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Summary
"If you sucked my dick, would the tattoo look good from that angle?"
Zanka felt his breath hitch, stifling a cough and trying to ignore the heat that transferred down his spine like liquid metal. The image hit him whether he wanted it or not; him, on his knees, face level with that V-line, looking up at Jabber through his bangs while the fresh ink sat dark on his stomach—
"I-It's fine, I suppose…"
Jabber hummed. "Good."