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“Shhh, quiet, or we’ll get caught.”
Blood rushes Zanka’s head. It almost drowns out the echoing words of sweet praise Enjin had laid on him just minutes ago after taking care of a pair of raiders single handedly.
‘Look at you. Could’ve watched you all day,’ Zanka had wanted to chide him for being lazy and leaving all the fighting to his subordinate. Luckily, he held his tongue. ‘Made quick work of them, didn’t you? Guess the raiders have gotten pretty lax in hiring. So whaddaya say, Zan-Zan, how about a little reward?’
Enjin’s so-called ‘rewards’ are always a gamble, but hell, if Zanka hasn’t learned to be a risk taker through it all. This time, it is worthwhile. Zanka finds himself tucked away in the crumbling remains of a once populated city. Now, abandoned and left to rot when the dome collapsed. The only denizens are the occasional raider or junker looking for scraps in its remains.
Graffiti tags fill the walls, and Zanka has the displeasure of being pressed up to the most obscene one. His hands brace across neon coated concrete with a grimace. Why is everyone so obsessed with drawing dicks? The one in front of him is cartoonish and crude, complete with droplets of jizz.
(Enjin had laughed at it with all the maturity and tact of an actual twelve year old.)
The layers of Zanka’s cleaner uniform are rifled through with not-so foreign hands. The cool touch of Enjin’s fingers trail across his lower back. A balm to sweat-slick skin from the heat of battle. They pick and pry for buttons and zippers, eventually managing to pool Zanka’s pants mid-thigh.
A playful smack is delivered right to his ass, and Enjin nips at his ear. “Why dontcha bend over for me?”
“Really?” Zanka asks, incredulously. Enjin has to be thinking with his dick here. They’re in borderline enemy territory. They already know there’s a raider presence in this town, and Enjin wants him ass out with his pants down. Ridiculous. “Out here? We can’t wait until HQ or… at least the truck?”
“Nope.”
The noise muffled into the crook of Zanka’s neck is greedy, as greedy as those same hands feeling up his sides only to hook in the waist of his underwear. Lovely Assistaff buckles in Zanka’s arms when his head snaps around.
“Hey—!”
He’s shushed again. “Reward, remember? For all your hard work, Zanka. Don’t you deserve it?”
His indignation holds still, cheeks growing hot with the thought. He does deserve it. Although he would prefer less dirty, dingy, dangerous and… phallic scenery. Whatever remaining doubts Zanka holds fall apart completely the moment Enjin drops to his knees.
Teeth dig into the inner flesh of his cheek. It draws blood. So, that’s what Enjin meant. Fuuuck.
The flat of Enjin’s palm applies pressure to his spine, urging it to give way. It does. His back arches, and his forehead rests upon the apex of his vital instrument’s split just above the bandages. His eyes glue between his feet to the dusty ground beneath.
If Enjin wants to eat him out in the middle of nowhere, who is he to say no?
For all of his so-called complaints, there’s a part of him which preens at the implication. Enjin watched him fight and came off the high of it horny and ready to put himself to use. A treat. A reward. Zanka knows better. Enjin will get off on this just as much as himself.
His bare cheeks are spread apart in a way that should embarrass him. Probably would were it not for the fact that he has grown very accustomed to Enjin’s antics over the years. Though no matter how used to it he is it always makes his knees go weak the moment he feels hot breath between his thighs and the obscene swipe of tongue to the most intimate parts of his body.
Zanka digs an angry red mark to his forehead with how hard he presses it to his staff. A shaky moan escapes him. Spit dribbles down the back of his thighs, and Enjin licks a long stripe over his rim. His thumb toys at its furled edges, just slightly tugging him open.
Zanka curses under his breath. His core surges with an onslaught of molten arousal, and on instinct alone, his thighs snap shut. Enjin tuts his tongue and pulls them back apart. Only this time, two fingers trace between, teasing along the outer folds of his cunt already soaked with warm slick. “Already, Zan? I might think that fight got you all hot and bothered.”
“Did not! I’m not… not like you.”
Not the type to fell a trash beast go jerk one out against the steering wheel of his truck.
“I dunno,” Enjin mulls over the idea — all while toying with Zanka but never actually touching the place that would truly drive him mad. “I think I might be rubbin’ off on ya.”
