Chapter Text
“Damn, how much shit do I have left to do?” Zanka groans, slowly uncoiling from the shrimp-like posture he’d been stuck in for half an hour, his back aching in protest.
He was just another student clawing his way through hell week. And if the state of things was anything to go by, this one had hit particularly hard—especially for someone like Zanka, a clean freak far too neat and organized for a kid who’d once been spoon-fed.
The mess around him was almost insulting. Documents bled across the surface and crumpled papers overflowed the trash bin.
Zanka lets out a heavy sigh and hauled himself out of his chair, his back screaming like he was pushing forty. With what little strength remained, he shuffled toward the bathroom, and once he made it, he paused to admire the place.
Everything there was scrubbed white and orderly, spotless, almost sterile, and yet his eyes kept drifting back to the faint crack in the mirror above the sink.
Zanka steps inside knowing the floor would feel colder than expected. Both hands now grab onto the edges of the slippery porcelain as he looks up the cracked mirror.
His rough, pale fingers traced the sharp edges of the cracks as he let out a hitched breath. Relating to a broken mirror was the last thing he ever expected, but there he is anyway.
"You look like shit." He frowns, water still dripping from his hair. His navy blue eyes stared back at him. Heavy-lidded, and completely dull. The reflection looking back is arguably miserable, worn down, like someone who hadn't slept for days. He definitely hadn't.
"Mr. Bad attitude, where are yaa..?" The voice coming from the front door made him flinch. He knew instantly who that belonged to.
"There you are!" It was his roommate, Jabber. Long, thick dreadlocks draped down his back, each one decorated with golden rings. Paired with his light brown skin. sharp, handsome features and a jolly voice, he seemed like he couldn't possibly be trouble, right?
Dead wrong. Zanka turned around, slowly, only to see that same grin that gave him the chills during their early days as roommates. If Rudo's smile was the worst thing he had ever witness as a teen, Jabber's is a nightmare.
"I got your...Er...What's this again? Black tea."
"Dark tea." Zanka corrects, wiping his face and hair with a light blue towel before stepping out of the bathroom.
Usually, Zanka would pull himself together the instant someone enters the door—straightening his posture, fixing his hair, fixing his attitude. It was easier than letting anyone glimpse the side of him that only existed behind locked doors.
When Jabber enters the room, however, it's a different story. It's not that Zanka voluntarily let him see the fragile version of himself, the guy simply just force his way into Zanka's boundaries without hesitation. At this rate, he'll be the reason Zanka's hair turns white before he reaches forty.
Zanka walked towards the lightskinned, stopping exactly at a one meter distance, and now shifting his gaze to Jabber's tattered, purple hoodie that had holes on the tip of its sleeves. He was sure Jabber he wore that four times this week. That's just gross. When Zanka finally looked down, the sight was almost gagging to the throat.
"Did you seriously wear a hello kitty shorts outside?" Zanka sneered, glaring back up to meet Jabber's eyes.
Jabber scoffs. "C'mon, I needed a breeze! Why you lookin' at it, though?"
Zanka was just baffled, really. Almost envious of Jabber's confidence wearing something that would give him a five hour lecture from the dorm manager, or give him a cold when It's literally freezing outside.
"It's stupid." He mutters. Which is true, but, that's not the only thing he noticed. The obvious bulge in between Jabber's thighs were practically waving hi at him.
Zanka shakes his head, brushing off the stupid thought before he yanks the bag away from Jabber's hand, sparing the brown-haired a glance as he pulled the drink free.
The luxurious aroma hit him immediately—warm, natural, and familiar, almost cruel in how close it hit to home. And he smiled, just a little, because this is the only thing he missed from his childhood. Every other memory is just trauma worth ten therapy sessions.
“You really like that, don’t ya?” Jabber asked, his lips slowly curling into a playful smirk.
“Yeah, so?" Zanka quickly resumes to his nonchalant expression. "Don’t even think about putting weird shit on it.”
Jabber pouted, looking at Zanka as if he’d just made the most ridiculous assumption in the world. “Wasn’t gonna…” he clarified, trailing off with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “...Poison ivy technically isn’t weird shit, right?”
“It is. It completely is.” Zanka reeled, taking a few steps back as he began inspecting the dark liquid. “God, I swear, if you put something in here!”
