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You feel his breath on your face for just a moment as you pull away. You wipe your lips with your sleeve— you can't tell if they're wet or dry.
As you look back up at Gamzee, you abso-fucking-lutely do not let yourself stare at his lips. They, however, don't have any decency, let alone enough to hide how they keep glancing down, eyes unbelievably fucking wide, at your lips, his face as purple as a grape.
Your acid tract feels like there's at least half a million flutterbeasts bumping around in it, and the silence isn't helping.
And then, he finally speaks, breathlessly: "Oh WoW." His mouth stays limply open.
Your face is warm. Too warm. You're going to die from heatstroke. Maybe that'd be preferable. You keep swiping your sweaty palms off on your pants.
After a long moment of fighting with your throat, you respond. "'OH WOW'?" Was it good? Was it bad??? Was it so pan-numbingly bad he has nothing to say about it except shock that you thought it was even close to a good fucking idea????? Your throat closes back up before you can really ask anything.
You watch as they nod and close their mouth. You watch as his eyes drift down to your frond. Your pusher pushes. Hard. Really fucking hard.
He leans towards you, reaching his frond out towards yours...
The horns below you squeak.
They jolt, pull back and drop their frond back on their leg.
You stare at his frond. Gog, you're going to fucking vomit up your pusher.
It's silent again, and the flutterbeasts continue to work their horrible, definitely-close-to-making-you-genuinely-sick magic. You open your weirdly dry mouth, then close it again.
"i—" you can barely hear them over the drumming in your hear ducts. Your eyes shoot up to look at their face again. Still purple, still wide-eyed. His lips zip tight. Your eyebrows scrunch, but before you can try to say anything—
They suddenly shoot forward and grab your frond. The horn squeaks louder than before, and his frond's sweat quickly starts mixing with yours. You stare at it.
You are definitely going to die from heatstroke.
"ThAt WaS mOtHeRfUcKiNg AmAzInG." They stare directly at your lips. Their stump gently rubs the back of your frond. You can't fucking breathe.
You nod.
He smiles, wide and toothy, pushing himself towards you with a loud wave of horn honks.
You smile back.