. Your ego swells a little at his reaction and you chuckle your thanks as you put a little lube on yourself and roll on the condom. You lube that up nicely, too, and position yourself above him and ask one last time if he's sure he wants to go through with this.

Rolling his eyes, he grabs both sides of your face and gives you a deep kiss, pulling your hips down with his legs. "C'mon," he whispers airily. "Claim this ass."

Well, that was unexpected. And enough for you to throw the thought of backing out straight to hell. You grin and nod a bit, taking a hand and guiding it where it needs to go. You push it in a little and he goes tense against you, wrapping his arms and legs around you tightly.

"I know, I know," you hum, kissing his forehead lightly. "Ya gottta relax, bro. It'll get better. Promise."

He nods and huffs out the breath he was holding. You give him mad props for doing his best to ease up around you. You push in more and more until, after what seems like forever, all of you is inside of him. You kiss his face all over and let him know how amazing he is and he relaxes more and tells you he's ready to keep going.

After a little while, the pain on his face and in his voice is replaced by an expression and noises of pleasure. You know what you're doing – damn well – and you pull out all the stops to make him feel fan-fucking-tastic. You pump him along with your thrusts and it doesn't take long for the both of you to see stars and find pure ecstasy in each other.

You pull out of him and rest for a bit before deciding you're all gross-feeling and ask if he'd like to have a not-really-sexy-but-more-cleany shower with you.

Man, you really are dumb.

Last day of school. The two weeks flew by so fast. You've been so motherfucking happy and the days flow into each other so smoothly, it's all just perfect. You and Tavros have done it a few more times, each time better than the last. But you'll always think of that first time as the most special moment in your life. You're actually considering asking him to marry you. His mom supports it. She thinks you're perfect for him. And that makes you all sorts of motherfucking happy.

Karkat shows up in your driveway as you fold the brochure for engagement rings and stuff it in your pocket. You practically float down to him because life is just great. You've never been so good. You're finally where you want to be in life. Although you haven't heard from your father in a while. You can't decide if that's good or bad. You know he comes home sometimes, but he doesn't attempt to see you. Oh, well. He's old news. You don't even need dope or pills to feel high. You do them anyway, but still.

You're feeling all kinds of playful and giddy. Tavros is riding with Aradia this morning to have what you feel like calling "girl time." He needs to get his chill on, too. You like the girl, anyway. She's playful with her morbidity. She's pretty cool. And her and Sollux's relationship makes you happy inside. Their depressing words are said so creatively and in such goofy ways that it's not even harsh anymore. They were simply made for each other. But everyone needs a break every once in a while.

Mr. Grumpy here is in need of some company, you think, so you climb into his car and fill his bubble with some clown-ass shenanigans. You bat at his air fresheners hanging from his mirror, then his ear buds around his neck, then his face –

"Jesus titfucking Christ!" he yells, smacking your hand away. "I'm trying to drive, cock mongler. You want me to crash? Huh?"

You giggle a little and make your fingers Can-Can from his shoulder to the top of his head. You even provide music. "Sorry, bro," you purr. "I'm just really excited. First time I ever got some motherfuckers to call friends that are actually friends. First fucking love. First last day of school with everything goin' all sorts of right."

"Yeah, well, play with yourself then. I'm not dying because you're happy. Selfish taint-sniffing cum stain."

"Oh, you hurt me! Cut me deep, best fucking friend!"

He smirks a little and shakes his head. You know he loves you. You don't have to hear him say it. But you want him to know you adore him and are thankful for his camaraderie. So you tell him all the time that you love him. He probably doesn't believe it. But he doesn't reject it anymore and tell you how shitty he is. He just smiles and lets it slide. He only smiles about it when he thinks you're not looking. But you always see. And it melts your insides. He's such a lovely person, to his freckled cheeks and nose bridge to his small, soft feet that he allowed you to put nail polish on. You made it match yours: bright yellow with little smiley faces. You're sure no one has even seen his feet before, aside from himself. He shows you and tells you things that he keeps from everyone else. And that is a motherfucking miracle to you. You can't imagine your life without it. He's your rock. And he better fucking know that.

"I love you, Kitkat."

"I know, Gamzee . . ."

