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Midnight, all of the lights in HQ were off, and the silence of the night was stifling, suffocating even as Zanka lay in his bed. It had been nearly impossible to sleep lately, even with the attempted aid of Amo. Every night, it was the same thing: he would lie in his bed, curled around Lovely Assistaff like a lifeline, and fall asleep for at most an hour, only to be awoken again like clockwork. Eishia said it was likely nightmares. But Zanka could not exactly place what he dreamed of or even if it was haunting enough to keep him awake.
Zanka’s eyes flicked over to the window, brought out of his thoughts by the scratch of claws against the glass.
Jabber.
He made no move to stop the other from getting in. What good would it do when a stray cat would always find a way in? Especially when said cat had opposable thumbs, a lockpick, and eyes that Zanka could never resist. Easier to just leave the window unlocked rather than deal with the questions that followed a broken window.
“Leaving the window open for me now Zan-Zan? Maybe I really am growing on you.” The chuckle rang out through the room, yet Zanka still refused to stir nor acknowledge the other for a few seconds until Jabber grew close enough that his breath fanned across the Cleaner’s neck.
“Didn’t I tell ya my room was off limits?” The cleaner hissed, looking back at Jabber. Even if he had said something, it wasn’t like the raider would listen.
Jabber rolled his eyes before getting under the covers with Zanka with a slight scowl as if the very thought of listening was offensive to him. His hand came up to caress Zanka’s shoulder, the coldness of Mankira jarring even through a layer of clothing.
She wasn’t activated. That almost made it worse in a way as warm fingers trailed over to his neck, those rings settling gently over his pulse point.
“Ain’t very much of a listener, are ya?” Zanka mumbled as his own hand came up to rest over Jabber’s. Neither of them were good at affection stained in any other color than dark red. But it felt wrong in such a right way to touch the raider like this.
“Never have been. I’m more of a talker.” Jabber’s response was unusually quick, and his eyes stayed trained on Zanka’s face as if searching for something. It wasn’t just The Cleaners who had noticed the shift.
Jabber didn’t look concerned; if anything, he was elated.
A featherlight kiss was placed across each of Zanka’s knuckles, watching as the man’s fingers tightened, nails digging into Jabber’s hand.
“Stop that, ya really mess me up when ya act like this.” Zanka’s response was soft, muffled by his hand as he stared down at Jabber. Pupils dilated with a smile carved across his face in such a way that seemed so unnatural to him. Almost crazed.
“Praise really does get you going real good…” The raider almost purred as he grabbed Zanka’s hand to move it away from his face, placing a kiss on the palm.
Zanka’s hands pulled away from Jabber’s hold to instead wrap around the raider’s neck, nails digging into the marred skin. A soft whine filled the space as blood began to pool in the cuts. Jabber’s face moved forward gently, nuzzling their noses close enough to kiss yet holding back.
“Zanka…” Jabber cooed softly as the other’s eyes began to drift away.
It was strange for Zanka to be so out of it, but the raider didn’t exactly care with the delicious prick of Zanka’s nails against his neck. The sensation that filled his chest was so different from when the boss hurt him, or when anybody else did, for that matter. It was an uncontrollable fire; wild, messy, with fangs bared to eat him alive. Jabber couldn’t help but want it to. If anybody were to eat him, bones and all, it would be Zanka, and he would be on his knees begging for it like a dog.
“You’re so good for me, baby.”
A giggle bubbled from Zanka’s lungs before he could stop it, and his face twisted back into a flushed grin that spread across his face. The cleaner’s fingers tightened as he gently pushed their lips together. Jabber made him insane. Everything he did, everything he said.
Maybe that was why he didn’t want anyone else to even look at the raider.
“Remember, you can’t go slack on me, man. You gotta beat me one day, or it’ll get all boring.” Jabber muttered with glee as he dove back in to bite at Zanka’s lip.
Zanka’s eyes darkened as he stared down at the raider. Even the taste of iron flooding his mouth couldn’t tear his eyes away. If he couldn’t get stronger… Jabber would leave? Just like that? Like this was nothing? Like Zanka was just a passing interest that he would eventually grow bored of.
