Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The very thought of Jabber fills Zanka with nearly unbearable shame and frustration. He knows his ego is fragile despite his best attempts to strengthen it, but what Jabber did in their last encounter shattered it almost as badly as his weapon selection did.

Don't get him wrong, his Lovely Assistaff has shown him more about himself and given him more strength and conviction than any other implement on that table possibly could've, but the abject humiliation he'd felt before he'd accepted her still haunts him sometimes.

Again, Jabber's dismissal doesn't hurt quite that bad. It's just that...

Zanka knows he doesn't measure up as he is; that has been made painfully clear. But that stupid Raider had seen something in him when they met. Something that had made the freak believe he could measure up, someday. And despite himself, he'd been filled with a hateful kind of pride that someone as obviously dangerous as Jabber saw that.

He hates geniuses. He does, really. But he also wants them to respect him. To fear him. 

Jabber will never fear him. Isn't capable of it, probably. But for a brief, shining period of time, Zanka had thought the guy respected him. Had thought he had proof he could make a genius look at him. See him.

Waking up and finding out Jabber had tried to feed him to a trash beast because he wasn't worth keeping around had burned.

Fortunately, if there's one thing Zanka is capable of, it's spite. The boy who thought he couldn't measure up to genius died in that fucking well, and Zanka killed him. 

He's gonna make Jabber regret writing him off if it's the last fucking thing he does.

Conviction aside, their escalating conflicts with other humans have forced Zanka to acknowledge that he's become too used to fighting trash beasts. He's never gonna forget learning every way to incapacitate a human and make them hurt, that shit was all but carved into him, but in all the time he's had his Lovely Assistaff, he's hardly ever used her on other humans.

Those big, floor cracking swings at Jabber weren't exactly useless. They just also weren't designed for a much smaller and more agile opponent with the adaptability of a human used to fighting other humans.

He's more than capable of taking out most other fighters as is, the fights he’s been in since Rudo showed up have proved that, but the top echelons of the Hell Guard and the Raiders are a very different story.

Sadly, none of those people are available for an unfriendly beatdown, so Zanka is making do with Riyo and Guita. Between the claws Guita can whip out, Riyo's killer instincts, and the way the two of them think a little sideways, he's been getting better at fighting stupid durable and adaptable human opponents who can stab him with their hands.

He really wants to train with Semiu too, but she can't be moved by anything except tits and skin mags and he is notably lacking in both departments, so he's shit outta luck there. It's a shame; her ability to predict anything people throw at her would’ve been great to cultivate.

As great as the sparring is, though, Zanka only gets the chance to use one genuinely incapacitating move from his Hell Guard repertoire before Enjin steps in and chews him out. 

It happens so quickly.

He sees Riyo plant her leg, getting ready to get some air, and the Hell Guard mindset he'd been trying to access whispers this is it, and the butt of Assistaff whips out and caves in her knee with a satisfying crunch. 

The sound her knee makes is followed by a strangled, high pitched keen. Tears spring to her big green eyes as they unfocus.

Despite himself, Zanka feels his eyes widen, a flush rise to his cheeks; a single breath shudders out of him before he bites back a rising grin. He's never really gone for girls, but in that moment he can almost see the appeal.

It’s awful.

Riyo recovers almost immediately of course, and rallies from the ground to swipe at him, but he manages to block it. Then Enjin steps in and it's all over. 

Apparently sparring that requires Eishia to pick up after them is no good. 

Zanka mumbles an apology, face red for a different reason now (he got scolded by Enjin, goddammit), and carries Riyo to the infirmary.

Once she’s safely whining in a bed, he heads to dinner and doesn’t think about it. He eats, and doesn’t think about it. He goes to bed (with the door locked, he doesn't need any visits from the fuckin' Midnight Measurer, August), and doesn’t-

He thinks about it.

What the fuck is wrong with him? This isn’t even the first time he’s noticed himself enjoying a fight more than he should’ve. Back in the Academy he’d taken joy in beating everyone else, sure, but even as a child he’d noticed that the way he liked winning a fight was different, somehow, from the way the other kids described it. They’d reveled in being strong; he’d delighted in the damage he could do, in the defeat on their faces.