He stands by his car to chat it out with Kanaya, who looks a mess and could definitely use some consoling. Karkat's good at helping others. He loves his friends. They know he cares, even if he's an ornery asspie. Tavros sent you a text saying he was next to your lockers so you go to see him in a good-ass mood. Nothing can bring you down today – except that. Vriska making out with your boyfriend on your locker with a hand going down his pants sure does sour your day. They both look at you. She grins. He freezes completely. You smile and turn right the fuck back around and speedwalk out of there.

"G-Gamzee! Wait!"

And she laughs. She fucking laughs her evil witch cackle. What a bitch.

But you don't wait. You can't. You can't even breathe. Your beautiful world gets replaced by one full of hideous thoughts and rotting feelings. Everyone is ugly. Everyone is a piece of shit. Except Karkat. Your Karkat. You rush out of the school, hitting the door so hard that it cracks on the brick wall of the building. You don't care. Fuck this place. All you need is your best friend. You flat-out run to the parking lot where Karkat's talking to Nepeta. You wrap your arms around him and beg quietly for him to unlock his car so you can get away. You don't want to see Tavros. And you'll fucking kill Vriska if that little bitch comes near you. Nothing is yours. You can't be happy.

"W-what? Gamzee? Gamzee!"

"Is he okay?" Nepeta asks, putting a hand on your back that is so, so hunched over from leaning down into Karkat's beautiful, warm arms, your head glued to his shoulder as you attempt to hold back tears. "Gamzee? What's wrong? Purr-ease tell us right meow."

"Why do you have to be so motherfucking cute all the time?" you yell, heaving against the only person that gives a shit about you. "Makes me feel all sorts of shitty when I can't tell you stuff!"

She seems a bit miffed and settles for hugging you before leaving you with Karkat.

"Take me home," you mumble against his collarbone. "Please. Please, Karkat."

You don't want to cause a scene. But you can't keep your imminent sobbing under control for very long because what you saw in there was way more traumatic than waking up in a muddy ditch with blood coming out of more than a few orifices. Emotional trauma is such sweet bullshit. You feel bad again because you're afraid you're ruining another of his shirts with tears and snot and spit, but he doesn't mind. People start to gather. He bares his teeth and growls at them, flipping them the bird and guiding you into the car like you're a small, helpless infant. You love him.

He gets in and starts it without a word to you, honking at the nosy motherfuckers around you that you only know are there because he's screaming at them to get out of his way or he'll have no problem splitting them in half with his new tires. You curl up into yourself and hide your face. Pathetic pussy.

You really want to laugh at his creative, eloquent insults, but you can't. You don't feel anything. You don't even hurt anymore. Everything's numb. You don't know if the pain is worse or not. Karkat leans over and buckles you in, and you look up in time to see him stare down at you with so much compassion that you want to break down and throw up every emotion you've ever had. It hurts that you hurt him. He reaches into your pocket to hand you your phone that had been vibrating nonstop since you first clung to him this morning.

"Throw it away," you whisper monotonously.

He sighs and just turns it off. He's a fabulous multitasker. Not once have his eyes left the road. "At least tell me how you fell from Cloud Nine to Satan's asscrack."

"Please just take me home." It came out so pitifully. You're pathetic. Get over it. You saw it coming. He realized you're trash. Finally. Took him long enough.

"I'm not trash . . ."

Yes you are.

"No. I'm not."

Yes! You are!

"No, I'm not! Fuck you! I did all I could to make him happy and he fucks that cunt? Are you motherfucking kidding me?!"

You could've stopped popping.

"I . . . I could have . . ."

And quit smoking.

"Could I . . . ?"

Mmhm. If you really wanted to.

"I . . . But it's not that bad."

It might be to him.

"Then that's fucked up! He KNEW what I do before dating me!"

People change. Except you. You're static. The constant, remember?

"Karkat said that . . ."

He still likes you. He cares about you. Even though you broke his heart.

"I did?"

You're fucking dense. It kills him when he sees you and Tavros. But he wants you to be happy, so he keeps his mouth shut. He values your happiness over his. You fucking asshole.

"I . . . He . . . D-does he love me?"

Ask him. Quit talking to yourself, freak.

