Archive of Our Own

Relaxation is easy for some. Others, not so much. In Zanka's case, relaxation is about as foreign as the Sphere to him. He's tried everything. You see, after committing what can only be described as pure sin via a certain raider, Zanka was determined to put the memories in the past and never think of it again. To his utter horror, his past has a way of biting him in the ass when he has the least mental capacity to endure it. 

After recovering from his injuries, Arkha puts him on medical leave, effective until he relaxes, due to Eishia's diagnosis of stress-induced fainting. He really tries, but his mind runs wild with every second he doesn't have a mission to complete or any training to do. Enjin caught him doing drills with Lovely Assistaff by himself and nearly confiscated her, but settled for making him promise to chill. Every day he wakes up, he looks at his unworn cleaner uniform longingly. 

On day two, he cleans Lovely Assistaff so many times that the wood seems to shine. He even spends a little time making a perch for her above his bed. The day disappears in a blur of stroking her worn wood and murmured gratitude for her service to him over the years. 

On day three, he swallows his pride. That morning, Zanka wakes up determined to follow Arkha's 'orders'. He puts on a simple outfit compared to his normal elaborate uniform, a black turtleneck and a navy blue haori lazily thrown on top. He wears his uniform pants for a sense of normalcy. He begrudgingly asks his fellow cleaners for help with relaxation. He gets varying answers. 

"Digging through trash always helps me. Finding new stuff to use 3R with makes me feel more confident!" Rudo looks genuinely happy to talk to him, in his own way. His list of facial expressions is limited to rage, awe, and sadness. Zanka's just glad he doesn't try to smile. The advice isn't exactly helpful, but Rudo gives him a small tour of his favorite trash finds and little trinkets he's fixed, and it makes Zanka feel a little closer to him. The younger cleaner gives him a keychain made of scrap metal. It becomes part of his outfit somehow, hanging off his pants and jingling when he walks.

"Experimentin' with my hair's the way to go for me. Want me to show ya?" Riyo takes it upon herself to give Zanka several new hairdos. She puts him in pigtails, braids, a bun, and his personal favorite, a half ponytail. The contrast in his hair is more prominent that way, and it makes him feel like he looks cool for once. He doesn't say it out loud, but Riyo has a knowing glint in her eye that tells him that she already knows and is extremely proud of herself. Zanka doesn't exactly feel relaxed, but he's happy to spend time with Riyo anyway.

"I like to go to bars and look at hot chicks," Enjin gives him a sleazy smile. Zanka thanks him for his advice and immediately files it in the "Do Not Attempt" category. He later finds himself smuggled into some back alley club by the older man anyway, with the excuse of 'gettin' older' and 'broadening his horizons.' He ends up promptly left alone in a corner to fend for himself. He's stressed out, watching the myriad of sweaty bodies sway and pulse to the booming music. Enjin has become one with the crowd. He tries to find someone to look at, as per Enjin's suggestion, just because he's already there. 

A tanned man catches his eye, long, wavy hair spilling over his shoulders like water. He dances sensually, grinding against at least three different people in the time that the cleaner watches him. Their eyes meet a few times, much to his chagrin, and Zanka quickly darts his gaze away. The man's dancing becomes increasingly alluring as the songs shift from fast beats to sultry whispers. It doesn't take much to figure out what sort of activity is being promoted by the music, and when Zanka looks away from his eye candy, he spots several people engaging in things that definitely should not be happening in public. He drifts back to where he'd last seen the man, and he's gone. Damn.

"Heya, sweet thing." A husky voice comes from his left. It startles him a little.

"Hey." He forces himself to sound cool and act natural, but internally...

Go away!! 

"I saw you lookin' from over there, you know. Didn't your mama teach you 's rude to look and not touch?" He says, getting near his ear to be heard over the loud music. 

"Oh, I ain't- I wasn't really tryin' to stare," He mumbles, face slowly turning pink. This wasn't supposed to happen. Nothing about 'talking to strangers' and 'relaxing' goes together for Zanka. It's a miracle he hasn't sprinted away by now.

The man continues to flirt, crowding his space as if he owned it. He's by no means unattractive, but Zanka is perpetually awkward and barely acceptable when it comes to socializing. Flirting is not his forte, nor has he ever been flirted with in his life. Not normally, anyway. A certain dread-headed man pops into his mind, and he blinks the thought away. The man seems to take this as Zanka flirting back, and he starts laying it on thicker.

"'s pretty crowded in here." He smiles at him, revealing two golden fangs. "Wanna take a breather, pretty boy? Your face's all red. Might could use some air."

Zanka doesn't know how or even if he agrees, but he's gently guided outside by the hand, a warm palm encasing his. It feels foreign to him, and his hands are definitely sweaty, but the chill in the air soothes his rapidly increasing discomfort a little. He wants to go home. 

"That any better?" The man asks, leaning against the front wall of the club. The neon sign flickers in protest of its use, and Zanka can't help but silently relate.

"A bit, thanks." He stands awkwardly in front of his newfound escort. The man's eyebrows furrow, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Lookin' atcha in the light makes you look a lot younger than I go for," He says with a slight frown. "How old are you anyway?"

Zanka's answer makes him balk.

"You ain't even s'posed to be in there." His tone has changed so fast it gives Zanka whiplash. "Too young to be gettin' mixed up with grown folk, y'hear me? All anyone wants in there is a piece of ass." He lectures.

"...sorry," the cleaner mutters, even though this isn't his fault in the slightest.