Worse, his viciousness had been one of the only things his family really appreciated about him. They’d recognized early that he’d had no skill for the family business, but the temperament? Oh, he had that in spades.

He can accept that he gets hot for a good fight, because there’s a reason most Cleaners have offensive jinki. What he can’t accept is that he killed the boy who gave up, but couldn’t kill the one that makes him just like the rest of his shitty family. 

Is this what Jabber saw in him? A viciousness to match his?

Because his brain hates him, it throws him an image of what it would be like to do the same thing to the freak that he did to Riyo, edited for how Jabber would react.

In his head he hears that same satisfying crunch, accompanied by a strangled scream and tears. Then his brain adds eyes rolling back a bit in pleasure, surprisingly white teeth biting down on a full lip hard enough to bruise, and a shudder of pain as the freak jostles it on purpose.

His eyes fly open, and he grips the sheets tightly.

Fuck.

As luck would have it, Zanka runs into Jabber not two days after having that waking nightmare. He's trudging back into town after taking down a medium sized trash beast when he spots a flash of purple, and reflexively turns to see the asshole in question ducking into an alley.

He's following before he even thinks about it.

"Hey freak!" 

Okay, so it's not his finest opener. Whatever.

Jabber turns, and regards him with mild interest. "Oh hey, Mr. Bad Attitude. 'Sup?"

Zanka is immediately pissed at how little Jabber seems to care about seeing him. So pissed, in fact, that he completely bypasses his usual shit talk to swing Assistaff at him at the precise height and angle to make sure Jabber has to jump or get a broken femur.

Infuriatingly, Jabber easily clears Assistaff with a whirl that ends in Mankira reaching for his face. But Zanka knew that would happen, so the other end of his Lovely Assistaff is already swiftly and mercilessly smashing into that bony wrist, and continuing her spin into a jab that slams Jabber into the wall with bone cracking force.

With Jabber pinned, Zanka's first move is gonna have to be taking out Mankira, or he's fucked. So, before the asshole is even done jerking from the recoil, he grabs his injured right wrist with one hand and digs the nails of his other under Mankira's rings to rip them off.

Blood goes flying, and Jabber lets out a shriek.

"Shit, man!" He cries out, voice somewhere between anger and delight. "I ain't that easy!"

And Zanka knows what he means, knows there isn't time to mouth off with Mankira growing before his eyes and only two of her rings on the ground, the other claws still working fine, but his stupid mouth opens anyways.

"Yer easier than a two bit whore 's long as there's pain in it," he snarls. With the last word he tears off another ring, and has to jump back to avoid getting clawed.

Jabber's face goes on a short and very expressive journey that ends in glee. "You calling me a pain slut?"

Zanka feels his face heat up. "If the shoe fits."

"Daaamn." Jabber rubs his not-quite-broken wrist, the remaining seven claws floating menacingly behind him. "That make you a john? Seein’ as you're the one giving it to me," he giggles nastily. 

"Fuck you!" Zanka snaps back.

"Sure thing baby, but first you gotta EARN IT!" And with that he's off, throwing himself at Zanka with the gleeful abandon of a toddler and the terrifying skill of a genius fighter.

At that thought, spite seizes him once again and he throws himself into the fight as well. Fuck this absolute piece of shit for writing him off! Zanka is going to beat regret into him; he's gonna carve it into that fucker's skin in black and red and blue.

He's gonna shove his worth down Jabber's throat and make him choke on it-

It quickly becomes clear that while Zanka's training has paid off, he's still not quite on Jabber's level. But that's not what's getting to him.

"Oh Zan-zan, I knew I liked you!" The asshole wheezes through cracked ribs. "I thought you showed me everything, but it was just the situation fucking you up huh?"

What's getting to him is that Jabber believes he didn't give it his all in that stupid trash beast. The motherfucker still thinks the Zanka he fought there wasn't good enough. And, once again, it burns.

"Nf, yeah, that's it baby!" Jabber crows when Zanka flicks Assistaff to slash him.

