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It’s almost casual, now, the frequency at which they fight.
After that encounter in the cave, Jabber had been turning up seemingly everywhere. Any mission even slightly in the direction of a No-Mans Land, there the Raider would be, ready to jump Zanka and force him into a complete and utter brawl.
Zanka has not won a single time.
He's gotten close, he knows he has. Broken bones are difficult to walk off for anyone, even someone high off their mind with drug cocktails that would kill a trash beast. But still, nothing close to an actual victory.
Also nothing close to... what had happened that time, either. At least, not directly. Zanka tries very hard to ignore the way his chest flutters at the sight of Jabbers face beat purple and red. When blood drips freely from the Raider’s nose, and he makes no move to wipe it from his lips, Zanka staunchly does not address his urges to lick it.
And he especially, absolutely, does not spend any time whatsoever admiring the expert way Jabber moves with Mankira. Even in her larger, true form, Jabber is somehow graceful. He dances with her. She’s horrifically painful and dangerous, of course. But she shines most when she is showcasing her almost surgical precision. Poison is typically administered subtly.
It’s a stark contrast to the utilitarian and brutal moves that Zanka showcases with Lovely. Not that he would have it any other way, of course. Lovely Assistaff is a different type of weapon to Mankira, with her own unique and beautiful charms... that he feels completely normal about.
"Lovely." Jabber purrs, "Yeah, she is."
But anyway. Jabber and Zanka have been fighting. A lot.
He’s in the middle of one such fight, when the unthinkable happens.
Zanka throws Lovely in an arch, spinning her in the air in a move he doesn’t use often. Throwing one’s Vital Instrument is pretty counter-productive when they don’t return. But the purpose is realized when her jaws latch around Jabber’s neck mid-air, latching and tossing him to the ground. It’s almost like a pounce from a predator, the way she has him pinned to the ground. The landing is far from soft, trash being kicked up in the wake of them.
Jabber laughs and moans gleefully, the spikes of Assistaff grazing his delicate neck.
“You think this is enough to get me down?” He giggles, squirming slightly but not yet making a move to actually get up, “Oh, Zanka, you ain’t learnin’!”
But crucially, Jabber isn’t actually looking at Zanka in that moment, too blissed out by the pain of the throw. If he had been, he would have seen Zanka’s not-so-subtle approach. His leap. And finally, the way he crashes down on Jabber, using the full weight of his body to drive his feet into each of Jabber’s elbows where they’re splayed out beside him.
Zanka grunts with the force of it, but it’s completely drowned out by Jabber’s howl of pain – pleasure? – same thing. Zanka drops to his knees quickly, driving them into Jabber’s shoulders this time. The Raider had barely recovered from the first blow, now only able to wheeze from where the second drives him into even more of a state of frenzy.
Nothing happens for a few moments. Zanka breathes heavily, tense and waiting. Any moment now, Jabber will counter him, he’s sure of it. He waits a few moments more.
Jabber isn't moving. Just breathing.
Lovely, as beautiful as she is, is slightly blocking Jabber’s face from Zanka’s position on his chest.
“No way yer done.” He snaps, pulling Lovely from her place against Jabber’s neck, flipping her around, and driving her blunt end into Jabber’s ribs.
He twitches. The moan is weak.
“Oi.” Zanka tries again. He grinds the heel of his palm against the spot he struck, then quickly retracts his hand like it was burning. He keeps doing that. Accidentally indulging himself.
Jabber had called him a sadist once. He doesn’t want to prove that fucker right.
“Zan-zan...” Jabber hisses. His eyes are lidded, still glowing with Mankira’s power. Zanka looks to the Instrument and gasps.
She’s activated, full strength and size, but completely useless. Both of Jabber’s arms, from shoulder and elbow, are dislocated.
Zanka’s won.
As if able to read his mind, Jabber starts wheezing with little hiccups and giggles. He’s squirming underneath Zanka, but the Cleaner doesn’t budge at all, still too in shock to move.
Zanka’s actually beat him.
He looks to Jabber’s face again. The grin there is stretched and odd, but clearly blissed out. Zanka should feel disgusted. But he doesn’t, he feels... warm.
