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Jabber's eyes are locked on Lovely Assistaff— have been, for the past minutes. Zanka can't help but wonder what is it Jabber finds intriguing about his Vital Instrument. Much as Zanka himself kept close, meticulous attention of it out of necessity and desire, he had never known someone else to put the same level of attention. Lovely Assistaff was, to anybody else, a beat-up stick; a staff, if he wanted to add importance to it. But at the end of the day, there was nothing too impressive about her.
As always, there has to be something Jabber sees that Zanka fails to. It would seem so, at least, considering the way Jabber's eyes narrow towards Lovely Assistaff from time to time, as well as the pursing of his lips followed by a throaty sound. As if Jabber were trying to decipher her.
Jabber doesn't move from where he is though, he remains laid next to Zanka in the bed they share, head resting on his shoulder. Jabber keeps glancing Lovely Assistaff's way every now an then, neck craning to look towards his Vital Instrument, the tickling of hair brushing against his jaw. Lovely Assistaff remains impassive, keeps resting against the wall next to the bed within Zanka's reach.
"Mmm..." Jabber's pondering sound is guttural, a mix of frustration and patience. Zanka follows his sight, shifts his face to get a better look at Lovely Assistaff, in case anything were wrong with her.
But just like the past times he had decided to see what Jabber kept scowling at, there is nothing new. Lovely Assistaff remains the same, where Zanka's left her. There is no shift in her appearance— Zanka would know if it did, considering how much of an extension of himself she was, considering how much attention and care Zanka gave it on the daily. Zanka knew all her ridges, where the wood dipped and protruded; he knew where to wrap her, where the smallest cracks of wear were.
Lovely Assistaff means —is— the world to Zanka, and Zanka could not bear the thought of neglecting her or the thought of them turning strangers. Zanka would take his time in the morning and night to take care of her. Far too often he found himself reaching for the small container of oil tucked inside his bedside stand, even through the weight of exhaustion and sleep. It was a habit, deeply ingrained in him. Just like breathing.
Lovely Assistaff looks the same, unchanged. Hasn't moved at all from where Zanka's left her. And yet Jabber's eyes keep going back to her.
"Why are ya mean-mugging Lovely Assistaff?" Zanka asks, and Jabber's nose twitches, furrows with the beginning of a snarl. His expression of distaste puzzles Zanka.
"Mnh. Well, because—" Jabber cuts himself short, jerks in place to hold his upper body with a hand in the bed. He looks at Zanka intently. "Are you ever jealous of Mankira?"
Zanka's brows twitch with his confusion. Leave it to Jabber to answer his question with more questions.
"What?"
Jabber shifts, he moves to straddle Zanka, leaning most of his weight on his knees. Zanka's hand instinctively settle on Jabber's thighs, while Jabber's hands come to cup Zanka's face. The soft touch of Mankira's rings becomes loud, and Zanka's mind is pulled towards their insistent touch against his cheeks.
"I mean. It's always on me."
Crazy, Zanka thinks, but he simply looks at Jabber with amusement. "It's yer Vital Instrument, so I ain't surprised."
Jabber blinks, seems to be the one confused by Zanka's answer. "Not what I meant."
"Then what is it ya mean, Jabber?" Zanka relaxes under Jabber's gentle hold, under the soft caress that sweeps over his cheeks. He always basked in it, in the warmth of Jabber's touch, in the tenderness that existed in moments like these, when Jabber's focus wasn't on pain, when he wasn't seeking violence.
"Mankira is always on me. We are inseparable." He must have lost it, Zanka concludes, because his rambling makes absolutely no sense. "But... The same happens with you and Lovely Assistaff. You never let her out of sight. That's by choice."
Zanka's eyes wander off to the side to look at his Vital Instrument. He supposed that much was true. He never dared drift too far from Lovely Assistaff, too afraid of losing her, too concerned with keeping her safe, at hand. Lovely Assistaff was the closest companion Zanka had had in years. Quite inevitable, when you thought about the relationship between Givers and their Vital Instrument.
He could understand Jabber's choice of words. Unlike Mankira's rings, Zanka's Vital Instrument did not require for him to wear her. If they kept close, as close as Mankira was to Jabber, it was due to Zanka's own decisions and preference.
"You always take good care of her." Jabber says, with an edge of what Zanka can only see as bitter. Zanka's heart twists with the recognition of it, with the—
"Are you jealous of Lovely Assistaff?" Zanka asks incredulous, eyes focusing on Jabber's serious expression. When Jabber doesn't immediately denies it, Zanka's cheeks warm up. He thinks back to the expressions Jabber had been throwing Lovely Assistaff's way through the night, now framed in a new context.
