Chapter Text
Rudo hits him with the biggest watery puppy dog eyes and an apology before the door is even fully open. In the tense moments of steadying himself to open the door, Jabber has commandeered a pair of chopsticks from his silverware drawer and is systematically destroying the stir fry right out of the still-hot pan while Zanka answers the door.
“I’m sorry Zanka,” Rudo says, all one word like I’msorryZanka spilling out like he knows Zanka wants to wring his neck, “I know I’m interrupting your date or whatever, but um, I need that pain relief stuff I loaned you.” It's then that Zanka processes the rest of the scene: Rudo has both of his gloves off and cradled in his arms protectively, there’s an angry, deep red chemical burn on his fingertips, palms, one of his wrists. Over the dark, painful scars already covering his hands and arms. He can already tell what probably happened. Something corrosive splashed on or near 3R, and Rudo was so frantic to wash them off that he fucked up his hands even worse in the process.
“Were you fucking around with junk electronics again, dipshit?” Zanka asks, “I’ve told you a million times, those batteries get corroded in the landfill—“
“—I know, I know—“
“—And they fucking explode—“
“—I know, I shouldn’t have done it. I already told Enjin. I’m already in trouble, I just need something to deal with the pain until Eishia gets home.”
Zanka claps his hand across the back of Rudo’s neck and pulls him into the apartment, “Is no one else fucking home, I’m the only one you can bother…” His anger is abated somewhat by Rudo being both embarrassed and injured for his poor decision making. Zanka won’t give him too much shit. Probably.
“I said I was sorry! Everyone else went on a call!” Right. Of course. Everyone else was on call tonight. Even Eishia was at HQ.
“Come in, I’ll get the first aid shit,” Zanka says.
“I can do it…” Rudo whines. He then, inexplicably, waves shyly at Jabber across the room. Jabber waves back, big charming smile. Zanka watches Jabber’s eyes lock onto Rudo’s hands as he cradles 3R close. Zanka shoots Jabber a tight lipped don’t be fucking rude glare. Same as he would anyone staring at Rudo’s hands. Jabber blinks a few times like he’s dazed and goes back to picking all the shrimp out of his stir fry.
They have been smoking, so he probably is dazed. That’s all.
Rudo can definitely smell the weed and he’s definitely smirking about it a little. Rudo thinks there’s something a little funny about Zanka smoking and that pisses him off in a small, petty way. He cuffs Rudo lightly on the back of the head again as he goes to get the stupid first aid stuff for his hands.
Jabber giggles about it. Zanka really does like him.
When he gets back with the full spectrum of wound care in the apartment, Rudo cringes.
In the few moments he’s been gone, Jabber has coaxed Rudo over to a chair and is yapping his ear off. Rudo is as awkward as he always is with strangers, but he’s at least being somewhat polite in the face of Jabber’s rapid-fire conversation attempt. Zanka thinks this is a fine punishment for interrupting their evening, even if he gets a little twinge of jealousy over the fact that Jabber seems really interested in 3R.
He, in fact, lets Jabber continue to talk Rudo’s ear off, amused by watching Rudo try to parse Jabber’s runaway train of thought as he carefully disinfects and applies a topical steroid to Rudo’s hands. Rudo ruefully mutters, “I can do it Zanka, I’m not stupid.”
“Could have fooled me.” It comes out more fond than he means it to. Zanka has to help him get 3R back onto trembling hands. No way he could have done that alone without hurting himself worse.
Rudo glares, but there’s no heat to it. Their hearts just aren’t in it tonight. Jabber is watching every little interaction with careful attention.
“Thanks for the patch job, I guess. Sorry for interrupting you and your weird date.” Three years under his and Enjin’s tutelage and still no understanding of when to shut up. …Probably his fault, actually. Enjin is usually good at that.
“Ay!” Zanka snaps as he shepherds Rudo towards the door, “Your girl sniffs strangers in public, maybe don’t talk about weird dates.”
Rudo huffs, puffing up like he’s so big and bad, “Don’t call Amo ‘my’ gi—“ Zanka shuts the door in his face before this can become a real argument and eat up more of his evening.
