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A finger silences his half-lucid protests; a hand shoves against his mark, sending him to the floor. Smirking lips press to his; Gamzee flails and tries to fight back, but the hands clasp around his wrists, forcing them above his head.
The Capricorn struggles, his vision swimming from vertigo and chemicals. He tries to stand but his legs have wandered off; he tries to fight back but his arms don't bend the right way.
A frustrated cry leaves him as his pants are shoved down; a whimper of fear elicited by tongue on neck, fingers scrabbling on shoulders and ribs and skinny hips. Colors float in his sight and wink at him as a mouth nips the edge of somebody's shoulder. When the pain registers Gamzee realizes it was his.
Soothing, unkind words his in unreceptive ears as cloth is stripped, stolen; cool palm covers eyes, blinds him, world disappears with his sight and reappears with a touch where no touch should be.
Something under his hands as he frantically pushes away; resistance and snarls and fingers slapped away like a bad grub getting into the sweets. Something that feels good but just shouldn't be happening and then the colors are back, making spots under his still-covered lids as wetness engulfs a part of him he never wanted to share.
Movement and warmth and wetness and a strange ache; hands clench in hair only to be pinched and pushed away; friction and movement and finally a release that leaves him crying in more ways than one and in no way satisfies him. Clear indigo drips off of a palm that's being pulled away from his face; sounds of cloth being pulled up but he can't even tell if it's on him anymore.
One final, muffled remark in his ears like it was said underwater.
Then there was silence.