Archive of Our Own

Zanka had to have been laying awake in bed for at least 2 hours now. This makes no sense, because Zanka is drained of all his energy. 

It’d only been 2 days since his crushing defeat against Jabber, and technically he was supposed to be on bedrest in the medical, under Eishia’s supervision. But the sterile space felt suffocating somehow and the flowers Rudo had brought were only serving to agitate him. The sentiment was well-meant, and Zanka appreciated it, but it felt as if they were mocking his sorry state. 

In conclusion, Zanka asked to stay in his own room. This also meant he could do his drills with Lovely Assistaff without being told to get back to resting. He would love to actually go out and train against some minor trash beasts, or even just in the field at HQ, but anytime Zanka left to do anything other than eat or piss, there was a riot.  Shit, he’s had enough rest! Two days is more than enough, and the ache lingering in his body does not warrant being confined to a bed all day.  

Whatever. That's not even the most annoying part about everything. 

The worst thing is that he can't get his  mind off Jabber Sphere-damned Wonger.

Segments from their fight kept replaying in his head as he laid facing the blank ceiling of his room, as if his brain was trying to remember as much of it as possible, even though he’d usually just forget fights after they’d happened.  

His head didn't skip any little detail: the vicious smile on his face when Zanka dodged an attack, the feeling of Assistaff planted into the ground-or would it be the flesh of a trash beast?-as he used it to propel a crushing kick, the sound of her clashing against mankira, wood against metal; defence versus offence, and..

Oh, Zanka..

Zanka flinched in his bed.

See what you did to me? 

He turned around and buried his face into the pillow. 

That was the most infuriating part of his whole situation, and probably the reason he can't sleep.

Zanka tried not to kick his legs like a little kid with a crush as he thought about those moments. 

At the time Jabber said it, he was barely hanging on to consciousness because of the hallucinogen, but his brain decided that was the crucial part to remember. He couldn't actually remember most of the fight; just the ringing in his ears and the feeling of adrenaline, but oddly his hallucinogenic mind found it of utmost importance he remembered exactly what Jabber had said and how he said it. 

I bet you knew that would happen, huh? 

Zanka felt his cheeks heat up involuntarily. This is the worst! Possible! Outcome! -He punctuated these thoughts by slamming his arm into his (now abused) pillow. Imagine, having the…second..biggest fight of your life, against a crazy lunatic who gets closer to coming every time you land a hit on him, and he also gets a crazy power-up midway through, and then coming out of the fight not only stuck in hospital, but also with your body acting like he’s your damn soulmate, and a morbid curiosity on how those claws would feel running through your hair! Agh! 

Yeah, most people know about that. 

Zanka screamed. Into his pillow, which was luckily very soundproof. He’s fine, he's so fine, his heart is not beating like he just ran a mile, and He Is Fine.  

In fact, his pillow was so soundproof, he didn't even notice the sound of his window opening and closing, or the tiny taps on his floorboards, that stopped at the foot of his bed. He only lifted his head off the pillow marginally when he heard the crack of somebody's knees as they bent down. 

“Hey, Mr Bad Attitude. Long time no see.” 

….Zanka is very proud of himself for not flinching. Actually, he probably didn't even have the energy to flinch in the first place. The most exciting reaction he could muster was to turn his head slowly so he could see Jabber- yep,that's him alright- more clearly, blinking his eyes one at a time. 

Zanka was sure this must be a side effect from whatever the raider had poisoned him with, because there's absolutely no way Jabber Wonger is crouching besides his bed in his room right now. He had that grin on his face that seemed to split his face so it could make room for such a wide smile, showing off all his teeth (which were not as yellow as Zanka had expected), and his eyes crinkled in a display of genuine excitement for…for what exactly? To see Zanka? There's no way. 

He stops looking at the grinning intruder in favour of smushing his face into the pillow again.  ‘M too tired for this. 

Jabber cackled; it was a small thing, but certainly loud and Zanka winced slightly at the volume. Hopefully nobody comes in. 