“So that was Rudo, eh?” Jabber asks as Zanka rejoins him in the kitchen, “The one you’re really protective of?”
“I never said that. I said he was my first trainee so I have a soft spot.”
“I can read between the lines.” Jabber says. Zanka sort of crowds him against the kitchen island, one hand on either side of his waist—if nothing else, to keep him in one place.
He’s a little extra twitchy now, but Zanka doesn’t think he’s had time or opportunity to take anything stronger than weed they were sharing. So it must be something else. Is he nervous, maybe? Angry? He seemed pretty cool and collected before Rudo interrupted.
Plus. His loyalty to Riyo had been what cut their first encounter short.
“Is that gonna bother you? That I’m so close with my team?” He wouldn’t change that for anything, so he braces himself for the answer. Jabber seems to think it over for a moment longer than Zanka’s nervous system can handle.
“Nah. I don’t have a lot of people I fuck with like that,” Jabber admits. He glances over at the fridge where they’d had their strange little encounter, “But your friends seem fun. All Givers too, the cleaner shit is cool. I get it. It’s all good.You’re good.” Some tension in Zanka’s body (that he’s been channeling into holding Jabber still) bleeds away.
“It’s a good gig if you can get it.” It’s also one of the only viable career paths for somebody with his particular skill set. He’s real good at what he does, thank god.
“I bet. I ate something, like you told me to.” Jabber says, “Can we get back to what we were doin’?”
“I see that,” Zanka says. Jabber ate all the shrimp and left most of the vegetables. Whatever. A win is a win.
“Want me to take ‘Kira off?” Jabber puts his hand over Zanka’s heart, “I get it if you do. I fucked up last time. As long as I can keep her close.” His fingers flex. If Mankira were to come to the party, she’d slip right into his rib cage. It’s… a little threatening, but Zanka gets the idea. Be honest with me. With the both of us.
“Keep her on, if you want. Up to you. It’s all good.” He gets it. He often keeps Lovely close without even thinking about it. Just now she’s leaned up against the counter within arms reach. He regularly finds himself just carting her from room when he’s home and taking her on trips out even when he knows she can’t come inside certain places. If he could have her close always like Jabber has Mankira, he would.
Mankira is dangerous, and Jabber is unstable. He’d be dead before he hit the ground if Jabber wanted it so. If he were smart, if he had any self preservation instincts intact, he’d be taking every possible precaution with them.
But there’s only one genius in this room, and it’s certainly not Zanka. He intertwines his fingers with the hand over his heart and brings it up to his face. He presses his lips against the warm metal of one of Mankira’s rings and makes eye contact with her awestruck giver. Jabber shudders hard. His dagger sharp little canine teeth dig into his lower lip.
“I’m insane about you, man.” Jabber admits. It cuts right down to Zanka’s heart.
“I don’t understand why,” Zanka admits, “I’m really nothin’ special.”
“I don’t believe that shit,” Jabber says, “Been obsessed with powerful items and givers since I could talk. Get it from my mama.” He grins, “You’re something right at the edge of becoming something real special. Can feel it.” Zanka is certain he can feel the pure, raw energy pulsing around Mankira, but she does not fully manifest.
Zanka’s mouth goes dry.
“I wanna give you every fucked up, sadistic little thing you’ve ever wanted. Won’t even put up a fight this time. That’s kind of like a gift, right?” Jabber tells him, pressing his face into Zanka’s neck and breathing out a shaky little giggle, “How’s that sound, birthday boy?”
That sounds like an absolute dream. No, that sounds like coming in first place. A fucking win for once in his miserable life.
Zanka latches his hand around Jabber’s wrist pins his arm behind his back. He knows about how much pressure at what angle he would need to wrench back the skinny limb to pop it out of its socket. Zanka bends him face down over the kitchen island in a quick, concise movement—careful not to slam his face into the countertop too hard.
Zanka slaps him hard on the ass. Then again right between his shaking thighs. Zanka notices, for the first time really now that Jabber’s shirt has ridden higher up, that his tiny shorts say “NOT A LICENSED SCIENTIST” across the back.
