Chapter Text
When Riyo shows up the next day, ready to help Zanka pick out an absolutely lethal dress for the club, she’s surprised to find her in clothes meant for office work and not a relaxing Saturday. Button down shirt. Pencil skirt. Corporate heels made to signal your arrival and, if you’re high level enough, strike fear in the hearts of whoever hears you coming.
“Goka came by yesterday,” Zanka says when she lets Riyo in. “Too many remote days.”
Riyo has a look on her face that tells Zanka that she’d swiftly shove her siblings out of a window if she could. Well, technically, she can, as anything is possible, but it’d be considered a crime. Probably.
“You should’ve called me sooner. We could’ve bitched about her together.”
“It’s fine, I worked enough hours today to keep them satisfied.”
“Well good, no more work talk then. Let’s go to your room and try on some dresses, yeah?” To emphasize the number of dresses Riyo holds up two shopping bags.
“Riyo. Tell me ya didn’t go out and buy dresses for me.”
“No, sweetie, I stole them. Duh.”
Zanka’s laugh is a little nervous, like she can’t tell if Riyo’s joking or not.
“I’m kidding, jeez! It’s stuff I had in my closet. I know you don’t own anything meant for a nightclub.”
That’s not necessarily true. There are things hidden deep in the back of her closet where her sisters can’t see, clothes she bought out of a silent rebellion by using her paycheck for something that would be labeled as being useless. Still, chances are that Riyo has something better than an impulse buy. “Cool. We can do this out here.”
“Out here in the living room?”
“What? Ain’t like I got a roommate, it don’t really matter where I try stuff on.”
Riyo’s immediately suspicious of her friend. She knows that Zanka’s the type of woman that does specific things in specific rooms. You get dressed in the bedroom. You brush your teeth in the bathroom. That sort of thing. Why’s she changing things up all of a sudden? “Everything okay, Zanka?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Cuz I know you. You’d never get dressed in the living room.”
Zanka tries her best to keep her face neutral. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“What’s wrong with your bedroom?”
“Nothin’.”
“Is Jabber in there?”
“Huh?! No! If she were, I would’ve cancelled this whole club plan.”
True. If Jabber were here, she wouldn’t have even answered the door. The make-up sex would be a marathon, not a sprint. “Okay, so let’s go into the bedroom.”
“… fine.”
Zanka leads the two of them to the room, the bed perfectly made, the nightstand perfectly clean. Riyo’s not sure why Zanka’s so stiff when she sits on the bed, like there’s a secret she’s desperately trying to hide. Her legs are squeezed shut, fingers nervously tapping at her nightstand.
“Okay, tell me what happened.”
Zanka looks confused, not because of what Riyo said, but because she’s certain her friend can see all the signs. Can’t she smell it in the air? Even if it was a day ago, and Zanka’s lit enough fragrant candles to try and mask yesterday with mountain breeze, surely she can sniff out the orgasm, can see it spread out all over the comforter even if Zanka washed it twice.
Surely she can read Zanka’s mind and is sorting through the memories of what Tamsy did, what she let Tamsy do. How Tamsy’s voice had become like an instructor, guiding Zanka into telling her where her hands — no, Jabber’s hands — were going.
“Would she take off your panties?”
“No. She’d push them aside.”
“Mmmm. Are her fingers inside you yet?”
“N-no. No, she… she’s more playful than that.”
“Where are her fingers?”
“I…”
“Where, Zanka?”
“My clit, she…”
“Touching?”
“Poking. Playing. She’s always playing, experimenting. I-I need her inside.”
“But she won’t.”
“No.”
“So she’s not. Not yet.”
“Tamsy!”
“Keep playing, dear.”
“Fuck! I… fuck!”
“Keep crying, dear.”
“Fuck you!”
“No. Let her fuck you instead. Right now.”
And she does. Zanka plunges two fingers inside, the sense of relief outweighing the cruel embarrassment of being so wet that Tamsy can probably hear it. It’s messy. It’s slippery. It smells of desperation and the miserable realization that she’s so far gone on Jabber that she’ll play pretend with a friend.
“Zanka?”
Zanka has no choice but to come clean when Riyo’s got that look on her face, one like a sister who actually gives a shit. Zanka pats the space on the bed next to her, and when Riyo sits down, she starts talking.
The assumption with Zanka’s friends is that Follo’s the best listener. Follo’s great at it, but her facial expressions always betray how she feels, automatically letting you know what she thinks and whose side she’s taking. Riyo, on the other hand, is always able to mask her feelings until Zanka’s done talking. Because of this, Zanka’s always able to tell her everything so easily. With Riyo, there’s no judgment; there’s simply a girl willing to listen without doing or saying anything until it’s over.
So Zanka just… talks. Talks about how much she misses Jabber, misses the very concept of the woman, and how she feels like a failure for not being interesting enough for Jabber to stay. She talks about her siblings, how she’s been looking to them for inspiration so her heart doesn’t shatter at the mere thought of Jabber, only to have them be the ones who make her feel small. She talks about what she did with Tamsy, feeling like she’s sitting in a confessional as she gets to the twist, the moment where Tamsy led her into letting Jabber in.
And after all of the talking, the only thing Riyo says is, “You really got it bad for her, huh?”
Zanka stares at Riyo, mouth silently dropping open when she hears those words. She says nothing about her sisters or her time with Tamsy; she simply narrows down the source of Zanka’s tumultuous feelings. “Do you really got nothin’ to say about the other stuff?”
“Zanka. Your sisters have been acting like that since ballet recitals were your number one priority. And Tamsy? Tamsy knows exactly what she’s doing. You know that.”
“There’s gotta be some kinda rule against using your friend as a stand-in for your ex.”
Riyo laughs and says, “If there is, then Tamsy broke it first.”
“I could’ve said no.”
“Did you wanna say no?”
“… no.”
“Did she wanna say no?”
“…… no.”
“Well, there you go. I’m not gonna lecture you about Tamsy being Tamsy. She’s a grown-ass woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.”