You look over at Karkat, his red eyes narrowed with suspicion, one eyebrow raised. You're in your driveway. Dunno when you got here, and you don't really give a hoot.

"Gamzee?" he asks, leaning forward a little, pressing a hand to your forehead. "You finally snap?"

Your blank stare turns into a smile and you shake your head and laugh a little. "No. I think maybe I finally realized just what's going on in my life. Maybe . . . We should fuck."

He knits his brows and snorts. "Oh, ha-ha. You're hilarious. Lemme go change my pants now 'cause you just made me jizz in them."

Your gaze doesn't falter. Your amethyst eyes bore into his beautiful rubies with such intensity that you swear you can feel him control his breathing. You're serious. So Goddamn serious. And when he realizes this, done checking your vibe, his face turns the same color of his eyes.

"Um, okay? Where'd this come from?"

"It's been there for a while. It took some heart ache to figure it out. You're in love with me, hm?"

"Fuck no, shitstick."

"The lady doth motherfucking protest too much."

"Oh, suck a dick and get outta my car."

"I'll suck yours."

He groans out of aggravation and turns, thumping his head against the steering wheel. "You've already taken my first kiss, now you want my V-card, too?"

Oh. Wow. Another unexpected occurrence. "Wait, what? Whoa. Really?"

"Not something I'm exactly proud of." He turns to face you again and exhales roughly. "It's not a matter of morals. It's just that no one wants me. Fat, short, grumpy, stupid asshole – oh, boy! I wanna marry that! No. That shit doesn't happen in reality. At least, not to me. That's why I like romcoms so much. Because I'll never get something like that, but God do I try to convince myself that it can happen."

He's short and a grumpy asshole, but he's certainly not stupid and not fat at all. So, maybe he used to be or kids told him he was to be assholes and now he has ugly duckling syndrome? Kids are fucking vicious.

"You're not fat," you reply quietly, placing a hand on his knee and rubbing it comfortingly. "Or ugly or stupid or bad in any way. You're beautiful and fucking brilliant and the best person I know. No bullshit."

His lip quivers a little and you press yours to them to stop the shaking. "I . . . I bet you tell all the bitches that, huh?"

You smirk and roll your eyes, shaking your head. No, you really don't. You've only told Tavros anything like that. And that turned out bad. You're in serious mental turmoil. You don't wanna fuck this up. But you think hard on it and truly believe he's in love with you. The looks he gives you when you're with Tav makes sense. The fact that you're the only one he really confides in and that you're the only one he has let into his personal bubble make sense. He's seen you naked. You've seen him shirtless. And he wears long-sleeves and pants all the time like you. You know all he is. And you love it. You love him. Karkat is not a rebound. He's perfect. And makes sense. And is just all kinds of wonderful. He's yours. And you go for it.

"No, Karkles," you reply softly, sweetly. "I really don't. And you're no bitch. I love you. And you love me, right?"

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

What's with you and virgins lately? Maybe that's your new job. Defiler of the Pure! Rapist of Innocence! . . . Nah. But it certainly is a new experience. He's seen you naked quite a bit, but this time is different. It's the first time he blushes and looks away, embarrassed and shy and depleted completely of his normal fire. Maybe because it's no longer platonic. Or because there's the pressure of following up with something more.

He doesn't want you to see him naked. It takes so long just to get his shirt off. You kiss him all over and coax him into letting you see every inch of his naked body. You're almost a hundred by the time you're allowed to ease his underwear off. Fucking childhood traumas.

"I don't know how to do this," he says weakly, shakily, as he kneels over you in a perfect caricature of "Oh, God, I'm fucking terrified; please get me out of here."

"Shh." You push him over onto his back and pop open the lube bottle once yet again. "I'll do all the work."

His breath hitches and he whines a little when you slide the oily substance on his length. "B-but, ah, don't-"

You bend down and kiss him, tossing the bottle onto the pile of freshly-shed clothes by the side of the bed. You adjust yourself just over him and ask, "Ready, Karkles?"

"A-aren't there steps or something?"

You put a finger to your chin and pretend like you're in deep thought. "Mm, nah."

He lets out a loud gasp as you lower yourself onto him. Been a while since you were on this end of the sex spectrum. It stings a little, but it's mostly pressure. And stretching. So maybe you should've done some prepwork. Oh, well.

