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    Summary

    Then, she started wrapping Jabber’s chest in rope. The bruises there were more visible—scratches, purplish patches over her arms and shoulders that looked painful to the touch. When the rope pressed over one of the bruise, though, Jabber inhaled sharply, involuntarily.

    Zanka loosened the rope immediately. “Shit—sorry, I didn't—”

    Jabber waved a hand. “No. It’s good.”

    Zanka’s expression verged on disbelief, like she didn’t trust her own ears. “Good?”

    Jabber lifted her head to meet her eyes, a crooked smile playing on her lips. She was certain her black eye made the picture slightly worrisome but she didn’t care. Her voice was raspy when she said, “tighter.”

    -

    OR jabber sidequested so hard that she ends up as a model for a hot butch. she ain't complaining though.

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