“Ya sleepy? Me too, man..Boss got me runnin’ errands like I’m a postman or something! Cthoni literally exists! It's aight though, ‘cuz I picked up some good plants. Can’t wait t-” 

Zanka rolled over to face the wall. He does not have to deal with this. He's being delusional. It's the lingering after effects of the poison concoction Jabber injected him with. His brain, that couldn't stop thinking about the fight, concocted an ideal version of Jabber who was amenable and vulnerable if Zanka were to attack- A perfectly logical deduction. 

“Woow, Zanka, not a great conversation partner huh? Y’know eye contact is important.” Jabber leaned over and poked him in the back, and Zanka did not ignore the shiver that crawled up his spine because it didn't happen. 

For the Ground’s sake, if yer sleepy then go the hell home and sleep! I’m tired too! 

….Ah, wait. Zanka might be a genius. If he's really just dreaming all this, then surely it would be okay to..

He didn't turn around again but he did pat the empty side of the small bed beside him, bending his arm uncomfortably behind him to do so. Jabber still noticed. 

“Eh? Are you…?” 

“Get in.” Zanka spoke his first words of the night. 

“...” 

There was an extremely long pause before Zanka made a noise akin to saying ‘go on then’ and Jabber starting fucking giggling and getting a move on. 

He heard the sound of fabric shuffling about and the small tup of presumably clothes? being tossed onto the ground. Then, the sound of shoes clattering against a wall as they crashed into it. 

At least Jabber had the sense to be polite and take his shoes off. Wait-clothes? His clothes too? Surely he didn't think…think that Zanka meant it in that way,right? He had the urge to turn around and check right now, but more than that he didn't want to see, just in case. Is this dream of his about to become NSFW? That wouldn't be good, because 1) Zanka is 10000% not interested and 2) the narrator isn't good at writing smut. 

….Let's just hope it's not as bad as he thinks. 

The bed creaked under the added weight of a human person, and Zanka could feel the genuine frigid air emanating from the boy. It must be because he had come from outside, but by a giant trash beast he was freezing. 

“Yer freezin’!” Zanka stated, turning to face Jabber who was very ominously staring at him. It was useless to point out, really, because stating it won't magically change his body temperature. If only. 

Jabber snorted because he probably knew this fact too. “You invited me to your bed, Zan-zan. A good host would offer to warm his guest up~”

Zanka rolled his eyes at him. Why is he acting like this? It's kind of unsettling, but honestly preferable for his exhausted mind to have him be a bit more docile rather than him bouncing off the walls like Rudo after eating a single gram of sugar. 

What does he even want? Body heat? Zanka to breath on his face? He lifts his eyes from the mattress to Jabber’s; he’s looking at him with his eyes half closed, not glowing in the way they would when his vital instrument is activated, but the dull magenta seemed to illuminate from the sliver of moonlight coming in through the window. There was still that stupid grin on his face too, and Zanka really couldn't tell you where it was coming from. If this was really Zanka’s dream-fantasy, Jabber would be dead, or choking by his hands by now,no? 

Whatever. His brain will start hurting if he thinks too hard at this time of night. Jabber is cold. Zanka is tired and doesn't want to look at him. What's the easiest solution to both of their problems? 

Well, it’s simple. 

Zanka takes one of Jabber's hands and turns around so that he's laying on his side, facing the wall. Jabber’s arm had to stretch because Zanka was holding his hand, so his arm ended up resting on Zanka’s side. He shuffled closer to the cleaner without really thinking about it. He was warm. 

He lifts Jabber’s hand up to his eyeline and fiddles with his rings absentmindedly, twisting them around his fingers, moving them up and down, revealing the tiny red indents on them from barely taking the rings off; the tips of his fingers were slightly more purple than the rest of him, and Zanka wonders if the raider likes that feeling. 

He lets his mind empty of all thought outside of this one moment, focuses on the feeling of the rings, the sound of Jabber’s ragged but slow breathing, the scent of dried blood and trash and probably some unknown toxin that seemed to float around the boy- it was unpleasant at first, but Zanka had gotten used to it quickly. He’ll just shower in the morning or something. Maybe he should make Jabber shower too. 

No. Wait, stop imagining Jabber naked. Stop that. 

“Ya ev’r take ‘er off?” Zanka forces the question out whilst still getting that image out of his mind, forgetting to think about making his speech actually intelligible. 