“Can’t promise that~"
Now that was exactly why Zanka doesn't put on a sweet, plastic persona when it's Jabber. He always will, and he means always, find the hardest path imaginable if it meant bothering Zanka—mentally, physically, and emotionally.
Asking him, out of all people, for a favor wasn't entirely a wonderful feeling either.
Before Zanka could walk past the lightskinned, Jabber places a hand on his shoulder. "Not even a thank you, Zan-zan?"
Zanka twists his face into an expression so grim he almost looks constipated. "Thanks." He replied, and Jabber could only smirk when receiving such a glare from Mr. Bad Attitude.
"Woah now, don't look at me like that I did you a huge favor!"
Jabber's right. Though the huge part was kind of an exaggeration, he did go through a hard time buying Zanka dark tea when it was almost curfew for the dormers.
And if Jabber ever gets caught sneaking out at night for the fifth time this month, Mr.Bundus might just put him in solitary confinement and chain his feet. Now who would buy Zanka his precious dark tea if that happens?
"Right." Zanka didn’t care beyond that; one thank you was all the courtesy he owed. He stormed past him, leaving a cold trail only Jabber seemed to sense.
Jabber’s gaze remained fixed on Zanka’s retreating back, unblinking. He had the words, sure, but the raw fatigue in Nijiku's blue eyes was a boundary he didn’t dare cross...yet.
Zanka didn’t even need to turn around. He could feel Jabber's stare lingering for a beat too long. When he did look over his shoulder, his eyes met Jabber's sharp, measured, and far too deliberate gaze like he was plotting for something chaotic.
"What? You look at me like I just fucked up your day," Jabber muttered, slicing right through the tense silence.
Zanka paused in his spot, then took a slow, heavy breath, "My day's already fucked before you even entered the room." He looks back in the direction where the wooden door had always been. "I'd rather beat yer ass for stress relief than have you ruin it any further."
Jabber’s grin flashed once again. "I'd like that." He bites his lower lip, letting that masochistic mind of his take over.
"You..!" Zanka paused, slowly taking another deep breath. "Whatever, you freak." He runs a hand through his grey hair and starts toward the door without another glance back.
Thud. The door clicked shut.
It didn’t matter what Jabber was planning to do there. He could binge-watch anime or stroke himself until sunrise as long as he doesn't interrupt Zanka’s studying, then they’d both be happily minding their own damn business.
Though, if Jabber ever fails to keep his volume down, Zanka would have to shut him up himself.
Whatever. Zanka still needs to study for the biochem test tomorrow, and finish the math group project that he had to carry out, as well as the CS assignment—God, that's a lot. Just thinking about it made Zanka's adrenaline surge and told himself to lock the fuck in.
Not even five minutes in and the living room had already turned into what a fully-booked concert would sound like. "WOAH THAT'S SICK!!"—over and over, coming from Jabber. Who else would be shouting at seven in the evening watching Apothecary diaries?
"JABBER SHUT UP." Zanka snaps, yelling two times louder in his room to make sure his voice was heard clear. "Don't you have to study for the biochemistry test!?"
"My bad, Zan-zan!" Jabber yelled back. "I already got it. I don't need to study for easy shit."
Zanka felt a sting in his throat, and an aching in his chest. He muttered the words "Tsk, whatever" and didn't better yelling back anymore—always a sign that he was drowning in inferiority.
Calling the biochem test easy shit is straight up absurd, when most of their peers are already stressing the fuck out because of it. What makes him think he's going to pass slacking off like that? It's not something to study overnight.
He can't help it. Whenever someone makes it look and sound so easy, everything just seem to blur in place.
Especially around his crazy, fuck-around-and-find-out roommate. Oh, especially Jabber.
Always wearing a mocking, extremely irritating tone whenever he speaks, and enters the room like he owns the place. Zanka's room, specifically, which is even more annoying on his side. If Jabber's intolerable attitude wasn't bad enough, he constantly forces himself into Zanka’s business and always following him around like a leech, it gets to a point where it's irritating.
And there's a reason why Zanka holds a grudge to this freaky lightskin.
Jabber is a prodigy. A genius, a natural talent. The type of person to listen to Yuno Miles secretly during a lecture and still get a perfect score.
The type he despised the most.
Zanka could study until letters blur just to memorize them, while Jabber could still recite the whatever he learns faster—and no less, doing it sometimes by singing the terms like it’s nothing but a game.