"Go on home, and come back when you're allowed, alright?" he gives a cheeky smile, turning to leave with a wave.

Zanka feels the tension leave his body all at once. 

Note to self: Clubs ain't for me.

By the time Zanka gets home, he's beat. All the activities of his day off have thoroughly and utterly exhausted him. New experiences are fun and all, but falling into bed sounds like the only thing in the world that matters. Sleeping off his mortification will surely help.

Thunk! Thunk!

Two rocks bounce off his window.

He freezes.

Slowly, Zanka reaches for Lovely Assistaff and pads towards the window. Nothing's there.

He turns, thinking it was all his imagination.

Thunk!

His grip tightens on his weapon. He looks outside again. Nothing's there. He resigns to the fact that he's become delusional due to inhaling too many alcohol fumes and goes back to getting ready for bed. He's just about to untie his hair, when-

Thunk!

"Alright, what the hell?" He says to the air, angrily walking back to the window and swinging it open.

A rock makes contact with his forehead, and a voice comes from below.

"Damn, headshot!"

Funny, how the person he least wanted to see again shows up when he's not in the mood for bullshit. 

"What the- I ain't fightin' you this time o' night! Go home!" Zanka's accent is thick when he whisper-yells, trying not to be heard by anyone. It's not a secret that Zanka has a grudge against Jabber, that they fight every time they cross paths, and that many of his injuries are sustained from the raider, but it's definitely a secret that they had sex. A secret that he really fucking hopes never comes out. Which is why he shuts the window and ignores the many rocks being thrown at it in increasingly shortening intervals. Then he hears scraping, cracking, and a rhythmic tap on the glass that definitely isn't rocks. Slowly, he turns his head back. His gaze meets Jabber's annoyingly cheerful expression.

"Zan-ka! Lemme in, man!" The glass muffles his voice, but it's still loud and annoying. Zanka worries that he'll be heard by other cleaners, and just the thought of needing to explain why a raider is at his window this late makes his head throb in protest. He sighs and swings the latch open.

Jabber falls through with a loud thud, landing in a jumble of limbs on the floor. Zanka swiftly steps over him and closes the latch. He looks...different, for lack of a word that isn't pretty. His raider uniform is swapped out for a large t-shirt with some cringy tagline scrawled across the front, thrown over a white long-sleeve and baggy pants. A pouch sits tied across his waist. His hair is tied back into a thick bun, a few pieces left out to frame his face. The usual stench that accompanies him isn't completely gone, but there's a faint spicy scent overlaying it. Something like an attempt at perfume.

"You got 5 seconds to explain yerself or I'm throwin' ya to Enjin." The threat is empty and unlikely to deter his regrettable companion from wasting his time, but he tries it anyway.

"Don't threaten little ol' me with a good time," Jabber's lips stretch into a grin, a hint of drool already threatening to spill. He's standing now, leaning against Zanka's desk carelessly. "But I ain't here for that right now. I'm here to help you out, Z!"

"The only way you could help me is by gettin' lost. Yer stinkin' up my room." He deadpans.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that!" the raider whines. "Here I am, tryin' to do you a solid, and you're bein' so cruel. Really breaking my heart here, Zanka."

"And what could ya possibly help me with?" 

Jabber seems to light up at the question, eyes gleaming with that up-to-no-good look he always gets when he's about to start bullshitting. Zanka hates that he knows him well enough to know that.

"A little birdie told me you were tryin' to relax today, so..." he trails off for dramatic effect before gesturing at himself with a proud look on his face. "Ta-da!"

"What?" Zanka squints, brows furrowing. 

The raider sighs like he isn't the one being ridiculous. "You can't be this dense, man."

"Dense? I ain't dense, you're just being confusin'. And stalkerish."

"Don't you worry about that. Anyway, I'm gonna help you relax, obviously." 

Zanka has to stifle a snort, raising an eyebrow accusingly.

"You're gonna help me relax?" he asks, suspicion evident in his voice. "Are ya tryin' out for stand-up comedy? The source of my stress is helping me relax. Might be the funniest thing I've heard all day."

Jabber rolls his eyes. 

"Of course not. I'm dead serious." The usual teasing tone of voice is gone. "Who else can give you what you need?"

Zanka flinches. The words are said so casually, like its simple fact rather than an arrogant proclamation. It pisses him off. Zanka doesn't need shit from this guy. Who the hell does this asshole think he is anyway, telling him what he needs? He says as much, but it seems not to affect Jabber's seemingly boundless confidence.

"You don't ever get tired of lyin' to yourself?" he takes a step forward, the gap between them now an inch smaller. Zanka matches him and takes a step back. "You 'n I both know this ain't workin' for ya. Pretendin' to be all prim and proper, frontin' in front'a all these people, hiding who you really are," With every few words, he gets closer, and Zanka runs out of room to back away. They're barely a foot apart now. "But the look in your eyes don't lie, Zanka."

"You don't know shit about me."

"Whaaaat? Sure I do," Jabber leans in, crowding his space. His eyes are wild and erratic, excitement radiating off him. "I know ya love makin' me bleed. That's why we're so~o compatible!" he drawls.

Zanka gets progressively angrier the longer he talks. He's too loud, the walls are too thin, and there's no telling who's awake and listening, nevermind the fact that his rambling is borderline incomprehensible. 

"Shut the hell up," he hisses. "I don't have time for yer shit tonight."

"Or what?"

Zanka blinks.

"...Huh?"

"I said," Jabber emphasizes. "or what? You gon' cry cuz a few words are too much for ya?" he mocks.

