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Summary
Zanka occasionally wondered why he was the one who had to crash into Jabber, because Jabber was a bed of tidal pools stranding venomous creatures and jagged shells, flaying the soles of anyone staggering through him. It could have been anyone. The thought settled between his teeth, and he gritted them together wishing that he could bite down on a truth with enough force to shatter it in his molars.
In which Zanka volunteers for an extremely unpopular assignment in the East Ward for the seventh time straight, and gets caught in the rain.
Series
- Part 3 of Catalyst
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ch 2 fin
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Bookmark Notes:
I don't CARE what we get for Jabber or Zanka's backstories in ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, THIS IS CANON TO ME NOW
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Bookmark Notes:
When Jabber drifted back to awareness, his eyelids fluttered, pupils swimming somewhere in back of his head. Zanka knelt with Jabber on his lap facing him, not inside him, though Jabber's thighs were splayed around his hips. Zanka's own nails were in Jabber's lower back and his teeth were in their comfortable space of gnawing away at that scar on his chest. Jabber's hum betrayed that he was awake. A note of confusion to the sound, Jabber squeezed his thighs, huffed insistently.
Zanka sat back and grabbed his face by shoving three fingers into his mouth and his thumb under his jaw, used that as a handle to both shut him up and twist his mouth to the side. Jabber whined gratefully, eyes rolling when Zanka tore inside him. Lacking the conscious strength to bring Mankira to the surface, still foggy from passing out, he squirmed and kneed Zanka in the ribs. Zanka bared his teeth like a tomcat swiped by an aggressive mate, lifted both of their torsos in a swift motion, and slammed Jabber's back into the shower wall. Jabber hiccuped weakly, contentedly.
“Remember-” Zanka breathed, “-I’d had her claws in my mouth, too, ‘s payback-”
Eyes warming at the memory, Jabber found it in him to bite down.
(Stay down-)
Zanka’s hand redoubled in grip-
(Don't go anywhere-)
Underneath him, Jabber squirmed and keened, jostling with Zanka’s thrusts. His head fell back, jaws finally releasing as half closed eyes rolled to the ceiling. His mouth looked as if he was making to scream, though only able to let out raspy, cut off exhales.
(Look at me-)
Zanka couldn’t resist gnawing his neck. Digging his teeth down, Jabber found enough of a voice to pitch into a yelp. Zanka sat up again to see Jabber’s face slack in blissful agony, glazed eyes fixed aimlessly above him. His hand moved before his mind, twisting Jabber’s wrists and elbows down in a position that both thrust his scarred chest out and dragged a weak cry from him. His muscles locked up again, then finally relaxed.
The first time that they had done this, Zanka recalled, both of them had- they’d finished things up at around the same time. Second time around, Jabber kept on passing out in the middle and Zanka didn’t feel right when he did, he’d waited until Jabber woke up the first time and the second, he’d pulled out with a cold pit in his stomach and finished in his own hand on the bed next to Jabber, nauseous. Somewhere between the third and fifth, Jabber had finished well before him. Zanka had pulled out, and Jabber had giggled at him and asked where he was going.
(“... You’re not- it’s not-” Zanka had muttered, beginning to move again, “Look, you fuckin’ freak, you gonna go again, or-”
“Hnn, ‘s mostly not about that.” Jabber had slurred and giggled, fallen too far out of his own skull to elaborate, “‘Mmm, ‘s a bonus point, lots’ve bonus points- soooo many for you, my good boy, but ‘s not just that-”)
Zanka stayed inside of him. Jabber squirmed, before going rigid. Zanka had laid a hand on Mankira’s band around his thumb. All their differences aside, for all the ways that Jabber pissed him off, they were both Givers and their viewpoints inevitably intersected at odd crossroads. Zanka rubbed a hand over Jabber’s spine, “I’m not takin’ nothing from you, dumbass.”
He started to twist the ring around the knuckle.