Would it be okay if I, perhaps, were to request a belly kiss for the cameraworms prompts?
[BELLY KISS] love, care; a gesture of affection and protection
They've all completely lost it.
It's almost too easy. If they had a conscience, Green might have felt bad.
In about eight minutes and forty-four seconds, it'll all be over. That quick.
"WOOOOoooaaaaH." Purple falls against them, giggling, defenseless as a halved wormlet.
"What's your problem!" A bit of hair falls out of Purple's ponytail, right into Purple's face, their mouth. They spit it out. It sticks to their teeth.
"Bleh. Blegh. BLARRRRRGH."
"Wha– What do you mean what's my problem?" They're shivering. The oxygen deprivation is already leeching what little warmth a stone-cold hardass like Purple has.
"You look bored!" Purple laughs harder. "You look pissed. You look like you aren't having any FUN."
"I can have fun harder." Eight-minutes and forty-four seconds. It's not like any of them will remember.
"That's not good enough!" Purple shakes them by the shoulders, knee to their hip. "What do worm farmers do for fun anyway!"
"Lots of things." Green scours their memories. "When the rainy season starts, the mud pits come back, and everyone goes swimming."
"Boooooooring!" Purple sticks their tongue out. "You know what we used to do for fun?"
It's all bone, sinew, the way Purple moves, landing Green flat on their back and Purple hovering over them. If Green had a spine, it would have snapped by now.
"Wrestling!" Purple grins down at them, the salt of their brow dripping to their chin. Euphoria. "And you lose."
It'll kill them. A gram of it in a liter is enough to kill them.
"Do you wanna know what me and my cousins used to do to looooooosers?" Purple sings at them, nose to nose.
Their fingers are cold, icy under their hoodie, on the bulge of their stomach.
Their mouth is warm, though. A starburst pinprick of heat right above Green's false belly button. Purple can be warm after all.
"Tickle fight!!" They blow again, the salt of their breath tacky on Green's borrowed skin, a burn mark in the shape of Purple's kiss placed perfectly in the center, and that clever, clever brain at 20% oxygen still wrinkling at the scar, eight minutes and forty-four seconds, Green's palm closes in on Purple's head, the length of their ponytail, the curve of their throat—
"You should show everyone your best friend!" Cyan, the imbecile, Orange should have finished you off first, chimes in. "That'll really get the party started!"
But the wrinkle of their brow smoothes over, already on their feet.
"My best friend LOVES friends— come on, come on, let's go to the OXYGEN ROOM."
"Right behind you, buddy!" The Captain says then falls over.
Green puts an arm over their face. It's fine. It won't last any longer.
There's only eight minutes left.