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If asked, Jabber will insist that he was minding his own business when Zanka attacked out of nowhere.
If you asked Zanka, he'd say that for the past three hours, Jabber had been a complete tease.
It's an off day, and Zanka and Jabber elected to stay in instead of joining teams Akuta and Eager on their trip to Canvas Town. Team Child have a training day today, and so outside of miscellaneous staff and supporters, HQ is relatively empty.
The couple sleep in, eat a late breakfast, and then spend the day lounging together, each doing their own thing in each other's company.
Jabber had decided to bust out the nail polish an hour or so ago, pulling Zanka from his book to help and get his nails painted, too.
Jabber expertly applies a shimmery blue varnish to Zanka's nails, the hue shifting depending on how the light hits them. It's a nice color, Zanka thinks, and apparently Jabber had picked it out especially for him, even before he'd joined the Cleaners. Zanka remembers how Jabber's ears tinged red when he admitted it, a little high and loose-lipped.
While Zanka's nails dry, Jabber takes that time to paint his toes, that way Zanka will be able to do his hands after. They have a pretty good system in place, a routine to it they'd established within the first few months of Jabber's stay.
Jabber's color this time around is a pretty, soft pink, glitter floating and refracting the light. It sparkles, and by the time Jabber finishes his top coat, Zanka's nails are dry. He holds Jabber's hands in his own and takes over the task, Jabber talking away about everything and nothing.
When he finishes, it's time to wait. Zanka usually prides himself on his patience. But Jabber's feet lay in his lap and the pink polish is unusually captivating. He wants… no, no, he has to wait for Jabber's nails to dry, otherwise he'll be irritated at messing them up. A genuinely irritated Jabber is no fun, and he takes his nails seriously.
So Zanka waits, and waits, and Jabber, of course, eventually notices his lack of focus.
“Man, what's the matter with you?” he asks and Zanka is too preoccupied with the mental image of Jabber's toes curling that he doesn't even register the question for a moment. Jabber kicks his leg up a bit, just enough so that his foot knocks into Zanka’s chin, and finally Zanka looks at him.
“Dude. What are you thinking about?” Jabber says again, waving his hands around— flapping them, really— to try and speed up the drying process.
“It’s nothing, Jabs,” Zanka replies, and it’s immediately obvious that Jabber doesn’t buy it.
“Uhhhhh huh. Because you've been staring off into space for no reason, right? I've been trying to talk to ya, sunshine, but you didn't hear a thing I said, did ya?” Jabber sits up more, but his feet shift, still in Zanka's lap— and it's really, really distracting.
“Uh, well…” Zanka stammers, eyes flicking down for just a moment. But that's all it takes, and a wide grin spreads over Jabber's face.
“I knew it,” Jabber exclaims gleefully, and Zanka's face starts to burn.
“There's nothing to know,” Zanka denies.
“Yeah, right! You got a thing for—!” Jabber's sentence is immediately cut off by a loud yelp, followed swiftly by frantic giggling. He kicks his feet, falling onto his back, but Zanka doesn't let go. Blue-painted fingers scribble expertly over his soles.
“Only yours, for the record,” Zanka says, and then scratches the underside of Jabber's toes. Jabber shrieks, twisting to get away. “Hey, be careful, sweetheart— you don't wanna mess up your nails, do you? Are they dry yet?”
Jabber glares as much as can, but he's laughing too hard for it to actually be intimidating. “Fuck you!” he bites out, then yells again when Zanka's fingers trail up his leg. “Don't you fucking dare!”
The warning goes unheeded, Zanka gripping his knee and kneading, and Jabber cackles. “You sound like a witch, Jabber,” the blond teases fondly.
Jabber tries kicking again. It doesn't help, actually makes it worse, because now the back of his knee is exposed and Zanka takes immediate advantage. It punches a wheeze out of his lungs. He catches his breath again finally, says, “I am a witch!” and is promptly punished for his audacity in the form of Zanka going right back to tickling under his toes. “Zankaaaa, stop!”