He hadn’t even noticed when Jabber pulled away and raised an eyebrow before burying his face into Zanka’s chest, inhaling his scent. The usual incense smell was dulled from the shower, replaced by the soft, fresh scent of soap.
Calloused hands found their way to Jabber’s head unconsciously, fingers tracing over the hair slowly. The raider wouldn’t lose interest, not when Zanka burrowed himself so deep into his heart that he was the only thing left.
Because he was the only thing that Jabber would ever need.
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Shafts of moonlight danced across metal as Mankira’s claws gently threaded through light brown hair. Pink eyes glowed in the darkness, staring down at the sleeping form with a hunger untamed by the late hour. It was hard to be gentle when Zanka was just lying here so calm, despite the threat right next to him.
His fingers pulled gently, slicing a small chunk of hair into the palm of his hand. It was soft, but that was expected from Zanka, with his perfectly scheduled showers, his products that he refused to let Riyo touch, the window that he left open. A window that was too easy to look into from outside the Cleaner HQ. A smile stretched across his face as he smelled the incense and soap mixed on the soft strands before they slipped into his pocket.
Jabber slowly got to his feet, eyes never leaving the sleeping cleaner. Mankira shrank back to her ring form, leaving a small cut on the left side of Zanka’s cheek in her wake. A small bead running down along the pale skin before Jabber’s finger wiped it away and brought it up to his own mouth. Copper and something so deliciously Zanka filled his taste buds, causing a giggle to bubble out of his throat before muffling it with a bite to his lips.
The window opened easily with a soft click. Jabber had left it slightly ajar for this very purpose, perfected from weeks of breaking into Zanka’s room when the other was awake or not. It was strange to be so curious about something other than poisons.
Something did not quite describe Zanka.
No poison ever could either. The closest he ever got was this blackish sludge that made him feel like he was being eaten from the inside out in such a thrilling way.
The same sludge in his left claw making the Cleaner writhe with the very same infection he had given Jabber.
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The air was heavy with the static of blades clashing as sparks flew in every direction. Lovely Assistaff had been holding up better and better against Mankira lately as if Zanka’s efforts had directly reflected onto her.
He wanted to run his hands over the grooves in her wood as a show of his appreciation. She responded back in kind, anima twisting between his fingers like a warm breath of air.
A shiver ran down his spine, and the anima around his fingers sharpened, a tell of incoming danger that had been ingrained deep within his soul from long before Jabber had wormed himself inside. A time when his biggest concern was which gun Kyouka would be using for training.
Those days were long past. As was the phantom pain from indented wounds littering his torso. The smell of gunpowder still lingering whenever he looked too long at his naked torso.
Mankira’s claws sank into the wall behind him, cracking the stone into chunks of broken rubble. The raider laughed gleefully, pink eyes darting to where Zanka had moved. Lovely Assistaff crashed into the Raider’s side with a sickening crack that reverberated through the metal pipes around them.
Jabber was always the one to choose their fighting locations, leaving Zanka to guess when claws would burst out of the dark to attack him.
That laugh. That damn laugh. The one that haunted Zanka’s dreams. Dreams where there was no violence and each touch was tinged with a softness neither of them was capable of. Those were just dreams, and the hoarse laugh echoing through the space was anything but soft.
A second later, Jabber was back to his feet, jumping at him with Makira. Those pretty silver daggers barely inches from hitting their mark, instead getting tangled within Lovely Assistaff. Both weapons trapped in an embrace that only tightened the more Zanka tried to pull away. Pink eyes landed in their entangled weapons as Jabber began to push forward, metal grinding against lacquered wood.
His fist flew out before he could think, landing against the raider’s nose with the crunch of cartilage breaking. A flush rose to Zanka’s face before he could compose himself as he heard the breathless whine of pain leave Jabber’s lips. A twisted smile invaded his face that he had to bite his lip to hide, drawing blood in a crimson rivulet that ran down his chin.
