Loud-mouthed, irritating, obnoxious, so painfully--

“Jabber.” The word slithered through grinding teeth, a jaw clenched so tight bones creaked.

"Whaaaat, dollface? You've gotta loosen up— I mean, seriously!" The man purred from above you, and the sound got on your nerves like a metal fork on porcelain, a headache that pulsed needily at the back of your skull.

It was an intel mission, a simple, no bullshit intel mission to get information about the spherite who'd passed through a busy town and had been seen by a man-- the makeshift "mayor" of the four dozen that lived in the run-down homes made of shacks with rotting wood. It had taken one low jab for the pudgy man's blood to spill, crimson on carpet, blades through flesh. Jabber's doing. Now the town stood without a mayor, and you without your promised reward from Zodyl, only blooming bruises of red and unsightly purple beneath thin clothing to speak of your failure.

"You absolute waste of space!" Your hand tightened around his throat, fingers flying across skin until you found a familiar thump thump thump, and pressed down onto his trachea, delighting silently in the wheeze of air escaping his lungs, you could hear so distinctly with his lips at your ear.

The metal of his Mankira rings dug into your hips, kneading the soft give of your flesh with a delight that was undeniable from the seat of his pants, where a bulge steadily grew from the promise of violence. Voice watery from the blood rushing from his brain, Jabber crooned as he lowered himself down closer to where you lay on the bed, leveling his face with your pelvis, "Gimme more, mama, I'm gonna tear through my pants at this rate." Revulsion, and then anger, tore through you. Red hot, violent vexation that dragged itself up your spine and clogged your throat. "You gravy-sweating motherfucker, I should rip your throat out and leave you voiceless for all your moaning!" The bruises on his throat bled tan skin a feverish red when you released him.

The small room within the depths of the Raiders' underground base smelled of ever-present blood that had made its home in the cracks of the stone floors, and the musk of need that loomed over you both. Your pants, artfully splattered with oil stains and the recent blood of the town's mayor, were slewn out somewhere on that floor, a discarded heap of clothing that represented both your dignity and self-preservation.

Long, ringed fingers trailing down to the hem of your underwear, Jabber looked up toward you with a dopey grin, one that turned upwards just a bit more when the fat of your thighs pressed against his ears on either side of his head, the pressure making his vision all fuzzy.

"Do something useful with that stupid mouth for once."

The demand guided his tongue flat against the flimsy fabric of your underwear covering your clit, dampening the cloth with each long lick. It was a taunt, a game he would never win, but he played anyway so he could enjoy his loss. When the cotton dragged down your thighs and the chill of the room meant sensitive skin, a shiver tore through his body, visceral in its wake as he stared at your exposed cunt like a drooling dog. A want so violent that when his mouth finally met your cunt, smushing against it like he wasn't to be as close as physically possible, you jolted. It was just once, a flinch from the heat of his lips, the dizziness of pleasure. Just once before your calves locked around the back of his head, forcing his tongue deeper, trapping him between your legs, a merciless strength that had stars of black dancing in his vision.

"Damn you…" You seethed.

Fingers fisted in the sheets on either side of your head, you let your hips grind against his face, eyes half lidded and hateful as you watched as your arousal glossed his swollen lips and drenched his chin. Each nudge of his nose against the sensitive hood of your clit had flashes of bliss shooting up from your toes to the roots of your hair. Ruthless, that was a word to describe Jabber. Ruthless in the calculated, deliberate curl of his tongue, the barbell embedded through the tip of it forcing your walls to gush and squeeze around nothing just. For. Him.

And still— “You won't shut up? Will you?!" Voice a pitch lighter, you pushed out the words with a throaty moan that filled the man with something needy, his hips gyrating against the scratchy sheets, each rut dampening the front of his briefs as he cooed against the warmth of your cunt. "S'sweet, so goddamn sweet." But he wasn't talking to you; he was talking to your pussy.

"Look at her, gushing like a fountain, and f'me? You shouldn't have, honeybun." He slurs, planting a balmy kiss on the inside of one thigh. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would've been embarrassed, but him? It only filled you with a want for more. To destroy that composure, to make him break.

