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Zanka knows he is so fucked the second he is forced to his knee and his vision goes white from pain.
It’s odd.
Weird as fuck, actually, to be feeling such white hot searing pain for the first time since–well.
Huh.
Since the Change, probably.
“Come on!” A playful growl of a voice taunts.
Hands roughly grab at Zanka’s head, pulling him forward. He blinks quickly to clear his blurry vision, and finally Jabber Wonger’s toothy grin appears. Watching a trickle of saliva slide smoothly from the corner of Jabber’s mouth, Zanka wonders how many people have survived getting this close.
The thrill that thought brings cuts through the rest of the pain, the fog in his mind beginning to dissipate.
“I thought you Nijiku bloodsuckers were the real deal,” Jabber laughs in his face. His hot breath smelling faintly of blood and carnage, likely from his latest meal.
Zanka doesn’t hate it.
“Yeah well. There’s always a runt,” Zanka self deprecates. He bares his fangs.
As if the words were a personal offense, Jabber’s grin turns into a scowl so quickly that Zanka nearly laughs. Instead, he lunges.
He wishes he hadn’t lost his staff somewhere. Close combat with a werewolf as formidable as Jabber is certainly not ideal. But it cannot be avoided. Taking his eyes off the werewolf now to search around would be a fatal mistake.
Jabber had worked hard to disarm him. The monster moves erratically, successfully entering Zanka’s guard more times than Zanka would like to admit. A gash on his side, courtesy of Jabber’s razor sharp claws, is oozing blood. The gashes are deep, the feeling of loose flesh tugging uncomfortably with each movement–
Yeah. Zanka’s definitely fucked.
But if Zanka were still human, he’d be dead.
Runt or not, he’s going to make this asshole regret crossing his path.
Now, Jabber grunts in surprise when Zanka’s shoulder rams into his chest, an unsettling rattle from his throat fills the alleyway when he attempts to breathe. Zanka moves to his feet quickly, and knees the werewolf hard in the stomach. Jabber doubles over slightly, face screwed up in pain. He gulps pathetically, desperately trying to fill his lungs with air. But Zanka doesn’t give him the chance–he can’t.
Zanka brings his hand around Jabber’s throat and squeezes.
Jabber’s eyes widen in panic, every attempt to breathe having been swiftly thwarted. He reels, reaching out with his claws.
Zanka roars, the torn flesh at his side screaming as he throws Jabber into the brick wall by his throat. His head cracks loudly against the brick and barely a gasp escapes his throat. Jabber begins clawing at Zanka's arm, ripping his skin to shreds.
Of course, Jabber would go down swinging. Of course, he would make it as painful and annoying as possible.
Zanka glares into Jabber’s magenta eyes and tightens his grip on his throat. He lifts Jabber up into the air, letting gravity apply more pressure to the werewolf’s windpipe. Jabber’s eyelids flicker up and down, his eyes rolling back. He stops clawing at Zanka’s arm the longer he dangles in his grip. One hand grips at Zanka’s wrist, fingers tightening and loosening in time with his blinking eyelids, fighting to maintain consciousness.
Zanka breathes out a laugh. “Come on,” he rasps, echoing Jabber’s earlier taunt.
Jabber’s eyes flicker open at the sound and lock onto his briefly before closing again.
“I thought you were the real deal.”
And then–it’s so brief, but something shifts in Jabber's eyes and Zanka’s blood runs cold. Well, colder.
Jabber, still gasping for air, grins faintly before moving with deadly accuracy.
And it’s blinding pain all over again. This time it’s his elbow, shattered by the look and feel of it, from Jabber’s unexpected blow. And then it’s the otherworldly burn and sizzle of a silver blade pressed roughly against Zanka’s throat.
Why the fuck does it hurt so bad?
Zanka is barely able to register his confusion through the pain. He has to move.
He hisses, pulling away, but Jabber follows, slipping his free hand to the back of Zanka’s neck to hold him in place against the blade.
Zanka is, disoriented by pain and the effects of the overpowered dagger, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. The stench of his skin melting away is thick and pungent. Jabber is coughing, his hard fought breath puffing against Zanka’s face. He’s way too fucking close.
“Damn,” Jabber croaks out. “You actually had me worried there.”
Jabber applies more pressure to Zanka’s throat with the dagger.
“Kind of,” Jabber giggles and it sounds awful coming out of his wrecked throat.
The pain is searing and it takes everything in Zanka not to thrash in Jabber’s grip.
“Why the fuck do you have silver?!” Zanka manages to get out through clenched teeth.