“You really are a freak through and through Zan-Zan. That’s what I like bout’chu!” Jabber laughed as he staggered back to his feet, giddy at the shock of pain through his system. Blood dripped from his nose, pooling on the ground and mixing with the others.
Zanka moved back as well, waiting for the inevitable. There was always a trend. He would get Jabber beaten to the point where the other was near collapse, and then Mankira would enter her true form, and it would be all over. It was a mystery why he even held back anymore. Pity? Nah, that wasn’t Jabber. Jabber was the only one these days who didn’t pity him. It was practical; Jabber got his fight, Zanka got to feel like he had the upper hand.
Lovely Assistaff was held close as he watched Mankira morph into the behemoth that was her true form. A beautiful mess of sharp claws and metal wire that spelled his loss again. It had happened so much that the numbers slipped away. It was so pathetic. Zanka was so pathetic. Pathetic in the way he kept coming back for more every time, as if he craved the poison.
Their dance of flashing blades continued strike by strike, spark by spark, until eventually a nick to the exposed skin of his waist, where his uniform had long since ripped sent him tumbling onto the ground.
“You know Zanka. That’s the fifth time. Kinda boring if you ask me.” It was like a switch had been flipped as Jabber leaned over Zanka’s prone form, his face shifting to a disgust usually reserved for those he considered weak.
“W…What…” Zanka mumbled, looking up in terror at the man above him, “No. No! I’ll get better! I’ll get stronger!” He cried out, reaching out to grab onto the purple tail of fabric trailing behind Jabber.
“Nah, I’m done giving you chances to just disappoint me again. I’m looking for a real fight, Zanka, you just ain’t it.” Jabber scoffed, pulling the fabric free from Zanka’s hands with a cruel yank.
“No! Please! Don’t leave me! I can do better!” Zanka wailed something he had promised himself never to do again. He tried to lift himself from the ground, but the toxins from Mankira kept him down on the floor, still painfully conscious to the sound of Jabber’s retreating form.
He reached an arm out, watching as the usually stable appendage shook in the empty darkness. Something in him seemed to splinter, like glass slowly shattering under weight. Those shards of broken glass spelled out a single message: “Get stronger, Get so strong nobody, not even Jabber could ever call you weak.”
A laugh bubbled up from his throat, coming out in hoarse cackles. Tears pricked against his vision that was slowly turning black. Nobody would come for him. He would bleed out alone. Maybe that was how it should be.
Violet eyes lit up in the darkness of the room, watching as the Cleaner’s eyes slowly closed and he lost consciousness.
“Aw, Zan-Zan, you gotta know I didn’t mean all that.” Jabber chuckled, circling around the crumpled body on the floor before picking him up. “You just needed a bit of motivation.”
Maybe it was a bit cruel to play on Zanka’s insecurities for something as simple as improvement. But Jabber had never really gotten that sort of thing. Emotions and stuff just felt so complicated when it was so much easier to just bathe each other in blood and viscera.
Zanka was the exception to that. He made him feel a shade of warm and fuzzy that not even the most potent poisons could replicate. It felt like bugs crawling around in his stomach, trying to eat their way out. It felt like Zanka’s fist slamming into his ribs for the first time and the delicious rush of pain that followed.
Regardless of what that feeling was, Jabber craved it, almost more than he craved bruises and cuts. That was why Zanka needed to get stronger. So that feeling could grow more and more until it suffocated them both under its weight.
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It started as less of a problem, just Zanka occasionally going out only to be met with pink eyes, a flash of claws, and the sting of venom that had drawn Zanka in like a siren. Next thing he knew, it was Enjin standing over his hospital bed as Eishia tended to his injuries like always. It hadn’t been a problem until it had been five times that he was dumped on the doorstep of the Cleaner’s HQ like a piece of trash.
He couldn’t say it wasn’t his fault and act like the poison coursing through his veins was not his fault entirely. Excuses hadn’t soothed the scolding in Enjin’s voice nor the anxiousness in Eishia’s. They both knew Zanka had run into the vipers’ den of his own volition. And that he would not stop until the viper that had him entranced was dead.
