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"… anka! Zanka! Can you hear me?"
Sound arrives muddled and indistinct to his ears, as if from a great distance. His head swims. He feels like he's underwater, an unpleasant sense of nausea gradually subsiding as the sound of his name guides him to the surface again. Bleary, watery blotches of light dance between his eyelashes. He blinks and blinks, blurry spots of colour growing more defined, grounding him. Enjin's voice finally cuts through the haze.
"Are you with me, Zanka?"
Barely, it seems. His answer comes in the form of a raspy wheeze.
"Oh, hey! Can you hear me, buddy?"
Zanka nods in uncertain assent, feeling wobbly. His head doesn't feel screwed on right.
"Do you remember what happened? Delmon went a little crazy with Thirst Quencher again, you got hit in the cross fire. Huh, or… cross water or— whatever, you know what I mean. How are you feeling?"
"Not great," he gurgles through a too-wet mouth.
"Yeah, you soaked up a little too much."
He must have. He feels drunk, which is beyond ironic. He didn't know too much water would have that effect. Talking is helping though, his mind seems to be getting a little clearer. "Where are we?" he asks, feeling his head spin when he tries to look around.
"We're in the jeep, I parked it under a rock ledge. We're running on empty so I sent the others off to the next town over to find some fuel. I stayed behind to make sure you're ok. They should be gone for a while."
Zanka's eyes feel too well lubricated, he can't fully make out Enjin's face hovering over him. He realises he's lying down across the back seat, his legs crumpled against the closed car door. Enjin is crouching at his side in the space between the seats, propping up Zanka's knees against his side to keep them from sprawling apart. It's unusually intimate.
"We're… running on empty?" he repeats, confusedly.
Enjin clears his throat and scratches the back of his head. "Ahem, yes, well… I sorta forgot it was my turn to fuel up after the last assignment. My bad!"
"…"
"Anyway, you're in my hands now. Until we can get you fixed up at the headquarters this is still a medical emergency. We need to get you to get appropriately dehydrated, fast. Letting you sweat it out would take too long and, frankly, might do me in."
Only then does Zanka notice the infernal temperature inside the car. If he blinks enough he can make out a sheen of sweat bouncing sunshine off of Enjin's forehead. There's so much light in the car. Zanka looks around, eyes rolling worryingly smooth inside their sockets. They're parked in direct sunlight, soaking in sweltering heat. The air inside feels fuggy and clammy. Enjin is just sitting there, half undressed and dripping with perspiration while the car slowly turns into an oven. His heavy uniform jacket has been discarded — folded up under Zanka's head, he realises. That's why the smell of tabacco and cologne is so strong.
Zanka's eyes fall to the rivulets of sweat streaming down Enjin's bare forearms, making the ink of his blackout tattoos shimmer like liquid obsidian. He looks away, abashed. "Just get out and go find some shade, then. I've come to now, you don't have to sit in here with me," he gets out, cringing at the amount of saliva gathering in his mouth. "I'll just go, uhm. I'll go. Behind a rock or something. Once I'm good on my feet," he adds, taking stock of the sluggish response of his leg muscles. "That should do it, right?"
"I'm afraid it won't be so easy," Enjin sighs. "Do you feel like you gotta go?"
Zanka takes a moment to assess what his body is telling him. He can feel there's too much water in his system, his groin and armpits vaguely sore — thanks to swollen lymphnodes, no doubt — his conscience swaying like a balloon tied to a fence and lolling in the breeze. His skin feels disturbingly tender, his body damp and overripe. And yet…
"… No," he replies, surprised. "But how…?"
"You're oversaturated with water," Enjin explains. "According to the guys back at the medic ward, anyway. I didn't really get the whole picture. Bottom line is: we can't count on your kidneys to do their job when your entire system is overfloded. They won't start working in time."
"Shit…"
"Yeah. But don't worry. They only little a little help, that's all. I contacted Semiu for some advice earlier. She had some… unconventional suggestions for us that might work," Enjin says and puts his hand over Zanka's thigh, making his mind ripple at the unusual familiarity. "Can't hurt to try, no?"
Zanka looks up at him. Enjin is flashing him a bright, encouraging smile. Zanka has known him long enough to see through it. It occurs to him that Enjin might be feeling a little uncertain and trying to put on a brave face. It's an unsettling thought. "… I guess it can't…?"