While Follo would’ve said that a bit maliciously, Riyo simply says it as a true statement. Tamsy is messy. Tamsy is manipulative. Riyo would rather know that ahead of time instead of being surprised by it. So yeah, Tamsy’s who you call if you want to leave your morals at the door, and that’s the kind of mood Zanka had been in.
“One day you’re gonna have to blame me for my actions.”
Riyo smiles and rests her head on Zanka’s shoulder. “Naw, that’s not the issue.”
“What is the issue, then?”
Riyo pulls back to look at Zanka, analyzing her face, eyes searching to make sure she’s being honest with that question. “You really wanna know?”
Zanka nods, desperately. She needs to know, needs to hear it.
“All right. You ready?”
“Yes.”
Riyo reaches forward and pokes Zanka, tapping right at her heart. “This is the issue. Jabber broke your heart.”
Zanka frowns and looks away from Riyo. “Don’t make it sound so serious. I knew what I was gettin’ into from the start.”
“Doesn’t mean it don’t hurt, Zanka. Breakups suck, and you felt a little self-destructive because you liked that girl.”
“Yeah, well, me liking that girl was the problem, apparently. Got so distracted that my sisters noticed.”
“Zanka. You’re self-destructive anyway. It’s just now focused on a singular person instead of just your family and your insecurities about being mediocre or whatever.”
Zanka’s not sure if she can frown any more than she already is. “Damn, Riyo.”
“Hey. I asked if you were ready,” then she rests her head on Zanka’s shoulder again.
From there, the two sit in the silence of it all, neither one willing to interrupt it yet. Zanka lets herself absorb everything that’s happened up to this point and connects it with what Riyo just said. The redhead is always honest, but only when Zanka is ready for her to be. There’s no lies in the words Riyo speaks when you need to hear the truth, which, in hindsight, makes her the friend who’s the trickiest to deal with, not Tamsy.
In a way, Tamsy is easy, an attractively manipulative go-to when you don’t feel like facing reality. Riyo, though? She keeps it real when no one else in Zanka’s life will.
Which is why, when she speaks again, the words land in a way that makes Zanka feel like the air in the room has been unceremoniously cut off.
“I know Follo asked you before, but I gotta ask again. Do you really want her back?”
Because none of this — the stuff with Tamsy, the stuff with her sisters — none of it means anything, none of it is the source of what she’s been feeling all week. None of it is the why behind her phone call to Tamsy, or her defenses being down with her sisters.
“I knew it was gonna be temporary,” Zanka says, surprised at how soft her voice is. “I knew how Jabber was, but-”
Riyo says nothing, just waiting for her to get the words out.
“But I… she… I like how I feel when I’m around her. None of the bullshit bothers me. It’s like she’s a natural repellent, ya know? When I’m with her it feels like I really can do whatever the fuck I want… but she never settles down, never lingers, and I… want to.”
“Then I guess you gotta keep trying, yeah?”
“And what if it don’t work?”
Riyo smiles and kisses Zanka on her cheek. “I’m not gonna pretend like I know why Jabber acts the way she does, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you — especially this week. So take this one thing from your bitchy ass sisters, yeah? Use that annoying Nijiku confidence, because… ain’t no way this won’t work.”
Riyo says it so easily. Not a single bit of uncertainty, just pure confidence in the fact that Zanka will get Jabber back. It’s a reminder. A declaration.
It’s everything Zanka needs.
“I really should’ve called you first,” Zanka mutters.
“Or Follo, jeez! You went straight to Tamsy?!”
“… I wanted mess.”
“And now?”
“Still want mess, just a different kind.”
“Doooooes that mean you’re gonna trust me completely with the dress tonight?”
And just like that, Riyo cements herself as the worst best friend. Something about that makes Zanka smile, and she knows there’s no point in trying to hide it from Riyo.
Zanka’s never been a fan of things like “the club scene” or “bar hopping,” but she is a fan of people watching, and those two spots often have some form of entertainment — whether the patrons realize it or not. That doesn’t mean she actively hits up these spots; she often has to get dragged to them, Riyo begging for a “girls' night” as if alcohol and booming techno are friendship requirements.
Tonight, however, serves a purpose.
Riyo’s made her look like she’s on the hunt, though the redhead claims that it comes from Zanka’s natural demeanor. It’s true that the dress is the perfect shade of blue and the perfect length to reveal the efforts of daily morning jogs amongst other workout routines that Riyo chooses to sleep through, but Zanka’s the one who walks in ways that show off her hips, stands in ways that can make a room look at her and wait to be given orders.
Zanka doesn’t believe her, still not quite at “Nijiku pride” level after laying her soul out in the open for Riyo. But maybe, as the two walk to the club entrance to meet with Follo and Tamsy, this is a new kind of pride, then, one she can call her own.
Follo’s already moving to the base of the music as it echoes around outside, halter top, loose pants, and lesbian-approved cap the exact opposite of Tamsy’s angelic dress that makes her look like she’s been cast out of heaven, but she’s keeping the enchanting clothing out of spite. Riyo, meanwhile, is completely in her element, wearing a top that might as well be a bra with shorts and thick combat boots that give her a bit more height. “Hey girls,” Riyo calls out with a wave.
It’s debatable if her voice is what catches their attention or the click of Zanka’s heels.
“Um… wow, I mean… hey!” Follo manages to cobble together a greeting. “You look-”
“Delectable,” Tamsy says it in a whisper instead of the soft, controlled tone of voice she usually carries.
“Good. Think she’ll notice?”
Zanka watches, in real time, as Tamsy’s face morphs, for a fraction of a second, into something akin to jealousy, like part of her is hoping that her friend will give up on this whole Jabber thing and settle for something like the phone incident.
Follo, meanwhile, is perfectly fine, always the bestie who is happy to simply exist in Zanka’s orbit. “Hell yeah she’ll notice! Who wouldn’t?”
Zanka smiles and steps closer to Follo, lips brushing against her ear as she whispers, “Thank you,” before she steps past her to walk in with Riyo.
Follo scrambles after, face a sweet cherry shade of red as she tells them she’ll find a table for the group. Truly, it is the most impressive task a person could pull off when there’s so many people to navigate past in the hopes of finding somewhere to sit.
“Cool! We can hit up the bar... oh...”
“Riyo?”