"I wasn't hidin' shit," Zanka snarls. "Yer seein' the results of pure hard work right now!" His next swing directs Mankira's left half straight into a pile of trash and partly through the wall, where she gets caught in something.

It's the exact opening he's been waiting for.

With a wild grin stretching his face, he brings his Lovely Assistaff down on Jabber's left shoulder, instantly dislocating it and impaling his trapezius with one of her spikes.

The sound Jabber makes is glorious. It's high and tight and wavering, and fades out into a wet gasp. His eyes go bright with tears. And when Zanka gives Assistaff a flick, tearing muscle with that spike, his head jerks to one side and his locs shift to expose his neck.

Zanka feels like a fucking god.

Naturally, Jabber tries to yank Mankira out with his busted shoulder, but failing that, takes a swipe at Zanka with the two remaining claws on his right. The one with the messed up wrist. Ugh, he can never just stay the fuck down, can he?

Well, Zanka can fix that. 

He rips the spike out of Jabber sideways, shredding his top and most of his hood, and it pulls out another cut off scream.

"Hahh, fuck! So this is, hah, hard work, huh?" Jabber pants out. He leers at Zanka over his ruined shoulder. "I feel hard all right!"

"Yer disgustin'," Zanka sneers back. 

"Say it again," Jabber moans.

Before the freak can get the bright idea to shrink his left claws or swipe again with his right, Zanka sweeps his legs out from under him. It wrenches his busted shoulder and drags a third scream out of him, followed by a fourth when Zanka pins him facedown with the arc of Assistaff curving from under that shoulder to the other side of his neck. His blood starts to drip directly onto two of his locs, sliding down one gold ornament.

Then Zanka sits on his lower back, yanks his good arm into a joint lock, and rips off the last two rings on that hand. He's not sure why Mankira fades when her rings are removed, but if it works, it works.

"Ah, uhn, nooo," Jabber groans, squirming and flexing to try and reach the rings where they land.

Zanka leans down, putting more pressure on the joint lock. "Yer not gettin' 'em back until-"

He stops.

...Until what?

Oh no. He doesn't... he doesn't have an objective. He just saw the stupid Raider and chased him down like a moron-

Beneath him, Jabber starts laughing.

"Oh, shit!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You don't even know what you want!"

"Shut UP!"

"I know what I want," Jabber says suggestively. Which is the moment Zanka realizes he has a masochist face down in the dirt and arching his back, incapacitated and probably hard, and he is practically sitting on the dude's ass.

"No," he says in horror. Against his will, he suddenly notices the way Jabber's arms tremble, the way every ragged exhale hitches on something like a moan; he notices that Jabber is especially twitchy around the hips.

"I can feel the way you're looking at me," Jabber gasps, slightly sing-song. "It hurts so bad, Zanka. It's so, unf, so painful."

"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up-"

"Zanka please-"

He breaks one of Jabber's fingers.

The high pitched wail he lets out trails off into a strangled moan, and a wave of heat rushes through Zanka in response.

"Keep talkin', I dare ya," Zanka leans in to whisper.

"Don't stop, I'm close," Jabber rasps back, a wheezing giggle falling out after close.

Zanka can barely think. What the fuck is wrong with this guy? Why can't Zanka just beat his ass without him making it weird? Why hasn't Zanka already let this freak go dig for his rings and drag himself back to the Raiders, now that he's proven he can win?

Why the fuck does he like it?

He breaks another finger.

Jabber screams and convulses, back arching, thighs clenching together, then locks up entirely. For a long few seconds, the only thing betraying any tension is the fine trembling and twitching in the hand he's holding.

“You sick fuck,” Zanka breathes in disbelief.

Jabber's response is to go limp, a long, drawn out sob quietly leaving him.

Zanka can't quite describe the emotion rising in him at seeing what he's reduced this man to. It's something like hunger, if hunger was made of glee and fascination and disgust. It sends his heart racing, the corners of his mouth straining upward, heat rushing to his cheeks.

Then he feels it.

He's hard.

“Knew y’ w’re like me,” Jabber slurs giddily. He lifts his ass and wiggles it a little. “G’nna take whatcha earned?”