Letting him in was a mistake. He should've left him outside in the cold to freeze and die. Talking to him was a mistake. That night was a mistake. Jabber was a mistake. 

A mistake he'll keep on making, apparently.

He's not exactly sure how his hands end up around Jabber's throat, but he knows it feels good to watch him struggle for breath and squirm under his hold. He can feel his pulse stuttering in protest when his grip tightens ever so slightly. Jabber seems to pay it no mind, his shallow moans getting shakier the more oxygen he's deprived of. His lips become a wrong shade of blue after a while, and it's only then that Zanka lets go. The room is filled with his coughs, ragged gasps for air, and eventually laughter.

"See? What'd I tell you, Z? You 'n me ain't so different after all. You like dishin' it, and I love takin' it. Ain't that right?"

"Not even close," he says, crossing his arms. His fingers twitch with the urge to wring his neck raw, and he doesn't trust himself not to go all the way and really just kill him. He copes by telling himself it would really suck to get rid of a body this late.

Jabber huffs, then drops his hand slightly to cup Zanka's crotch. A laugh rips from his throat.

"Your body is way too honest for you t'be lyin' like that, y'know?"

Zanka makes a faint sound, unprepared for the sudden contact. He's been ignoring how hard he was ever since Jabber started his tirade, but being forced to acknowledge it makes his face flush with anger and something else he pointedly ignores. 

"That's not- it ain't cuz 'o you, it's just- I'm tired, okay?!" What was supposed to be an angry hiss comes out more as a pathetic stammer. 

The raider grins, stroking harder through the layers of fabric until Zanka Junior is up to full mast. It doesn't take much. 

Zanka bites his lip to keep from making a sound, trying hard to remain unaffected by Jabber's sudden touch, but it's not working in his favor. Jabber's grip tightens around the tent in his pants. He uses his palm to grind against it, forcing a soft grunt from Zanka's lips. It makes him grin impossibly wider. Then he stops.

"You still wanna make this harder for yourself?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as if he already knew the answer. "Still wanna pretend?"

Zanka stays silent, staring intently into Jabber's eyes. He wanted to find something there, something that would make calling this whole thing off and kicking him out easier. Manipulation, deceit, mockery, anything. He finds nothing of the sort. Just Jabber, in all his stupidly perceptive glory. He's staring back at Zanka with an unusual patience.

"...No," he finally mutters under his breath.

Jabber's eyes crinkle at the corners just like they always do when he's happy.

"Perfect."

Cthoni was truly a gift. Without her, Jabber's life would be so, so hard.

"Did'ja find anything?" he was rocking back and forth on his heels when Cthoni made her grand reappearance through a manhole. 

"Yes," she gracefully stepped out, shutting the portal with a soft thud. "He's…relaxing. Trying to." 

"Never thought I'd see the day, wow!"

Cthoni gave him an almost imperceptible smile. Her face stayed stony any other time, so her rare half-smiles were pretty easy to spot when you knew what to look for.

"You know you can just talk to him instead of running me around all the time," she said. It was more of a tease than anything.

"Whaaat?! And miss out on his face when I know so much without him ever seeing me?" he pouts. "No way! Ain't happenin'!"

The woman just squinted at him, which is Cthoni for I know what you are. Jabber ignored it in favor of blowing kisses at her.

Her little tidbit of information gave Jabber an excuse to see Zanka.

It's strange. Jabber has never needed an excuse to do anything. If he wants, he does, never truly denying himself. It's only when it comes to Zanka that he wants to seem cool and mysterious. He even makes a slight improvement to his stench, rubbing cinnamon in his armpits and giving himself a once-over in the reflection of a puddle of beer on the street.

Yeah, Zanka's gonna love this for sure.

To his dismay, not only does Zanka not comment on his new look, but he also comments on his stink. Tsk. Jabber calls him all sorts of stuck-up and prissy in his head.

All is well in the end, because Jabber still gets what he wants. Zanka is in his grasp, hard, embarrassed, and frustrated. It's a delicious sight. He's not in his cleaner uniform, his hair is styled differently, and he looks delectable. Jabber entertains the delusion that it was for him and gets giddy with the need to mark him up with bruises and bites.

He presses harder on his dick just to hear him grunt in pain.

"Y'know, I called you a while back," he says, sneaking his hand up and into Zanka's waistband. "Remember?"

Zanka scowls. "Unfortunately."

"So you did ignore me! Not cool, man, I had a real good idea!"

"And, ngh, and did yer idea involve me in some compromisin' position?"

"Sure did, gorgeous ♡." His hand is fully in Zanka's underwear, playing with the stickiness smeared around in there. His free arm is used to bracket the shorter man in, bracing himself against the wall. 

The compliment isn't verbally acknowledged, but Jabber feels him leak a little. It draws a giggle out of his mouth, and Zanka's scowl hardens.

"If yer jus' gonna laugh at me, leave," He flushes a deep red, vermillion coating his cheeks like a wash of paint. 

"Mm, you'll be alright."

"Get out. I ain't fuckin' you. Invest in a dildo." Zanka actually grows a pair and grabs his hand, yanking it out of his pants and shoving it into the other man's chest.

Jabber puts on a show, slowly sliding his hand up to his nose and giving a long, slow sniff. He exhales on a moan and lets his eyes roll. When he looks back at Zanka, his expression is somewhere between disgust, exasperation, and barely concealed lust.

"What the hell is wrong with ya!?" He asks, appalled.