Jabber, true to his word, doesn’t fight. Before Zanka can lose his nerve, he pulls Jabber’s shorts and boxers down to his knees and tries not to stare at the wet patch in his underwear. Jabber squirms, putting a little extra pressure on his straining arm and kicking his shorts rest of the way off, “Shit. You don’t even have to acknowledge that I’m here. I can just be a lil’ toy. Probably need to gag me if you wanna shut me up, though. Pretend ‘m just a warm hole for you to fuck. Take out allllll that pent up aggression you got up in there.”
Zanka leans in, fighting off a sudden tight feeling in his throat and a sour taste in his mouth to rest his forehead on Jabber’s upper back and shakes his head, “No, I need ya to talk to me, keep telling me what feels good. Gotta know you like it. I liked that part last time, you tellin’ me how good it was for you.”
The worst part, somehow, is that all of Jabber’s self-degrading dirty talk is absolutely getting Zanka’s dick hard. It’s his stupid, sappy heart that’s all tangled up over it.
Jabber yanks his arm out of Zanka’s weakening grasp and turns around to face him. He drapes his arms over Zanka’s shoulders and pulls him close.
“Oh yeah. Almost forgot you have a lil praise kink dontcha, Zanka?” There’s that purring, breathy pronunciation of his given name again.
Zanka shivers, and mumbles the truth into Jabber’s shoulder.
“Hm? Say ‘at again?” Jabber says. Zanka can hear the dumb smile on his face without even looking up.
“I said that ain’t the problem. I said I got a crush on you and I’ve never done this before,” he tells him, “I don’t want it soft or nothing like that, and I don’t need you to feel the same. I just. I need to feel like I’m doing this with you and not to you.” loser loser loser he’s gonna hate that he’s gonna hate you why the fuck did you say that why do you have to always ruin every good thing—
He watches several emotions play out on Jabber’s face, “Never?”
“That’s embarrassing. I should not have said that. I’ve just never been that interested? Before now?” Or was he just unwilling to inflict himself on another person like that. He withers, trying to sound less pathetic than he is, “I’ve done some stuff. I’m not a complete virgin. I can do this. I want to do this.”
Jabber trails a freshly and meticulously painted fingertip down Zanka’s forearm where it has him pinned to the counter, causing a shiver to zing through Zanka’s whole body, “Man, I don’t give a fuck. Sometimes sex for me is getting kicked in the stomach until I come in my pants. Why would I judge anybody for what they do or don’t get up to?”
“… I can’t believe that makes me feel better.”
Jabber shrugs, “For what it’s worth, I never really dated anybody. I can’t tolerate most people that long. My roommate says I a, uh, ‘low tolerance for frustration’ or somethin’ like that. This’ll be first for me too. But I want it. It makes some things easier for me, in fact. Got a lot of folks I associate with, and not a lot of friends. Gettin’ lonely. Gettin’ boring.” He nestles his face into Zanka’s neck. It’s cute for a moment, before he digs his sharp ass little teeth into the meat of Zanka’s shoulder and giggles about the undignified squawk Zanka makes. He rears back and half-heartedly punches Jabber in the shoulder—just hard enough to bruise. Jabber is still giggling as he scratches deep red marks down Zanka’s arm in response.
“Crazy fucker,” Zanka mumbles. What happened to not fighting him? He musters up the courage and upper body strength to toss Jabber over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It’s a little awkward, mostly because Jabber is tall and lanky and squirming in his grip, but Zanka manages to get him to the bedroom before dropping him without ceremony onto the bed. They’re fighting and they aren’t. Jabber refuses to make anything easy for him, but Zanka can tell he wants this. There’s a bare hunger in his eyes.
Jabber pulls off his shirt in one fluid motion but struggles a bit against his too tight binder. He recovers quickly though, and spreads his legs—slow and provocative.
“You left your girl in the kitchen,” Jabber reminds him.
Zanka blinks at him. He’s right, Lovely is stuck in the other room, “Guess I was distracted.” He mutters, “You’re a fuckin’ handful.”