Riyo gives Zanka a full-blown look, something to give her a warning about what lies ahead. Zanka can guess what it is. It’s the reason why she’s here, after all. But this is no time to hesitate, no time to question herself or get lost in whatever self-deprecating thoughts are lingering in her mind like cobwebs that refuse to be swept away. Now’s the time to steady her resolve, to see whatever the hell it is that girls like Follo see in her, and use it to get what she wants.
Because Jabber’s up ahead, standing out amongst the crowd to such an absurd level that it's like no one else is in the room. She’s already dancing, hair acting like a silent partner and moving with her, fishnet shirt mapping out her arms, her stomach, her bra. Jabber’s entire essence screams freedom and passion, like she’s daring someone to grab her hips and keep up with her, smile enticing because it doesn’t know how to be anything else.
To her credit, Jabber’s date is trying, and that deserves some kind of star sticker. Not gold, of course, and not silver, either. What color comes after bronze? Zanka’s not really sure.
“Well? What will you do now?”
Zanka doesn’t dignify Tamsy’s question with a response, at least, not a verbal one. Actions speak louder, you know? And Zanka feels like being heard.
Zanka keeps an eye on Jabber as she heads for the bar with her date. Cthoni’s already there, trying to get drinks for everyone while quietly checking out the bartender — it’s Semiu, so it makes sense. “Riyo?”
“On it,” then Riyo makes her way to the bar, slipping past people as quietly as a morning breeze. Both Zanka and Tamsy follow her trail before the sea of people can make them lose track of the redhead. “Semiu! Can you get my friends some drinks?”
Jabber reacts immediately.
Her eyes settle on Riyo for approximately two point five seconds before they shift over to Zanka. Zanka can see the gears in Jabber’s head creak to life as she tries to process the way the dress keeps no secrets, revealing legs and embracing hips and breasts like a second skin. Unlike the coffee shop, where Zanka would do everything in her power to not keep eye contact for too long, she makes sure to stay in Jabber’s line of sight.
“Hey Riyo! I’ll be right there-… damn Zanka, you look good!”
Then Zanka promptly blushes, flustered from Semiu’s compliment. Luckily, no one would ever hold it against her. It’s Semiu. So it makes sense.
“Yes, doesn’t she?”
Zanka knows that Tamsy just said something. She knows because she can hear her voice, can feel her breath wandering dangerously close to the back of her neck. But Zanka can’t quite process the words because she’s too busy watching Jabber’s face and the way she looks like she just heard a series of offensive words.
“Felt like trying something different,” Zanka says. “Not sure how I feel about it yet, though.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re stunning, Zanka.”
With anyone else, Zanka would say that they’re laying it on a little too thick, but this is literally how Tamsy is on a regular basis. Zanka doesn’t need to look at the girl to know that she’s got that condescending smile on her face, eyes likely looking at Jabber in a way that screams I got the prize that you foolishly left behind.
For a brief moment, as Jabber’s eyes narrow into something murderous, Zanka wonders if she’s going too far with this. She wants Jabber to feel every inch of regret, yes, but Zanka suspects that if she pokes at this too much, then Jabber may very well kill Tamsy.
Then Jabber’s date inserts herself into the conversation.
Then said date spits out a backhanded compliment that Zanka knows she doesn’t mean; she can tell from the way the woman smiles at her like she’s some wet, stray cat she plans to leave on the side of the road.
“Thanks,” Zanka says, because if her strict family corporate training has taught her anything, it’s the fine art of the customer service smile that hides the boiling rage simmering at the edges. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Zanka, and you are…?”
And THEN she has the absolute NERVE to LATCH ONTO JABBER’S ARM and say, “Jabber’s date.”
It stinks of insecurity, and NO ONE is going to beat Zanka Fucking Nijiku in THAT department.
“Is that your name?”
Bless Tamsy for being able to read Zanka’s mind, somehow, because never mind wanting to stop Operation Make Jabber Jealous. If anything, Zanka hasn’t been doing enough.
“Wha-? N-no, I mean… it’s Felicia.”
“Well, nice to meet ya, Felicia.” Zanka’s smile is as sweet as honey, not a trace of mockery in sight after years of overbearing family dynamics. “I hope you two have fun tonight.”
Before Jabber can fully process anything that just happened, Zanka’s walking away with Tamsy and Riyo.
Not to brag (very much to brag), but Zanka knows that Jabber’s watching her leave, can feel those captivating eyes on her as she moves through the crowd. Zanka makes sure her hips do the talking, whispering to Jabber to come and get her if she really, truly wants her instead of some clingy substitute that she’ll be bored with in a day. Eyes closed and hands positioned perfectly above her head, Zanka lets the music guide her, moves with it like it's a long lost lover who she calls when she needs to be her sexiest self.
“Mind if I join you?”
Tamsy’s fingers brush against Zanka’s waist to test the waters. When Zanka doesn’t stop dancing, Tamsy decides to get more intimate, her fingers moving to the small of Zanka’s back to gently tease the spot.
“Why do you think I’d mind?”
“Wasn't sure if what happened between us made things too awkward.”
Zanka shakes her head and rests her hands on Tamsy’s shoulders. “Naw. I knew what I was gettin’ myself into.”
“Is that so?” Tamsy takes a chance and pulls Zanka closer, their bodies now pressed against each other. “Do you feel like getting into something else?”
Zanka raises an eyebrow at Tamsy. “With you?”
Tamsy smiles, fingers moving from Zanka’s back to the curve of her ass and the bottom edge of her dress. “If this stunt of yours doesn’t work…”
“Are you doubting me?”
“Not at all, dear. I simply wished to make an offer.”
Zanka’s not sure how Tamsy manages to pull her closer than she already is. Their bodies feel so tightly pressed together that Zanka’s having trouble telling where hers ends and Tamsy’s begins. “You realize I was thinkin’ ‘bout someone else when we was on the phone, right?”
“And yet here you are, dancing with me,” Tamsy whispers, fingers still brushing against the hem of the dress, teasing the back of Zanka’s thighs.
“Just dancin’, Tamsy, to make someone else jealous”
“Mmmm,” Tamsy leans in, lips close enough for Zanka to feel the flavored gloss. “Wonder what else I can do to make her jealous. Wanna find out?”
