Work Text:
Jabber was so burnt out from her work that she just left the lab for what was supposed to be a small break that turned into something way longer than she anticipated. It was exhausting, she was 28 and stuck on her first author papers and the most frustrating part was the fucking python scripts she had to write for her research because every time she ran the scripts the stupid program was failing. And so, her paper on Polymers in tissue engineering and regenerative medicine was going nowhere.
It wasn’t like she didn’t like what she was doing, it was more related to the nitty-gritty parts of her job that she didn’t like. Like, for example, writing scripts. Using excel spreadsheets to analyse data. Those were frustrating, felt like she was spending more times trying to fix bugs and incorrect syntaxes than doing any real work. But doing research in chemistry was still her favourite thing in the world and she was glad she chose to do her PhD in chemistry. She just preferred to be in a lab than in front of a computer, that was all.
She was pacing around in a random university hallway, fingers playing around with a hair tie. Debating if it was time to go back and whine about her frustrations to Cthoni. She stopped at a board, eyes skimming over flayers and ads taped on the bulletin board. People were either selling something or looking for something. Her eyes stopped at an unassuming paper, nearly covered by everything else. What caught her eyes was the comic sans ms font used on the paper; only half words were visible but she still snorted. It made her want to take a better look at it. She moved aside what was covering it and looked at the ad that only had a sentence: Looking for a model for a Shibari exhibition. Along with a phone number and the address of a studio. It was just a sentence in black, on a white paper; while the rest of the ads were all colourful and with intricate details.
She realised then that the studio was only ten minutes from her university. On a whim, she ripped the paper from the board and walked the short distance to the studio.
It was purely out of curiosity that she went there. She didn’t plan to offer herself as a model, especially for something like rope bondage. But satiating her curiosity seemed to be a better idea than going back to writing stupid code that never worked.
She arrived at the address. The studio door was a little jagged, some parts holding together by tape. She looked around and didn’t see anything suspicious—it was still in the university district after all. She pushed the door a little, hearing a squeaking sound from it but it opened a little space that she could fit right into.
Jabber entered further in the room, it was rather big with a high-ceiling and a few windows with natural light seeping in. She looked around for a moment, noticing photographs and paintings and all kinds of art supplies around the room.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Someone said behind her.
Jabber turned around in surprise but faced only the mountain of supplies the stranger was holding on in a big box. She couldn’t even see her face from the overflowing supplies that were facing her. Then the stranger put the box down, dusting off her hands and approached her. Oh, Jabber realised, she is hot. Her exhaustion and frustration from her work evaporated immediately in favour of offering her brightest smile—she didn’t want to leave without at least getting her name. And preferably a phone number too but that’d be a bonus at this point.
The more Jabber looked at her, the wider her eyes grew. Her queer radar went off immediately, she thought, oh that’s a butch lesbian. The stranger was wearing a grey t-shirt, the sleeves rolled-up to show her biceps and some baggy jeans. A tamagotchi was hanging from her jeans, it piqued Jabber’s interest immediately. Jabber hoped her own outfit looked great, even in its business casual quality; simple black wide trousers, a brown knitted vest on top of a black long-sleeve. She also hoped her gloss didn’t look clumpy on her lips.
Still smiling, she said, “I hear you’re looking for a model.”
The stranger’s eyebrows rose. “Huh, yeah. Yer interested?”
“Depends. What’s it for, exactly? The flayer just says shibari exhibition.”
The stranger put her hands in her jean pockets, leaning on one leg, “if yer askin’ whether it’s pornographic—no. It’s purely artistic, I’m doing an exhibition on shibari. I’m a professional photographer.”
Tilting her head, Jabber said, “shibari, huh. Kinky.”
“It’s—”
“Relax, I’m kiddin’,” Jabber interrupted her with a glint in her eyes. “So how come you didn’t find anybody to model for you yet?”
The stranger raised a sparse brow, sizing her up. “There was someone. She quit after the first session though.”
“Aww, couldn’t handle it?”
“She had scheduling conflicts.”
“Sure she did,” she said, turning around to look at the room more closely. A moment of stillness extended while she fixed her gaze at a painting—a nude of two women, in an abstract style that made it look like they were merging together. Or rather, it looked like they were made of one flesh, one soul. She came here out of curiosity, mostly to escape the burnout of her work as the flayer offered some kind of temporary distraction. But between the tamagotchi, the painting and the thick accent, Jabber wanted to stay. She clicked her tongue, resigned in her decision and the impulsiveness that gripped at her. She turned around to face the artist and said, “don’t worry. I don’t scare easy. You can tie as hard as you want—I won’t break.”
Caught off guard, the stranger said, “yer serious? Ya actually want to do this?”
She smirked. “Yeah. Unless you’re looking for someone else?”
“No-no, ya—you’re—perfect actually.”
A quiet moment stretched between them, while it felt like they were studying each other more than before. Jabber wanted to ask what made her perfect in the eyes of someone she just met. It felt funny, being described as perfect, too abstract to have any meaning. Too carelessly thrown around whenever someone wanted to get her attention, it just didn’t have any weight in her mind. But still, she settled on something else, something that could potentially be a limit the stranger couldn’t cross.
“Just a heads up, I have a lot of scars,” she crossed her arms, feeling the sharp edges of her scars through the cotton of her shirt. “That okay with you?”
The stranger blinked, “yeah. Yeah, honestly… it might help. I really don’t want to just showcase the rope, ya know? It’s everything someone brings with them.”
Jabber observed her for a moment, a little calculating. “Okay then. The name’s Jabber, by the way,” she said extending her hand.
The stranger took her hand and squeezed. “Nice to meet you. I’m Zanka. I’ll send ya the details—schedule, compensation, all of that.”
“Sounds good.”
The first session was scheduled for the next week. Jabber trailed to the studio, feeling anticipation and curiosity in her bones—she found it difficult to contain her anticipation the longer the days went on. But it made the days go faster and she didn’t linger on frustration related to her work—she hadn’t thought about her broken scripts in days!
At the studio, Zanka greeted her with a small smile and offered her a drink.
“Tea is fine,” Jabber replied.
She moved around the room, this time focusing in the small details that she missed the first time. It looked cozy, a little messy but that could nearly be designer—the type of mess you’d expect to see in magazines. Her fingertips touched the small sculptures sitting on a shelf: abstract shapes that upon looking closer looked more like human silhouettes than abstract forms. Cold to the touch, ridged edges that almost cut through skin. One of the sculptures was used as a planter, green leaves spilling out of it, sliding down the shelf. The plant was even expanding to the other sculptures too, almost bringing them to life as well.
“Here,” Zanka said, handing her a mug of green tea.
Zanka’s gaze caught her fingers on the sculptures and Jabber noticed the way her lips stretched into another smile, this one more fond, with a gentle glint in her blue eyes.
“Yours?” Jabber asked her, curious.
“No, I’m not a sculptor” Zanka replied. “These are my mentor’s. Enjin. He’s the owner of the studio.”
Jabber hummed, taking her mug into her hands and blowing on it. She took a sip regardless of the slight burn she felt on her fingers, it felt nice against her tongue.
Zanka’s fingers were moving along the plant’s leaves, moving the stems from one side to another; probably to make the view more aesthetic. Or just to occupy her hands, Jabber didn’t know but her gaze followed her movements anyway.
Then, in a moment of stillness, Zanka asked, “I forgot to ask you the other day but… how do you feel about nudity?”
Jabber gasped dramatically, one hand gripping her mug and the other placed on her forehead. “Oof already taking my clothes off? Take me on a date first at least!”
Zanka blinked, fingers stopped moving and sent her an unmoved look sideways. “It’s for the exhibition.”
“I know, I know,” she grinned. “You’re no fun.”
Zanka rolled her eyes and stopped working on the plant in favour of going to fetch her own mug of tea she had left on a coffee table.
“Ya didn’t answer the question,” Zanka asked, returning to her side.
Jabber shrugged. “I’m fine with it. I ain’t shy.”
“Noted.”
Another silence while they were sipping on their tea, and Jabber was already feeling the jitters of what was about to happen next. Her teeth kept playing with the round piercings of her snake bite. She considered drinking her tea faster just to be done with it but the lazy way Zanka was holding herself made her slow down.
“Anyway, it’s not gonna be now. I want you to be comfortable about it so we’ll start slow—shoot in yer underwear for the time being,” Zanka said after a few sips of her tea.
She nodded, putting her finished mug on a small table nearby. “Whatever you say. You’re the artist.”
For their first shoot, Zanka recommended they do the hishi karada pattern. Down to her underwear and with her locs held loosely in a ponytail, Jabber sat on a wooden stool waiting for Zanka to start wrapping her in ropes. Zanka had showed her a picture of what it would look like and Jabber didn’t find it impressive to begin with. But she thought that it’d probably feel different once on her skin. She was also willing to trust Zanka for this, even though it was literally the second time they met. Still, Zanka seemed to know what she was doing and also not doing, which made Jabber think that it’d be fine. Zanka seemed harmless.
“Tell me if I hurt ya,” Zanka said, starting the geometric lattice pattern around her body.
Jabber’s arms and legs weren’t restrained, which was why Zanka chose this pattern for the first time. Apparently, it was better to not start with something complicated and risky like binding her arms without Zanka knowing about Jabber’s limits to restriction. Jabber had told her multiple times that she’d be fine, that her pain tolerance was higher than normal but Zanka still insisted on them starting with something less risky.
Zanka kept safety scissors nearby, just in case. Her fingers were moving around Jabber’s body carefully, touching her skin while still not putting pressure like she was being respectful of her model’s comfort. She kept asking her how she felt throughout each knot, each time a rope would come across her body, tighten a little around her torso.
The ropes smelled earthy. It grounded her in what she was feeling; smell of grass and touch of earth on her naked skin. The experience was pressing pause on her brain, making it impossible to think about anything else than the present moment—the rope around her body and Zanka’s hands. She kept looking down, counting each lines and each diamond shapes Zanka was making on her. It was tight but not uncomfortable, it didn’t obstruct her breathing. Zanka kept checking her breathing too, like it was some kind of indication of how well she did.
At some point Zanka helped her to stand up. The rope was going round and round, making prismatic shapes. Jabber didn’t know how long it was but she realised that she rather got accustomed to the feeling of the rope on her skin. Her arms were covered in scars and she wondered how rope on scar tissue would feel. Perhaps she could convince Zanka to try it next time.
“Good?” Zanka asked her, taking a step back.
Jabber nodded in response but from Zanka’s insistent look she seemed to want a verbal confirmation, “yes, I’m good.”
Zanka took another step back, one hand going through her blonde-brown hair. She seemed satisfied with her work, inspecting it from different angles before taking her camera and starting the actual photo shoot.
The moment Zanka stepped back and held the camera to her face was the moment Jabber felt seen rather than just touched. The natural light coming from the windows made the shadows dance across her body, accentuating the rope’s movement. She exhaled. It felt different, having a camera on her. She knew it was Zanka behind the lenses but the exposure felt different. Still not uncomfortable just… different. She didn’t know if she liked it the same way with just the ridged textures of the rope and Zanka’s fingers.
Zanka came a few steps closer, angling the camera to her face. A finger on Jabber’s chin to direct her this way and that way, to finally settle on a frame that she was satisfied with. The click of the camera came through and Jabber focused on that sound only. She tried to adapt a blank expression like she would often see in movies or fashion magazines—models wore blankness like a second skin and from someone expressive like her, it was rather difficult.
Zanka seemed to notice, though. “Are you okay? You seem tense.”
Jabber frowned. She wanted to argue but didn’t know how nor where to start. “I just…” She sighed, looking at the window.
Then she heard the familiar click. “There,” Zanka whispered coming closer to her. She lowered her camera and asked again, “what’s wrong?”
Jabber huffed another sigh and said, “I just. I dunno how to pose.”
Zanka offered her a small smile. “You’re doing great. You don’t need to suppress your emotions, you can just be you. I don’t mind.”
Jabber mulled over the words before going back to sit on the stool. She placed her elbows on her knees, leaning forward. This frame accentuated the scars on her arms—they were prominently more visible than the shibari in itself. But Zanka seemed to like the new composition and she got to her knees, angling her camera in a way that put the accent on her arms.
She had said just be you. So, Jabber took out her hair tie, her locs cascading down her shoulders and her back. Some flew to frame her face while she found the nerve to smirk at the way Zanka’s eyes seemed to light up at the movement of her hair.
Their next session was set for the following week. This time, the anticipation wasn’t as bad; Jabber even managed to get more work done than she had thought. It felt nice—satisfaction rooted in accomplishing mundane tasks but rewarding regardless when she checked them up on the planner. It hadn’t been a full week of lab, sure but it still wasn’t as bad as it usually was. For the most part, she had to attribute it to Cthoni’s homemade cinnamon rolls but realistically, she also knew it came from this new little space she found in a rundown studio and blue eyes hidden behind lenses.