The reminder is Zanka's last straw. He scrambles off of Jabber and to his feet, and roughly pulls Assistaff out of the dirt.

“I am nothing like you!” He spits viciously.

And with that parting shot, he books it back the way he came, leaving Jabber in a now thoroughly wrecked alleyway and trying desperately to fixate on the win and absolutely nothing else.

Chapter Text

The next time Zanka runs into Jabber is a nightmare. 

They’d heard rumors of a book or something from the Watchman series that didn’t pan out, and Follo is getting checked out because he narrowly avoided dying again trying to build up enough stress, and it’s overall a bad time to run into the Raiders again.

But that isn’t the part that’s a nightmare. No, that honor goes to Jabber taking one look at him from his spot on the roof across from them and gasping in delight.

“Zanka baby, you back to take your prize?!” His manic grin goes sly. “Or should that be John?”

Next to him, Rudo makes a face. “Not this guy again. And why the hell would he call you John?”

Zanka’s face burns. “No idea. He’s crazy.”

“Offer’s still open y’know,” Jabber calls out. “Just give it to me like you did last time!”

Enjin raises an eyebrow, and glances at Zanka. “...Say, Zanka. You didn’t happen to do anything last time that might’ve encouraged him, did you? Maybe, I dunno, something transactional?”

“No!” Zanka splutters, horrified. “All I did was call him- something, and he turned it into a whole thing!”

“Alright, alright,” Enjin says, hands up defensively. “Just making sure. You wouldn’t be the first guy to stick his dick in crazy.” He pauses. “Which, by the way, I would not recommend.”

Rudo’s face twists in disgusted horror at that. Then Mankira’s right claws hook over the edge of the roof, since Jabber has apparently taken the time they spent talking to climb down from his building and then scale theirs like some kind of fucked up spider. Zanka immediately slams Assistaff down to make him lose his grip, transforming her mid-swing.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! FUCK OFF!”

“Come on, man, at least wait till I’m all the way up,” Jabber complains. Zanka simply jams Lovely Assistaff into the space between him and the wall and does his level best to pry him off. “No, no, lemme up, I wanna-”

“No!”

Enjin shuffles closer. “Hold on, let me try.” Zanka moves away to give him room, and he shoves Umbreaker into the gap instead and opens it wide. 

Jabber pops off the wall so fast his shocked face practically leaves an afterimage. There’s a loud thud, and when they peer over the edge together, they see him comically slide the last meter or so down the wall of the building across the narrow street.

Enjin begins howling with laughter.

“Oh man, that was good,” he says when he calms down. He wipes away a tear. “Rudo, go get Riyo and Follo. Zanka, go make sure that masochist stays down. I’m gonna go bring the Jeep around.”

“Got it,” they say in unison. Rudo rushes for the stair access. Zanka, however, isn’t willing to take his eyes off his prey for that long, so he strides to the edge, doing a quick assessment, and makes his way down in two bounces. He’s not a moron, so before his feet even hit the ground he’s using his momentum to strike. And sure enough, Jabber manages to fling himself out of the way at the last moment.

Chunks of concrete go flying from Assistaff’s impact, and Zanka uses her to redirect a bigger one towards his opponent.

“Why’dja have your buddy knock me off the roof if you were just gonna play with me anyways?” Jabber pouts, dodging effortlessly. “I’m giving you a second chance and everything!”

“You ain’t givin’ me shit,” Zanka snaps. “I’m takin’ it!”

And then he’s got no more time to speak, because he’s too busy fighting. Mankira is already at full size though, so at least he’s being taken seriously? But he’s still not fucking good enough-

Jabber is sharper this time around; it’s entirely possible Zanka got the drop on him last time because he poisoned himself. Since that’s probably the case, there’s no way he’s gonna be lazy or stupid enough to let Mankira get stuck again. Plus, Zanka’s pretty sure the same move isn’t gonna work twice unless he changes something else around.

Barely thirty seconds in, he misjudges a trajectory and barely avoids one claw only to be grazed by another. 

“Oh Zanka,” Jabber croons. “Thought you was gonna show me you’re better than this. That all you got?”