Enjin smile doesn't move. His hand pats his thigh as if to assuage him in advance. "Atta boy, that's the spirit," he says, sending timid butterflies fluttering in Zanka's stomach. Then, as if it were the most logical thing in the world, he adds: "Very well, then. I'll get you off."
"… Huh?!"
For a moment Zanka believes the water might have gotten into his ears and jumbled his hearing somehow.
"With your consent, of course," Enjin brightly assures him, as if that was the part that threw him for a dizzying loop. "It's a good, easy way to get your body going and lose some water fast! I would leave you to it, but I don't think you can move all that well right now. I don't mind helping. Better than trying to make you cry your eyes out, right? You might be too tough a cookie for me to crack though, eh?"
His words hit Zanka in waves. He's suddenly very grateful for the infernal temperature inside the car, hoping his physiological flush will mask the emotive one. His heart starts pounding in his chest. He feels too dizzy, the nausea is coming back. He becomes instantly aware of the weird intimacy of the situation. The two of them locked in the jeep, alone, sand-spackled windows enveloping them in a private, golden glow, and Enjin sitting beside him in a loose, damp t-shirt, locks of blonde hair drooping and greasy with sweat. He removed his choker too, he notes. It might be nothing but it feels meaningful. He looks weirdly naked like that. "Y-you really… You w-would…?" He can't even get it out. And Enjin suggested it so casually, like it's no big deal at all. It's making it sound so easy to be doing something like that for him — with him.
"Of course," Enjin nods, his smirk crooked but his eyes a little relieved. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't step up for a comrade in need?"
That seems to quell Zanka's nervous excitement. He needed to hear that, to recenter himself; he can't leave his heart or mind free rein here. Enjin would do it for anyone of his comrades, because that's just how he is. Zanka just happens to be no exception; that is all there is to it, nothing more, nothing less. Enjin couldn't be more transparent about it.
But even so, this way I would still get to…
"So, will you let me help?" Enjin solicitously presses him. The hand on Zanka's thigh weights like a brand. He must be worried about him. That's already enough. That's plenty.
"Yes," Zanka says, swallowing back the tightness gathering at his throat. "Please."
If this is all he's ever going to get he's going to take it, and gladly.
Enjin smiles at him, looking pleased. "Good man. Now let's get these off of you," he comments, patting his leg once again before busying his hands with undoing all the hoops and buckles that hold Zanka's pants up. "You stay put and don't overexert yourself."
Zanka is pretty sure he couldn't even if he wanted to. He feels like a jellyfish in shallow waters, only able to flop about uselessly when poked. His limbs feel heavy and weak — and not just because the man he's been guarding himself from wanting too much is holding his waist and sliding his pants down his legs. The fabric is damp and clings to his skin, bunching up uncomfortably around his ankles.
"Now off with your underwear too…"
Panic doesn't get enough time to set in. By the time realisation dawns on him, his nethers are already exposed and Enjin is staring directly at something Zanka is pretty sure he's neglected to tell him about.
Enjin's eyebrows pull upwards in a surprised arch. "Oh," he lets out, mildly taken-aback, and tilts his head to the side consideringly. "Lucky, this might make things a little easier."
Zanka forbids himself to be relieved by that reaction. He briefly wonders what he means by that — if he'd meant to say it makes things easier for him — but refrains from thinking about the possible implications. No good can come from delving deeper into what his own insecurities tell him. He'll limit himself to trusting what comes out of Enjin's mouth and leave it at that. And right now it's easy enough to do when Enjin gently asks him permission to touch him — something Zanka gives willing and lightly — and to spread his legs for him. There's a lot of thoughs that need to be reined in right now, not just the hurtful ones.
"Whew, you're pretty damn wet already," Enjin whistles, boyishly. His palm is big and warm as it covers Zanka's mound. "There must be a whole lot of water inside you."
"Yeah. Must be," Zanka lets out, softly, grateful for the freely offered scapegoat but feeling a little cowardly for taking it.
The look Enjin gives him is indecipherable. "Right," he says and then, inexplicably: "sorry."
He doesn't leave Zanka time to linger on that, large, calloused hand rubbing soothing circles between his thigh, fingers raking through the soft fuzz on his lower stomach, now dewy with sweat. Zanka closes his eyes shut, cringing at the slick sounds of his flesh parting.
