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"Zaaankaaa~"
Zanka groggily opened his eyes, immediately blinded by the headache of a morning sun shining through his window. He shuffled over, placing his pillow over his ears to muffle the stomps that run down the hall and the angry yelling that follows close behind. It was team Akuta's rare day off, and of course, Zanka had to be woken up in the worst way possible; Bright lights, mild arguing, and Jabber's annoying voice— wait, Jabber's voice?
"Helloooo? Wakey-wakey! Time to get up, Mr. Bad Attitude~"
That woke him up immediately. He sprang up, searching around to see where his grating voice was coming from, only to hear another, "Zankaaa," cooing from the red collar around his wrist. Great. Just amazing.
Zanka groans. It was way too early for this, too early for anything, to be exact. He was going to spend the day training, maybe running some much-needed errands, and training Rudo if the younger wasn't busy goofing off. Whatever bullshit came out of Jabber's mouth next was guaranteed to interrupt his perfectly planned day.
He raises his wrist a few inches away from his mouth, touching it with his free hand, "…Jabber?"
"Oh hey, you're finally up! Was just starting to wonder if you were ignoring me," The raider teases.
Zanka groans again at the confirmation, "How the hell did you get my contact?!"
"Whatt? Like I'm not allowed to give you my digits?" Zanka can practically hear the grin the other is wearing, "During our last fight in that trash beast, I gave you a bit of my blood while you were busy having fun with Mankira's toxins! Pretty nice, right?"
His retort is immediate, "No! Not nice!"
"Ohhh, did Mr. Bad Attitude not get enough beauty sleep?"
Zanka opens his mouth to get defensive, but gets interrupted by sudden knocking on his door, "Hey Zan-zan, who're you talking to?"
"No one!" He was way too quick to respond, but he could blame it on being tired if Riyo asked.
She pauses for a second, "…Oookay. Breakfast is ready big guy, so come on down." Everyone had their secrets, and Riyo wasn't particularly interested in snooping. However, if she kept a trained ear and 'accidentally' overheard something, well, that wasn't her problem now was it? For now, she'll leave it be.
"I-I'll be there in a minute," Zanka stutters out, still reeling from the fact that he almost got caught talking to Jabber Wonger of all people.
Their silence was interrupted by the raider stiffling a laugh, "Zan-zan?"
"Don't call me that." Zanka rubs his neck to relieve its tension, "The hell you callin' me for?"
"Oh don't be like that Zan-zan, you free later?"
What?
"What, you gonna ask me on a date or somethin'?" Zanka said, very obviously annoyed.
"You want me to?"
Zanka staggers as he gets up, almost falling before catching himself. He scrambles to touch the collar again, "No! Just— get to the point."
"Well, I ain't got much to do so I thought I'd call you up and see if you wanna duke it out again. I been really missing our last battle, y'know."
It was that casual, matter-of-fact tone that really pissed Zanka off. 'Course a weirdo-genius like him would offer such a thing. The two had three little sparring sessions after the trash beast incident. Nothing major, Jabber showed up out of nowhere, but was chased off by Zanka's teammates before he could do any real damage. It was frustrating for both of them, even if Zanka would never admit how much he wanted it.
Now, he was being challenged formally, and when he knew nothing would interfere with their exchange of blood. Jabber asked to fight him. That for sure made him itch. A genius, asking to battle with an average-joe like him, there was just no way he could turn that down. He had to prove he was worth battling.
Zanka sighs, putting on his slippers and taking a moment to stretch. "Yeah, whatever, I'll call you after breakfast, so pick a spot before then," he replies curtly, to the excitement of the raider on the other line.
Jabber's celebration was loud enough to heard by the cleaner, he was definitely hopping around or something, "Oh man! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Zanka!"
"Later," Jabber couldn't get a word in before Zanka took off his collar and placed it on his nightstand. Next to it, a new bright orange bottle filled with little blue tablets. It was new, unaffected by the wear of life unlike the other items it stood next to.
Enjin had shown concern one day, and Zanka, determined to never crack, did after one too many questions. So he was taken to a clinic (Eishia, although a healer, could not diagnose and prescribe for conditions like she could with injury) and after a couple of diagnostics and bouncing around from office to office, Enjin eventually paid out of pocket for something Zanka was convinced he didn't need.
He didn't need it. He was just fine without them. He lived 17 years without them, why did he suddenly need them now? He twisted off the cap with some struggle, and took two like the bottle said to. He wasn't going to waste Enjin's money, and he didn't want to get scolded later for not taking them either.