His enemy is below him, completely helpless, battered and bloodied and it’s because of him. He grips Lovely Assistaff tighter. They’d done this together. Not just beaten Jabber, but Mankira too. Lovely’s energy thrums beneath his palms as he runs a hand down the shaft in quiet reverence. He’s never doubted her abilities, but they had worked together for this victory.
“Are ya...” Jabber wheezes, “gonna reward your girl?”
Zanka freezes, then flushes. He hates how easily Jabber can still catch him off guard, even like this. His neck and ears feel hot. But not because Jabber’s words sounded unappealing or gross... but rather because they didn’t.
Now it’s Zanka’s turn to squirm. He can’t hide the action, not while on top of the other man, but Jabber doesn’t comment on it. In fact, he eggs him on.
“C’mon, you should tell her how good she’s been.” He rasps, arms not moving, but torso twitching, “She had me fooled, ya know. Real smart of her to trap me like that while ya snuck up on me.”
Zanka screws his eyes shut and wills the heat collecting in his gut to stop. His hips twitch against his will.
“Her teeth, too... yeah you mentioned those before,” Jabber whines at the memory, the sound does nothing to help Zanka’s situation, “She really could’a bit my head off...”
At some point during Jabber’s compliments, Makira had been deactivated, returning to her original form as rings. With Jabber’s arms splayed out like they are, no giant blades in sight, the man almost looks... fragile.
The sight sends Zanka’s brain spiraling. The heat travels low and before he can even really process what he’s doing, he’s grinding his erection against Jabber’s chest. Or rather, against his broken ribs.
Jabber makes a choking kind of sound, likely more from the pressure than anything pain or pleasure driven, but quickly gets with the program and starts talking again.
“The way ya use her is crazy, man. Only you could get her goin’ like that Zan-zan, hurtin’ me so good-”
It’s too much, Zanka slams a hand across Jabber’s mouth. If he keeps talking, calling him good-
“Shut the fuck up a second.” He pants through another grind of his hips. He ignores the way Jabber has started grinding back. He does, he swears. “Me n’ Lovely ain’t doin’ all the work here ya know.”
A wet tongue slides against Zanka’s hand and he quickly pulls it away in disgust.
“Awhh, Zanka you flatter me-”
“I ain’t talkin’ about you,” he spits, wiping his hand against the side of Jabber’s Raider uniform, intentionally pushing harder than he needs to so he can hear Jabber gasp again, “I’m talkin’ about Mankira!”
Jabber’s eyes fly wide. Zanka rolls his eyes, stilling his movements for a moment and then placing Lovely in her holster against his back.
Roughly, he grabs both of Jabber’s wrists and yanks them up and towards him. The scream of pain Jabber lets out, Zanka ignores as he zeroes in his sights on the pretty rings that adorn the last knuckle of each of Jabber’s slender fingers.
It’s not surprising that Jabber takes such good care of his hands, it’s where Mankira spends most of her time, so of course he would want the best for her. They’re almost pretty, Zanka thinks.
He says as much, leaving Jabber squirming under him in a new way.
Before Jabber can protest too much, Zanka adjusts his grip, holding Jabber’s hands up gently so that Mankira is almost being presented to him. He leans forward, keeping eye contact with Jabber the whole way.
It’s funny, Zanka thinks. In the whole time they’ve known each other, the whole time they’ve been fighting for their lives... this is the first time Zanka has seen Jabber actually look nervous.
Flushed.
Not in arousal, that's a common occurrence, but bashful.
Zanka draws Mankira close to his mouth, he runs his nose along Jabber’s knuckles, grazing the section where metal meets skin. For once, Jabber isn’t talking, just panting heavily with wide eyes. Watching. Waiting.
He rests his lips against Mankira’s second ring (counting from the left pinky, Jabber’s ring finger) and whispers to her.
“Beautiful.”
Jabber makes some kind of squawking sound, and starts trying to buck Zanka off in earnest. Without much thought, Zanka grabs him by the wrist again and twists.
“Fuckin- What’s your issue, Zanka!” Jabber yells, clearly confused by the mix of pain and softness Zanka is doling out.
“Did I say you could interrupt?” He asks, smiling cruelly down at Jabber, “You said all yer thanks to Lovely before, remember? Now it’s my turn.”
He readjusts Jabber’s hands how he wants them, but at the same time squeezes his knees together slightly where he straddles the man. Zanka feels something crunch slightly, probably Jabber’s ribs if his punched out moan was anything to go by.