"We got quite the super soaker on our hands. That Thirst Quencher plays some nasty tricks on ya, huh?" Enjin laughs, like he's trying to make conversation.
Zanka shoots him a little, pained grimace, ears ringing in mortification. "Do you treat your women like this too?" he lets slip out. Unwise. Clumsy. "This is just—! It's fine. I'm fine, we can just get this over with," he adds, to soften the slip-up.
Enjin's answering chuckle sounds a little cowed now. "You're right, you're right, I'm forgetting my manners. I should get you going a little first, what do you think?"
Zanka startles slightly when he feels the damp palm brushing up under his shirt, trailing along his midriff, exposing what feels miles of burning, steaming skin. It's a slow, diabolical drag, fingers splaying against his chest, thumb smoothing over the grooves of his ribcage. Zanka swallows, feeling that rough pad brush underneath his nipple, skirting fiendishly close, setting his nerves on edge.
"Oh man, you look… plump," Enjin remarks when he takes a good look at him, scratching the back of his head.
Zanka tries to follow his gaze. He can't see much but he can feel the way Enjin's hand kneads into him like soft dough. It's the wrong consistency, silky but only slightly removed from outright disturbing. The water in his system must make him look… ripe. His flesh feels tender all over. Enjin keeps his touch gentle and exploratory.
"You're so smooth and soft all over," Enjin murmurs in a mix of awe and concern.
It doesn't sound like an out of pocket comment this time so Zanka lets it slide, focused on the way Enjin's warm hand strokes unhurriedly up and down his body. With time it feels less like soothing and more like Enjins taking in his body in attentive silence, the sweep of his palm growing bolder by the second. It all seems very… unnecessary, but Zanka doesn't protest, letting the other man take the lead.
He tries to hold steady and think of those touches as a medical check up, his body simply being mapped out. What it feels like, however, is being fondled like something precious. He does his best to suppress the whimpers winding up at the bottom of his lungs. He hasn't really stimulated him directly yet and Zanka's already having trouble conceiling his reactions. He can feel slick flow out of him in rivulets already but Enjin doesn't stop idly touching him, working him into pleasurable pliancy.
"Thaaat's it, relax. You're doing well," Enjin soothes him.
Just then, his fingers find a nipple. Zanka lets out a small sound at the back of his throat, contorting with the shivers erupting from every nerve ending in his chest. He's oversensitive there (it's hard to tell whether by virtue of Enjin's touch or of the over-hydration), his flesh feels mushy and delicate. For a split second he fears the pinch of Enjin's fingers will pull juice from him, but mercifully it doesn't. It only sends a liquid shock of pleasure coursing through his body. He doesn't expect to react just as strongly when Enjin's fingers trace along his scar. The edges feel tender, skin pulling taut at the seams. He flinches. Enjin's hand seems to pudically retreat, content with going back to titillating Zanka's tingling chest. The man seems fixated with his nipples. Ever roll around his puffy, swollen areolas sends ripples of tortured delight through him. All Zanka can do is throw his head back and endure it and hope Enjin doesn't pick up on how much he's holding back.
Enjin's other hand his squeezing at his thigh, a touch undoubtedly meant to be encouraging but it's making Zanka throb painfully between his legs, his clit undoubtedly peeking out of its sheath, a slimy swap animal during wet season. His skin is breaking into waves of sweat, the heat inside his body reaching a fever pitch. Zanka wonders if the water still trapped inside him will have a chance to ooze out before turning into vapour. His core has become a puddle of aching need.
He's nearly ready to start begging when Enjin finally tires of tormenting him and brings both hands to his hips.
Zanka opens his eyes (not sure when he's closed them), grateful for the respite. He can't help but obsessively note how big those hands are on him, almost circling his tight waist entirely. Enjin's thumbs are rubbing over his hipbones, eyes trained between his spread thighs. "Looks like that worked," he says, consideringly.
Zanka feels his flush come on like a tide, and it only gets worse when Enjin's lips curl with the hint of a smirk. Smug. Boyishly proud. It does unspeakable things to Zanka. There has to be a wet spot on the seat by now, there's very little room for doubt.