That’s the last thing Tamsy gets to say to Zanka before Jabber appears, seemingly out of nowhere, grabs onto Zanka’s arm, and pulls. Zanka cries out, surprised at the action and strength behind it as she’s dragged off to the bathroom.
And Tamsy’s left behind, staring at the two before she replaces her shock with a low chuckle. “Well played.”
Jabber’s the kind of woman who can blur the line between pleasure and pain. When she hurts, it feels good, and Zanka has given in to some harsh bites and sharp pinches more than once, twice, thrice, and beyond.
But this?
This is different.
This is a genuine blend of anger and frustration, Jabber’s grip tight like handcuffs that squeeze too tight and refuse to let go. When they get to the bathroom, she kicks the door open and immediately asks the girls inside to leave.
“Jabber, that ain’t necessary.”
“Shut up.”
Zanka can feel her heart stop at the command.
Wait, a command?
Jabber can certainly be a mean ass bitch, but she’s never sounded this mean before. There’s nothing playful in her tone, nothing that leaves any room for argument and snarky banter. Jabber’s being completely serious, so serious that her strained smile is all it takes for the girls to leave.
“Jabber-”
“Lock the door.”
“What?”
“Lock the fucking door, Zanka.”
There it is again. A command. It’s so unlike the Jabber she (thinks) she knows. Zanka does as she’s told and walks over to the door to lock it, but before she can turn around to face Jabber, Jabber’s slamming her against the door. “Ow! Hey, what the fuck?!”
“Yeah, what the FUCK, Zanka!” Jabber presses herself against Zanka from behind. “You like random bitches feelin’ ya up in public now? Right where I can see?”
“What? What the hell are ya talkin’ about?”
Zanka, of course, knows exactly what Jabber’s talking about. That was the entire point of walking into coffee shops braless and dancing with attractive women in Jabber’s line of sight. All of this has been planned, but that doesn’t mean Zanka isn’t surprised by the searing results.
That’s when she feels it. Jabber’s lips against her ear, the familiar touch of that fucking tongue ring, and really, only Jabber Wonger can make a girl miss a piece of jewelry. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you was doin’ out there with Tabby.”
“Tabby?? Who the fuck is Tabby???”
Jabber responds with her hands and it takes everything in Zanka’s power not to shatter on the spot. The heat she feels reddening her cheeks is slowly spreading throughout her body. Zanka doesn’t bother to try and keep down the moan that bubbles out of her throat, not when those hands make a place for themselves on her chest and give a good, hard squeeze.
“Don’t you dare say her name right now. You better only say my name tonight.”
If Zanka were in her right mind she’d be able to tell Jabber that, technically, she hadn’t said her name because Tabby isn’t her name. But she’s not in her right mind, no, she’s lost in some far off land where chasing after an orgasm from one Jabber Wonger takes top priority, leaving her to moan breathlessly against the bathroom door and use words like ahhhhh and fuck to describe how good it feels when Jabber’s nails getting reacquainted with her nipples. It’s no surprise that the girl’s too cruel to go easy on her, leaving the dress on so all the pinching and tugging is felt through soft fabric against her skin.
Zanka squeezes her legs together, trying to calm the steady heat building, the one that dampens her panties and smells of hunger and too much desire to be contained. Just because she wants Jabber doesn’t mean she can’t hold on to her pride.
“Wet already, sweetness?” Jabber giggles like a girl who just found her target in a game of Hide and Seek. She keeps one hand on Zanka’s breast like it’s its’s sole purpose in life while the other worms its way between Zanka’s thighs and presses against her panties. “Mmmm, yeah you are.”
“Fuck you, Jabber!”
It’s supposed to sound malicious but it comes out wrong. She sounds wrecked, throat nice and tight, underwear collecting the evidence of Jabber’s reverent touches. Zanka may sound like she’s floating off the ground, but Jabber’s the one truly destroyed, like it’s been physically painful to not be in Zanka’s orbit this past week. “No, fuck you Zanka,” she pants out. “You the one who’s got me all fucked up.”
Zanka suddenly feels like some kind of criminal being interrogated, but Jabber’s methods are far beyond the parameters of legality. Because now one of her fingers is rubbing at Zanka’s clit and she doesn’t have the decency to push her panties to the side so she can touch it for real. It’s slow, teasing, like she’s petting it as a reward for good behavior. Thank you for sending those buzzing little shockwaves down to the tips of Zanka’s toes. Thank you for making her so sensitive that she can’t stop whining, can’t stop trying to hump Jabber’s hand in an attempt to get to that whole fuck you thing she’d been screaming about earlier.
“You out here lookin’ this good for other bitches who ain’t me. Out here moving this body like it ain’t mine.”
Oh.
Well would you look at that.
There really is nothing stronger than Nijiku pride.
Because the hypocrisy of an ex-girlfriend ending things because it was all becoming too “routine” is already infuriating enough, but to have her say that Zanka belongs to her? That her body is off limits to anyone else when SHE is the one who initiated the breakup?
No.
That is not allowed.
Orgasm be damned. Self-confidence be damned. Everything be damned.
“First of all, her name is Tamsy, and she ain’t a bitch, she’s my friend!”
Mental correction: Tamsy is a bitch and wears the title with pride, but Jabber doesn’t get to call her a bitch, doesn’t get to pass judgment on who flirts with Zanka when THEY. Are NOT. toGETHER.
“She’s trying to fuck you,” Jabber screams, as if that explains everything.
A truly petty part of Zanka wants to tell Jabber that she already has, or rather, she got her off in a time of need, and really, that would piss Jabber off more than the actual act. Because instead of going straight to the source, Zanka went to someone else, let that someone else tell her how to move her hand over her own body like a dutiful tour guide who’d visited the location on more than one occasion.
But Zanka knows if she tells that story, Jabber will surely lose focus and cut this much needed conversation short, so instead she says, “Why is it any of your business? YOU broke up with ME!”
