Work Text:
It’s not her fault, okay?
(Except for the part where it is).
(Probably).
She’s tried not to call it dating in an attempt to soften the blow of the inevitable separation. “Let’s have some fun,” is what she says in the hopes of not hurting a woman’s feelings when she reaches the point she always does.
Boredom.
Jabber doesn’t know why this happens each and every time. It’s not like she doesn’t have fun with her partners — especially this latest one.
They’d met at the coffee shop where she works and the chemistry had been immediate(ly one-sided). Two-toned hair with piercing blue eyes, a hint of lip gloss, and an unconscious, but lovely hip sway when she walked, Zanka was (is) a head turner, orders her coffee without the frills and tips enough to embarrass anyone who only leaves a dollar or, gasp, coins. Her entire demeanor screams get to the point, so Jabber hadn't bothered with any subtle flirting. Instead, she left a purple-tinted kiss on her perfectly made cup of coffee. Only the best from Jabber Wonger and her barista-required piercings — several along her ears, a septum piercing to highlight her nose, and one tantalizing piercing in her tongue.
And Zanka? Hadn’t responded to it. Didn’t respond on the second visit, or the third, no, it’d taken four visits to the shop for her to say anything, and when she spoke? Mmmm, when she spoke? Calm. Pretty. A hint of an accent. Jabber went home and thought about that voice, closed her eyes to that voice, let her purple acrylic nails slip into her panties to that voice.
She knew that Zanka had to be hers, told herself that this one would be different. She’d never get bored with a girl like Zanka, would always look forward to seeing her, and have fun whenever they were together.
But now?
Now Jabber’s standing in front of Zanka, watching a series of emotions pass over her face. Surprise. Hurt. Anger. It’s all justified, to be honest.
Jabber waits to get slapped, no, wait, Zanka’s the kind of woman to throw a punch.
That might be kinda hot-… ugh, why is she like this?!
“Listen, it’s not-”
“Don’t you dare say it’s not you, it’s me.”
Jabber frantically shakes her head, the handful of beads she has in her locs clacking together. “But it’s true! It literally is me!”
Zanka crosses her arms. “How very self-aware of you.”
“Thanks, I try.”
“I was being sarcastic, you absolute-” oh, here it comes, the beautiful meltdown, the part where Zanka loses her composure to embrace the rage. “You know what, nevermind. You’ve made your choice.”
… huh?
Jabber has experienced an array of emotions when she ends things with a woman. Crying, that’s the most uncomfortable one, because she truly doesn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings. Yelling, that one’s fine, really, the name-calling, the accusations of being a heartless bitch before a swift departure.
Every now and then, there's one last, frustration-fueled make-out session. One time, a girl threw a glass at Jabber, another time one slapped her across the face, and then there was the one who’d slammed her against the wall and fucked her real good because, “You know you’d miss me if I left.”
Jabber remembers the feeling, but she doesn’t remember the girl’s name and, well, that’s why she doesn’t disagree when she’s called a bitch.
But this reaction from Zanka, this quiet, measured response where she’s already heading for the door? That’s a new one.
“Hey, you um… you’re okay, right?”
Zanka stops and glances over her shoulder at Jabber. Now here it comes. Jabber knows it. The scathing question where she asks why Jabber even cares, or maybe even a vicious declaration of how it’s none of her fucking business.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Or… that.
That could be her response.
“Great! Well, I guess I’ll see ya around, yeah?” Jabber's not sure why she says that. She’s not sure about the way her heart flutters or why she sounds so nervous when she laughs. She orchestrated the breakup herself. Why is she feeling like this?
“Well, I still gotta get my coffee from somewhere so… yeah, I’ll see ya around.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
“And you’re bothered by that because…?”
“I ain’t bothered, I’m relieved. It was the cleanest breakup I’ve ever had.”
Cthoni watches as Jabber fixes another drink for a customer. Partway through, she has to remind her to add the requested espresso shot. “Uh huh.”
Jabber frowns at the shorter woman. Her well-muscled arms are crossed and she’s got that look on her face that’s basically calling Jabber a liar. “Say what you wanna say, Cthoni.”
“Nothing. I’ve got nothing to say.” But when Jabber forgets to drizzle chocolate over the whipped cream, she says, “You just seem distracted.”
“Me? Distracted?”
Cthoni hands Jabber the chocolate syrup. Jabber looks at the bottle, perplexed, then her eyes widen in realization before she squeezes a far too generous amount of chocolate onto the cream. Cthoni sighs and walks over to the side of the counter where the customer is waiting for her order. “Sorry, I’ll remake your drink. We got a breakup situation over here.”
“Oh no, really?” The customer looks over at Jabber, not at all hiding the fact that she’s letting her eyes linger on her lips, her chest, her everything. “Who would break up with her?”
“Other way around, sweetie,” Cthoni says.
