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Seeing Jabber on his knees, before him, filled Zanka with a thrill and power unlike any other— more so when the Raider's hands were fisted on each side of Zanka's open legs, twisting the covers of the bed Zanka sat on. Jabber shows such self-control when Zanka asks it of him, and the thought of Jabber being so pliant is dizzying.
"Dontcha make such a pathetic sight, Jabber?" Zanka starts, and already Jabber's stomach is tightening with his arousal, eager for his words. "So desperate for release yer willing to rub yerself off like a dog. No shame."
Jabber wants to laugh at it, too enamored with the words Zanka offered him. Instead he just pants, keeps moving his hips against the shaft of Lovely Assistaff. Held by Zanka's firm hand, Lovely Assistaff sits against the ground, leaning onto Zanka's thigh to give Jabber the proper angle. It's downright filthy, the idea of using a Vital Instrument to get off— and the fact it is Zanka's, his Zanka's, makes Jabber feel weak, thoughts hazy with desire.
"You— You're the one helping me get off." Jabber counters, grins when Zanka's eyes sharpen with the promise of pain. "With Lovely Assistaff no less—" Jabber presses his hips down, curses the barrier of clothing that rob him of fully feeling Lovely Assistaff's wooden ridges and bumps. He whines when the pressure against his balls catch on the edge of a painful pinch. "You're just as much a freak as me, Zanka." Jabber taunts, enjoying the way Zanka's expression shifts with annoyance. "You're just too afraid to get your hands dirty, pfft."
"That so?" The hand Zanka uses to hold Lovely Assistaff pulls down.
Jabber's breath hitches as he observes— the way the Instrument presses against Zanka's thigh, the feeling of it pressing firmly against his erection. It's torture, and Jabber's pleasure leaks. The leverage used works wonders for him, and when he grinds his hips down, when he pushes against Lovely Assistaff's form, the indents of her also press harder against Zanka's clothed thigh.
Jabber's mouth waters, wanting to touch and mark, too. But Zanka had been clear when he told him not to. That if he wanted to come he'd have to do it sans hands. So long as Zanka keeps his grip on Lovely Assistaff's shaft, so long as he can keep rubbing himself against it, Jabber knows he can do it. The faint uncomfortable buzz on his knees is starting to mingle with the pleasure, and it only spurs Jabber to keep humping the Vital Instrument, chasing his release.
"Truly an animal." Zanka says, and the disgust that laces his tone makes Jabber moan. His hips hitch against the wood, and the pressure against his dick is phenomenal.
"Fuck." Jabber gasps when Lovely Assistaff glows beneath him— Zanka awakens her with his soul and Jabber's arousal flares high. To think he is humping something so intimate, to think a part of Zanka's soul is getting him off. He could come with the thought alone.
He bites his lower lip as he trembles, overcome with the rush such degeneracy carries. Being at eye-level with Zanka's crotch does not help his situation. It does not help to see Zanka's own enjoyment so clearly bulging against his trousers. He salivates, wanting to put his mouth on it, wanting to taste and to feel. But Zanka's told him he has to reach his own climax without touching, and Jabber likes the challenge of it. He knows Zanka likes watching him squirm, too.
Wood turned metal, Jabber misses the unevenness and knobbly surface. The smooth surface is less stimulating, but Jabber loves it nonetheless, the fact he has to rub himself harder against the shaft to chase his pleasure.
"Such a needy thing ya are." Zanka's voice continues. The hint of disdain slaps Jabber woozy, and Jabber can't find it in himself to reply, thoughts jumbled. "So pitiful. Bet ya would like it if I gave you something more tangible, eh?" Jabber's breath hitches with need. Yes, he would love that. "Like my hands?" Zanka asks in time his free hand settles atop Jabber's head. Jabber burns at the touch, feels himself be pulled taut by it.
He wants to touch so bad, he needs Zanka to touch him. His mind clouds with the fog of pleasure, with the images that run through his head. Zanka's hands, wrapped around his neck in such a tight and delectable fashion, robbing him of breath, pushing him close to the edge. Jabber loved it, his own feeble struggle against Zanka, the act he put on, the part he played. He loved to feel pinned under Zanka, he adored the rush of arousal that came over him whenever Zanka treated him like he owed him. Whether rough or loving, Zanka's touch undid Jabber so easily. Jabber closes his eyes, feels the ghost of Zanka's nails running up his sides, painfully digging against his ribs, finding tender spots and abusing them until Jabber's pain bloomed to the surface to meet Zanka's skilled fingers. Until Jabber was a panting mess.
Jabber wants to hurt all over, he wants Zanka's hands all over his skin, pushing, pressing, pinching— he wants the imprint of Zanka's hands on his body. He drools for it.
"What are ya thinking 'bout, Jabber?" Zanka sounds so far away, and Jabber has a hard time making out the words through the haze.