"Nothin' you don't like," he soaks in Zanka's emotional conflict like rays of sun on his back. "Anyway, you're right, you ain't doing the fucking tonight. Lucky you," he muses, flicking a strand of hair into the cleaner's eyes.

"Wait, huh?" The color drains from Zanka's face.

"Yep," He grins wickedly. "Makin' good on my word."

"First of all, absolutely not. Second, do ya got no shame? Couldn't even pretend to care about somethin' other than gettin' yer rocks off?" 

"Ain't I here cause I care? You can't beat my ass again if you're too stressed. They don't even let'cha out the house no more." 

Zanka just sighs. "Yeah, 'n who's fault is that. Wouldn't be stressed if it weren't fer you."

"Boo, wrong answer."

"There ain't a right answer!"

"The right answer was yes, Jabby-boo, I know ya care soooo much! Now take me to pound town until I get this stick out my ass!" His impression of Zanka's accent is shoddy at best, but alas. A man can't be perfect. 

"Get lost, shitbag."

"Only if it's in your eyes."

"Real smooth."

"Does that mean I can hit now?" 

Zanka stays silent for a beat. His eyes slip shut in thought, brows knitting in frustration. Eventually, he drags both palms across his face with a loud sigh, lower eyelids peeling back to reveal the pink flesh inside for a moment. Then his eyes flick back to Jabber.

"...Do ya have a condom?"

"Sure do, baby."

"How many times do I gotta tell ya I'm not yer baby," is what he says, but Jabber can see how the color on his cheeks travels down to his neck every time he says it. "...but fine."

"If I took a shot for every lie you told tonight, I'd be soooo drunk."

"How about you get shot instead?"

Jabber moans, enthusiastic.

"...Right." Zanka looks exasperated. "If we're gonna do this, we should... The bed, probably." He seems shy, which only makes Jabber more excited.

"Oh? You didn't seem to mind fuckin' me on the ground last t-"

"That was under the influence!" Zanka interrupts.

Jabber just smirks, making a surrender gesture. He moves to lie on Zanka's bed. The mattress isn't exactly premium quality, but it's better than his back home by a long shot. It creaks slightly under his weight.

Zanka follows. He sits on the edge of the bed, and Jabber raises an eyebrow and pats his lap. Zanka glares, but moves to sit on his thighs anyway. His gaze drops down for a few seconds. The corner of the raider's lips quirk up. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip slowly, watching Zanka's eyes track the movement.

"You wanna kiss me sooo bad," Jabber teases.

"Yeah. Ain't gonna be the worst thing I do tonight." 

The honest admission startles Jabber a little, but he has no time to respond. Zanka descends on him like a hawk. In contrast, he kisses like a baby deer learning to walk, hesitant and insecure. It takes a second for him to get the hang of it. Before, Jabber couldn't really appreciate his efforts due to the toxin, but he's mostly sober now. It's pretty bad. Zanka tries too hard, hands cradling his face, rubbing the backs of his ears. The gentleness is jarring compared to their last time in this position. Jabber teases the seam of his lips with his tongue, and Zanka– to his credit– opens his mouth just to bite. It fucking hurts. Jabber grins into the kiss.

Zanka breaks off first this time. He's huffing, lips all puffy and spit slick from slamming their mouths together so hard. There's blood on his chin, crimson staining his otherwise unmarred skin. The sight makes Jabber throb in his pants, and he tells the cleaner as much. He gets a disgusted look in return. Then he remembers- this is supposed to be about Zanka relaxing. Whoops.

It takes a great deal of effort to wrestle Zanka onto his back. He refuses to go down without a fight, shoving his knee into Jabber's side when he tries. Pain blooms, and it only makes Jabber that much more determined to have Zanka fucked stupid underneath him. The cleaner attempts to throw a punch, but Jabber is faster. He catches it, using the momentum to flip him over properly and push him into the mattress. The bed creaks in protest at the rough handling. Neither of them care. 

"Go to hell," Zanka spits at him from below.

"Promise to meet me there?" Jabber twirls a loc around his finger to the best of his abilities. 

Zanka just stares at him, unimpressed.

"Yer doin' an awful lotta flirting tonight, huh. What do ya want?"

"I'm sooo glad you asked!" he drawls, reaching for the bag on his hip and popping the button open. He dumps it on the bed unceremoniously.

"Ta-da!"

"What the hell?!"

Zanka is an idiot. A foolish, mediocre, totally average idiot.

He agrees to let Jabber fuck him. He even initiates the first kiss. He lets him have his way. Which is how he ends up tied up in his own bed, gagged and shaking like a leaf. 

At first, he was adamant about not using anything and just getting it over with, but fuck him, he's weak to Jabber's sweet talk. It didn't take more than a little coaxing to get him out of his pants and into his binds. A tie is wrapped around his wrists behind his back, and his underwear is stuffed into his mouth, drool soaking into the cotton. He's completely exposed, at Jabber's mercy again. It's fucking humiliating, and he hates it. He chooses to ignore how his dick twitches when he thinks about it too hard. 

Jabber sits off to the side, playing around with some contraption. It's an old chip can with a sponge rolled up inside, and Jabber is busy shoving a plastic glove in the hole. Zanka uses the time he spends waiting to take in the sight. His clothes are off as well, save for his boxers. It's obvious that he's into this. There's a wet patch on the front of his boxers, surprisingly not the same pair as last time. Scars run along the length of his body. They vary in shape, depth, and size, but they only serve to make him more attractive. The ones borne of Mankira are easy to spot, Zanka's own skin bearing the same slashes in different sizes. It almost feels intimate.

