Chapter Text
The unnecessarily hard knocks on Zanka’s dorm door practically scared him out of his skin. He was sitting at the makeshift kitchen table eating ramen despite the late hour—only 10pm, but still later than when he usually ate—when the person outside knocked. Zanka sighed and stood up, already having a pretty good idea of who it might be standing out in the hallway. As expected, when he swung open the door, the familiar face of Jabber Wonger greeted him.
“Happy birthday Mr. Bad Attitude.” The dreadhead mocked, holding up a small, probably homemade cake. Before Zanka could ask how he knew it was his birthday or yell at him to go the hell back to his own dorm, the other boy was already inside, making himself at home. Zanka scowled but knew that it was useless trying to kick him out. Last time he tried, Jabber just pleaded outside his door till they got a noise complaint.
Giving up, Zanka just closed his door and sat back down, eating his remaining ramen while attempting to ignore the prying boy who was looking around like he owned the place. When he finished, he placed the dishes in the sink, deciding that was a problem for future him to deal with. Present him was dealing with enough already, considering the intruder. When he turned back, the intruder in question was lounging at the table where he was just sitting. The cake—which looked like a normal chocolate cake with maybe a little messier of an icing job—was already on the table, cut into quarters. He wondered briefly when Jabber had cut it; he hadn’t heard the clatter of cutlery from the drawer, and hadn’t seen the other pull out a knife at any point. He hoped he didn’t have one at all for his own safety.
He cautiously returned back to the table from the kitchenette, eyeing the cake warily. Jabber simply pushed it towards him, offering the first choice of slice. Zanka wasn’t a complete fool. He knew Jabber had probably mixed something into the cake.
“What’d ya put in it this time?” He enquired, not yet touching the plate. Jabber pouted but retracted his hand. The plate stayed between them, and Zanka kept an eye on it as if it were an active explosion risk.
“Come on, Zan-Zan, can’t I give you a happy birthday cake? So cruel, not accepting an innocent gift.” Jabber mocked. Zanka’s brows furrowed in annoyance, knowing damn well the boy across from him was nothing remotely close to “innocent” or trustworthy. He did know, however, that he wasn’t going to give up that easily, so against his better judgement, he picked up the smallest piece and sniffed it. The smell of clear toxins hit him immediately, similar to vinegar, and he glared at Jabber. This was disappointing, honestly, the freak usually at least tried to hide his poisons. This was clear as day.
Despite the fact Zanka had discovered the clearly dosed cake, Jabber was still grinning at him. Zanka’s eyes narrowed.
“The hell is in this, dopehead?” Jabber just tilted his head in mock innocence.
“Just a little amyl…you ain’t gon’ die or nothin’ man, chill out.” Jabber drawled. Zanka had to take a breath to keep himself from leaping across the table and punching the dreadhead.
“Am I supposed to know every damn drug you get ya hands on?” He barks instead, clenching his fist. Jabber’s grin just widens, inching Zanka closer to attacking.
“It’s an inhalant, Mr. Bad Attitude.” Zanka freezes, eyes dropping back to the cake. He grits his teeth, hands shaking slightly from barely contained anger.
Shit, he had thought his heating face and beating heart were just rage. He should’ve expected this from the maniac. He was now suddenly hyper-aware of the clothes on his skin, his heavy breathing, the warmth of his own body, every little thing. And he hated it. He shot another weaker glare at the smug asshole before he gave up on forcing his shaky legs to support him and let himself collapse into the chair.
He barely registered Jabber standing up and grabbing a piece of cake from off the plate. He only noticed the other had even moved when he was caging him in, something predatory glinting in his eye and the cake in hand. He hardly had time to react before one hand was prying his mouth open by his jaw and the other was shoving the cake into his mouth. He struggled and tried to push Jabber away, but the boy was undeniably stronger, especially when he was drugged.
The sweet taste of the chocolate mixed unpleasantly with the bitter taste of whatever else Jabber had laced the cake with. It could’ve been disguised as dark chocolate if he didn’t know the other well enough. Jabber held the cake there, not forcing anymore into his mouth, just holding the rest pressed against his face so that he was forced to chew and swallow the cake already in his mouth. Zanka was tempted to play the waiting game, but he knew holding the cake in his mouth would do nothing to stop the drugs from entering his system. Instead he gave in, chewing and swallowing the cake.
Jabber continued till the slice was gone, then sucked the remaining icing and crumbs off his fingers. Zanka could tell there was more in the cake than just whatever inhalant Jabber had told him about. His limbs felt heavier, harder to move. His vision was coming in waves of clear and slightly blurred, and he felt faintly giddy and dizzy.