They went for a hishi karada pattern again, despite Jabber’s insistence that she could handle something more risky. But this time, it was a slightly modified version of the pattern: this time, Zanka started from the bottom.
The result looked great, from what Jabber could see anyway. From her perspective it looked the same, it felt the same—the grassy smell still felt comforting, in a way. Once the binding was done, Zanka held her camera to her eyes and smiled at Jabber, “just like the other day. Be you.”
Jabber grinned, arms hanging on her sides while she strolled to the stool. She didn’t sit on it, though; instead, she dropped on the floor, draping one arm over the stool to support her. She lazily lay down, legs extended. Hearing the familiar clicking sound, her gaze met the blue ones during a moment in which Zanka had lowered the camera.
“Hey, Zan-zan,” her hand was drawing shapes on the wooden stool while she tilted her head to the side, looking up at the artist. She noticed the surprised look on Zanka’s face at the nickname. Cute. “Would you rather… be a worm for a day, or let a worm be you?”
Zanka lowered her camera again after a series of clicking and looked at her like she just asked the most serious question in the world. Jabber could tell she furrowed her brow slightly, even behind her fringe. The expression looked cute on her. Almost like she didn’t know if Jabber was testing her or not.
Then, Zanka asked, “what’s your answer?”
Huffing and dropping her cheek against the stool, she said, “I asked first!”
“And I’m asking now.”
Jabber scowled. “That’s not how it works.”
Zanka sent her a blank look, waiting for her answer. She still had her camera lowered to her chest and Jabber felt proud that she was willing to spend these minutes with her and not the persona she was trying to be.
And so, Jabber indulged her. “Fine. Let the worm be me. Easy.”
Frowning a little, Zanka got closer, crouching to be at the same eye level as her. “Why?”
Jabber shrugged, leaning back. “I dunno. I think he’d have a good time.”
A silence stretched and she could tell that Zanka’s urge to lift up the camera was getting stronger and stronger. Still, Zanka seemed to entertain her in this little moment of stupid conversation that didn’t mean anything but still ultimately meant the world.
Zanka lifted an eyebrow and asked, “a good time?”
Jabber smiled, gesturing with her hand. “Yeah. Like, no bills. No job,” she turned around and faced the windows where the sun had come up in this early spring season. She turned back to Zanka’s searching gaze and continued, “just a little guy wandering around in a body for a day. Eating snacks. Experiencing hands. He’d be like, ‘wow, this is nice.’”
“And you’d be the worm.”
“Yeah. Wriggling around. No thoughts. Sounds peaceful honestly.”
Another quiet moment settled between them and this time Zanka lifted her camera but only snapped one picture, lowering it back down again. It felt like she wanted to witness this small part of Jabber with her own eyes and not through the lens of a camera. Jabber wished she would do it more often. She felt good—with Zanka’s blue eyes trained on her body. It didn’t feel objectifying like it would, with most people. It didn’t feel judging or pitying either when Zanka’s gaze would fall on the burn scars on her arms. It just—something in her eyes made Jabber want to come back here more often. And most importantly, it made her want to open the layers and layers that made Zanka a whole person and just to peer at her with a smile and say, we’re the same.
It almost made her giddy.
“You want to be a worm that bad?” Zanka asked, bringing her back to the present.
Jabber thought for a moment about it and didn’t actually know what to answer. Would a honest answer suffice, considering they just recently met? Or something that reached the border of a lie and didn’t quite show any honesty from her? She settled on offering Zanka a grin. But it just didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t read into it. It’s just a game.”
And Zanka. She caught it. Because a second later, Jabber heard the clicking sound and knew that Zanka had captured a vulnerable moment she let show on her face. And once again, Zanka lowered the camera, watching her for a moment longer than necessary.
And then, Zanka said, “I’d be the worm too.”
The simple words brought a genuine smile on Jabber’s face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re right. No thoughts sounds nice.”
Jabber said, softly, ”see? You get it.”
It was one of those days. She had to go into the lab early to get the fast-growing organisms she worked with at the right stage of development for her experiments. She couldn’t predict the dates or times for that to happen—the time they take to get there depended on the mutations she had never worked with before and their response to tiny fluctuations in temperature. And so, that was how she spent her saturday from 6 o’clock until it was safe to go. Mostly because it was time to go to the studio.
It wasn’t much of a good day to begin with and it got worse when her work laptop just died. Like black screen kind of died. It was infuriating, she nearly threw it on the ground just to make it worse than it already was.
On top of that, she hadn’t backed up all of her files. So, Jabber was having a really bad day.
She arrived at the studio, looking dejected. Frustration was seeping from every pore of her body to the point that Zanka seemed surprised to see her like this.
Zanka’s gaze lingered a little on her overall appearance; she didn’t wear any makeup and walked in the studio in sweatpants and hoodie.
Zanka asked, “what’s wrong?”
She heaved a sigh. “Nothing. Just… my stupid work laptop died.”
“Let me guess, you didn’t make any backups?”
“I did just not for all of it.”
She threw her bag on the ground, not caring that it caused another trauma to the laptop. Sitting on the couch, she waited for Zanka to make her tea. She took her hair tie from her wrist and started playing with it just to do something and not think about the hours of work she had probably lost.
Zanka sat next to her on the couch, offering her usual mug of tea. “I could look into it if ya want?”
Surprised, Jabber whipped her head to look at her, her eyes widened. “You will??”
“Yeah,” Zanka shrugged. “I’m good at fixing stuff.”
Her whole face lit up. “Oh Zan-zan!” She threw her arms around her. “You’re an angel, you know that?”
She felt Zanka stiffen a little against her and from the corner of her eyes she saw her ears turn a pretty shade of red.
“Okay—okay,” Zanka said. “Get off. Let’s get back to the shoot.”
Still hanging off her, she said with a bright smile on her face, “my hero.”
“Jabber.”
She let her go, grinning. “Fine, fine.” And realised what she had caused: her mug of tea spilled all over the couch. “Oh, shit, my tea!”
Zanka sighed loudly. “It’s fine. Not the first time we spill something on it.”
“Oh, that why it has so many colour variations?”
They did another round of hishi karada and Jabber didn’t even complain about it this time. She felt as though the shoot went longer than usual, most likely from the emotions she was expressing again—frustration over her lost work, disappointment in herself for not doing regular backups, discontent over the whole situation. But Zanka was the light of hope she held on to.
While she was dressing herself, Zanka sat on the floor and opened the laptop to diagnose it. Jabber shuffled to sit beside her, cross-legged and elbows resting on her knees. She watched the other’s furrowed forehead in concentration, fingers moving to plug the device, listening to any weird sounds coming from it. The fans made a whirring sound and the power button did lit up—as expected, it displayed a black screen even when plugged to the sector.
“No bootable device found,” Zanka read from the screen. “But it’s okay though. ‘Means your drive is dead but the machine itself is fine. That’s actually good news.”
Jabber nodded. Zanka got up and went into another room. A few minutes later, she came back with another laptop and a screwdriver. There was also another object and Jabber pointed at it.
Zanka answered her, “it’s an adapter. It’ll help us backup your files. But I don’t make any promises it’ll work.”
She nodded again and switched position, to get closer and watch her work as she opened the laptop. It felt strange to see the gutted laptop, nearly emptied out with its back panel off. Jabber’s whole work life was just there, in this little rectangle that Zanka carefully extracted. Jabber watched how gentle Zanka’s hands handled it, how she plugged it to the adapter to her own laptop.
Jabber heard a little sound and her eyes dropped to the tamagotchi still hanging from Zanka’s pants. She reached out to it, playing with the little character in the time it took Zanka to do her work. She felt a strong gaze on her and she lifted her head to see Zanka looking at her. A small smile playing on her lips, Jabber found her really beautiful. But the moment was short lived as Zanka turned her head back to the gutted laptop.
“Moment of truth,” Zanka said as they both waited a few seconds for the drive to be detected.
Those few seconds went by agonizingly slowly and Jabber started to accept defeat that she’d have to start data analysing again. But then, the laptop detected the drive and Jabber huffed a sigh. It wasn’t fully a victory, she knew that—it didn’t mean that her files were saved but she still held hope.
Zanka didn’t waste any time and she started the recovery process. Jabber chewed on her bottom lip as the seconds dragged longer and longer.
She asked, “so how come you know all of this tech stuff?”
“Believe it or not but I majored in computer science. Worked for a little while at a tech company even.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh I totally thought you were the artsy type!”
Zanka, not with a real bite, said, the corners of her mouth quirked up. “Well, ya know. People may surprise you.”
“Yeah. Fair. So how come you left?”
Fingers moving on the keyboard, Zanka replied without seeming to think, “I realized I’m not fit for a desk job. I prefer to use my hands.”
Jabber gave a half-smile. In a deadpan voice, she said, “do you now.”
Zanka turned to look at her, after realizing how that sounded. “For photography. Building things. Not—”
“No no, I get it. Hands-on type. Very practical.”
Zanka muttered. “You’re insufferable.”
Jabber cheered, “thank you.”
The recovery software went on for a while. They settled on tea and just talking about anything and everything. At some point, Jabber said, unprompted, “oh, if one day you decide you wanna become a cannibal just remember to not eat the brain and the spinal cord. It can cause a lot of diseases and problems! Stay safe.”
Zanka looked at her for a moment. “Noted.”
Zanka took a sip of her tea and Jabber started talking about her job, all the good aspects and the bad ones that frustrated her every day. Zanka talked about her little garden in the balcony of her apartment, about the multiple plants she brought to the studio because the natural lights were better there anyway.
Hovering over the screen of Zanka’s laptop, they accessed the damage once the recovery was over. Jabber didn’t lose all her files—thankfully. She lost botched drafts and half-assed analyses; she huffed a sigh of relief.
“For your laptop, you’ll need to get a new drive and I can install it for you.”
Jabber waved her off. “It’s fine, no worries. I can bother the IT department about it.” She turned around to face Zanka, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you, though.”
Zanka just shrugged. “I’m glad I could help you.”
On their next shibari session, Zanka surprised her. She didn’t do the usual hishi karada that Jabber had become accustomed to. Instead, Zanka directed her hands the way she wanted to: crossing over her chest, in a way that looked like Jabber was hugging herself. More than during their previous sessions, Zanka checked her breathing and asked her how she felt after each turn of the rope.
Having her arms restricted felt weird but not in a bad way. The pattern went over her scars but Jabber wasn’t displeased by the feeling of the rope scratching them. On the contrary, the pressure on them felt like small needles prickling her skin. The sensation felt nice. She knew realistically that her scars were too old to cause any sensory issues, that the decades old burns almost felt like an ornament from her past. The thing about scars was that even after endless and tireless attempts, they wouldn’t heal. You could cover them up but you’d always know they are there.
So, she welcomed the prickling sensation with ease. Almost smiling as more and more rope wrapped around her. It accentuated the scars even more.
“How are ya? All good?” Zanka asked, hands finishing the last knot.
Jabber offered her a smile, eyes searching the blue ones but Zanka kept her gaze trained on the rope. “All good, yeah.”
Once the last tie was done, Zanka asked her to get comfortable and to do whatever she wanted.
The restriction made it difficult to do as she pleased. She could sit on the stool but she wanted to sit on the floor but with her arms bound, it was impossible to not fall on the ground.
Jabber huffed a sigh, saying, “on the floor.”
Zanka helped her get down and she managed to sit cross-legged. Once she got comfortable in her position, her gaze went up to Zanka’s nervous eyes. She seemed to regret the choice of the pattern.
“Can you untie my hair?”
Zanka nodded, went around her body and removed her hair tie. For a second or two, Jabber could feel her fingers in her locs; moving them this way and that, gentle touch that sent a dizzying feeling to her guts.
Once her locs were free, Zanka took her camera and started to work.
Photo after photo, Jabber’s expression went in various directions. She felt proud, having Zanka choose a slightly difficult pattern. She felt smug, for the way Zanka kept lowering her camera to look at her fully. She felt at ease, showing off her imperfections to her only audience.
At some point, she extended her legs in front of her and dropped on her back. The sudden movement made Zanka grunt, worry in her eyes. Before she could say anything, Jabber cut her off, “I’m fine.”
Laying on the ground was rather difficult for Zanka to take pictures of her. Jabber watched her come closer and closer. First, she stood on the side, angling her camera in a way that seemed right. Jabber’s locs were encircling her head like a halo; she could tell the frame would look nice. Then, one of Zanka’s leg went over her body, as she centred the camera.
Jabber looked at her, with a grin on her face. It felt nice, having her stand over her like this—like she was one movement away from sitting down and straddling her hips.
“Hey Zan-zan,” she said, tilting her head. “If you were stranded on an island and you had to take only three objects with you, what would you take?”
Zanka sighed heavily but didn’t lower her camera. She kept snapping pictures. “Why would I be stranded on an island?”
“Hypothetically! Just play the game and answer me.”
Zanka tsked her. “What would ya take then?”