Other people are so drawn to Jabber too like he's some kind of class clown. And for what? They'd laugh and hang out with him, call him names like 'doctor evil freak' or 'homosexual genius' as a joke. But the same people would also talk shit behind his back.
Jabber knew that already. Even so, he was still the one having the time of his life by day's end. Figures. No matter how hard Zanka tried—twice as hard as Jabber ever would—he always seemed to be the one left picking himself up off the ground.
Everything about him is a reminder that Zanka is just average.
_
The room was lit by nothing but the pale glow of Zanka's monitor. Zanka kept his eyes glued to it, hoping his worn-out brain would somehow cough up one more idea. The assignment was already finished, but convincing himself of that was another story. No matter how many times he reread it, it never felt enough.
"10:38 p.m", it says on the bottom right of the monitor.
Zanka groaned, frustrated, before grabbing the plastic cup near his keyboard. He took a sip, then stopped. it was empty. Great. He's too drained to even remember he finished it an hour ago.
Zanka stopped typing and lifted his head up to stare at the dirty-white ceiling hued by the glowing moonlight from the window. He's one second away from completely shutting his eyes down.
Then he heard the door slowly crack open. Now, that's just really great. Good timing. That's sarcasm by the way, if you missed it.
A dark silhouette slowly peeked through, locs chummed together, and then—a terrifying grin appeared.
"Hey..."
Jabber's nails dig into the wooden door one by one. Whether he meant to or not, this was starting to look like a horror scene where Fenty Kruger is about to jump his next victim.
"The hell you doin' here?" Zanka asked as he sat up in caution.
"I'm bored, Zan-zan." Jabber tilts his head, locs brushing off his shoulders.
Before Zanka was given the chance to speak, yell, or anything, Jabber had already made his way in, deliberately ignoring the screen piled with multiple tabs and hand-written essays on the table.
"Why up so late?"
"What'dya think?" Zanka snarled, turning his chair to face Jabber.
"I dunno. Thinking about me? Jerking off?"
"What the hell—No! Get out!"
Jabber might as well just sleep there, because he didn't. His stubborn self jumped onto the white, cozy bed before Zanka could even stop him. Interlocking his fingers behind his head, Jabber took a slow breath, inhaling the warm, incense-filled air that drifted through the room.
"Smells good," Jabber mutters, settling deeper into the mattress, and getting a little too comfortable.
Zanka gives him a stern look. "Are you deaf? I said get out."
"Make me." Jabber chuckled, smiling with his teeth.
"I seriously don't have the energy to move your heavy ass off my bed."
"Damn, I'm not that heavy." Jabber shut his eyes, a smug grin tugging at his lips. "I'd say this is the perfect chance to mess with ya, but... lucky for you, I don't pick on people who're already half-dead."
Lucky? Zanka wished. Jabber had barged into his room in the middle of a study session—that was strike one. Then he flopped onto the bed wearing a hoodie that had probably gone a week without seeing a washing machine—strike two. And now he had the nerve to sit there with that smug grin, mocking him? Strike three.
"Jabber," Zanka called, now standing up from his chair.
"Yes, Zan-zan?"
"For the sake of my mental health, do not make me come there and rip your face off."
They both know Zanka wasn't joking. But Jabber was far from intimidated, the words written on his face looked more like entertained, thrilled—whatever fits best when receiving bittersweet threats.
"Aren't ya tired? Lemme stay here for a while and uhh...Let's hang out a bit!" Zanka's lips curled downwards. "Hang out?" He repeats.
Obviously, he would refuse without hesitation. Just a simple, straight "no" expression gave Jabber all he need to know. That request is nothing but a joke. But, as straightforward as Zanka can get, Jabber isn't gonna give up that easily.
"Well, maybe I could help ya with something else?"
Deep down, Zanka knew he was not going to help shit, and anything that will come out of Jabber's mouth for the next ten seconds will just be pure nonsense.
"What?" He asked anyway, foolishly hearing out whatever nonsense Jabber had to say.
"Well, uhm—" Jabber turned his head to the side, staring up at Zanka. "...About that stress relief you mentioned. Want me to help you with that?"
Zanka tilts his head in confusion. "What are you talking about?" He says, and Jabber's grin shifted into a slow, mischievous smirk.
"You know like..." Jabber paused, raising both hands. One formed a circle with his thumb and index finger while the remaining three fingers stayed extended, his other hand pointing directly at it. And when he poked one finger through the hole, well...He could tell just how flustered Zanka was—ears flushing, cheeks turning bright red, fumbling words and all that.
