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It’s one of those nights and Zanka doesn't have the luxury of wasting any time when it’s already so late. Sure, he could put the cigarette he stole away for safe keeping and do this some other night, but some other night he wouldn’t already smell like Enjin’s cologne and have the warm impression of those big, tattooed hands all over him. He’s already escorted the drunken, handsy idiot to bed for the night and now he has to continue the other part of his little tradition.
He operates like a well oiled machine after so long of sneaking these little moments. Lovely is sat aside with a lingering swipe of his fingers over her length and Zanka discards his clothes at the top of the bed so that the lingering scent might soak into his pillows. The incense dish is tugged to the corner of his bedside table with a new cone settled inside and the cigarette deposited next to it. Out of his dresser comes the lubricant and the silk bag containing his one toy — a cherry red dildo that he’s sure is at least in the range of Enjin’s size — both settled on the bed before he checks his lock one last time and cracks his window to vent the extra smoke.
He saves the incense and the cigarette for the main event every time, enjoying the long ten or so minutes where he can just bounce on the toy and breathe in the mix of their scents and the taste of Enjin. For now, Zanka folds himself into the bed and presses his nose to the collar of his own shirt where Enjin’s scent sits the most. It had been far easier to get him to go to bed tonight than usual, but the smell still lingers there and Zanka revels in it as he rubs his lubed fingers against his hole.
The first finger is always easy, likely because he wants this so much. By the second finger he can actually close his eyes and pretend it's one of Enjin’s thick digits sliding in and out of him rather than his own far less impressive fingers. He needs three at bare minimum to take his toy and he tends to like the stretch of the heavy silicone shaft enough not to want to give that up for the comfort of a fourth finger stretching him out.
The toy he has is the kind with a weighted bottom which makes it much easier to ride but also much easier to slick up, his fingers sliding over the length of the red cock. The color is bright, garrish, much more like something the man he’s imagining would own than something Zanka would, but if you ask anyone he knows Zanka wouldn’t own a sex toy at all. He wouldn’t own one and he certainly wouldn’t be pressing the tip of it against his stretched out hole, lowering himself down on it with a needy noise of relief, with utter familiarity.
Zanka leans forward, rocking his hips on the toy just to feel the way it spreads him as he wipes his fingers clean and gets his hands on one of his matches and the stolen cigarette. The filter gets pursed between his lips, the end hovering right next to the tip of the incense cone, and with a drag of the match rasping against the side of the box, Zanka shifts his hand to hover between the two. The incense catches second, Zanka already breathing in his first puff of smoke by the time the little cone starts flaming. The match is dropped in the ash dish, left to burn out, and Zanka catches the cigarette between his middle two fingers, pulling it away from his mouth to use his first exhale to blow out the flame on the incense leaving two distinct trails of smoke drifting through the air.
It’s a longing, pathetic song and dance that Zanka does. The smoke swirling around him, the way he slides his fingers over his skin as he rides the toy, the feel of the cigarette filter between his lips and against his tongue. It’s all so predictable if you look at it from any eyes other than Enjin’s.
The man’s name drips from his lips with his second exhale, his head tilting back so that he can breathe it towards the ceiling like he’s begging the drunken, snoring fool upstairs to hear him. They aren’t even located one on top of the other, so it’s a useless endeavor even if he did want Enjin to hear. Still, it sends an illicit thrill through him that only adds to the way the bulbous head of the toy drags across his prostate when he swivels his hips on the come down.
The soft noises of his bed moving as he rides the stand-in for his mentor are just loud enough that he doesn’t hear the window edging upwards. He ashes the cig into the dish, leaning forward and pushing back just right on the toy to force a moan from his mouth, Enjin’s name dripping off of his lips like a prayer once more only to be stemmed by the filter sliding between them. With his moans plugged and his hips rocking more gently as he sits back, Zanka does hear the shocked “Oh!” from behind him.
The cigarette is still between his fingers and his lips and his brain is still fuzzed over with smoke and pleasure which is quite possibly the only reason he doesn’t whip around and immediately start freaking out. Rather, Zanka looks over his shoulder to where Enjin is still only halfway through his window staring like a deer caught in headlights and takes another breath of smoke before pulling the cigarette away from his mouth once more. Widening his stance, he drops a little more of his weight on the toy to better hide it from view as he takes in the look on Enjin’s face.
Clearly, the man isn’t as drunk as he was pretending to be a little less than an hour ago.
