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Zanka Nijiku sleeps with his window open. If anyone were to somehow find out and were, for some reason, curious enough to ask why, he'd tell them it's because he likes the sound of the ground at night. He'd tell them it's because the room feels claustrophobic, the air stagnant. He'd tell them it's because Cleaners HQ is old and the aircon has been unreliable for ages, and, really, someone should get on fixing that. The summers are unbearable and Zanka is getting sick of having to shack up with someone else when the air in his room gives a death rattle and then doesn't work for the rest of the summer.
These are all plausible reasons. These are all believable explanations. These all make sense.
But no one will ask about the window because why would they? When would they see it open? And, if they did see it open, it's not exactly uncommon for someone to open a window.
Zanka is just paranoid, overly aware, and overly cautious, because if anyone knew why he keeps his window open at night, he'd never live it down, and this isn't an “oh, I'm so embarrassed” sort of situation, no, no, this is a “Zanka Nijiku, are you fucking insane?” sort of situation.
In the wee hours of the night, when Zanka is winding down, sometimes, he chooses to open his window. Every night, he locks his bedroom door, but he double and triple checks it during open window nights. Then, he showers, the same as he always does, dries off in the bathroom, and then slips into bed, completely bare.
He's never asleep for long. He's surprised if he even has a chance to fall asleep. That means his uninvited guest is running late.
Tonight, he wakes up slow, his thoughts syrupy as his mind wakes up. It's hot, between his legs, and wet, and good. There are hands on his thighs, warm and big and rough, callouses caressing his skin, the chill of silver rings slowly warming up against his skin. Nails bite into his thighs when he tenses up, and then trace the half moons when he relaxes. There's something wet and warm and soft pushing between his folds, up his slit, over his dick. He whines, slowly catching up, and hands blindly moving down. When his hands land on a head, on thick dreads, he wakes up all at once.
His intruder has arrived.
Zanka grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks him up none too kindly. His cunt is sticky and wet with a mixture of saliva and cum and his clit throbs, wanting, needing more. When his guest opens his eyes, the purple almost glowing in the night, and moans, he's really starting to regret stopping him.
But he needs to learn what he can and cannot do. He needs to learn to ask for permission.
“Zankaaaa,” his guest whines, voice breathy, needy, brows furrowing. He's rutting against the bed, mattress squeaking quietly, and Zanka knows that's providing next to no stimulation for him, but he keeps at it anyway. He's pathetic, desperate to fuck, and Zanka holds relief right in his hands. He tugs his hair again and he whines, loud, and Zanka's hand slips down, letting go of his hair. Two fingers slide into his mouth. He sucks without even being told.
“Don't bite,” he warns, and, almost immediately, he bites. “Jabber Wonger. Can't you ever listen?”
Jabber releases his fingers with a pop and a grin. His chin and lips are all wet, such a messy eater, he is, and he tilts his head down a little. “Can't help it. You're tasty. I wanna see if every part of you tastes as good—”
He's cut off with a yelp and a moan when Zanka slaps him across his face. His head whips to the side and his cheek starts to bloom red moments later. He looks at Zanka again and lets out a shuddering breath, grinding his hips against the mattress.
“It’s rude to do that while I'm talking,” he starts, biting his lip after a moment. “Made me bite my cheek. My mouth’s all bloody.”
“You like it,” Zanka says, and Jabber nods without protest. Zanka flicks his head to the side, getting hair out of his eyes, gesturing to the bed. “Get up here. Stop humpin’ my sheets like a dog, ya freak.”
Jabber giggles, then, and crawls up on the bed. Zanka stops him before he can lay down.
“Strip.”
“Mm, feeling bossy tonight?” He questions, earning himself another slap.
“If you keep actin’ up, you ain't touchin’ me tonight,” Zanka starts, and then pauses at the ache between his legs. “... Uh. Any more than you already have.”
