Gamzee is aware of it being a little too red too, but he's still made of water. The remains of his bones feel like they're nothing more than stirred up sediment by the waves. Waves still rocking him, and his body shudders to their rhythm. All he can hear in his hearducts is a rushing like water, and all he can taste is sweet salt that he knows is blood but can't parse as anything other than the sea right now. Everything is the tides and swells of the ocean.

He's full of wondrous little aches, like fresh bruises, and the rasp of a throat dry from the yelling he did in his pleasure. Funny how he can be water and dry at the same time, but it doesn't matter. Hardly anything does. He's just floating, soft and pleasant, awash in sensation. There is in the back of his mind that he did what he promised. Filled Dave full up with his color and stained at his insides with it. His now, and isn't that a pleasant, smug thought? Yes, yes it is. He wants to up and say that. Tell Dave how it is and glory in it.

"Dave. Fuck." Well, maybe in a little while, when his voice doesn't sound wobbly like he's hearing it from underwater.