Jabber cackles, “Yeah,” he waves Zanka off, “You can go get her. Bring me my shorts while ya at it. Left something fun in the pocket. Hop to it.”
Zanka sucks in a deep breath, “You got any fuckin’ manners?”
Jabber makes big, exaggerated puppy dog eyes (why are his eyes so big? is it to counteract how irritating he’s determined to be?) at Zanka and whines, “Pwease, Z—“
“Okay fine! Fine!” At least he’s still fully clothed, vs. a now entirely naked Jabber. He finds something a little appealing about the contrast, and it means he doesn’t have to do a walk of shame through his own apartment to retrieve Lovely and Jabber’s shorts. Even if he thinks about making Jabber do it himself, naked, just for being a little bitch about it.
He returns to find Jabber digging through his bedside table drawer. He doesn’t even stop or look a tiny bit embarrassed to be caught in the act. He just casually shuts the drawer when his attention snaps back to Zanka.
“Here,” Zanka says, tossing his shorts at him, “Quit looking through my shit without asking.”
“Oops. Sorry.” That one would almost sound sincere if Jabber weren’t splayed out on Zanka’s bed smirking at him. Though that might be because Zanka is staring and blushing at him like the virgin he technically is.
“What’d you bring that was so important? I have condoms.” They were an 18th birthday gift. He had to check the expiration date, but he had a couple years before this got really sad.
The stupidawful memories flood in without permission: His classmates’ snide remarks when they think he can’t hear—Zanka’s not into girls. Zanka’s a real late bloomer. Is something wrong with him? Do you think he’s, y’know? I think there’s something wrong with him. (Late at night Zanka thought about making them eat their teeth and got a little turned on for the first time in weeks. He never did anything about it.)
“And I haven’t had a period in like four years, man. Plus an implant, just to be certain. Do with that what you will.”
He goes to rest Lovely against the wall but Jabber pats the space beside him on Zanka’s bed expectantly. Zanka carefully places her by Jabber’s side.
“Right. What fun thing did you leave in your pocket, then?” Zanka asks. He walks around to the side of the bed and stands over him.
“It’s a secret tool that’ll help us later,” Jabber says.
“Jabber.”
“Fiiiiine,” Jabber pulls something from the pocket and palms it to him. He stares at it in the low lamp light of his bedroom.
It’s a pocket knife. A silver blade with a pearlescent black handle. Just big enough to feel dangerous but easy to conceal.
“You can mark me up all you want. If you’re into knives. I bet you are,” Jabber hums, “You think you’re the only one who can get a gift on short notice? Even sterilized the blade, ‘cause you seem like you’d care about that sort of thing.”
“O-oh. Thank you?” Zanka mutters, stunned for a moment, “I, uh. Might have to work up to that, but…” Jabber’s right. He’s into it. He places the knife down on his bedside table—well within reach if he decides to use it.
“I trust your instincts, man,” Jabber says with a shrug, “You should try it some time.”
Zanka takes a deep breath. He doesn’t exactly force Jabber facedown onto his bed, but Jabber is hardly helping by the time Zanka has one hand on the back of Jabber’s neck to pin him in place. He props one knee on the bed to get in closer and land a hard, satisfying smack against Jabber’s upper thigh.
“Hands behind your back. I want to see ‘im.”
“Aww. Zanka. Just flirting with ‘Kira, aren’tcha?”
He feels a sharp sense of longing that seems to come from just beyond himself.
“Mmhm. That’s all.” Zanka says.
He finds the spots that Jabber likes the best quickly, spanking him until the other man starts to visibly shake beneath him. Jabber moans openly into Zanka’s freshly changed sheets. Zanka remembers the hours of panic cleaning he did earlier, Riyo sitting on his floor to motivate him to clean even if he can’t stand it when she actually tries to help. He channels the embarrassment that blooms from thinking about his mild-but-persistent depression bedroom into what he’s doing here: trying to make sure Jabber thinks about him every time he has to sit down for the next month.