“Oh my… well… maybe I can keep her satisfied-”
“I’m gonna stop you right there. Quit while you’re ahead. Jabber’s a bit too…” Cthoni tries to think of a word to describe her coworker, but out of every available descriptor in the dictionary, nothing can quite capture Jabber’s… Jabberness. “Jabber’s a bit too Jabber,” is what Cthoni settles on.
“I’m not sure what that means, but I think I wanna find out.”
Cthoni squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. At least she can say she tried when this girl comes in a week later, wondering what she did wrong. “Jabber, you got a customer.”
“Be right… there…”
Cthoni looks over at what’s gotten Jabber’s attention. There, stepping through the door, the shop’s bell announcing her presence, is Zanka. Zanka, who’s with a group of friends, looking like it’s a regular Tuesday instead of the day after a breakup. Zanka, who’s dressed in a form-fitting black tank top and comfortable pants which, for some, wouldn’t be a big deal, but from the way Jabber’s staring, it’s pretty significant.
“Penny for your thoughts, Jabber?”
“She’s wearing a tank top.”
“Yep. Girls do that.”
“She don’t. She’s covered head to toe until you take her home with ya, so what gives?”
Now that Cthoni thinks about it, every time she’s seen Zanka, she’s been wearing long sleeves and pants or long skirts. “Huh. She’s got nice arms.” Not really muscular, but they look strong, like a gymnast, maybe even a pole dancer, something that requires an incredible amount of strength that folks take for granted.
“Whatever. I’m busy,” then Jabber walks over to attend to the flirty customer. She’s not usually the type to pick up someone so soon after a breakup, but Zanka and her tank top aren’t playing fair.
The flirty woman introduces herself as Zanka’s coming up to the counter, and Jabber smiles, the playfulness spilling from her lips with a rehearsed sort of ease that she relies on when she oh, Zanka’s not wearing a bra.
That’s definitely out of character.
Zanka’s the type of woman to only leave the house when she’s been properly put together. Perfectly organized hair that looks effortlessly disorganized. Light makeup around the eyes with a gloss of the lips. Bra that matches her panties because she always has to be coordinated, right down to her underwear. But here she is, ready to place her coffee order, nipples poking through the fabric of her tank top as if quietly greeting Jabber and reminding her of what she just broke up with.
This has to be on purpose, this level of psychological warfare, this-
“So… I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me this weekend? There’s this club downtown where we could move your hands over that tank top, tease at those nipples, bite at them just the way she likes until she pulls the tank top up to present her bare chest for you to touch, to kiss, to lick, to worship, to praise, to-”
“Yeah. Sounds good,” Jabber says, voice clipped at the edges like she’s trying to speedrun the conversation.
“Great!” The woman, whose name is… something or rather… pulls out her phone and says, “We should exchange contact info.”
Jabber pulls her phone out of her pocket, working on autopilot as she not-so-subtly tries to keep an eye on Zanka’s every move. She’s talking with Cthoni now, who’s taking her coffee order and engaging in light conversation. Cthoni’s perfected the customer service smile, but sometimes, like with Zanka, the smile’s actually genuine.
“You okay?”
Jabber nods and gives Susan — naw that can’t be it, she’d never go out with a Susan — a smile. “Yeah, sorry. That’s my ex over there.”
Tiphani — okay, that’s a better guess as long as it has a unique spelling — looks over and doesn’t even hide the fact that she’s sizing Zanka up, identifying her as competition. “She’s pretty, I guess.”
Tiffany’s a liar. No, go back to Tiphani. Tiphani’s a liar. There’s no guessing about Zanka’s beauty. She’s an absolute vision, a work of art who takes the time to look over at Jabber, give her a polite nod, then walk back over to her friends when she’s done placing her order.
“I should get back to work, but I’ll see ya on Saturday, yeah?”
Tiphani leans in real close and whispers to Jabber about how she’s looking forward to it. She smells like too many perfume counters, and her lips are close enough for Jabber to feel her lipstick against her ear, but she’ll allow it, mostly because she’s busy stealing glances over at Zanka’s table. She doesn’t even bother to watch Tiphani walk out of the shop, instead devoting all of her attention to Zanka.
Zanka’s talking to the redhead, Riyo, and there’s a girl with obnoxiously long, white (or gray, who cares) hair who’s got her hand on Zanka’s thigh for some reason — Tammy, Jabber thinks? There’s also a girl with short, black hair, who’s practically hanging off of Zanka’s every word, eyes wide like a child being told a fairytale.
Folio? That can’t be her name, that’s silly.
Whatever the case, Jabber can’t remember if Zanka’s friends have always been this flirty. Riyo isn’t because, according to what Zanka’s said about her, the two of them are like sisters. Yeah, Jabber’s always liked Riyo, but Tammy and her wandering hand can fuck right off. She might as well have her fingers between Zanka’s legs, at this rate. That’s probably her goal. To finger her nice and slow in the middle of the coffee shop while Follo — aha, that’s her name! — watches in awe, licks her lips, and begs for a taste like a good little crush.