"Get your head out of the gutter, asshole!" Zanka snaps at the ridiculous request. And it's not that he didn't expect him to say that, it's Jabber after all, but seriously. With Zanka? Jabber would be better off sucking someone else's dick than touch a part of his skin.
Zanka had never thought about doing it with Jabber. Well...Maybe once, twice, but the constant reminder of Jabber being a nightmare to deal with despite having a striking, handsome face, Zanka thinks it's just going to be a waste.
He's also definitely not going to make his first time be with a man.
Zanka stood from his chair, brandishing Lovely Assistaff, shoving it forward until one of its thorns nearly touch Jabber's neck. "You think that's gonna help? Keep dreaming."
"You sure?" Jabber prodded, barely budging as he relished the stick hovering just shy of his skin. If he moves just a tiny bit closer, he bleeds. Yeah, how lovely that sounds.
"Are you fucking with me? Of course it won't—"
"You won't know unless you try." Jabber interrupts, slowly reaching for Lovely Assistaff and gently brushing his fingers against its body.
The mere sight of his sun-kissed hand touching Lovely Assistaff sent Zanka into a silent fury, his blood boiling beneath his skin. "Don't you dare touch her." Zanka hissed, glaring down at Jabber. He shoved the stick slightly forward, blood dripping from his neck.
"She's beautiful." Jabber doesn't pull away—instead, he leans in even closer. "Just like my Mankira." Silver glints from every finger, each ring different in shape and stone, yet all bound by the same soul. That's his Mankira.
Anyone else would've called Zanka weird for doting on an oddly shaped stick and giving it a name, but Jabber couldn't. He was guilty of the very same thing with Mankira, and maybe that was why—without saying a word—they arrived at the same thought.
Mankira and Lovely Assistaff looked beautiful together.
The owners on the other hand...
"Shut it! Don't make me slice your neck off."
"Don't tempt me with a good time.”
Jabber bites his bottom lip, moving just an inch closer to Lovely Assistaff's thorn, and for a second there, he shivered. Not the kind of shiver a person gets from almost pissing themselves, it could be but—It was the kind of excitement that slips out for a moment.
Jabber is by far enjoying himself, obviously, and Zanka?
He's trying to figure out a way to get Jabber out of the room without giving in. Not that Zanka ever would—absolutely never—but hypothetically speaking, he needed to snap Jabber out of whatever spell he was under.
But how? Attempting to reason with him is dangerous with how unpredictable he can get, and he's hella strong to be forced out of the room, so...
Jabber really is an absolute nightmare to deal with, leaving Zanka hopeless. And fucked.
"Jabber, don't..."
"Don't what?"
"I know what you're doing just don't—"
Jabber's brows warped into a tight, desperate arch. The gaze he fixed on Zanka was heavy, his eyes gleaming with a sudden, dizzying submission that felt far too intimate to look away from.
"Don't look at me like you're trynna seduce me, fucker."
"...Seduce you? Ya think I'm seducing you?"
Zanka fumbled over his words before he could even speak, and the way Jabber's gaze intensified made things even more difficult, he almost choked.
"Dude, the way you looked at me, a-and... the way you touched Lovely Assistaff was..." Jabber let out a quiet laugh. Not loud—just soft enough to get under Zanka's skin. "Kind of... y'know." Heat rushed to Zanka's cheeks, painting them a vivid red. "—Never mind! Fuck, I'm just making a fool of myself." He groaned, quickly pulling Lovely Assistaff back to his side.
Has Zanka been wrong this whole time? No. But Jabber definitely enjoyed messing with his head.
"Don't chicken out now, Zan." Jabber's grin fainted. It was barely even a smile now. "Are you really that into me that you'd think I'm flirting with you?"
"You fucking wish!" Zanka pulled back, gently placing Lovely Assistaff against the cabinet. (He's got priorites, okay?)
His frustration and embarrassment boiled over, flustered beyond words, causing Zanka to kick Jabber with enough force to knock a groan from him that sent him sprawling onto the bed.
Weirdly enough, Jabber didn't retaliate. He didn't cuss him out, didn't laugh, nothing. He simply looked up at Zanka like he's trying to lure him in. His head tipped to the side, brown hair slipping over his shoulders, his gaze steady enough to make Zanka feel completely seen.