Now, Jabber’s a pretty strong girl. She’s strong in a way that can handle a good fight in a bar or alleyway, maybe a restaurant that serves 24-hour breakfast. But Zanka’s trained — not to the muscular degree of Cthoni, but to the degree of being in a family that can afford bodyguards but decides to earn multiple belts in various fighting styles. Why settle on ballet and musical instruments when you can also learn how to break slabs of rock with your bare hands?
So Zanka applies that strength to this moment. Sure, her former instructors hadn’t taught her how to manhandle an opponent just so she could maneuver her ex-girlfriend around like a doll, slam her against a door, and pin her wrists in a too tight grip, but eh, she’s applying her teachings, and that has to count for something, right?
Jabber lets out a surprised cough, and for a moment she looks truly bewildered about how she got there.
“Did ya forget?” Zanka hopes she looks intimidating, but deep down she knows she’s reached that frustrating point where anger makes you want to cry. She can feel the rough sting in her eyes, a reminder of how she’s felt this week, yesterday, hell, today. “Did ya fuckin’ forget?! This is on YOU! Out here talkin’ about how I belong to you. Get FUCKED, Jabber. You tossed me away!”
To her credit, Jabber does look like she’s feeling something akin to regret, maybe even fear. Maybe it’s because Zanka’s panting with the effort it takes to stop herself from figuring out a way to unhinge her jaw and stretch her mouth wide enough to bite Jabber’s head off. Zanka considers taking a meditative deep breath so she can calm down- “I-… I didn’t toss… I mean, I-I tried to be nice about it…?”
Nevermind.
Jabber needs to die.
“Go to hell!”
“Can I go to your place instead?”
Oh.
Nevermind again.
Killing Jabber isn’t worth the mess it’ll leave behind. Zanka will, however, give in to the alternative where she thoroughly rocks her world in a club bathroom. It’ll be quick. It’ll be filthy. It’ll be cathartic enough to satisfy the fury she feels. At least that’s what she tells herself instead of the truth, that Jabber, standing in front of her, bottom lip caught between her teeth and eyes dazed from the mere thought of Zanka ruining her, is exactly what she’s been craving all week.
“Oooooh, so she wants to go to my place, huh? My boring, predictable place.”
Zanka doesn’t give Jabber the chance to fully respond. Instead, she shoves her knee between Jabber’s legs, makes sure to wedge it in so the denim of her jeans feels uncomfortable. Jabber hisses in response, relishes in the discomfort, the rough rubbing of Zanka’s knee between her thighs.
Then Zanka leans in and bites her neck, thoroughly ruins it with teeth, tongue, and a low, deep moan that’s been waiting to come out all week. There’s no warning, no soft kisses to serve as a warm up, just teeth digging into flesh so harshly that Jabber’s eyes roll off into oblivion.
“Fuck, fuck yeeeees, yes,” Jabber says, delirious, tilting her head back so Zanka can find more spots to torment with her, admittedly, very sharp teeth. She could catch steel with them, Jabber thinks.
“You have some fuckin’ nerve giving me shit about Tamsy when you’re on a whole ass date.” Zanka decides not to think about what that says about what she’s doing right now. A rational like girl would tell Jabber to return to her date. A Zanka like girl would let go of Jabber’s wrists so she can shove up her fishnet shirt to get to the bra that’s teasing her underneath.
Jabber’s smiling like she just got tickets to see her favorite band. Front row. VIP treatment. She’s making these little excited noises, practically vibrating from the anticipation of what Zanka’s about to do.
“And now look at you,” Zanka says. “Letting me feel ya up in the bathroom when there’s some girl out there waiting for you.”
“Pretty sure Susan’s gone.”
Zanka has to stop herself from laughing. She does, at least, indulge in the sudden burst of pride she feels knowing that Jabber never even bothered to learn that bitch’s-... ahem, her date’s name. “Felicia.”
“Who?”
“… you’re unbelievable.”
And with those words, Zanka undoes the front clasp of Jabber’s bra, pushing the purple cups aside to take a good, long, appreciative look at her breasts. They’re perfect to an obnoxious degree, the kind that girls probably whispered about in locker rooms as they tried to come up with excuses to touch them, grope them, feel them up real good while claiming that it was just something girls did. Zanka doesn’t touch, though. She dips her head down to lick a slow, gentle circle around one of Jabber’s nipples, gives it a soft, welcoming kiss before she bites down on it.
Jabber’s eyes widen, her moaning bordering on a scream, but she’s not quite there yet. She will be soon, though, if Zanka keeps working her teeth the way she’s doing.
There’s nothing kind about it, but that’s why Jabber loves it so much. Zanka knows that about her. Zanka can pour all of her frustrations into every bite, can pull on her nipple with her teeth, can pinch the other one with her fingers, and Jabber will moan, will scream her way through it all, going so far as to scratch her nails through Zanka’s hair as a way to beg for more.
Zanka debates whether or not she should press her hand between Jabber’s legs but she, rather confidently, realizes she doesn’t have to. The way Jabber’s body’s jerking around, thumping against the door, you’d think she was being thoroughly fucked. But no, it’s just Zanka biting, Zanka licking, Zanka moaning as she works her way toward getting a gold star for making a woman cum in her pants from the way she handles her tits.
Zanka pulls back with a loud pop, making sure Jabber can hear when she’s done using her mouth. Zanka’s a little mad at herself for not wearing lipstick — not that she does it very often, but it would’ve been nice to see it stamped into Jabber’s skin. Before Jabber can even think to ask why she stopped, Zanka presses both hands against her breasts and pushes forward, squishing them so hard that Jabber lets out a long, drawn out whine from how confined they feel, the forcefulness enough to trigger her orgasm.
When Zanka steps back, she takes a look at her handiwork. Jabber’s still trying to remember how to breathe, face flushed and eyes hazy like a dream. Part of Zanka wants to take her pants off so she can see how soaked her panties are, but then she’ll want to sink her fingers in, want to sink her tongue in as far as it’ll go, and-
“Fuck, you’re so hot like this. I should’ve known you still had this in you.”
As much as Zanka wants to keep going, can feel it deep in her belly, the adrenaline’s gone and reality is starting to sink in. “And yet you decided to end things with me.”