"Let me get a better angle here," Enjin mutters to himself, thankfully breaking the spell, and shuffles a little closer on the car seat before cracking his knuckles. Zanka's not proud to damit his eyes go to those big hands he's always loved looking at and feels his stomach flip in anticipation. "Alright. Now, let's get serious."
With that, he reaches a little backwards and slides a hand between Zanka's thighs. It's big enough to cover Zanka's entire taint. His palm slides down, fingers barely nudging between wet folds. The gentlest pressure is enough to make him squirm.
"Easy there. We haven't even gotten serious yet," Enjin cheerily reminds him and moves his hand back and forth, swiping along his slit, as if he's petting him, barely pressing in.
Zanka feels himself part open under the touch and cringes. He's so wet there's barely any friction at all, Enjin's long, knobbly fingers slipping and slipping between his folds. He prods cautiously lower, circling around his entrance, collecting enough slick to smooth out the callouses roughing his fingertips. His touch feels silky smooth when his hand draws back up at the top of Zanka's sex again. He flattens four fingers and slides downwards, swiping over his engorged clit.
Zanka's breath catches in his throat. Even bracing himself for it didn't prepare him for the shock of being touched directly like that. His body lights up from the inside. Spirals of sweet, swirling electricity dance along his veins, fizzling out in his blood. Enjin's hand starts up a sawing motion, up and down, long, slow drags that feel endless. Pleasure spikes in cadenced, throbbing twitches.
"How's this? Better?" Enjin asks, switching to rubbing idle, wet circles around his clit.
Zanka feels as if a current is being stirred up into him. His gut churns with a liquid, pleasurable pulse. He gives a little, stiff nod in response, feeling a minute tremble rattle his knees at the stimulation. He doesn't dare reply verbally, he doesn't trust his voice to remain steady. His bottom lip is firmly curled and pinned between his teeth. Enjin's unoccupied hand comes up to hold his chin, thumb gently pressing to pull his lip down and loose again.
"Don't hold back. Deep breaths," Enjin instructs, lowering his hand at the centre of Zanka's chest, fingers splayed out. "It'll get you to lose water faster. Breathe it out."
Zanka closes his eyes, tries to focus, loosening up the breath he's been keeping trapped at the very top of his lungs and letting it swell downwards, towards the whirling swoop in his lower abdomen. He breathes with his belly, releasing the tension and feeling its dam crumble sweetly within him. He heaves, soft but laboured, his breath airy and affected.
"Breathe through your mouth, that's it. Good boy."
Zanka's eyes deliriously reopen at the praise, welling up with unbeckoned tears. But Enjin is not looking at his face anymore. The hand on Zanka's chest stays put, grounding, while his head is turned backwards to stare at the work of the other. Involved but unaffected. Just another reminder that Enjin is only doing this to help him out.
Zanka feels the seed of something jagged take root in his chest. It'll hurt later when he thinks back on this, no doubt. Right now, however, the feeling washing over him is an achy sort of gratefulness. Even if this isn't what he truly wants — what he can't afford to want as he does — this is already more than he ever hoped he could get. To have Enjin see him and touch him like that is still plenty. It's a memory he'll be almost scared to hold later, something that burns too bright, too strong.
A terrifying force compels him to keep looking, a self-destructive greed to fill his mind with the sight of Enjin's jaw, neck and bare arms. Every part of him is elegant. Strong, sinewy muscle elegantly strung over long bones, skin shimmering ruby and black where perspiration lacquers his tattoos. The scent of his clean sweat returns that missing sense of closeness to him.
He can even be grateful for Enjin not looking at him. That way he can let his ache creep out in between the cracks and steal a little of that brilliance as it engraves the moment in his mind forever.
Then, Enjin decides to blow his mind again. He lightly pinches at the base of his clit and starts jerking him off with the fleshy hood. The burst of pleasure strikes a lighting bolt, jumbling his insides. Zanka's legs shoot out in a stiff jolt, hips jumping up into the perfect clench of Enjin's fingers. It feels incredible. He doesn't resist the urge to look down, watching that beautiful, skilled hand work him with effortless expertise. It looks as good as it feels. The way the ball of Enjin's palm pivots on the bone to keep the motion steady, the liquid, masterful flick of wrist and elbow, it's all beyond perfect. Zanka feels more tears welling up in his eyes.
Where in the world could he have learned something like that?!
