Work Text:
“Even if you’re the only one that gets me like this,” Jabber’s tongue peeks out of his mouth, running the tip along the blood trail dripping down his nose,
“It won’t stop me from fighting other people, Zanka!”
Zanka’s not sure why he’s thinking about Jabber’s words so much. That fight was about a week ago now, not exactly old enough to be shelved but definitely not recent either. He’s laying in his bed, staring up at the concrete ceiling as the air vents whir in the background. He has a full day tomorrow, he knows he’s being sent out to deal with a smaller clean up— a few premature trash beasts have been lingering around a town near the outer edges, so he’d been assigned to go deal with it. Regardless of how easy the task, he should rest, but he can't seem to close his eyes.
The time is ticking by, the clock in his room ticking with every second. Typically, he doesn’t even notice the sounds of his room around him, but tonight he’s far too aware. It’s driving him crazy.
His limbs still feel like lead, his wounds are still tender to the touch, but Zanka lets his thumb rub against them anyway. His lip is still recovering from the nasty bruise Jabber left behind, and his words ring in his head once more.
“It won’t stop me from fighting other people, Zanka!”
Thinking about it makes his skin crawl. Zanka doesn’t know why he feels like this, like his insides are curling in on themselves, eating itself alive. He remembers when Jabber first said that, how he felt his vision go white in rage as he just kept swinging. It’s like something awoke in him— carnal, angry, posessive— but Zanka is well aware that he shouldn’t feel any emotion towards the guy, so why does he feel so awful at just the thought of him with someone else?
His hands curl in on themselves, nails digging into the palm of his hand, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. He hates this, how just thinking of Jabber with his hands all over someone else with so much vigour makes him want to retch. He knows he shouldn’t feel this, he and Jabber aren’t… anything. There’s no label for what they are. They are not enemies, but they’re not companions— Jabber gets in the way of any task the Cleaners have, so it’s not as if Zanka is on good terms with the guy. None of the Cleaners are especially fond of the Raiders.
But this isn’t fondness, it’s the opposite… maybe? It hurts Zanka’s head to think about. He doesn’t want to be soft-edged for Jabber, but he doesn’t want Jabber to let anybody else lay a hand on him, it’s jealousy, somewhat. Zanka isn’t jealous of Jabber because of his skill, or his natural genius, and especially not because of how easily he both gets into and wins the fights he starts. It’s something simpler, but hard to swallow, Zanka chokes on the thought.
He doesn’t want competition.
That’s it. Jabber is talented, almost genius— no, he is a genius— so it would be a lie to deny that Zanka doesn’t get a special thrill out of the idea that Jabber is fighting him. The fact that Zanka, despite how pitifully he may see his talents at times, is the object of Jabber’s attention, affection, and oddly enough, approval, gets his heart thumping harder than it should.
Because he wants that approval so badly, the notion that he’s worthy of being a Genius’s preferred opponent. It’s what makes Zanka’s blood run cold at the idea of Jabber’s hands all over somebody else, bruises and blood left behind from somebody else’s talents—
What if Jabber grows bored of him?
It isn’t exactly unknown that amongst the Cleaners, he doesn’t exactly hold himself in high regard. Of everybody, he finds his talents to be the most in need of sharpening, the most desperate to be evolutionized. The fact that Jabber chooses him feels… temporary in the face of competition, like Zanka is his boytoy until he finds a new boy to break.
Zanka shudders, he doesn’t even want to think about being thrown aside like scrap metal.
Zanka wants approval, more than he’ll admit it to anybody, especially to someone like Jabber. The guy would probably laugh like a maniac if he knew, all taunting with the fact that ‘The Zanka Nijuku’ is so supposedly desperate for him.
Zanka lets out a sigh, it’s a hassle to drown so deep in his insecurities that he seeks the pleasurable rush of validation from someone like… that. But still, the realization of his feelings, the half tapped closure, lets him lull off to sleep.
__________
Zanka wakes up the next morning more fatigued than he should be. He dresses, gets a quick breakfast, and heads out with the expectation he’ll be done before the afternoon sun rises.
He was terribly mistaken in that assumption.
The beasts are no hassle, he’s able to clear them with ease, but with every one he slaughters a growing tension grows in his gut. Something is wrong here, terribly wrong, but he can’t lay his finger on what it is. There’s something— or rather— someone— watching them, observing. Zanka can feel their gaze even if he can’t see it, and once he slaughters the final beast, he lets his eyes rake over the horizon to find… nothing.
There’s nobody there, nobody he can see at the very least. He lets his shoulders relax, his breathing even, and he listens when Follo calls out to him to get into the car.