Another cloud of smoke leaves Zanka’s lips, drifting into the air to tangle with the steady stream from the incense cone. “Did ya need something? I’m a little busy.”
Enjin taught them all to be casual in the face of death and Zanka supposes this isn’t much different. Death of a relationship certainly feels like getting torn apart by a trash beast from where he’s sitting. By tomorrow he’ll be reassigned to another team and Enjin won’t speak to him again unless he absolutely has to, so Zanka might as well finish his little tradition one last time.
“I,” Enjin breathes out, shock still printed across his features like a neon sign, “I just wanted to know why you were taking them, I didn’t mean to… intrude.”
Zanka is shrugging before he can help himself, weight shifting on the toy in a way that makes his eyelashes flutter. “Ya could’ve knocked.”
Enjin pulls himself the rest of the way through the window, arm likely tired of holding him in place, and he sort of leans against the lip of it with Umbreaker clasped tightly in his hand. “I thought it would be funny to catch you smoking it at your window, I guess, make fun of you for swiping my cigarettes instead of buying your own.”
“Is it funny?” Zanka hums, bringing the filter back to his mouth for another puff.
Enjin’s eyes follow the motion, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip seemingly unconsciously. “No, it… it’s not funny at all. How long have you been…?”
Zanka lets the question hang in the air until he can’t hold the smoke in anymore and he breathes it out, turning away from Enjin to lean forward and flick the ash into the dish. There’s a small, choked noise behind him which he’s willing to guess is Enjin’s eyes dropping to the toy as it slides out of him slightly from the angle. Good, let him get an eyeful, maybe it will teach him not to climb into people’s windows in the middle of the night.
“Stealing yer cigarettes?” Zanka finishes the question, sitting back on the fake cock with a near silent moan. “Or using them to assist in the fantasy of us having sex?”
“Both? Either?” Enjin’s voice is rougher now, like he’s started smoking a spiff of his own and the puff didn’t go down the right pipe.
“Ya always leave them with two puffs, figured that out when I was sixteen,” Zanka answers, dragging the slightly damp filter across his bottom lip as he debates on if he wants to see Enjin’s face for this next part. In the end, maybe Zanka’s a little bit of a masochist to go with his personal brand of sadism because he does look over his shoulder as he continues. “As for the other part, everyone in this building but ya seems to know how long I’ve been in love with ya, it doesn’t exactly take a set of Semiu’s glasses to put together the pieces.”
“Zanka,” Enjin says and the tone of his voice is so soft that it doesn’t take those glasses to know he’s being turned down either.
The airy laugh that escapes Zanka is as close he can get to a real one. Waving the hand that still has the cigarette between his middle and ring fingers, Zanka shoos the man towards the door. “Ya don’t have to let me down easy, there’s a reason I didn’t bother ya with it. Ya might as well use the door this time, it’s not an easy climb back up.”
“What? I’m just supposed to leave?” An incredulous edge seeps its way into Enjin’s voice.
Zanka’s brows lift. “Isn’t that easier? Ya don’t have to spare my feelings. I don’t have to give up what was shaping up to be a good orgasm. It’s practically a win-win until morning hits and ya get me reassigned and never look me in the eyes again.”
Enjin leans Umbreaker against the window, pushing himself off of it with something like upset dragging its way over his features. “How can you be so dismissive? I’ve just caught you moaning my name with a toy buried in you and one of my cigarettes in your mouth.” As if to further Enjin’s point or emphasize it, Zanka brings the filter back to his mouth and maintains eye contact as he takes another hit off the cigarette because clearly the older man isn’t done. “You tell me you’ve been in love with me and you expect me to say ‘that’s too bad’ and move on with my night?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” Zanka asks around the exhalation of smoke. He won’t get to finish it with his orgasm which is a bust, but if Enjin leaves him in peace maybe he can still get the orgasm and use the tiredness that comes after to actually fall asleep before the anxiety attack sets in. “Ya’ve literally caught me red-handed here, Enjin. My choices are to accept the inevitable with grace, an orgasm, and a good night sleep OR to listen to ya try to baby me and cry myself to sleep. I’d prefer the first option.”
Enjin steps forward towards the bed leaving Umbreaker next to the window. This action is decidedly not taking his vital instrument and booking it up the stairs to his room which makes the younger man narrow his eyes. Another step brings Enjin closer to the bed, the one after that toes off the man’s first boot and the third toes off his second. His jacket hits the floor a moment later and he’s next to Zanka’s bed, golden eyes still dark and focused on Zanka’s. Reaching out, Enjin plucks the cigarette from Zanka’s fingers and brings it up to his mouth to breathe in the last puff.