"Got you with this one, huh? This how you usually do it?"
Zanka tenses up, lips pressed into a tight line. It's a surprise he can still get scandalised in a situation like that. His panicked mind wonders if Semiu counts as a HR office.
Enjin gives him a vaguely apologetic grin. "Don't look at me like that! It just feels like useful information at the moment. You could have told me right from the start, you know?"
"You didn't ask!" Zanka blurts out nonsensically, voice strained.
"True, I've been told that before. I like to go with my gut. It looks like my instincts didn't fail me this time either, though," he gloats, continuing to make criminal work of Zanka's thrilled clit. "It helps that this feels a little more familiar."
It's hard to tell what sends Zanka's mind spinning more, the implications of Enjin's words or the devilish little twist he adds at the end of his next stroke. It brings him back into his body in the worst way. Zanka's system floods with pleasure as his mind races, uncontrollably lashed with forbidden images of Enjin using his hands on himself, wrist lax and bouncy, casually indulgent as he works himself up. He wonders if Enjin looks and sounds as wrecked as Zanka does when he gets himself off.
The tipping point is so seemless, Zanka barely registers he's begun to come until he feels himself clench through it, sensation crashing down on him in waves. The tortured, gushing throb around the emptiness inside feels like an aching convulsion. He rides high on thundering pleasure for long, fervid seconds. Enjin's hand slows down, carrying him along the drawn out come-down before detaching. Zanka's nerves sizzle, a dust of golden, exhausted sparks settling over him. He's breathing heavily, feeling winded as if he'd just run for miles.
"Hm. No good," he hears Enjin say, sounding thoughtful. " We can do better than that."
Zanka heaves, incredulously. He can't possibly agree with calling what he just experienced 'no good.' It was better than good. It might have been the best he's ever had.
"How do you feel?"
"Good… I think," Zanka pants.
"You don't look that much better to me. We might need to go again. You good with that?"
His clit throbs enthusiastically. "Yeah," he breathes out, hoping not to sound as eager as he feels. If Enjin is offering, he's not going to argue.
"We might need a change of strategy."
When he looks over, the cleaner is looking his hand, critically, as if pondering something. He holds it up for Zanka, demonstatively wiggling his fingers. "Are you feeling like red or black?" he asks and Zanka's overheating brain takes a second to compute what he's being asked there. His eyes fall on the ink rings running below Enjin's knuckle. He feels his stomach flip, eyes wide as saucers. Enjin gives him a cheeky little grin. "Wanna let it kiss the last ring?"
Zanka's mind goes completely blank.
Enjin laughs at him, good-naturedly, (fortunately) misreading his reaction. "We'll go at your pace, don't worry! You're in good hands."
Zanka swallows thickly. He doesn't intend to dispel his colleague's wrongful assumption that there was ever any worry in him at the thought of getting his fingers inside him. Passing for anxious is better than letting the deep, aching need inside him be perceived. He lowers his eyes on Enjin's hands, tan skin peeking through ornate, organic shapes of his tattoos — floral patterns, coral reefs, cloud formations, abstract echoes of a cleaner world they have never seen, designs of hope. They're big, hard-working hands, calloused and caring; hands Zanka has hungered for for years.
He gives a subdued nod and duly spreads his legs, mildly self conscious about the wetness that streaks his inner thigh. "I know," he assures.
Enjin's answering smile is unreadable. "Good sport." As if Zanka needed persuading to endure that intimacy.
Nothing prepares him for the feeling of Enjin's long, knobbly middle finger sliding inside him. It slides in slick and easy, Zanka's body desperately clenching around the shape of it, yielding meekly. Enjin is careful with him and starts out slow. Gentle prodding grows incrementally bolder, the cleaner keeping good on his promise to sink in down to his ring tattoos. Zanka can't feel when inked skin breaches him but his mind thrills at the thought. The exploratory swirl inside when Enjin slips in knuckle deep makes his blood dance. Just a few experimental pumps and Zanka is ready to risk it all and start rocking back.
"You're going to have to work with me here and let me know what feels best, buddy," Enjin tells him, curling his finger inside.
Zanka instinctively bites his lip then lets it go, remembering Enjin's earlier admonishment. "I-it's fine, I'm ok—"
"Come on, Zanka, you hurt a man's pride like that! I'm not going for 'fine' here," Enjin interrupts him, petulantly. "I need you to let yourself feel good, alright? Just let me know when it does."