“....Only to clean her.”

“Mm.” 

Zanka stares at Mankira with a fragment of fascination. Feels the cool metal, soothing against his own hot skin, of the rings on his fingertips, and- morbidly for zanka- feels the urge to maybe kiss them. Press the rings against his lips, feel where Jabber’d engraved his name into Mankira, not with his fingers but with his own yearning soul, but Zanka pretends that the urge isn't there. His brain is playing a dirty trick, a trick caused by hallucinogens and mind-meddling toxins (that left his body 24 hours ago, as confirmed by Eishia, but nobody needs to know that and Zanka can't believe that this moment is real,for his own sanity) and making him see Jabber in ways that aren't possible to someone mentally sound.

And Zanka is Extremely Mentally Sound. 

As Zanka is convincing himself of this very-much-a-fact thought, dream-Jabber shifts closer to him so he’s pressed against the cleaner's back; Zanka can feel the pressure of his chest against him as if it was bare, because the black vest he apparently wore underneath the raider hoodie was not at all big enough for him. Feels his free arm slide between the mattress and Zanka’s waist to grab the cleaner's hand, trapped in a way that would definitely become uncomfortable quickly; feels the shallow breaths the boy is taking close to his ear, hot and fast, and definitely not dream-like. 

He can feel Jabber’s heartbeat going  faster than the normal resting rate. 

Zanka pretends his isn't doing the same. 

“Do you even know what you're doin’ to me?” Jabber whispers the question right into Zanka’s ear, voice scratchy at the edges. It makes Zanka shudder and he pretends he can't hear at all, squeezing on Jabber’s hand hard in an attempt to replace the sense of hearing with the feeling of pressure. It  should be illegal for him to make his voice sound like that, okay!? 

Whatever. This is definitely not real. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not re-

“I can't stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya.” His voice was impossibly quiet, and yet so loud any other thoughts in Zanka’s head had to dissipate to make room. Jabber's mouth was so close to his ear they were practically touching. He was practically kissing Zanka’s ear. 

Zanka stopped breathing. 

Jabber squeezed the hand he was holding as if he was worried, which was an impossible emotion for him to be feeling. 

The cleaner scoffed and released his hands from Jabber’s, turning around again to be facing him. The raider wasn't looking at him at all, staring at some poor area of the wall to the side of Zanka’s head. He looked so conflicted with himself, it was almost cute, if not a little uncanny to see such a humane expression on his face. 

“...Me too,” Zanka admitted his own obsessive thinking in a volume so low it would’ve been lost on ears that weren't searching for a droplet of sound. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately if your name is Zanka Nijiku, Jabber heard his admission and stopped burning a hole into the bedroom wall in order to look at the blonde boy like he just ate trash. 

Some genius he is. Obviously, if Jabber's thinking about him, how is Zanka meant to not be doing the same? 

“I don't like it.” Zanka admits this too. 

“Me neither.” 

“So what now?” 

The raider barks out a laugh. Like this is funny. Zanka has been fighting demons inside his head and the demons are in the shape of a certain masochist in his bedroom! 

“Ha! What now? You can't stop thinkin’ of me, I can't stop thinkin’ of ya. The only question is, Zan-ka, what are you thinking about?”  Jabber decides to lick his lips after finishing that sentence, and of course Zanka has to look: his tongue travels between dry lips, wetting them, perfect and leathery at once, and by the sphere he wants to kiss them. Zanka didn't realise it until now, or perhaps he did realise it because it doesn't feel like a big revelation at all, just the natural order of things-despite how unnatural this situation feels. Of course, the self-proclaimed masochist rival from the enemy team would be the one comforting Zanka’s concerns about himself and simultaneously expediting them all at once. 

Surely, if this is a hallucination , then..

The sleepy cleaner grabs Jabber by the chin and pulls his face towards his own, not at all gentle, and he’s annoyed that the raider doesn't even look surprised in the slightest. They're breathing in and out the same air, practically cuddling in bed, Zanka can feel his own face heating up and Jabber has the audacity to look unaffected!? 

“Oho, I’m catching your drift now, Zan-zan,” he says, so close the sound reverberates in the blonde’s eardrums. 