Jabber grinned, “mmmh. A lip gloss for sure, my pink v-string. And maybe like a toothbrush.”
“Huh. All of that?” Zanka paused, finally lowering her camera. She seemed to think about her answer though. “I’d probably take my camera, a knife and a matchbox.”
Jabber’s eyebrows rose. “Huh. You’d actually survive, wouldn’t you.”
Zanka shrugged. “That’s the idea, yeah.”
Jabber grinned. “Okay new plan. I’m taking you instead of the toothbrush.”
“What happened to you?” Zanka asked, the moment she set foot in the studio. Zanka’s hand was holding a watering can over her plants, while her gaze bore into Jabber’s dark eye.
Jabber strutted over next to her, lowering Zanka’s hand as to not drown her plants in water. Zanka seemed to come to her senses as she immediately went to check the damages on the plants. They seemed fine to Jabber but she wasn’t the one nurturing and taking care of them.
“Mosh pit,” she said with a shrug. “Threw some hands. Some hands threw back.”
“Did you win?”
Jabber grinned. “Obviously. The security came and threw some people out. I played the innocent card.”
Zanka snorted. “You? Innocent?”
“I’m very convincing when I want to be.”
Zanka set down the watering can, arms crossed over her chest and her blue eyes studying the visible bruises. “Can ya still do the shoot?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Yer covered in bruises.”
Jabber shrugged. “So work around them. Or don’t. I don’t care.”
Zanka was hesitant. “If it hurts, tell me.”
Jabber, grinned, already pulling off her jacket. “Yes sir.”
As usual, Zanka turned her back to her, giving her privacy whenever she undressed. Jabber had noticed it early on and never commented, thinking that maybe Zanka would lose the habit at some point.
She never did.
Before tackling her most bruised areas, Zanka went for a hip harness first; the tightness around Jabber’s hip pulling some strange feelings out of her. She had started to really like the sensation of the grassy rope on her skin, it felt like Zanka’s hands working with potting soil.
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.”
She could tell the cogs were turning in Zanka’s head. That she was fighting the urge to pull and another more subdued urge to not move her hands. Jabber felt victorious, putting her in a spot where she visibly wanted something but was trying her hardest not to succumb. She looked beautiful this way: jaw tightened and dilated eyes, mouth slightly agape and coming dangerously closer to Jabber’s mouth.
Zanka pulled.
Jabber exhaled slowly. Almost a shiver. It felt good—dangerous type of good. She lulled her head back, letting the pressure of the pull vibrate through her body.
Zanka let go of the rope like it burned her.
Jabber blinked, watching Zanka step back. Zanka said in a rough voice, “break. We’re taking a break.”
Jabber, a little dazed, a little confused, watched her leave. “Zan-zan—”
But Zanka was fast, she was already across the room. “Five minutes.”
Those five minutes were the longest of her life. Jabber thought she had fucked up, that Zanka would never come back or worse—she’d tell her that she didn’t want to shoot her anymore. She watched as the clock on the wall kept going and going and still no news of Zanka. Did she really change her mind? Was Jabber wrong about her?
But Zanka proved her wrong—as she often did. She returned, more composed. Professional. Said nothing. Started untying the rope in silence to readjust it, more gently. In a quiet voice, she asked her usual questions ‘how is your breathing’, ‘how do you feel’, ‘tell me when you want to stop’.
Jabber left her be. Soon enough, Zanka finished binding her; arms crossed on her chest, like the other day. The artist took a step back to fetch her camera.
While Zanka was adjusting the settings of her camera, Jabber asked a quiet voice, almost a whisper, “you’re not gonna ask?”
Not looking at her, Zanka said, “no.”
“Most people would.”
“I’m not most people,” she said and this time, she looked straight in her eyes. “And you’ll tell me when you want to.”
Jabber didn’t respond. But something in her face shifted.
Jabber was in the middle of dressing up when it happened. She hissed, shaking her hand. “Ow ow ow ow—”
Zanka looked up from where she was sitting on the ground, browsing through the latest photos she just took. “What happened?”
Jabber, holding up her finger, genuinely offended. “Zipper cut my finger.” She was only wearing a bra and with her jeans still hanging on her hips, she knew she looked ridiculous, shaking her hand like that.
“Seriously?”
“Zero stars. Would not recommend.”
Zanka blinked. “You came in last week covered in bruises and didn’t flinch.”
“That’s different. This is annoying. It stings.”
Zanka stared, unfazed. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jabber extended her finger toward Zanka, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. “Kiss it better?”
“No.”
“Zan-zaaaan.”
Jabber watched as the corner of her mouth lifted slightly as though she was fighting a smile. But Zanka suppressed it rather quickly and Jabber—she still took it as a small victory.
Zanka turned back to her camera. “Suffer.”
It was the end of a session, Zanka was focused on her task: untying the ropes. It was a quiet moment but Jabber’s brain couldn’t shut off.
“Hey.”
“Mmh?”
She stared at her artist. “I think I’m ready. For the full thing.”
Zanka’s hands stopped their movement and her gaze met Jabber’s. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” she said, in a steady voice, “I trust you.”
Zanka studied her. Jabber did everything she could to convey the honesty ingrained in her bones. She didn’t want Zanka to doubt her.
Zanka nodded. “Okay. Next session then.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
She was in Momoa’s apartment with Amo, doing a brunch and talking about gossips and mundane things.
“I had a bad interview yesterday. They asked me the strangest question,” Amo said, crashing on the couch after devouring a chocolate cake herself.
Jabber was on the floor, hand on her stomach, while sipping on her soda. She said, “like what?”
“They asked: what would you do if you are approached by an employee who is complaining about a colleague who has horrible body odour?”
“Huh? The question is pretty stupid.”
“I know right? What would you answer to that?”
“I’d say, ‘yeah dude I can relate. I had a stinky colleague that thought I was the weird one for showering every day. The nerve??’ Anyway I’d probably say that and also something like ‘you should definitely tell them’.”
“See, that’s pretty much what I said!”
Momoa left the kitchen and looked at them both with round eyes.
She asked, “how did the interview go though?”
“Bad! I also said that I’ve seen my mom working a 9-to-5 her whole life and didn’t want that. I said I want to be my own boss. I don’t think I’ll get feedback from them. But their coffee was good!”
Pulling out her phone, Jabber checked the time and nearly spilled her soda all over herself. “Oh shit, I gotta go! I have a shoot!”
Amo raised a brow, “a shoot? What shoot Jabber—”
“Yeah well there is this artist doing a shibari exhibition and I’m modelling for her.”
Amo and Momoa exchange a look between themselves while she scrambled to her feet, looking for her bag.
They both looked at her with big eyes and said at the same time, “shibari?”
Casually, Jabber replied, “yeah! Ropes! They look pretty cool. I can probably get you tickets once the exhibition is launched.”
She missed the look her friends exchanged between themselves.
“Later, bye!”
For the next session, it was the same routine as usual. Jabber got there with five or ten minutes late, Zanka served them both tea. They talked. About anything in particular: Jabber’s work, Zanka’s other projects. It was a delicate moment rooted in a routine neither of them wanted to break. But they had to, because that day was special.
Instead of keeping her underwear like she usually would, Jabber took it off. It wasn’t the nakedness that made it special for her, it was mostly the audience she did it for—not her first rodeo but the first time when it felt different having someone’s eyes trained on her naked body.
She undressed, fully. Zanka still had her back to her.
Jabber could tell she was nervous. She held her camera a little more intently, with both hands and eyes fixed on the lenses. Jabber wasn’t sure she was doing anything with it but she liked the fact she wasn’t the only one affected by this moment. Just it affected them a little differently.
“Zan-zan?” she called her softly.
Zanka turned around slowly, eyes trained on her face and never shifting anywhere else. Professional. Jabber smiled and approached her.
“So? Are we doing this or not?”
In the pit of her stomach, she could feel her own nervousness being eaten by the anticipation of the bondage.
Zanka nodded and placed her camera on a table. She fetched the rope and approached Jabber.
“You okay?”
“Yep,” Jabber replied, hands going around her head to tie her hair up.
Zanka nodded again and started tying the rope. She focused on Jabber’s waist and crotch. It was matanawa style this time; diamond shape in the front, with the rope going over the crotch.
Zanka didn’t apply too much pressure so it wasn’t uncomfortable when it came in contact with her bush. Jabber exhaled, looking down at the rope ornament, looking down at her artist focused on her task. Zanka was professional even facing her naked body, touching her in ways that could bring her shivers immediately. It felt strange: intimate yes but ultimately it was the beauty of art that made everything perfect.
On her knees, Zanka looked up. “You okay?” She asked again.
Jabber tilted her head and looked at the rope before bringing her eyes back to Zanka’s.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
Zanka got to her feet and retrieved her camera.
It was interesting how a small piece of rope, placed thoughtfully, transformed her body into living art.
The moment Zanka held her camera, the nervousness seemed to drain out of her body.
Jabber walked around the place, Zanka following her from behind. She could hear the clicks of the camera. She stopped in front of the plants and turned around—another click with the plants surrounding her in the background. She knew the composition would be perfect.
Curious, Jabber asked her, “what do you feel when you’re here with me?”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “You know. We spend a lot of time here. Do you feel… accomplished? Lonely?”
A click. “Lonely isn’t the word.”
“Then what is it?”
Silence. Then another click.
“Homesick,” Zanka answered in a soft voice.
She heard another click. She blinked and it brought her back to the present. She walked to the couch not to sit on it but to drape herself over the back of the couch. She didn’t know what to say to that.
So she laughed instead and Zanka captured her laughter in a single frame.
It was another session but with the same routine. Jabber undressed without ceremony. She didn’t crack a joke, she try to flirt with Zanka, she just pulled off her clothes to stand there. Bare. Locs tied up and scars in full display.
Zanka picked up the rope.
“Ready?”
Jabber nodded and it was the signal that Zanka needed to start working. The rope moved across Jabber’s skin, slowly. It was deliberate. Careful. The quiet started to grate on her nerves.
She broke the silence, “you never asked, you know.”
“Asked about what?”
Jabber glanced at her left shoulder, eyes dragging down the burn scars. Part of her chest and belly were scarred too.
“About these,” she said in a distant voice.
Hands still gripping the rope, Zanka said, “it wasn’t my business to ask.”
“And now?”
Zanka’s hands paused and their eyes met in the quietness of the moment. “Still isn’t. Unless you want it to be.”
She averted her eyes, shrugging as if the story didn’t happen to her and she was just recounting it from someone else.
“I was nine,” she said, eyes still not looking at Zanka. But Zanka’s movements stopped as she seemed to focus her attention on Jabber’s words. “I was helping my mom cook at the stove. I was standing on a wooden step-stool that I previously painted butterflies on. And then the step-stool slid out from under me. The sudden movement knocked a pot of hot oil on my arms and chest and belly.”
She said it so casually, like she was talking about the weather. But her scars weren’t a time travel machine to the past, they were part of her story, of her tapestry. Every person has a million stars inside them and she had her own million butterflies painted on her body, in their ridged edges.
“It was ages ago. I don’t even remember most of it, to be honest,” she sighed. “Just like… the stickiness? And then waking up in the hospital. And by the way, the hospital food was awful.”
Zanka’s hands resumed but it was so, so slow. Like she was afraid to put any pressure and break the moment.
“I used to be ashamed of my scars. I would constantly try to hide them. Sometimes, I thought, oh scars are kinda cool—just not on me, you know? I don’t think it was about the scars. It’s about all the feelings that are in those scars.”
“And what about now?”
“I’m fine now, obviously,” she said in a shrug and waving at them both. “I don’t even have a trauma whenever I’m near a stove. I just…”
“You what?”
“Don’t laugh, okay,” she paused dramatically for the effect. “I’m just a bad cook.”
Zanka blinked. “So what do ya eat?”
“Takeout mostly. Microwave stuff. Things that don’t require standing near a stove and mixing ingredients.”
“Aren’t you a chemist?”
“Well yes, what does that have to do with anything?”
“I thought chemists would be great cooks. Since, you know, you mix liquids to make reactions and call it product.”
“Oh, so that’s what you think I do?” she laughed and saw Zanka’s lips turned up in amusement. “You know what? I’m not gonna burst your bubble and let you believe what you want.”
Zanka moved around her to wrap the rope around her back.
Zanka asked, “what’s your favourite food?”
She didn’t have to think twice. “Waffles!”
“Noted.”
“What, you’re gonna make me waffles, Zan-zan?”
From behind her, Zanka adjusted the rope. “Maybe.”
Caught off guard, Jabber said softly, “oh.”
For once, she let the silence drag, didn’t even want to joke.
In a small and quiet voice, she added, “I’d like that.”
Zanka didn’t respond but her hands were gentle on the rope, gliding on Jabber’s skin like she was the most precious thing in the world.