"R-right," Zanka stutters, embarrassed.
"Is this deep enough?" Enjin wiggles his finger inside, letting Zanka feel where he is.
Zanka nods, looking away. "Y-yes, I can… you can go deeper." He wants to take the whole thing. He wants to kiss down to Enjin's knuckle, but he doesn't have the language in him to say that.
"Tell me where it feels best," Enjin says and begins rubbing at his front wall in tight, little circles, pressure increasing and waning in rhythmic pulses.
Zanka's breathing picks up, he lets out a pleasured little noise when Enjin's pad finds the perfect spot. "There," he exclaims, breathy, desperate. "Right… right there…"
Enjin circles the area again, applying more pressure this time, slow and measured, sizing up his reactions. "Like this?" he wants to know. He's focused, methodical, stimulating the tingly spot that sends liquid thrills of delight through Zanka's core.
He nods again, breath itching, voice catching in his throat when his hips push recklessly into his hand. It's good, it's so good already, he almost feels bad for wanting more but…
With effort, he raises his arm, his movement unsteady, and lets his flop over his face, hiding in the crook of his elbow. He feels the heat radiating off his cheeks scald his skin.
"Y-you can… you can add one more," he whispers and air gets stuck in his lungs when Enjin does. It slides in as easilly as the first one, the stretch pleasurable, working in little by little, letting him get used to the feeling. Zanka hopes his body doesn't give him away with the way it's sucking Enjin in, ready and willing.
"You good?"
"'m good," he murmurs, sounding almost whiny.
Enjin starts off with shallow pumps, firmly pressing the heel of his palm right above Zanka's clit and stimulating it in passing, winding Zanka up. He curles his fingers inward at the end of each motion, pressing up against the exact spot Zanka pointed out to him earlier. More and more wetness gushes out from deep within with every push inside. His hole squelches obscenely, a sick, sucking sound every time Enjin wrenches his fingers back too far. He's gentle with it at first, sweet pleasure mounting at the pit of Zanka's stomach once again in a steady stream. He wants it to keep going until it floods him with honeyed elation.
Then, without warning, Enjin pushes his fingers in to the knuckle, curling in, and Zanka gasps, desperate. His core tightens up in a knot.
"Mh. That's good. You're doing so well. Let yourself enjoy this," Enjin murmurs, voice lowering in relief.
The gentle encouragement does unholy things to Zanka. Once Enjin's strokes grow slow and deep, Zanka's self control begins to slip. He forgets he's in a hot, muggy car that reeks of tabacco, sweat and sex. The world shrinks down to the cocoon of heat inside the jeep, the sweltering shroud of their intermingingly scents, the two of them breathing each other. He forgets about the discomfort of his tender, aching body. All he can think about is the way Enjin feels inside him, thick, hot and driving steady into his core over and over again. Zanka's body weeps for him, his walls tighten to hug every bump and ridge, velvety pliant, sucking on his knuckles, licking past each and every ring of his tattoos. Red, black and then red again.
Red, black. Red, black.
The colours flash beneath his eyelids. Light and dark, the traces of the chemical electricity that shoots through him. Red, black, red. He feels himself give in, hips mindlessly chasing the fullness that Enjin is dutifully supplying, endlessly giving. He begins bumping against that spot at the peak of each pump, jumbling the aching knot at the pit of his stomach that's growing tighter and tighter with each passing second.
Zanka forsakes all control. His body is trembling, his veins and nerves quiver. There isn't enough air in the car to fill his lungs with. He's vaguely aware he's letting his voice rise to a pitiful, whimpering pitch but he doesn't care. All he feels is the storm of sensations inside him, a rainfall of tight, sizzling pearls of light cascading inside him and rushing to every extremity of his body, filling him up. Electricity dances beneath his skin, gathering at his fingers and toes, flickering under his nail beds until every part of his body imbues with pleasure.
Enjin's palm comes down over his clit again, his fingers slam in and flick inside, bumping harshly against his front wall, stirring him up, driving him wild. Pleasure swells in him, like an overfilled balloon.
Then, finally, the tension breaks, the dam bursts. It all comes crashing down in a wild spasm.