Jabber lets out an irritated huff, something between still satisfied and annoyed. “Do ya gotta keep bringing that up?”
Reality means that they have to talk about this, not fuck about this. Otherwise, they’ll be right back where they started the week, separated when neither really wants to be because Jabber doesn’t want to stay still and Zanka speaks with actions when words are what’s required to work through things. “We are literally still broken up, Jabber!”
“Wait, we are?! But you’re mine!”
Zanka has to tell her traitorous heart not to give in after hearing those words. Jabber sounds so sure of herself, and she wants to believe her so badly. But she’s done nothing to reassure her that she means what she says, nothing to reassure her that she won’t suggest another breakup when she gets bored.
“In fact, I should show ya.”
That’s a good start.
“Let me return the favor, yeah?”
Zanka retracts that thought as Jabber lists off a variety of ways she can show her, sexually, that she means business. Zanka has to tell her traitorous heart not to give in once again, followed by a mental exercise in not making a mess of her underwear when Jabber starts to beg her to sit on her face in the middle of the bathroom floor. Thank goodness for Nijiku stubbornness. She may not get along with her sisters, but boy howdy, channeling their ironclad attitudes is doing wonders right now.
So she takes a breath, embraces everything she knows about meditation and keeping a clear head, and says, “Move.”
Jabber cocks her head to the side like a confused mouse. It’s terribly cute. Damnit, focus Zanka! “What? Why?” Jabber asks.
“So I can go back to my friends.”
“But… aren’t we making up?”
“You have to apologize for that to happen.”
When Jabber smirks and tries to reach for her, Zanka slams her against the door again. It, of course, has the opposite effect of serving as a warning. Hard to warn a girl like Jabber with physical actions.
Words. Use your words, Zanka. “I don’t mean sexually, Jabber,” and she says it like she means it.
Cue some top-tier pouting.
“Zankaaaaa, come oooooon, can’t we just have a good time? Don’t ya miss that? It certainly felt that way.”
That’s not a lie. Zanka still feels that way. Jabber could poke her in some random, unsexy spot like her nose or elbow and she’d probably completely unravel in front of her. She’s been chasing this orgasm all week, went so far as to use Tamsy as a substitute, and yet... she can’t make herself fully take hold of it until she knows, for sure, that this thing with Jabber isn’t going to disappear a second time.
At least not over something as trivial as boredom. Let Zanka fuck up legitimately first, damn.
“Sure. We screw around in the bathroom. Then what? What happens if you get bored again?”
Zanka knows she’s playing with fire. Not because of the sexual tension, but because she’s getting too serious, asking too many unfun questions that Jabber doesn’t want to answer.
So Jabber does what she does best: overly compliment in an attempt to avoid an answer. “Me? Get bored with you? After tonight? Ain’t no way.”
“You literally did at the beginning of the week.”
“Come on, Zanka. I just wanna have fun is all. Let loose. Be excited.”
Zanka decides that the only way to get her point across is to do the one thing that’s been drilled out of her: be vulnerable. If she’s going to convince Jabber to move at her speed, she has to be open and honest about her wants, her needs. “Can’t do that all the time, Jabs,” she says softly, an admission that feels like willingly showing an open wound. “I like fun, too, but I need quiet sometimes.”
“Quiet?” Jabber gags. Literally. Mouth open nice and wide as she makes overdramatic choking noises. “Quiet’s boring. Quiet’s predictable. Quiet’s-”
“Shhhh.”
“Hm?”
Zanka steps closer to Jabber and leans in, whispering, “Let me show you.”
“Huh?”
Zanka brushes her lips against Jabber’s, pulling back before the other woman can try to kiss her. “Enjoy the quiet, Jabber.”
There’s that pout again, mixed with a hint of frustration and, dare Zanka say, longing? “I wanna make some noise with my girl.”
“Jabber. Just try.”
“If I do, will you finally let me go down on you?”
“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Zanka hopes she sounds more dismissive than she feels.
“Deal.”
Well.
Here goes nothing.
It’s not that Zanka thinks that Jabber won’t understand what she’s trying to do. Jabber’s smart. Jabber’s perceptive as hell. But that does mean that Jabber’s ability to comprehend things is completely voluntary, meaning that it’s up to her, meaning that she has to want to understand what Zanka wants and be into it.
That’s the hard part.
Because Zanka’s trying to adjust a tried and true formula between them. She’s attempting to slow things down to give them both a chance to truly breathe. Jabber has an aversion to such things, but honestly, so does Zanka, in a way. She pursued Jabber for a whole no strings attached experience, only to introduce strings into the equation they had both created.
Zanka had known what she was getting into with Jabber, and now she’s the one who wants to alter it.
Jabber could rub this in her face, but instead? She stands in front of Zanka, waiting for her to do whatever it is that she’s trying to do.
And so, with one more quick, chaste kiss, Zanka waits, remaining completely still for Jabber to take her all in. Even with the club’s music serving as a reminder of their very public location, the moment feels so intimate that Zanka swears they’re the only two women left on the planet. She’s fully dressed but she feels naked, exposed, like she’s offering herself as some kind of sacrifice to an untamable goddess who could, and has, devoured her with no remorse. Zanka’s never fully grasped the concept of pleasure, of unbridled freedom, until she met Jabber, and she’d be a fool if she didn’t try to hold onto it.
She takes a step, then another, before she closes her eyes and rests her head against Jabber’s shoulder. It feels… right, so right that it’s terrifying, but Jabber’s the kind of woman who makes you like the taste of fear.
Jabber rests her hand on Zanka’s back, rubs it so softly that Zanka can hardly believe this even is Jabber. It’s not that the woman is incapable of soft touch — she’s let it slip every now and then — but her hand doesn’t just feel soothing.
It feels reassuring.
Zanka can’t help the sound she makes when she feels it. It caresses Jabber’s ear so sweetly that the other woman moans with her. When Zanka pulls back to look at her, it’s almost unfair how beautiful Jabber is in this moment. Zanka mentally curses herself for not being able to come up with a better word, but beautiful will have to do until her brain is cleared of the blissful fog that Jabber’s put her in.
And then?
Jabber does the unthinkable.
“I’m sorry.”
