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The door bumped against its frame as Dib rocked back and forth into his hand. His fingers spread on it, pressed against it and tried to steady him. Zim observed silently, listening to the soft tap tap tap punctuating Dib's "Yes, yes, yes." His eyes were shut, and he had stepped out of his pants and boxers. His shirt hung on him with cumstains darkening the front.
His orgasm was just as powerful, but much less noisy. Semen shot up and nearly hit him in the face, and all he could do was grip his dick and whimper. Cum splashed the ground in front of him, and Zim scoffed. Dib nearly doubled over from the urgent pleasure.
"Fuck," Dib gulped when he was spent. He pulled off his ruined shirt and threw it to the corner of the room. On the couch lied Zim, his clothes askew and his lidded fake eyes staring with a hungry expression. "Can I sit down?" Dib mumbled, clumsily searching for his boxers again. Zim was eating him with his eyes.
Zim's antennae bobbed, which Dib took as a yes. He sat, sighed and slumped over against the arm rest. "If we're not going to kill each other," Zim grumbled, "then how long are you going to stay?"
