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Jabber only visits when the sun is low. He slinks into Zanka’s room like a shadow, quiet as he lowers himself from the window. He steps over a board he knows to be creaky, but it doesn’t matter. Zanka whirls around, the tip of his staff digging into Jabber’s sternum before he even has a chance to open his mouth. He puts his hands up.
“You’re back,” Zanka says and Jabber almost believes the thin facade of disgust he wears.
“Can’t stay away,” Jabber croons and the pressure of Zanka’s staff against his chest falters.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, I’m not here for you,” Jabber says idly. Slowly, he tilts the end of the staff up towards his face and leans down to kiss it gently. “She did good out there today.”
“I know that,” Zanka snaps, but he’s visibly affected. Jabber wonders if he can feel it, like an extension of himself, like another limb.
Zanka tugs Assistaff and Jabber lets her go easily. He touches the spot where Jabber’s mouth was, running featherlight fingers down the smooth grain of the wood.
“You did good out there today, too,” Jabber says, stepping forward. When Zanka doesn’t move away, he takes another experimental step forward. Zanka’s gaze flicks up to Jabber. He’s so damn pretty, bathed in the low orange light spilling in from the open window.
“I did okay,” Zanka grumbles. “I could have done better.”
Jabber shrugs. “Maybe. But I liked what I saw.”
Zanka’s grip tightens around his staff. “What did you see?”
“I saw,” Jabber lifts a ringed finger to Zanka’s chin and tilts it up, “someone strong and resilient and beautiful.”
Zanka shudders and his gaze flits down to Jabber’s mouth and back up again. Jabber leans in to kiss him, briefly, just enough that Zanka falls forward a bit when Jabber pulls away. Jabber grins, but Zanka scowls.
“You don’t deserve kisses if you’re gonna be like that.”
“You know I don’t mean it, baby,” Jabber says and tucks a kiss under Zanka’s jaw.
Zanka sets down Assistaff on the bed and takes one of Jabber’s hands in both of his. “Mankira deserves it though. She worked hard today.”
Jabber watches in quiet awe as Zanka raises his hand reverently in front of him and kisses up the inside of his wrist. Zanka holds out his fingers as he kisses up Jabber’s palm between his fingers. He pauses before he reaches Mankira and looks up to Jabber as if for approval.
Jabber nods slowly, and Zanka’s attention returns back to Jabber’s hand. He kisses the rings around Jabber’s thumb first. He kisses so gently, that Jabber might not have even felt it were he not watching.
Zanka closes his eyes and kisses his thumb ring again, his lips parted and damp at where they make contact with Jabber’s skin.
“Fuck,” Jabber mutters.
Zanka moves to the next finger, kissing along the band before biting down on it. The metal clicks deliciously between Zanka’s teeth.
“She’s so good,” he whispers and his eyes flutter closed. Jabber swallows around the desire like it’s a knot in his throat.
“Yeah,” he says. “So good.”
Zanka hums and Jabber can feel the vibrations of it up his fingertips, down his arm and through his entire body. Zanka tongue slides across the edge of Jabber’s ring and onto the next finger. He looks up at Jabber through long lashes.
Jabber fights with the urge to take Zanka’s face in his hands and kiss him, but he just looks so damn good with his tongue between his fingers that he can’t bring himself to do so.
“How about now?” Zanka asks.
“Hm?”
“Do you still like what you see?” Zanka is a dream, wrapped in orange sunlight. Jabber would be a fool to not like what he sees. He slips a hand behind Zanka’s head and threads his fingers through the underside of Zanka’s hair.
“So much, baby. So good.”
Zanka closes his eyes with a satisfied hum and kisses along one of the bands of Mankira. His breath is warm on Jabber’s hand and Jabber thinks he can feel Zanka’s kisses through Mankira, as if his lips are pressed directly to his skin.
Maybe he was a fool for an entirely different reason. A fool because he fell for the enemy, a fool for letting him get so close to Mankira. But how could he not when Zanka treated her like something holy, something reverent?
If that were the case, Jabber would just have to be a fool.