The metal of the bedframe groaned with the movement of two bodies as you shifted positions, and Jabber obediently followed. Now, his back was pressed into the mattress, and you were on top. The material of his pants scraped addictingly against the back of your thighs as you sat yourself onto his lap, a hand drifting down between your heaving bodies to shove away useless fabric and yank the waistband down just enough that his cock slapped against his stomach, the tip glistening under the finicky light fixtures of the bedroom, arousal smearing against the curves of his abdomen.

Delighted, Jabber tossed his head back onto the pillow, locs splaying out around his head, a low, drawn-out moan falling from his lips as you dragged one nail up the thick vein on the side of his dick, the sharpness scratching deliciously against delicate skin. "Juuuus' like that, jus' like that.." His eyes were alight as he stared at the way his dick twitched and throbbed in your palm as you stroked it once, twice, before guiding it between your thighs, letting it rest heavy against your cunt. Every dull jerk his cock gave filled his gut with a pleasure so heavy he just had to laugh.

"I hate you so much." You whispered it like a vow and a promise, one he could catalogue as a way to keep you around just to hear you say it because it wasn't love, it wasn't something said between sighs of affection or soft confessions, it was hatred, a disdain that burned and made it all worth it.

The length of Jabber's cock rubs back and forth against your sex as you slowly start to rock your hips in lazy, drawn-out shapes. The wet noises of his tip catching at your entrance...juuust to slip back out again, and the catch of air you tried to hide was music to Jabber's ears. "You tryna tease me, girl— mmh!" The combination of you suddenly shoving a pillow into his face with wholehearted intentions of suffocating him, and the way your pussy practically swallowed him whole in one roll of your hips, had a cry so unashamed shuddering through him that the rest of the team was sure to hear.

But for once, you didn't think about how annoying it was or the cackles that still reached you from beneath the pillow over his face. Your body was abuzz with something new, something raw and addictive. Every inch, every noticeable vein tracing up his cock, you felt it, up to how his tip smooched your cervix like it had done it dozens of times before. The burn of the stretch was nothing compared to how right it felt to use, to take without shame.

Jabber's hands clawed at your wrists, blunt nails brushing skin, engulfing them easily in a way you tried to ignore, not to push away, but to encourage, forcing you to press the thick cotton of the pillow harder against his face, making air scarce. Each breath, each low, raspy whine he let out suffocated him, hias dick jumped needily inside you. He was loving this.

"Your shame knows no bounds." The disgust is clear, but so is your crumbling resolve; each shifty figure eight his hips made renewed the arousal crawling up your back, clinging to you like a parasite you suddenly wanted to welcome. Discarding the smushed pillow to the side where it fell to the floor near your pants, you brace both hands on his chest, ignoring the way his top clings to sweat-slick skin as you lift up your hips till only the head is inside, faces an inch apart, breath mingling in a way that's...too intimate, and drop back down. "Fuck!" Jabber gasps, his pupils dilating into saucers, the magenta of his irises almost extinguished by the black.

Your throat burns with the moan that spills free, half pleasure, half ache, it's so much; the unsteady rhythm of his hips pushing upwards to meet your downwards motions, how with each thrust your walls suction around him like your cunt's trying to cut off his dick's circulation. With a particular buck of his hips, his tip bumps lewdly against the sweet spot inside you that lights up the sparks of pleasure like a chain reaction, steady gasps and breathless noises no longer held back, but loud.

"That the spot, baby?" He giggles and plants his feet on the bed, positioning himself just right to slam upwards. The force sends you forward across his chest, tears of bliss blurring your vision as he abuses that gummy spot just right, over and over and over until you're gushing and he's just laughing as he rocks his hips to guide you through the electric high.

Infuriating.

It's the cadence in his tone, like he knows he's undone you. "I'm not done with you, you piece of shit." The promise lingers in the air as you force yourself up, shoulders straightening as you stare down at him. His eyes are wide and glossed over with a heat he only gets when he's half dead and pumped full of toxins.