Zanka's face is a deeper shade of red, now, and even through the fuzz of laughter Jabber can tell he's enjoying this immensely. He keeps switching between poking Jabber's toes and swiping over the arches. His eyes are fixated entirely on Jabber's feet.
And if he really, really focuses, Jabber can hear Zanka's breath hitch every time he flexes his toes. Yeah, Zanka's got him helpless right now, but he is not living this down!
“You— you— fuckin’ weirdo!” Jabber goads through his laughter, “Fuckin’— gotta fuckin’—foot fetish!”
Zanka growls and doubles down. “Hey, quit sayin’ ‘fuck,’ Jabber, it's not polite!”
“Go fuck yourself!”
Zanka grins, evil as anything, and pauses. Jabber takes the opportunity to catch his breath. Zanka rises just a bit, and Jabber attempts to make a run for it— turns onto his stomach and tries to crawl away.
“Wow, thanks, sweetheart! You just made this so much easier for me!” Zanka snickers, then plants himself over the back of Jabber's thighs, facing away, while the other starts hollering in protest. He grabs Jabber's legs, clutches them to his chest, and holds Jabber's toes taut.
“Zanka, Zanka, I'm sorry! Please, please!” Jabber begs, and slaps the floor uselessly with his hands.
“Nope! This is what happens to smartasses, since ya think ya know every-motherfuckin’-thing!” Zanka goes right back to tickling Jabber's feet, and Jabber can't really do anything but lay there and take it and laugh.
“You— you just wanna—” Jabber prattles on, but is interrupted.
“See, I was gonna stop in just a few seconds, but now it seems like you're asking for it!” Zanka turns his head so he can meet Jabber's gaze. “If you finish that sentence, you get another five minutes. I don't know if you can handle that, sweetheart.”
If Jabber wasn't already going to finish, he sure is now. Who is he to deny a challenge from his boyfriend?
"You just— just wanna— use me to get off!” Jabber continues, and is promptly sent into the stratosphere when he feels Zanka's fucking tongue on his feet.
He screams at the top his lungs, because somehow that is the absolute worst, and reaches a hand back to slap at Zanka's thigh.
“Zankaaaa, stop! Stop! Stop, stop, stop-stop-stop-please-please-please, I caaan't!” Jabber pleads desperately, his whole body trembling, overstimulated as hell.
Zanka's tongue is temporarily replaced with his hand again. “I’m not hearing that magic word~”
Jabber's ego wants him to keep holding on, but he can't fucking breathe, and also he really wants to see how red Zanka's face is now. Zanka always get so flustered whenever Jabber points out the things he's into, like he'd rather not acknowledge it so plainly. He must be glowing crimson by now. Zanka goes back to licking, and if he wasn't preoccupied with how fucking bad it tickles, Jabber might be grossed out. Just a little.
Jabber slaps the floor again, once, twice, three times. “I give, I give, Zankaaa!” he groans, and true to his word, Zanka stops. He presses one last kiss to each of Jabber's soles then gets up and flips Jabber back over onto his back. Sure enough, Zanka's flushed red, from his hairline all the way down his neck. Jabber can't say much, because he's probably also red. Ha, they match.
Residual giggles flow steadily from Jabber's wobbly smile. Zanka leans down, touches his lips to Jabber's in a brief kiss. Even giggling, Jabber pretends to gag, and pushes his boyfriend's face away. “Nastyyyy,” he drawls, and Zanka pokes his forehead.
“Are you good, sweetheart?” Zanka asks, ignoring the taunt, and Jabber nods, dazed.
“You're still weird. Can't believe you're into that.”
“Out of all the things you and I are into, this is what you're calling weird? I think this is probably the one normal kink between us,” Zanka argues, and Jabber just hums, because hey, maybe the guy's got a point. Still though.
“Whatever you say, sunshine.”
Zanka huffs in amusement. “How're your nails? Let's see,” he says, and Jabber quickly brings his hands up to look. Thank fuck, they're perfectly fine.
“You're incredibly lucky, Zan-Zan, if you'd fucked my hands up it woulda been your ass,” Jabber complains, even though there's nothing to complain about. Zanka pets his hair, smiles fondly down at him.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”