Well, he’s certainly been rubbing something on him.
The cunt-slick pads of his fingers return to his rim. The fluid is smeared over the tight furl, and Enjin leans in for a taste with the smack of wet lips. God, he always fucking does this. Eats him like he’s some overripe fruit, dribbling sweet nectar between his fingers and down his chin. It’s obscene. Everything Enjin does is, and yet…
Zanka’s never been harder in his life.
His cock twitches, all flushed and swollen, the head peaking out from its hood. It’s grown slick, begging to be touched. Zanka chews on his lip and reaches down to stroke it between his fingers, but he stumbles. His legs start to give way with a yelp, and Enjin scoops around them before he can clatter to the ground.
“You can’t give out on me this early,” he grunts. “I know you’ve got more energy in you.”
“If you didn’t spend all this time making out with my — hnng!”
Enjin — devious, terrible Enjin — grabs the base of his Lovely Assistaff. He tugs her forward, scraping the hilt against the dirt. Annoyance twitches across his face, but it’s shut up quick. Is it intentional? Enjin may act aloof, but he usually knows exactly what he’s doing.The long shaft of his staff pins between his thighs. The particular angle of it catches between the dripping folds of his cunt and grinds against his cock.
Zanka is not a pervert. He’s not the kind of person to treat his treasure so… so… indecently.
And, yet with Enjin devouring him and his cock throbbing untouched, his sense of decency becomes a bit more lenient. Tentatively, his hips stutter forward, and the length of his cock drags up her shaft with a terribly wretched groan.
“What have you done to me?” He laments, and Enjin chuckles, nipping at his cheek.
“Think of it as a bonding exercise. You are the most attuned to your instrument after all. What’s a little orgasm shared between Giver and vital instrument?”
A lot. Some kind of weird boundary he’s never crossed, but the anima purrs between them. Zanka’s fingers itch, gripped around her, and the back of his mind fills with a fuzzy warmth.
“Plus,” Enjin lets his bias show. “You look real good pressed up on her like that.”
The staff rubs between his legs in a slow grind. The wood he’s spent countless hours polishing and tending to grows wet with his slick. The bandages he’d wrapped around her slip under his fingertips. A raw moan is dragged out from the back of his throat.
Enjin hums, pleased by this turn of events.
“Enjiiin, Enjin, I… I…”
Fuck, he’s not quite there yet, hanging on the precipice of orgasm but unable to push it all the way.
“Tell me what you need.”
“Need you to, ah, fuck —”
Enjin pretends not to understand the obvious. “Hm?”
Oh, fuck off. Really? Every inch of Zanka burns up. His brain can hardly pick a point to focus on. The aching drag of his cock along Lovely Assistaff, Enjin mouthing over the sensitive skin of his ass, or his cunt, slick and empty, left twitching and untouched.
“Make me cum, please. Please, Enjin.”
He can practically hear the smug grin on his face, “Since you asked so nicely.”
Two fingers sink into the heat of his gaping core. Zanka jolts at the intrusion, and his insides cling greedily over them. With a practiced precision, they curl inside him. Just the right spot, just what he needs. It’s as if every point of pleasure in his body is pushed to the max.
It doesn’t relent, and Zanka’s voice falls in a broken string of words and moans, holding onto his vital instrument for dear life.
“It’s okay, baby. You can cum. I’ve got you.”
And, Zanka’s eyes flash with a brilliant blue. His staff shifts to her instrument form in the moment he cums. His insides clench with nauseatingly strong contractions, sucking in Enjin’s fingers to the base and dripping hot release all over his treasure and to the dirt beneath his feet.
His mind blanks out, if only for a moment, and Enjin leans back on his haunches, appraising his work when Zanka slumps to the ground completely boneless. His damn leader is going to have to carry him all the way back to the truck now — a penance for his hair-brained ideas.
Enjin laughs, “Shit, you made a real mess, didn’t you? I’ve never seen you cum like that before.”
“Shut up,” he mutters, trying to wipe his instrument clean to no avail. Enjin’s not in much better shape — eyes dark with sex, chin glistening and wet. He licks his lips when he catches Zanka looking.
“Like what you see?”
Of course, he does. How else would he continually get convinced into positions like these?