Then Tammy would pull her fingers out and present them for Follo to lick. They’d be semi-wet, but not as wet as they could be, cuz ain’t no way she’s as good as Jabber even on her sleepiest days.
Then Zanka would blush, flustered, but not overstimulated, no, that’s only something Jabber can do. Jabber would be more than happy to show Tammy how it’s done, press her finger against that pretty little clit and rub at it, slowly at first, until she builds a rhythm that makes Zanka demand to be filled, her essence soaking into Jabber’s nails like she’s applying a new coat of polish.
“Why are you torturing yourself?” Cthoni asks, snapping Jabber out of her imagination.
“Hm?”
“Just go tell her you’re sorry and get back together with her.”
Jabber stares at Cthoni as if she’s just told her that she’s giving up pussy to give dick a try. Hell would have to freeze over before lesbian queen Cthoni would do such a thing. “Are you high right now, Cthoni?”
“I should be in order to get through to you openly drooling over Zanka.”
“I ain’t droolin’,” but Jabber touches the corner of her lips to make sure. Phew, she’s not. “Just seeing who Zan-Zan’s hooking up with is all.”
“… aren’t those her friends?”
“Yeah, well, look at Tammy’s hand,” Jabber hisses.
“You mean Tamsy?”
“Who’s Tamsy?”
Cthoni wonders if she can make herself sick so someone can come cover the rest of her shift. Noerde would do it, as she’s one of those rise and grind types, but Cthoni’s pretty sure she’s already scheduled to work later on today. Then there’s Fu, but the last thing anyone needs is for Fu to be paired with Jabber when Jabber’s in this kind of mood. Cthoni sighs. She’s just gonna have to suck it up. “Tamsy is Zanka’s friend who’s got her hand on her thigh,” she says.
“Hand on her thigh my ass. That’s how it starts, then suddenly it's hand slipping into her pants and fingers pushing her panties aside.”
Cthoni decides she doesn’t need more details on how far Jabber’s imagination has gone with this, but she does point out one glaringly obvious fact. “Does it matter who she’s hooking up with if you two broke up?”
Jabber doesn’t like that question.
Jabber also doesn’t want to try and figure out why she doesn’t like that question, so she shrugs her shoulders and says, “Well no, but it’s kinda quick, right?”
“You literally just gave a girl your number!”
“Oh! Right!” Jabber looks at her phone and asks, “Who the hell is Felicia?”
The rest of the week leading up to going to the club with Tiph — Felicia, right — is a blur. The days consist of Zanka either being at the coffee shop or Zanka not being at the coffee shop. The days she’s at the shop, she’s always courteous, ordering the same thing she always does and walking away as if she and Jabber had never dated at all.
This surprises Jabber. She knows Zanka can be pretty nonchalant, but she also knows that personality trait is a carefully put-together disguise. Something about her family being made up of the super elite? The kind of prim and proper that can create an absolutely delicious bitch of a woman who tells you how she likes to be fucked and grades your performance throughout. Jabber had once witnessed a dead body when some guy had the nerve to cut Zanka in line. Another time, she’d whispered to Jabber about how she could use some stress relief, leading to a backroom quickie where Zanka sat in a worn-out chair, spread her legs, and pushed Jabber’s head between them.
Jabber’s mouth and its pierced tongue had tasted like Zanka for the rest of her shift.
Sigh, those were the days.
But, as always, Jabber’s mind had started to turn the word “fun” into “predictable” as she got used to Zanka being around. At some point, dates stopped being spur of the moment and were, instead, expected. No more surprises when either of them went to the other’s apartment, they both knew they’d be undressing each other and getting noise complaints from the neighbors in seconds — well, not Jabber’s neighbors, because they were good-hearted perverts who'd get high with her sometimes and come equipped with the best snacks.
Speaking of, she could use a hit of something right now; maybe it'll help her give a shit about this date.
“ARGH! How am I supposed to pick an acceptable fuck me, maybe outfit at a time like this?!”
Jabber’s standing in the middle of her bedroom, clothes thrown about like they’d encountered a tornado. Dressed in a ratty old T-shirt, sweatpants, and socks with a hole in the toe, nothing she’s tried to pair together has the desired effect she’s looking to create. Then again, she's not exactly sure what she's trying to create.
“You know you don’t have to try so hard,” Cthoni says. She’s not sure why she agreed to come over, but she doesn’t have much else to do on a Saturday night besides watch Jabber have a meltdown. “That girl would’ve done it behind the back of the store if you let her.”
The comment goes in one ear and out the other. “Who does Zan-Zan think she is, huh? Got my mind all kinds of fucked up with her sudden braless behavior.”
“She thinks she’s single. Because she is.”
Jabber frowns. Why did Cthoni have to bring Noerde with her? She’s the only employee who manages to be more blunt than all of them put together. Maybe it's the long, blonde hair and excessive height that gives her the audacity. “I knooooow she’s single,” Jabber says.
“Do you?”
