Chapter Text
The closet is dark, and cramped, and smells a bit like old wool. The party outside is still as raucous as ever, but the door and clothes manage to muffle the chaos to a milder volume.
It takes Zanka’s eyes a few seconds to adjust, and the first thing that he can distinguish is the saturated pink of Jabber’s irises—Jabber is already looking at him. It’s unnerving. Zanka shifts slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, back against the closet wall.
“So,” Zanka says, awkwardly. He tries to ignore the thump of his own heartbeat (no, it’s not fast, fuck you) in his ears.
“So…” Jabber goads. “Should we just get down to it?”
Zanka blinks. “What?”
“You know how this goes, don't cha?”
Zanka doesn’t respond.
“Hmmm…?” The gold cuffs in Jabber’s dreads clink as he leans forward. Zanka can almost feel his body heat.
Zanka waits anxiously, but that’s as far as Jabber moves, so eventually he says, “Are you… comfortable with that?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Zanka’s eyes go wide. “What?”
“What?” Jabber echoes.
“You just… casually kiss your acquaintances?”
“Dude, I’ve been trying to hit since second semester,” Jabber says.
“I didn’t think you were serious.”
“What, crazy chem student not up to par for the stoic goody-two-shoes?”
Zanka sighs. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jabber’s smile is mischievous, bordering on hungry. “I was being completely serious, though. Still am.”
They stare at each other.
“So…” Jabber repeats. “Can I kiss you?”
Zanka closes the distance, yanks Jabber down to eye level, and smashes their faces together. Jabber makes a happy noise into the kiss. It’s sloppy and aggressive, almost violent, and Jabber is more than enthusiastic, wrapping his arms around Zanka’s neck. One of Zanka’s hands wanders down Jabber’s torso, feeling his body through his baggy tee, and he finds that Jabber’s waist is much narrower than he expected.
Fuckable, a voice in Zanka’s head whispers.
Zanka bites down on Jabber’s lip, a little rougher than he intended, and tastes blood.
“Fuck, sorry,” Zanka mutters.
“Mmm, I like when it hurts,” Jabber whines. “Makes me hard.”
Zanka’s breath catches in his throat and he stills.
“Sorry, too much?”
“…No,” Zanka decides. “Show me.”
For the first time since entering the closet, it’s Jabber’s turn to be surprised. His mouth is hanging open in shock, arms still slung over Zanka’s shoulders.
“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now,” Zanka says bluntly.
“I—no, just,” Jabber stammers. “You want to see… my, uh…”
“I want to see your cock, Mr. Dread Head,” Zanka says. “You said pain makes you hard. Show me.”
“…Don’t make fun of me.”
“I would never,” Zanka deadpans.
Jabber curses softly and lifts his shirt up over his jeans, undoes his belt, and his hand goes to his zipper; he looks back up at Zanka.
Zanka raises an eyebrow, silent.
“Fuck, okay,” Jabber breathes.
He unzips his pants and then Zanka can see his boxers and fuck, he is hard. There’s a clear tent in the fabric.
Jabber is looking anywhere except at Zanka. He starts blabbering, “In my defense, this whole scenario is, like, straight out of one of my wet dreams—so, ya know, it’s not just biting me that did this—it’s just—”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Zanka slides his hand down Jabber’s exposed stomach, dipping his fingers into Jabber’s unzipped jeans. His palm settles over Jabber’s warm, hard cock, just the thin layer of soft fabric separating them. He squeezes, and Jabber whines. Jabber still has one hand holding his shirt up, and the other clings to Zanka’s forearm, grip tight, but he doesn’t make any effort to remove Zanka’s hand from its position.
Zanka smirks. “So, you’ve dreamt about me?”
“I didn’t say thaaahhh—” Jabber trails off into a loud moan when Zanka harshly pushes the heel of his palm against his tip.
Zanka slaps his other hand over Jabber’s mouth. “Shush, you can take it. I don’t want anyone else hearing your sweet little noises.”
Jabber mumbles something incoherent against Zanka’s hand.
“How far did we get in your dreams?” Zanka muses. “Kissing? A blowjob, maybe?”
Zanka’s hand leaves Jabber’s mouth and traces along his jawbone, wandering up to the crevices of his ears, then weaving his fingers through his hair. He grips a handful of his thick dreads and tugs, making Jabber whimper.
He leans in, whispering into Jabber’s ear, “Did we fuck?”
Jabber’s hips jerk forward into Zanka’s palm and he lets out a small cry.
“Hm, seems I’m getting warmer,” Zanka says. “Did you fuck me?” Zanka moves lower to squeeze Jabber’s balls.
“Ah! You, no—”
“No?”
Zanka’s grip is unrelenting and painfully tight, and Jabber’s pretty, pink eyes roll back in his head as he starts to keel over. Zanka observes his reactions intently.
“Aw, you whore, did I fuck you?”
Jabber nods frantically. He gasps, “Stop, stop, please—”
Zanka eases off him. Then he proceeds to slap Jabber’s dick hard, enough for Jabber to let out a hiss, but his cock kicks nonetheless.
“Fucking masochist,” Zanka says under his breath.
“Mmm…” Jabber finally looks back down at Zanka. His pupils are blown, eyes wild, and if the expression he had before was almost hungry, then now he is absolutely ravenous.
“How do your dreams end?”
Jabber’s breaths are labored and heavy. “I—uh, god—don’t remember.”
Zanka slides his hand up and down slowly, feeling along every ridge and vein of Jabber’s twitching cock. He pouts exaggeratedly. “That’s no fun.”
He adjusts his grip in Jabber’s hair.
“Deep breath,” Zanka reminds him, deceitfully upbeat.
He doesn’t wait for Jabber to complete his shaky inhale before he pulls hard on Jabber’s dreads, simultaneously squashing his balls. The reaction is near instant.
“Ow, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum—mmnghhh—”
Zanka watches as Jabber’s face contorts with painful pleasure, and he feels Jabber throb violently, repeatedly, in his hand, before the wet warmth seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He waits until Jabber’s cock stops pulsing, and gingerly removes his hand from Jabber’s pants, zipping him back up (because his jeans are oversized enough to accommodate) but leaving his belt undone.
Jabber is still panting, body shuddering with occasional aftershocks, when the timer goes off outside. It seems like no one out there is paying attention anymore, so Zanka graciously keeps the door half closed while he’s on his way out.
“Come find me later, and maybe we can see how your dreams end,” he says.
And then he’s gone, and the door clicks closed.