“I wish you would stop running into danger like this, kid. It isn’t good for you.” A gentle hand set itself on Zanka’s shoulder, feeling more like a venomous claw sinking into his side.
He couldn’t speak. The words caught like spikes in his throat. Any denial was rendered useless at flashes of a face flushed with blood and violet eyes. The crack of metal against bone and the breathless gasp that followed.
“Enjin, can I speak to you outside, please?” Eishia whispered, interrupting the spiraling thoughts plaguing Zanka’s mind. Her hands folded into her dress in a way that broadcast the anxiety she was burdened by, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but it was noticeably worse today.
“Of course I’ll be right out.” Enjin nodded before looking at Zanka as if asking if he was okay. He wasn’t. But who was he to say anything?
The blonde waited for the others to leave the room before sneaking over. The way they looked at him as if he were made of glass enraged him. ‘Do they think I’m weak?’ Screamed through his head as he set his ear to the crack in the door.
“Enjin, I’m concerned-”
“Ehh, the kid will recover, he’s like a damn cockroach.” Enjin interrupted as he chuckled to himself, likely at the image of a cockroach with Zanka’s hair that the mind conjured.
“No, no… it’s not… uh- physically. I’m worried about him mentally.” Those soft words shattered the jovial energy. Enjin, usually loud and boisterous, was rendered silent.
“He was trapped in a well for three days. Combine that with child neglect and potential abuse. It’s a recipe for anxious attachment… I mean, you saw how he reacted when Rudo tried to clean Assistaff for him…” Eishia spoke frankly with information that Zanka had refused to ever let slip.
‘He told her.’ Zanka’s eyes widened as he bit into his cheek hard enough to draw blood. If Enjin had told Eishia, who else had he told… Was that why everyone looked at him like he was some pathetic stray animal? He hated it, hated being seen like something broken. Jabber never looked at him like that.
“It’s getting worse, Enjin. We need to tell someone b…because if we keep sending him out on missions… I’m afraid it will get unsafe for him and for all of us. Especially the raider.” Eishia’s guilt-laced whispers felt like knives directly into Zanka’s skull. She thought he was weak, too weak to go on missions, too weak to keep around. What hurt more was that they directly mentioned Jabber, as if it was set in stone that he would never win.
“I… I’ll talk to Corvus.” Enjin finally spoke. His non-committal tone and his pained look at the door told everything Eishia needed to know. He knew it was bad just as much as she did. Zanka had lashed out at Rudo for interfering in his last fight against Jabber. Riyo was alarmed by his sudden cold detachment in fights. Enjin himself had seen a bit of Zanka’s fights with the raider. He relished in the violence almost as much as the masochist himself.
Zanka was split between sinking terror and overwhelming rage. They were abandoning him because they thought he couldn’t do it. A weak giver who couldn’t even live up to the expectations of the Cleaners, let alone the Hellguard. He moved away from the door and back to the bed as Enjin moved to come back in.
“Zanks, you got a sec? I mean, you'd better cause you’re stuck here for a while!” Enjin chuckled walking over to the hospital bed with that usually confident swagger that used to comfort Zanka but now made him sick to his stomach. Maybe it was the person and not the body language that made him sick to his stomach. The bile building in his throat tinged with the petrifying knowledge that they were ready to leave him.
“What do ya need?” Zanka tried to keep the venomous words at bay. How could he act like he wasn’t throwing Zanka away like the very trash they fought?
“You’re gonna be on leave for a bit… the uh- poison! Is still in your system.” The hesitation made it even more unconvincing of a lie. Zanka wasn’t even sure he would believe it if he hadn’t heard the conversation through the door.
“It’s fine, I ain’t feelin’ all-together anyway.” Zanka lied as his hands fisted into the blankets, wrinkling the fabric into a mess. Breaking would be a weakness. Breaking would show that Eishia, Enjin, and all the others that they were right. And he would die before that.