“Why do you think?” Jabber laughs.
He’s insane. What kind of werewolf would carry silver on him but an insane one.
“You’re insane!” Zanka yelps, feeling the dagger actually nick his skin. “Why is it working on me?!”
Jabber’s fingers adjust along the back of Zanka’s neck and squeezes, Zanka can’t resist the shudder it sends down his spine.
“It’s consecrated,” Jabber’s breath is hot in Zanka’s face. “Holyyyyyy and shit.”
Zanka squeezes his eyes shut, desperately trying to remain as still as possible.
Jabber hums appreciatively before nudging Zanka around, pressing him against the brick wall.
Zanka’s eyes flicker open when he feels the blade pull away from his throat. Jabber’s face is there, his head tilted to the side and eyes fixed on Zanka, calculating. “You were holding back before.”
Zanka catches the gleam of the blade in his peripherals, Jabber has the dagger centimeters away from Zanka’s waist, the same side the werewolf had torn up with his claws.
Jabber continues. “I haven’t faced a vampire as strong as you. Not in a long time.” There’s an excited gleam in Jabber’s eyes, and his words sounded suspiciously like praise.
“Fuck off, asshole.”
“You’re handling yourself well against this blade too.” Jabber murmurs, adjusting his grip on Zanka when he attempts to move away from the wall. “Most of your little mosquito friends nearly turn to ash almost instantly. Quit squirmin’, man,” he snaps.
Zanka glares.
“How does your throat feel?”
“Like hell,” Zanka spits.
“Well it’s already healing. Shit,” Jabber whistles. “I wonder if you’ll be able to heal this.”
And he plunges the dagger into Zanka’s side.
^^^
Zanka’s mouth is flooding with warm delicious blood. He swallows hurriedly, ravenously.
Adapting to a vampiric diet when he was first turned had been easy for Zanka. His new body, new strength and power? Of course there would be a price.
It didn’t hurt that blood actually tasted damn good.
But this? He’s never had blood like this.
Zanka snaps his eyes open, Jabber looming over him, expression serious and inquisitive.
And the source of blood–Jabber’s wrist sliced open and dripping dark ruby droplets over Zanka’s mouth. Jabber’s scent washes over him, terrifying and all encompassing. Zanka could feel the tickling weight of a few of the werewolf’s dreads on his chest. He’s fairly certain his head is propped up onto Jabber's lap, judging by how damn close the werewolf is.
Zanka hisses when he tries to move. Excruciating pain that he hadn’t noticed before, now flooding his senses.
“Drink more,” Jabber urges.
Their fight comes back to Zanka, he feels it in his body almost blow for blow. His arm and side ripped to shreds. The consecrated dagger at his throat. The same dagger driving into his body. It had felt like fire–like he’d been tossed into a pyre and then nothing.
And now, Jabber’s warmth is all around him. And it’s not like being on fire.
But it is.
Zanka hasn’t even thought about closing his mouth, even though he should have. Can he even safely consume werewolf blood?
Fuck safe, Zanka thinks.
Fuck Jabber.
And fuck his eager drink more.
Jabber smells too good and stupidly tastes even better.
It’s weak but Zanka snarls, and clamps his mouth around Jabber’s wrist, and sinks his fangs into the flesh there.
Jabber’s breath hitches almost in surprise and he drops his head back against the wall.
After a few gulps Zanka feels a significant difference. He lets out a long exhale through his nose, relaxing as the pain begins to melt away, and soon the only thought at the front of his mind is how good Jabber's filthy werewolf blood tastes. The thrill of each warm mouthful.
Typically, Zanka shies away from some of his more base instincts–it’s the root cause of most of his squabbles with his sister. But now, Zanka’s not sure if he can deny himself a single drop of Jabber’s blood.
He sighs, sinking his fangs deeper.
Jabber flinches around him and he snaps his eyes open, glaring up at the werewolf.
His head is resting against the wall at an angle, but he’s gazing down at Zanka. The light only catches one of his heavy lidded eyes. Now that Zanka is looking back at him, a grin forms on his lips. “Mhm,” his voice low and gravely. “Taste good, don’t I?”
Zanka releases Jabber's wrist only to bite down again on a fleshier part of Jabber’s arm. He makes sure it hurts. The werewolf squirms, but he doesn’t pull away. “Oh no. I’ve angered the prince.” Jabber tugs at Zanka’s hair roughly.
