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Jabber doesn't waste any time. No sooner has Zanka locked the door behind him, Jabber's hands tug at him— they pull at him, fingers roaming over Zanka's clothes, pulling down the zipper of his jacket, tugging at the strap that crosses his chest.
Zanka can't help the amusement that Jabber's impatience causes him. He manages to pin Jabber's hands down, keeping his wrists in his hands.
"Why so eager?" Zanka asks, feeling the spark of excitement ignite when Jabber looks at him with that expression that is so... Jabber. It was excitement and eagerness mixed with the impatient need Jabber always seemed to ooze at all times when Zanka was near.
Jabber looks at him, with an affection shaped by his desire for Zanka. A mix of joy and playfulness that often ended up rubbing off on him.
"I haven't seen you in so long." Jabber says, tugging against Zanka's grip in time he lunges forward. So awfully needy. But Zanka knew him well enough to expect such tactics. So when he moves his face away, out of the reach of Jabber's lips, he laughs at the pout and frown that tamp down some of the excitement. "Come on, Zanka. It isn't like you're not eager, right?"
The pout vanishes in a flash, replaced by that grin that drives Zanka nuts. It's so Jabber to be teasing, to prod and pinch at all Zanka doesn't say out loud. Jabber inflames Zanka's wants so easily, beckoning them out, and Zanka relaxes, lets Jabber's hands go to place his own hands on Jabber's hips, bringing him flush against him.
Which is just exactly what Jabber needed, it would seem, by the wanton moan that he doesn't hold back. Zanka loved that, how effusive Jabber was, how he shamelessly spilled all his enjoyment. In a way, it was so warm, Jabber's lively nature. Driven by violence or desire, or simple curiosity turned playfulness, it didn't matter. Jabber was gorgeous in Zanka's eyes, with the way he so freely expressed what he liked and wanted. And right now, it would seem he wanted Zanka.
And a kiss, considering the way Jabber's fingers tangled in the back of Zanka's head, pulling him close. This time, Zanka doesn't resist him. He matches Jabber's desire, nipping and tasting. He never tired of it, of being able to take without ever being reprimanded by how greedy he got at times.
A moan tears through him when Jabber pulls at his hair, when he makes Zanka's head arch back and his scalp burn with his roughness. Zanka digs his fingers against Jabber, trying to ease some of the stinging pain. He looks down at Jabber, panting. The burn already has his stomach tightening with anticipation— Jabber's rough touch was something Zanka desired with such thirst.
Jabber's eyes are narrowed at him. Zanka wants to ask him what is in his mind, what has his nose twitching with clear dislike. He is about to, when Jabber manhandles his face forward, kissing him viciously. It's rougher than what Zanka is used to, at least at the moment, when they have just started. He tastes blood in the kiss, and he shivers when one of Jabber's hands move to grip his chin.
There is a string of saliva that stretches and breaks as Jabber pulls back, and a shine to his lips, with red smeared over them— blood, the same one Zanka licks off his own lips. His lower lip throbs and Zanka knows Jabber has busted his lip. He shakes, already aroused, thoughts slipping out of his grip as his need grows.
"You smell like him." Jabber hisses, accusatory, tone filled with barbed jealousy. Zanka's brows draw themselves in his confusion, and Jabber's hold on his hair tightens, borders closer to pain than pleasure. Zanka whines. "Like cigarettes and smoke."
Zanka breathes out a small laugh. Yeah, he had passed Enjin as he slipped out of the inn they were staying. Enjin had stopped and chatted Zanka for a bit, and Zanka had almost melted when Enjin's hands had found his shoulders, squeezing him in concern as he told Zanka to come back safe. He supposed the cigarette, still between Enjin's fingers, had seeped its scent into his clothes.
"You reek." Jabber growls, and his expression takes on the one Zanka often sees when Zanka brushes far too close with the possibility of being injured. The possessiveness —the protectiveness— endears Zanka to no end, makes his vision blur with the feral need that blooms inside him. He sucks in a sharp breath, becomes too aware of himself now that Jabber is pinning him with his gaze. "You should be smelling like you. Or me."
The one thing of Jabber's jealousy, Zanka has come to learn, is that it's easy to make it grow in size. It's so volatile, easy to ignite. It makes it so easy to push Jabber into action.
"Then get Enjin's scent off me."
Jabber's smile twists, knowing, hungry. Eager in its excitement.
"Take off your clothes then, Zanka."