“Um. Yeah. I’m the one who broke up with her.”
Noerde leans back against the wall and has the nerve to chuckle over Jabber's crisis. She’s got that nasty little smirk on her face, the one that makes Jabber want to smash her teeth in. “And why did you break up with her?”
“Things were getting too predictable, too… routine.”
“Uh huh. And yet you’ve spent the whole week wanting her back.”
“I do NOT want her back!”
“Right. So, what’s your date’s name?” Before Jabber can grab her phone, Noerde adds, “WITHOUT looking at your phone.”
Cthoni watches the two of them argue back and forth. This. This is why she came over tonight and why she insisted on bringing Noerde with her. You can’t pay for this kind of entertainment; this level of quality only exists amongst coworkers who make the mistake of hanging out off the clock.
“... it’s Felicia, right?”
“I know her name, Fu, damn!”
Fu, the most skittish person in the group, immediately shrinks away when Jabber yells at her. Jabber sighs and immediately feels like shit. Fu definitely has her moments of being able to bite back, usually when a customer gets a little too “I wanna speak to the manager” for the team’s liking, but it's the weekend, and Fu should be able to enjoy it without being snapped at.
“Sorry. I ain’t mad at ya, Fu, I’m just-”
“Kicking yourself for breaking up with a girl you obviously like? Maybe I should ask her out, fuck her real nice and-” Fu blinks, then blinks again, then immediately looks flustered. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean... I’m really sorry!”
Nope. Nevermind. Fu is feeling bitey after all. That said, Jabber’s now thinking about her coworker and her ex and, well, it’s not that terrible of a thought. Fu’s a lot of fun in bed if you have the patience, and seeing Zanka’s reaction to being between the both of them, or maybe Fu will be between them, or maybe, ah, Jabber will be between them.
Just as quickly as the image forms in Jabber’s head, it’s shoved away by Fu still apologizing for her outburst. “Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry-”
Jabber sighs. Again. She does that a lot around Fu. They all do. Even so, she makes a mental note to circle back to that threesome thought later. “Look, can y’all just help me pick out an outfit so I can go out and get drunk enough to forget about Zanka and her touchable thighs and perfect tits?”
Both Noerde and Fu look completely lost while Cthoni gives them a pleading look, quietly begging them not to ask unless they really want to hear Jabber’s conspiracy theories about “Tammy” and where she put her hand. Thankfully, they take the hint and start to look through Jabber’s clothes to help her find an outfit.
Cthoni decides to take some pity on Jabber... even if all of this is her fault. “At least she won’t be at the club, right?”
“Naw, clubs ain’t really her thing. Means I’ll be able to clear my head.”
“Still think you should just talk to the girl,” Noerde mutters before she holds up a fishnet shirt and tosses it over to Jabber.
“I already explained that shit was getting too routine.” Jabber presses the fishnet against her body and turns to face the full-length mirror in her room. She’s got a jacket that might work well with it, and a nice, purple bra to go under it.
“Can I… I mean, is it okay if I ask…?” Fu fiddles with the drawstrings of her hoodie, trying to busy her hands so she doesn’t focus too hard on her question. “What’s wrong with routine?”
The room goes quiet at the question. In all the time they’ve worked with Jabber and hung out for the sake of airing out their awful customer stories, no one has ever bothered to ask why she’s so quick to drop a girl if things become too predictable. Even Jabber looks like she’s never given it any real thought, which makes sense, since she’s the type to just go with whatever feeling is occupying her thoughts instead of thinking too hard about it.
“I don’t got no deep, world-shattering answer,” Jabber says as she grabs a pair of jeans and looks them over. They’re simple, denim, and are torn up the legs, but they make up for their simplicity with how they make her ass look when she wears them. “I just thrive on excitement, you know? I want all the fun stuff.”
“Okay, but… um… why can’t routine be fun?”
“Where is this coming from, Fu?”
“I dunno! I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer, you can… um… your date! You gotta get ready!”
There she goes, making Jabber feel guilty again. “I ain’t mad, Fu, I just… I ain’t never think about it before.”
“Well? Maybe you should.”
Jabber smiles and holds her blue jeans up in the air. “Thinking is for tomorrow. Tonight? We gonna get fucked up!”
Crhoni, Noerde, and Fu all look at each other, then at Jabber. “We?”
Cthoni wonders how she ended up here.
She’s sitting at a bar on a Saturday night, surrounded by too many people who have to yell over the music. All she wants is a strong drink and to disappear amongst the sea of people, but everyone’s fighting for the bartender’s attention.
Or her phone number.
Cthoni can’t say she blames them. That short, white blonde hair and matching lipstick complement her brown skin beautifully, and who doesn’t love a woman with glasses?
Noerde and Fu had somehow managed to find a table in the chaos. Cthoni thinks they probably threatened someone to get up — Fu, most likely. She’s always good at making threats in a tone of voice that makes her sound like she could break your arm by simply slapping it away.