It wasn’t a session day but Jabber still walked into the studio, holding two drinks. She got a hibiscus tea latte for Zanka as she would usually make them hibiscus tea whenever it was a shooting day. But once Jabber got there, she stopped in her tracks; it wasn’t Zanka. It was someone else, lounging on the couch. Wasthathergirlfriendor—
Before she could even form a coherent thought, the other person noticed her and said. “oh, hello.”
Jabber smiled even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Uh—hi. Is Zanka around?”
Tilting her head, the other was studying her, it felt like being scanned from head to toe. “She’s grabbing something. Should be back soon.” Jabber nodded and a silence fell between them. She was nearly considering dropping Zanka’s drink and just leave when the other person asked, “you’re the shibari girl, right?”
Eyebrows said, Jabber asked, “the shibari girl?”
“Mmh. Zanka has mentioned you.
“She has?”
“Mmh,” the other person said, leaning back with a lazy smile on her lips, “quite a big actually.”
“Cool.”
What the fuck was she supposed to think about that? Zanka talking about her to other people? What did it mean?
“You brought her a drink?” The other grinned, knowingly.
Before Jabber could respond, the door opened and Zanka walked in.
“Riyo, I got your—” she started saying before noticing Jabber “—Jabber? What are ya doing here?”
She held out the drink, smiling, “just came to give you this. See you tomorrow!”
She was out the door before Zanka could say anything else. As she walked away, she heard Riyo’s voice through the door saying something in a teasing voice but she couldn’t make out the words. All the she could hear was Zanka’s muffled “shut up.”
Jabber grinned to herself. She didn’t know what it all meant really but she knew Zanka burrowed inside of her. Deeply.
Jabber didn’t do it on purpose.
It just. Happened.
During their next session, she undressed fully, as nudity became part of their routine. She just forgot about the bite marks on her skin.
Zanka was adjusting the rope across her shoulders and it made her shift a little. Zanka’s hands slowed down, and Jabber could tell that she saw something on her body that caught her eyes. She watched as blue eyes travelled over faint bruises, the kind that weren’t from mosh pits. Red marks on Jabber’s collarbone.
Zanka didn’t speak but Jabber could see her jaw tightening a little.
“Zan-zan?”
“Hold still.”
Zanka pulled the rope. Harder than usual. It made Jabber inhale sharply.
“Oh,” she breathed out.
Zanka didn’t look at her at all. Her hands were gripping the rope tightly, her gaze fixated on Jabber’s body. Another pull; it was tight.
Breath catching, Jabber curved her lips upward, “someone’s tense today.”
In a flat voice, Zanka said, “I’m focused.”
Jabber swallowed and leaned forward, coming closer to Zanka’s ear. In a low voice, she said, “sure you are.”
And it was maybe the proximity of their bodies that made Zanka’s hands still for a moment. Or the fact her eyes were fixated on Jabber’s collarbone. But then she continued, pulling again. She pulled and pulled slowly but the tightness remained.
Jabber exhaled again but didn’t say anything. She just smiled knowingly.
It wasn’t calculated on her part to stop showing up with love marks all over herself.
It just happened. Or maybe it was a conscious decision—she wasn’t sure anymore. She just knew she saw something in Zanka’s eyes and it was enough.
The moment she entered the studio, she noticed the rigging points on the ceiling and on the floor. She smiled at Zanka once she noticed her.
As usual, Zanka made them tea and Jabber hummed in her mug. They sat on the dilapidated couch with its mismatched patches of colours. The ceiling anchors were in front of them and so after a while, Jabber made a movement with her chin.
“That’s new.”
Zanka nodded, eyes locked on the anchors. “We’re doing something different today.”
Jabber turned her gaze toward her. “How different?”
This time, Zanka met her eyes. “Do ya trust me?”
“Yeah.”
She surprised herself at how fast the answer came and how honest she was; she trusted Zanka, yes, and it was a little frightening.
Zanka nodded again and they sipped their tea in silence, the tension growing a little by the minute. She felt restless, similarly to their first session. Perhaps it was the novelty of the suspension that made her like this, anticipation making her sip her tea faster in the hope to start the session sooner.
Once the tea was gone, they continued their routine. Jabber undressed completely again—it became a habit now, she liked having Zanka’s focused gaze on her bare body.
Zanka started wrapping her body in rope. Her movements were slower than usual. Jabber could feel the difference in the way Zanka handled the lines, checking the tension and pressure twice, three times. Her hands didn’t leave Jabber’s body for long, she checked her breathing and asked how she felt. The rope didn’t restrain Jabber’s hands or feet, it was focused on her shoulders and hips.
Then, the rope went taut. Jabber felt the pull, upward. The moment she left the ground, it was disorienting, gravity shifted and her body tried to readjust.
Her mouth opened and she let a small oh escape her lips.
“Look at me,” Zanka said in a firm voice.
She lifted her eyes from the ground and locked them on Zanka’s blue ones. She already had her camera in her hands and the usual click came through.
It wasn’t nothing like she expected. She could feel the deep compression of the rope, around her shoulders and hips; it strangely felt like a weighted blanked wrapped around her body. In a more bizarre way, she felt… grounded. Held. The pressure against her shoulders made her feel powerless but Zanka’s gaze on her every movement made her feel cared for. Jabber breathed deeply, as Zanka instructed her. She felt both the spike of adrenaline and the helplessness mingle inside of her, in a chasm of exhilarating emotions.
Zanka was watching her, not through the lenses anymore. She felt seen. She also felt like losing control.
Zanka said something in a language she couldn’t understand and she wasn’t even in her right mind to ask her what it was. She wanted to say something but the words didn’t come, the air up there seemed different somehow. More charged. She was suspended in the air but felt like falling.
Then, the clicks started again.
The shoot didn’t last as long as it usually would, Zanka seemed content with the few photos she took.
After some time, Zanka put down the camera and brought her down with gentle hands. Jabber’s feet touched the ground and she couldn’t help herself but put her arms on Zanka’s shoulders, steadying herself. Neither of them moved, just standing there, looking at each other. Zanka anchored her, solid like a dam, a mountain she crashed into face first.
In a low voice, Zanka asked, “how do ya feel?”
“Feels like I left something up there.”
Zanka looked at her for a long moment, eyes searching, the distance between their bodies shrinking. Then, she untied the rope.
Zanka didn’t ask her what her words meant and Jabber didn’t quite know herself.
But something in the room changed and they both knew it.
At a music festival with Amo and Momoa, Jabber didn’t think she’d run into Zanka, like, ever. Zanka didn’t seem to be the type to enjoy crowded spaces, let alone something as loud as a music festival. But not only she was there but her face was also adorned with intricate lines. Eyeliner so sharp that Jabber could tell it took her a few tries to achieve the design starting from her eyelids going down to her cheeks. It looked more like tattoos than makeup and Jabber swallowed thickly against her will. Her eyes then travelled to Zanka’s whole outfit, a fitted black waistcoat directly on her skin, without anything underneath, framing her shoulders and biceps in a flattering way. She wore a low-waisted wide-leg trousers, making her happy trail visible and causing Jabber’s brain to stop working entirely.
Jabber wanted to run her hands through her blonde strands of hair. Wanted to argue with Zanka all night about everything. Wanted to feel Zanka’s ropes tighten around her throat. Wanted to feel Zanka’s lips on her heated skin. Wanted to peel tangerines for her. Wanted to key Zanka’s car. Wanted to skin her with her tongue. Wanted to buy her heart shaped cupcakes. Wanted to kiss her and hate her and kiss her and drown her and kiss her right back to life.
She saw Zanka with what she assumed were friends and a girl that looked like she wanted to be more than friends.
Jabber left her own friends in mid-conversation and walked straight to where Zanka was.
When she got closer, Zanka noticed her and asked, “what are ya doing here?” Her friends looked at Jabber curiously.
But Jabber ignored her question, her hand coming up and touching Zanka’s chin delicately, a touch so light and uncharacteristic of her.
Jabber said, smiling, “you know what would be nice? Having lipstick marks on me during a shoot.”
Zanka narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”
Jabber got closer. “Imagine, one here,” she touched her cheek, “one here,” she touched her collarbone, “and one here,” she touched her sternum. She knew the effect her words had on Zanka, could tell by the way Zanka’s eyes drifted from her eyes to her lips and the way she seemed to suppress a shudder.
Before leaving, Jabber added, “just think about it, yeah?” and then with a grin, she left to join her friends.
During their next session, a few days after the music festival, Jabber wanted to push at Zanka’s buttons. To see if she would fold or react in a flustered way. She wanted to provoke her, to get a reaction that would make her laugh.
Once Zanka was finished tying her up, Jabber cooked her head to the side and asked, “did ya think about what I said the other day?”
She saw Zanka become immobile, hands hovering over the rope. Their eyes met but Zanka didn’t reply. She just left her there, going to the backroom. Jabber was naked and had multiple ropes wrapped around her whole body. Her smile slipped, she felt cold and small in the middle of four high-ceiling walls with different art pieces looking back at her. She was suspended a few centimetres above ground completely naked, lips chapped and feeling the bitter early-spring wind through the open-window.
Zanka came back a few minutes later but with lips tainted in deep red that looked like blood. Jabber’s smile came back full force, any discomfort she had felt earlier living her body at the sight of the other. She felt shivers from anticipation, eyes going back and front from Zanka’s eyes and lips and feeling the excitement built in her body.
Zanka approached her, using one of the ropes to bring Jabber’s body down to the ground. Even with her feet touching the ground, Zanka still had to get on her tiptoes to reach her. Jabber liked their small height difference a lot, especially when Zanka was so close to her, hands reaching for the ropes tightly wrapped around her body.
Zanka’s hands came delicately to Jabber’s face, holding her like high-end prize and Jabber couldn’t help but to swallow in anticipation. Zanka approached her even closely, lips hovering over Jabber’s own, like a sealed deal that would collapse at any moment. But Zanka turned her head to the side and Jabber felt lips touching the side of her mouth. It lasted long, longer than she expected, and she could imagine the red mark Zanka’s lips left behind.
Zanka moved back a little, hands leaving Jabber’s face and resting on the ropes around her shoulders. Jabber’s gaze turned to her, looking at Zanka’s short but thick fingers moving aside the ropes to reveal her clavicle. Zanka didn’t hesitated a second and she kissed Jabber’s clavicle with the same intensity as before, staying on Jabber’s skin like she wanted to enjoy every second of it.
Jabber felt dizzy, she felt hot at all the places Zanka touched her. She couldn’t even feel the breeze from the open-window because Zanka made her feel all sorts of things that made her want to beg for more.
Zanka’s lips left her clavicle and she got down a little to reach Jabber’s sternum. Hands moving aside the ropes and this time, Zanka’s gaze met hers during the kiss. Jabber could see the hunger in her eyes, could imagine how intensely it reflected in her own eyes as well. She could swear that Zanka’s stayed in this position way longer than the other two kisses, lips and eyes on Jabber like she was showing her what the meaning of devotion was. Jabber’s dizziness got worse, she opened her mouth, nearly begging her to kiss her and to rip her apart, piece by piece.
And then Zanka moved back completely, lipstick smeared a little around her mouth. “There. Satisfied?”
Jabber swallowed thickly, trying to find her words. She wanted to scream because she didn’t think Zanka would go with her idea. She baited her into it as a sort of a joke, a provocation fuelled by some type of jealousy she had felt during the music festival. She just didn’t realize that Zanka would accept it and make her feel things.
Frankly, Jabber felt as if she had been beaten at her own game.
She nodded and Zanka reached for her camera and they resumed the shoot.
They were finishing a shoot, Jabber tied in ropes and Zanka clicking her camera to take the perfect pictures of her. It was nearly four in the afternoon, the sun shining through the windows making her skin glow and accentuating the shadows created by the ropes.
After another click of her camera, Zanka lowered it and said, “by the way, I have to cancel next week session.”
Jabber cooked her head to the side, she didn’t want to press on it but she still felt a little disappointed. “Okay.”
Taking off the camera and placing it in its case, Zanka began untying the ropes holding her tight.
Then, from behind her, Zanka added in a whisper, “are ya free though? That day?”
Jabber perked up. She tried to turn around and look at her but Zanka didn’t let her, forcing her head to look forward and by extension—denying her eyes to her. Jabber pouted.
“Why? What d’you have in mind?”
Still from behind, Jabber could feel nimble hands going over her back and untying the knots. “I got a gig. I’m the wedding photographer and I could use some help,” Zanka said and from her next words, Jabber could hear the small smile. “Plus… free food and drinks.”
Jabber bit her lips. “Oh, free food and drinks, huh? I’m in!”
After a moment, Zanka came around, facing her and starting to work on the knots in the front. This time, Jabber was able to watch the concentration etched in her face, along with some a stroke of satisfaction. Zanka looked relaxed, more so than during today’s shoot, as if she was gearing up toward this request. It made her want to reach out and bury her hands in her soft hair.
“By the way, can I drive us there?”
Surprised, Zanka glanced up. “Ya got a car?
