[It's maybe not the same reaction exactly, but as Karkat's fingers cross his palm, Dave feels pink warmth creep back into his face, feels goosebumps rise along his arms. Shit, holy shit. Why does it do that? It's not like it's his face or his back, his hands touch things all the time, they're his hands, so why does it...why is it different, when Karkat does this to him?

(Because no one ever treated him delicately. Because he's been as starved for kindness as for affection, for trust. Because it's Karkat shelving the spines and fury he wears as armor to talk to him softly, to brush fingers across his skin like the act is sacred.

'If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this...'

...Wait. What?)

Dave blinks a few times, then, as surreptitiously as possible, presses his cheek further into the quilt to see if it'll help get his face under control. Enough with the pure maiden blushing already, Jesus.]

You know, I. Think I remember him. AdiosToreador, right?

[His hand travels down to Karkat's shoulder, but goes back up again. There are too many layers in the way. Dave knows his hand is warm, and warm is good, right? He cradles Karkat's face another moment, then returns to stroking his cheek slowly.]

He tried to troll me, way back at the beginning. But I backsassed him so hard he actually blocked me. Never heard from him again.

[He tries a small, honest, self-deprecating smile.]

I may have insinuated some things about his alien sexuality and made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Guess I'm kind of a huge bitch, too.