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The bed rest lasted another week, full of observation and pretending that being idle wasn’t eating away at him. Then there was another week of only being able to train and idle around the headquarters. Now it was the third week, and Zanka was itching to escape the confines of this building.
He stood in front of the mirror, droplets of water still clinging to his hair and skin. Red patches marred his skin where he had rubbed it raw trying to erase the memories of claws against his waist and cold wet stone against his back. The scar on his abdomen was the worst. Every time he saw it, a heady mix of pain and the weightlessness of neurotoxins overwhelmed him. Or maybe it was the needle in his wrist that caused that. It barely even hurt anymore, but toxins did that, dulled every ache and pain like they were never there. Weeks of injecting the mixture had rendered it a dull buzz in the back of his head that reminded him oh so much of pink eyes and claws brushing against his cheek with a reverence that he could never understand.
He had tucked it into his uniform during a moment of lucidity, having seen it drop from Jabber’s pocket during their last fight. He doubted the lunatic had even noticed. Maybe he did, but said nothing.
Each dose made it less and less effective. He knew Jabber well enough to know that he wouldn’t use the actual poisons on him. The neurotoxin did change occasionally, but it was minuscule enough to not have much of an effect on his growing tolerance.
“I may just be average. Someone who can’t rival the geniuses around me. That doesn’t mean I’m weak. Means I just needa try harder, be smarter.” Zanka mumbled the words slightly slurred as he wiped the blood from the injection off his wrist. He stared into the mirror at himself, disheveled and desperate.
The needle was exchanged for a toothbrush, then a hairbrush. Until eventually Zanka was in bed staring at the ceiling holding Lovely Assistaff close. It was too warm to be wearing so many blankets, but the weight was what kept him from clawing his eyes out. He curled around Assistaff, letting the comforting feeling of her wood soak into his skin. All he had been thinking about lately was Jabber as if the man had carved not just scars into his skin but a hole through his ribcage and into his heart.
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After Zanka was let off from his hiatus, it was back to missions as usual. Their current mission hadn’t been difficult per se, with all of Team Akuta, including Amo, who had insisted on tagging along on the supposedly easy mission. But the trash beasts happened to have more spider-like characteristics. Both Zanka and Riyo abhorred all manner of bugs, almost so much that it was a bonding point for them. Zanka moreso spiders and Riyo roaches. A fact that Enjin loved to rub in whenever he heard both of their loud screams when either one managed to sneak into the HQ, which was often.
The support had gotten sent back quite a bit by the spiders, which had begun to spray venom all around the makeshift arena. Gris would undoubtedly be pissed, but it was better than being burned alive by acid or whatever strange properties this venom had.
His feet planted onto the ground as he swung the staff forward, her jaws making quick work of the first beast and then the second, until piles of decaying trash lay around him. He had been left with Rudo to clean up the minions while Enjin and Riyo went to take on the big one. A vital instrument powered trash beast was nothing to laugh at, and Zanka trusted them even if he was a bit salty at being left with Rudo to clean up the leftovers. It made sense. Enjin knew their limits and what they were good at. Didn’t stop Zanka from wanting to do more, even if he knew it was selfish.
Riyo and Enjin were best suited for that. He was suited for crowd control. That was just how it was.
Lovely Assistaff eagerly smashed through the spider beasts, the spikes on her side sinking into the trash as it fell apart like paper. One by one they fell as if in an endless dance, each note ending with a burst of blue anima. A flash of violet caught his attention, allowing a spider to jump on him, its disgusting jaws closing around the main body of his jinki right above his face.
A shovel-turned-axe slammed into the spider, cutting it in half, the trash falling onto Zanka in a depressing heap. Rudo glared at him, communicating his annoyance with just his eyes alone. Zanka glared back, but his anger was directed more towards himself. Was he really that distracted that a trash beast could sneak up on him like that?
Then he heard the sound he had been waiting for. A portal, specifically one from the manhole raider opening right under Amo, who was trying to help Rudo. He moved before he could think; she was right next to him after all. Their bodies collided, knocking her away from the portal, leaving Zanka to fall through in her stead.