As he walks, trudges just a few feet behind, he feels a hand grab onto his clothes from behind.
Before he can process it, he’s pulled into the manhole before he can make a sound.
“I missed you, Zan-ka!”
Zanka falls backwards onto the debris littered floor, underground in a place he recognizes all too well. Jabber always seems to pull him into fights in a building of this nature, deep enough underground that his ComuCollar tethers off at any attempt to communicate with HQ. Maybe Jabber gets some sick satisfaction out of it only being the two of them.
It’s more intimate that Zanka will admit.
He looks up, Jabber staring down at him with the same crazy eyed smile he always does, gleaming in delight. There’s nobody else here, not Cthoni either, and that means that this is typical: they are truly alone, unbound to anyone but each other.
“I wanna fight!” Jabber says happily, like a kid demanding a toy in a display case, “Show me you’ve improved since last time!”
It’s only been a week, Zanka bites back from admitting that he doesn’t imagine there’s been any. There’s a greater part of him, an honest part of him, an exhausted one, that just wants to leave.
So he lays there, limp to the bone, looking up. Is this an admittance of defeat? Maybe he should think so, but he hasn’t made any moves, so he supposed the fight never began.
Jabber looks down at him expectantly, his smile feathering off into a frown.
“I don’t want to do this today,” Zanka’s voice is quiet as he says it, yet the emptiness of the room makes it echo regardless, “Let me go, Jabber.”
Now, Zanka isn’t stupid, he doesn’t expect Jabber to go without at least a little bit of knuckle to jaw action, but Zanka doesn’t care. His hands hold firm on his Assistaff, yet make no moves to use her, his thumbs running circles against the wood.
“But why?” Jabber asks, and it’s genuine. There’s confusion laced into his expression, as if he can’t fathom why Zanka wouldn’t want to take any opportunity to rock him unconscious.
But Zanka is tired, so tired, and there’s a greater part of him that’s almost a little angry. Who does Jabber think he is, fighting whoever he likes and coming to Zanka when he needs a pick-me up? It irritates him to the bone, but his expression remains stoic.
He’s tired of letting his thoughts crash like waves in his mind, thinking when he’d be good enough for Jabber to only have eyes on him, if he’d ever be good enough.
Jabber stares down at him still. The silence stretched between the both of them, irises locked in on each other.
“It’s no fun to fight if it isn’t you,” Jabber breathes, something tender in his tone, “You’re the only one who really hurts me.”
Zanka hums, ignoring the way his heart feels heavy in his chest. Jabber puts Mankira away, bending his knees and sitting cross legged on the floor, his face closer now.
“Why don’t we fight?” Jabber asks again, softer, more inquisitive.
“You can always fight someone else.” Zanka shoots back, almost a little snippy, jealousy seeping through the edges. What he means to say, if he wasn’t so uptight, is—
I want your eyes on me, asshole.
Jabber’s response is immediate, “But nobody compares to you.”
“Then why,” Zanka breathes, walls cracking just a little, “Do you need other people?”
Jabber thinks for a moment, “It’s fun.”
Zanka holds back a scoff, “Am I not fun enough for you?”
Jabber shakes his head, “You’re the funnest! Fighting others reminds me how fun it is to fight you…” his voice tips off, lips tugging into a smile, “You’re the only one who makes me feel like this, Zanka.”
His voice is low, intimate, almost sultry, it makes Zanka’s heart hammer.
“What the hell does that mean?” He spits out instead, ignoring how he can feel the heat under his skin, hoping Jabber doesn’t notice the warmth clawing onto his face.
“It means…” Jabber leans down closer, so close Zanka can almost feel his hot breath against his nose, “How boring others are reminds me of how much I need you, Zanka.”
That’s clear, clearer than Zanka was anticipating, and he feels his throat go dry.
“Oh…”
It’s all he can manage to say, fingers thrumming against Lovely Assitaff.
Jabber’s smile grows even more teasing, “Why? Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Zan-Ka.”
Jabber reads him like a book, it honestly pisses him off. Zanka can’t deny it, he knows that Jabber will catch on and that’ll lead to more teasing that he can take, so he just averts his gaze, “Yeah.”
“Mhmmmm…” Jabber’s so teasing, almost full of himself, it really should piss him off.
But he’s close, way too close, and Zanka can feel him lean closer, “Would you feel better if we had something only we did?”
His breath catches in his throat, his expression says yes before he can, and Jabber giggles as he leans down.
“You’re so cute, Zanka.”
Their lips connect, slow and easy, less violent or demanding than anything they’ve ever done. They’re like that for a moment, Jabber’s tongue running softly against the edges, lips slightly ajar to invite Zanka in.
