Title → Candy Cane
Cartoon→ Invader Zim
Pairing → DAZR; Dib/Zim
Rated → M

Summary → Anybody else would think this is just the way Zim savors a candy cane. Slow, steady. Making it last as long as possible. Dib, however, knows better.

Dib has been watching him all night, candy cane tucked in the corner of his mouth. Every once in awhile, Zim will purse his lips around it, make it bob around by flicking at it with his tongue, then clench it between his teeth and part his lips so he can swallow around it. That particular move reveals the pink shine of his tongue, the dark space behind it. Something Dib is intimately familiar with in taste and texture.

Anybody else would think this is just the way Zim savors a candy cane. Slow, steady. Making it last as long as possible. Dib, however, knows better. Which is why he's been half-hard in his jeans for most of the night.

Zim moves around the room smoothly, talking to his Tallests and Tak, Gaz and Prof. Membrane, scolding Gir. Dib follows him, mostly with his eyes, but physically, too, as Zim makes his way toward the stairs and up, away from the noise and, presumably, the heat. Dib is about ten steps behind, but Zim is waiting for him just around the corner, a knowing look in his eye.

Dib crowds Zim against the wall on instinct, one hand on the wall and a knee between Zim's. His gaze drops automatically to the ticcing candy cane in Zim's mouth and he growls, "Such a fucking tease." He leans into Zim's hip to prove his point.

Zim grins around the candy cane, pushes it out until the barest hint of it is still caught between his teeth, and arches an expectant brow at Dib. Dib takes it between his own teeth without a second thought, grabs Zim's wrist, too, to pull him in the bathroom. Even before the door is closed, Zim is dropping to his knees, blurry gaze focused on the jut of Dib's cock through the jeans.

Dib hisses at the rasp of the zipper, Zim's cool fingers on his heated skin, then downright yelps when Zim's peppermint-tinted mouth is on him, cool and slick and- "Sweet fuckingAlbertEinstein, Zim." The candy cracks between his teeth as his chin drops to his chest. Zim is looking up at him through the thick fan of his lashes, dares to wink at him before pulling of to suck kisses into the crown, tongue at the slit.

Everything is cool and wet, too much and not enough. Zim making truly obscene noises with his stuffed-full mouth. Dib fumbles for his head, palm cupping Zim's face so he can feel the head of his cock bumping soft against the slick inside of Zim's cheek. Eventually, his fingers thread through soft lekkus and he tries to get Zim to slow down, to at least ease up on the deep throating, but that heavy weight in his gut is pulling taught, the candy cane is crushed between Dib's grinding teeth, and all he can do is brace himself against the wall as he comes, with a stuttered grunt, down Zim's throat. Zim tries to suck him through it, slower and more gently, but his breath is still too cool for Dib's sensitive skin and he pushes at Zim's shoulder to get him to back off, chuckles quietly at the soft pink pout of Zim's lower lip.

"C'mere, space boy," he rumbles, pulling Zim up by the nape of his neck. They kiss, slow and careful and minty, until Dib can tuck himself back into his pants, cool and a little sticky. Beside him, Zim is working on sucking a bruise into his neck, hips hitching against Dib's thick thigh. The hard line of his cock is hot even through two layers of denim. With peppermint still on his breath, Dib gets an idea.

Pulling Zim into another kiss, Dib maneuvers Zim until he's leaning against the vanity, legs fitted around one of Dib's. Between them, there is just enough room for Dib to work open his jeans, the button fly, and push them down over the perfect curve of his ass. His fingers rasp over the skin on the way back up, the tip of one flirting with the rim of Zim's hole. Zim's cock throbs against his belly, precome pearling at the slit.

"Turn around," Dib whispers, nipping at Zim's lips and jaw. It's clumsy, with Dib pinning him in and his jeans binding his thighs, but Zim manages, back curved to thrust his ass out. Dib purrs his approval and smooths a hand down Zim's side, across the pan of his pelvis, up along his belly, pushing his sweater up as it goes. Once it hits the ribcage, Dib stills, thumb circling one tight nipple, and takes in the view of them in the mirror; Zim chewing on his lower lip, hands braced on the sink, rocking back into the hand Dib has resting lightly on his ass. His eyes are dark and hooded, glassy from alcohol and need.

Dib strokes his palm along the sweet curve of it, the skin warm and taut, and realizes too late that he has no lube. Zim seems to understand when the hands stops, fingers teasing the soft place where ass meets thigh, and taps a bottle of Gir's hand lotion against Dib's shoulder.

"Hope it doesn't smell like tacos," Dib jokes, but neither of them are in any position to be picky at this point. Zim wants and Dib wants to give it to him. He pumps a few squirts directly onto Zim, deliberately deciding not to warm it up first. Zim shudders at the shock, one long movement from head to toe, and tilts his hips up further, legs widening as much as they can.

Dib only strokes one finger over him at first, teasing him like Zim's been teasing Dib all night long. It's worth it to see Zim so desperate for it, hips searching for him every time he pulls away. When even he gets tired of that, Dib teases Zim by slipping just the tip of a finger in, then back out. He does it over and over again, ignoring Zim's needy grunts.

"Goddamn it, stink-beast! The great Invader Zim's needs you to speed things up." Zim grits out, glaring at him in the mirror.

Dib chuckles, dark and low, and thrusts his finger in all the way, sinking into Zim's heat in one rough glide, the burn of not enough lube sharpening the edges.

Zim hisses through his teeth, leaning into the pressure, hips circling. He's searching for more, for the too-full feeling of three blunt fingers stretching him wide, but Dib isn't read to give that to him quite yet.