“No silly but I got my licence recently!”
Zanka blinked. “Then what are ya going to drive?”
“Well… don’t you have a car?”
Zanka blinked again. A moment passed between them, while their eyes were locked on each other. And then, Zanka wetted her lips and Jabber couldn’t help but follow the movement with her eyes.
Zanka said, “what makes ya think I’d let you drive her?”
Jabber smirked. “Her?”
But she only got an eye-roll as an answer. She still felt victorious after teasing her.
“Oh, c’mon! I promise I won't make us crash too badly.”
Sighing loudly, Zanka said, “this ain’t the reassurance ya think it is.”
But she didn’t argue further though. It was settled then, Jabber would be the one to drive them there.
Right before leaving, she approached Zanka, leaning at the table with her work bag slung over her shoulder.
She teased, “so, Zan-zan. I’m your plus one, huh?”
Zanka frowned but kept her gaze on her laptop. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“No girlfriend to take instead?”
Zanka’s bored gaze fixed on her. “Is that yer twisted way of asking me if I’m single?”
“Well? Does it work?”
They stared at each other during what felt like eternity.
“No,” Zanka said but she immediately clarified, “no girlfriend.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… surprised. Is all.”
Zanka frowned a second time. “Why?”
She shrugged, grinning. “No reason. It’s good for me though. Means I get the free food.”
Zanka’s eyes were still fixed on her, intently, intensely too, like she had something she wanted to ask but didn’t know how to form the words. The crease between her eyebrows became a little more prominent, Jabber wanted to lean in with her finger and smooth it out.
But she didn’t. Instead, she turned around, intending to leave the studio. Before she left, though, she turned around and found that Zanka was still looking at her.
“I don’t have a girlfriend either,” she said over her shoulder and then she left.
Zanka found a parking spot not far from where Jabber lived. She sent her a quick text and waited in her car, shuffling through her playlist for something to listen to during their ride to the wedding place.
She heard a knock on her door window and upon turning around, she faced Jabber’s grin and oh—her dress. She nearly got a heart attack. Her eyebrows shot up as she struggled with her door handle and got out of the car.
“So, how is it?” Jabber asked, showing her full outfit.
Jabber even made a little twirl on herself, rippling like water. She was wearing a slinkiest, ivory off-shoulders dress, with a back cut dangerously low and a thigh slit dangerously high. It was making Zanka lose her mind. Jabber paired it with small silver earrings and necklace that accentuated the dip in her breasts. She could see gold glitter on her exposed body.
Zanka couldn’t do it.
She regretted asking her to tag along, seeing how the dress was making her blood pressure spike up.
She knew Jabber was beautiful. And she also knew that Jabber played on it a lot and flirted with her constantly. She knew Jabber enjoyed seeing how flustered she was but watching as the sun was accentuating the glitters all over her body was making it very difficult to keep it cool.
“So? Cat got your tongue?” Jabber teased, a smug expression on her face.
Zanka forced her eyes on Jabber’s face instead; it was a dangerous idea because the shiny lipstick she wore made Zanka want to lick it all off.
She nodded and dragged her eyes to her car.
“All yours,” she said, going to the passenger’s side door.
Jabber got inside and started looking around. She said, “oh thank god it’s an automatic! I hate stick shift.”
Zanka sent her a sceptical look that said a lot without even uttering any words.
While Jabber rearranged everything to her height level, Zanka put in the location of the wedding. She turned around and watched as Jabber removed her high heels in favour of flip-flops.
“I came prepared,” she said, buckling herself.
And they went on their journey. It was a long drive, only a thirty minute drive to get there but Zanka felt kind of nervous letting someone else drive her car. Especially because she kept stealing glances at Jabber, at the way her slit rode up the more she drove. She dragged her gaze on the road.
At one point, she glanced at the dashboard and clicked her tongue, saying, “the speed limit is 30 here.”
Jabber waved her off, “30 or 42, ain’t much that different.”
Zanka grumbled but didn’t say anything. She still noticed that even though Jabber dismissed her warning, she reduced her speed limit.
It didn’t last long. They hit the highway and Jabber kept her foot on the accelerator. Instinctively, Zanka paused the sound of her music and said, “slow down! This ain’t autobahn!”
“Oh, how I love your car!” Jabber smirked and proceeded to speed up even more.
Zanka clicked her tongue, “slow down, dammit, I’m not dying in a car crash with ya.”
“Oh, why not? Ain’t it romantic, though? Us dressed like this, dying in a car crash?”
“Jabber, if ya don’t slow down I’m not letting ya drive my car ever again.”
Jabber only sighed but removed her foot off the accelerator, slowing it down to a reasonable speed and keeping it steady from there.
The rest of the drive went smoothly, Jabber didn’t attempt to crash them anymore which was a relief.
Zanka noticed that during the whole drive, Jabber didn’t talk much; she looked focused. It made sense, as she got her licence only recently but Zanka still thought it strange to not hear her voice fill in the silence as she usually would. With stupid questions and flirty remarks. Perhaps, it was a good thing she was concentrated on her task. It made Zanka forget about the fact her shoulders looked so smooth to the touch.
Zanka rubbed her sweating hands on her suit pants, she wanted to loosen her tie so damn much. That dress was killing her.
Fortunately, they arrived at the venue. Jabber parked the car and upon opening the door, Zanka said, “the fuck?”
“What?” Jabber asked glancing at her from the driver seat.
“Ya can’t even park straight.”
Jabber smirked. “Good thing I ain’t straight,” she switched up her shoes, putting her heels on and leaving the flip-flops in the car. “Beside, I’m still within the lines anyway.”
Zanka sighed and got out of the car. She opened the backseat door to fetch her stuff. She gave some to Jabber to hold on to. But as they started to walk to the venue, among other guests, Zanka noticed the judgmental looks they sent Jabber’s way. Were they looking at her scars? Was that the slit, they didn’t like? Or the colour? Or something that had nothing to do with the dress at all?
Zanka frowned but still didn’t want to attract more attention to them. She beckoned Jabber aside, in a secluded area not far from the entrance and made her put all her work stuff on the ground.
She then removed her suit jacket and put it around Jabber’s shoulders, “here. Put this on,” she said, not meeting Jabber’s eyes the whole time.
Jabber frowned, confused, “why? I’m not cold?”
Zanka's gaze moved past her, scanning the entrance. “Yer attracting a crowd.”
“Jealous?” Jabber grinned.
Zanka waved her off and forced her eyes to meet Jabber’s, “I’m working. Yer a distraction.”
Jabber slipped into the jacket. It looked like she was swimming in it. “This smells like you.”
Zanka sighed, taking some of her stuff from the ground and walking away. “Don’t make it weird. Just—stay out of trouble.”
Calling after her, Jabber said, “no promises!”
They entered the venue, with less judgmental eyes on them now that Jabber was (mostly) covered. Someone approached them with a clipboard.
“Hi, you must be the photographer? Zanka?”
“Yes, hello. And this is—”
Her words got cut short as Jabber threw herself over Zanka’s arm, gripping it like her life depended on it.
Jabber said, smiling mischievously, “her wife.”
Zanka blue-screened on the spot. She blinked a few times, looking at the clipboard-lady, looking at Jabber, looking at clipboard-lady again. What the fuck?
The clipboard-lady said, “oh! I didn’t realise—”
Jabber nodded eagerly her way. “Six kids. Can you imagine? I just gave birth two weeks ago.”
The other woman glanced at Jabber’s very flat stomach in her slinkiest dress. “Two weeks ago?”
Jabber nodded again, “I bounce back fast.”
Zanka opened her mouth to say something but no sounds came out. She mentally checked out of this conversation.
“She’s shy. Say hi, honey,” Jabber said, patting her arm.
Finally rebooting, Zanka started saying, “we’re not—she’s not—”
But Jabber leaned over to the clipboard-lady, stage whispering her, “she gets emotional at weddings.”
“Right,” the woman said. Zanka blinked twice in her direction but she didn’t notice. “Well. The bride wanted to discuss the shot list, so…”
Zanka cleared her throat immediately. “Yes. Great. I’ll—do that,” she extracted herself from Jabber’s grip, glaring at her wife.
“Go get ‘em, babe,” Jabber said, waving.
Through gritted teeth, Zanka whispered to her ears only, “I’m going to kill ya.”
But Jabber ignored her threat and just blew her a kiss, “love you too.”
She followed the other woman and focused on the bride’s request, doing her hardest to forget about Jabber’s fake scenario. And her fake words. It was driving her crazy.
Later, when she found Jabber and asked her to start helping her set up the material, she couldn’t help but ask, “why six?”
Jabber just shrugged. “Felt right. We’re very fertile.”
Zanka sent her a deadpan look.
She managed to get some work done. She even met the video team and they got some footage together. Jabber was left to her own devices and Zanka hoped she didn’t create too much problems. The bride was too high-maintenance, Zanka worried that she would probably flip a table if they caused her any issue.
Hopefully Jabber would behave.
She just finished shooting the bridesmaids when Jabber found her, all excited and giggly.
Zanka frowned, “where were ya? I needed help with this.”
“Nonsense you got it covered. I was networking! Recommending your services!”
Zanka blinked. “What.”
Jabber came closer and gestured to someone on her left, “yeah see the pink haired old lady? She’s looking for a photographer for her grand-kid's birthday. I gave her your card. I also told her about our son little Deedee and how sad he was when he broke his foot, so if she asks—”
Her eye twitched. “Our son.”
“—don’t be surprised. Also see that couple over there—”
Zanka didn’t follow the direction she was pointing at, instead she turned around to fully look at her, frowning. “Jabber. Our SON?”
“—the guy with long black hair and the other one with white hair! They want to renew their vows, together for years, four kids… They were surprised we had six though—”
“Ya told strangers we have six children.”
As if clipboard-lady wasn’t enough.
Jabber shrugged, “I mean it came up naturally.”
“How does that come up NATURALLY?”
Jabber smiled brightly. “We winning though! Two potential clients in one night!”
A second. Two. The world seemed to slow down around them. Zanka blinked the incredulity away.
Through gritted teeth, Zanka said, “how much did ya charge for the vow renewal?”
“Oh I gave them your standard rate don’t worry.”
Another blink. “You don’t know my standard rate.”
“I made one up! It seemed reasonable!”
Zanka sighed and decided to ignore the whole thing. She pulled Jabber to another spot and put her to work. Perhaps this way she wouldn’t go around, selling her services and inventing a life they clearly didn’t have. It was crazy.
And the fact that Zanka found it extremely funny but didn’t say anything made her want to ruin the whole wedding out of sheer frustration.
It took a few hours but they spent them without any interferences. Jabber actually helped her a lot, taking her role of assistant photographer very seriously. The groom and the bride were dancing, along with their guests and from time to time, Zanka stole glances at Jabber and noticed her hand playing rhythmically against her thigh.
They could just leave the cameras on tripods and let them roll automatically. Nobody would notice. Besides, it wasn’t like there was a lot of people where they stood.
Zanka looked at Jabber again and sighed, making up her mind. She set her camera on the tripod and walked over to where Jabber was. Taking the second camera from Jabber’s hands, she placed it on another tripod and despite Jabber’s confused look, she took her hands, guiding her to a more secluded area.
“Let’s dance.”
Jabber giggled and it didn’t take her long before she started dancing, taking Zanka’s hands in hers and moving around to the music. It was a silly dance, more laughter and giggles than real movements but neither of them cared. Jabber looked happy. Zanka made sure to twirl her around a few times just to hear her giggle again and again.
“Zan-zan, I’m surprised nobody wifed you up yet.”
Zanka laughed but it came out a little bitter than intended. “Maybe I’m not that easy to get along.”
“Oh it definitely ain’t that.”
“Maybe ya just don’t know me like you think you are.”
Jabber looked pensive. “I doubt that. I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
Zanka laughed but didn’t argue further. Then, the music slowed down and Zanka couldn’t help but put her hands around Jabber’s waist, bringing her closer. Jabber had a few centimetres on her, not just because of her heels but even without them she was taller—Zanka liked to look up to her. Her hands felt a little sweaty and she hoped it didn’t ruin Jabber’s dress but she didn’t seem to care as she stayed rooted between Zanka’s hands. The more Jabber swayed, the more Zanka became aware of their proximity; nearly all her senses were consumed by Jabber and Zanka felt like drowning in it.
She knew Jabber was beautiful. She also knew that Jabber played on it, through her flirtatious remarks and stupid questions, getting a rise out of her. Jabber probably enjoyed making her flustered and Zanka wouldn’t admit it but she didn’t want her to stop. Not when touching Jabber felt like opening a pit in her and just dropping any Jabber related thoughts in it. Jabber was beautiful and touching her burned her; from inside and outside.
Jabber still wore her suit jacket. Feeling a little bold, Zanka’s hands travelled from her waist to her back—shuddering fingertips touching soft brown skin flecked by gold dust. She caught Jabber’s shudder immediately but didn’t remove her hands, she didn’t move them further on her back either. She was glad the jacket was covering everything, like whatever they were doing was only theirs, out of everyone’s prying eyes.