Unfortunately, that leaves Cthoni on drink duty, a truly impossible task, it seems.
“Hey girl! Still no luck?”
Jabber’s already in that mode where she doesn’t walk anymore; she dances, moving to every beat that emerges from the club DJ. Felicia’s with her, arm around her waist, not to hold her close and seduce her, but to try to keep her in one spot before she dances off again.
Cthoni tried to warn her.
“No luck at all with the drinks,” Cthoni says. “It’s hopeless.”
Jabber cracks her knuckles and smirks. “No worries, ya girl Jabber can-”
“Semiu! Can you get my friends some drinks?”
No.
No way.
No way in hell.
Jabber turns and feels her brain completely shut down.
To be honest, she’s not surprised to see Riyo. Riyo's a girl who can find any excuse to party on the weekdays, weekends, holidays, any day, so no, that’s not surprising. What is surprising is to see Zanka with her. Zanka, who is usually armed with headphones she can slip into her ears when places get too loud. Zanka, who often rolls her eyes at Riyo whenever she suggests they go to, or have, some kind of party.
Zanka.
Who’s wearing a dress that matches the blue of her eyes.
A dress that does not go down to her ankles.
It doesn’t even go down to her knees.
No.
She’s openly showing off the fact that she’s got legs for days.
Jabber knows she’s got legs for days because she’s had them wrapped around her head. She’s had them straddle her waist. She’s even been threatened that they’ll kick her in the face. But much like the tank top incident, Zanka usually isn’t wearing something that shows any part of her body like this.
But she is tonight.
“Hey Riyo! I’ll be right there-… damn Zanka, you look good!”
Zanka actually blushes. Jabber won’t hold it against her. Getting the stamp of approval from a woman like Semiu is on par with being blessed by a goddess. Jabber may have just met the bartender, but she knows a diva when she sees one.
“Yes, doesn’t she?”
Jabber can feel her eyebrow twitch. She almost didn’t notice Tabby standing with Zanka and Riyo.
“Felt like trying something different,” Zanka says. “Not sure how I feel about it yet, though.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re stunning, Zanka.”
Stunning? Stunning?! Who does this bitch-… whoa, slow down, brain. No need to call Tabby a bitch, she’s allowed to compliment her friend.
“Yeah, it’s cute.” Felicia plasters a smile onto her face in an attempt to be polite, but Jabber can tell that she’s fuming. That’s not Jabber’s problem, though. It’s not her fault that Zanka’s pretty.
“Thanks. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Zanka, and you are…?”
“Jabber’s date,” then Felicia grabs onto Jabber’s arm, her voice sounding like she’s in the middle of popping bubblegum. Jabber debates dislocating her shoulder to get loose, but decides it’s not worth the effort.
“Is that your name?” Tabby asks, tone curious and a little condescending.
“Wha-? N-no, I mean… it’s Felicia.”
“Well, nice to meet ya, Felicia.” Zanka’s smile makes the low-lit club brighter. “I hope you two have fun tonight.”
And just like that, Zanka’s walking away with Riyo and Tabby, Riyo saying something about Follo grabbing their group a table.
“Ugh. Rude,” Felicity says, holding Jabber’s arm tighter. “No wonder why you broke up with her.”
Jabber isn’t listening.
Jabber’s busy watching Zanka maneuver through the crowd with her friends.
Jabber’s busy watching the way her earrings sway along with her body, which is swaying with the beat of the music while she walks, swaying alongside Tabby, who smiles, who whispers something in Zanka’s ear that makes her giggle.
“Looks like Cthoni managed to get the drinks,” Felicity says, tugging on Jabber’s arm. “We should head back to the table, yeah? She probably needs help carrying them.”
“Uh huh.”
Jabber tries, she swears she tries, to turn and walk over to Cthoni. She tells herself to do it, to take the required steps necessary to go from Cthoni to the table where Noerde and Fu are.
But Zanka isn’t walking anymore.
She’s dancing.
She’s dancing with Riyo and Tabby, eyes closed and arms raised above her head as she gets lost in the music with her friends.
Then Tabby steps closer to her.
Then Tabby brushes her fingers against Zanka’s waist.
THEN Tabby pulls her close, the two dancing against each other. Riyo cheers them on, the traitor, and Tabby, emboldened by the encouragement, moves her hand from Zanka’s waist to the small of her back.
Then she moves it lower.
Then Zanka rests her hands on Tabby’s shoulders.
THEN she does NOT push her away. She just holds on and keeps dancing.
And Tabby’s hand keeps touching, caressing, lingering at the edge of the dress.
And Riyo keeps cheering.
And then Tabby slips her hand under the dress (this does not actually happen).
And then Tabby pulls down Zanka’s panties (this also does not happen, Jabber losing the plot somewhere in her overactive imagination).
And THEN Tabby’s turning Zanka so she’s facing Jabber, her hand between her legs, her fingers pushing inside, Zanka’s eyes sliding shut as she moans, and moans, and moans, and whispers, “@&$!@,” a name that isn’t Jabber’s (this, most definitely, does not happen).
