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Karkat is grabbing at the collar of your shirt, screaming in your face. And that's when you lean in put your forehead, then mouths right next to each other. There's no kiss. He's still shouting, but it's interrupted by squeaks and what you can guess his his voice breaking.
And then he shuts his mouth and leans forward, eyes open, glaring straight into yours, challenging you.
And then there is a kiss.
You try and keep your eyes open, but you find that the instinct is to immediately close them when Karkat's tongue invades your mouth. You go along with this instinct and wrap your arms around him, one pulling at his hair and one at his back, pulsing your bodies together in one movement.
Then he punches you in the stomach once and as you double over, he's gone, feet tappering out of the room in an almost panicked beat.
Coward.
---
The next day, you are in the kitchen, figuring to get some delicious, adult coffee. Coffee is good, if you drink enough of it you can stay up for forty hours straight. You pour some cream into it, when the door swings open. You don't bother turning around. It's Karkat. He has a certain way of slamming his shoes down, a swish of pants, a heaviness of breath.
Suddenly, silence.
Then gritted teeth are dragged up your neck, a tongue rasping your ear, hot breath against your skin. You involuntarily let a sound slip out. “Nnghnn....!” Somewhere in between a whine and a groan is where your dignity is lost, and you both know it. A pair of knowing lips grins against your skin, and he's gone again.
You've burned your fingers on the hot cup.
They're numb.
The game is on, and you know the rules.
---
A month later you finally manage to pin him (only after a glorious fight) in the long-since deserted, broken computer control room. His teeth are gritted and you're both panting. You're sure there are switches digging into his back, and definitely a keyboard. You push him down harder into it, and he grunts, a strangled sound. One point for you.
“You're so fucking weak.” The words slip easily from your mouth, weighted like honey. “You can't even defend yourself.”
He snaps his teeth, a childish gesture. “I let you catch me, asshole. Do you honestly think you could one-up me? I've been dodging shitheads like you all of my life.”
You snort. “I'm pretty sure we both know who's in control, here.” You dig him into the board again, and he winces. Then grins. One knee digs into your crotch. You hiss.
“I don't think you do, Strider.”
His leg wraps around yours and before you know what's happening, your knee buckles and he's on top of you, triumphant. A hard kiss is pressed to your mouth, your collarbone, and he's whisked away again.
You limp away for more reasons than one. Strider, 1; Vantas, 3.
---
Your next points are childishly driven. From Terezi you have plotted his weak, ticklish points. His feet, which you were not getting near, his underarms, which you were also avoiding, and then there was his neck.
You figured that ticklish could also be codeword for incredibly sensitive, and by the wink the Terezi gave you, you were probably correct.
Not an hour later, he was pinned under you and making the most delicious sounds as your teeth and tongue rasped over his jugular and pulsepoints.
Another point to be added.
Okay, maybe two, because you're pretty sure he nearly screamed when you bit the delicate juncture between his shoulder and collarbone.
The score is even, and the next will be a tiebreaker, because you're getting tired of dancing about.
---
You walk by his room while he is changing after a nap, and you whip your sunglasses off to get a better look at the graceful curvature of his spine, spines sticking out as he slips a shirt on. He has slight curves about his waist, and two small moles just below his stick-out ribs. There are two indentations that hover above his pants, and you can't resist staring at his ass before clearing your throat. “Sure you don't want to keep that off, sweetcheeks?”
He growls without turning around. “Wouldn't you just love that, Strider?”
You smirk. “Yeah, I would. Though I understand such a show is not readily given, I'm under the impression you wouldn't mind pleasing me.”
The shirt is stripped, and he turns around. His eyes are lowered as he searches your eyes, for what you don't know.
“Why don't you please me, Dave?”
“I believe such actions are mutual, Karkat.”
He steps forward, feet lightly treading upon the cold concrete floors of his room. You kiss with your eyes open, daring the other to back down. You separate. Running your fingers down his spine, both of you shiver.
Then all bets are off, and so are the clothes.