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Scaling the building, even ignoring that pesky receptionist’s all-seeing eyes, isn’t actually that hard once you’ve gotten your fingers on the windowsill.
Jabber grins as his claws latch under the window to the Cleaners’ HQ Infirmary, pulling up the glass with a practised ease belonging only to a burglar such as himself. It’s so typical of the overconfident Cleaners not to bother with security like locking windows– but it makes Jabber’s job just a little bit easier.
He slips into the room, careful not to let his jewellery or hair accessories catch on the window frame. His current object of affection is still asleep, after all, and it wouldn’t do to wake him.
With nimble steps he approaches the bed, where Zanka’s breaths are slow and even, completely different from the last time he saw him. The boy’s eyes are closed, long eyelashes contracting against his pale skin– so pale, in fact, he looks rather sickly.
A smile stretches across Jabber’s face. It means that Zanka, no matter if his wounds have been healed or not, still has a little bit of his poisons, a little bit of him running through his veins. And that, more than anything, brings him a sort of ecstasy he hasn’t been able to experience since that fight.
“Just look at you,” Jabber coos, pulling up a seat beside the bed, “Wonder what you’re dreaming of now…”
Jabber hopes it’s him. He hopes that Zanka’s living that moment again, the moment when Jabber had pinned him down and shoved his claws into his mouth and Zanka had bitten down, his eyes so full of hatred they almost glowed. He feels his cheeks heat up just thinking about it. What he would give to do that again, to see Zanka seething with rage underneath him…
He takes a deep breath, the smile on his face growing wider with the exhale. He shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, but seeing Zanka again has reignited something within him that he hasn’t felt in some time.
Greedy fingers reach out to touch the boy, ghosting over his jugular. He wants to slash it, wants to activate his claws and impale him, skewering him and the mattress underneath onto his claws.
He refrains. He wants Zanka alive when he kills him, wants to see the light in his eyes fade as he bleeds out, the taste of the cleaner’s blood rich and warm on his tongue.
Jabber, struggling to contain himself, withdraws his hand into one of his pockets, pulling out the first bit of his special delivery. It’s small, but it took him a long time to carve, and the bones of animals can be brittle. There’s also the matter of the marrow, but while making his little gift, Jabber was sure to suck it out.
No point in wasting food, after all.
So, with ginger touches so as not to disturb his lovely patient, Jabber slips on the engraved ring to the finger of Zanka’s non-dominant hand– Jabber’s quite proud of his research for that one. A tradition usually observed in the western regions, a ring on the Digitus IV represents an eternal bond with the one you love… and isn’t that just perfect?
“You’re so quiet,” Jabber sighs, pleased to see the ring is a perfect fit, “You’re so much better when you’re angry.”
Of course, he likes Zanka in every state– the way he seems to struggle just to live is so very attractive, like how one observes trash beasts in the wild as they battle for survival every day out in the Dead-Man’s Lands. Zanka’s entire story seems to be one big trainwreck, if the intel he’s been slowly gleaning from retracing the boy’s steps is anything.
His sister, a commander of the Hell Guard… his family, prestigious and uptight– clearly, that’s where he gets that high-and-mighty attitude from, isn’t it? It’s clear he’s someone who grew up in quite a bit of comfort before it all went to shit, and Janka can’t help but be enamoured with someone who’s fallen so high off their horse.
Especially when considering that since that fall, there’s been nothing but trouble for him. A Giver, in a family so very openly against them, a child soldier who might as well be dead to the life he knew before. A hard-working child, a prodigy, even, but one who seems fixated on how far they have to go, rather than how far they’ve come…
From what Jabber knows, Zanka’s the type of person who will die fighting. Now, Jabber’s simply making sure that he gets to be the one to drive the knife through his chest.
With another happy sigh, he pulls away, admiring the polished bone on his Zanka’s finger. It suits him, the pale colour, and just knowing that the very origin of the material is enough to send giddiness running through his arteries like a drug.
He’s so happy to be able to give his Zanka something special– somethings special, he’s reminded, as he pulls out the square box of treats from his other pocket. He came prepared, of course, because that’s what you do when someone’s in the hospital. You give them gifts to help them get better.