Jabber giggles, again, and then strips, just like Zanka told him to. It's all sticky and wet between his thighs; all Zanka has to do is smack him around a little to get him soaked. He swings a leg over his hips, straddling him, and he looks down at him. Jabber's hair is splayed out on his pillows, his eyes bright, his hands clutching at nothing where he lays them up on either side of his head. Zanka leans over him, lacing his fingers with Jabber's, pressing his hands down on the pillow.
It's these little scraps of intimacy that Jabber eats right up. Zanka won't lie to himself and say he doesn't do the same.
“Are ya gonna be quiet?” He asks, already knowing the answer. Jabber bites his lip on a grin and shakes his head.
“I'll try!” He promises, and Zanka raises an eyebrow. “Like, actually try this time. You haven't let me back in your bed in a month. I'm dying here, baby, I'm gonna wither away and it's all your fault.” His hips buck up, like he's trying to thrust into Zanka, and Zanka presses more of his weight down on him. He'd crush him under his weight if he could. Hell, Jabber would probably thank him. “I'd even beg for you to shove your love staff in me right now.”
Zanka gives him a flat look. “You know I kept ya out for a month ‘cause last time I let you in, you screamed so fuckin' loud when I put that vibe I bought on you that you woke Enjin up. Ya know how embarrassin' it is to open up the door with nothin’ but a sheet wrapped ‘round me? Ya know that he keeps bringing up my ‘jerkin’ off debacle’? Yer lucky I haven't skinned yer ass alive for that!”
“Oh, don't threaten me with a good time,” Jabber says, and Zanka has half a mind to punch him in the throat, like some kind of barbarian, but the look in his eyes makes him pause. Then, Jabber continues. “Weird that he keeps bringing it up, though. I shoulda left a hickey on your neck or something. That woulda shut him up.”
Zanka decides not to tell Jabber that no, that absolutely wouldn't have shut Enjin up, it actually would've made everything worse. He decides not to tell him this because this rare show of affection, be it possessiveness, be it jealousy, feels nice. Scarily nice. And Zanka doesn't want to draw much attention to it. He rolls his hips down against Jabber and Jabber gasps, the sound getting stuck in his throat. He squeezes Zanka's hands and Zanka leans down over him.
“You react ta everythin’. I could just breathe on ya and you'd start whining and archin’ into it. You're so needy.” Zanka rolls his hips down again and Jabber shifts under him, legs opening, trying to align them. Zanka allows it, shifting his weight to press their cunts together, and Jabber shudders. He is not quiet when Zanka starts to grind against him. “All it takes to get ya to behave is a few mean touches? Hm? Is that it?”
“I could get Mankira out now, you know,” Jabber says, bucking his hips up against Zanka's, totally throwing off the rhythm. “Could get you with my right claws, dope you up out of your mind, do whatever I want to you.”
“Ya could,” Zanka agrees, and he moves away, Jabber whining. He spreads Jabber's legs open and he slaps his cunt, hard, and Jabber keens, head pressing back into the pillows, eyes rolling back. Drool collects at the corner of his mouth. “But ya won't. How could I hit ya how ya love if I'm high as a kite?”
Jabber doesn't respond. Well, actually, he probably tries to respond, but Zanka doesn't give him the chance. He leans over his body, one hand pressing down over his nose and his mouth, and he spanks his cunt again. He does this a few more times until Jabber cannot lay still anymore, squirming, trying to bite at Zanka's palm. He takes a deep, desperate breath when Zanka moves his hand away and grinds needily against Zanka's knee when he presses it between his legs.
“Didja bring it?” Zanka asks, and Jabber's eyes get wide and excited. He moves up, leans over the side of the bed, and grabs something from a bag he brought. He produces a harness and a dildo, some ridiculously big thing, and it's fucking purple. “Why the fuck did you get one that big?”