The rest of his morning routine went uninterrupted. He brushed his teeth, took a shower, and washed his face. He was going to have to skip morning training, but fighting Jabber was to make up for that.
Breakfast went by fast enough. Enjin and Riyo made a few comments about the scowl on Zanka's face while Rudo tried to steal a little pastry from his plate. That was normal procedure. What wasn't normal procedure was the unresponsiveness from Zanka, just merely pushing the food around on his plate before he actually began eating.
A change of clothes and a few questions dodged later, he was out the door. The day was as nice as it could be on the ground. Slight wind, not too hot, and the sun was hidden behind the always-cloudy sky. Zanka already interrogated Jabber for the location of their meeting and decided that heading there on foot would be best. It was only a 45-minute walk anyway, pretty close to a town too. At least he wouldn't have to explain why he was so beat up to anyone when he got back.
Zanka only stopped when the scenery became a bit more private. The middle of an abandoned city, a couple of fallen buildings, and trash all about. In front of him was Jabber, out of his uniform with his hands inside his jacket pockets.
"Y'know I was kinda expecting you to stand me up. Didn't know you were such a gentleman, Zanka," He chuckles to himself.
Zanka activates Lovely Assistaff, gripping her closer to his body while entering fighting stance, "Shaddup."
Jabber takes his hands out of his pockets, transforming Mankira into her claws. They both dashed forward in an instant, blocking the other's attack with the loud clank of their weapons smashing together. Zanka turns Assistaff to dislodge her, grazing Jabber's cheek in the process.
"You've gotten faster, Zan-zan," Jabber taunts, lunging Mankira into Zanka's haori sleeve, barely missing the skin.
Zanka anchors Assistaff in the ground, leveraging her to kick the Raider in his ribs. He yells as he dodges another attack, "And you've gotten more annoying!"
They continue their dance of metal crashing against metal and skin breaking skin. Jabber taunts with words of encouragement, hoping Zanka will miss a step so he can dose him with the special toxins he picked out just for his partner.
Each hit landed mixed their sweat and blood, kissing the other in purple and red marks. Their fight was one of stamina; no room for error. Zanka had to make sure he exploited every weakness he could. The longer the raider was in the air, the more dangerous it was for the cleaner.
"C'mon Zanka! I know you got it in you!"
He started hitting harder, more desperately. Whatever… reaction his opponent had to each new wound didn't matter. He wanted a good fight? He'll get more than that. Zanka's gonna pummel him to hell.
He smiles as he lands another hit. Their tango becomes more freeing, the mold of their bodies barely slipping past every beat with anticipation. Their fight gets dirtier as it goes on. They pull and tug, hit and dodge, scrape and break until Zanka pins Jabber to the floor, straddling his chest.
He does the bare minimum to pin his arms with his legs, before punching his face over and over. Jabber giggles, choking on the blood spilling from his nose, but Zanka doesn't stop. He's angry, angry at the stupid noises Jabber makes with each bruise. Angry that he isn't disgusted enough to stop. Angry that he likes it enough to keep going.
He's only interrupted when he feels a stab in his leg, accompanied by a new burning sensation in his veins. He yells, and Jabber takes this moment to flip them over. He grips the cleaner's shoulders, getting real close.
"How you like that? I picked 'em out special just for you, Zan-zan. Got you a good, nice mix of a couple of acids and hallucinogens. I bet you're feeling it already, right?" Jabber smiles, his blood dripping on Zanka's face.
Jabbers breath tickles the cleaner's nose, hot and flush against his skin. Their breathing syncs for just a moment, staring so intensely into the other's eyes. They're sweaty and uncomfortable, yet being so close feels so right. Zanka licks the blood on his lip, unsure if it was Jabber's or his own. Jabber chuckles at the sight, blushing almost.
Just before Zanka loses all feeling in his body, he reaches up and bites down on Jabber's already broken nose. The raider leans back as he clutches the new mark, yelping, "Ow- man, fuck!" His cursing is short-lived, broken up by a burst of giggles. It was genuine, finding the cleaner's last act of retaliation too funny not to laugh at. Jabber lies down beside the now paralyzed Zanka, watching as his eyes glaze over.
Zanka looks him over, trying to focus on those intense, deep-magenta eyes of his. Of course, he lost so quickly. When he got back, he needed to train harder. Maybe he could fight Riyo too? Their fighting styles were kinda similar. Before he could finish his thought, Jabbers face began to warp with shifting colors. He couldn't focus on it. He wanted to see it.
