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Zanka had struggled to open his eyes, annoyingly glued shut with gunk, when he heard someone approaching:
“Could’a sworn I put the morphine somewhere…” And then the voice trailed off as his vision unblurred. The source? A lean figure: tight, off-white fabric exposing bare thighs, a thin and schlocky nurse headband crowning a messy bun of locs, a badly plastered Hello, My Name Is sticker above a flat chest. It was the easiest game of Guess Who in Zanka’s life.
“Yooo, Sleeping Beauty! How’re ya feeling?” Jabber said.
It was still shocking to guess right. “What the fuck?”
“Better? Good, good.” he smiled. “You were out of it for a while, y’know. Thought I overdosed you, or you had an attention-seeking terminal illness that was gonna kill you before I could, and you can never really tell, know what I’m saying?” No. “So I hadta bring you here and check for myself.”
“What…” Zanka repeated. He blinked, scanning the atmosphere, running his hands on top of the mattress just to feel something. There was no reliable lighting so the whole place looked like the deepest pits of Hell. Fitting. “Where are we? Where’s Lovely Assistaff?”
“We playing 20 questions now? She’s fine, been waiting for you in the corner right there,” he pointed to her relatively unscathed body that was leaning against the wall. Zanka let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “And this is my office, duh. Bossman said I could rent it out just for today, cause ‘m gonna nurse you back to full health!”
Zanka never wanted to roll his eyes so badly. “There’s nurses at Cleaner’s HQ, dumbass.”
“You think I don’t know that? Cause I do, I just don’t care,” Jabber said petulantly, crossing his arms. His broad shoulders flexed. Zanka couldn’t tell if he was doing that on purpose. “Every raider swore they was on a mission, or don’t trust me, even Cthoni—the manhole girl, remember her? Anyway—earlier today I told the boss, ‘I have no one to heal! How’m I supposed to test out these new toxins if nobody’s here?’ And then he said, ‘go find that cleaner boy you’re always fighting’ and then I was like, shit, can’t believe I didn’t think of that! But before I went off to go totally beat your ass I was like, wait, where’m I gonna do my magic? And then the bossman gave me this room, no questions asked, totally free. Ain’t he awesome?”
“Manhole…fighting…test out…” Zanka repeated with a fuzzy mind. His brows furrowed when the cogs turned. Everyone just assumed—and knew—he was going to lose today. That was embarrassing as fuck. “So you just drugged me without a trial run first?”
“Silly bad-attitude, you are the trial run! Better you than anyone else, right?” Jabber teased. The sheer thought of Jabber even seeing anyone else was unbearable for some reason. He pulled out a glittery pen and a dully compared clipboard from absolutely nowhere and squinted at its contents. “Ahem. Have you experienced any of the following: nausea, vomiting, shortness of breath, memory loss, dizziness, hallucinations, numbness in the arms, numbness in the legs, diarrhea, jaundice, internal bleeding, inflammation of the feet, miosis, or confusion?”
“What…?”
“Great! That’s all I need to know!” he scribbled down some bullshit just to chuck the clipboard to the side anyway. It harshly clattered on the ground. “Kay, looks like that anesthesia mix I gave you did its thing. Like, an hour ago, you was just oozing blood, man. Bet you don’t remember that.”
“I don’t,” Zanka said.
“Mm. But you still ain’t better yet.” Jabber slapped his gloves tighter around his wrists before walking on the opposite side of the room to fetch something. “All ya need is a quick shot, and you’ll be back at your loser’s HQ in a jiffy.”
“Hah,” Zanka laughed. He had thought, childishly, that Jabber was foolish for turning his back on him, preparing to poke him with a needle, but Jabber poked him all the time—Mankira, syringes, whatever. It was weird to be picky about such similar things, though he had never heard of or seen a healing Raider. Mankira’s skills were close but she wasn’t there yet. Jabber did like to yap on and on about hidden potential, evolution, enhancement, and all. It wasn’t like Zanka believed any of it, but Jabber was a natural talent, insane but genius. The insane type of genius you’d call the first guy who thought of the heliocentric system.
Jabber was back with an oddly colored syringe between his fingers. “Y’know, you’re way more calm about this than I expected, Mr.Bad-attitude.”
Zanka huffed, feigning nonchalance. “Everything you do is bullshit anyway, so ‘m just tryin’ to get this done and over with.”
“Suuuure,” Jabber said. “Just reminding you, I gave you mad anesthesia about an hour ago, so I can’t give you any more, else you’d probably die forreal.”
“I can handle a damn shot,” Zanka barked.
“Suuuure,” he said, slower. “Didn’t say otherwise, man. But, like, this shot’s so you don’t feel wonky and end up vomiting. So, c’mon, take off your pants.”
Zanka sighed, “Look, Jabber—”
“Not like that!” Jabber cackled. “Idiot!” Zanka wasn’t viscerally blushing, something about blood levels, but he could’ve sworn he was overheating. Could you blame him? Jabber made the weirdest demands all the damn time. Touch me. Take me. Beat me so hard I can only think about you and only say your name. Slap me. Mark me. Open your mouth. Open my mouth. “You’re such a perv, it’s sexy.”
“Just. Whatever,” Zanka said, rolling his pants down somewhere above the knee.
