Gamzee smiles, sweet and slow, and shakes his head. "Not one motherfuckin' thing," he declares, then ducks his head briefly before glancing up from under his shaggy fringe. "You did a wicked fine job with the wriggler, there."

His eyes flick back to the snake, and he slings an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders, noting how neatly, how perfectly the other boy fits there, his heart speeding up a little at the proximity. "Do we need to be feeding him or something?"

Gamzee is not really thinking about the snake. Rather, his mouth is running on automatic, and his brain is almost wholly occupied with how Tavros's smells, and how deliciously warm he is.