"Hot damn," he whistles, placing a hand on Zanka's thigh. "You really are big! Zanka, my boy, how long were ya gonna hide this from me?"

Jabber seems to forget about the gag until he looks back up, then makes a little 'o' with his mouth.

"Ohhh, forgot 'bout that. My bad."

The raider's hand slides up his body, conveniently ignoring where he needs to be touched the most in favor of playing with his nipple. He tries to moan, but it's muffled by the gag. Jabber smiles. And then he starts fucking talking again.

"Yanno, you're pretty like this," He begins, leaning forward, breath fanning over Zanka's cock. "All strung up and helpless but still lookin' at me like a stain on the ground…I'm so~o hard, fuck," He moans, pulling the nipple between his fingers roughly just to hear Zanka's muffled cry. 

This goes on for a moment, Jabber pulling and twisting every which way until he eventually gets bored and reaches for his contraption. Zanka shudders, inching away from it.

"Hm," Jabber squints at the thing. "ZanZan, help your boy out. You got lube, dont'cha?" He says, as if it's a fact. Unfortunately, he's right. Zanka does have lube, but he has no way to communicate its location properly. He jerks his head towards his bedside table and hopes that it's enough. 

Jabber reaches for it, opening the first drawer. A book and a few pens are neatly arranged, along with a pair of glasses. The raider comments on every little thing. Zanka imagines strangling him with his own hair.

Opening the second drawer, he finds wood cleaning supplies, a rag, and a small bottle of clear liquid. A cackle bursts from his throat, much to Zanka's annoyance.

"I knew it! You've got it bad for that ol' stick, huh?"

Fuck you, Zanka curses in his head. He glares at Jabber to convey the sentiment.

"O-ho, what's with that look? Nothin' I said was wrong." Jabber muses, pouring a healthy drizzle of lube into his weird contraption. He spreads it along the inside with two fingers, damn near fucking the poor thing, and Zanka has to pinch the inside of his palm to keep his mind from wandering. Jabber seems to decide it's enough, because he takes his fingers out and replaces them with Zanka's cock. 

"Mnghk-?!" A shocked yelp rips from his throat. He thought the thing was stupid, not paying much attention to it, but holy shit. The sponges seem to have been soaked in hot water beforehand, the warmth and wetness mimicking the tight squeeze of the real thing. Jabber moves it up and down experimentally, watching Zanka with rapt attention.

Every time it moves, the can makes a gross squelching noise. Lube drips down his cock, settling in the soft hair scattered beneath and into the crevice of his ass. He tries not to buck his hips, unwilling to admit defeat to such a crude device, but it feels too good. Zanka can't help the way he shifts into the warm heat. He bites the gag in his mouth, holding onto his dignity for dear life. Jabber's eyes are clouded over now, hazy with lust as he watches Zanka struggle. He moves the can faster, flicking his wrist so fast it makes the younger man dizzy.

Jabber leans over him, into his ear, and whispers:

"You're doin' so good, takin' it so pretty…" 

Zanka's toes curl with the effort it takes not to cum, and he squeezes his eyes shut. The pleasure isn't yet overwhelming, but it's good, and the raider seems to know it. His wrist never tires or slows. He simply keeps the same relentless pace, whispering sweet praises in his ear, and Zanka is so, so weak.

"Hngh!"

It doesn't take much more. He cums into the glove, nails digging into his palms as he whines his release. Jabber continues to stroke him through it. The waves of his orgasm ebb and flow, but Jabber doesn't stop. He slows his pace a little, but his wrist never stops moving. Zanka panics. He squirms away to the best of his ability. Spoiler: he can only wiggle up the bed a little before his head bumps the wall. He waves his bound arms in a reluctant plea for mercy. Jabber only laughs at him cruelly.

"Sorry, can't hear ya. Gonna have to speak up a lil'!" He ignores Zanka's muffled curses, snaking his free hand down between his legs. He brushes his balls on the way down, squeezing just a bit too hard to be pleasurable, and huffs a laugh when the cleaner yelps in pain. Two ringed fingers poke at Zanka's hole, massaging the rim with the calloused pads of his fingers. They're the same two he used earlier, the cleaner concludes, because they're already sticky with lube. Jabber is nothing if not a fucking tease though, because he doesn't commit to shoving his fingers in right away. No, he pokes the tip of one in, thrusting shallowly, then pulls away. He repeats this motion until tears of frustration and slight overstimulation poke at Zanka's eyes, glossy pools of blue boring into bright fuchsia.

Despite his irritation at the teasing, he also wasn't ready for the full length of Jabber's finger pressing into him. It hits deep, deeper than he thought, and a groan falls out of his mouth before he can strop it. It stings a little, but nothing he can't take. The taller man thrusts the single digit in and out, feeling around his insides like a scavenger. The mental image makes Zanka chuckle a little. Then another finger is slipped inside, and nothing is funny. They scissor inside him, the stretch burning from the inside out.

The room, once quiet, is now filled with his muffled whimpers, cries, and the gross squelch of lube leaking from the can. A knot ties low in Zanka's gut. His cock feels raw, steadily worked with the help of Jabber's hand. Another finger is added, stretching him wider than he thought he could go, and all three curl inside at once. Something cracks inside the cleaner.

"Hgh, ungh…!"

Heat spreads through his body, travelling through his veins like electricity shooting in every direction. His eyes dart to Jabber, who's staring back with eyes like crescent moons.