And.
Fucking.
THEN.
Jabber’s on the move.
“H-huh? Wait, where are you going?!” Jabber’s date asks, her name lost somewhere between Zanka’s dancing and that bitch is groping MY Zanka right in front of me. Jabber’s not opposed to watching someone with Zanka — Fu, of course, or maybe that black-haired cutie in Zanka’s friend group. But Tabby’s bitch ass didn’t even bother to ask permission before she started pawing at her girlfriend!
Ex.
She’s an ex.
She broke up with Zanka.
She doesn’t get a say.
She doesn’t-
“Oh, did you wanna go dance? We can-”
“No, Susan, I do NOT wanna dance! I wanna stab my nails into that bitch’s face for molesting MY Zan-Zan in front of me!”
“Susan?!” Then. “Wait, your Zan-Zan?!” Then. “You broke up with her!”
“Don’t matter.”
“Huh?!”
“Just cuz I broke up with her don’t mean someone else gets to touch my girlfriend!”
“Nothing about that sentence makes any sense!” But Felicia doesn’t get to say anything else. Instead, she watches as Jabber storms through the crowd like a woman on a mission, so determined to make it over to Zanka that people move out of her way as if they’re scared of what’ll happen if they don’t. In seconds, Jabber’s grabbing Zanka’s arm and dragging her off toward the bathroom.
Huh.
Well shit.
“Should’ve hit on the muscle-armed girl instead,” Felicia mutters. She wonders if she’s still got a chance, but that’s when she sees that Cthoni is still at the bar, not having delivered any drinks yet because Semiu is too busy talking with her about something that’s making a smile appear on her usually stoic face.
Huh.
Well shit.
Jabber kicks the bathroom door open and smiles sweetly at the two girls at the sinks doing their makeup. “Hiya. Would you two kindly go and do that somewhere else?”
“Jabber, that ain’t necessary.”
“Shut up.”
Zanka blinks, completely taken aback. Even on her meanest days, Jabber’s never told her to shut up before. Zanka decides to go along with it for now, keeping her mouth shut as Jabber just… looks at the girls, smile a little too tight, patience a little too thin. It’s super effective. The girls quickly tuck their makeup into their purses and leave the room.
“Jabber-”
“Lock the door.”
“What?”
“Lock the fucking door, Zanka.”
Normally, she’d snap back at her, but something inside Zanka tells her to do as she’s told, so she walks over, clicks the lock shut, and immediately feels Jabber shoving her against it. “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?”
Jabber leans in and brushes her lips against Zanka’s ear, licking at the edge, letting the ball of her tongue ring bump against Zanka’s earring. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you was doin’ out there with Tabby.”
“Tabby?? Who the fuck is Tabby???”
Jabber moves her hands, sliding them over Zanka’s body until she reaches her breasts. For days, she’s been daydreaming about them, so she shamelessly indulges herself, gives them a good, hard squeeze just the way she knows Zanka likes.
Zanka moans, and Jabber moans along with her because, god, it feels like coming home after a long day. Have they always been this soft? Is it from the dress? Have they always filled Jabber’s hands so perfectly?
“Don’t you dare say her name right now.” Jabber gives her breasts another good squeeze, then another one, slowly touching, massaging. Zanka rests her forehead against the door in response, the most beautiful sound slipping past her parted lips again. “You better only say my name tonight.”
“Jabber, why are you-ah, shit, aaaaah, fuck!”
Jabber’s nails circle around Zanka’s nipples through her dress — absolutely her fault for once again going out without a bra. Jabber can feel them hardening, pokes at them with her nails a couple of times until she pinches them, tugs them, tortures them as Zanka rocks back against her, legs squeezed shut as if she’s afraid she’s going to unravel through her panties and soak her thighs.
“Wet already, sweetness?” Jabber giggles, already breathless from the thought. How has she survived the week without this? Jabber moves one of her hands between Zanka’s legs, pressing it against her panties. “Mmmm, yeah you are.”
“Fuck you, Jabber!”
Jabber could unzip her dress, could let it slip off her body and fall to the floor, but something about leaving it on is making her feel feverish, delirious. All she wants, all she needs, is to touch, to take, and it's all Zanka’s fault. “No, fuck you, Zanka. You the one who’s got me all fucked up,” Jabber breathes against her ear as she lets one of her fingers rub against Zanka’s clit through her underwear. Zanka lets out a desperate whine, one that threatens to make Jabber come on the spot without being touched at all. She doesn’t mind. She’ll take any sound, any reaction that Zanka gives her. The moaning. The damp panties. Fuck, she missed this so much. “You out here lookin’ this good for other bitches who ain’t me. Out here moving this body like it ain’t mine.”
Something about the word mine activates something in Zanka. “First of all, her name is Tamsy, and she ain’t a bitch, she’s my friend!”