It’s hot, hotter than it should be, and Jabber smiles into his mouth, softer and steadier than Zanka would ever expect.
Jabber pulls back just as quick as he pulled in, and Zanka holds back a whine. He can feel the flush on his cheeks, the way the heat of his skin runs down his collar.
“It’s weird to kiss upside down,” Jabber jokes, and Zanka’s breath hitches as Jabber asks,
“Wanna kiss right side up?”
Zanka’s already stumbling, sitting up properly so he’s face to face. Pride be damned, he’s already grabbing Jabber’s face and pulling him closer.
It’s moments like these where Zanka is glad that Jabber always pulls him so far from everyone else so they can spar. It’s only the two of them, an intimate plane where only they exist. In this realm, where Jabber is whimpering with glee into his mouth, he is allowed to be as pathetic as he likes. Admitting that he’s enjoying this doesn’t feel like a swivel of needles cracking into his skin, but rather, a natural fact being confirmed.
He has always liked Jabber, it’s just harder to admit when he’s stuck in bed at Cleaners HQ at 4 in the morning.
Jabber’s grasping onto his clothes, breathing heavily as Zanka’s tongue glides into his parted mouth. They’re messy, just a bit more than they should be, and their teeth graze against each other's tongues— desperate to leave a bruise.
They can barely help themselves, and it only makes it hotter.
They keep kissing, soft and steady, but the gentle nature feathers in and out like waves as they get more desperate, clawing at each other.
Jabber’s the one that pushes them down, hands gripped tight against Zanka’s collar as he moans into his mouth, slotting his hips against Zanka’s thigh.
Zanka holds back a groan as Jabber rolls his hips, grinding his hard on against his thigh, biting against his lip in pleasure,
“Zanka…” he whimpers, pulling their lips apart only to gasp out a moan as Zanka pushes his thigh upward, “Fuck—!”
It would be a lie to say Jabber doesn’t look cute like this, his eyes screwed shut as his mouth hangs agape with every hitched gasp. Zanka’s own erection strains heavy against his pants, dick twitching with every slide of Jabber’s cock against him.
“Zanka—“ he whimpers out desperate, thrusts growing in speed as his grip gets tighter, “Zanka I’m gonna—“
He hiccups out a whine as Janka pulls him by his ComuCollar, sucking against his lips as he orgasms, cum staining through the layers of fabric.
Jabber’s chest is heaving, breathing weighted and desperate as Zanka pulls him closer, Jabber’s weight atop of him. Jabber shivers in delight at feeling Zanka’s clothed cock grind against him, hips twitching despite his attempt at self control.
Jabber rolls over, parting their lips once more as Zanka audibly whines this time, hands trying to reach for him, bringing him back closer.
Instead, Jabber lets his hands make way to Zanka’s pants, pulling them down and wrapping his fingers around Zanka’s cock, scooping up his precum for a wet slide.
Zanka’s head tips back, biting back a desperate moan of pleasure as his hips buck up, thrusting into the warmth of Jabber’s hand. Distantly, he pervertedly wonders how warm Jabber’s insides would be.
It doesn’t take long for him to come undone, just a few strokes before he’s prematurely shooting his load, staining the dirty floors.
Zanka’s really glad nobody can reach him right now.
Jabber smiles, licking Zanka’s cum off his hand before letting his tongue drag along the tip of his cock, sucking off the excess.
Zanka’s mind almost goes static at the pleasure, he holds back how desperate he is for Jabber’s lips around his cock when he finally pulls away.
Zanka lays there for a minute, chest heaving as Jabber lays next to him, curling into his shoulder, pulling up his pants with one hand.
“Was that good?” Jabber teases, voice still airy, “Does that prove you’re special?”
Zanka, despite being given the best orgasm of his life, still finds way to be snippy,
“Oh shut up.”
__________
“You’re in quite the good mood.”
Zanka had come back unscathed, Jabber had the decency to convince Cthoni to teleport Zanka back to the surface even if not right to HQ. The others had worried about him, Follo getting especially exasperated at how Zanka had supposedly disappeared without a trace, cursing those ‘Damn Raiders’ under his breath.
People had fussed, but once they realized he was okay, he was sent off to wash up and go about his day as he pleased. Cleared from any more missions, he showered, bit back his moans as he jerked off to the thought of Jabber’s warm lips on his dick, and dressed into his night clothes before heading off to dinner.
Riyo had been there too, hence they’re now sitting at a table together, and she’s looking at him expectantly.
Zanka averts his gaze, hoping she doesn’t catch onto the crimson covering his ears.
“… Yeah. I guess I am.”