Zanka glares up at him but he’s only met with a snicker. He can feel Jabber's hot blood drip from the abandoned bite wound on his wrist and onto the side of his neck. There must not have been enough of his saliva to slow the flow of blood there. Zanka’s instincts are loath to waste it, but he doesn’t hate the feel of Jabber's blood on his skin either.
After a few gulps, Zanka loses himself again. He lets his eyes roll back and relaxes against Jabber's leg without barely a thought.
The skin on his previously torn up arm is already healed. He twitches his fingers and feels no pain. His hand finds Jabber's arm, moving up to hook around and grip at his elbow, locking his arm in place, albeit weakly.
Jabber lets out a sound and grips at Zanka’s hair some more, his nails scrapping against his scalp. “Any chance you can chill with the horny venom?”
Zanka’s eyes flutter open at that but it takes him a moment to actually hear what Jabber said. He sucks roughly at Jabber's arm, annoyed at the interruption.
Jabber stifles a whimper.
And that’s when it sinks in.
Jabber, the werewolf and Zanka’s natural enemy, is turned on from being fed upon.
He wrenches Jabber’s arm away from him, and puts as much distance between them as he can.
“Hey!”
Zanka seethes, “I wasn’t–ah son of a bitch!” He clutches at his side. The pain from Jabber’s stab wound feels like it’s returned in full force.
Jabber grabs a fistful of Zanka’s shirt and pulls it up to inspect the wound. “Yeesh,” he muses.
“As if it’s not your fault,” Zanka wheezes.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jabber ignores him, leaning closer, and pressing along the edges of the wound.
Zanka hisses.
“It looks better but your body’s not regenerating fast enough on its own.”
It suddenly feels as if he’s actively being stabbed again and again, and he begins to crumple in on himself. “Fuck you,” he rasps. “Just kill me.” His head lolls to the side when Jabber grabs ahold of him before he can hit the ground. “It’s too much.”
“It’s not,” Jabber insists. “It was looking better. You just need more blood.”
Jabber is so close now, his nose bumps into Zanka’s temple as he drags him closer. Jabber's breath huffs against Zanka’s ear and if it weren’t for the mind numbing pain Zanka wouldn’t find it so damn comforting.
Zanka’s not sure where he is anymore. He could be cleaved in half at this point from how bad the pain is.
This is it.
He's going to die like this.
Shivering and twitching like a goddamn wretch because of some god blessed sorry excuse for a knife.
If only he'd had the strength to turn that knife onto the werewolf. The silver would have been fatal to him. Zanka imagines plunging it into Jabber's heart.
Pushing him to the ground and twisting the blade to feel him twitch beneath him. He'd drag that fuck ass dagger across his neck and gorge himself on the blood that would spill out.
The fantasy makes him giggle but that just makes the stab wound throb even more. He screams from the agony of it and starts looking around wildly, blinking through tears of blood. That dagger has to be close. He can take the fucker down wi–
There’s a firm hand on the back of his head and then warm skin against his lips. He feels a strong pulse there, and all there is for him to do is relax his jaw and bite.
He sinks his fangs even deeper after his first mouthful. The man under him jerks, probably from the pain of it, and Zanka thoughtlessly brings his hand up to soothe him. His thumb strokes skin that’s soft but covered in goose flesh.
It’s not instantaneous, but the pain begins to ebb away the more he drinks. He can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes him. The blood is flowing too quickly for Zanka to be latched onto anything other than Jabber’s jugular. He tenses at the realization but before he can even think about moving away, an arm tightens around his waist.
Irritated, Jabber smacks his lips. “Don’t ruin this for me. I’ve never been so . . . floaty.”
Jabber squeezes him again and Zanka whines at the uncomfortable pressure Jabber is putting on his wound. He half-heartedly swats at the arm around him before giving up and just focusing on feeding.
It’s actually becoming difficult to focus on anything else.
Jabber is everywhere. Every time Zanka breathes through his nose Jabber’s neck breaks out in more goose bumps and any sound Jabber makes vibrates against Zanka’s mouth through the skin of his throat. He’s so warm and he smells good. Earthy, but good. It makes his blood taste even richer.
Zanka lets Jabber’s blood fill his mouth completely before swallowing in large gulps, he's actually making a mess. He can feel a trickle of blood escape the corner of his mouth. It leaves a hot sticky trail down his chin and neck.
Jabber's hands are roaming–squeezing and tugging at Zanka, seemingly to pull him in closer. Zanka lets himself get pulled in and immediately regrets it when he realizes he’s been sitting across Jabber’s lap the whole time. He’s not straddling him, but there’s no pretending that Jabber’s hard on isn’t pressing against Zanka’s leg.