A grunt of surprise precedes the wild look on his face when your hand finds his jaw, the hold so tight his lips push out in a pout and he's sure you could crush his skull. His cock gives a lazy twitch inside you at the thought. Then your other hand is moving to join the first, and it's impossible to describe the look on his face when two of your fingers push past parted lips, until he's choking on the feeling of the pads of your fingertips dancing across his tongue, the taste of gun polish and chemicals lingering on them.

"Suck."

The word, one simple word, short-circuits the man, his eyes rolling back so far that all you can see is the pearly white of his sclera as his hips give a violent jerk up into your dripping cunt. The whimper that follows it sets your skin ablaze with something akin to satisfaction as you feel beads of precum paint your insides, a creamy white ring forming on the base of his cock, sticky and loud as you begin to move.

His tongue laves over your two fingers, urging them deeper into his mouth as you start moving again, the flashes of pleasure overshadowed by the way his body shakes and his back curves into a pornographic arch as he finally breaks, cum painting the inside of your cunt. "fu...fuck. FUCK— 's se-sensitive, dolly, don't stop— hurts so good." Tears roll down his smooth skin when you truly don't stop moving, and for the first time that night, you feel like you've gotten your reward, even if it's in salty tears.

His hands reach for your waist, itching to feel, to push up thin fabric and grab at the warm skin, yet they find nothing when you smack them away, choosing to pin them above his head instead, keeping the man restrained as you use him, deaf to his moans and whines, treating him like a toy. Nothing's ever turned him on more.

You moan like nobody can hear you, sweet and perfect and something Jabber could totally get used to if you let him. "Baby, you tryna torture me?" Desperate and at your mercy, he eyes your tits hidden beneath a tight black shirt you hadn't bothered to take off, they're right. There. And he can't even reach them. This must be torture. He wants to be all over you like he doesn't know how to not touch you, and he can't? You're so good.

The stiff ridges of his veins slide so perfectly against the walls of your sappy pussy, it's pleasure and agony so similar for Jabber that he's not sure where one starts and the other begins. The cum makes everything so slippery, the friction's 10x better than before if thats even possible, and the expression on your face?

The hatred in your eyes, like you'd kill him if he didn't serve any use to you? Perfect, everything about it, the pinch of your brows, the line of your lips when you roll your hips just right, god it's just you, you're perfect, The thought has him cumming hard for the second time that night, harder than the last, harder than anything he's ever experienced in his fucking life, so hard his vision goes white and he's sure sex with you is better than heaven, cuz what could beat this?

"You— you have'ta be a sex goddess or sum, man..." He mumbles, unintelligible as his head lolls to the side, resting on the tear-damp pillow beneath him, his eyes fluttering closed, his cock still twitching in you, keeping all the cum inside.

"You’re so pathetic." The insult is more quiet exasperation than anger. You’re glad he’s too dazed to hear it.

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You’d been preparing for this day for a long time, after all, it was almost the first holiday you were celebrating as a couple. You’d even tried dropping hints, fishing for clues about what he was going to gift you. But Jabber only brushed you off, claiming he was busy and that he didn’t care about that kind of nonsense like Valentine's day ot other cringe-sweet shit. And the closer the date came, the more your irritation built up. Of course, you weren’t with him for the gifts (In any case he's not a type of guy girls can be interested because of some material thing he can gave, no) but that bastard hadn’t even tried to do something nice for you.

So on that very day, you decided to enjoy your little stroke of genius - to make him feel what you had felt.

The twitch in his smile clearly didn’t promise anything good, but you, as if not noticing, held out your gift to him. A Valentine. Or rather, a fragrant heart-shaped bar of soap.

“Don’t you like my gift?” you asked slyly, watching his stoic expression.

He took the soap in his hand, practically a direct mockery of his hatred of showering, and carelessly tossed it somewhere behind him. The next second, he grabbed both your wrists with one hand, pinning you to the wall and holding your arms above your head.

“Oh, I loooved it. And you know what? I’ve got a little present for you too.”

Later, you cursed through your teeth as he, clearly pleased with his “handmade Valentine,” carved into your skin with Mankira, leaned down to lick the beads of blood from the uneven, crooked heart.

“I love you too, chick.”