Zanka’s never quite understood how powerful such simple words could be. She’s heard them, of course. From Follo or Riyo when they do something that upsets her. From Tamsy, a bit annoyingly, when she’s in the wrong and doesn’t want to fully admit it. Never from her siblings; no, they apologize in nonverbal ways when they cross the line, like telling her to take an extra day off or telling her to clock out early.
Zanka’s never had an apology that made her heart skip a beat.
Because Jabber’s words are so genuine. There’s none of the manic energy behind them, no off-kilter smile or attempt for I’m sorry to be something she says while she’s got Zanka’s throbbing clit pressed against her tongue. She says it, matter-of-factly, because she both means it and never wants to do anything that makes Zanka as upset as she has been again.
There’s no telling if Jabber will succeed in that, but she’ll at least try.
So Zanka smiles, really, truly, smiles before she leans in and kisses Jabber.
And Jabber doesn’t try to spike it with adrenaline, doesn’t speed things up at all. She coasts along with Zanka, keeping the kiss so soft, so light, that it feels like the most intense kiss they’ve ever shared. Because Zanka can fully taste the cool metal of Jabber’s piercing, the tang of what she smokes before she goes out, and the addictiveness that is simply her. It all makes Zanka’s head spin as she moans, and moans, and moans as she feels herself being guided over to the sink.
Good, because she needs something to keep her grounded, hands pressed against the counter the sink rests in.
Jabber’s behind her now, kissing different spots on the back of her neck, gentle as a butterfly that lands and leaves to rest at a different spot. There’s a particularly sensitive spot near her shoulder that Jabber decides to pay close attention to, teeth taking a couple of test bites before she locks in and sucks, surely leaving a mark.
“Mmmm, Jabber,” Zanka says; at least she thinks that’s her who says it.
Zanka isn’t sure, to be honest, because she doesn’t think her voice has ever sounded so drenched in pleasure before. It’s like she dipped Jabber’s name in something luxurious, some rare, specially made masterpiece that she’s just now letting out in the open.
She can hear Jabber’s reaction, the shakiness of her breath, like she’s the one being kissed so tenderly instead of the other way around. “Baby, let me take care of you.” There it is again. That genuine tone of voice. It’s really doing something to Zanka’s stability. It’s especially doing something between her legs, a far too sensual reminder that she put her orgasm on hold after she’d had her way with Jabber. “See how you look right now?”
Zanka doesn’t need to see how she looks to know how she feels, but Jabber’s words are so hot against her ear that she can’t help but take a peak into the mirror in front of her. She’s not sure what’s happened to her eyes, so faded from everything she’s feeling that they almost look gray. Where did the blue go?
“I feel like I’ll come apart if you touch me,” she admits.
Jabber’s lips are at Zanka’s ear again, slick with anticipation, breaths deep and aching. “You will.” She says it like a promise she has every intention of keeping. “And I’ll put you back together, piece by piece, so I can do it all over again.”
It’s here that Zanka realizes that in her quest to get Jabber to slow down with her, she never thought about what a slowed-down Jabber would feel like. Jabber, by default, is one of the sexiest human beings that Zanka’s ever come across, one full of energy and the occasional floatiness of good weed and ambient music playing in the background.
But this Jabber? One who stands still instead of moving off to the next point of interest? One who is keenly focused on Zanka and willingly resting in that level of intimacy?
Zanka is so captivated by it that she’s completely caught off guard when she’s taken over the edge. It’s not fast and hot, no, it’s a slow and steady progression, waves of heat cascading over her body like a massage instead of the Jabber rollercoaster she’s used to. Her entire body feels entirely too hot, skin flushed as she damn near sobs from how unbelievably good it feels.
Zanka barely registers the fact that Jabber is moving her, turning her body so they’re facing each other. “That’s it. Just like that, Zanka.”
Zanka whines as she holds onto Jabber. She can’t stop shaking; hell, she almost thinks she can’t stop cumming if the light tremors that Jabber’s talking her through are any indication. She thinks she hears Jabber say things like good and maybe even beautiful, but Zanka’s too gone to fully grasp what’s happening.
Until she feels Jabber’s leg between her legs.
And ugh, oh god, she can feel her soaked panties being pressed against her. It’s embarrassingly messy, incredibly overwhelming. “J-Jab… I…”
“One more?”
“Wha-?” Zanka can’t do this right now. She needs a bed to lie in and the ability to sleep it off afterwards. “N-no, I can’t-”
“Yes you can.” Jabber’s smiling like a girl who’s far too eager to please. She leans in and whispers, “You wanted me to enjoy the quiet, right? Let me.”
All Zanka can do is nod. She’s the one who asked for this; now she has to be the one to take it.
And take it she does.
Because Jabber finally, finally, slides her panties down, nails lightly scratching down Zanka’s legs as she does. Zanka watches, in awe, as Jabber urges her to step out of them, heels clicking against the floor as she watches Jabber tuck her panties into the pocket of her jeans instead of letting them rest on the bathroom floor. Considerate, Zanka thinks, or maybe she just wanted to feel how wet they were, a teaser to how wet her fingers are going to be.
Zanka spares a thought to whoever might be outside the bathroom, because she does nothing to try and stop the scream that tears out of her throat when she feels two of Jabber’s fingers easing in. There’s no resistance whatsoever, just the unapologetic remnants of Zanka’s first orgasm encouraging Jabber to bring her to a second. Jabber could take her there in seconds, but she stretches it out — slow and steady wins the race, as they say, but it does mean each thrust is backed by the sounds of a thoroughly wet pussy and Zanka moaning along with it.
“Good,” Jabber chants, says it like a prayer. “So good. Fuck, is all this for me? Really for me?”
Zanka babbles out something that she hopes sounds like yes. It must, because now Jabber’s pushing in a third finger and- “Shit, oh shit, oh shit oh shit oh shit!”
“Fuuuuuck Zanka.” Jabber’s whining now. “Fuck. Please. Please please let me fuck you, let me really fuck you.”