At least, that’s what he’s heard. Jabber’s always the one putting others in the hospital, not really visiting. But Zanka’s special, so he’s going to do something special for him. That’s a vow he’ll proudly honour.
Jabber happily places the sweets on the table beside the boy– the small box comes with a little handwritten letter tucked inside, informing Zanka about the risky nature of the chocolates.
But Zanka seems like the person to like a little gamble. So, one of the nine heart-shaped chocolates has a paralytic in it that lasts a whole day, mixed with a full-body numbing agent for maximum dysphoric affect. The rest are sweet and lovely little treats picked up from some of the uptown markets in the southern regions.
A fun, harmless little game that’s sure to leave a lovely impression with his toxin-making skills.
“Hope you enjoy those ones,” He mumbles, leaning over to gaze upon Zanka’s unconscious form. He’s gone through all the trouble to get here from out under Zodyl’s nose, so he’s merely making the most of his visit.
While sleeping, his face looks quite tense. Jabber wonders if Zanka’s thinking of him. He must be, right? Jabber has to haunt his dreams by now. Jabber knows Zanka’s a frequent occurrence in his dreams.
Unable to hold back his curiosity, Jabber runs a finger over the boy’s lips, and smiles as he feels how dry they are– the dehydration must be getting to him after over a fortnight of recovery, and it’s an oh-so pleasurable sight to see. He can feel the remnants of a balm, but it clearly hasn’t done much for the unfortunate cleaner.
With a fond roll of his eyes, Jabber turns around, planning to make a quick and easy escape, but stops in his tracks as he feels the pin in his pocket rub against his leg.
Oh– he nearly forgot! There’s one more, a final little gift for his precious, precious Zanka, and the fact that he nearly forgot it is quite astounding, given that this one is designed to connect them until they rot together in the depths of the Dead-Man’s Lands.
A ring is barely enough to say ‘forever’. It’s temporary, really, and can be taken on and off at will and if Jabber knows Zanka, the boy will remove it the first chance he gets.
The screw in his hands– carved, again, from bone– is simply a preventative measure, he believes. A little something to ensure that Zanka never, ever tries to leave him, so he can never even think of anyone but him.
Zanka must already know he’s his by now, but Jabber can’t resist the idea of having just that little extra to really drive the point home. He’s never been one for subtlety, nor is he a liar. Jabber considers himself someone rather sincere– and what’s more sincere than an honest gesture from the heart?
Loving touches trace down from Zanka’s forearm, slowly trickling down to his calloused palms and circling around the boy’s ring finger. Jabber had this engineered quite meticulously, actually– a gem-tipped pin made of bone, too thin to pull out once secured into the cavity carved into the ring on Zanka’s finger.
It had taken quite a few tries to get the design just right, and sourcing the tiny, purple gem was a task for quite nimble fingers, but it will certainly be worth it. Jabber hums excitedly as he levels the pin in the right spot– it won’t pass through bone, but in just the right spot for it to secure tightly and never let go…
Zanka’s going to wake up when he does this, of course, and Jabber’s already buzzing with anticipation at the thought of the other boy’s cry, shocked and in pain. It’ll be the loveliest sound he’ll hear for quite some time, but he knows it’ll only be a few short seconds of getting to savour the sound before the other little cleaners come scurrying in.
But, of course, Jabber will have already claimed his boy by then, so there’s really not that much of a loss.
“I hope you like it, Zanka…” Jabber coos, placing his thumb over the head of the pin and suppressing an excited shiver. “You’ll be mine forever, now.”
With a giddy smile, he presses his thumb down quickly, forcing the pin through Zanka’s skin– and the accompanying shriek is like music to his ears.
The sound that’s torn out of Zanka’s throat is breathy and closer to a wheeze than anything, but it sounds so agonsied that Jabber thinks he won’t be able to think of anything else for the next few nights.
He turns to Zanka, whose eyes, now barely open and bloodshot, glimmer with an anger Jabber’s been craving for weeks. He’s furious, upset, confused– but most importantly, he’s looking at Jabber, which means he’s the victor here.
“Morning, my dear Zanka,“ Jabber smiles, and the look he gets in return is irresistible. Zanka licks his red-raw lips into a scowl, showing off some impressive canines that Jabber wonders can pierce flesh.