"Y-You." He admits, voice trembling. His arousal feels white hot on the pit of his stomach, it overflows him, escaping through his body, extending to his limbs, making his fingers burn with the overwhelming need to touch— whether it is to touch Zanka, or himself, he does not care. The blankets, bunched tight under his hands, don't offer him the grounding sensation he's seeking.
"I'm right here, ain't I?" Zanka asks, and when Jabber opens his eyes, he loves the amusement that shines in them. As if Zanka were toying with him. Zanka is, and Jabber loves it. Jabber enjoys playing along, finds his excitement growing whenever Zanka plays with him like that, teasing, knowing. Zanka smiles, mocking, "Am I not good enough for ya, that it?"
Jabber whines his dissent, minutely shakes his head. "Nah," he breathes, grinning, "just greedy."
Zanka hums in agreement, "Yeah? Then go on, take what you want like the needy animal you are." The sound that Jabber makes is high-pitched, and he blinks, trying to not drown onto the derisive comments of Zanka. "Ya truly have no shame, moving yer hips like that." Zanka chuckles, and there is a mean edge to it, one that catches against Jabber and tears him open, "Touching ya makes me feel filthy."
Zanka's hand moves away from his head, going back to settle on the mattress, close to Jabber's hand but not touching. Zanka deprives him of his touch, and Jabber shakes with the effort of keeping his hands to himself.
"So you'd rather—" He gasps, hips jerking against the solid surface of Lovely Assistaff's shaft. He stifles a moan, leaning forward, back arching, pressing his erection between the Vital Instrument and his stomach. "Fuck, Zanka, fuck..." It's all wrong —and in that, all is right, so pleasantly right—, and Jabber wishes he could pull down his pants, he wishes he could feel the cool metal of Assistaff against his cock. Jabber wants to leave his mark on Zanka this way, too, he wishes he could see his pre-come on it.
He cants his hips downwards, painfully dragging his balls against the unforgiving metal, squeezing as best as he can his dick with the downward motion. He feels his dick throb with the burn of it, and Jabber's thoughts cling onto the pain. He wonders if he could bruise like this, if he kept grinding until he spilled. Already he knows he will be sore afterward, and the heat in his belly grows in size in time the wetness in his pants spreads.
"So I would rather what, Jabber?"
Jabber's laugh comes breathy. Zanka is so mean, asking him questions when his thoughts are scattered, when his mind buzzes with the shadow of the climax he is chasing. "So ya'd—ahh—ya'd rather... touch me with-with Lovely Assistaff?"
Zanka clicks his tongue, sounding annoyed. "Like you'd stop pestering me if I left ya hanging. Yer so dang annoying, clingin' ta me all the time." Zanka's eyes narrow in his annoyance, and Jabber soaks it all up, lets it run through his body like electricity.
"Ya love it."
Jabber can't help his smile when Zanka's nose furrows in his distaste. His laugh is silent this time, but he knows Zanka can hear him all the same. It was always a sensitive topic, Zanka's embarrassment when it came to the acts he enjoyed— Zanka loved so many things Jabber did in the same or mirrored measure, and for all that he brushed it off, it was always so clear to Jabber. Jabber could not blame him, and part of him hopes Zanka always keeps a sliver of said embarrassment, an easy spot for Jabber's teasing, something he could tug at to get the other riled up.
"Fuck off, freak."
"Hah—!"
The grip Zanka has on the upper shaft of Lovely Assistaff shifts violently. Sharp and unexpected, he pulls down at it, bringing the other end upward, pushing hard against Jabber's leaking cock. The spike of pain that shoots up Jabber's spine has him gasping for air. Jabber's vision blurs and swims before him, and his thighs shake as his hips are forced up. Jabber lets his weight fall down, breathless at the unforgiving pressure against him. He giggles, a wheezing sound that do not hide his delight.
"My arm's tiring." Zanka says, letting Jabber's weight push Lovely Assistaff against the ground again. "So either shut it and get to it, or I'm leavin' ya high and dry."
Zanka is so hostile in his finality, cruel and cutting; Jabber supposes they've played enough. Not like he can hold out any longer.
Much like an animal, Jabber finds himself panting, choked whines leaving his throat as he thrusts his hips against Lovely Assistaff. She is so firm, so callous in her touch. Jabber's met with the push and pull of the discomfort that comes alongside the pleasure, and his mouth falls open. His breathing is shaky, and when he hits the perfect spot, when he's pinched himself just on the side of too painful, too sharp, his desperation spikes with the desire to reach his orgasm. He leans forward, letting his forehead touch Lovely Assistaff's hard metal as he keeps humping her. His eyes flutter close at the all-consuming desire that mounts, at the tight, shivering arousal that coils within him. Jabber does not hold back his moans, lets Zanka know how close he is to orgasm. He is so lightheaded, and he pulls at the bed sheets, trying to ground himself before he ends up toppling over with the pleasure. He swims through it. He is so close. He is so close and—
Zanka yanks his head back, fingers tugging him by the hair. Jabber's eyes fly open by the sharp sting of pain in his scalp, and his moan is strangled, vision blurring by the sight of Zanka.