All it takes is one nod for Jabber to get to work. She’s got Zanka sitting on the counter in seconds, legs spread wide open before she shoves her fingers back in. Jabber moans, loudly, desperately, as she sets a pace that’s impossible to keep up with. Zanka doesn’t even try, feeling so good that she’s left smiling and mumbling about Jabber and good and fuck and yes. It’s like she’s having an out-of-body experience, eyes dopey and vacant, lips parted and perfect.
“Look at you,” Jabber says, again and again. “Fuck, look at you, look at you look at you.” She leans forward, lips brushing against her clothed breasts and fuuuuuck she wants to take the dress off so bad.
“Zipper,” Zanka manages to say.
Jabber nods, frantic, excited. She reaches back and undoes the zipper, helps Zanka maneuver her arms out and push it down enough to uncover her breasts.
“Let me,” Jabber says, begs, pleads. “Zanka, I need-”
“Yes.” It’s the only word Zanka knows at the moment. “Yes yes yes yes yes.”
“Thank you.” It’s like Jabber’s talking to an otherworldly being. Or maybe it’s that she’s talking to a woman who’s giving her a second chance, letting her course correct and make up for the break up that’s led to this moment. “Thank you, Zanka.”
“You’re welcome, Jabber.” And she means it. She means it with every part of her very being.
And when Zanka closes her eyes and feels the touch of Jabber’s lips, feels them start at her own lips and make a trail to her breasts, there is no bathroom. There is no club when she feels Jabber’s fingers inside her again, no friends waiting or jilted dates or even overbearing siblings waiting to judge her on Monday morning.
It’s just the two of them. Just Jabber and Zanka.
A part of Zanka knows she should be ashamed of herself as she walks out the bathroom with Jabber. To her surprise, there’s no judgmental, sisterly voice in her head. There’s just a feeling of satisfaction as she walks with Jabber, whether it’s from the earth-shattering multiple orgasms or the fact that they’re back together is debatable.
Thank goodness for stamina; otherwise Zanka would’ve had to be carried out — something Jabber would’ve done in a heartbeat, no doubt.
As the two walk together, Zanka ignoring the girls who’d been waiting for the bathroom to be free, she spots her friends at a table sharing drinks. Riyo smiles when she sees her and raises a glass in silent celebration.
“What she do that for?” Jabber asks, because of course she noticed the gesture. “Ooooh, is she celebrating you getting laid?”
Getting laid is putting it lightly. Zanka’s pretty sure she saw all the stars in the galaxy. Not that she’ll tell Jabber that, then again, she too had looked like she’d visited the heavens. “Something like that.”
“What do you mean something like that?”
Maybe Zanka will tell her one day, or maybe Jabber will figure it out in the morning after. For now? “Don’t worry about it. Wanna go back to my place? It’s quieter there.”
The invitation works perfectly. “Let me say goodbye to Cthoni and the others.”
“And Felicia?” Because Zanka can’t help herself.
“Who?”
“… Susan.”
“Thought her name was Tiphani.”
“Just go, Jabber,” Zanka laughs. “I’ll meet ya outside.”
As Zanka watches Jabber hurry off, she knows she’s going to have to face the biggest I told you so she’s ever heard. To her credit, the smirk on Riyo’s face when Zanka walks over to the table isn’t that large, but it certainly looks like the cat finally caught that damn bird. Meanwhile, Follo can’t seem to control how red her face is, and Tamsy? Unreadable beyond a single raised eyebrow.
“Okay, Riyo. Say it,” then Zanka braces herself for the inevitable.
After taking a sip of her drink Riyo smiles and says, “I told you making her jealous would work.”
“Oh it worked all right,” Zanka mutters and ah, there’s that hint of embarrassment she’d been wondering about earlier, her cheeks gaining a pretty dusting of pink.
“That’s good, right?” Follo wants to make sure she has the appropriate reaction. It can be difficult to figure out the whole Jabber and Zanka thing sometimes.
“Yes. Yes, it’s good.”
“Great!” Follo follows Riyo’s earlier example and raises her glass before taking a drink.
“… are ya drunk?”
“Might be a little tipsy,” Follo giggles. “My fault for letting Tamsy pick the drinks.”
“There’s one for you,” Tamsy says to Zanka, nodding to a pretty, blue drink on the table. It doesn’t look like much, but Zanka knows that Tamsy’s a fan of unassuming looking drinks that’ll knock you flat on your ass. “Got it in case you needed it after your talk with her.”
Zanka’s not sure how one sentence can feel so loaded, because now the drink feels a lot like a reminder of what she’d done with Tamsy, what Tamsy is still offering to do with her. “Thanks, but I’m good. Gonna meet Jabber outside.”
“Ah yes, of course. But one quick drink with us wouldn’t hurt, right? A celebration to your success, for however long it lasts.”
Ah. There it is. The finely placed trap.
“Tamsy, if she wants to leave, let her leave,” says Riyo, a true master of setting Zanka in the direction she’s trying to go.
“Fine, fine. We’ll catch up in the morning, yes?”
“Nope. She’s all mine.”
Zanka’s not sure how Jabber got to the table so fast when Cthoni and the others are clear across the club, but she’s there now, snatching up the drink Tamsy had offered Zanka.
“Hey, that’s-”
But Tamsy doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Instead, she’s left to watch Jabber down the entire drink like it’s nothing. She slams the glass down and licks her lips. “PHEW! That’s that HARD stuff, yeah? You’d never know it by how pretty it looks. Just a hint of flavor, but the alcohol’s too overpowering to taste it.”
“… is that so?” Tamsy asks, voice a touch lower than she seems to realize.
“Yeah. It’s cool, though. Some folks are into that. Zanka ain’t, though. Well… she is sometimes, but she likes quiet a looooot more.”
“Shut up, Jabber!”
“Am I wrong?”
Zanka realizes that she’s probably given Jabber far too much power. That said, “I ain’t the only one who likes quiet.”
It’s more of a shared power, if anything.
“Hell yeah I do,” Jabber says as she sets some cash on the table. “Thanks for the drink, Tammy. I got it from here.”
“Wha-? Wait, you…”
And just like that, Jabber’s walking off with Zanka, arm loose around her waist as they both leave the club together.
Tamsy can’t mask her irritation anymore as she asks, “Who the hell is Tammy?!”