"It's startin' to kick in, huh? You having fun?" Jabber questions him, but Zanka barely registers it. The words sound so unfamiliar to him, and unimportant to his goal to just focus. It wasn't long before he began registering a voice that wasn't the raiders. Everything was moving too much. So, he closed his eyes, focusing on the gentle humming in his ear. It was a tune he hadn't heard since early childhood, since before he was too old to be allowed to receive affection anymore. He feels the warm sensation of his head lying in someone's lap, his hair being gently brushed by the softness of fingers.
It was good. So good. He didn't realize how much he missed it. He sat and listened, unsure if he was humming along or not. Jabber listened to each note carefully, as if he were engraving the tune into his own heart. Zanka opens his eyes again, and he can just barely make out long, bright red hair, swirling with the madness of color. He tries to reach for it, for more, but his body doesn't move. Of course it wouldn't, he was too selfish to have it.
"Kyouka…?" he barely whispers out. Jabber perks up at the name.
"You relivin' some good memories?" He knows the other won't answer, but it's still nice to ask.
Zanka begins to hear Goka's voice from behind him, then the ruffling of his hair. His brother's hands were bigger, but they were softer than his sister's, even though they were both littered with calluses. Zanka selfishly leans into the touch, moving his head as much as he can.
"Goka," He whispers again. He wanted this moment to stay just a bit longer, to be a little kid again, to be in a time when his affection was not earned. He looks up at his sister once again, and her face wasn't gentle like it should be in this memory. Zanka was probably the only one who could tell the difference between her micro-expressions.
She was angry. Why was she angry? Did he do something wrong? Suddenly, the feeling of Lovely Assistaff in his right hand was like the feeling of his hand being crushed. The warmth was gone in an instant, replaced with the memories of training. His eyes moved frantically, trying to spot the gun before he was too late. The shot connected in his leg. It was harder to move, everything was moving and so much was happening at once. The color was too intense. He wanted it to stop.
"Pathetic," repeated in his head over and over again. Everything hurt. He felt like he was crying, but he wasn't sure.
"Hey, Zanka, if you spiral now you're gonna be in for a long trip." The raider perks up, getting closer. He examines the pained look the other has, and the weak tears that swell in his eyes but do not dare to spill.
Zanka is blinded by the brightness of antiseptic, so he closes his eyes again. The color doesn't stop, but it's better than the pure whiteness of a Hospital room. He feels a hand grip his, and so he tightens. The raider yelps and squirms, but doesn't let go. He stops when Zanka rubs Mankira with his thumb, weakly pleading, "Mama."
Before Jabber can say anything, Zanka coughs and chokes. The raider sits up, watching as Zanka begins to twitch. Was that a side effect of the Hydrofluoric acid? There was just a tiny bit in there, but he still lowered Zanka's dose based on how much he thought he weighed. Was he wrong?
"Am I… good?"
Jabber knows the question wasn't for him, and yet, he still answered, "Yeah 'attitude, you good."
Zanka squeezes his hands tighter on Lovely and the Raider. Jabber doesn't move this time, instead he observes, like a scientist would their subject. Technically, Zanka was his subject. He got all the special stuff, and he was the only person Jabber ever specifically picked out toxins for. He needed to know what side effects he was having.
Zanka was beginning to breathe frantically, whimpering and almost panicking. What the hell? This didn't happen last time. Zanka grunts, trying to look anywhere he didn't see the faces of his family, but to no success. He heard them all at once, it was so loud. He felt like his body was falling through the floor and soaring at the same time. He wanted it to stop.
He looks around, seeing Enjin on the floor in front of him. No, he was fine. Amo didn't do shit to him, he knows that. Why was he freaking out so bad? He wanted to go home. He was getting sick from everything moving and blending and shifting and appearing. His body jerks.
Jabber's eyes widen. Was it muscle tension? Twitching? Or seizure? Hard to tell when the person it was afflicting wasn't anywhere damn near sober. Well, that's fun. Jabber moves his hands up, feeling Zanka's erratic pulse.
It hurt, Zanka's muscles were sore, and suddenly he was so aware of every little wound in his body. It felt like there were needles in his veins, poking and scraping his body until it was burning. He was so aware of it, almost as if he could feel the damage to each individual cell. He feels sick, looking at and feeling the blood on his body.