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Purple lamp light lit up the darkness of the empty cave, reflected off the small stream of sewage water rushing by from a broken drainage pipe. It was nothing like the perfect battleground in the stomach of the flying trash beasts with its bubbly poison. Jabber had long since deemed it boring, a completely average background to a fight that he was told would be quick. Cthoni would teleport some girl in with those boots Jabber had stolen before, which he was tasked with stealing again. The purpose of such a thing was beyond him, considering they had the boots not long ago. But who was he to question the boss?
The portal opened in front of him, blue, yellow, and green mixing together and bathing the room in colorful light. Soon something began to peek through the portal and Jabber activated Mankira's violent anima building before sharpening into silver daggers.
That was when something violently burst through the portal, and Lovely Assistaff landed on Jabber’s face with a sickening crunch as blood spurted from his nose. He was knocked back with Zanka landing on top of him as they both crashed into the wall with a heavy thud.
“Damn… My man, you pack a real punch.” Jabber mused his eyes, trying to focus on Zanka despite the ringing in his head and the thrilling agony in his, undoubtedly, broken nose. “You just love breaking my nose dont’chu… I’m not looking for you, though bad attitude.”
“So I ain’t good enough to fight you now?” Zanka growled, pressing Assistaff against the wall, her prongs caging in Jabber’s face. It was difficult to think when Zanka was right on top of him, caging him in in more ways than one.
Jabber grinned, eyes shining from the thrill of Zanka being so close and so aggressive. Blood continued to leak down his face, dripping off his chin and onto his chest, staining the fabric a dark crimson. He could see Zanka seething as warm hands wrapped around his cold neck, beginning to suffocate him. Mankira was settled on Zanka’s hips, tempting him to break skin and let Zanka’s blood mix with his own. But that would end the fight far too quickly.
With a laugh, he slammed his forehead into Zanka’s, knocking him off. Jabber stood up shakily, face contorted into a giddy smile as he reached up to pop his nose back into place.
It was still, silent save for the bubbling of the sewage water. Then they both lunged, Mankira and Assistaff clashing in a spray of sparks and a reverberating clang that echoed against the stone wall. Their fight echoed through the cave, clangs of metal followed by the cracks of blunt metal meeting skin or clothing ripping apart under blades.
A strangled whine left Jabber as one of Assistaff’s spikes sank into his shoulder, and Zanka used the sudden hold to throw Jabber into the sewage water. The greenish brown liquid stained red as Jabber rose to his feet, Mankira slowly shifting into her real form as his name etched itself into the blades. He could see Zanka’s smile from the darkness. He was enjoying this just as much.
“You get me going so good… really know how to get my blood flowing…” Jabber’s grin darkened as a giant claw raised and brandished directly at Zanka. “In more ways than one, Zan-Zan.”
The Cleaner’s face tightened in rage, but his ears still flushed that pretty red hue. He was mad, but he hadn’t been pushed to that perfect brink yet that Jabber wanted. There was a monster hidden deep in there, and he wanted to see every little cruel and vile thing Zanka could do without those stupid Hell Guards holding him back even now.
They went back and forth, the pace of their fight devolving into a violent game of who could get the first hit. Jabber knew to be aggressive; past fights with Zanka showed he was at his best when cornered. He was like a wild animal in that aspect; once cornered, it all came down to life or death.
It was a good fight, all things considered, until Mankira knicked his ankle where the Cleaner had left himself open while dodging. He crumpled like a doll with its strings cut as Jabber watched on with glee. Maybe it wasn’t enough to beat him to a pulp like the boss could, but it was a clear improvement. He had lasted a while against Mankira’s real form, which was saying something considering few people ever saw it and lived to tell the tale.
He hummed to himself, cold eyes staring down at Zanka before turning, waiting to see if another portal would open so he could get this job done and maybe get a little beating from Zodyl to finish him off. Mankira gradually shifted back to her smaller form as he stretched out, feeling the nasty bruises already blooming across his body.