“She’s trying to fuck you!”
“Why is it any of your business?! YOU broke up with ME!” Without warning, Zanka mentally forces herself away from her approaching orgasm. In seconds, she’s shifting their positions and slamming Jabber against the door so hard that it knocks the wind out of her. Zanka keeps her pinned against it, hands around Jabber’s wrists, eyes hard and full of the anger she’d refused to give in to a couple of days ago. “Did ya forget?” She asks, looking directly into Jabber’s eyes as she speaks. “Did ya fucking forget?! This is on YOU!”
Jabber’s torn between fearing for her life from how angry Zanka is and moaning like a woman who’s been left stranded on the edge. Her heart’s racing, adrenaline at absurd levels that make her wonder why she ever thought she and Zanka had lost any kind of spark.
“Out here talkin’ about how I belong to you. Get FUCKED, Jabber. You tossed me away!”
“I-… I didn’t toss… I mean, I-I tried to be nice about it…?”
“Go to hell!”
“Can I go to your place instead?”
“Oooooh, so she wants to go to my place, huh? My boring, predictable place."
“Zank-AH!”
Zanka’s knee is between Jabber’s legs now, pressing up against the denim in a way that makes it uncomfortably tight. Then she leans in and bites at Jabber’s neck, hard and cruel as she thrusts her knee against Jabber again, and again, and again.
“Fuck, fuck yeeeees, yes,” is all Jabber can say, babbling out the words, getting high off the sting in her neck and the roughness of the denim between her thighs.
“You have some fucking nerve,” Zanka says, voice low, dark, haunting. “Giving me shit about Tamsy when you’re on a whole ass date.” Zanka releases Jabber’s hands. For a moment, the other girl pouts, missing the tightness around her wrists. The disappointment is replaced with pure joy in seconds when she feels Zanka pushing her fishnet top up enough to reveal her bra. “And now look at you. Letting me feel ya up in the bathroom when there’s some girl out there waiting for you.”
“Pretty sure Susan’s gone.”
“Felicia.”
“Who?”
“… you’re unbelievable.” But that doesn’t stop Zanka from undoing Jabber’s bra like an expert before she leans in, licking a slow circle around one of her nipples before she bites down on it.
Jabber isn’t ashamed to admit how quick her orgasm is after that. A couple punishing bites, some tugging with her teeth, a little gentle sucking, and Zanka goddamn moaning the entire time is all it takes, especially when she uses her fingers to make sure Jabber’s other nipple isn’t being neglected. Unlike Jabber’s well-maintained nail set, Zanka’s are short and sharp at the edges, the perfect sensation to combine with her teeth.
“Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” Jabber groans, a lazy little smile on her face. The second they make a drug that simulates Zanka Nijiku, it’s over for Jabber. “I should’ve known you still had this in you.”
“And yet you decided to end things with me.”
Jabber rolls her eyes. Ugh, way to kill the high. “Do ya gotta keep bringing that up?”
“We are literally still broken up, Jabber!”
“Wait, we are?!” Yep, high is officially dead. “But you’re mine!” Jabber says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “In fact, I should show ya. Let me return the favor, yeah?” Jabber knows that Zanka has to be pent up after all of that. “Whatcha want from your girl, Jabber? Want me to fuck ya? Want me to lie down on the floor so you can sit on my face?” Jabber licks her lips at the thought. “Please sit on my face, Zanka.”
Zanka takes a step back.
“Zan-Zan?”
“Move.”
“What? Why?”
“So I can go back to my friends.”
“But… aren’t we making up?”
“You have to apologize for that to happen.”
Jabber smirks. “Oh, I’ll apologize all right…”
Zanka slams Jabber against the door again when the other woman tries to touch her. Jabber, in return, looks two seconds away from squirting into her jeans a second time.
“I don’t mean sexually, Jabber,” Zanka says far too seriously.
Oh.
Cancel the squirting.
“Zankaaaaa, come oooooon, can’t we just have a good time? Don’t ya miss that? It certainly felt that way.”
Zanka looks thoroughly unimpressed for someone who denied herself an orgasm, but the desire to make a point outweighs the ache she feels between her legs. “Sure. We screw around in the bathroom. Then what? What happens if you get bored again?”
Jabber doesn’t like that question, so she attempts to laugh it off. “Me? Get bored with you? After tonight? Ain’t no way.”
“You literally did at the beginning of the week.”
Jabber tries again. “Come on, Zanka. I just wanna have fun is all. Let loose. Be excited.”
“Can’t do that all the time, Jabs.” At least she’s slipping back into nicknames. “I like fun, too, but I need quiet sometimes.”
“Quiet?” Jabber gags. “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.”
“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.”
“Deal.”
What happens next is something Jabber can’t explain. After Zanka gives her another brush of lips, she just stands in front of her, not saying a word.
In the quiet space between them, Jabber can hear everything. The music thumping in the club beyond the bathroom door. The occasional drip from one of the sink faucets. There’s nothing special about it, and she’s ready to tell Zanka that this is silly, that they should be making up and making out, but then she hears something else.