“Don’t get embarrassed! It’s cause I can’t put the shot in your arms, y’know. I could hit a bone or a nerve or the wrong vein. Calm doooown. Look, I’ll give ya something to play with so you can relax…” Jabber said, going quiet. He began working at his dress, unbuttoning it with the syringe sitting dangerously in the crux of his index and middle fingers. Compared to Mankira it was nothing. Dress halfway open, his shy, brown nipples were exposed to the air. He grabbed Zanka’s arm, conducting him, sighing, “C’mon, you can play with my chest.”
“You are so fucked up,” Zanka bit out, but he glazed his fingers across his chest anyway.
Jabber grinned, cleaning a wet spot on Zanka’s thigh, pinching the skin. “Ah,” Zanka brushed past his left nipple, and he was sensitive. “Don’t move, or make me move, unless you’re just askin’ me to kill you, cause then I’ll totally do it. You can rough me up when I’m done. I’ll even give you a reward if you stay still and do a good job.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just get with it already…”
“So eager,” Jabber said, and then he pressed through the thickest part of muscle, liquid surging. Under anesthesia or not Zanka was sure that he couldn’t feel a thing. The needle was so tiny. It left as quickly as it entered. Jabber praised him a little, but he wasn’t complaining. Bullishly, he thought about his prize.
Jabber briefly pulled away to trash the emptied syringe and dirtied gloves. When he returned, he stuck a silly-looking bandaid on the scuffed skin. Then he sank to his knees and kissed it. “Is it working?”
Zanka blinked down at him. “Is what working?”
“My treatment,” he sassed.
“I guess so,” Zanka wasn’t bleeding out anymore, and there wasn’t any reason why he wanted to puke, so that probably meant he was recovering somewhat. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Jabber tugged Zanka’s underwear down, baring his half hard cock to the world. Medical boners were, universally, an involuntary reflex, but it wasn’t illogical to blame this all on Jabber’s perky chest. At this angle, his nipples were falling out of his dress, eyes sparkly and half-lidded. It was a sight that could turn anyone on.
“I should’a gave you an inspection," Jabber said, cupping his balls. He lifted them up and down, squeezed them, studied them. “Aww, Zanka-kun, you’re so healthy.”
Zanka kicked him. “Can you stop being a fuckin’ weirdo for, like, one second?”
“Nah.”
Don’t get him wrong—Jabber oozed sex appeal: sinewy build, androgynous face, slick fucking mouth—but he had an unhinged vibe about him, even down to the way he gave blowjobs. Impressive hand-eye-mouth coordination, somehow giving a soliloquy with a cheek full of cock. It was hot, the stark contrast, but it was concerning, and Zanka thought about launching a study about his psychosexuality sometimes, but he’d have to focus on himself first. Right now, he was rising in Jabber’s saliva-sticky palm, blood flow finally active, and he was a bit insecure because that alone was worse than anything Jabber had going on.
When he grew fully hard, Jabber tucked a thick stray loc behind his ear before leaning over, licking his already wet glans. Zanka groaned, and Jabber laughed at him, a mocking, devilish sound. He did it again and again and stuck out his tongue. Zanka wholeheartedly wanted him to choke. He always did, but it could be on anything at this point—his toothbrush, a grand of rice, Lovely Assisstaff, (sorry, he would clean her contritely) his fingers, his dick. The next time Jabber lowered himself on his cock, he locked his leg around his neck.
He didn’t even splutter. It was more of a motivator than anything else. Jabber sucked him off rhythmically, saliva seeping through his lips, inhaling and exhaling through the nose when things got serious. The thought of an unexpected, personality-contrasting gag-reflex was out of the question. The results were in: Jabber didn’t have one. Zanka pulsed at that. Jabber giggled but it was more like his tongue vibrated on Zanka’s base. Zanka slightly unhooked his leg at the sound, and Jabber had come up for air.
“Nice try.”
“Ya look like you enjoyed that more than me.”
Jabber passionately nodded, rubbing his cheek on Zanka’s dick and reaching down to palm his own.
Zanka swung his leg over and said, “Don’t touch yourself.”
“Why not? Ya can’t make me.”
He thought fast. “This is my inspection, ain’t it?”
Jabber smiled affably. “You right,” he nodded, and continued sucking him off.
Zanka didn’t actually think that would work. When he came without warning, Jabber coughed a bit, but he lapped it all up like a good, sanitary nurse.
“Hmm. Kinda savory,” he commented. “Lots’a soy and rice. I knew you were healthy! Damn, ‘m so fucking good at this job.”
“Eh,” Zanka said. He wasn’t too nauseous anymore, but now he was spent. “You were okay.”
“You’re such a lameass. Once I tell the bossman ‘bout this, he’ll be all over me—”
“Do not.”
“Chiiiill. I’m just gonna leave out the part where you tried to choke me with your dick, that’s all,” he’d have to redact way more than that. His voice was hoarse, but he was still chatting up a storm. That had to hurt. For Jabber’s own sake, he needed an off button. “Shit, I lowkey came in my underwear. Loved this pair, too. Oh well. I mean, minus that part, and that other part, I did some pretty cool shit back there.”
Zanka rubbed at his perfectly okay thigh and said, “Yeah. Thanks.”
When the high was over and the clean-up was done, he returned to Cleaner’s HQ with Lovely Assisstaff in tow. He greeted Eishia, just to make sure of something.
“Umm, s-sorry but, what exactly is it you want me to do? I’m looking at you, and you seem to be alright…”
“Oh.” he blinked. “Sorry about that. It’s nothing, then.” he dismissed with a smile, inwardly bewildered.