"Like what you see?" Jabber teased, drawing ragged breaths in between as he deployed every provocation tactic in his arsenal to drive Zanka to madness. "Fucking sadist."
And it worked.
Zanka became calm—frighteningly, deathly calm, drawing a stark shadow across his face until his expression was barely readable. The sudden change had Jabber patiently wait for whatever was about to drop when the scene looked like a predator quietly calculating the perfect way to corner its prey.
Though, in this case, the scene looked like Fenty Kruger being dominated by a pretty boy, and neither of them could tell who was really the predator and who was the prey.
No one's stopping them to play both.
Zanka doesn't respond, so Jabber slowly rose up, elbows leaning against the sheet as he pushed himself up. "Hey, hey, hey...Zanka, move—"
Wish granted, Zanka moved. And he shattered the stillness. His fist connected in a brutal strike that sent Jabber reeling backward into a hard collision.
Clutching his face, Jabber leaned against the plaster as the room spun around him. His cheek throbbed with a white-hot heat and blood began to trace a path down his lip, but the sheer shock of the impact sent a wildly electric, addictive thrill pulsing through his system.
"Damn..." Jabber blissfully murmured under his breath, parting his lips to speak but was yet to be given a break when his face was presented with another hit, causing a loud thud that echoed across the room.
Zanka kept striking, blow after blow fell without pause, each strike more brutal than the last, until blood began to drip from Zanka's knuckles.
Zanka stopped, and the room fell awfully quiet. He looked down, seeing his hands painted with a beautiful, but cruel color of crimson red.
Then he looked at Jabber. He didn't move. His eyes were half-lidded, and his mouth hung open as he breathed in slow, heavy pants. Not being able to hear Jabber for a hot minute is peace but...There's just no way.
Zanka doesn't know why, but he leaned just a fraction closer. "Hey..." He whispers. "You're not dying to that, are you?"
Then, he heard a laugh. A laugh so loud and agonizingly sharp that it sent chills down his spine.
The first thing he thought wasn't if he hit him too hard, or that if he went too far, no. For a second, Zanka did, but...
"Fuck..." Jabber locked eyes with Zanka, his pink irises gleaming with lust.
Zanka would deny it if anyone said the sight of Jabber like that made his stomach twist. But he held onto that thought. The real question was whether that twist came from horror... or from something else entirely.
Zanka already knew the guy was a masochist, but the sheer intensity of his satisfaction was deeply disturbing. It's concerning. And its...
"Damn, that felt so good." Jabber moans. "Hit me again, man!"
Its weirdly addicting. He'd be lying if he claimed that Jabber begging for more didn't affect him. Maybe Jabber was right. He is, and always has been, a sadist.
"You're weird." Zanka whispers. "Fucking insufferable and weird."
"I've been called worse."
Yeah, he deserved to be called worse. Jabber is everything you absolutely wouldn't want to be involved with.
Even so, Zanka leaned down until there was barely any space left between them. Jabber parted his lips to say something, but the words never came. Zanka caught both of his wrists in one hand, tightening his grip until he couldn't pull away.
He moved even closer—just a few centimeters away from their lips touching together—instead of a kiss, his mouth moved on its own and licked the blood on his mouth.
Jabber flinched, his eyes widening in surprise. Even he was taken aback by the sudden shift in Zanka's mood that he had to blink twice to make sure he wasn't just dreaming.
And oh god, he wasn't. Zanka swung a leg over Jabber, pinning him beneath his weight. Jabber squeezed his eyes shut and arched the instant Zanka's lips brushed against his collarbone before sinking his teeth in.
"Shit...! That hurts." He tried his absolute best to appear weak, but the grin tugging at his lips immediately gave it away.
"Shut yer mouth." Zanka hissed, pulling back as he began removing every layer of his cloth—from his oversized shirt, down to his baggy jeans, and finally his boxers.
There was something hypnotic about how Zanka exposed himself. It left Jabber feeling the way a hallucinogen always did—lost in a bittersweet numbness that hurt as much as it soothed. It's intoxicating, it's sweet. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. He's good-looking and...Zanka just looks so perfect right now.
Jabber lifts his hand, slowly reaching for Zanka's hips, then froze. He waits for Zanka to yell, scold him, or push him away, but he doesn't. And that just made him want to hold him even more.