He hopes Jabber sends him pictures of these bruises too. Even if he’ll see them in person this time. ‘Hopefully. You could still fuck this up,’ something nasty within him helpfully reminds.
The harder he hits, the better the sounds coming from Jabber hit him right back. After his anatomy lesson in the kitchen, Zanka watches the way Jabber’s dick twitches and begs for attention.
Jabber buries his face into Zanka’s pillow and mumbles something into it that Zanka can’t quite hear properly.
“Hm? Say ‘at again?” Zanka says, just a little teasing as he strips down and climbs into the bed behind Jabber.
Zanka gets his arm beneath his chest and lifts him so he has nowhere to hide. Jabber is flush-faced and tearing up. He twists his head violently just to make eye contact with Zanka. He somehow manages to look taunting with tears in his eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.
“…said thank you…” Jabber babbles as he shifts back in Zanka’s grasp just enough to feel Zanka’s cock hard against his thigh, “Feels good, want it, want you.”
The last scraps of self constraint that Zanka has held to so far crumble. He flips Jabber over onto his back, and the shaky desperation in Zanka’s every movement seems to have him dumbfounded for a moment.
He tries to calm down and start slow, but the moment Jabber feels him try to press a few fingers into his cunt he reaches down and slaps the offending hand away. Zanka grabs Jabber’s wrist and holds it tight, “Thought you had manners there for a second. Guess I was mistaken, that’s on me. You want something? Gonna make you ask for it.” That odd, far away longing hits again. He pushes Jabber’s hand closer to his Assistaff and Jabber loosely wraps his hand around Lovely to drag her closer. When all five rings on that hand start digging into her body, maybe just hard enough to leave a mark, that slightly distant desire is satisfied.
‘Alright Lovely,’ Zanka thinks, ‘I’ll fight off the fear of letting anyone touch you for a guy that could snap you like a twig. Just because you think his rings are pretty. You really are a slice of my soul, huh?‘ Anima weeps out of every groove in Lovely’s stem and through Mankira’s rings.
Jabber wraps his free arm around Zanka’s neck and drags him closer, “Want you to fuck me up. Want everything you got. No holding out on me. Please,” he whispers as Zanka steadies his hips and tries to find the proper position to give Jabber everything he wants. No condom. Fuck it. Jabber arches into him, looking and sounding now as desperate as Zanka feels.
Zanka tries to fuck into him but fumbles slightly, his cock sliding hard against Jabber’s dick in a way that still makes him whimper. Jabber wordlessly reaches down to help him fix the angle. He mutters something that, to Zanka, sounds suspiciously like, “Knew it was big but damn,” just before Zanka manages to spear him straight down to the hilt. He watches Jabber’s cunt stretch to accommodate him. Even as turned on as Jabber is, he can tell the lack of preparation has the intended effect: It hurts.
Zanka sets a brutal pace, determined not to let the other man down now.
Jabber cackles. His laughter is strangely infectious but Zanka keeps a mostly straight face right up until an involuntary clench has Jabber nearly smack him with his own staff. Then they’re both giggling even as Zanka never falters at fucking him into the mattress. This feels so much less serious than he’d worried over, and still yet completely life altering.
Jabber’s legs come up around his hips and he thrusts back up against him each time. Zanka buries his face into Jabber’s neck and makes his mark there too. Lovely fits snugly between their chests as Mankira scratches against her surface. Jabber clings to the both of them like he’ll be unmoored otherwise.
He’s not even particularly impressed with his own stamina until he feels Jabber clench up tight around him as he comes. He doesn’t stop. Jabber loses his grip on lovely and clutches her tight to his chest like a doll. He doesn’t stop. Another orgasm, he thinks, but just a little one this time. He doesn’t stop.
Jabber looks over at the knife he’d brought to Zanka expectantly. Zanka stalls out for a moment.
“You sure know the way to a guy’s heart, doncha Z?” Jabber pants. Zanka nods. Jabber lays Lovely off to the side and puts his hands up by his head in mock surrender. Zanka knows what he wants, and he already knows he’s going to get it. With trembling hands (and without entirely pulling out) Zanka retrieves the knife and settles on his knees with Jabber’s hips in his lap.
