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The past few days have seen an increase in Jabber's playing loud music and dancing. He turns on the stereo, and swings and glides around the room.
Today he's in one of his flowy skirts and an oversized cropped sweater. He floats about, something mindless and improvised to Mazzy Star, and Zanka really doesn't like asking him to stop, but. He's trying to write this mission report, has been trying, and Jabber's hips are too alluring. His eyes keep wandering over.
Jabber isn't trying to be distracting on purpose, he's just vibing, but Zanka is unfortunately only a man. And Jabber has been eating better since joining the Cleaners, and he's gained a little bit of weight.
His thighs and ass have filled out some, he's got a little tummy that sticks out just past the waistband of his skirt. The waist beads he wears, that used to be quite loose, now sit snug against his belly (Jabber's complained a couple times about needing to get them resized; Zanka is mentally, silently, very glad he hasn't done so yet). His chest has gotten just a tad bit bigger along with the rest of him, and now that he feels better, he holds himself better: his improved posture makes him just a little bit taller.
Jabber's twirling sends him right past Zanka's chair, and his skirt flows around him, brushes the bare skin of Zanka's arm. The breeze he creates carries the smell of vanilla and spices. That's the final straw— all this restless energy has got to go somewhere.
The report has to be handed in by five this evening; he has a total of two hours to get it done and submitted. If he can clear his head quickly enough, he should be able to lock in and get it in early, even!
Well. There's clearly nothing else to do. Zanka stands, leans against the desk, and waits for Jabber to make his way around the room again.
Jabber opens his eyes, completing a turn, and smiles wide when he realizes Zanka is waiting for him, green tooth gems sparkling on his canines. He reaches out a hand as he approaches, and of course, Zanka takes it.
Ringed fingers intertwine with his own, and he follows the movement Jabber's already in, spins around with him for a few rotations. His free hand settles on Jabber's waist, pulling him close, and Jabber lets his weight rest in Zanka's grip.
Zanka dips him, spins again, lifts him off the ground; he's become very familiar with what dancing with Jabber entails, especially like this. Jabber is a romantic: this type of dancing is like something out of a fairytale, and since neither of them knows a waltz, this will have to do.
As much as he loves it, it’s not currently enough to rid Zanka of that buzzing under his skin, though. He presses his face to Jabber's neck, breathes deep the scent of him— vanilla and bergamot, today— and then presses a kiss just below his ear. Jabber squeaks, surprised, then tilts his head so Zanka can do it again.
The hand on Jabber's waist squeezes, Jabber full-on yelps this time, and Zanka grins. Yeah, this is what they're doing now.
He squeezes again, releases his hold on Jabber's hand so he can do the other side as well, and Jabber immediately begins to giggle. “W-wait, Zankaaa—” he laughs, but Zanka just kisses his neck again. Another squeeze, another shout. Jabber's arms wrap around his neck and hold tight, even as he instinctively starts bending at the waist, trying to get away. His already-short sweater rides up, showing even more smooth brown skin.
“What? Keep on dancin', sweetheart, I ain't stoppin’ ya,” Zanka coos, pulling Jabber into another twirl. He dips him again, digs his fingers into exposed ribs. Jabber snorts, legs feeling weak, and cackles helplessly into Zanka's shoulder.
The blond drags them back upright, sways a bit, takes them around the perimeter of the room in a mimicry of Jabber's motions from earlier. One hand stays at his side, tickling the soft skin of his waist or his ribs the whole while; the other travels around, rests at the small of his back.
Zanka's fingers curl into a claw at his back, right where his spine begins to curve back out, and Jabber flinches away. He still is holding on tight to his boyfriend's neck, but he's squirming a lot more, now. Zanka scribbles his nails against the skin there, and Jabber's laughter shoots up an octave. He tosses his head back, shrieks again when Zanka uses the opportunity to nibble at his throat, and lets his knees buckle again.
Zanka holds him up, stopping their dance to focus solely on wrecking the other boy. Jabber laughs and laughs, wiggling around and leaning away, but ultimately not letting go or telling him to stop. Zanka can't help it, he has to tease. It'd be wrong not to!
“You're adorable, ya know?” he says, “lettin’ me tickle, tickle, tickle you like this. Ya havin’ fun, sweetheart?”
And usually, that word doesn't bother Jabber much, but every now and then it sends a thrill down his spine. The timbre of Zanka's voice as he says it, teasy and warm next to Jabber's ear, makes Jabber's stomach swoop. The giddy feeling increases tenfold, somehow, and it makes him weak.
Zanka's enjoying this immensely, that much is obvious. He keeps Jabber held up, despite Jabber's instinctive attempts at sinking to the floor, and tickles him mercilessly while the ex-Raider just cackles.
“Z-Zankaaa, pleeeease,” Jabber wails, pounds a fist against Zanka's shoulder.
Zanka finally stops, fingers twitching with the desire to keep going. Jabber catches his breath, relaxes in Zanka's arms. He lets Zanka drag him back to the desk.
The blond sits Jabber in his lap and picks his pen back up. With the hand not currently being used to write, he traces little miscellaneous shapes into Jabber's bare side, Jabber jumping with each pass of his fingertips.
“Ya gonna sit with me while I work on this?” Zanka asks, even though he knows the answer already, blue eyes glancing up to meet pink. The other nods, stretches and lays over Zanka's shoulders like a cat, giggles into his neck as Zanka's fingers spider over his side.
Somehow, Zanka makes enough progress on the rest of the report that he finishes it with twenty minutes to spare. He runs it down to the front desk, then heads right back up to their room. Jabber has moved to lounge on the bed, head hanging over the edge and watching as Zanka re-enters.
“Ya know, I think ya might be my good luck charm,” the blond jokes, and Jabber grins like a fool. He sits next to Jabber, puts his hands on his waist. He kisses all over Jabber's face, curls his fingers again and smiles into it as Jabber giggles against his lips. Draping himself over Jabber's prone form, he presses more ticklish kisses on his boyfriend's neck, taking advantage of gravity and the weight of Jabber's hair to keep him exposed.
Jabber can't even stop him, has to keep a hold of the mattress and Zanka's leg unless he wants to fall to the floor. So he just takes it and laughs, even as Zanka's hand pushes his croptop up, exposing his chest further and tickling under his arms.
They keep playing until Semiu calls Zanka through his choker to compliment the attention to detail in his report, the praise making Zanka beam even though Jabber gives him shit for it. His voice doesn't waver though, despite the look on his face.
When the call finally ends, Jabber kisses him again to give his mouth something else to do, as payment for being his “good luck charm.”