With his free hand planted on the sink next to Zim's, Dib presses in to soak in the fine trembling of Zim's body. In the mirror, Dib takes in the picture Zim makes: the flush crawling up Zim's neck and into his cheeks; the dark, sweat lekkus hanging down, clinging to his temples; cherry red lips, turned that color by the candy cane and by Dib; the just of his cock, dark and leaking, bobbing with every thrust of his hips. The precome clings to his sweater, and Dib would probably feel bad about that if he wasn't still in a post-orgasm haze.

Though Zim does paint a pretty picture, which is true for every time they fuck, what Dib really wants is for Zim to watch himself in the mirror. He wants Zim to take in the slutty tilt of his own hips, the way his cock glistens with precome, the furrow in his brow just before he comes. But he can't do that with his eyes squeezed shut so Dib's finger stills its lazing thrusting. Zim's eyes pop open automatically and he growls a warning.

"Keep your eyes open, space boy," Dib warns, thumb rubbing over Zim's rim. "Or this is going to take a lot longer.

Zim's head drops and he spits out a string of curses. When he doesn't lift it again, Dib scrapes a nail over sensitive skin and starts to pull out, knuckle catching on the edge.

"Okay, okay. Fuck," says Zim, head bobbing back up as if it's on a string. His eyes burn hot, pupils wide. The pink tip of his tongue pokes out as he thrusts onto Dib's finger. Dib rewards him by adding a second, which drags a long, low groan from Zim.

Ignoring Zim's insistent rocking, Dib keeps his rhythm nice and slow; long drags of his crooked fingers drawing pleading whimpers from Zim, the echoes of them settling hot in his veins, his groin. Before Zim can get too used to it, Dib adds a third finger, groaning at the greedy clench grabbing him tight.

This is the Zim he loves, the shaking limbs and teeth dug deep into his lip, trying to muffle whines desperate to come out. The Zim that gets to drop the terrorist boy exterior and unravel piece by piece. This is the Zim only Dib gets to see. The fact that there's three dozen guests downstairs, any one of which could come upstairs at any moment and interrupt them? That just makes Zim's unraveling that much sweeter.

Soon, Zim's arms are wavering under the strain of holding himself up. He rasps Dib name, a aching, raw sound scraped low from his gut, and he tries to gesture at his cock, fat and minty green and, god, so gorgeous. But his one arm won't hold him, and for that second that his gaze leaves the mirror, Dib adds a fourth finger, dragging a dark, please moan from him.

Dib leans in, then, chin resting on Zim's shoulder. His lips barely brush the tip of Zim's lekku when he says, "You can come without me touching you, can't you alien slut?" He punctuates the 'slut' with a quick twist of his wrist. The angle of it seems to hit the prostate; Zim's spine bows from the pleasure of it.

"Shit. Dib-thing, please," he whines again, eyes dark and wet. His legs are shivering, desperate to open and make room for Dib, but unable to do so. Zim is so close, so close, and Dib isn't a cruel man, he isn't. But Zim is so amazing like this: needy and uninhibited. He may not be cruel, but he's been known to be selfish. Especially when it comes to his alien boyfriend.

Not paying attention, he brushes over Zim's prostate again. Zim cries out, sharp. Then, under his breath, he's chanting 'fuckfuckfuck.' Dib can only hear it if he leans in close, his teeth scratching over Zim's cheek. He smiles, wide and dirty, and starts shortening his strokes, angles his fingers just so, so that he's hitting the prostate more than he's not.

"C'mon space boy," he all but growls in Zim's lekku. The skin is sweaty there, from the strain and the heat, and he flicks his tongue out to taste it, nips at the tip. "You can come, I know you can." His free hand drifts to Zim's thigh, then, the skin there hot and slick. He skims it up, against the hairless area, and lets it rest in where groin meets thigh. His knuckles brush against Zim's balls. Not on accident. "Just let go," Dib finishes, barely a whisper.

Zim does; back tightening and voice choked. Dib's fingers in his ass still through the impossible clench of it, Zim clamping down tight to ride out his orgasm. It only gets worse - tighter, hotter - when Dib finally gets a hand around Zim's cock to help work him through it, getting spatters of come on the vanity and Zim's thighs and his sweater. His chest heaves with it, desperate for oxygen, and he arms finally give out as his falls forward, elbows catching on the vanity with a dull thud.

Reluctantly, Dib lets Zim go to wash the lotion and come of his hands. He watches Zim from the corner of his eye, though, coming back to himself in stages. First the evening out of his breathing, then his head tilting up to look in the mirror, finally a quiet chuckle. While Zim pulls his ruined sweater off, Dib grabs a washcloth from the linen closet and runs it under the special alien water; hands it to Zim when he stares at his thighs and jeans with a helpless look.

"This is why you wanted me to wear a shirt underneath, isn't it?" He doesn't bother looking to Dib, too focused on cleaning of his cock to get confirmation of what he already knows is true. "Goddamn human, I'm hot."

His free hand comes up to unbutton the top three buttons of his oxford. The skin underneath gleams with sweat and Dib has a swift, unbidden urge to press his mouth there, in the hollow of Zim's throat. To use his teeth and tongue until the shape of his lips is branded there, a promise for later, a declaration to others.

"Yeah," Dib says, leaning against the door with his hands in his pockets. His gaze follows the movement of Zim's hand as he zips his jeans closed. "You're hot alright."

Zim ducks his head to hide a shy grin. "C'mon Dib," he say, hooking a finger through one of Dib's belt loops. "That's enough naughty for one night."

Dib grins, allows Zim to pull him away from the door. "Oh no, Zim. I'm just getting started."

The End

終わり (Owari)

Please Reeeviieeww❣

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