Zanka has figured out by now that he has mere seconds before whatever he got hit with goes into effect, given his heartrate, so he uses every one of them to pour on the speed and get one last hit in. Duck under a claw, deflect Mankira with a spin, and there!

He slams the butt of Lovely Assistaff into Jabber’s sternum with a meaty thud, and enough force that only the man’s backward leap keeps her from going right through. Jabber gags hard as the breath is forced from his lungs. 

The sound is fucking music to Zanka’s ears, and he grins even as his vision fractures and goes grainy, pain lancing through him.

Fortunately, he hears the unmistakable sound of Enjin’s driving as he stumbles back out of Mankira's range, and manages to get most of the way to the Jeep before Riyo jumps out to haul his ass the last few feet over and in. Zanka catches sight of a blur of purple and indigo already up and scrambling towards them when his head lolls to the side, but Enjin floors it before the door is even closed and leaves Jabber in the dust.

*****

The hallucinations are still pretty shitty this time around (apparently he got a similar combo as last time), but Zanka feels a bit more lucid. Which, yes, means he feels more pain, but he’d rather that than being insensate and high as fuck.

There’s a part of him that wonders if he can build up enough of a tolerance to whatever’s in Mankira’s right claws to keep fighting through at least one hit, but it’s quickly silenced because getting better at beating one specific person is a cop out. He’s better than that.

Or at least, he will be better than that.

Speaking of being better…

The first thing he does once he sleeps off the toxin around eleven is head to the front desk to talk to Semiu, using Assistaff to steady himself a little bit.

“What would it take to get ya to train with me?” At the unimpressed look she serves him, Zanka backtracks. “Ya don’t need ta do much, I swear, I just need someone with better reaction time than me t’hit me when I slack on anticipatin’ a counterattack. You can just tag me with rocks or somethin’ while I’m sparrin’ with Riyo or Guita.”

Semiu narrows her eyes at him. “And why can’t Enjin help you? Or someone else on Akuta?”

“‘Cause yer the best there is. And ya know none of them are specialized for fighting humans.” Except Riyo, he thinks, but Semiu knows why that’s not ideal.

The receptionist stares at him for several long seconds, then exhales harshly. “Fine,” she says. “But my price is that I better see the new issues of Hardwear, Studs ‘n Screws, and Lilies outside my door on Sunday, still warm from the printing press. And you get to negotiate with Corvus for my time.”

“Absolutely,” Zanka promises. “I will make that happen.”

“Leave before I change my mind,” she dismisses him.

He shuffles back to his room to do his morning routine with Lovely Assistaff in peace, doing a little shimmy of delight once he rounds the corner. Next time he’s gonna finish what he started and cave Jabber’s fucking chest in.

Zanka practically floats the whole way, imagining it in vivid detail.

Jabber gasping, maybe screaming a little. Jabber looking at him with fear and anticipation. Jabber’s magenta eyes going hazy and tearing up in pain, back arching-

It’s only as he reaches for his door that his traitorous brain abruptly reminds him of the way Jabber looked beneath him. He immediately feels his face go hot in mortification, and quickly enters and slams the door closed behind him.

Why the hell did that freak have to make it all sexual? Zanka is definitely a bit… weird about beating people, but it’s Jabber’s fault his brain keeps going in that direction! Jabber’s the one who- who-

A distressed noise escapes him as he slides down the door, pressing his face against his Lovely Assistaff. Her wood is cool against his hot face, but it’s not enough to calm the bloodlust rising in him. Not when she moves more swiftly, more viciously, against another person. Not when she practically dances in his hands during those fights.

Not when he knows that she loves the taste of blood just as much as he does.

Whatever. He can’t think about any of that when he needs to take care of her. His routine is more important than- it’s more important.

So he shoves those thoughts straight into the well where they belong, next to the corpse of the boy he used to be. The only things he needs to hold onto are the taste of victory and the sting of defeat. Everything else is just an obstacle in the pursuit of his goal.

Once he’s done with his routine, Zanka feels much more centered. 