A crinkle makes its way into the bridge of Enjin’s nose as the man stubs out the cigarette next to the still burning base of the incense cone. He doesn’t hold the smoke for long at all, breathing it into the air towards the window.
“I don’t smoke the last two puffs because they always burn my fingers,” Enjin explains quietly, rubbing his pointer finger and thumb together as if soothing that burn. “And I never said anything about our feelings because I guess I was always worried that it would burn, too. You would get over it with age and exposure. I would fuck it up like I inevitably always do. Even thinking about it burns.”
Zanka suddenly feels parched and all he can taste is ash. He’s in his bed, speared on a cherry red dildo, hard and dripping. It isn’t exactly the normal setting for this kind of conversation, these kinds of emotions. In all the years he’s known Enjin, in all the fantasies he’s had, he never once considered the idea of his feelings being requited. A black out drunk one night stand? Sure. Some messy form of friends with benefits? Maybe. But Enjin having any sort of romantic feeling for him? Never.
“Coming in here and seeing you like this?” Enjin lets out this breath of air that shudders between them and he reaches out again, hand hovering next to Zanka’s face for a moment before finally caressing Zanka’s cheek with aching tenderness. “You can’t just ask me to leave… I don’t think I’d even make it all the way through the door.”
Whatever answer Enjin is looking for has to be somewhere in Zanka’s face because suddenly the younger man feels like he’s full of all the smoke he’s breathed in. “What do ya want from me here, Enjin?”
“Let me stay,” the man breathes. “Let me try. I promise, I’ll give it everything I’ve got if you do.”
Zanka is a weak man, always has been. “Ya better be here in the morning.”
He always knew their first kiss would taste like smoke, but he never imagined it would be filled with such unabashed adoration. As soon as he says the words Enjin is in the bed and pressed tight against Zanka’s body like he’s trying to mush them together into one person rather than two. His hands explore everywhere he can touch, caressing Zanka’s face and down his throat, sliding over his shoulders and down his arms before coming back up all over again so that one hand can trace the pane of Zanka’s back and the other can trace every ridge and hill of his front.
“Thank you,” is breathed against his mouth as fingers trace the grooves of his hips.
One of Enjin’s hands leaves him to wrangle the man’s cock from the confines of his pants and Zanka’s breathing hitches at the sight of it. He’s always wanted to see it hard, always wanted to have it pressed against him or inside of him. He’s about to ask for it when Enjin lets go of himself to grab Zanka by the thighs and tug him forward until their cocks are pressed together.
“I don’t have a condom,” Enjin confesses like he’s committed a mortal sin, “and while I’m relatively sure I don’t have anything, I would definitely prefer to have one or be tested before my first time making love to you.”
It’s an incredibly sappy way for a man like Enjin to talk about fucking and it sort of fills Zanka up with static. His hands find the man’s jaw and he kisses him again, pouring as much affection as he possibly can into where their mouths slide together. THey don’t break apart until both of them are panting and Enjin is pressing their foreheads together.
The hold on his thighs tugs, lifting him up on the toy and lowering him back down. The motion ruts their cocks together deliciously. It’s all a little bit too much and it’s made worse by the fact that the man keeps talking. “You’ve been pretending this pretty red thing is me, so let's keep pretending for the night. Show me how you like it, sweetheart.”
Zanka is gone. He’s ascended all the way past the Sphere to whatever is up there beyond. He’s died and gone off to that better place people are talking about all the time but never describe.
Riding the toy is familiar but riding it in Enjin’s arms with their cocks rutting together and the man’s hands all over his body is new. Even if he hadn’t started before the surprise of Enjin walking in on him this would be over quickly. Every bounce on the dildo, every touch of Enjin’s hands to his oversensitive skin, every slip and slide of their slick lengths pressing together; it’s all too much.
He doesn’t have one of Enjin’s cigarettes in his mouth for this orgasm but he has something far better, the older man’s tongue. Zanka tips over the edge first, moaning into their kiss, and his hands find Enjin’s length between them, bringing him there with a few quick strokes. It’s everything he never let himself dream of and more.
“I love you, too,” Enjin whispers once they’ve pulled out of the kiss, his hand once again cradling Zanka’s cheek like he’s wanted to reach out all this time but has held himself back for fear of burnt fingers. He doesn’t have to worry about that anymore though, Zanka is right here to take those last two puffs and now that he has this, he’s not going to let it get all burnt up.