Zanka comes with a strangled scream that sounds alien to his own ears, eyes wide and unseeing as he feels a sense of release he's never felt before. It's intense, violent even. His core clenches and water rushes from him in glorious, uncontrollable bursts. He's out of breath, thighs twitching as he looks down in shock at what his trembling body is doing without his permission. Mortification begins to set in, but is immediately overpowered by the aftershocks of thunderous, relentless pleasure.
By the time it stops, Zanka is overwhelmed. Enjin's fingers are still there, wrapped in the tight clutch of his heat.
Enjin has a wild smirk on his face, eyes bright and proud. Zanka feels himself melt. He is looking at him in a way that makes Zanka forget they're only doing this to save his life.
"I'm… I'm so…" Zanka tries to mouth an apology but Enjin doesn't let him.
His fingers begin pumping inside him again, sending his mind reeling. The frighteningly charged coil in his guts is back, wound up and ready to ruinously unfold all too quickly. A delirious, exhilarated panic sets in as he feels himself getting closer again. His body is not responding to him.
"S-sto—!"
"Don't you dare hold back on me, Zanka," Enjin exclaims, a flicker of something close to manic in his eyes as they lock in on him. He's flushed. Zanka desperately forces himself to think it's only because of the exertion. "Let go. Let it happen."
He pulls his elbow back, steadying himself on his feet, and starts pistoning his thick fingers inside with the full force of his arm until Zanka bursts again, shocking himself with the filthy ease of it. His vision blacks out as he keeps gushing uncontrollably on those fingers, his pussy clenching harder than his teeth. Enjin pulls his fingers out — slick, dripping — and slides them over his clit again, swiping over it as fast as he can until Zanka's brain short-circuits, prolonging his orgasm beyond what Zanka thought possible. It feels endless, his mind drifting away on its current as water pours and pours from him. A anguished sob is ripped from him when Enjin's hand flattens and starts lightly smacking his clit, sending jolts of pleasured pain through his twisting guts.
When everything finally slows to a lull, his veins are buzzing and he feels as if he's fighting from breath. Enjin's hand mercifully leaves him, his traitorous body feeling a pang of disappointment despite the over over sensitivity. He blinks. The window in front of him is strewn with droplets, moisture sluggishly streaming down the glass. His mortification returns, unimpeded this time around.
"Better?" Enjin asks, all concern gone from his expression this time, as he wipes his hands clean with a piece of cloth.
"Yeah," Zanka says, relieved. His head spins and ears ring but he feels lighter now, the ache under his skin dissipated. He realises he's hand is gripping Enjin's knee. He lets go abruptly, not sure when he even begun clinging to the man. "Y-yeah, better."
"I told you you were in good hands," Enjin winks at him, unable to conceal the juvenile mirth of his lopsided grin as he gloats.
One last string of madness takes a hold of Zanka. His eyes fall unguardedly to Enjin's crotch, foolishly hopeful, but Enjin's forearm is resting right across it and then…
"Oh, looks like the gang's back. And not a minute too early, huh," Enjin says, looking through the backseat window and making Zanka jump up in panic so fast the earth spins violently under him. Enjin catches him on the descent, stopping him from banging his head back on the seat and laughs heartily at him.
"Relax, I can barely make them out on the horizon over there, they're still a long way away! We still have a little time. Here, let's make you presentable again."
Zanka is distraught to discover he has fully drenched his pants, although Enjin assures him he was sopping wet from head to toe before they even began anyway and no one will be able to tell the difference — apart from the fact that Zanka now looks healthily deflated. Luckily, the damage seems mostly odourless. Enjin happily lights up a cigarette for good measure and helps him upright again. Zanka is very relieved to find out Enjin had laid out a water-proof tarp beneath him beforehand, which speaks more of premeditation rather than foresight. Zanka blushes at the notion and attempts to hide his embarassment by busying himself giving his colleague a hand fixing the jeep up.
The awkward, synergistic shuffling around in the cramped space while they disguise the traces of their tryst feels disarmingly intimate. Shame burns fiercely at the back of his skull when Enjin opens the jeep door to unload all the water that has pooled on the tarp. Enjin refuses to make fun of him for it and the lack of teasing is almost worse than the amicable ridicule he expected. Instead, Zanka finds himself completely defenseless in the face of Enjin's open, complicit looks.