A pop resounded through the room, sending a shiver down Jabber’s spine. He turned, catching sight of Zanka, who had risen to his feet, which in and of itself was a surprise, but the bigger surprise was how Zanka had dislocated his own arm. Popping it out of the socket to increase the range at which he could swing Assistaff. Jabber’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the look of cold, violent rage flash across Zanka’s face. The toxins numbed pain, Jabber knew that very well. It seems Zanka knew that, too willingly ignoring the blood staining his sleeve.
He lunged at Jabber, the dislocated arm allowing him much further range than usual as Assistaff swung for his head. Jabber moved Mankira to block the strike until he realized his head wasn’t the target, and Assistaff hit his knee with a wet crunch. He cried out, hitting the ground hard as he tried to breathe as the agonizing pleasure rushed through him. Zanka’s face shifted as a cruel laugh bubbled from his throat, one that he would usually try to hide.
It only took a second of Jabber being stunned for Zanka to suddenly jam a needle into his neck. Another for the purple-clad man to fully comprehend that the cleaner had somehow gained resistance to Mankira’s toxin and had used it against him. A final to realize that the toxin flowing through his neck was something new, something he didn’t have any sort of experience with. Then it all began to grow fuzzy as his legs gave out and his mind faded into a hazy mess.
The last thing he saw was the blurry, cold grin of Zanka leaning down to pick him up. God, it was hot.
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The smell of incense permeated the room, sinking through the fog of sleep as Jabber’s eyes cracked open and were met with a clean room, starkly different from the usual decaying mess of the Raider’s Base.
It was hard to see with the fuzziness still plaguing his vision but there was a warmth next to him, face just slightly out of sight. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was.
Everything hurt; that much was obvious from the bandages covering his body and the dull headache forming in the back of his head. It was hard to tell if the headache was from Assistaff or the drugs… probably both.
Zanka was too focused on his work to notice the violet eyes dissecting him. The soft cloth in his hand gently wiped away the stains from Mankira’s surface, his own blood, but she still deserved to be clean. Usually, it was reserved for Lovely Assistaff, but the other had drawn his blood so many times there was almost a sickly reverence for the rings. Just like her giver.
“Aren’t you a pretty thing without blood all over ya,” Zanka mumbled, stroking over the lukewarm metal in his hands. “I made sure to get you some polish. We’ll see how that treats you, hm?” He continued, voice slipping into almost a gentle croon that was reserved solely for vital instruments.
Some people found it creepy how he talked to Lovely Assistaff. It did reflect on the quality of the weapon, though. She always seemed to glow after Zanka complimented her, her wood taking on a beautiful sheen of pride. Now the same was true for Mankira, her metal sparkling a bit more under the gentle words.
“Zanka…? What are you doing…?” Jabber groaned, finally deciding that he had had enough of simply watching Zanka. He did enough of that already.
“Shh, go back to sleep. Ya ain’t walking off this one,” A gentle voice responded as Zanka’s hand moved down to trace over Jabber’s face.
“Really got me good, huh, Zan-Zan. Can’t say I’m not enjoying it.”
“I wasn’t exactly sure of your tolerance, so I had to do a bit of guessing,” Zanka replied, his eyes drifting from Jabber back to the task at hand. Blood was caked into the grooves of the rings. “There was a safety limit they told me, so I went a bit above it. You wouldn’t stop moving and reopening your wounds.”
“Damn- really tryna kill me now, aren’t you, baby? You guessed pretty well, though, for an amateur.” Jabber tried to hide the glee in his voice as he looked up at Zanka. For once, Mankira’s absence from his fingers didn’t burn. If anything, seeing her on Zanka’s fingers made his chest burn with a different kind of fire.
He didn’t even care that Zanka had kidnapped him and drugged him. If anything, it was thrilling that the other had finally succumbed to the darker desires hiding inside. Secretly, he was thrilled that the other was dipping his toes into his own passion. Their next fight would be deliciously good, especially if he could convince Zanka to lace his staff with poison.