“Oh, c'mon, don't act like you don't love it, you size queen.” Jabber gets up and steps into the harness, putting it on and tightening it. Then, he puts the dildo into said harness, and it's big and long and fucking ridiculous, yet it looks mouthwatering between Jabber's legs like that, thick and heavy. Jabber thinks he's gonna die of no sex? What about Zanka? He's been waiting for a month too! Sometimes, he hates this arrangement, hates his pride, hates his desire to train up this raider until he even slightly resembles obedience. “You love the pain, even if you won't admit it. We're both sadomasochists, babe!”
Zanka responds to this by shoving Jabber back down on the bed and climbing onto his lap again. Jabber's hands go right to his hips and Zanka allows it. This is why Jabber will never fully behave: Zanka lets him get away with far too much.
“Now, I'll ask again,” Zanka starts, rolling his hips against the dildo. It provides no stimulation to Jabber, but he always acts like it does. He tilts his hips up, towards Zanka, like he can't wait to get inside him, can't wait to feel his pussy. It makes Zanka flush. “Are you gonna be quiet?”
“I can't make any promises when you're about to be bouncing on my cock,” Jabber says, so bluntly that it makes Zanka go crimson. “You look so damn pretty when you're feeling good, it makes no sense.”
“S-shut up, God, ya make me want to smother you. I should just cover yer face with a pillow until ya stop kickin’.”
“Can you suffocate me with your pussy instead?” Jabber blinks up at him, making his best puppy eyes, but the effect is ruined by his grin. “What a way to go, huh?”
Jabber is awful. Arguably, Zanka is worse. To be fair, though, it's all Jabber's influence.
“The last thing ya ever tasted would be me. The last smell, last feeling, last everything. It would all be me.” Jabber's eyes get all wide and start to glow a little, and his smile falters. Zanka leans down more, licking up the length of Jabber's throat, feeling him swallow under his tongue. When he gets to his pulse point, he nips his skin. “Should fuck ya up now, make sure that as long as ya live, I'm all you think about. Should get ya all dopey and drugged up on me.”
Then, Zanka bites, and it's not a light bite, no, it's harsh. He sinks his teeth in and in until Jabber's skin gives way, until blood spills onto his tongue, until Jabber's fisting his sheets and thrashing a little, gasping in pain.
“Fuck, that hurts,” Jabber whines, arching up, but not trying to escape, no. He tilts his head back more, giving Zanka even more space. “That—that hurts so much, it's so good, ah, Zanka—”
Zanka releases his skin to lift up, face looming over Jabber's. Jabber looks up at him, reverence on his face, and he parts his lips easily when Zanka reaches up, thumbing at his bottom lip. Then, Zanka opens his mouth, and spits into Jabber's, blood and saliva mixing, blood staining both of their teeth.
“Swallow,” is all Zanka says, and, maybe Jabber can be good sometimes. He closes his mouth and swallows, still staring up at Zanka as if waiting for his next instructions. “How's that taste?”
“So—mm, so good, please,” Jabber whimpers, gaze flicking from Zanka's face, down to his chest, down to between his legs. His hands get greedy, grabbing his hips, thighs, ass, tugging Zanka closer. “Please, please, I wanna taste you.”
“So desperate.” Zanka shuffles up, until he hovers over Jabber's face, and Jabber tries to tug him down. “Fine. I'll give ya what ya need.”
Zanka lowers his full weight on Jabber's face. For anyone else, that might be too much, but for Jabber? Jabber just groans, long and loud right into Zanka's pussy, licking into him gratefully and letting his nose bump just right against Zanka's clit. His nails rake across Zanka's thighs and Zanka hurts him in turn, leaning back a little and pressing a nail into the bite on his neck, still sluggishly bleeding. Jabber kicks his feet and cries out, fully muffled by Zanka, but he doesn't try to escape.
He'd never try to run from the perfect pain Zanka inflicts on him. They're both far too addicted to this.
Zanka grabs Jabber's hair, rocking his hips back and forth on his face, riding his tongue for all it's worth. He can see Jabber's face getting red, he knows he's getting all light headed, and he considers going at it until he passes out. He'd love that, after all. But he won't be that cruel this time around; he'll do that when he's less needy himself, when he has time to toy around with Jabber, when he doesn't crave being held down and fucked.