Jabber’s own hand moved to Zanka’s nape, caressing slowly, and Zanka leaned into the touch. She liked it. Quite a lot.
“What are you thinking about,” Jabber asked, curious.
Zanka didn’t think further, honestly spilling from her mouth. “You.”
“Oh,” Jabber said, fingers stopping in her nape. Her pretty pink eyes reflected an earthquake of emotions that she didn’t seem to know how to react.
Everything went very still, the moment Zanka dropped her most honest thought. In the stillness of the moment, while the slow music kept going, she dropped her forehead on Jabber’s shoulder, just breathing her in. Jabber let her have it, fingers resuming their slow circles on the nape of her head. She breathed Jabber’s peachy perfume, she touched Jabber’s soft skin, she saw Jabber’s broken but reconstructed body; she was everywhere. She was everything Zanka wanted. Three truths came to mind. Peaches. Glitter. Scars. It felt oddly anchoring.
Zanka pulled back, saying, “we should get back to work.”
She started walking over to her abandoned tripod when she felt Jabber catching her arm. She turned and watched as Jabber came closer and dropped a kiss to her cheek.
“Thanks for the dance,” Jabber smiled and walked to her own camera.
Zanka finally walked back to her work, ears red and heart pounding.
“Say Zan-zan. You know most weddings cakes are fake, right?”
While adjusting her camera, Zanka arched a brow. “What?”
The moment those words came out of Jabber’s mouth an alarm rang in Zanka’s brain. It sounded like trouble and some twisted part of her brain didn’t even want to stop it.
In front of them sat the big wedding cake that Zanka was instructed to photograph. She didn’t know the purpose of it but bride’s wishes had to be met otherwise she wouldn’t get paid.
Jabber was observing the cake very intently, circling around it like a predator in front of her prey; she looked at it as though she could see its imperfections. She probably could. Perceptive as she was.
Jabber huffed a sigh and waved at the cake, “the bottom tiers. Plastic. They only make the top real for the cutting photo. Then they serve a different cake from the back. It’s a cheap way of saving money.”
Zanka approached her, letting the camera sit on her chest, hanging by the strap. She didn’t know why this particular (extravagant) bride that seemed to live only to show off her lavishness would be stingy with the cake.
“Where did you hear that?”
Jabber sent her a look. “The internet. I’m very well-informed.”
Zanka blinked. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me,” Jabber huffed again, eyeing her with a glint of defiance that made the pink in her eyes shine even brighter.
“I didn’t say that,” Zanka said, putting her hands up in a fake innocence.
“Your face said it. Watch—I’ll prove it.”
“Jabber, don’t—”
Zanka didn’t have to stop her from an imminent disaster because Jabber’s hand approached the cake, poking the bottom tier.
“See, this is all just—” and Jabber’s hand sunk in. Fully. Up to the wrist.
She turned to look at Zanka. Zanka looked at her. For a moment, neither of them moved nor said anything. It was just Jabber’s hand in the cake and Zanka knowing fully well that she just lost the payment for the gig. Great.
“Okay. So this one’s real.”
Zanka didn’t know what prompted her but she raised her camera and a second later, she took a picture of Jabber’s shocked expression and her hand still in the cake. A second later, Jabber finally pulled her hand out of the cake, covered in frosting, licking them clean.
“It’s good though. Want some?”
“I’m going to kill ya,” Zanka said in a flat voice and the really of the situation started to sink in.
“Worth it,” Jabber grinned, frosting on her cheek.
Zanka turned around, trying to see if there were any witnesses to the crime they just committed when she noticed the bride’s shocked expression right behind them.
The bride yelled, “mY CAKE??”
Jabber and Zanka looked at her, eyes wide. For a full three seconds nobody said anything, nobody even moved; the giant hole in the bottom tier of the cake seemed to scream at them all. Zanka was convinced she could hear the bride’s voice echo around them all, despite the music’s loudness.
She reacted quickly, grabbing Jabber’s non-covered in frosting wrist and said to her, “we’re leaving. Now.”
While being dragged, Jabber turned her head toward the enraged bride and yelled, “nice wedding though! Congratulations and shit!”
And they fled the venue entirely, with everyone’s stares digging through them. Zanka knew the bride was wheezing in anger and they kind of ruined not just her wedding cake but her wedding in general but some part of her couldn’t help but tighten her hold on Jabber’s wrist.
They sprinted to Zanka’s car, her hands fumbling a little with her car keys but she managed to unlock it after a few tries. They threw themselves on the seats, raspy breathing and work forgotten. Zanka took the driver seat this time, without even thinking and once both doors were closed, she burst out laughing. She couldn’t even be mad at Jabber for the trouble she caused.
“Did ya SEE her face?” she said between laughs.
Jabber couldn’t respond, too busy cackling like a hyena.
It took them quite a long time to calm down. Zanka turned her head and found Jabber already looking at her, seating sideways with her legs underneath her. The movement made her delicate dress rise up and Zanka averted her eyes to focus on Jabber’s mischievous expression instead.
“It was fun,” Jabber said once her breathing came to normal.
Zanka nodded, not entirely trusting her words. The distance between their bodies was so short, she could just draw her hand up to touch her. Only a few centimetres and she could feel Jabber’s locs brushing her face. The temptation was strong—her fingertips could still feel the sensation of Jabber’s skin when they danced.
Zanka brought her eyes back on the windshield, breaking their moment.
“Buckle up, we’re leaving,” she said.
She didn’t look at Jabber again but she heard her movements in the passenger seat.
The drive to Jabber’s place was spent in laughs and recounting the day’s events. Mostly Jabber doing all the talking and Zanka trying her best to not steal glaces from her passenger princess. It was quite hard to do as Jabber’s energy and playfulness drew her in every time. It felt strange, to not look at her every time she said something funny or scandalous or creepy. But it was better than to risk a car crash.
It was late in the evening when they arrived in Jabber’s neighbourhood.
Jabber took her flip-flops, left the car but stayed a little, leaning over the door.
“It was fun. Let’s do it again sometimes.”
“Let’s not.”
“Why? You don’t think you’ll ever get invited to shoot weddings anymore?”
“No, that’s not that. I’m just not gonna take ya with me. Is all.”
“You’re no fun, Zan-zan.”
Later, when she got back home, she received a text from Jabber. It was just a meme about a wedding cake being fake. Zanka replied with one word: blocked.
Jabber never gave her jacket back.
It happened on a random sunday afternoon.
They finished another suspension shoot and Jabber already got dressed when Zanka said, “I think this is it. I got everything I needed.”
Jabber turned around and found her looking at the viewfinder of her camera, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“What do you mean?” She didn’t mean to sound snappy but it just felt so abrupt. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. Why would there be anything more?” Zanka’s attention was busy on her camera, she didn’t even look at her. She sounded cold, face hardened and drawing up walls around herself. She didn’t sound like the Zanka she had started to get to know during the past few months. It pissed Jabber off even more.
“I thought—” but she stopped herself. What could she possibly say in this situation? Zanka just took the decision to end the shoots.
It was always going to be a temporary thing. Wasn’t it?
So why was she pissed about it ending?
Neither of them moved. The silence stretched between them, making the distance seem like an abyss.
After some time, Zanka’s gaze found hers. Her expression was unreadable, she looked like she reverted back to her professional role.
“I’ll send you the tickets when it’s ready.”
Jabber nodded. She picked up her bag but didn’t leave yet. It felt… wrong.
“I’m sure the exhibition’s gonna be great,” she said, forcing a smile in her voice. It almost convinced her too.
“Thank you. For everything.”
Jabber turned her back and walked to the door.
“Anytime.”
Her last word was a suspended goodbye, dipped in unsaid things.
When she left, the rope was still on the floor.
“Pretty sure the couch didn’t do anything to you.”
It was Enjin, standing two meters away, his hands in his pockets. Zanka shot him a confused look over her shoulders but went back to her task at hand: cleaning. Dusting. Scrubbing. Purgation.
He wasn’t the only one in the studio saying that. Riyo and Rudo already told her eight hours ago. They were all clearly blind—the whole place needed to be bleached. Preferably her brain, too.
“I’m trying to remove, huh, this spot—caramel, I think?”
“Caramel, huh?”
Enjin didn’t sound convinced. But Zanka didn’t care what he thought—she needed to clean the whole place.
It reminded her too much of someone. Every spot, every corner, every painting—even the floor and ceiling. Jabber was everywhere for Zanka’s eyes and mind and she was spiralling out of control. The closer she got to the exhibition and the more agitated she became.
Even working didn’t help her move on; she kept seeing Jabber in every person she photographed. It started to blend into other aspects of her life too, even when she was doing mundane things—like brushing her hair or playing with her tamagotchi, Jabber was constantly in her head. She nearly gave in a few times, reaching out to her—ghost messages that were never sent, drafted thoughts that were never translated into words that meant something. And above all, she didn’t know what to say to her. ‘Hi, how are you doing’ felt impersonal. They pretty much never greeted each other except that one time when they met. They never did small talks either because Jabber took so much space in their conversations, talking about random and crazy and stupid things, and Zanka let her do so as she pleased every damn time. Zanka loved listening to her. Loved it when Jabber blabbered about anything and everything. ‘I miss you’ was more accurate but still lacked the intensity of her feelings. Would Jabber even reciprocate it or just outright reject her? She kind of wanted to take the risk but a voice in the back of her mind prevented it somehow. ‘I wanna kiss you’—
“Dealing with stubborn spots is tough,” Enjin said bringing her to the present. “The longer you leave something, the harder it gets to clean.”
Her hand gripped the rag more intensely. The couch didn’t look better. She scrubbed it with even more force.
She was fine. Really. It just grated on her nerves because she could see every dirty spot in the studio more clearly. She was fine. Nothing to worry about. Didn’t mean anything, really.
“Funny how harder you push, the worse it can get. Almost like you’re fucking it up on purpose.”
This time, she dropped the rag on the couch and turned around.
“What?”
“Some spots don’t know what they want either, you know.”
“Did Riyo talk to you?”
Faking innocence, Enjin placed a hand on his chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She squinted. “She did, didn’t she.”
“I’m talking about the dirty couch.”
She sent a deadpan look his way.
“There are many paths to the same place. Trust me.”
She sighed. “Just so you know, you sound like a fortune cookie.”
Enjin shrugged. “Fortune cookies are usually right and you know it.”
He left. She stood there, alone. She picked up the rag again.
Exhibition night was on thursday. It was strange to see all those people gathered just for her project; lot of her friends were present, yes, but also various people she didn’t know. She felt good—proud, even. The photos were beautiful.
Her eyes kept checking every face in the room, searching one particular set of eyes she was looking for.
Riyo came with her girlfriend and Rudo was nearby, talking to Enjin. They both abandoned Zanka to her own devices, which lead her to walk around the gallery, talking to people without even registering their names. Her mood was swaying between crushing something and crushing something against her body. A woman was asking her questions about the composition of certain frames, her answers sounded robotic, rehearsed, devoid of any emotion. She forced a smile but it didn’t feel honest. That was when she noticed Jabber in all her glory: a black corset top, a high-slit maxi skirt and high heels adorned with silver butterflies on her calves. Her breath caught. Jabber was gorgeous. But Jabber also had an arm wrapped around someone else. Zanka followed her movements, watched her go across the gallery and look at different frames. Laughing at something and even with the cacophony of the gallery, Zanka could hear it. Zanka felt a bitter taste from her cocktail, eyebrows narrowed as her gaze followed Jabber around. She abandoned her bitter drink on the bar and leaned back against it, elbows on the wooden plank that felt sticky on her skin.
Beside her, the woman she couldn’t remember the name was telling something but she wasn’t listening. She felt bad for ignoring her, for not remembering her name, for not even having the courtesy to listen to her but she was just too entranced with Jabber’s presence, it was like Jabber was everywhere. Jabber Jabber Jabber. Zanka couldn’t help but to look at her, it was like her whole world stopped the moment she walked in. And it didn’t take long before Jabber turned around and their eyes met, anchoring on each other; Jabber had a lazy grin in place but her arm still linked with someone else’s and Zanka wanted to wipe that smirk right off her face.
Zanka watched her lean even closer to the other woman but their eyes never once separating, taunting Zanka, making her blood boil. Zanka couldn’t help but to swallow the bitterness on her tongue, eyes narrowing even more and the urge to crush something getting dangerously bigger and bigger. Perhaps she was in a mood to crush someone else’s jaw for the way they were touching Jabber’s back.
One moment she was looking at them being all cuddly with each other and the next moment, Zanka was walking over there. In a few strides, she came right in front of Jabber and heard her laugh.
Feigning surprise, Jabber said, “oh, Zanka. Hi.”