He decides to hit up Corvus before getting lunch, since the earlier he goes the less likely the boss is to be busy. As always, he spends the entire conversation under the distinct and unsettling impression that Corvus can see right through him, but they work out a schedule quick enough that it doesn’t bother him too much.

Unfortunately for Semiu, it looks like she's not getting her payment up front, because there’s a lull in reports of trash beasts and it's only Thursday. 

Now he just has to get Riyo and maybe Guita on board, depending on what Team Child's schedule looks like.

The question of Riyo is answered pretty quickly once he gets to the mess.

“Zanka,” she calls out when he enters. “Over here!”

He grabs some food, then heads over and sits down across from her. The stupid toxin kept him out long enough that he's hungry as fuck, so he takes a few ravenous bites before speaking.

“Riyo-”

“Don't tell me, you wanna train some more,” the other Cleaner interrupts. “I can see it on your face. Don't blame you though, that Jabber dude is a serious problem. You feeling okay?”

“I'm fine,” he says. “More importantly, I got Semiu to agree to help.”

Riyo looks suitably impressed by this. “How'd you swing that?”

Zanka keeps his face straight, but can't stop it from going a bit pink. Riyo squints at him, then laughs.

“She's got you running her skin mags huh?”

“Yeah,” Zanka sighs. He takes another few bites. “Anyways, I've realized that that motherfucker keeps gettin’ me ‘cause I don't follow through after heavy hits. He doesn't have the basic courtesy to need a moment to recover, ‘cause he's an absolute nightmare of a human being, so he always attacks right when I expect a pause where I can recalibrate. Bastard.”

“I see why you roped in Semiu then,” Riyo says thoughtfully. "That's the exact kinda thing she takes advantage of.”

“Exactly!” Zanka points at her with his spoon.

“What're we roping Semiu into?” They both turn to look at Enjin when he walks up.

“Trainin’.”

“C'mon, kid, you just got out of the infirmary!” Enjin huffs, pinching his nose. “Sit back and take a breather wouldja? You're givin’ me gray hairs here!”

“I can handle it,” Zanka argues.

Enjin plants a hand on the table and leans in, fixing him with a serious look. “I have never doubted that,” he promises. “I just don't want you killin’ yourself over this when a little bit of R&R could get you a whole lot further, yeah?”

Zanka ducks his head and flushes at Enjin’s words of acknowledgement. “...First session I got scheduled with her is tomorrow, so it wouldn’t hurt to spend today restin’ up for that,” he allows, ignoring Riyo’s snicker at his admittedly predictable response. So he’s a bit of a sucker for praise, sue him.

“Attaboy, Zanka.” Having made his point, and seemingly assured himself that he’d done his due diligence as team leader, Enjin flips them a peace sign and saunters back over to the older crowd. The other half of Akuta doesn’t require much maintenance, but since he’d find Riyo later for their nightly tea sesh, and dinner is usually when he harasses Rudo, Zanka is probably off the hook for any check ins until lunch tomorrow. Though he could probably expect to be supervised during sparring, ugh.

Now to finish his food and find Guita.

*****

Team Child has apparently gone out to Hole Town for their own bit of R&R, so to keep himself occupied until they come back Zanka hits the library. There’s a distinct possibility that the books he’s looking for are all at Dr. Stilza’s place, but it can’t hurt to check right?

Now, what was that shit called…

Three hours, two coffee runs, and about eight books on medicine later, he has to tap out on his deep dive into toxins and biology, closing the book in front of him and leaning back with a groan. He’s missing the background he’d need to really grasp half of what he’s read, even with one of the books having a truly massive glossary, and as a result has developed an even greater seething resentment of Jabber.

How dare that crazy ass piece of shit understand all this? Even with the kinds of workarounds vital instruments can give you, like Eishia not technically needing to know how the body works to heal, all that talk about dosages and neurotoxins indicates a pretty thorough understanding of how poisons and shit work.

The whole thing is driving Zanka nuts; how many advantages can one person possibly need? It’s Hyo all over again! Strong, fast, smart, adaptable, agile, and self assured, all wrapped up in a pretty fuckin’ package–

Wait. No. Bad phrasing. He just means that it’s all like, tied up in a neat little genius bow, not that Jabber’s pretty, eugh. That asshole’s natural talent has nothing to do with how attractive he is!