So, he lifts up, lets Jabber get in a few mouthfuls of air, and then returns to fucking his face. He grabs his hair with two hands and rocks his hips hard and fast against his mouth, and Jabber takes it all, moaning and whining into him, licking his hole, drinking his cum.
“Gettin’ off on this, ya fuckin' freak?” Zanka asks, and Jabber groans and nods the best he can. His hips are humping the air, and Zanka sees a hand slip down to touch himself. He'll allow him as much. “Yer so disgusting. You'd probably get off on me tellin’ ya how gross you are.”
Zanka lifts up and moves back down and Jabber gasps. His lips are all swollen and slick, pupils blown out, dazed expression on his face. “Zanka, Zanka…”
“Yeah, baby?” Zanka asks, using one of Jabber's favorite pet names, one he rarely uses himself. Jabber's hands move back to Zanka's hips, one hand soaking wet, and it makes him burn hot.
“Ride me, ride me, needa see my cock in you, wanna fill you up, want you so bad, fuck, need you—” Jabber's already been reduced to mindless babbling. How cute. Zanka grabs lube off his nightstand and pours some into his hand. He moves to kneel beside Jabber for a moment as he lubes up the strap on. “God, you're gonna look so pretty, you're gonna feel so full, gonna be able to see my cock from the outside, I love how small you are.”
Jabber is lucky that Zanka is so needy tonight otherwise he'd kick him out of his bed. That doesn't mean Jabber won't still get punished. Zanka slaps his face, hard, and Jabber whines, eyes rolling back. Drool drips down his cheek. Zanka lifts up, straddling his hips, holding the dildo in one hand, and slowly lowering down. Jabber focuses, again, watching himself sink into Zanka's tight cunt.
Fuck, the toy is huge. Unfortunately, Jabber knows him all too well, and he knew Zanka would like something this big, but it doesn't make it any easier to take in the beginning, at least. He's barely halfway down when it starts to feel like too much. So fucking big.
Jabber decides to help. He grabs Zanka's hips and yanks him down, making their hips flush and causing Zanka to cry out, unable to stop himself, feeling so fucking full. It fucking hurts, but Jabber was right on the mark again. Zanka is a sadomasochist.
That doesn't mean Jabber won't still get punished. Really, does he never learn?
Zanka wraps both of his hands around Jabber's throat, tightening until Jabber's eyes are rolling back, his face getting red. He uses his grip on his throat as leverage to lift up a few inches before sinking back down, doing that over and over until Jabber starts drooling more, hands coming up to weakly pry at Zanka's fingers.
“How's that feel? Huh? This is supposed ta be a punishment, but yer just fuckin' lovin’ it, aren't ya?”
Jabber nods, hands shaking. His words are wheezed out. “L-love the way you hurt me, ah, my—my ears are r-ringing, my vision's going black, I'm—oh, fuck, I—”
Zanka releases his throat but doesn't let go entirely, still using it as leverage to bounce on his cock. “Could crush yer windpipe and you'd thank me, wouldn't ya?”
Jabber's hands continue to hold onto Zanka's, his eyes unfocused. Zanka loves when he looks like this, drunk off of Zanka's touch, his words, the pain he gives him. The pain that Zanka alone can give him. They aren't dating, they aren't in love, and they aren't exclusive, but it really feels like they are sometimes.
Zanka orbits Jabber and Jabber orbits Zanka. A little bubble no one else is allowed in. A possessiveness that overtakes them both.
Zanka leans down, squeezes Jabber's throat again, and kisses Jabber. Compared to everything they're doing, it's a tame kiss, sweet, innocent. It's also their first kiss. Zanka is worried he'll regret this.
