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There was this feeling in his chest that only bloomed the longer he stared at the figure in front of him. He never believed that he could ever feel this way before, let alone from another person. There was a flower inside of him, one that was so wilted, it must've been doomed from the start. But he was wrong. With enough tender care, it was able to bloom into something he never knew could be so beautiful. Its vines twisted and crept upon the skin of the one who cultivated such a thing. Thorns pierced into his sides, its leaves found themselves wrapped around his throat, and its petals suffocated him with its intoxicating scent. Jabber knew all too well what this feeling was.
Jabber was in love.
And there before him stood his lover, the person who promised his entire soul to him. Zanka. Zanka, whose skin was smooth and free of ruin. Zanka, whose dull eyes only shined for him. Zanka, who vowed his very life to him. It had almost been months since they'd last seen each other. In all honesty, Jabber was beginning to move on to other sources of entertainment. He could patch himself up over and over again from his endless need to play his games with Zodyl; he could even find givers on the street to torment as he gathered vital instruments for the Raiders. It would all be fun in the moment, but during the quiet days where he could do nothing but lie in his room, his mind would wander towards the boy he sought for. The boy with limitless potential that only Jabber seemed to notice.
It was beautiful—well—as beautiful as something like that could be to the eyes of an observer. Zanka never wanted to best Jabber. He had plenty of chances to knock him out and then run away, take the glory of defeating a Raider, and report it back to his comrades. No, Jabber was special to him. It's something that always made his heart flutter as much as it terrified him. Zanka wanted Jabber dead. With every hit, every pierce, every stab, Zanka attacked with intent to kill. He would twist his staff deep into Jabber's broken ribs, simply for the satisfaction of harming him. Even as he twitched in his high, Jabber could tell he never stopped fantasizing about his death. Hell, it might be the only reason why Zanka was alive.
Jabber knew how the other Cleaners would talk of Zanka. He was prim and proper, the spoiled, hard-headed prince of the Ground. He was diligent and smart, yet kind and reliable. He had his flaws, but everyone held him in high regard. They must've praised him for how hard he fought and how scary Jabber must've been. The idea made him laugh. They'll never know the real him, the side of him that he has only ever shown to Jabber. That intimacy they built was as sacred as it was brutal. Only Jabber could handle the worst of Zanka that the boy couldn't even speak of to his comrades.
He guessed that Zanka had finally realized that too, as Zanka was now on his knees in front of Jabber, gripping the cloth of his pants as he begged and pleaded for Jabber to take him in, to inject his venom into his veins until he would rise back up again to take him on. It was the middle of the night, and from the looks of his shoes, Zanka had been wandering for hours to pin him down. Though, it was also obvious from his face. He was so tired. His bags drooped heavily under his eyes, and his cheeks were now rough as they were stained with tears and grime. His lips were cracked, sure to bleed any minute now from how hard he was biting his lips.
Above all else, his roughed-up look made Jabber's heart twist. He couldn't help but smile at the sight before him. Zanka sobbed in front of him, letting his chin rest against Jabber's thighs as he looked right into his eyes. "Please, please. I'll be good, I'll be good. I'll do anything you want. I'll be whatever you want," he mumbled, his voice raspy from how much he had already cried. Suddenly, his grip became harsher. He dug his nails as deep as he could into Jabber's skin through the cloth, now clearing the shakiness in his voice. "Just let me kill you. Let me try again, and again, and again... Please." He couldn't help but press his cheek against Jabber's legs now, refusing to make eye contact as he spoke, "I need you. You're the only thing that could make me whole again."
Even if Jabber couldn't see it, he could easily feel the dead look in Zanka's eyes. The look that only his lover would bestow upon him. He was so beautiful to him; how could Jabber respond with anything other than a loving embrace?
Jabber kneeled down, meeting Zanka at his level. Zanka now looked right at him wide-eyed. His hair was a mess, his clothes were filthy, and everything about his plea was disgusting. Would he ever let anyone else see him like this? Would anyone else know how rotten their idolized friend had become? Jabber chuckled at the thought, leaving Zanka to look even more bewildered than before at his response. Carefully, Jabber raised his hands to Zanka's face. His thumbs gracefully grazed his cheeks as he pulled Zanka in. "Look at how vile you are. Are you that desperate for me?"
"More than you know," he responded swiftly. There was no hesitance in his voice anymore; he couldn't bother to wear a mask in front of his lover. He sighed as he closed his eyes and leaned into one of Jabber's hands, letting his own hand caress the arm of the other. "Please," he began to plead once more, "let me hurt you."
Jabber bit his lip in anticipation. Mankira started to glow along with her own excitement until she let her claws press gently against Zanka's face, the boy barely moving in response to it. Jabber only hummed in amusement as he carefully let his left claws nick at Zanka's cheek. It was only filled with anesthesia, so even if it did seep into Zanka's blood, the most it'll do is keep him numb to the pain of the world. He dragged Mankira slowly until he stopped at the tip of Zanka's chin, lifting it up without putting much thought into his next action.
He had never really kissed anyone before. He wasn't saving it for anyone special; he just deemed it unnecessary. The thought of it seemed more than trivial when he was more focused on carrying out whatever else excited him. This, however, only felt natural. His lips pressed softly against Zanka's, like the boy would break if he were to add any more pressure, which Jabber didn't want just yet. Zanka's eyes stayed locked on Jabber even though the other had already closed his. He was frozen, not from the anesthesia, but from shock. Jabber was about to back away from the lack of response, but Zanka pulled him in harder than he had expected, practically smashing their lips against each other as he gripped Jabber's top. Jabber would've complained about how terrible Zanka's skills were, but with how hungrily Zanka was taking him in, he couldn't get himself to care.
Zanka was rough; he practically forced Jabber's lips to open up for his tongue as he made his way inside his mouth. Their tongues danced around each other, their saliva mixing in ways that got to Jabber's head easily. He was so ecstatic, he almost didn't feel the first bite. But then he felt the second. And then third. He had to push Zanka away after the fourth. He was left to fall on his ass as he backed up, now wiping his mouth as he looked up at Zanka, who was now crawling forward to almost tower over him.
Jabber felt himself shake; he couldn't even tell if it was fear, adrenaline, or love, but he spit out blood from his mouth regardless. Zanka stared right into his eyes, wiping the blood off of his lip before he opened his mouth. A piece of Jabber's tongue slid down Zanka's own until it made its way to the floor below them. There it was, that sick, twisted side of Zanka that was only to be revered by Jabber. And, fuck, he was more beautiful than anything. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized exactly what he was to Zanka: mere prey waiting to be devoured. Zanka was going to kill him sooner or later, and Jabber couldn't help but smile wider.
His fascination with the boy paid off. One of them would be dead before he knew it, and it was the best feeling in the world to know so.