“I mean, I got most of the good stuff back at base, I’ll have to bring it next time so we can cook up somethin real nasty.” The laugh bubbled out of him as he looked around the room, noticing the peeling wallpaper and the cracked window.
It was not just a little burner hideout like the few Jabber had around, it looked lived in as if Zanka had actually take the time to make it his own. His eyes were drawn to the book shelf, the incense burner sat on and the various things other than books on it. Namely, one of his missing loc rings, along with a bloodied scrap of his clothing.
There was silence for a few seconds. It was comfortable as Jabber.
“You won’t be leaving. Not until I beat it into ya that I’m the best opponent you’ll ever face.” Zanka muttered, his eyes flickering over to the cast over Jabber’s knee. The one he had broken.
“Always manage to surprise me each and everytime dont’chu Zanka?” Jabber mused as he sat up, hissing at the pain that shot through his knee. “Pegged you as more of the shy type. But, I guess even the most reserved people have their limits,” He continued, tone turning almost teasing, “Obsessive looks good on you Mr. Bad Attitude.”
The cleaner looked away, hiding the sudden heat on his face that spread to his ears, painting them in a soft shade of pink. Mankira was clean, polished even, yet he didn’t want to give her back. It felt like heaven to have a piece of Jabber’s soul resting so beautifully on his fingers.
‘Such a disgusting thing ta want to tear someone’s soul away just fer your own gain.’ He thought to himself, guilt eating away at him for just the thought alone. Assistaff being taken would destroy him, so how could he even think of doing that to Jabber?
“I brought you here cause you were injured. Nothin’ else. Can’t have you dyin’ on me so soon,” He hesitated, looking over to the side before whispering the last part, “‘Specially when you think I’m weak.”
“That’s what this is about, really?” Jabber huffed as he reached over to grab one of Zanka’s hands, his own fingers tracing over the rings decorating the cleaner’s hands, “'Cause I thought it was you finally getting your freak on.”
“I ain’t some freak like you-!”
“Then why am I in your house? In your bed? Cozied up under the covers like some couple.” Jabber teased with a grin as he leaned closer to Zanka’s face.
“I already told you it ain’t like that!” Zanka stuttered quickly, pulling away and almost falling out of the bed before being dragged back by Jabber.
“Yeah, yeah, deny it all you want, my man, but you did kidnap me.” The raider laughed before pulling Zanka closer, putting his face against the other’s chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. It was something he had seen other couples do, and he could admit it was nice to hear Zanka’s heart and know it was beating just as fast as his own.
A soft pink glow enveloped the rings as Zanka looked down, the poison-laced claws slowly slipping out, adding sudden weight to his fingers. The weight felt almost nice as he curiously moved a digit, watching as the metal bent with it.
“Go on Mr. Bad Attitude. Give me a little love.” The raider purred, grabbing Zanka’s hands and placing the daggers of Mankira against his neck. Only a little pressure and they would sink into the skin.
It was cold against his lips as he placed a kiss onto the cool metal, letting the sharp edge graze the soft skin. A bead of blood formed where the blade had caught, which stained against Jabber’s neck as his lips pressed against the soft skin.
“Pretty girl. Looks prettier on you, though.” Zanka mused, letting his breath fan over the Jabber’s neck, blue eyes tracing over Jabber’s flushed face.
The raider’s breath caught in his throat as he turned away, shielding his face with his hands. That warm fuzziness was back.
Seconds passed before hands grabbed his own, moving them away from his face. “Stop pretending to be bashful, it doesn’t suit ya.” Zanka began to take the rings off, slipping each one gently onto Jabber’s fingers.
It was stupid to give up this advantage, and the training engraved into him screamed to stop, to not give Jabber a weapon to escape. But it was a test. A test to see if Jabber would stay on his own, without other means.
“She looks beautiful on you,” Jabber muttered, refusing to elaborate any further before he grabbed Zanka’s hand, folding it over the final ring yet to be handed over.
The cool metal fit perfectly against Zanka’s ring finger. He smiled before bearing his fangs and sinking them into Jabber’s neck.