"Don't hold back, kay?" Jabber whispers, giving him another sweet smile. He squeezed Zanka's hips, staring at his snatched waist for a hot minute before shifting his focus to Zanka's half-hard—averagely thick but long—cock pressing against his stomach.
Zanka isn't sure what his words really meant, but he took it like a challenge. He grabbed Jabber by the leg and took off his shorts, eyes widening at the sight of Jabber not wearing any sort of underwear. It left him speechless. Is he that horny? Or did he just left his cock swing free for fun?
But that wasn't the only thing he noticed. Jabber's dick was fully hard, throbbing, and unexpectedly bigger than he thought.
Then Zanka frowns.
"You're disgusting."
"Show me how disgusted you are then. I'm a little excited down bere, if you can tell."
Oh, he can tell. With the lightskin's shaft reaching up to his button belly, Zanka couldn't help but gulp. He was starting to realize just what he was getting himself into.
Zanka isn't scared, really, just a little bit—but he's not a pussy. Zanka had long known that he was into guys thanks to Riyo playing lovey-dovey cupid back when they went to a bar. All he did was stand in the corner of the room and stare at some of the guys he found attractive like a creep. That's it.
But now, he's going to have sex with a man. And it's going to be with his roommate too.
It's going to be with Jabber.
Bullshit. This is all just for stress relief. He had no reason to think about it aside from the fact that Jabber might get a little too loud—yes, it's just for stress relief. He's straight up exhausted. Once this is over he’d definitely finish the CS assignment.
Zanka takes a slow, deep breath, pressing his palms against Jabber's stomach as he lifts his body up, carefully pushing his lower body down until Jabber's warm shaft touch his skin and—
"Mhng—!" Jabber squirms, now slightly pushing his head back into the mattress when Zanka's asshole starts rubbing against the tip of his cock.
Zanka doesn't have a single frame of reference for whether Jabber has fucked another guy in the past or if he got his ass railed—that's the kind of thing he would do anyway, and Zanka could be just one of those guys but...
He kept going. His palms pressed even harder, now bending slightly forward as he slowly, gently, pushed his body weight down. He was halfway through, and he could feel that wasn't all of it, but he figured preparing his asshole first and saving the best part for later would be better.
So Zanka rocked his hips, shallow at first until his movements gradually became rougher—dragging his ass up, slowly, then shoving it down, fast.
And when Zanka finally took all of his inches, he limps. On the other hand, Jabber squeezes even tighter, a soft gasp escaping his mouth loud enough for Zanka to hear.
This is the first time Jabber had sounded so exposed, and vulnerable, and so weak—Zanka was certain those sounds would linger in his mind for a long, long time.
"Can you..." Jabber pants. He doesn't mind the slow start, but he can't ignore his needs either. His cock was practically begging for Zanka to move harder, rougher and— "M-move faster..?"
Jabber's wish was yet to be granted two fingers slide in, forcing his mouth to open wide and gag.
Jabber was probably hallucinating, but... he'd like to think Zanka had flashed a satisfied, almost menacing smile.
He wasn't hallucinating.
"You better pray I won't regret this or I'll kill you."
Disgust burned in Zanka's eyes as if he isn't the one leading the whole thing and taking his eight-inch cock. And Jabber would be lying if he said that look on his face didn't send butterflies in his stomach.
"Mhm yeah..." Jabber moans, inhaling deeply, a plea threatening to escape his lips. Zanka's fingers slipped free from his mouth, at last, drool came running down as he pulls further away.
Jabber responded with a quiet, confident chuckle, squeezing Zanka's waist tighter and forming a sugary smile. "That's up to you, beautiful.”
Zanka gives him a death stare. "Don’t fucking call me that." He growled. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, his chest, and most especially his dick.
Zanka doesn't know how to respond to that, but he knows he loves compliments, and he had always seek words of affirmation, but... If the things he lacked during childhood ends up becoming his kinks and preferences in bed, then perhaps it was something worth of ridicule.
But that's the case, isn't it? He's hard, he's turned on, and very much so into it that his knees buckled and his head began to spin.
Jabber can't know he's turned on by that. If he ever so finds out, then he'd use that to advantage and—
It's too late now.
Zanka was practically lost in the moment. Jabber's shaft is so warm inside him, he had to start moving. He rocks his hips faster, each second becoming even harder to keep quiet.
