It's approaching dawn when the two of you pack up your Fiduspawn cards. He puts his away in meticulous order, in a super fancy motherfucking box and everything. You just kind of shuffle yours back together in some semblance of a stack and dump it all in the bin you have out for them in your lounging block. Your Tavbro yawns, covering his mouth with one hand like a proper polite motherfucker. You grin at him, lopsided and friendly. He sheepishly returns it and you card a mental image of his adorable miracle of a face away for some rainy motherfucking days.
"C'mon bro," you say, wandering over in the general direction of the stairs to the upper levels of your hive, "Let's all up and get our motherfucking snooze on."
He follows you, rolling over with two strong flicks of his arms. His four wheels are nearly faster than your two legs. Motherfucking miracles.
"Uh, how, how am I supposed to get up the, uh, the stairs?"
"I got it all motherfucking planned out, don't you worry," you say to the stairs. You turn and face him. "Imma motherfucking carry you, bro."
He doesn't have time to react before you've got one arm looped under his scrawny bone legs and the other at his shoulder, hand on his back. He automatically wraps his arms around your neck, letting out a nervous squawk and a series of worried chirps. "Don' worry bro, I got ya."
He clings tight to you, his forehead against your cheek, one of those huge motherfucking horns of his impressive rack jutting out back over your shoulder. You cart him all the way up the stairs without issue. He a lot thicker than you, to be sure, what with all that muscle he's built up in his arms from all that miraculous rolling around, but you've got a chunk of height over him. You can't say exactly how much, since you've never seen him on his feet, but you imagine it's a lot.
You pass by your spare repsite block, striding into your ablution block without missing a beat. The troll in your arms sputters. You drop his legs, keeping your other arm tight against his back, forcing your chests flush against each other. His feet dangle limp above the ground by a fair bit. You squish a hand between the two of you to undo his pants.
He stutters against your jaw, his face turned in more. One of his horns is almost close enough for you to lick, you note with some amusement.
Tav eventually gets his speech on, basically saying, "What are you doing?" once you remove all the repeated words he likes to do.
"Gotta get you all up and motherfucking clean, bro," you reply, matter of factly. His pants drop to the floor. You set to work on his undershorts next. You can feel the heat radiating off his face.
He stutters out "I" a good half a dozen times before completing his thought, saying, "I can take care of myself, Gamz."
"I know you can," you tell him, papping him on the waist, "I just wanna help a motherfucker out is all."
"You, you don't have to." You shrug and manage to shove his shorts down his thighs. Your Tavbro whines, "Please Gamzee, th-this is, uh, puh-p-pretty embarrassing."
You wiggle a little, his legs shaking back and forth, and his shorts slide the rest of the way down to join his pants on the floor. "You don' gonna worry 'bout a motherfucking thing," you promise as you deposit him into the basin of your ablution trap with a wide grin, "I ain't gonna motherfucking eat'cha." You pull off his socks as well, dropping them with the rest of his clothes.
Tav pulls the hem of his shirt as low as he can to cover his bulge, shrinking down into himself as he stares at his lap. You lean over him, bunping your forehead against his, and flash him a reassuring smile.
"You ain't got a motherfucking thing to worry 'bout, bro. I ain't got no room to judge the miracles them mirthful motherfucking messiahs drop on us." You make a show of squeezing one atrophied thigh. "And the way you get around all on your motherfucking lonesome when you've got half what the rest of us gots surely is a motherfucking miracle if I ever did see one."
He doesn't say anything, but he shrugs out of his over shirt, and allows you to tug apart the t-shirt he wears. It has snaps all up along one side which is pretty motherfucking nifty. You gotta get your hands on something like that for yourself. The neck holes of your shirts are all sorts of motherfucking stretched out from you pulling them on feet first.
You tell your Tavbro this and he laughs. The sound of it is a little awkward but he visibly relaxes. You help him arrange his legs in there all nice and turn on the water. You're half tempted to crawl into the ablution trap with him, but there doesn't really look like there'd be much room for a motherfucker to move if you did. Instead, you content yourself with chilling by him outside of it, staring absently at the wall while the water level rises.
"Uh, Gamz?" Tav says, drawing you out from your own head. You hum in reply, tilting your head slightly in his direction. "The water is, uh, guh-getting kinda, uh, high."
You blink and take a look, and would ya know it, the motherfucker is right. You flick the tap off and grab some of the flesh cleaning goo you have floating around the floor. You pour a large glop of it into one palm, fishing out one of Tavbro's legs with the other. You start as his knee, smoothing the cleaning goo over his wet flesh. The skin he has here is way motherfucking thin and you can see every line his nutty blood leaves as it pump through. You hum to yourself as you work your hands over every bit of leg he has, down his shin bone to his toes, up his scrawny thigh and back down, working the pads of your fingers into what muscle he has left. For not ever using his legs, this motherfucker has a lot of knobby bits all up in there. You replace the leg you're working on, dunking it back underwater, to repeat the process all over on his other leg.
All the while, Tav watches you in awkward silence. He's all up and got his blush on, cheeks a good copper as he lets you go about your business. You don't think he's quite got what you're doing, really, but that's okay. You're sure you're not hurting him and he'll eventually get what you're showing.
You finish with the second leg and ask, "Wanna get that motherfucking sick 'hawk of yours all done too, bro?"
"Uh, s-sure?" he replies, uncertain. You poke your head around your load gaper, looking for the liquid vessel you stashed there not too long ago. You find it, check it for nastiness, and hand it over. He takes it, his hand shaking a little, with them eyebrows of his crawling close together like some awesome motherfucking flutterbug wrigglers going in for a kiss. The thought of that makes you honk laugh a little as you settle back against the wall. You stare in a general upwards direction while you let your Tavbro get his motherfucking clean on.
When you turn back to him sometime--you're not sure how long, them cracks up on your ceiling are all sorts of motherfucking memorizing--his 'hawk is all slicked down over his forehead, plastered tight to his flesh, and them big hoofbeast eyes he has are staring at you. He gives you a bit of a lopsided grin.
"Heh, uh, welcome back."
You hold up a limp wristed fist to him. He bunps his knuckles gently against yours.
"You all sorts of clean now?" you ask. He nods and you drag yourself up on your knees to pull him out. He doesn't squawk this time, expecting the arms you wrap around his waist. You end up soaked, but you don't pay that any motherfucking mind.
You sit him on the closed lid of the load gaper. He bunches his fists between his thighs, covering up his bits, and you can't help to think that he's such a motherfucking cutie as you towel his hair dry. Parts of his hawk stick up in the back, but the front stays mostly down. It's a good look for your sweet motherfucker. You lean over him, bent almost in half, and place your hands on his cheeks. He looks up at you, his entire face all sorts of motherfucking innocent and shit. You plop a slobbery kiss on his forehead. It makes him wrinkle his cartilage nub at you.
"Gross dude," he says. The two of you smile at each other as you straighten back up. You drop the towel into his lap and meander over towards the door.
"Kay, Imma go get your motherfucking miracle chair now, my Tavbro."
===> BE THE TAVBRO
wHAT WAS THAT, uH, aLL ABOUT?