She hears Zanka.
She hears the soft steadiness of her breath. She hears her heels click against the ground when she steps even closer. When she closes her eyes and rests her head on her shoulder, Jabber can hear her moaning, but it’s from something other than pleasure. It’s comfort, she thinks, as Zanka relaxes against her, lets herself go in a way that Jabber’s not used to.
Jabber moves her hands along Zanka’s back, slowly, carefully, like she’s holding something important, something she wants to keep holding onto. She can hear what her hands sound like as they move over the fabric of the dress, can hear every time Zanka lets out another soft, relaxed breath. When Zanka pulls back enough to look at Jabber, Jabber thinks her heart stops beating. She’s always known that Zanka’s pretty, but like this? Zanka’s something else entirely, like some beautiful entity who, for some reason, has decided to share space with Jabber.
Usually, Jabber’s mind is moving a mile a minute, offering various quips or pick-up lines to say. But in the quiet, her mind is clear, and only one thing makes sense to say to Zanka right now.
“I’m sorry.”
The smile she responds with is ethereal.
The kiss is even more sacred.
Jabber feels like she jumped out of an airplane, but instead of purposely forgetting the parachute, she pulls it open at just the right time and just… floats, drifting through the air, able to notice the finer details she kept zipping past. The way Zanka parts her lips while they kiss, the way her tongue slides against Jabber’s piercing, how every moan lasts for a different amount of time and has a higher pitch depending on how good she feels.
The two move away from the door and over to the sink, because Jabber noticed how much Zanka was trembling against her. She lets her lean against the sink and stands behind her, kissing the back of her neck, listening to her moans until she registers the perfect sound, the one that lets her know she found the spot she should pay more attention to. She nips at it before fully committing to biting, to sucking and leaving a mark.
“Mmmm, Jabber…”
Jabber’s breath catches in her throat. Zanka’s never said her name like that before, like she’s unwrapping her favorite candy and letting it melt against her tongue instead of eating it right away.
“Baby, let me take care of you,” Jabber whispers. “See how you look right now?”
It’s here that Zanka realizes that by leaning against the sink like this, she can see everything that’s happening in the mirror. The blue of her eyes looks lost in space, but Jabber’s look just as blissed out.
“I feel like I’ll come apart if you touch me,” Zanka breathes out.
“You will,” Jabber moans into her ear. “And I’ll put you back together, piece by piece, so I can do it all over again.”
Zanka feels herself crumble in the best way, legs shaking, hands pressed against the edge of the sink as her orgasm hits her, completely unapologetic of the fact that she’s fully dressed and hasn’t been touched
Jabber is captivated by how Zanka looks right now, can see it all in the mirror, but a reflection isn’t enough. She turns Zanka so they’re facing each other and holds her close, talking her through every sensation that she’s feeling. “That’s it. Just like that, Zanka.”
All Zanka can do is hold on, especially when she feels Jabber’s leg settle between hers, denim pressed against soaked lace.
“J-Jab… I…”
“One more.”
“Wha-? N-no, I can’t-”
“Yes you can,” then Jabber smiles, whispering into her ear. “You wanted me to enjoy the quiet, right? Let me.”
When Zanka nods, Jabber has the decency to move her leg and replace it with her hand. She’s kind enough to slide Zanka’s panties down, and considerate enough not to comment on how she’s able to hear what it sounds like when she slides two fingers inside of her. Wet. Warm. Satisfied. Jabber keeps that information to herself, files it away under the benefits of giving into the quiet.
If this is what happens when you embrace boredom instead of running away from it, she can definitely get used to it.
When they finally come out of the bathroom, there’s a small group of girls outside who’d been waiting for the door to be unlocked. Zanka ignores them. Jabber, on the other hand, grins at them in a way that says yeah, I did that. Zanka can see Follo, Riyo, and Tamsy having drinks together, Riyo catching a glimpse of her and raising a glass in the air.
“What she do that for?” Jabber asks. “Ooooh, is she celebrating you getting laid?”
“Something like that.”
Jabber blinks, confused. “What do ya mean something like that?”
Zanka smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Wanna go back to my place? It’s quieter there.”
Jabber nods. Jabber nods again. Jabber nods a third time. “Lemme say goodbye to Cthoni and the others.”
“And Felicia?”
“Who?”
“… Susan.”
“Thought her name was Tiphani.”
“Just go Jabber," Zanka laughs. "I’ll meet ya outside.”
Zanka watches Jabber bounce off before she turns and heads over to the table where Riyo hasn’t stopped smirking. "Hey girl," Riyo says. Follo's blushing just a little, and Tamsy is raising an eyebrow, waiting for Zanka to say something.
Zanka sighs. “Okay, Riyo. Say it.”
Riyo takes a sip of her drink, smiles sweetly at Zanka, and says, “I told you making her jealous would work.”