Wouldn’t it be lovely for Zanka to have a bit of him, and he to have a bit of Zanka? That sounds a little like love, actually, and Jabber might just be a little lovesick.
He can’t help himself as he lunges up to the head of the bed, sliding onto Zanka’s lap and grabbing his hair to slam his head back onto the mattress, even as Zanka growls angrily and his one functional hand makes a move to tangle itself in his dreadlocks. There might be a tugging, maybe some hisses and a scratch, but Jabber doesn’t care.
Why would he, when he’s able to easily press their mouths together from this position?
“You– mph!”
Jabber knows immediately that he made the right choice letting his greed keep him around for a little longer. Zanka tastes so, so good. Jabber can taste the remnants of medicinal balms on his lips, the bitterness of his saliva, and the sheer anger radiating off of his boy.
The hand in his hair tightens, all of a sudden, and it’s to Jabber’s sheer delight that he feels a tongue lick at the seam of his lips. Zanka’s saying, with the hatred in his eyes and the nails in his Jabber’s scalp that he’s reciprocating, that despite his haughty appearance is just as crazy as Jabber himself.
Not that that’s news to Jabber. It’s just nice to see Zanka finally coming to his senses, honestly. And as a reward for that, Jabber opens his mouth a little, and lets Zanka roughly shove his tongue inside.
Zanka’s quite aggressive with the way he licks around Jabber’s mouth, matching every move that Jabber makes with twice as much ferocity but half as much expertise. Jabber’s never eaten someone alive before, but he gets the exhilarating feeling that this might be a little what it feels like. He wants, more than anything in the world, to–
He gasps as Zanka bites down onto his tongue, drawing blood that rushes into his mouth, the rich scent and taste of iron reverberating throughout his body and sending shivers down his spine. His own blood tastes good, but he knows that Zanka’s will taste better.
He moves his hands down to Zanka’s earrings and pulls on them roughly, earning another bite to the inside of his mouth. But Jabber planned for the retaliation, and happily nips Zanka’s lips to draw just enough blood for him to sample.
And oh, is this the taste he’s been craving.
Jabber’s unable to stop the little gasp that escapes past his throat as his cheeks burn and his heart pounds with the rush of adrenaline. Zanka’s blood, as he predicted– no, moreso than he predicted, is utterly delicious.
He wants to taste more, to satiate the sudden hunger inside of him. He wants more, more, wants to bite down and tear off and chew and swallow–
Jabber’s jolted back to awareness when Zanka pushes him away with a growl like an angry dog, forcing him back with a blow far stronger than Jabber expected for someone only halfway through the toxins’ lifespans.
Leave it to Zanka to surpass his expectations when he least anticipates it, of course. That’s the reason why Jabber chose him, after all.
Zanka glares at him, blood dripping from his lips and a nasty, nasty scowl on his gorgeous face.
“Get lost,” He hisses, though the red on his cheeks seems to be borne out of something a little more timid than anger.
But Jabber knows a signal when he sees one, and Zanka’s being awfully kind to him by giving him a warning to escape before those wily little cleaners come to pluck him off Zanka’s lap. So, with a little smile and a wink, Jabber slides off the bed, his feet falling soundlessly on the floor.
“It was good seeing you, my dear,” Jabber hums, shuffling over to the windowsill and throwing a leg over, “You should enjoy your little gifts.”
Zanka scowls. “You mutilated me in my sleep!” he rasps, and Jabber smiles.
That face of anger, twisted in pain and driven by raw, bloody desire… Zanka might not realise it– might vehemently deny it, even– but the two of them are the same, twin stars, destined soulmates, and one day, they’ll even share the same grave.
“I’ll see you soon, okay? Until then, wait for me.” Jabber promises, much to the disgust of his beloved. But Jabber isn’t offended– of course he isn’t! Zanka’s just in a little bit of discomfort. Jabber’s sure that when the time comes, Zanka will be delighted to see him again.
After all, Jabber can still taste Zanka’s blood on his tongue. That sounds like a promise, if nothing else.
“The only place I’ll be seeing you is the depths of hell,” Zanka retorts, and as Jabber slips down from the window, he thinks that might just be the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.