"Not - oh, fuck - not like that one," he protests, but it's faint and rather futile, because his brain seems to be shorting out. The pressure of Gamzee's bulge in him, the burning stretch, the dull pain of the troll's hips against his with every thrust, the sharper sting of sharp teeth in his skin - it all burns through him, like his veins have suddenly been filled with fire, and it's good, that's the weirdest part. Nothing at all like you expect being burned alive to feel like.

It helps, a little, to think of it like that - to think of Gamzee as this force, this storm that just rages over and through him. And Dave rages back, as best he can. Years of Strife have taught his body to move on its own, without any input from his head, so he pushes back against Gamzee, reaching up to grip handfuls of that shaggy black hair, arching to sink his teeth into the troll's shoulder and cling for dear life.