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Summary
"Karkat, do you want to live?"
Already he's opening his mouth, and you can see the torrent of verbal fuckery he's about to unleash on you—so you preemptively lay a finger against his lips. You try not to notice that it's slightly moist, most likely because he keeps licking them when he's nervous, or that you can feel the teeth marks made when he chews on the bottom one. He's made up of so many little things.
"I can keep you alive," you say quietly.
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The story of one mutantblood and his hivemate, caught dead-center in the third—and possibly final—rebellion.