Jabber leered down at him when he finished licking the mess from his fingers, noticing the way Zanka’s pupils had become a little fuzzy around the edges.
“Yeah, you feeling that? Nothin’ fancy, just roofies, but still enough to mess you up for a while.” The words weren’t entirely registering to Zanka, just a dull buzz in his ears in the somewhat identifiable voice of Jabber.
He felt an arm hook under knees, then another on his back before he was lifted up, pressed against Jabber’s chest. A small “oof” escaped his lips when he was dropped down abruptly onto his pull out couch. He could feel a weight settle atop his waist and Jabber’s dreads teasing at his skin. His body still felt like it was on fire, and neither the boy atop him nor his clothes were helping whatsoever. He writhed slightly, trying to find relief from the hot itch.
Jabber noticed the discomfort of the other and being oh so knowledgeable and helpful on the effects of the drugs now in Zanka’s system, decided to help with his discomfort. The feeling of Jabber’s hands undoing each individual shirt button felt like a searing, white-hot iron on his overly sensitive skin, though the cool air of his dorm was a small relief to his feverish skin.
A breathy sound escaped his lips when Jabber’s hands wrapped themselves around his lean abdomen, the warm hands both cool atop his burning skin, and just as scorching as everything else. It was overwhelming, and made his drugged body shiver. Jabber’s hands trailed down his body, a finger tracing down the thin line of light hair on his navel that led down towards his pants. Carefully unzipping Zanka’s fly, Jabber tugged down his pants and threw them unceremoniously onto the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
Jabber’s wet tongue swiped across his dry lips at the sight of the uncomfortable looking tent in Zanka’s boxers. His hands returned to pale skin, one pressing back down on his navel, the other roughly palming his erection—which was already leaking and soaking the fabric straining to contain it. Zanka let out a pitiable, desperate whine at the contact, his back arching and hips grinding up, desperate for more stimulation. Jabber let him buck up like a dog in heat until his legs started shaking, holding him on edge for a moment before retracting his hand, smirking at the agitated sounds Zanka made in reply.
Jabber knew damn well Zanka was desperate and needy, and knew just as well that the drugs weren’t helping whatsoever. Every attempt Zanka made to relieve himself was stopped by Jabber. The light-haired boy’s hands were pinned above his head against the cushions with one of Jabber’s hands, and his legs were pinned open by the boy’s, who was kneeling above him. When Zanka finally gave up and went still beneath him, he moved his free hand back to Zanka’s needy cock. He released him from the flimsy confines of his boxers, his lips curling up when the boy let out a pathetic mewl.
He threw the last of his clothes in the general direction of the rest, more interested in Zanka’s newly exposed skin. He had been planning on edging the poor blond a while longer, but all control had ceased the second Zanka was on full display. A hand found its way to his thigh while the other kept his hands pinned. He slowly slid it up towards the underside of his knee, hooking that leg up over his own shoulder.
Looking down at Zanka’s face, he could tell he was completely out of it. His eyes were half closed and rolled back, there was a thin line of drool leaking from his parted lips, and his face was a pretty shade of flushed pink. Jabber released the other’s hands, and they stayed in place resting above his head. With his second now-free hand, the dreadhead pressed a finger against Zanka’s exposed hole, smirking at the feeling of slightly loosened flesh—courtesy of the Amyl.
Jabber had to stop himself from moaning out loud when he pushed one finger in, Zanka’s dry heat gripping him like a vice despite the drugs. He pulled it back, eliciting a whine from the other, and reached into his pocket, grabbing the small bottle of lube he had brought with him for this exact reason. Knowing Zanka’s tastes, Jabber decided on practically drowning his finger in lube before he tried again—the digit slipping inside far easier this time.
After hastily prepping Zanka with an eventual three fingers, Jabber decided to finally release himself from his own clothes. He didn’t bother fully undressing, just yanked his pants halfway down his thighs. Smothering his cock in an ample amount of lube, he notched the tip against Zanka’s lax hole. He thrust in slowly, inch by inch, feeling the boy’s body tense beneath him with every movement and watching his hands fist in the fabric of the couch cushions.
He sunk deeper into Zanka’s welcoming warmth till their hips were flush against each other. He sat there for a long moment, just gazing down at the gorgeous mess beneath him and relishing in the feeling of his body heat. Eventually, however, he started moving again, sliding out slowly, watching the way Zanka’s body tried to pull him back in before he gave it what it craved and rolled his hips forward again. His pace slowly built up till he was fucking into Zanka relentlessly, the blond arching and bucking back against him with each thrust.