Jabber, on the other hand, lifts his hands, fisting them in Zanka's hair, and kissing him like he's the oxygen he needs, like he's a drug he's been without, like he's all he needs and more. Then, he's arching up, breaking the kiss, throwing his head back, and finally being good and covering his mouth with both his hands as he cries, hips twitching beneath Zanka. Zanka stills, rolls his hips, and watches Jabber shake and twitch and whine.
“Did you just…” he trails off, breathless, heart pounding. He continues to rock his hips as Jabber seems to come down from his high, panting, looking at Zanka like he's a God.
Then, everything flips.
Zanka's on his back now, knees pushed up near his chest, Jabber kneeling between his legs, chest still rapidly rising and falling. When he speaks, his voice is rough. Zanka takes note that his hands are still shaking, even as he holds Zanka's knees up.
“Got me comin’ inside your pussy, didn't even put a condom on me, what if I knock you up, huh?” Jabber fucks into Zanka, then pulls back, until just the tip is inside. He thrusts back in, hard, and Zanka has to cover his mouth now, feeling that delicious stretch, the burn, the feeling of fullness he's been craving. “Can't help it, though, babe, you're just so fuckin’ gorgeous. Like an angel, look at you. You're taking me so well, doesn't it hurt? You like that, though, don't you? Like being able to feel me for days, even when you act all prim and proper around everyone else, even when you act like I wasn't all up in your guts just last night.”
Zanka kind of hates when Jabber flips his switch like this. He never shuts up and just says the nastiest things, just so… so gross, and it embarrasses the hell out of him, but… fuck, Zanka loves it. He's reduced to wordlessness now, the switch in dominance leaving him dizzy, and he's moaning, making these little “uh-huh” sounds as he's fucked senseless by his nut job of a totally-not-boyfriend-enemy-with-benefits.
“Zankaaa, my Zanka, so pretty. I can see the bulge of my cock in you, probably fuckin’ all the way up into your womb, so sexy. I should mark you all up inside, bruise you up, make sure everyone knows you're mine. No one feels as good as you. No one hurts me as good.” Jabber lays a hand down on Zanka's lower stomach. He pushes down, and Zanka whines, everything feeling even tighter. He looks down, whimpering, and Jabber grabs his jaw. “Mine. Mine. All mine.”
Then, Jabber kisses him, and Zanka gets why it pushed Jabber off the edge earlier. The way Jabber kisses is all consuming, damn near violent, his tongue pushing into Zanka's mouth, licking his teeth, his tongue, the roof of his mouth. He sucks on Zanka's tongue, nibbles on his lips, surely making his mouth all red and swollen. Then, Jabber bites down on Zanka's lower lip, bites hard enough to make it bleed, and Zanka lets out this pained, wrecked sound and comes.
He clenches around the cock in his pussy, hands clutching the sheets before they wrap around Jabber, nails dragging along his back. Jabber whines, fucking Zanka through his orgasm. Cum gets everywhere, all over his thighs, on his sheets, it's a mess. He's shaking, trembling like a leaf, pleasure still coursing through him when Jabber pulls out, flopping down to lay beside Zanka, probably assuming they were done.
Well, almost done. Zanka has one thing left that he wants to do.
When he's back to himself enough that he can move, he shifts to get up on his knees. Jabber looks up at him curiously, strap on still standing proud between his legs, a faint sheen of sweat covering his body. Zanka is hit with the want to lick him up and down and he blushes, burying that thought, though… with what he plans to do, that thought could be considered tame.
“You know yer mine too, right?” He asks, and Jabber just looks at him before he slowly nods, a grin spreading on his face. He opens his mouth to talk and Zanka puts a hand over his mouth. “You've ran yer mouth enough for tonight. Shut up and take what I give you.”
Surprisingly enough, Jabber listens, and he mimes zipping his lips. Zanka pulls the harness off of Jabber, carelessly depositing it on the floor. Then, he pushes three fingers into Jabber at once, and Jabber whines, jolting, legs spreading open. He's soaking wet, but, still, three at once has to be a lot.
“I got a way to make sure everyone knows who you belong to. Ya wanna hear?”