You bend down over him and whisper, "I'm gonna ride you so hard that you won't be able to go to a rodeo without cumming in your pants."

"Oh, God." He goes to laugh, but you shut him up quickly by lifting and rotating your hips slowly. "Fuck!" He settles for making out with you instead of trying to talk.

You're quite the pro at this point. And it's unsettling how pleased you are to be showing virgins what you got and to be the first to touch them in such a way. Ever the consensual rapist. When all is said and done, you make him stick around and have nice chats about all that's been going on. You tell him about Tav and he seems skeptical that you're over, but doesn't dwell on it much. He tells you about all of his past crushes (Terezi was his longest and most productive crush, but . . .), and you tell him you really didn't have any others, but what the two of you are remains a mystery. You love him, but . . . Fuck. You don't wanna hurt him. Don't hurt him.

Around nine, he tells you he has to go and you hug him tightly and thank him for a wonderful time, much to his embarrassment.

"Seriously, bro," you mutter against his ear, kissing it lightly. "You're the best."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles back and pushes up against you until you back up some. "Good night, loser."

You head back up to your room and decide you should probably turn your phone back on. It vibrates senselessly for minutes until it ceases at forty-two missed calls and thirty-eight texts. All from Tavros. But there's only one voicemail. You ponder on everything that happened tonight and debate erasing it. You had five perfect months. You're not exactly ready to throw that away. Maybe you could be friends. After making sure you're not going to vomit, you take a deep breath and listen. Your heart stops immediately and you go cold and numb all over.

"Gamzee!" he cries, sniffing and sobbing hysterically. He sounds exhausted. "I-I didn't do it! I t-told her I was waiting for you a-and she said that she was going to surprise you with something and we heard f-footsteps and then she jumped on me! Please, Gamzee! I didn't w-want it! I love you! I love you so much! Please!" He sobs more and apologizes almost incoherently until the machine cuts him off.

Beep.

You let the phone fall from your hand and don't care when it hits the floor with a small pop. You don't care if it's broken. You don't care if it's not. You don't care about that bullshit. You fucked up. You assumed your loving boyfriend would do something like that. You assumed he would hurt you and willingly fuck someone else. You're an asshole. And you just cheated on him. And took your best friend's virginity, ruining his chances to give it to someone worthy. He'll hate you forever for this. And so will Tavros. And fuck. You're a horrible person.

That's it. You're done. You're tired of hurting everyone. You smoke all the dope you have left, even that shitty fucking resin bullshit. You take all the pills you can. You even take the regular pain pills and even some fucking allergy pills. You don't care. You want to die. You need to die. But . . . You don't. You don't want to die. Oh, God. You could've fixed this! You could've talked to them and sorted everything out!

"I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die," you say quietly to yourself. You're so scared. Will it hurt? How bad? Will you just go out? Where the fuck are you? You're not in your house. It's too dark to see. The grass is soft on your face. You call Karkat. You call him over and over and over. You call him senselessly. You call him until you can't move anymore. He finally answers and you try to smile at his voice. It's not angry enough. He's scared. But you're not so scared anymore. All you need is his voice. You can die this way.

"Gamzee? Gamzee! What the fuck's wrong?!"

Your Karkat. You love him so. He cares about you. So much. Poor Tavros. It's so hard to speak. You've lost the ability to move your arms and legs. Speak, motherfucker.

"H-help . . ."

It's so cold. And dark. Getting darker. Can't move. Fuck.

"GAMZEE!"

Save me.

AN: Ta-da! Done. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed it. I like my chapters long justlikemymenwaitwhat. I never meant for this to be a fanfiction; it was just writing things about my life whilst stoned to let off some steam and it turned into a Homestuck thing. Funny how often that happens. Anyway, I've been considering a sequel. Would you guys like that?

Welp, thank you for reading. You're all beautiful. I love you. By the way Spaßmacher means clown, or joker or jester, haha. Fitting, I think. And all the chapter titles are Sixx:AM songs in German. The little phrases at the end of the chapters are just . . . Well, Google translate, my sweets.

You guys rock! Thanks for the inspiration to keep it going. :3