“We were thinking the same thing, huh?” 

Zanka severely doubts they were thinking the same thing, because the way Jabber’s looking at him: lightless and sultry, is not matching Zanka’s “drift” in the slightest (which was, to drift from the realm of consciousness and into sleep.) 

The cleaner just stares at him for a little while, dropping his fingers from the raider’s chin to hold his cheek with the same hand instead, mainly because it required less effort. There is a long moment of simple staring- Jabber expectant and Zanka out of it- with the only company the sound of their syncing heartbeats and breathing. 

“Are you just gonna stare or do something? ‘M getting bored here ya know! This fluffy-stuff is not my style, Zanka, you're  lucky I ‘aven’t le-” 

Zanka does something. 

Namely, he pressed his lips awkwardly against Jabber's ones, which were still wet from when he licked them but beginning to dry up now, and Zanka could feel the scabs on his lips mingling with his own chapped ones. It wasn't really romantic at all, just the mouths of two humans meeting in the middle of the night, stiff and sweet, and over as quick as it started.

“Oh, you are an awful kisser,” Jabber helpfully comments once Zanka moves away, wiping his lips on his sleeves like they were soiled. 

He glares at the raider for this opinion, because it's not like you were trying very hard either!

“What? Don't look at me like thaat.. here,here, Jabber Wonger ‘ll show you how it's done.” he shuffles closer with a confident expression on his face that Zanka just wants to punch right off, but when their lips meet again it's hard to hold on to that anger. 

Jabber's intense and not polite at all, but really what else would you expect? His teeth scratch and burn at the fragile surface of Zanka’s bottom lip, and Zanka has to bite back in retaliation if only for his own personal satisfaction. It only serves to please the raider, groaning when Zanka pulls on his lip hard enough to draw blood, mouth open in a desperate invitation, and who is Zanka to decline? 

He stops gorging Jabber’s lip in favour of shoving his tongue in with no warning. It moves around without Zanka really thinking about it, feeling every molar, canine, incisor in there, and he vows to store it all in his memory like he’ll be tested on it tomorrow. It was raw and undoubtedly real and any belief that this was a hallucination or a dream diffused out of the window, because how could his average-joe brain begin to emulate the genius behind such a feral kiss? 

The cleaner has his eyes closed but he can feel the anima rise when Jabber activates Mankira, and for a moment he’s horrified that perhaps he really is an idiot and he's going to die here, but the fear dies down a little when Mankira’s right claw scratches down the top of Zanka’s scalp and down to the base of his neck, slow and with no neurotoxin in sight. He sighed not only in relief but at the pleasant feeling. 

“Ya like that, huh? Knew you were a freak.” Jabber grinned wildly against the blonde's lips, eyes wide open and staring with some kind of twisted fascination. Zanka’s not sure he likes being called a freak, eyebrows furrowing at the insult, but he nods vigorously because yes I fucking like it. Why’d ya stop? 

“Shuddup. Ain’t ya s’pposed to be teachin’ me how t’ kiss? Why’re ya insultin’ me now?” Ugh. Zanka cringed at how thickly his own accent came out. 

“Hey, it ain’t no insult, man. ‘M complimenting you.” Jabber shrugs his shoulders like it was obvious. 

“Thanks.” Zanka says, deadpan.  He touches his now broken lips and wonders how he’s going to explain that away come morning.  He looks towards Jabber again. 

There's blood pooling on his torn lips and his face is flushed similar to Zanka’s. The magenta of his eyes glows a vibrant purple colour from the activation of his jinki still tangled in the cleaner's scalp, unmoving. His breath is short and ragged like he can't inhale enough air due to the sight in front of him. Zanka’s sure he looks just as roughed up as him, and he can only feel that it wouldn't have been better any other way. They were violent, and rough, and unforgiving and never more perfect. 

“You're doin’ it again. Seriously, stop that. I told ya that cutesy stuff freaks me out.”  Jabber deactivated Mankira and the effervescence of Anima faded from the air in an instant. His now regular magenta eyes darted about the room, anywhere but Zanka’s face. 