“Fuck!” Zanka slams his head onto the cover of Medical Toxicology of Natural Substances: Foods, Fungi, Medicinal Herbs, Plants, and Venomous Animals¹. He lets the tangle of rage and humiliation and that awful, terrible hunger wash over him for five, ten, fifteen seconds, and then out of him with a long, measured exhale.

How should he arrange his notes? He’s probably gonna have to rewrite some of them, and definitely organize them into something more coherent and consistent. Maybe some color coding? 

(Purple for neurotoxins, or maybe pink–)

Nah, he gets the most out of his notes through the process of writing and organizing, color coding would just be a pain in his ass for nothing. 

(Zanka can show him pain in the ass–)

He decides to take the toxicology book with him, and contemplates how to organize his notes while he goes through the process of writing down the title on a slip, then on the list of checked out books along with his name². The title is long enough that by the time he’s done writing all that out, he’s settled on sorting everything by mechanism and then affected system. 

(‘Aphrodisiacs’ typically affect neurotransmitters, making them neurotoxins–)

Putting back all the other books, and leaving the slip in the place of the one he’s taking, gives Zanka the time to mentally pick out which of his binders the notes will go into. They don’t really merit their own binder, so they’ll go in the one he keeps for job relevant info like tracking which kinds of areas tend to spawn what kinds of trash beasts.

He collects his mugs, returns to his room to file his notes for later, collects the mug from his nightstand, and heads back to the mess.

Just as he’d hoped, Team Child is back and made it their first stop, descending on the food like a horde of locusts. He plucks Guita from the group by her hood, which she simply accepts like a kitten being scruffed.

“Oh! Hi Zanka!”

He sets her down at an empty table, not bothering to sit himself. “Hey Guita.”

She doesn’t waste a second, tearing into her meal as soon as the tray touches the table. “Wash’up?”

“You up for some more sparrin’ tomorrow?”

She swallows. “Sorry, but we gotta take out some trash beasts tomorrow.”

“Damn. Okay, how ‘bout Saturday?”

“Mmmmmyeah that should work!” 

“1400 hours?”

“Uhhhh…”

“2pm. 1400 hours is 2pm.”

“Oh! Yeah, okay.” Seeing that he’s done, Guita proceeds to shovel a ludicrous amount of potato something or other into her mouth. Zanka leaves her to it.

He spends the next hour rewriting and organizing his notes, focusing intently on what he’s doing and absolutely nothing else. Then he heads down to dinner with Akuta, continuing to keep his mind in the moment. Doing so is easy, with how loud and boisterous everyone is. So easy, in fact, that he lets himself bask in their company for another hour even once everyone is done eating.

It’s only when he heads back to his room and finishes getting ready for bed, finally out of things to distract himself with, that all the thoughts he’d been avoiding come back to haunt him.

One scratch. One fucking scratch and he was done. He needs to be better, needs to stop holding back– but no, that’s not right. He’s not holding back, he is putting his all into it, he’s just not good enough. Jabber is wrong about him.

…It’s just that one moment after a heavy hit where he holds back, because he’s following the rhythm of a spar. Recognizing that bad habit is just the first step, and it doesn’t make them anything alike because unlike a genius, he can’t just immediately compensate for a problem once he knows it exists. He still has to put in the work to fix it.

He will though. And if their previous fights are any indication, it may give him a leg up. He’ll still have to up his agility to have any real chance when Jabber isn’t already impaired, but even this last time might’ve gone different if he’d fixed that. 

And hey, he’d stayed up long enough to make that fucker hurt, and that moment where Jabber gagged? The pain on his face? Poetry. Zanka’s definitely willing to put the work in to make that happen again.

(Jabber screaming and twitching–)

He wants it bad enough to make his fucking teeth ache.

Because even though the guy brings back all sorts of shitty memories, even though every encounter they’ve had has been some degree of humiliating, Jabber has become his next benchmark for success. He’s never been as close to winning as he’d like–

(Not good enough, not good enough, never fucking good enough–)

–But it’s never been a complete shutout either. He’s always been able to get his own knocks in.