Each time Zanka pushes his lower body down deep, it somehow, miraculously, just hits the right angle and would cause him to let out sharp, loud whimpers.
"You feel good, Zan..." Jabber cries, biting his lower lip and squeezing his hips even tighter. “So good for me."
Oh my fucking god.
Zanka didn't care anymore. The dorm manager could walk in on them and he wouldn't be in the right mind to give a single fuck, because he needs it. He needs it real bad.
So he reached for one of Jabber's locs and pulled him closer, not giving a single damn whether it was comfortable for him or not. Zanka just needed something thicker to hold onto. And when he finally gets back to it—bouncing up and down, Jabber arched his back even farther from the mattress.
"Fuck—That's it...” Jabber lets out a faint chuckle, barely forming one proper sentence when he's whimpering like an animal in heat.
Whatever state of pleasure Jabber was in didn't matter. All that shaking and moaning his name? Zanka knows he's doing a great job. And some stubborn, prideful part of him loved every second of it. He was the one leading, the one leaving Jabber utterly unbalanced.
"Jabber…” Zanka called weakly, mumbling out words neither of them could understand after. Eventually, he was able to form a single sentence. "You better make me cum."
Jabber pressed his thighs together, his muscles tightening. "Shit, that's..." He glances up, biting his lower. "...up to you." Zanka doesn't respond, probably miles away mentally now that he's stopped listening.
Despite the unfamiliar, intense pleasure gradually rising, Zanka keeps going, riding Jabber to the brim of paradise until it feels almost impossible to stop now, even if he wanted to. It's starting to feel too good, too perfect—each thrust is perfect, as if his ass was only meant to take Jabber's shaft.
Zanka claws deeper into Jabber's shoulder, glaring down and locking both of the brown-haired's wrists against the mattress. "Keep your hands to yourself. Touch me and I'll kill you."
Jabber knew he wasn't going to last long once he saw the raw, predatory look beaming in Zanka's eyes, and technically he was known to be a hard-headed, impatient man but—
This time, he'll keep his hands to himself. Zanka's finally lowering his guard enough to let the freak out, he just can't waste this golden opportunity by ruining his mood. So for once, he'll going to do as he's told.
Jabber will listen. Now, letting his hands fall on the white sheet and clutching hard as if his life depended on it, because once Zanka is finally in a more comfortable position, things are going to get rough when he shoves his ass back inside his cock—
"S-shit..! oh, damn—" Jabber limps, struggling to breathe now that Zanka moved his hands to press against his chest.
No one would expect Zanka to be moving in such an unbearable pace that Jabber can't even hold his moans now, but they should hear it. They should know that Zanka is doing Jabber so good right now.
Jabber tensed up. "Damn, Mr. Bad attitude. Slow down—" he squeezed his eyes shut, his voice was barely audible now.
Zanka didn't slow down at all. Whether he was still listening to the words spilling from Jabber's mouth or not, he'd know Jabber didn't mean a single one of them.
In fact, he continued without a pausing, no breaks, no taking a slow breath in between, he just went with the flow in a surprisingly perfect, fast rhythm.
Jabber mumbled sweet nothings, opening his eyes slowly, once again, only to be blessed with Zanka’s beautiful figure hopping up and down. “Zanka, wait—”
Zanka doesn't listen. Jabber was serious this time, though. The pleasure he was feeling became too much too bear, he was doing everything he can, fingers latching onto the bedsheets, the pillow, his locs, anything to prevent himself from reaching Zanka.
And it's so hard not to, because Zanka just looks too attractive to be left alone, too beautiful not to be touched.
Temptation clung to him, threaded through every thought, every breath, every touch. It wouldn’t take long before holding back would drive him completely insane.
Zanka could say the same things to Jabber too. The mere sight of him losing his composure with bruised remnants of before—panting, sweating, gasping for air, sent a sharp thrill straight through Zanka. It was a look that made something raw and fiercely protective twist inside him, a sight to go crazy for.
The way his chest moves when struggling to breathe, the way his back arch the faster he bounces on it, and his eyes…Those dark pink eyes gleaming with obsession, matched perfectly with Zanka's eyes—burning with desperation to put Jabber in his place.
So this, Zanka realized with a dark thrill, is what it truly means to take control.
By then, the two had already lost themselves. Jabber’s toes curled downwards, nails dug sharply into his own palm until red marks appeared. Clapping sounds echoed across the dark room, Zanka's moans were quiet in contrast to Jabber's whimpers.