Jabber marveled at the way Zanka reacted so beautifully, even with the drugs dumped into his system. His face looked like he was completely out of it, but—consciously or not—his body was practically worshipping the way Jabber was drilling into it. Craving more delicious reactions from Zanka, he reached down, the pad of his thumb brushing over a pebbled nipple. Zanka’s body jolted at the touch to the sensitive peak, and Jabber grinned mischievously.
With his thumb and index finger, Jabber pinched one of Zanka’s nipples and rolled the delicate flesh. He smirked at the sight of Zanka jolting hard and the feeling of the other’s cock leaking steadily against his abdomen. When he took a glance down to it, the skin faded up to an angry red at the tip, a clear fluid leaking from the tip and creating a mess between the two. Jabber decided to continue ignoring the appendage, focusing back on tormenting his tender chest.
Releasing the nipple he had been twisting and pinching, he gave the same treatment to the other while he leaned down to take the first one into his mouth, nipping and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Zanka had apparently grown something close enough to a voice back and was spilling more pathetic, unintelligible sounds. Jabber knew if the boy was completely aware right now, he’d be trying to kill himself for letting such sounds escape.
Jabber’s hips had slowed their pace slightly in favor of giving Zanka’s chest some much deserved attention, though it was still nothing close to laggard. He knew that high or not, Zanka’s brain would be absolutely fucked out either way. He bit down hard on Zanka’s chest, purposely drawing out more sweet sounds. The boy’s voice cracked with every cry and whine, fueling Jabber further each time.
He pulled away, leaving Zanka’s chest stinging and sore, both hands moving back to his hips. He traced over the boy's hipbones with his thumbs with surprising gentleness. It didn’t last long, as Jabber soon gripped his waist and pulled Zanka’s whole body back to meet hips with each deep thrust, causing Zanka to arch up yet again. Jabber’s teeth sunk into his own lip, drawing blood as he edged closer to release. He could tell Zanka was getting close too, the way he was squirming and attempting to grind his neglected cock up into nothing.
Jabber’s hands moved once again, apparently being unable to stay stationary for more than two seconds. One slid down to Zanka’s other leg, hoisting that one over his shoulder as well so that Zanka was practically bent in half. Jabber leant down, burying his face in the crook of the other’s neck and biting down on the soft skin. It only took another few moments before his hips stuttered, his body tensed, then released into Zanka.
The two lay there for a minute, Jabber just listening to Zanka’s heavy pulse, before he started to thrust shallowly again. A hand slid between them, grabbing Zanka’s needy dick and jerking him off at a merciless pace. The boy’s body immediately reacted beneath his and tensed, bucking up into the rough hand till he was finally granted relief with a loud, high cry. He came between their bodies, leaving a sticky mess on both of their abdomen when Jabber sat back up. He pulled out slowly, smirking at the trail of fluids that began leaking out when they were separated, as well as the needy sound Zanka made at the empty feeling.
Jabber considered just wiping himself down and leaving Zanka a mess on the couch, but decided against it when he remembered the shitty time he would have coming down from his high even without the burden of having to wipe cum off his own body. Scooping Zanka up the same way he had earlier, he carried him to the attached bathroom. Carefully placing him down propped up against the door, he turned on the shower, making sure it was just the right temperature before stripping off his own clothes and dragging Zanka in with him. He was still out of it, twitching and unfocused, so Jabber sat them both down on the shower floor beneath the running water.
Jabber first wiped the mess off Zanka’s stomach with a wet cloth, then trailed further down to clean his own release from inside the other. He pressed two fingers back inside, scooping out as much as he could and letting it wash down the drain. After Jabber had washed off as much mess as he could, he massaged the bite mark blooming angrily on Zanka’s neck, as well as the bruises on his hips, thighs and waist from where he had held too tight. He washed off the mess on his own stomach hastily before turning the shower off and stepping out, drying himself off briskly before wrapping Zanka in a towel.
Not yet caring to cover himself up, Jabber just carried Zanka back out to the couch, placing him comfortably on the cushions. He considered staying, but knew if Zanka woke up with him still there, he probably wouldn’t leave without a bruise or whatnot. He entered the bathroom again and threw on his discarded clothes. When he reappeared, Zanka was knocked out on the couch, no signs of consciousness whatsoever now. He pressed a lingering kiss to Zanka’s lips when he passed, smirking down at him.
Remembering the long forgotten cake on the table, Jabber made his way back to the table where it still sat. He thought for a moment about what to do with the rest, ruling eventually to leave it in Zanka’s minifridge. Casting a final glance back to the boy on the couch, he grinned. Zanka might have a little trouble remembering the night, but Jabber doesn’t mind. He remembers every little detail, afterall.