"Enjin, listen," he begins, uncertain. "I— thank you, I just—" Then words die in his mouth and he falls silent.
Enjin puts his hand on Zanka's knee, firm and kind. "We never need to mention this ever again. If you don't want to," he says. He looks so serious. Zanka rarely sees him like that, stripped of all his usual mischievous levity. He's caught unprepared, so he just nods authomatically. The arrival of their companions rips him from the moment all too fast, breaking the spell.
Rudo and Riyo are relieved to find him (mostly) back in shape and Zanka has to keep them at a pudic distance from him to avoid further damages to his face. Delmon apologises profusely for the accident despite Zanka pleading him not to make too big of a deal out of it. The sooner they get back the sooner Zanka can (hopefully) put all this past him — for better or for worse.
Finally, the tank is full again and they all board the jeep, which miraculously smells like of an acrid mixture of smoke and gasoline with only the slightest hint of sweat. Far from ideal but infinitely better than the smell of truth. Shameful, wet, gushy truth.
"Huh. The carpet feels squishy. Why's it all wet?" Riyo asks, stepping in.
Zanka intensely wishes for the earth to open up beneath him and swallow him whole.
"Hey, Enjin, how did you make Zanka better? What did you do to him?" Rudo asks Enjin.
The blonde cleaner turns around, keeping one hand on the wheel, and flashes one of his goofiest grins. "I wrung him out like a sponge," he says, teeth unsettlingly bared from ear to ear.
Rudo seems unsure whether to be concerned or confused so he mercifully opts for dropping the subject. He sits back on his seat and silently ponders the many ways his unpredictable mentor could have worked a torture so terrible that Zanka would sit with his legs stiffly crossed like that, refusing to look at any of them in the face.
"So it worked," Semiu says upon their return, looking Zanka up and down. She looks unsurprised.
Zanka is rudely reminded where Enjin's idea originated from and tenses up in embarrassment. Enjin's hand nearly knocks him off his feet when it comes down on his back in a jovial, overenthusiastic pat.
"Seems like you had the right idea, Semiu, I can always count on you," Enjin grins. Zanka can hardly believe how nonchalant he seems about this.
"Of course," Semiu drawls, unfazed.
"For good measure, I'm going to send our boy Zanka to get checked up in the medic ward, of course, but could you please give him a little looksie first? Just for my own piece of mind," Enjin asks, shooting Zanka a little wink.
He just wants to be told he did a good job, Zanka thinks, incredulously. It should upset him, instead he's vaguely relieved by the casualness.
Semiu's eyes and glasses glow golden for a brief moment while she examines him. "I can tell you're lacking mineral salts in your blood. Other than that, you seem mostly fine. Do have the guys at the medical ward take a look at you, though. Your system endured a considerable strain," she suggests.
"Right, I'll head over there right away. Thank you, Semiu," he says and turns on his heel.
"You good on your feet now, Zanka?" Enjin calls after him. "Need me to carry you there?"
"It won't be necessary!" Zanka scoffs, maintaining his cool, feeling strangely light on his feet.
Enjin waits for Zanka to disappear down the corridor before turning back to Semiu, his face dropping.
"How did he seem like to you?" he asks. He hopes not to sound too apprehensive but he wants to know.
Semiu's eyes flick to his face and Enjin knows every pretense is futile. "He's fine," she assures him. "More than fine, even. He's happy about it. You did well, Enjin."
Enjin takes a deep breath of relief. He didn't realise how much concern he'd been arboring all that time. "Well, that's a weight off my chest," he exhales, scratching the back of his head. He feels bad enough for being privy to what Zanka has been trying so hard to conceal, he doesn't want to risk causing him further distress. It's unfortunate that he cannot return those feelings, but he can't do much about that part. Zanka being a man is his only obstacle, really: he's someone Enjin cares for very much but he's just not a gorgeous woman.
"I told you before you had nothing to worry about," Semiu says, flicking to the next page of her magazine. "He really enjoyed it too. I could tell he would."
"Yeah, yeah, you sure did," Enjin says, clearing his voice, dismissing that little tidbit of extra information thrown in there. "Thank you for the heads-up."
"No problem. And, Enjin?" She calls as he turns to leave. "I can tell you didn't mind it either," she adds, making Enjin stumble over his own feet.