Jabber kept moaning out Zanka's name in between soft chuckles and groans, and his lips moved as if he he wanted to say something specific, only for it to come out nearly inaudible. "Zan, I'm so close..." He finally spat, faintly. Too quiet to even be heard, but somehow, Zanka caught the warning in an instant.
Maybe it was mere coincidence, but Zanka felt that he was going to reach climax too. And when Jabber thought he would finish first, Zanka suddenly slowed down, moving his ass in and out slow, but rough.
Shit, shit, shit...
"Hah…FUCK—” Zanka wailed. A flood of white semen splashed all over Jabber's stomach and face.
The pleasure was so intense, he had to pause, he had to take deep breaths. His body relaxed, but it wasn't over just yet.
“Wait...” Jabber looked up at him with pleading eyes. “You didn’t make me cum yet.” There was no use begging when Zanka already looked like he was mere seconds away from fainting. In Zanka's peripheral vision, he saw Jabber was still painfully hard.
Jabber groans before he sits up, grabbing Zanka’s waist and used the last bit of his strength to push himself back up.
“What do you think you’re doing!?” Zanka's shoulder stiffened, now roughly grabbing one of Jabber’s locs. “I told you not to touch me!”
Jabber doesn't listen. He continued thrusting back and forth, his movement shifting to exactly the same speed as how Zanka was riding him just a few seconds ago.
“Fuck you, Jabber…Genuinely, fuck y-you—Nhm..!”
Each grind caused Zanka to arch his back and grab onto his shoulders as if his life depended on it. Even after climax, Zanka kept sucking his dick deeper with each sloppy, wet thrusts. Zanka released sharp, relentless, and completely unfiltered insults as he moans out fucker, masochist freak, stupid boy, anything but Jabber's name.
Not that Zanka had the current capability to think about it, he knows already—Jabber is into that. The harsher the insults became, the more Jabber twitched.
“Zanka, I-I’m so close please just let me just—” Jabber continued grinding, no pause, his hips reaching flow state and kept moving on its own.
“Please let me cum inside you…”
He really, desperately needed to...
“Please please, let me do it…Let me—” Jabber squeezed Zanka’s waist so tightly that it left painful, bruised marks on his skin.
“...Cum.”
Their moans synced as Jabber’s cum flooded Zanka's insides. That felt too much. Way too good, actually, that Zanka had to pull himself away from Jabber. Still, his body betrayed him and fell right down next to him. They laid too close, there was hardly any space between them. And with the absolute last of their energy, they exhaled a long, heavy breath.
What the fuck just happened?
"I think..." Zanka murmurs, his eyes now half-open. "I think we were a little too loud."
Jabber laughs softly. “Let ‘em hear how good you were to me.” Zanka’s face flushed hard enough that he looked like a tomato. “No. Don’t tell anyone about this.” He said, weakly.
“Can’t promise ya.”
“Dickhead.”
Jabber tasted the stray drop of moisture on his lower lip before looking over to his side and admiring the disheveled prince before him. Zanka's earrings lay on the bed, shoulders marked with scratches, his vision swam as if he might collapse, leaving him focused only on the ceiling above.
Everything else in Zanka's vision blurred, except for Jabber's face. His light brown skin that bore bruises, marks, and blood looked beautiful.
Jabber looks...Beautiful? Yes, he was, even if he looked like a mess. Zanka was an absolute mess himself, but when Jabber's locs stayed intact even after all that, he couldn't help but feel jealous.
If admitting that wasn’t hard enough to swallow, Jabber's soft gaze was making him feel even worse. He was blushing really, really hard, and he bit his inner cheeks just so he wouldn't have to think about it too much.
Zanka is going to regret this in the morning—there’s no question about that. But for the first time in his life, just this once, Zanka desperately needed Jabber’s warmth, or at least, the grounding weight of his presence.
As the shadows closed in on his vision, Zanka breathed out his last words . “I'm just going to...Rest a bit. Then finish my Javascript prompt...”
In the end, Zanka fell into a deep sleep and didn't get to finish his JavaScript prompt.
For all of Zanka's stubborn effort to keep it together, he looked entirely defenseless now, completely at peace. Jabber is still there, half-awake, letting out a soft breath of his own, shifting just enough to stay close to Mr. Bad Attitude.
"Zanka. You're really tempting, you know that?"