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    Summary

    “Ah, c’mon, Zan-Zan don’t be holdin’ back on me now. Y’know I like it when you’re rough with me….” Jabber teased, the plastered grin refusing to fade as he locked eyes with the one he wanted to put him in his place, where he belonged. Zanka wrinkled his nose, unable to comprehend how someone could be grinning in a situation this tense.

    “Yeah? You like that, you masochistic fuck,” Zanka spat, his face twisting, disgust clear in every prominent line. “How revolting. I oughta chop your dick clean off just for saying that… then again,” his eyes narrowed, a smirk bubbling to the corner of his lips, “you’d probably get off on it, wouldn’t you?”

    “Heh… y’know me too well,” Jabber purred.

    Or,

    Jabber’s twisted luck led him directly to his perfect match. A sadist with a raging hard-on for beating him bloody in battle. By the time it was over, Jabber was black and blue, barely upright, dopamine still drumming hot and heavy through his veins. The ache only made him smile.

    Language:
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