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The flurry of blows between them echoed through the tunnel, beating like a cacophony of birds taking flight. Jabber could feel the rhythm reverberating through his body, his ribs, along the maddening grin splitting his face apart, as his heart soared higher and higher with every swing and miss.
Parry.
Claw.
Swing.
Parry, again.
Each dodge and evasive maneuver mere inches from sweet, titillating impact. Jabber’s mouth watered thinking about it, how perfectly Zanka’s bones would crunch against his steel knuckles. How the kiss of the blunt end of Assistaff would punch deep into his sternum like a staple gun through paper.
Just the thought made him stiff in the pants.
His mistake.
In what must’ve been only a millisecond of fantasizing, Zanka overtook him- surging forward and extending a leg behind Jabber’s heel and using the momentum to trip him, hurling them both towards the ground.
The air flew from Jabber’s lungs as he was knocked down, the world turning sideways, and suddenly his clawed hands were arrested above his head. Pinned down by Zanka’s staff as he straddled the older boy.
Locks splayed out beneath his flushed face like a torrential pool of water, Jabber gazed up into those cold blue eyes, piercing him like chips of ice.
The fire in Jabber’s chest bloomed, roaring to fever pitch under that discerning stare. He bit down a moan.
“God, we have got to stop meeting like this, man. Been so long… we oughta start getting to second base,” Jabber crooned, rolling his hips up into Zanka’s suggestively.
Despite the slight blush rising on his ears, Zanka’s expression remained impassive, his body stone-still against Jabber’s.
“C’monnn, don’t be like that. I’m giving you your moment here, my boy. Stick’s cute and all, but it’ll only be another second or two till we switch positions. And I’m allll about that shit.”
Still, Zanka remained frozen. His eyes roved across Jabber’s supine form, tracing his shoulders… wandering along his seams and crevices, until they finally caught on an area of exposed skin near Jabber’s collar. Jabber watched in open curiosity as the grimace staining the plush arch of Zanka’s lips twitched downwards, brows furrowing.
What the hell?
Jabber watched with bated breath as Zanka released one hand from the grip of his staff, dragging it down Jabber’s neck to a spot just above his collarbone, where a scar marred his tawny skin. It was a little thing, barely the size of a small coin, a perfectly circular mark emblazoned inside a pale halo of healed tissue.
Jabber let out a delightful hiss as Zanka dug his thumb into it.
“What’s this?”
Zanka asked in a low murmur. He didn’t sound angry at all, but there was a delightfully sharp edge to the tone of his frigid voice. If Jabber had to describe it, it was akin to the lull of waves lapping against a rocky shore. A calm before the storm that sent static humming through Jabber’s veins.
“Mhmmm,” Jabber groaned through bitten lips. “You might wanna get your eyes checked, Mister Bad Attitude. I feel like it’s kinda obviou-”
His words were cut short as Zanka ground his nail into the mark, the pain making Jabber’s back arch up into the cage of Zanka’s looming form. He could almost taste the digit in his throat, choking down his artery.
A heady gasp trembled out from Jabber’s throat, lightly fanning across the bridge of Zanka’s nose as the younger man leaned down,
“Can’t behave yourself for anything, I swear… When someone asks you something, you’re supposed to answer. So?”
“Mhffmm, fuck yeah… keeping talking to me like that-“
Zanka’s fingers were damn near clenched around his throat as Jabber wheezed out a laugh,
“… mm, souvenir from little Miss Bang-Bang from your place, actually. You cleaners, always hiding the fun ones away..”
Something indescribably dark flickered through those blue eyes at that moment. A subtle change Jabber nearly missed as the claw around his throat eased its grip. Zanka smiled,
And for the first time in a very long time, Jabber almost blushed.
Those too-blue eyes remained locked onto Jabber’s as Zanka moved to lift Assistaff off the ground, leaving Mankira’s claws unpinned and dangerous in the open air.
He could swing ‘em. It’d be stupid easy now.
And yet… Jabber didn’t have the faintest interest in attacking. He was far more interested in this. In the slow, measured movements Zanka used to tuck Assistaff away, maintaining their eye contact all the while, as if Jabber were a feral cat he feared would bolt at the slightest provocation.
Mankira’s claws melted to nothing in a pink-ish haze, leaving her master’s wrists cold and bare in the tunnel’s damp atmosphere. Whatever spell Zanka was under, Jabber couldn’t bring himself to break it, not even as Zanka’s hand, now free of Assistaff, threaded through his locks to tenderly cup the base of his skull.
Almost… almost like a lover.
Almost.
But not quite.
A sudden heat sent Jabber’s mind staggering.
The heat of Zanka’s open mouth descending upon his collarbone, tongue searing him like a red-hot poker.
He could feel it throbbing against his pulse.
Jabber couldn’t suppress the pathetic mewls that escaped him, fingers scrambling to tangle in that mess of blonde hair, as Zanka sucked and bit at the scar tissue. As if he could rub it to nothingness with his spit and teeth.
“..God… fuck- you’re fucking crazy. I can’t- Zanka… mmmgfh- S-Sonuva-“
The sharp edge of a canine pressed against his jugular left him reeling, slurring his word vomit into an even more indecipherable slush of moans and whimpers.
Oh god.
Was this how Zanka was going to do it?
Sink his teeth into Jabber’s neck? Rip into him like the savage animal Jabber always knew he could become?
What a way to go out, Jabber thought dreamily,
But just as the little voice in the back of his head mustered up enough strength and oxygen to start shaking some sense into him,
The heat was gone.
And so was the weight.
Jabber sucked into a sharp breath through his now unobstructed windpipe as his eyes shot open to find Zanka, sinking back on his haunches. Looking pleased as the cat who caught the canary.
A pale hand reached out to trace the now pulverized flesh of Jabber’s throat, where a plum colored bruise was already beginning to form. The calloused pads of his fingers gently caressed the marred skin as he leaned into Jabber’s space one final time,
“Next time we meet, I’ll give you something permanent. Something nice and pretty to go right here,”
Zanka dragged a digit along the length of his collarbone, bisecting the bullet scar neatly in half, sending a shudder down Jabber’s spine,
“But this’ll have to do for now.”
No words could describe the ache spreading through Jabber’s chest as Zanka rose to his feet. He looked so smug. A conqueror who’d lain waste to every inch of Jabber with just the press of his lips. And the smugness only festered as he left Jabber feeling more cold and bereft than ever with the growing distance between their bodies.
Jabber almost felt inclined to reach out.
Latch onto the hem of his clothes.
Grab his ankles.
Something. Anything,
To keep that delicious, spine-tingling heat on him. Make Zanka lodge those pearly-white teeth into his neck the way he’d dreamed,
Get him drunk off his toxic blood,
So he’d never leave…
…Never.
But Jabber did none of those things.
He remained sprawled out and motionless on the floor. Stunned into submission by the figure now sauntering into the darkness of the tunnel, accompanied only by the fading march of footsteps against concrete.
Not bothering to look back in Jabber’s direction, Zanka gave him a langorous wave,
“See you around, Dreads. Don’t have too much fun without me,” he drawled.
And then he was gone, swallowed up by the dark.
Leaving Jabber cold and alone.
Jabber let his head fall back onto the dank ground with a soft ‘thunk,’ as an easy, drunken grin began to split his face from ear to ear.
Fuck… he should get shot more often.