Zanka, whose blue eyes show his clear disgust. Zanka, whose disdain mingles with desire, whose eyes can't hide how much he is enjoying the show Jabber's putting. Zanka looks down at him, at his animal impulses, and Jabber soars with the high of it, feels himself tremble with how Zanka's attention is on him. He loves it, loves Zanka, loves the way he can look at him as if Jabber were beneath him, even when it is Zanka who is offering his Vital Instrument for Jabber to get off.
Zanka offers him mercy, allows him relief, and Jabber eagerly lets himself be consumed by how much that excites him. If he is allowed this pleasure it's because Zanka is willingly offering it.
With a hoarse, raspy cry of Zanka's name, Jabber comes in his pants, whining when Zanka leans forward, when Zanka's hand forces his head back further. He makes a pitiful sound when he feels Lovely Assistaff vibrate against him. Tears gather at the edge of his eyes and Jabber's throat runs dry.
"Zankaaah." Jabber moans his name, desperate, and his mouth opens trying to catch a breath. His legs shake with the exertion of keeping himself up. His muscles clench in the wake of his orgasm and still, Jabber pushes through it. He grits his teeth, keeps his hips moving.
"What a desperate creature you are, Jabber." Zanka says, hoarse, and Jabber catches his ragged breath through the ringing of his ears, he catches the pride through the blur of his lashes and tears. "Ya make for a lovely sight."
Jabber keens, and his movements stutter with the feeling of a second orgasm— he can reach it, he can, if only— it's painful, Lovely Assistaff's firm surface against his twitching cock, but Jabber wants it nonetheless, chases after it, greedy, desperate.
Unmistakably, Zanka's smirk is self-satisfied. It twists, predatory, and the sadistic glint in his eyes is all the warning Jabber gets.
Zanka's grip on Lovely Assistaff's ends, finds its way just where Jabber had wanted it. Zanka's fingers wrap around his neck, and Jabber feels his own heart beat against the firm hold that digs onto his skin.
"Yes, yes, yes, yesyesyes—" Zanka squeezes, fingers curling in enough to where Jabber can feel his nails graze him.
When Zanka leans in to kiss him, Jabber is made aware of the slobber that has dripped down his face. It smears, wet and sticky against his and Zanka's chin, and he shakes with the thought of Zanka finally touching him, diving into Jabber's filth. Zanka parts ways from the kiss, only to come back to hit Jabber with a new surge of desire. Zanka's tongue presses against his chin, licks up the saliva Jabber's drooled into a new kiss. It's messy, as things tend to be between them, raw and visceral.
Jabber finds himself drowned with the display of desire, with the animal need Zanka matches him with. Jabber's sharp whine is muffled between them, and when Zanka forces his head further back, when Zanka's hand presses painfully against his neck, when Zanka pushes him off-balance, Jabber's hands let go of the bed sheets, fingers finding purchase on Zanka's arms. Jabber's eyes roll to the back of his head with the pleasure that shakes him, with the dry orgasm Zanka pushes him onto.
"Told ya not ta touch." Zanka growls, biting at Jabber's bottom lip. His hold on his neck eases, fingers sliding up to grip against Jabber's cheeks painfully. "Can't even follow simple instructions, Jabber?"
Jabber's laugh rumbles in his throat, far too amused by Zanka's rough treatment. "Ya don't make it easy, dear." Jabber teases, sinks into the pain Zanka's providing.
Zanka's pupils are blown wide, and Jabber swallows at the hunger in them, at the spark of irritation, at the clear desire and amusement. He adores how Zanka loves this, loves how much he is willing to match him.
"Mmm. I suppose..." Zanka's forefinger taps against Jabber's cheek, smiling.
"Forgive me if the mind-shattering orgasm made me forget the rules tonight." Jabber teases, still aware of Zanka's unresolved issue. "Maybe you can fuck some sense into me, ah?" He snickers, fully aware he is just riling Zanka more. But they both know it of Jabber to be greedy, to always want more— Zanka can't blame him for that, right?
Zanka huffs, seeing through him. "And reward ya for yer bad behavior? I'd rather punish you..." Jabber's back straightens at that as best as it can with the way Zanka's got him bent backwards. "Though... I know ya'd enjoy it."
"So focus on your enjoyment." Jabber helpfully chimes in, aware that it would only lead to his own pleasure being granted.
"So damn greedy." Jabber can't deny that, almost feels disappointed when Zanka pulls back. When Zanka's hands leave him, coming to wrap around Lovely Assistaff, Jabber thinks his invitation for more will be turned down. "Get on the bed."
He needn't be told twice.