Zanka didn’t say anything. She shot a look at the people Jabber came with. One of them made brief eye contact with Zanka and visibly reconsidered their life choices before steering the group elsewhere, leaving them both alone. Even the person that Jabber came with left. Zanka couldn’t help to feel a bitter victory.
She turned and realized they were standing in front of one of Zanka’s favourite photo: first time they did rope suspension together.
Jabber turned to it as well, saying, “it looks nice.”
Zanka wanted to ask her million things. How she had been, if she forgot about their moments together, if Zanka meant anything to her at all—
She couldn’t find the words. But Jabber did, somehow. As she always did. She asked, pointing at the photo of herself, “what did you say, that day? I remember you said something in different language.”
Zanka turned her gaze to her and said, “I said you’re beautiful. In japanese.”
Jabber nodded, gaze still on the picture. She moved a little closer to Zanka. So close that Zanka could smell her perfume—cherry. It must be a new one. She turned her eyes away from the photo and locked eyes with Jabber again, surprised to see a lazy smile already tugging at her delicate features.
Jabber asked, “what’s your favourite photo of me?”
“It’s not here.”
Jabber tilted her head. “Oh? Whaddya mean?”
She sighed and pulled out her phone. She scrolled a little in her photo gallery and passed her battered phone her way. It was the photo she took during the wedding cake fiasco.
Jabber laughed immediately.
“Dude, it was so fucking funny!”
She wanted to agree and for them to continue this conversation, rehearsing the wedding catastrophe and laughing together endlessly. But she also wanted to take Jabber away with her, away from the rope, professional settings and restrains. Seizing the moment and before she could back out of it, took Jabber’s hand and said in a rush, “come with me.”
“Where?”
“Let’s do another shoot.”
And those were the words she actually wanted to say for a very long time. She just hoped it wouldn’t end this time.
“But don’t you want to enjoy your night? It’s all for you and—I came with my friends—”
Zanka interrupted her, “let’s ditch this whole thing. I need this. I need you.”
Jabber smiled widely, like she didn’t know what effect she had on Zanka. She knew and did it on purpose.
Zanka didn’t have any argument to convince her to follow her. She was aware that she sounded a little crazy, a little jaded around the edges, a little mean looking, the way she was standing on guard like she was about to throw hands around. She also knew that Jabber made her feel things and made her react in ways she never did before; it was perhaps the reason she could find to explain her behaviour.
She also didn’t know what she would do if Jabber rejected her. Maybe she would just leave the gallery and buy some vodka and drink the whole thing herself just to pass out on her couch. But she also had a sense that Jabber would accept it.
“Alright,” Jabber said, arms crossed in front of her. Zanka exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Jabber turned around and said a few words to her friends while Zanka went to say a few words to Enjin and her friends. She left the gallery and went outside to wait for her.
She watched Jabber come out of the gallery, bag in the form of a red lips in hand and looking a little annoyed that her friends had kept her longer than she expected.
“Finally,” Jabber whined and her arm wrapped naturally around Zanka’s.
Zanka fought the urge to push her against the wall and kiss her right then and there. But she swallowed it and fixed her eyes on the ground.
“We’re like ten minutes away.”
“Thank god, my heels are killing me, I can’t stay in those heels any longer. But where are we going? Isn’t the studio the other way?”
“We’re going to my place.”
“Ohhh, your place, huh? Are you plannin’ to cut me up and eat me?”
Zanka gave it a second to think about it. “Maybe.”
“Sweet! Don’t leave any crumbs okay? Also don’t forget to not eat the brain and the spinal cord.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They arrived at Zanka’s place and the thump of the door closing echoing around them. Zanka’s apartment wasn’t that huge, a small kitchenette with a little space serving as a living room. And her bedroom.
But she barely spent time in her apartment so it didn’t feel like home, nor was it particularly welcoming. She preferred to spend her time in the studio than here, alone, surrounded by unpacked boxes of stuff even after two years of living here.
And now, Jabber was standing in the space she called home and made it feel more welcoming than it ever was.
Jabber asked her, “how do you want me?”
Zanka replied, “on the couch.”
She watched as Jabber’s smile turned provocative, “ohhh Zanka. Are you making me one of your french girls?” She had the nerve to giggle.
Zanka scowled and ignored her provocation. She went looking for her work bag to fetch her camera.
Jabber asked, “No rope?”
“No rope. Just you.” And it was the truth, after all, the rope was the barrier as much as it was the bridge. Zanka didn’t need it. She only needed Jabber by her side.
She returned to Jabber’s side, noticing the other woman’s gaze on her this whole time.
Just one glance was enough for Zanka to get into it and she took her camera to her face and started taking candid pictures of her muse. She swallowed hard, clicking the camera at a different angle, getting closer and closer to her, while still keeping a space between them.
Jabber’s locs were flowing around, cascading down her back. The way she was sitting, made the slit on her skirt rid up even further and Zanka found the perfect angle to take a picture of her profile with her leg extended, and the slit on her skirt in full display. Her red lips bag was in the background of most of the photos, laying on the couch forgotten, barely even visible.
She wanted to die suffocating between Jabber’s thighs.
Jabber looked at her, head tilted to the side, hands smoothing out the soft couch she was sitting on. She wanted to make Zanka beg for her time; to put her on her knees, to make her squirm underneath her, to make her camera focus on her and her only. She also wanted to give in and beg for Zanka’s touch, to feel the pain in her arms and legs and belly with how tight she wrapped the rope.
She let her take her fill, capturing each of her breath and filling up the memory card of her camera. And then she did something.
The conflicting feelings were too much for Jabber, she wanted to feel some kind of control over the situation and so, the only way for her to achieve that was to push Zanka on her back. She watched her fall behind, a grunt escaping her lips, the strap around her neck holding on to the camera while Zanka’s elbows were supporting her.
Zanka looked surprised and confused and then it all blended into anger. Good.
Jabber got up from the couch, she took a small step and put one heel on Zanka’s left shoulder, pushing her fully on her back. And Zanka went willingly, completely still, looking at her with a confused expression. Jabber could tell she felt curious too, with the way her pupils were dilated; good, because she didn’t want to take her heel from Zanka’s body, instead, she pressed on it even further, watching as Zanka’s expression shifted from pissed off to please keep stepping on me.
Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “do you ever take pictures of yourself or it’s only other people?”
Confusion etched on her hardened face, Zanka asked, “only other people. Why do you ask?”
Crossing her arms in front of her, one heel moving from her shoulder to her sternum, careful not to touch the camera still hanging on its dear life, Jabber hummed and said, “just curious. I’d want to have a picture of you. Gimme that,” she said, uncrossing her arms and pointing at the camera around Zanka’s neck.
Zanka obeyed and took it off, handing it to her. “Careful not to break it.”
Jabber paid it no mind and adjusted the camera’s position to frame Zanka and her heel. She clicked a few times, satisfied with the way she captured Zanka’s docile expression in each one. Jabber felt dazed looking at the picture, so dazed that it took her a few seconds to notice that Zanka had her hand wrapped around her ankle, holding it there. Like she didn’t want it to leave without leaving a mark.
Zanka’s voice was thick with something that Jabber couldn’t pinpoint when she asked, “what will you do with it anyway?”
She smirked, “why, put it in my wallet of course.”
Zanka’s hand travelled up, settling on her calf with her eyes locked on Jabber’s intently. Jabber didn’t know if she was in charge anymore or if they were both tiptoeing around something that felt bigger than them; an abysmal thing that took root between them weeks ago. She lowered herself, as much as she could, one heeled foot still on Zanka while the other was holding her whole weight. She ignored the pain that was cursing through her legs because she quite liked the feeling when it was in a situation where she could do whatever she wanted with Zanka.
She said, “you’ve seen me naked plenty of times but I never get to see you without your clothes.”
She watched Zanka swallow slowly, nodding her head to her request. Jabber took off her foot and moved back to sit on the couch, anticipating something that was about to break any hurdle between them. The rope was cut.
The first thing Zanka did once she stood up was to take the camera from her hands and to place it safely on the coffee table. She took such gentle care of it that Jabber didn’t know if she wanted to witness Zanka’s roughness or get a taste of the gentleness she was capable of. But Jabber had always been greedy, she wanted both, she wanted all, she wanted everything.
She watched with anticipation as Zanka lifted up her shirt, throwing it on the ground entirely. Jabber’s eyes went to her scars immediately, top-surgery scars in full display. Her gaze travelled to her broad shoulders, cascading down to her nipples and settled on Zanka’s happy trail, delicate brown hairs making Jabber realise the true meaning of being dazed.
Her hand shot up without thinking and she put her fingers through the loop of Zanka’s jeans, saying, “take this off too.”
Zanka obeyed, fingers working on the zipper of her jeans and Jabber watched it fall to the ground. Zanka pushed it aside, standing in front of her only in her boxer.
If seeing her happy trail made Jabber lose her mind, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. She wetted her lips, eyes going up to meet Zanka’s clouded ones. Her hand moved again and she gripped the hem of Zanka’s boxer, acrylic nails digging in her bush. She watched as Zanka exhaled slowly, a shudder down her body. Jabber’s fingertips dug deeper before she yanked Zanka by the hem of her boxer, forcing her to crash on her lap with a grunt.
“Better this way, don’t you think?” she whispered, the proximity of their mouths making her want to close the small distance.
Her hand was still half gripping Zanka’s underwear but not doing anything, just feeling Zanka’s heat and her own getting bigger and bigger each second. Zanka’s hands came to her shoulders, fingers sliding under the thin straps of her corset but not pushing them aside yet. Instead, Zanka’s hands glided on her front, a feather-light touch making Jabber want to rip her own clothes off.
Jabber swallowed thickly, tongue coming out to wet her lips before her free hand gripped Zanka’s face. She crashed their mouths against one another, it was all teeth and spit and nearly spilling blood but Jabber couldn’t care less. The kiss was intense and they were both into it so so so damn much and Jabber wanted it all, she wanted even more. She licked and squirmed and tasted Zanka’s mouth like it was the last thing she was allowed to do. She kissed her like her life depended on it and enjoyed every second of it.
She held Zanka’s lower lip between her teeth and realised that Zanka’s fingers were gripping the zipper in the front of her corset. A moment later and Zanka’s hand pulled the zipper down, cold air hitting Jabber’s naked front full force. They broke apart and Zanka’s eyes were hungrily staring at her tits, hands coming up to cup them while Jabber removed her top entirely, throwing it on the ground.
Jabber could feel her abdominal muscles clench and loosen at the force of Zanka’s gaze on her front, fondling them with her hands, looking like she wanted to bury her face in her chest. Just the visual of her tits in Zanka’s big hands made it difficult to restrain herself; she kissed her more forcefully, biting at her lower lip.
Then, Zanka moved, breaking the kiss and Jabber moaned.
Zanka got up, hands going under Jabber’s knees to lift her up from the couch. And she did, she did it so easily, pulling Jabber against her chest, Jabber’s legs going around her waist. She heard her skirt rip, extending the slit but couldn’t care less. She brought her arms around Zanka’s neck, kissing her while Zanka navigated them through the apartment. It was quite embarrassing how much she enjoyed being lifted and held against Zanka’s body like she weighed nothing.
“Where—are you taking me,” she asked between kisses.
“To my room. Don’t wanna desecrate the couch.”
Jabber laughed, burying her face in Zanka’s neck, her teeth scraping the soft skin as if she was about to bite. She bit, slowly, until she heard Zanka gasp and she bit again a little harder.
“Zan-zan, you’re so strong,” she nearly moaned.
She noticed her words seemed to do something to Zanka, as her breathing quickened and she kissed her more fiercely. She liked to be praised, huh?
She didn’t have time to enjoy this discovery because the next second, Zanka dropped her on a bed.
Jabber sat up and saw Zanka getting on her knees and her mouth watered instantly. Zanka’s hands gripped her heels. Fingers delicately removing each silver butterfly looped around her calves, careful to not break them. For a second, Jabber wanted to rip these heels off of her herself, just to accelerate it but she kept still, just watching as Zanka’s focused eyes and hands were removing each loop and then finally, her feet were free.
She sighed from satisfaction, after feeling the pain they were causing her the whole night.
Once the heels were removed, Zanka took both her feet in her hands, reverently, like she was holding the most precious thing in the world. She placed a kiss to both knees and kissed her way up, getting closer and closer to the slit of her skirt. Then, she gripped it forcefully and demanded, “take it off.”
Without questioning, Jabber lifted her hips and with Zanka’s help, they got rid of the skirt oh—she was now only in her underwear.
Zanka’s focused eyes went to the pink g-string immediately, her fingers slipping under the thin strings at her hips. She snapped them lightly and it made Jabber shiver a little, feeling Zanka’s hands down there.
“Is this the one from your island fantasy?” Zanka asked in a gruff voice.
“Nope. I can show it to you another time.”