"Found'ja."

He becomes relentless. His fingers seem to have a mind of their own, pressing that spot inside him with such speed and intensity that Zanka has to gasp around his underwear just to get enough air to breathe. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. His hips struggle between kicking up into the makeshift pocket pussy to get away from the stimulation on his prostate and pushing back on Jabber's fingers to get away from the wet heat. He's surrounded on all fronts, overstimulated and overwhelmed. His vision whites out, legs kicking wildly. It's no surprise that he cums, filling the glove once again. It pours out almost immediately this time, leaking onto the sheets and likely staining the mattress. 

"Woah, Big Z nuts like a horse!" Jabber says, lifting the can off and tossing it away.  It hits the floor with a dull thud. His fingers also withdraw. "My turn!"

"Gh?!"

Jabber shoves his boxers down his hips, and his cock slaps his stomach nearly immediately. It's shiny with precum and fucking huge. The girth alone scares him, nevermind the length. He's never gotten a proper look at it, only under the effect of whatever toxin he was given, in which he was too busy trying to get off to get a good look. Two silver balls sit on the underside, just below his slit, catching the moonlight and glinting ominously. They seem to put him in a trance. He stares for much longer than he should. Jabber glances over at Zanka.

"What? You scared or somethin'?"

The smirk on Jabber's face falters a little when he gets no response. He reaches over, yanking the spit-soaked underwear out of Zanka's mouth, and the air that enters his lungs feels like a gift.

"That- haah- that ain't gonna fit! And how the hell did ya get it pierced?!" He's interrupted by his own ragged breathing. 

"'S fine, it ain't that much bigger than yours," He shuffles between the cleaner's legs, throwing pale thighs over his own. Their lengths press together, the piercing making Zanka shudder with overstimulation. Jabber dwarfs him by a solid half an inch and some change. He can see exactly how deep it's going to go inside him. His guts churn in protest.

"Absolutely not, yer gonna tear me open!"

"C'mon, baby," Jabber offers a pleading look, vaguely grinding their cocks together. "Y'took my fingers so good, you can take me too," he breathes.

Zanka holds firm. "Ain't happenin'. I'll- I'll suck ya off, okay?" He sounds hesitant, even to himself. Jabber also seems unconvinced.

"You tryna convince me, or yourself?" he asks, deadpan.

"You–!!" A string of curses is interrupted by Jabber wrapping a hand around both of them, stroking slow and hard. They moan in unison, almost harmonizing if it weren't for Jabber's whimpering.

"Look, gorgeous, 'm leakin' so much just thinkin' about ya," he isn't wrong. The glide of his hand is lubricated only with his precum, which has spread onto both of them. "Been waitin' so long, haven't even touched myself this whole time...please, please, lemme jus' put the tip in, 'kay? I won't go no further unless you say so," he's whining now, staring into Zanka's eyes with that pathetic look the raider always gets when he wants something from him. It shouldn't work anymore, not after all this time.

He spreads his legs anyway.

"Jus' the tip. If ya go any further, I'll cut it off," he concedes.

Jabber's eyes light up like a cat that got the cream, fumbling with a condom. "Thank ya, baby! I look forward to it," the condom slips on without preamble, and Jabber presses the head to Zanka's hole. The cleaner inhales sharply, holding his breath in anxiety. It's really gonna go in, he thinks. Jus' the tip…

Jabber pushes forward, slowly sliding himself inside, stopping just after the tip pops inside. Immediately, the stretch makes Zanka groan, tears pricking his eyes. The taller man, to his credit, doesn't move immediately. He's too busy moaning, eyes shut in apparent bliss. Zanka wants to punch him for looking so damn happy at his expense. Black nails are digging into the backs of his knees, saliva dripping between them and forming a small pool on his stomach. It's fucking gross, but Zanka has learned that he's into gross shit recently, namely one such Jabber Wonger. The stretch burns less every second, replaced with an aching need in his gut that makes him rock back onto intrusion. Jabber fixes him with a smirk.

"Jus' the tip still?"

Zanka nods, but it's weak. Jabber lets him have his moment of delusion, thrusting in and out slowly. It's too slow, too little, not enough, and the cleaner quickly grows frustrated with the lack of stimulation. Going from two sources of pleasure to almost none is jarring, but he brought it on himself. Asking for more now would prove Jabber right yet again, and his ego can't quite handle that right now. So he takes it, rocking back when Jabber thrusts in to feel that extra half an inch go inside. Every so often, the piercing catches on his rim and makes them both moan, but it's still not enough. Nothing sounds sweeter than prostate stimulation, except perhaps knocking the raider onto his back and using him like a dildo. Now he's the freak.

Fuck it. He's already taking it up the ass, might as well commit. Never let it be said Zanka Nijiku does anything halfway.

"Jabber," he breathes, face heating up in embarrassment. "More."

Jabber smirks. "Knew you'd ask, baby."

The self-assurance in his voice makes Zanka want to break out of the stupid tie holding him and knock his teeth loose, but he refrains. He was good about waiting.

That sentiment is quickly thrown out the window when the entirety of Jabber's cock is rammed into him.

"Angh-!! You..asshole!" Zanka cries, face twisting somewhere between pain and pleasure. Jabber isn't faring much better. The pink of his eyes is barely visible with how far back they are in his head, and his nails are digging into Zanka's knees like he'll fade away if he lets go. There's definitely going to be bruises tomorrow.