Zanka forces himself to ignore it.
“Jesus, I feel kinda lightheaded.”
Jabber pokes at Zanka's side roughly. It makes Zanka jump but more out of surprise than pain. He grunts and removes himself from Jabber's throat when his hand reaches under his shirt, thumb grazing over the wound.
Jabber shakes his head. “It's still there, keep drinking.” Another hand pets at the back of Zanka's head, guiding him back to Jabber's throat. The hand on his waist stays on Zanka's wound, the warmth of it seeping into his side. “But hurry up,” Jabber gripes. “I'm getting pretty dizzy here. But I'm also rock hard, like, how does that even work?”
Yeah, Zanka is well aware.
He brings his hand up to clamp hard over Jabber's mouth to keep him from talking.
“Shut up.” He licks at the blood that spilled below the bite, the taste salty from the sweat on Jabber's skin. “Or maybe I'll just drain you dry.”
Jabber laughs weakly, coming out mostly as a huff of breath through his nose, but Zanka feels a sharp poke from one of Jabber's teeth on his palm. To his shock, Jabber presses a kiss to his palm next and giggles harder when Zanka rips his hand away.
“Just bring me back,” Jabber murmurs, mouth free to continue to spout complete nonsense. “Like I did you.”
Zanka looks up at him, jaw hanging open. Jabber is already looking down at him, eyes hooded and so dark they appear almost red. He must be drowsy from the blood loss and clearly not thinking straight because of it.
Would that even work?
Could a werewolf even survive The Change like that?
As if Zanka would even want to bring an asshole like Jabber back. . .
His palm hasn't stopped tingling since Jabber kissed it.
It has to be the venom. It's–
It's affecting Zanka too.
Feeding has never been like this for him before, but he's a fairly young vampire. He is still learning to hone his abilities.
He has fed on humans before. Some willing, some not so. He supposes he's never fed on any one person for this long.
Before now, Zanka has never been quite so close to death in this form.
“Why are you doing this?” He doesn't say Saving me. The thought makes his stomach turn.
Jabber's thumb digs into Zanka's wound. It's mean, and he doesn't relent when Zanka gasps out and attempts to squirm away. He doesn't stop until Zanka manages to snatch Jabber's hand in his own.
Zanka's breaths come out in pants and he glares up at Jabber. “Just answer me, you psycho.”
Jabber giggles. “Just bored.”
Zanka gapes at him.
“Being invincible–its boring as fuck, right?”
There's a scowl on Jabber's lips now.
Zanka thinks about kissing it. Thinks about walking into the sun next.
He glares at the werewolf because what the fuck is this guy's deal?
Bored?
“Are you just gonna keep eye fucking me until I bleed out or what?”
Zanka blinks, and glances down at the bite on Jabber's neck. He's barely even bleeding–Zankas saliva is doing a good job of keeping his meal from bleeding too much. The sight of his bite on Jabber's throat is a little distracting. It makes Zanka's mouth water. His fingers graze along the bite mark. It's now that he notices the bruises Zanka left with his fingers when he tried to choke the werewolf during their fight. He traces those too. “You're fine,” he swallows.
“Oh?” Jabber giggles. The hand in Zanka's hair falls to his neck and squeezes. There's a glint in his eyes before he asks. “You ever fuck anyone like this?”
Zanka leans away. What. The. Fuck. “I'm not answering that.”
“I'm just saying, this “fuck me” venom you are dosing me with is crazy man.”
“I'm waiting for you to shut up,” Zanka groans.
“Well, I'm this close to begging you to fuck me so.”
If Zanka could blush, he thinks his face would be on fire right now. “You just tried to kill me!” He snaps.
“Yeah, so did you.” Jabber yanks the hand Zanka was grasping away and leans forward. For a frightening moment Zanka thinks Jabber is actually going in for a kiss or more likely finish him off. Zanka flinches, half expecting to see the glint of Jabber's silver blade. Instead, Jabber just lifts Zanka's shirt and inspects his side. His eyebrows furrow and his lips twitch downward.
Zanka twists a little to take a look at the wound himself. The pain had been too severe before. He curses at the sight. The flesh itself is healed over. Even with all the dried blood, Zanka can tell that his skin is charred. There would have been no coming back from that. He'd have slowly burned from the inside leaving behind a pile of ash.
“Your skin was just flaking away before. It was a big smoking hole,” Jabber lets out another giggle. “I had to rip the dagger out, it was like it was cauterizing to your insides.”