Haaah. This is all real, right? Zanka has come to terms with it now. There's no way he dreamed all this and hasn't woken up yet. Though, if he has, then he has to note down this dream somewhere. He looks at Jabber’s awkward expression and feels a lilt of teasing energy replace the current of blood in his veins. 

He wraps his previously limp arms around the raider’s waist and pulls him back into Zanka’s space from where he’d been inching away towards the edge of the bed just moments ago.  Jabber's eyes seemed to be taped wide open with how little he’s blinking. 

They were laying chest to chest, glued together like two pages of a book stuck to each other. Zanka was hot underneath the extra blanket he decided to put on, so the seemingly permanently-cold Jabber's dismal body temperature was a welcome relief from the heat. They breathed in tandem, feeling every inhale and exhale the other took. Jabber wasn't even looking at Zanka; there was an opaqueness about his eyes as he looked at the wall and straight through it. Zanka had never seen such an expression on the insane man’s face before-it was somewhat uncanny, so Zanka chose not to look at him either. Instead, he decided to follow his impulsive thoughts: 

The cleaner leaned into his collarbone and placed a small kiss there, slow and lazy, partly to mess with Jabber’s comfort-avoidant brain but mainly because his own sleepiness was catching up to him now that the heated moment was over, hence he lacked the energy to put much into the action.

He continued in his ministry of kissing along any exposed part of Jabber's body: the rest of his collarbone, his shoulders, his arms, his hands; which Zanka took back into his own some time ago, finally fulfilling the wish to kiss Mankira, at which Jabber let out a shuddering breath. The repeated motion was quite relaxing for the worn-down cleaner, who was struggling to keep his eyes open; each kiss got lighter in its weight as he made his way back up to Jabber's neck. The raider in question was completely frozen throughout this whole exchange. 

“Ya say ya don't like ‘cutesy’ stuff, but yer still here. Ya ‘aven’t even moved,” Zanka teased, whispering every word onto the skin of Jabber's neck, where the cleaner had settled. 

Jabber didn't even say a word. He just tugged roughly at Zanka's hair with the hand that was previously laying limp in it, forcing the blonde to look up at him.  

The opaqueness in his eyes was replaced with a translucent sheen, darkening them into some kind of deep purple. He squinted down at Zanka with some kind of internal conflict evident on his face, the scowl on his bloody lips not matching the cute flush on his cheeks. His chest was heaving, winded from almost nothing: no pain, no action, just a stupid cleaner kissing him up like he's a porcelain statue. Jabber was flustered in a way Zanka didn't expect. He almost looked embarrassed. About what? Liking something other than the hurt? 

Jabber was staring at him like he was some sort of puzzle that he hadn't figured out yet. He hadn't blinked in so long that Zanka wanted to do it repeatedly for him. 

Finally, he seemed to gain the courage to speak: 

“...This ain't how you get me turgid, Zanka.” 

…

For a genius, he really is stupid. 

Zanka reached his hand up and wacked up and wacked the idiot in the forehead. 

“Not what I were tryna do, genius,” He mumbles under his breath. 

Jabber pulled at his hair again and Zanka agonised to admit he liked it. He had to stay focused. The raider was getting more violent in an attempt to return to their usual dynamic, but Zanka’s tired and isn't interested in playing their usual cat-and-mouse game. Jabber came into his room unwarranted, crawled into his bed, and so things got to be dictated by Zanka this time. 

And the ruling was…

“Just go t’ sleep, Jabber.” was the half-hearted command, given to a boy who most likely didn't sleep until he passed out from exhaustion. Zanka curled his fingers into his dreads and pushed him down, kissing the crown of Jabber's head in a somewhat soothing manner. The shift in atmosphere was felt by both of them, and the cozy feeling was almost sickening, but Zanka could learn to like it. Jabber, he’s not so sure. 

He just let his head be shoved into Zanka’s shoulder. 

“I didn't come here for this.” he grumbled, bitterness lathering his voice. 

“Then why’d ya come at all?” Zanka questioned in return, whispered it into the back of Jabber’s neck, bringing the room back into silence as there was no answer to be found. 