Zanka seemed to like the answer because she buried her face between her thighs. Even through the pink fabric, she could still feel Zanka’s hot breath. The moment Zanka tongued her, she nearly lost it—head dropping back, and a moan escaped her painted lips. Her underwear was damp, Zanka making the pink colour getting darker and darker.
“C’mere”, she said and Zanka obeyed.
They kissed again, hungrily, shamelessly, desperately. Zanka’s hands travelled, one hand gripping her tit and Jabber moaned into her mouth. Zanka broke off the kiss, spit trailing between them and leaned down immediately to start kissing Jabber’s neck and shoulders.
“Your new perfume smells nice.”
“You noticed?”
“Mmh. Cherry. Love it.” She placed small kisses, along with heated ones and it felt so different than the time Zanka kissed her body to leave lipstick marks; Jabber wished she could take the camera and immortalize the moment.
Zanka came down again and got one of Jabber’s tits in her mouth, sucking and licking while playing with the other with her fingers. Jabber whined; little moans of pleasure seeping through, acrylic nails digging in Zanka’s hair desperately. Zanka’s attitude felt like she was trying to dig a place in Jabber’s chest just for her to fit in and Jabber couldn’t be any happier to let her do as she wished.
Her mouth left Jabber’s tit in a pop sound and she continued to place a trail of kisses on her belly, going lower and lower.
This time, Zanka took off the pink string. It fell on the floor slowly but Zanka’s hands found their grip on her skin immediately. The sensation sent electricity through her body, especially when Zanka gripped her thighs, moving them aside.
“Can I,” she asked so softly, mouth hovering over one of her burn scars on her belly.
Jabber nodded and remembered that Zanka preferred verbal confirmation so she whined, “yes, yes, please.”
Zanka kissed her skin so gently. Jabber’s hands threaded in her blonde-brown hair, making a mess with all the twisting and pulling at the roots she was doing. Zanka licked and kissed and went down again and this time Jabber intended to let her stay there for a while.
Zanka grabbed her ass and dropped soft kisses on her inner thighs, which turned more heated once Jabber pulled at her hair again. Zanka seemed to sense the warning from the way she clutched her hair and a moment later, she moved and mouthed at Jabber’s mound delicately, like she didn’t believe she was allowed to do this. Jabber let out another moan, eyes closed and body vibrating. The gentleness of Zanka’s movements quickly warped into something more urgent, frantic, hungry, she was playing with the nub of her clit and drawing out all various syllables from Jabber.
Zanka made her legs go over her shoulders, keeping her still. She said, “squeeze, Jabber,” and the words ricocheting against her clit made her see stars.
And Jabber squeezed.
The look in Zanka’s eyes was indescribable: her frowned brows in concentration, eyes so focused on Jabber’s own pink eyes and mouth doing wonders on her most delicate skin. Jabber squeezed her legs again and Zanka let out a little noise. She couldn’t even contain her own moans, getting louder and louder as she kept dripping everywhere on the bed.
Zanka lifted her head, blue eyes dilated and locking fiercely at hers. “The noises you make…”
“You—you like that?” She tried to tease but the sensations were too intense for her to actually be teasing.
“Mmh,” and she went back to her place, tongue moving against her clit in a way that turned her mind foggy. Jabber’s whole body twitched when Zanka did that with her tongue, thighs closing instinctively around Zanka’s head.
She felt Zanka dip a finger between her folds and her hips jerked, her moans becoming louder and louder. Her hips jumped instinctively forward but that didn’t seem to bother Zanka as she added another finger, tongue pushing her over the edge.
It didn’t take her long before she came, fingers gripping on Zanka’s hair, tugging.
She shoved Zanka’s hand away, weakly, once she came down from her high. She felt weak but still hungry, the pit in her stomach was so so hungry. Zanka kissed her on the mouth and Jabber came alive once again. She wanted more. She wanted it all.
The were both breathing hard, the feelings ricocheting from Zanka’s mouth to her own.
She broke the kiss and commanded, “stand up.”
Zanka stood up and it struck Jabber that she seemed fine while she herself felt so weak on her knees. Her body still shivered from her orgasm but she got up and it took one look on Zanka’s body to feel it. Her mouth watered at the sight of Zanka’s bush.
She pushed Zanka against the wall and from Zanka’s expression, she could tell she enjoyed it very much. Jabber licked her lips, her only focus was Zanka Zanka Zanka and how to make her feel good. She pressed her body to hers and kissed her more intently than before. She crushed their bodies together, aggressively, licking and sucking at Zanka’s lower lip, swallowing every sounds she got out of her.
She moved her mouth to Zanka’s jaw, scraping the soft skin with her sharp teeth. She pressed herself so hard against Zanka’s body that the lines of their bodies blurred, she didn’t know when hers started and ended. She placed her forehead against Zanka’s sternum, breathing her in, deeply, like Zanka’s scent was the only thing to give her life. She breathed again, getting even closer as if that would be possible—Zanka’s arms came to encircle her head, keeping her close, so, so close. They stayed like that for a long time. Jabber’s nails dragged along Zanka’s scars, fingertips softly brushing them and she couldn’t help but to think that they somehow matched her own. In the twisted part of her brain, they matched, from their scars, to the way their minds worked—Zanka was like the missing piece making Jabber real. She dragged her hands on Zanka’s back, scratching her skin and Zanka buried her nose in her neck. They looked like a complete piece.
One of Jabber’s leg came up between Zanka’s leg, she put a little pressure and heard how Zanka’s breath caught. Zanka’s leg came between her legs two and they stayed another moment like that, little pressure and breathing each other in. Zanka held her like she was something she wanted to keep holding onto.
“I missed ya,” Zanka whispered. Honesty looked good on her. “It was—difficult. Being away from ya this whole month.”
She whispered, her words ricocheting against Zanka’s sternum, “why didn’t you call?”
But Zanka turned her question against her. “And ya? Why didn’t ya call?”
It sounded accusatory but it wasn’t. She sounded tired even in the midst of what they were doing. She lifted her head to look into her piercing blue eyes, Zanka’s arms still around her neck to keep her close. She wetted her lips and brushed them against Zanka’s, just a little pressure, eyes locked onto each other.
“I thought—I thought you only wanted to keep it professional between us.”
Zanka nodded and one of her hand came up to hold Jabber’s face, her thumb tugging at Jabber’s piercing. She felt feather-light touches on her cheek and had to fight the urge to open her mouth and suck on Zanka’s finger.
“It was the case. And then it wasn’t. I didn’t—know what to do with that.”
She laughed. She almost said something. Zanka’s leg pressed harder and the thought dissolved entirely. The added pressure between her legs made her head spin and a moan escaped her lips. Scraping her teeth against Zanka’s throat, she asked a small voice, “can I—go down on you?” Because they never actually talked about their boundaries about sex—it was always related to photography. And she didn’t want to transgress a boundary she didn’t know about.
But Zanka shattered any doubt she had in that moment. She kissed her on the mouth sloppily and said “yes” against her parted lips. “No fingers, though,” she added.
And Jabber felt the blazing fire rush to her head; she dropped on her knees immediately. She knew the sight from Zanka’s view must be exquisite and she played on it a little, arching her back, positioning herself between Zanka’s legs.
She pushed her nose in Zanka’s bush, inhaling deeply and getting drunk by just her scent and her everything.
She felt insane being this turned on by someone, something inside of her was about to burst.
Jabber kissed her inner thighs slowly, feeling the simmering heat of her skin. She kissed and bit the delicate skin there just to watch Zanka groan, hands coming to her head. Jabber smirked against her skin, inhaling her scent and becoming dizzy from it.
“No pulling, I need to tighten them,” she warned and Zanka nodded, her hand dropping to her shoulder instead.
Jabber closed her mouth around Zanka’s clit. She tilted her head sideways to take her in more fully, hands clutching at her thighs and spreading them apart to give her a better access. She moaned and licked and teased, drawing out delicate and indecent sounds from Zanka. Jabber’s eyes never left her face, drunk in the way Zanka’s naturally blank expression transformed under her tongue. Zanka looked blissed out, felt so pliant under her hands and the sounds—god, Jabber couldn’t get enough, her want was explosive and reckless. She held her squirming leg with on hand, feeling Zanka’s hips jerk, while she pressed the other on lower belly to keep her flush against the wall. Zanka was so wet and warm and Jabber felt dizzy, tasting her soaked cunt. The more she touched Zanka, the more she sagged against the wall, she was so so responsive to her every touch. She twirled her clit and the added metallic feeling from her snake bites made Zanka come right then and there. And she did, head pushed back against the wall, eyes closed. Unravelled.
Jabber didn’t move from her place, kept going for seconds and thirds, completely high and flushed from Zanka’s taste and the way her body twitch.
Zanka had to yank her away but not far, just to get her to her full height. Jabber’s legs shook but she let her do as she pleased and Zanka kissed her deeply, making her walk backwards and falling on the bed together.
The added weight on top of her was divine, she loved the feeling of Zanka’s body whole weight on top of her own. Zanka kissed her like she was starved, licking into Jabber’s mouth indecently. Jabber was burning in Zanka’s mouth. One of Zanka’s hand pinched her hardened nipple and she whimpered in Zanka’s mouth, her own hands scratching at Zanka’s broad back. Zanka broke the kiss but her mouth never left Jabber’s skin’ she trailed down, kissing and sucking, licking and marking. She worked on Jabber’s throat like she wanted to brand her for the whole world to see and the idea made Jabber see stars.
“God, I love yer tits,” Zanka said reverently, breath ghosting over her sensitive nipples.
Zanka looked up and Jabber smirked.
“Oh yeah? Whaddya like about them?”
“Mmmh, everythin’,” Zanka said with a lazy grin, flicking and rolling one of her nipples between her fingers. She was grazing the other with her teeth, teasing.
It made Jabber squirm, moaning obscenities to no one but their ears. Zanka dove deeper, sucking and licking her nipple while her hand was still on the other. The sensations made Jabber arch her back, head thrown deeper in the mattress. She couldn’t resist scratching Zanka’s shoulders, leaving red marks behind—not the same colour as her red acrylics but getting close.
Zanka’s other hand travelled down and settled between Jabber’s thighs. She removed her punishing mouth to whisper, “baby, you’re so wet,” and the nickname alone made Jabber drip even more.
Zanka left her tits and came up to kiss her, swallowing her moans but with her hand still buried in her cunt. She could feel Zanka’s skin get increasingly hot to the touch, the kisses becoming more urgent, more frantic, more hungry.
“Sit on my face. Please,” Zanka begged against her mouth, spit trailing between them.
Jabber was so dazed, she chased her lips before the words registered. Shakily, she nodded. Just imagining it made her tremble like a leaf.
And once Zanka laid on her back, she positioned herself. Thighs bracketing Zanka’s head and her own hands braced against the velvet headboard. She already knew that she was about to scratch it but didn’t care because Zanka’s tongue lapped at her, swallowing everything. Zanka was on a mission and god, she didn’t leave any crumbs behind—Jabber shook, scratched the headboard and cried Zanka’s name like a prayer. She looked down and saw blue eyes fixed on her and the view from above was so so hot that she was certain the whole building her her cry out Zanka’s name.
Zanka paused every now and then, using her fingers and whispering words that sounded so far away to her. Out of some of the words that managed to pass the cloud of heavenly sensations Jabber was in, was a litany of mine, mine, mine. And Jabber cried out, yours, yours, yours, riding Zanka’s divine mouth and chasing that feeling. She rolled her hips on Zanka’s face mercilessly.
She was twitching so hard by the time the second orgasm hit her, leaving only a squirming mess. She was still perched on top of Zanka, riding through her orgasm with thighs enclosed around her head and she knew Zanka felt every twitch and shiver of her body. Jabber was so dazed that Zanka had to help her get down, manoeuvring her on the bed so that she was settled against Zanka’s side.
Jabber turned her head and found Zanka already looking at her, with an expression that was frightening and hopeful and it made something constrict in her chest. She kissed her, lazily, even though her lips were buzzing. They were both tired and completely drained and it took her a moment to regain her bearings.
Zanka caressed her cheek, kissed her with gentleness that meant everything. Jabber held her close, they were pressed chest to chest and just stayed there, embracing each other. It felt nice—to let the high dissolve and to accept this tender moment.
After a while, Zanka convinced her to get up and they went to the bathroom to clean themselves up. It help to clear her head a little. The aftereffects were destabilizing. She found herself in Zanka’s bedroom again, naked, unsure what to do. Was she supposed to take her clothes and leave? She checked her discarded phone and realized it was already half past 2 in the morning.
Was that what Zanka wanted? A one time thing?
She looked around and Zanka probably sensed her confusion because she said, “stay.”
Jabber looked at her and couldn’t find the correct word—words?—to say.
Zanka added with a smile, “I’ll make ya waffles in the morning. I promised ya, didn’t I?”
And it was everything that she needed to hear. She went back to the bed and curled up around Zanka’s warm body. She breathed in her scent and finally understood what Zanka meant when she said it was homesickness that she felt with her.