"Sorry, 'm sorry, baby, you're so fuckin' warm, couldn't help it…" He whimpers, grinding up into Zanka's prostate as if to make up for it. It works well enough.  "Can I move?" he's drooling more now, which makes Zanka just a little sweet on him. But he's still got to earn it.

"B-Beg," he stutters, which makes it less sexy, but Jabber doesn't seem to care.

"Please, hng, I'll treat'cha like ya want, give it to ya good… I'm achin' down here, Z, can't ya feel it?" The raider grinds deeper for emphasis, drawing a curse from Zanka's lips. "Please, you can take it, you're strong, right? Lemme make you feel good,"

"Fuck, okay, shut up. No more talkin', just do yer job. Make me relax," he huffs, spreading his thighs just a bit wider. Jabber grins, looming over him and pushing his knees to his chest.

"You got it, ZanZan ♡."

His hips draw all the way back, leaving only the head still inside, then rams back in. It punches the wind out of Zanka, who cries out like he didn't ask for it. It doesn't stop him from meeting the thrust, though. His hips move on their own, both bodies working in tandem to get Jabber as deep as possible. The man in question is pounding into him like there's no tomorrow, thrusting so hard that Zanka is afraid his pelvic bone is going to break. Wouldn't be the first time they had sex with a broken bone. 

Zanka's back arches when Jabber finds just the right angle to brush against his prostate with every grind of his hips. It makes it both better and worse, overstimulation creeping back in, but the cleaner can't seem to care. Not when it feels so good, not when Jabber is babbling above him about everything and nothing all at once. Every thrust whacks a mewl out of him, and Zanka distantly wishes for the gag back. His wish goes unanswered, and he's still loud. Oh well.

They're a force to be reckoned with, the two of them together. They're probably being loud enough to wake the entire HQ with their combined whining, and Jabber seems to realize this, too. He leans down to capture Zanka's lips, swallowing his moans and feeding him his own. Things are almost sweet, if you ignore how Jabber ruts into him like a dog in heat. Until Zanka opens his mouth and bites. Blood explodes into their kiss, iron filling their mouths, and Jabber's hips stutter once, twice, and warmth fills Zanka's ass. The barrier between them prevents Zanka from feeling it properly, and he gets momentarily annoyed. The condom inflates with his spend, some leaking out due to the sheer volume. 

"Are ya kiddin' me?" Zanka spits against his lips, eyes narrowing.

"You're the one who bit me, what did ya think was gonna happen?"

"Oh, my bad. Didn't expect ya to only last a minute after talkin' such a big game about givin' it to me good."

Jabber's expression darkens. His smile remains in place, but something isn't right about his eyes.

"Think you're the shit, huh? Like you won't cum in two seconds if I say the right thing. Should we test it out? See if you can last?" 

The memory of his embarrassment makes his neck flush, creeping down to his chest. But damn it, a challenge was offered to him; who is he to say no?

"Try me, shitface."

Jabber grins wider, but it's wrong.

His hips start up again, but it's slower this time. More intentional, no longer brushing his prostate but hitting it dead on. Zanka keens, eyes rolling, still thrusting back on his cock. His arms are going numb beneath him. He struggles against the tie, wriggling this way and that, but it barely budges. If anything, it gets more constrictive.

Jabber moves from his lips to his neck, leaving all sorts of hickies and bites in his wake. The sweetness from before is gone, replaced with the need to ruin each other completely. Tears of pleasure threaten to spill from Zanka's eyes, his previous orgasms turning his sensitivity up to the max, but he refuses to lose the little game they're playing. He clenches around Jabber's cock, using what little knowledge he has of this sort of thing to his advantage. 

"Zanka," the raider groans into his neck on a particularly hard smack of his hips. "You feel so good, fuck," 

"Shut the fuck up, Jabber, I know what yer doin'-"

Jabber doesn't let up. "I ain't lyin', baby." He kisses the once pale skin of Zanka's neck, now littered with purple and red. "You take it so pretty, cryin' for me," he reaches down, grabbing his cock. It jumps in his hand, and Jabber laughs, tugging a few times. "Think you can take a lil' more?"

No!!

"Y-Yeah, 'm fine," he says, definitely not sure.

"Good boy, Z," Jabber purrs into his ear.

"Not- fuck, there!" He wails, piercing hitting some spot in him he didn't even know was sensitive. Whatever he was going to say before is thrown out the window, all his focus is going to not giving Jabber the satisfaction of seeing him cum. The hand on his cock moves faster, twisting at the head and flicking a nail through his slit as it belongs there. 

"This ain't fair," Zanka whines.

"Mm? No?" he barely gives a response, too busy grinding into Zanka's sweet spot to care about silly things like words, apparently. "Why's that, baby?"

"Y'got hands! I can't- Not like this." he wriggles his hands behind his back.

Jabber only chuckles, slowing his grind a little. He takes his hand off of his dick for just long enough to push Zanka's hair out of his face and wipe tears that he didn't even know were falling. He gets right back to it after.

"You don't need 'em, pretty boy. Just sit back and- ngh- take what I give ya."

Zanka does not pout, but he gets pretty damn close to it. Jabber swings back into his rhythm, plowing Zanka into the mattress like it was indestructible. The cleaner wraps two pale legs around his waist, drawing him in closer. The bed creaks every time their hips meet, but they're long since past the point of caring about noise. Zanka shoves down the mortification he knows is going to bite him in the ass tomorrow morning. 

The knot in his stomach pulls tight, tighter, taut– but Zanka refuses. He's moaning like a whore, and he knows it, but he won't let Jabber win their little competition. He holds onto his self-control, willing his orgasm to settle. 