Jabber nods enthusiastically, rocking his hips down on Zanka's fingers, gasping. Zanka reaches over to the nightstand, opens the drawer, and produces a knife. Jabber stares at the knife with wide eyes and whines, cunt clenching around Zanka's fingers. Zanka brings the knife up to his mouth, kissing the blade, and then presses it to Jabber's mouth. Jabber kisses it too.
“I'm gonna brand ya. Carve my name into ya, make you scar, make sure that any other bitches you go n’ try n’ fuck know who the fuck you belong to.” He presses the tip of the knife to the soft skin right above Jabber's cunt. “I'm gonna let ‘em know not to touch my fuckin’ things.”
“Please, please,” Jabber's whining, looking fucked up, dropping low. The dynamic has flipped again, so fast it should give them whiplash, but it works for them. Besides, Jabber always acts so sweet when he drops into subspace and Zanka loves taking care of him. If taking care of him includes carving him up with a knife, well… that's just what works for them too.
So, with three fingers held still and deep inside of Jabber, Zanka carves his name in carefully, the lines neat and shallow, blood beading up slowly. This should scar nicely, but, if it doesn't, he'll just do this again. Jabber won't mind, hell, he'll encourage it.
As Zanka is finishing up the “u” in his last name, Jabber makes this broken little noise and clenches hard around Zanka's fingers, clutching the sheets. He trembles, thighs flexing and closing around Zanka's hand, head turning this way and that. He comes, just from the feeling of being full, just from the feeling of Zanka carving his name into him. Zanka looks down at him, meets his half lidded eyes, and lifts the knife, licking off the blood. Jabber makes a wounded sound, reaching up needily. Carefully, Zanka pulls his fingers out of him, and Jabber grabs that hand, bringing it down to his mouth to lick up his mess, pressing kisses to Zanka's fingertips, pressing his cheek into his hand and looking up at him with this content little smile.
“If yer good, really good, I'll let ya return the favor,” Zanka promises, and then immediately nearly takes it back once Jabber's eyes light up. “... I’ll even let ya do it wherever ya want so long as it can be covered by clothes.”
“Does this mean I can't fight you ‘til then?” Jabber asks, pouting, and Zanka kisses that little pout.
“I'd kill ya if ya tried to avoid fightin’ me.”
Jabber grins, ear to ear, and tugs Zanka down. Zanka goes, happily, and wraps his so-not-boyfriend-really-just-a-casual-fuck-buddy up in his arms. They fall asleep just like that, the window still open, a cool breeze filling the room.
The next morning, Jabber sneaks out through the window with a kiss goodbye and a promise to be good. The kiss goodbye turns into kisses, and Jabber presses him up against the wall and gets him off by rubbing his clit and kissing and sucking on his neck.
Enjin asks him what porno mag he found to have him moaning like that all night, snickering under his breath the whole time. Rudo asks what a porno mag is, and Enjin cackles and tells him he'll tell him when he gets older. Riyo gives Zanka a once over, starts laughing too, and then pokes his neck.
“Wooow, I didn't even know you could play with yourself enough to get a hickey that massive on your neck!” She says, giggling, and Zanka turns bright red and slaps a hand over his neck.
Zanka thinks that maybe, this time, he'll keep his window locked for good.
But he won't. He knows he won't. He craves Jabber more than anything, craves his energy, his body, his mischievous grins, the way he touches Zanka, and knows his body inside out. He craves the way he looks at him, like Zanka is some God or an angel, awed and reverent.
But still. That window is getting locked, for, like, at least two months.
(Zanka unlocks it two weeks in. His invited guest comes in, the same as ever, whines at him a little, and Zanka kisses him quiet and, stupidly, presses the handle of a knife into his hand.)
((He chooses to carve his name right over Zanka's heart because of course he does.))
(((And, of course, Enjin keeps asking who his secret lover is, and Zanka refuses to tell him. He just carries around the name of his definitely-not-lover-and-just-something-casual secretly, never locking his window again.)))