The blade gleams between them even in the low bedside lamplight. Jabber is panting, silently begging for more more more as Zanka drags the tip of the knife slowly over Jabber’s chest. He stops right above where Jabber’s heart beats.
“What’re you supposed to say, Jabber?” Zanka teases. Maybe he’ll get one more please and/or thank you out of him before this is over.
But Jabber blinks up at him like he has no idea what he’s supposed to say, “Good boy,” Jabber settles on. Close enough for Zanka. A breathy moan slips from the man beneath him. Zanka slices a thin ‘X’ into Jabber’s chest, right over his heart. Bright red blood seeps out around the blade and Zanka stops breathing for a second. A few drops of blood pool in Jabber’s clavicle and few more trail down his almost nonexistent cleavage. (…It seems like Jabber binds his chest extremely tight for someone with A-cups at most. Is that normal? Should he be concerned about that? Zanka files the thought away for later because if he interrupts this moment to ask a stupid question, Jabber might actually just fucking murder him.)
Something about the sudden sight of blood gives Zanka the instinctual impression that he’s gone too far again. It’s easier to ignore when Jabber is in such obvious bliss. He pulls Zanka down and kisses him hard, like he doesn’t give a single fuck about the blood smearing between them. Zanka spares a thought to his ruined sheets before he chases his own high and fucks Jabber in earnest once again.
It doesn’t take long for his orgasm to creep up on him, not while he’s staring at Jabber’s bloodied chest as he whimpers out little half-formed praises to stroke Zanka’s ego.
Jabber’s legs lock around his hips just before he comes, which does eliminate the need to ask if he should pull out.
For a moment they just cling to each other. Jabber seems beyond satisfied with his bloodied chest and bruised ass as he lets Zanka pull out.
“I don’t really like all that kissin’ and huggin’ right after,” he admits, still breathing hard, “Other times is fine but right after fucking it feels like an apology and it’s just weird.” Zanka backs up to give space, “I want to stay in your bed though. I don’t want to leave,” he adds, something raw in his voice like there’s a real chance Zanka will kick him out for not wanting to cuddle. Zanka is even more convinced that someone has gotta die for the way Jabber has been treated.
“That’s okay,” Zanka tells him, “Is there anything you do want to do?” This is still a date, isn’t it? Zanka’s pretty sure you’re supposed to take care of somebody after sex, particularly rough sex, but it makes sense that Jabber gets to define what that looks like.
Jabber thinks about it for a moment, “I want to eat cake and watch a fucked up movie.”
“Okay. Yeah. We can do that.” Zanka feels a little wobbly when he stands, and he’s not even the one who’s bruised and bloodied, “I have a bunch of DVDs. Most of ‘em in Japanese with subtitles but if I remember correctly, that’s not a problem for you is it? There’s some horror in there, I know.” He pulls on his discarded boxers but doesn’t bother with the rest of his clothes.
Jabber grins, “I want the cake slice that says ‘asshole’ on it,” he opens Zanka’s bedside drawer and retrieves the alcohol wipes that Zanka keeps in there, “Ooh do you that one movie where a dude keeps a mermaid in his bathroom while all her skin melts off?”
“…No, Jabber. I don’t have any of the Guinea Pig movies on DVD.” That’s the kind of shit he’s only ever watched bits and pieces of—purely out of morbid curiosity, of course—on his laptop in the dead of night when he’s sure that no one else is awake.
Jabber clicks his tongue, “Too bad.”
———
Later, when they’re sitting side-by-side on Zanka’s couch watching Audition while Jabber dissects his cake and eats it layer by layer, he suddenly decides that physical contact is fine again and leans his head onto Zanka’s shoulder. He cleaned up the shallow cuts on his chest himself, and Zanka can’t stop glancing over at them.
“Thanks for the cake,” Jabber mutters softly, never taking his eyes off the simulated torture on screen.
“You’re welcome,” Zanka says, ignoring how pathetic it is that he’s already this in love.