"You're twitchin' like ya do when you're gonna cum," Jabber opens his big mouth again.

"Shut yer trap!"

"Feisty. I like that," he says, sucking a mark into Zanka's collarbone. "I think ya like this too. Bein' tied down like this, can't run away no more, huh?"

"Ngh…ah, stop!"

Jabber does not stop. In fact, his mouth gets filthier.

"If you wanted me to stop, ya wouldn't be squeezin' my dick so hard. You like this, ZanZan, just admit it. It feels so much better when you just let go," he punctuates his last two words with two sharp jabs to Zanka's prostate. "C'mon, be a good boy. Let me see ya let go 'n make a mess."

Zanka is cooked.

"Haa, shit, 'm gonna cum!"

No sooner than he gives the warning does he paint himself and Jabber with his cum, shooting all the way up to his chest. Jabber doesn't slow his hand, milking every drop of his release he can get before he finally lets it fall limp on his stomach. He pushes himself back up onto his knees, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Told ya."

Zanka has to catch his breath, chest heaving with the effort it takes to get his lungs steady after moaning himself hoarse, but he manages. A glare fixes onto Jabber.

"Fuck you. Untie me and get out."

"That ain't very nice to say to someone who just fucked your brains out free of charge, y'know? Most people gotta pay for that stuff," he rolls his eyes, not making an effort to pull out. "And who said we were done?"

"Huh?"

Jabber rolls him over, slipping out in the process. He's flat on his stomach until the raider lifts him by the hips, pulling his body into an arch he didn't know he could do. He slides right back in, as if it were home. 

"You still got a mouth on ya, dont'cha?" Zanka is yanked up by the wrists, hands coming up to hold him by the neck. "Gotta fuck all that outta ya, then you'll be relaxed. Seems like we got a ways to go."

-

Zanka no longer remembers where he is or what day it is. All he knows is the pillow he's sobbing into and Jabber's name. 

There's a puddle underneath him, a gross mix of lube and their combined cum. Condoms lie scattered, and cum leaks out of his ass like a faucet every time Jabber thrusts into him. They ditched the protection at some point due to Zanka's senseless babbles about his seed taking, and Jabber was all too happy to indulge his whims. The tie was also discarded, just for Zanka to immediately start scratching and biting anywhere he could reach. Blood caked under his nails quickly, leaving a trail of pleasure across Jabber's back. Zanka always paid whatever he received back tenfold. Jabber was far more into it than he should've been, fucking his cum deeper into Zanka as a reward for making him bleed all over the sheets.

Currently, Zanka is on his back, mounted like a breeding mare as Jabber bullies his cock into his sore hole for the nth time. Everything is wet and painful and so so good. There's not a thought in his damn brain, words coming out as jumbled nonsense every time he tries to ask for more or less. The bed snapped somewhere around round 5, giving out under the force of Zanka's feverish riding. Jabber didn't even seem to realize, busy making Zanka into a mess of tears and spit. 

He drugged himself with something mid fuck, offering it to Zanka like candy. He still had enough sense then to say no; then they'd really wake everyone up, but damn it, he can't keep up anymore. His legs twitch uselessly on Jabber's shoulders as he sings his pleasure, whimpers creating a cacophony of sin. The man in question ignores him, balls slapping against his ass in rapid succession. Every thrust is punctuated with a whine about how good Zanka is, or how good it feels, and Zanka prays to whoever listens that he shuts the fuck up.

His prayers go unanswered.

"Jabber, I can't- hic, can't cum…no more, fuck," he sobs, ass clenching tight in an attempt to stop the hips pistoning into him. It slows him down slightly, but he doesn't stop. He turns his head, biting Zanka's ankle.

"Y'got this baby, one more. Jus gimme one more and- fuuuck, like that, and I'll let'cha go."

"Yer full o' shit, ya said, ah, said that three 'one more's ago!" There's a whiny sound to his voice, likely from all the crying he's doing. He can't even think long enough to be self-conscious.

Jabber only hums, promising this time was the last. Damn liar, Zanka uses all his energy to think through the haze of pleasure and pain. 'm gonna get fucked to death. 

Zanka's ankles are pushed onto the bed next to his head, and Jabber grins at him from above.

"O~ops."

The next morning, Zanka feels like he's been hit by a car and stomped on by a mega trash beast.

His clothes are haphazardly thrown on his body. His bed feels slanted. The sheets are gone, replaced by only a blanket. On his bedside table lies a piece of paper and a room-temperature glass of water. He picks up the note, eyeing the water warily.

Thanks for the fun, Mr. Bad Attitude! Hope you feel relaxed now >_0

Zanka takes a moment to assess himself. His body is in terrible condition, he's sore all over, and bite marks throb across his neck, but… mentally, a weight feels like it's been lifted off his shoulders. He does feel better.

P.S: Sorry about the bed 0_0

…Zanka wills himself out of bed, trying to see the damage.

An entire leg post of his bed is broken, and the slats underneath have shattered in half. That would explain the slanted feel from earlier. Anger boils in his stomach, but he's interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Zanka, you in there?" It's Riyo.

He checks himself over in the mirror, tugging his shirt collar higher and wrapping his haori around himself tightly. He swings the door open.

"Mornin', Riyo." He says. It comes out wrong. His voice is so hoarse it's barely audible, and Riyo's face twists with amusement.

"Had a good time?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know what ya mean." He fires back.

"Half the building heard you last night."

He slams the door in her face.