He wretches, choking on his own vomit. Jabber is quick to turn him on his side, patting his back so gently. When he's done, he moves the cleaner away from whatever he regurgitated. Zanka's sweating badly, still twitching. His eyes begin to twitch too, and his body disconnects from his mind. Everything is so bright and sickening.
He sees Jabber's dumb face laughing at him, then it morphs into Enjin's bloody one again, then Kyouka's disappointed one, and then a new face, and then a new face. He feels their contempt for him, and their hatred for her. He tries to feel Lovely in his hands once more, but he stopped feeling much a while ago. He felt the weight of a thousand pounds and nothing on his chest all at once.
He jerks harsher, large blown irises rolling into the back of his head. The second he drools and his eyes blink rapidly, Jabber picks him up and throws him over his shoulder and begins running. Zanka blacks out before anything else can happen.
"Dammit Zanka! What the hell!" Jabber loved fighting Zanka, almost as much as he loved making toxins. But that didn't mean he wanted the younger to die! He just found a good partner to battle with, someone who had so much potential, and now he was battered on death's door. And Jabber knew exactly what was happening to him, it was an experience he learned through his stupider early days of experimenting. Overdose.
He knew his calculations weren't wrong. All the other times he was dosed with poison he was fine, and he knew Zanka had a high tolerance for toxins. So what was the new variable? Jabber knew he wasn't the one who caused this, so what did? He knew the doctor in town could fix this, so why was he so scared?
He ran fast, feeling the other's pulse weakening and his body growing colder. His breathing shallowed, stopping right as the raider reached the gates of the nearby town. Jabber checks his pulse again, barely there. He ran into the first clinic he saw, not caring about the price or how run-down the place looked. That just meant the doctor was good enough to stay in business for a long time.
Zanka awoke to the sound of a familiar yelling voice. The smell of a hospital wasn't new to him, however this time the lights were much dimmer. He lets his eyes adjust before looking around, seeing an IV of some sort needled into his arm. He was a bit dazed and confused. Wasn't he fighting Jabber? How did he get here?
"What were you two tryna kill each other? Because that's certainly a way to do it! Stay still." Zanka's ears rang at the yelp that followed, but he knew that the distinct sound of enjoyment that came with it.
Zanka focuses his eyes in the direction of the voices, sitting up. His body ached all over, his head pulsing with pain. Before him was Alice Stilza, concentrating on stitching up a wound in Jabber's back. "The old lady…?" He questions.
"Oh, so you're awake? Beside you is a Charcoal drink, I need you to finish it." The old doctor squawks, staying focused on her stitching.
Zanka doesn't question her orders. He slowly leans over to the side table, painstakingly grabbing the cup of black liquid. It hurt to reach, but he wasn't gonna argue with her about it. He brings the straw to his lips, taking a sip. The grittiness was awful, but negligible compared to his chance of living. His eyes wander to the shirtless raider in front of him, sitting so quietly as Alice worked.
Jabber's locs were tied up into a bun, exposing his neck. His body was toned, but not big like Delmon's, muscles defined more by malnutrition than by training. Zanka looks over each mark he left that wasn't covered by a bandage. He didn't want to stop looking. It was his claim on the raider. Every bruise was his.
Jabber caught Zanka staring, looking at him with a smirk. The cleaner averts his gaze with a flush, realizing staring at the other's shirtless form looked a bit wrong. But it was wrong. He felt satisfaction knowing how badly he hurt his little "dance partner," a satisfaction that was definitely not normal.
Zanka swallows, partly to down his medicine and partly to clean the saliva building in his mouth. Alice finishes wrapping up the raider and stands.
"I have other patients to check up on," she points to Jabber, "You, make sure he finishes his Charcoal. I'll be back." And with that she makes her exit, slamming the door in a way that definitely did not help with Zanka's headache. Jabber gets up and puts on his tank top, crawling into his bed.
Zanka squeaks, "The hell are you doing-?!"
"Makin' sure you drink your medicine," he responds calmly, rubbing his head into the crook of the younger's neck. Was he still high? What the hell was going on??
The touch was gentle, far too gentle for anything between them. Jabber rubs Zanka's free hand with Mankira's thumb ring. "I was worried," is what the cleaner interprets from the action, though he does not dare ask for clarification.
If telepathy was how Jabber wanted to talk, Zanka could play that game. He got used to it a long time ago, it was the only way Riyo would share whatever she was feeling after all. Zanka grabbed the charcoal again, hooking his arm around the raider's neck so he could finish his drink. "It's okay," he speaks through touch.