Zanka knew it of Jabber to be possessive, to spark with the desire to keep Zanka close, all to himself. He was greedy like that. Zanka knows it to be true, and still, his brain short-circuits, thoughts trying to piece themselves back together with the new information.
Jabber was jealous of Lovely Assistaff.
The thought leaves a blazing trail through Zanka's mind, and the warmth it spreads through him makes his heart leap in his chest. His eyes shift back to Lovely Assistaff, who remains unresponsive. Unfazed. Not like she would react or anything of the sorts. But Zanka can't quite believe it.
"Stop looking at her." Jabber growls, pulling at Zanka's face, forcing his attention back on Jabber.
A small laughs escapes him. This was new to him. For Jabber to blow steam because his friends where getting too close, too touchy, was one thing. For Jabber to get jealous of what was essentially an extension of Zanka's soul was...
"You are ridiculous." Zanka says, and when Jabber's frown deepens, he can't hold back his laughter. "You are jealous." He repeats, still full of disbelief. "Of my Vital Instrument."
Jabber inhales sharply, and his touch turns firm, lacking all tenderness. Zanka feels a weird sense of pride bloom inside him, a cocky sense of self-satisfaction that made him feel light. It's Jabber's clear jealousy, displayed in his eyes and words, that send Zanka soaring through a high.
"You call her Lovely." Jabber says as a rebuttal. As if it changed anything, as if it expressed anything more. Zanka laughs heartily, keeps doing so even as Jabber leans over to smash his lips against his, muffling the sound.
Jealous. And possessive. A combination that amused Zanka to no end, considering what had made it happen. It must irritate Jabber to some degree, because when he pulls back for a moment, he comes back with teeth, nipping at Zanka's mouth. Possessive, forceful, clearly laying claim.
It robs Zanka of breath, Jabber's clear hunger, the desire to have Zanka all for himself. Zanka settles his right hand against Jabber's face, lets his fingers splay as he settles his thumb on Jabber's throat, pressing down on his Adam's apple. Jabber groans against him, wanton, and Zanka's back arches in response.
When Jabber pulls back, eyes glossed over by desire, Zanka whines. It was always so overwhelming, to have Jabber's full attention solely on him, like this. As if Zanka was his whole world. As if Zanka were the most important thing to him. It made Zanka's chest throb with the tightness the unfettered affection smothered him with. It made Zanka feel wanted, with little room for argument. It made him feel loved.
"You call her lovely." Jabber repeats in a whisper, and Zanka's head spins with the jealousy that burns in his eyes, with the bitterness that spills from Jabber's mouth. "You've never called me anything like that, Zan-Zan."
Zanka's eyes widen, taken by surprise.
"Do ya... are ya askin' me ta give ya a pet name?"
Jabber's jaw twitches, and when his throat bobs under his thumb, when there seems to be a flicker of embarrassment, Zanka isn't given enough time to parse it out. Jabber all but headbutts him in the chin when he bends down to tuck his head under it. He leaves Zanka's hand hanging in the hair as he rests his cheek against Zanka's collarbone.
"I've given you plenty, dear Zanka." Jabber's fingers leave his face with a fading touch, before they settle over Zanka's shoulders, hands curling, as if Jabber were making himself small after baring one of his desires.
It throws Zanka in for a loop, and he lets his hand rest over Jabber's back, rubbing circles as he takes in the warm weight over his chest. It always turned out to be an infallible solid comfort, one Zanka clung onto as he tried to organize his thoughts.
"You call her Lovely Assistaff." Jabber continues, huffing. Zanka wishes he could see his expression, that he could see Jabber's jealousy, now subdued after it'd escaped him. "And you never call me that."
"That's her name, Jabber." Zanka supplies, still too amused and disbelieving of what Jabber is admitting to.
It still sounds crazy to him, that Jabber would feel jealousy towards Lovely Assistaff, of all things. It makes Zanka feel some way he can't describe, the fact Jabber wants to be as close to Zanka the way one would be to their Vital Instrument.
"You could have called her Assistaff, too. It works the same." Jabber says petulantly, and Zanka doesn't know how they have ended here, discussing terms of endearments and names.
He feels daring, though. He enjoys the shift in balance brought to the table by Jabber's admission. So he can't help but tease him about it.
"And I can call ya Jabber. It works the same."
"You are mean." Jabber sighs dramatically, taking a deep inhalation before exhaling with an exaggerated sound.
"And ya could just call me Zanka. No 'dear Zanka'. I'm sure Lovely Assistaff could get jealous, by how casual ya are with yer affections."
Jabber's laugh rumbles against Zanka's chest, and the sound echoes within him, filling him with joy.
"Mmm. Alright." He moves his hand away from Jabber's back to bring it back to his thigh, and he pats them a couple times.