The raider’s only response was to bite sharply at Zanka's shoulder, teeth scratching at the exposed skin (his shirt sleeve must have rolled up somehow) for barely a second but the blonde groaned at the feeling. He could basically feel the annoyance radiating out of Jabber's ears, and also the heat, because that adorable flush wasn't leaving any time soon. Zanka bit back at the side of Jabber's neck, dug his teeth into the skin hard so that it hurt the way Jabber likes. He supposed the raider deserved a reward for not running away on him. 

Sure enough, he appreciated the pain, approving of the gnawing at his neck with a pleasured little whine. Unfortunately for him, that's all he's going to get from Zanka, who's stopped chewing his skin and instead sucked at the small wound he’d just made, tasting the small pricks of blood that were left there, before kissing it and leaving it at that. Jabber dug his nails into Zanka's back in a message for more.  How cute. 

“‘Ard not to dote on ya when yer actin’ all cute.” he teased, running a gentle hand through Jabber's locks, trying to coax him to sleep.  

“Bite me again, Zanka. Hurt so good. Pull my hair, break my finger, scratch me, literally anything.”  Jabber begged like a poor man pleading for sustenance, and entirely ignored Zanka's comment. His voice was desperate and wet with want. Wow, that was tempting. Zanka won't lie that the raider's voice had some overpowering effect on him. But more than anything, Zanka wanted to sleep. Hasn't this point been emphasised enough already? 

“No. Goodnight.” The cleaner stated this, trying to sound as final as possible, whilst holding the raider tighter and shutting his eyes. 

“Ugh. This is the worst possible outcome.” Jabber complained but he didn't move a muscle to wake Zanka up or to leave.

Yes. I thought that too not long ago. Now sleep. 

—--------------(_ _).｡o○—-------------

Zanka woke up not to the usual sounds of silence in a brightened room, but the muffled noises of his colleagues chatting and eating in the canteen not too far away from his room. 

Which meant he had slept in. 

How odd. 

He also felt something shifting on top of him, somebody moving in his bed, and when he looked down to see dreadlocks adorned in golden cuffs and brown skin laying on his stomach, all the events of the night came back to him. 

Zanka brought his hands to his face and groaned. 

“That weren't a dream!?” he whisper-shouted to himself.  

“Not one bit.” came Jabber's sleep-coated voice, dry from disuse. 

The cleaner flinched and rolled away from him, still covering his face with his hands, and Jabber began to laugh at his embarrassment. Zanka peaked through his fingers to see Jabber's face: he had the most genuine smile on his face that Zanka had ever seen, all teeth on display, his eyes crinkled with laughter that still shook from his body. The sunlight filtered in through the cheap blinds on the cleaner's window, painting his features in a golden hue that, if Zanka knew what deities were, he would have made the comparison that Jabber looked like one. 

Unconsciously,Zanka found himself smiling back. 

The raider moved towards him and pried the hands off his face, smile never once leaving.  

“Good morning.” 

“...Mornin’,” Zanka responded, flustered at the boy's random happiness, and refused to look at him. 

Jabber sighed and laid on top of him, only keeping his head up to look at Zanka, who wheezed as his lungs got crushed under Jabber's weight. 

He looked up at the boy above him, the light from the late morning putting a soft filter over his every feature. His mouth was still curled into a giddy smile from the laughter, hair falling in a curtain around them, reducing the size of the room to just the two of them, eyes shining and all. 

“...I guess this is fine.” Zanka acquiesced, brushing his hair from his face.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Bad Attitude.” The grin on Jabber’s face only widened even though Zanka didn't think it could get any bigger, and he began to lean closer to the cleaner's face, horrible morning breath all up in his face, but Zanka couldn't say much about that because he knew his wasn't much better.

He closed his eyes because he knew what was coming.

It was at that moment: Jabber's lips were on his for only a second, when the boisterous laugh of Enjin was heard from down the hallway and the sound of footsteps getting closer. 

It was then that Zanka unfortunately remembered he was employed. 

He shoved Jabber off of him with a newfound sense of urgency. 

“Fuuuck. Get out, Jabber. I need to go do my job.” 

Jabber tumbled to the ground with a loud thud. 

“Awh, can't you just skip?” He asked, paying no mind to the fact a large bump was probably forming on his head right now.

“No.” 

“Pooey.”