With Jabber suitably satisfied with that pressure, Zanka continues his ministrations.
He’s never gotten to see Mankira so close up before, at least, not when she isn’t trying to kill him. In this form, she’s almost dainty looking. Delicate. Something he could see being worn by some high-society woman that owns coats made of real fur, as rare as that is on the Ground. The juxtaposition between Mankira’s appearance, the man who wears her, and the violence she’s capable of, almost makes Zanka light-headed with arousal.
He places a kiss upon each of her segments, taking his time to appreciate each one. They all make up the whole of her, so each part is just as important as the last. Between each kiss, he rocks forward on Jabber’s chest and squeezes his knees slightly. The melody it creates is incredible.
Zanka think’s Jabber’s babbling something, but he ignores him. Instead, he addresses Mankira.
“Thank you for makin’ me stronger.” He says, kissing her again, “Thank you for showin’ me yer true self.” Another kiss. Another grind. Another moan from Jabber.
Zanka’s kisses get more open-mouthed, until eventually he braves taking one of Jabber’s fingers into his mouth fully. It’s a reckless move, he knows. Jabber could activate her at any moment and kill him right there, but somehow Zanka knows he won't.
And anyway, he’s pretty sure all logic went into the trash heap the moment he landed on top of Jabber’s chest.
He’s being so stupid right now... but he also can’t stop.
In his head, he thanks Lovely for the fact that Jabber can’t move his arms right now. Dislocating them was the best idea Zanka’s ever had.
The hard metal clacks against his teeth as he takes more into his mouth. Zanka relishes the fact that she doesn’t taste like metal at all. Clearly a high quality material, cared for with years of polish and hard work against tarnishing.
Zanka will admit to anyone that he loves his Vital Instrument. It’s kind of a baseline requirement of being a Giver. No one judges him too harshly for it (even though, by Giver standards, he can be a little over the top). What he doesn’t really tell anyone though, is that he has a deep admiration for other people’s Vital Instruments, too.
It’s logical though, isn’t it? When someone cares for something so deeply that it gains a soul, you naturally want to find out what it is about that object they love so much.
With Mankira on his tongue, he can tell clearly what it is about her that’s special. He can feel it, the power laid dormant inside her, at the will of the man below him.
Zanka feels a buzzing in his ears, and he knows he’s close. Mostly, he feels powerful.
Without much forethought, Zanka reaches an arm down between both of Jabber’s and latches a hand around the Raider’s neck. The other hand he keeps wrapped around both of Jabber’s wrists, keeping Mankira firmly in place in his mouth. His tongue roved over her form, and Zanka squeezes his eyes shut to stop them from rolling back.
He's panting around Jabber’s fingers. Faintly, he can hear him say something like “holy shit, you really a freak!” but he takes no notice until-
“C’mon, be a good boy Zan-zan, choke me like you mean it.”
Zanka swears he sees stars as he comes, hands both clenching around what they’re holding. He quickly removes Jabber’s fingers from his mouth in order to avoid biting down on them, but in doing so is unable to cover his shout of ecstasy.
When he looks down to Jabber, he notices the Raider also coming down from his own high and releases his neck and hands. Jabber’s arms flop down uselessly beside him.
Zanka pants in exertion. This is the most worn out he’s ever felt from a fight that he didn’t pass out from.
A fight.
A fight?
That wasn’t a fucking fight.
Quickly and on wobbly legs, Zanka stands up from his place over Jabber’s chest. He thinks he maybe kicks or stumbles over him on his way up because he hears Jabber make some kind of keening sound like a kicked dog. He ignores it and tries to gather himself, tucking his hair back behind his ears like that’ll erase the cum drying in his pants.
He needs to get back to HQ and pretend this never happened.
“Hey... where you goin’?” Jabber asks from the floor.
Zanka doesn’t even spare him a look as he walks away, clutching Lovely Assistaff to his chest for comfort. Why does he feel like he cheated on her? Is he insane?
“Away!” He calls back.
Jabber’s laughs fade out the longer he walks. Even after Zanka can no longer see or hear him, the image of him plagues his mind. Beaten to a pulp, begging for more. Covered in blood...
Pretty.
It’s gonna be a long ass shower that he takes tonight.