Fuck, Dave doesn't mind those little scratches so much - they sting in a way that makes him hiss softly against Gamzee's horns, breaths low and harsh, and they heal up a hell of a lot faster than those gouges Gamzee cut into him last time.

Which, hey, speaking of which, kind of seem like they're making a repeat appearance as claws suddenly rake against his skin, and Dave gives a clipped, strained kind of noise that's half grunt, half groan, his leg tightening instinctively around Gamzee's hips and crushing his hand between their bodies, still wrapped around Gamzee's bulge.