“You really piss me off.” Zanka snaps.
Jabber leans back against the wall and turns his head up, presenting his throat to Zanka again. “Take more.”
Zanka hesitates.
“Come on. It still hurts, yeah? The more blood you drink seems to reverse the burned flesh.”
Jabber's hand brushes over the wound. The skin, while healed over, is raw and sensitive. Zanka stops himself from squirming away from it.
“You said I taste good.”
“No,” Zanka growls. “You said that.”
Jabber shrugs. “It's not hard to figure out. Come on, bite me.”
It does still hurt.
And Jabber's blood is incredible.
But, really, it's the invitation that is just too sweet to pass up.
Zanka doesn't know if it's him or the vampire version of himself who loses control in moments like these. Moments when someone's just asking for it. Asking to get their asses handed to ‘em. Asking to be drained. Asking for Zanka to show ‘em his wrath.
Well, sometimes the compulsion is just too strong, too heady. And here is this freak of a werewolf asking for it all.
So Zanka bites, reopening his bite marks.
Jabber lets out a sigh when Zanka's teeth sink into him again and Zanka finds it both alluring and incredibly irritating. He can't help but press closer, however, wrapping his arm loosely around Jabber's shoulder.
Jabber's fingers squeeze against him and it hurts because his nails are sharp and they're digging in through his clothes. He can feel Jabber's nose against his hair, his lips brushing against his temple as Zanka drinks. His sighs are loud in his ear, accompanying the steady thump of his pulse.
Even through the fog, it's too much. Zanka grabs Jabber by the chin and forces his face away. Jabber just holds him tighter.
When Zanka has his fill, he forces himself to rest his head against Jabber's chest instead of pressing his blood soaked lips to his mouth like he wants to. “Can't take anymore,” he rasps, throat hoarse.
You'll die, he doesn't say.
I'll never taste your blood again.
He should probably hold himself to that.
Instead he bobs his head back up to lap at the blood that spilt down Jabber's neck.
Jabber tenses beneath him and Zanka looks up at him. There's a flash of wariness in his gaze that wasn't there all night even when they were trying to kill each other. His arms fall away from Zanka's waist, hands falling open on the ground.
A frown begins to form and Zanka recognizes that something has turned cold between them despite the haze of his feeding. He's not sure why, it's not like he's an expert on the maniac. If he never tastes blood as good as this again he will be haunted by the sight of the lingering rivulets on Jabber’s skin if he doesn't finish now. There's no way he's letting Jabber cut this short.
He fixes his grip on Jabber's jaw and shoves his face back roughly. There's a soft thump against the wall from his head.
“Wait,” he says, sharply.
To Zanka's surprise, Jabber actually relaxes against the wall.
When Jabber's neck is clean, Zanka digs his nails into his face, signaling him to remain still. He picks up Jabber's bleeding wrist and licks at the blood there too. After a few moments Jabber's hand moves despite Zanka's grip and his thumb pushes blood at the corner of Zanka's lips into his mouth.
“There, all better,” Jabber coos, though it's no less menacing. “Get off now.”
Zanka watches him apprehensively as he moves to stand. He doesn't let go of Jabber's jaw until he's able to quickly put a few feet of distance between them with his enhanced speed. But that split second before he moves is devastating to Zanka.
The sight of Jabber slumped against the wall with his head tilted up at him stops Zanka in his tracks. Jabber's chin is still gripped tightly in Zanka's hand and his pupils blow out when Zanka squeezes.
He wants to keep him and feed on him whenever he wants.
It's horrifying.
Jabber gives him a knowing glance. Monster recognizing monster. It makes Zanka want to fall into his lap again and get as far away as possible simultaneously.
He shakes himself out of his trance and moves a few paces away.
Jabber laughs and he's definitely laughing at him. But Zanka doesn't really mind it.
Zanka opens his mouth and snaps it closed again when he realizes he was about to thank him.
That would just be weird. Too fucking weird.
Jabber moves to a crouch. Zanka thinks it’s highly likely Jabber would recover quicker than a human would from such an extensive feeding. It would be stupid to assume that someone like Jabber with such a high tolerance for pain would let that keep him down for long.
He picks up his staff, brushing some dirt from the side and makes as quick of an exit as he can without saying a word.
Jabber chortles again and it echoes loudly in the alley. “Don't go missing me too bad now.”
The hairs on Zanka's neck stand up.
When he licks his lips, the taste of Jabber's blood lingers there.
“Dammit,” he mutters.