Their nerves were doing the communicating, like trees sending signals through their roots. Touch was foreign to both of them, but it anchored their minds to their bodies. Zanka almost died. He felt it, he felt each section of his body shutting down as he blinked in and out of consciousness. It was so odd, he'd never felt anything like it. Jabber liked feeling his newly stabilized pulse, making sure he was still alive.
Neither of them dared to get too close, no matter how much they wanted it. Zanka focused on the breaths which tickled his jugular, matching his own to their rhythm. He puts down the cup, picking up the plastic water bottle that was beside it. He washes down the chalky residue, before offering the rest of the bottle to Jabber.
The boy gently shakes his head in denial, and Zanka doesn't push any further. It was awkward for the cleaner, he needed to keep his hands busy doing something so he didn't focus on how close they were. He felt jabber checking his pulse again and again.
"It's not going to stop just because you stopped checking it," Zanka comments.
Jabber replies instinctively, "I know." He checks it again.
The younger sighs and pulls the other close to his chest. He stiffens, before melting into his heart beat. Thump. Thump. Thump. When Zanka deemed Jabber comfortable enough, he undid the bun and ran his fingers through the boy's locs. Zanka couldn't help but remark at how cat-like he was, rubbing into the gentle scritches on his scalp.
They were both still high on painkillers, Zanka more so. But it just felt so right, so natural. He could feel the oozing worry soothe as Jabber listened to the blood being pumped through his body. Each stroke read "I'm alive," even if Zanka didn't exactly know why he was reassuring that he was.
He focused on the raider's scent. Earthy, herbal, and a slightly woodsy-sweetness mixed with an aftertaste of chemical sterility. Zanka recognized the main scent; Chrysanthemum. The same perfume his mother would wear in his distant young childhood memories, when she still had time for him. He indulged himself, breathing in the essence more and more. It was intoxicating, just like everything else about Jabber. He hated just how good it was.
He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he was woken up to another loud slamming of the clinic room door. Zanka groans, groggily wiping his eyes as he sits up. Jabber follows suit, following Alice as she pulls up a rolling stool to the bedside.
She looks at the now-empty cup. "You drank your charcoal, good. How are ya feeling?" She questions, unhooking Zanka's IV before pulling out a small notepad and pen.
Zanka takes a second to collect his thoughts, "Not stellar. Uhm, my body still hurts, and I got a headache… and I feel a bit confused, I guess."
She writes down his remaining Symptoms, "It'll dissipate with time," she turns to Jabber, "And you?"
"Just a bit of pain, nothing I can't handle."
She writes down more, then turns to Zanka. "Whatever freakshow over here injected you with did a real number on you, so make sure you stay hydrated and are getting plenty of rest. If you're out of water or need anything, you can press that little button there. A trash storm rolled in while you two were asleep," she grunts as she stands up, gripping her knees, "So I'll discharge you when it clears up."
Just before heading out the door once more, "and sleep in your own two beds, dammit!"
Zanka flushes with embarrassment as the door slams, avoiding the raider's gaze. "You heard 'er," he says, shimming back under the covers.
He doesn't move, instead, he just sits there, like a dog expecting food to drop in a kitchen. Eventually, the cleaner caves, opening his arms with a sigh. Jabber burrows back into place, his head directly below Zanka's chin.
"This is the quietest you've ever been. Cat got yer tongue?" Zanka teases, hoping he'll take the bait.
Jabber hums, not daring to pull back and answer. It was as if he let go, all of this would go away, and they would go back to their only intimacy being the exchange of fists and blows. He didn't know what scared him more, that reality, or the reality that whatever he was doing would change their perfectly fine, unhealthy dynamic.
Zanka could tell Jabber grew up around death, it presented itself in ways only others like them could recognize. Even then, their stenches of blood were different. Jabbers was of alleyways, of abandoned people, of survival. Zanka's belonged to the law, to order, to a "protection of peace." They both desperately wanted to fill the hole that resulted from that life, so they held each other closer and closer.
They breathed in the other's air, fusing their bodies through sweat and touch. Jabber moved himself under Zanka's covers, knowing he wasn't gonna sleep in his own bed, even if Mrs. Alice explicitly told him to. He was never one for the rules anyway.
Their long stretch of silence was broken by a single "'M sorry." Zanka's eyes widen, looking down to meet the raider's.
He scoffs, "For what?"
"I miscalculated, and 'cuz of that you OD'd." It was clear he wasn't very used to apologizing, but it was nice anyway.
