Gamzee can't even form words anymore, aside from "Dave" and "fuck" and they are like dashes of flavor amid all the sounds. He sounds more desperate and needy with each passing second, hovering right on the edge as he moves with Dave. It's urgent, wild, and somehow perfectly in sync, like the best mixed song in history of ever.

Somewhere, he's aware that this could be dragged out, soft and slow and the sweetest torture, but that would be too motherfucking red. It's better like this, small desperate movements, and hungry sounds, and hands gripping at each other like they're the last things in the universe and they'll break apart and drift alone forever if they let go.

He can feel the pleasure like the tide, drawing out deeper and deeper, beaching the fish and the seadwellers, leaving behind only a sense of something is coming. Soon. And fuck, the wave will be the biggest motherfucking wave he's ever experienced.