Jabber obediently peels away, straightening up, still straddling Zanka. It's endearing, the way he refuses to look at Zanka, the way his eyes fixate on Lovely Assistaff. Mean-mugging her. Zanka wants to laugh.
"You seriously never get jealous of Mankira?"
"Why would I?"
"It's always on me."
Zanka rolls his eyes at the rehashed conversation, before he tugs at one of Jabber's thick dreadlocks, demanding his attention.
"No. 'Cause I'm not crazy jealous about anything that comes into contact with ya." Jabber's lips twist in amusement, and Zanka wants to pull him down for a kiss. Jabber's grins, filled with such life, were always so tempting. "Now, if ya will." He pats Jabber's thighs again as a way of punctuating his words. "Ya want pet names, my love?"
And, oh. That was... a reaction.
Jabber's spine tenses, and his grin remains frozen in place as he looks down at Zanka. His pupils are blown wide and his breathing hitches. Zanka has seen the look before. Whenever Jabber came to the realization he could play with Zanka without holding back. When he found Zanka to be enjoyable in their skirmishes. When there was a thrill so big laid before him, Jabber would look at him the same way. When he found something he desired, something that greatly delighted him.
Jabber looks at him with a hunger that pins Zanka on the spot. It, unfortunately, also makes him more daring, seeing it as a challenge. It emboldens him, to see Jabber react so viscerally to a pet name.
"Why not help me pick some options, mmh, darling?"
The shaky breath Jabber takes causes goosebumps on Zanka's skin. His grin thaws, and Jabber's mouth opens, full of teeth, fangs ready to sink onto Zanka, his hunger at the ready to devour him. It fills Zanka with a sense of power he rarely tasted. It made him feel wanted, loved, desired in ways he never thought he would be.
"Why don't you run some options through me, ah?"
Zanka practically feels Jabber vibrate with his excitement. Slow, teasing, he traces his hand up Jabber's side. As if beckoned, Jabber leans forward, and Zanka takes in the closeness it generates, lets himself be smothered by the swell of emotions.
Zanka lets his fingers trace Jabber's jawline, lets them wander past it, offers a gentle caress behind Jabber's ear, earning a whine. Jabber's eyelids seem to grow as heavy as his breathing does, and Zanka smiles up to him, pleased by the reaction.
"So many options, my gorgeous Jabber."
Zanka feels it, the trembling of Jabber's jaw under his fingertips. He sees it, in the way he seems to melt into him. Jabber finds purchase in Zanka's shoulders, fingers digging in ever so slightly. An attempt to hold himself together, Zanka recognizes. Jabber seems to come undone under the pet names spoken and Zanka's thoughts follow the same path, leaving him grappling with the weightlessness that makes him feel as if floating.
There is such a sense of pride that comes to him, with how easy Jabber seems to relinquish control, how much said control escapes him, its absence making itself known in the way Jabber's hips push against Zanka's stomach, on the hitch of his breath, on the way his eyes soften, soaking in the affectionate names. Jabber no doubt wants more, finds himself eager, considering the way he leans into Zanka's soft touch on his neck. Zanka lovingly scratches with his nails the spot behind Jabber's ears, his fingers stopping at his jaw before repeating the motion. A gentle caress that furthers opens Jabber's clear need.
"Oh, aren't ya loving the attention, dear?"
Jabber whimpers, and Zanka's hips twitch in response to the sound. Jabber loses himself to the affection so easily, so willingly, that had Zanka known he could elicit such responses, he would have started using pet names for Jabber earlier.
Usually Zanka has to fight for this, has to push Jabber until he relented, until he let go of the control. Until Zanka took it from him. But now Jabber so willingly lets go of it, lets himself be lavished by Zanka's attention without a fuss. It's making Zanka go a little crazy, if he were honest. Makes him want more, see more, take more.
He is curious to see the extend of its effects, how much does Jabber aches for the attention, how much he is willing to give up because of it.
Jabber blinks repeatedly, struggling to find focus through the haze. A smile breaks through, and he smiles haughtily at Zanka, eyes flickering towards Lovely Assistaff for a second.
"Bet ya haven't called her all those names, mnh?"
Zanka can't help the amusement that bursts through in his smile, he can't help the swelling in his chest, warm and fulfilling, by Jabber's jealousy. By Jabber's need to be claimed, just as wild and unapologetic as he is when he becomes possessive of Zanka. Jabber claims him this way, too. He claims Zanka's affection all for himself, selfish.
"No, I have not." Zanka admits, moving his hand down Jabber's neck to tangle it on his tattered hoodie. "You are the only one I'll ever give terms of endearment like this, my beloved Jabber."
Jabber's whole expression lights up, and before Zanka can finish pulling him down, Jabber surges forward, hungrily kisses him, claims his affection all for himself. It was such a lovely display of affection, if you asked Zanka.