Zanka pulls him closer, "Nah, that wasn't yer fault. You're smart enough not to make a mistake like that," he waits before continuing, "I think it was cause I've been on new meds. Bupropion… I think."
Jabber blinks and leans back, then laughs a folding over giggle, choking for air, "Yeah that'll do it! Man, here I was beating myself up cause I thought I did it myself!"
"I mean… you kinda did," Zanka pouts. The overhead lights turn off, their only source now being the warm-toned bedside lamp. Guess it was curfew.
He leans back down, so close their noses brush against each other, "Yeah? And what're you gonna do about it?"
Zanka doesn't back down, "When we get discharged, I'm gonna pummel you so good you're gonna have to be here for at least another week," he smirks, pulling jabber closer by his tank straps.
He smiles, "Yeah?"
Zanka does too, "Yeah."
Their shared breaths come to a close, lips crashing together in a messy exchange. Jabber threads his fingers through Zanka's hair, tugging with each break apart. There's no time to breathe anything else in but the other. Jabber is loud, whimpering and humming into each kiss like it's his lifeline.
Zanka bites down, tasting the other's blood on his lips. He gasps at the pain, and the cleaner takes the chance to deepen the kiss. Jabber pushes him more against the bed, and Zanka hooks his limbs around him, not daring to give him any chance of escape. He moves his hands up, lightly pressing on the sides of the raider's neck.
Jabber moans at the slight lack of air, relishing the squeeze. They part with a string of saliva, their breaths the only sound filling the room. Zanka sits up and takes charge, moving the kisses down his jaw and to his neck. He bites and sucks, marking him more and more. He breathes in his scent, each kiss, each suck making him want to do more and more.
Jabber's eyes roll back slightly, fingers tugging his hair again. He's still lightheaded, and he barely registers when Zanka pulls back after attacking his neck in a bloom of blemishes. He smiles, his eyes connecting with Zanka's dark blue ones.
He giggles, "Zan-zan's so possessive."
"Shaddup," He kisses the insult to his forehead, then leans back into the pillows. Jabber takes this chance to get his payback, attacking his neck with bites and kisses. He bites down just below his jaw and sucks hard, leaving a dark purple mark. His cleaner uniform wouldn't be able to hide that, damn. Jabber licks each new wound on his sensitive skin. Zanka bites his lips to stifle a groan, gripping the raider's tank hard.
When he feels satisfied with his claim, he pulls back to catch his breath. "So good for me, Zanka," he smirks.
Zanka flushes at the praise, pushing a hand to cover Jabber's face. In response, he licks his palm, and the cleaner shrieks an "Ew!"
Jabber laughs and leans back in, kissing his lips more softly this time. It was slower, gentler, a kindness they both desired. This type of slow, intimate kissing made Zanka blush harder than before. "Yours," he kisses, "I'm yours."
Zanka knew it wasn't a label, just a fact he'd now have to accept. He kisses back just as gently, "Okay."
He gasps again feeling Mankira's cold rings explore under his shirt, tracing the lines of his stomach and back.
"What're you—"
Jabber kisses his neck again, "Just this. I ain't gonna go much further, I promise."
Zanka hesitantly decides to trust him. Leaning into the hand tracing his vertebrae. Jabber counts them with kisses, "One," he traces, "Two," he counts.
Zanka unhooks his hands from his neck, deciding he was allowed to touch too. He rubs whatever skin is exposed, shying away from any thick bandages. Feeling the warmth, he snakes up to the other's heart. He memorizes each thump, burning it forever into his soul. That beat could only be heard by him.
"Three," he feels, "Four," he remembers.
When Zanka's done, he takes his free hand to guide Jabber's to his own heart. There they feel, their rhythms synced in heated excitement. They explore the contours of the other's bodies. They touch where they marked the other with skin, or where they hit with their jinki. They display their weaknesses, disguised as a gentle need, only for them to understand. Jabber wasn't lying when he said they were made for each other.
"Five," he wants, "Six," he needs.
"You're so dumb," Zanka chuckles, so utterly drunk off Jabber's venomous touches.
"Seven," he whispers, "Eight," he promises.
He smiles, pressing their foreheads together, "Says you, Mr. Bad attitude."
"Nine," he gives, "Ten," he takes.
Jabber's never seen zanka so sweetly giggly, "I told you to stop callin' me that,"
"Eleven," he learns, "twelve," he loves.
"Not happening," He responds with a single kiss to the cheek.