(Unlike with Hyo.)

Which means winning is within reach. Something he can feasibly achieve if he works just that little bit harder and plays his cards right. That he’s technically already proven he can do.

(Jabber beneath him, shuddering–)

Zanka tastes blood, and swallows hard. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to sink his teeth into Jabber right now instead of his own damn lips. Bite down hard and tear him to shreds. Make him scream again.

Ugh. Jabber’s wrong about a lot, but it’s pretty hard to deny that he was right on the money about Zanka’s mean streak. Difference is, Zanka won’t let it control him. He’ll use that burning hunger to his advantage in a fight, but that’s it.

And for learning how to do that, there’s no better opponent than someone like Jabber. Someone who will draw it out of him, pushing him to greater heights, all while claiming to enjoy it. Someone he can hurt without feeling bad about it.

Zanka grins darkly, and lets visions of blood lull him to sleep.

Chapter Text

At some point between Zanka’s conversation with her and the sparring session he’d set up, Semiu has acquired what he’s pretty sure is a repurposed t-shirt cannon. He can’t be entirely certain though because it has been repurposed specifically by loading it with rocks.

“MotherFUCKER!” He yelps as he’s shot again. “Could ya maybe use smaller rocks?!”

“Oh please, you can take it,” Semiu informs him with a little smirk. “Now get back to it before I shoot you again.”

“Yeah Zanka,” Riyo taunts him, “get back here and take it like a man!”

“Get his ass!” Enjin cheers from the sidelines.

The two younger cleaners mean mug at each other for a second, middle fingers raised, then launch themselves forward to collide again. This time Zanka lands three hits without falling into a lull between them before Semiu catches him slacking and nails him right in the ass.

“Fuck!”

The next twenty minutes or so are grueling. He manages to make a little bit of progress on breaking his little bad habit, but that progress is laughably inconsistent. Semiu must shoot him dozens of times. Even Enjin’s encouragement begins to feel patronizing. Most frustrating of all, he can tell that the reason he’s not getting it is because he doesn’t feel that spark that’s always behind his greatest improvements.

He doesn’t feel that rage, that hunger.

Then, right as his frustration is about to hit its boiling point, Riyo flinches under the weight of a particularly hard hit.

Time slows, his bloodlust flares, and instead of waiting for the pain to sink in, he uses that split second to get inside of the Ripper’s range and drive his fist into Riyo’s face. She moves with it, reducing the impact and letting the force pull her into a flip that has him dodging her scissors again, but her recovery is thrown off. Zanka can practically smell the moment of weakness it yields, and pounces.

He’s only halfway through putting Riyo fully in the dirt when Semiu redirects him face first into the ground next to her.

“You lost control,” Semiu says sharply. “This is a spar, not an actual fight.”

Enjin walks up beside her. “Zanka, again?” The man keeps his tone light, but Zanka can hear the warning in it.

Still facedown, the nasty little voice in his head snarls at being denied his victory. He doesn’t dare turn over in case it shows on his face.

Next to him, Riyo sits up. “Chill. I knew what I was signing up for.”

There’s a pause, then a long, aggravated sigh. “So you deliberately signed up for the possibility of landing your ass in the infirmary.”

“Enjin. He’s tapping into pure instinct.” She shrugs. “It was always gonna get a little messy.”

“Aren’t there ways to develop it that don’t involve potential severe injuries?” Their team leader complains, sounding resigned.

“Nope!” Riyo chirps back.

Zanka finally gets control of his face and rolls over. “‘M still sorry, though.” And he is. It’s just that the guilt is still fighting with the feeling of being robbed.

All three of them turn to look at him with varying degrees of amusement, knowing perfectly well that he’s always been a bit vicious.

“Sure you are,” Riyo snorts. “Seriously man, don’t worry about it. What’s a few broken bones between friends? And it’d be better for everyone if you were able to access that when you’re fighting that Jabber guy. Even for him!”

“Kind of impressed that you made such a convincing argument sound so terrible,” Enjin remarks.

Semiu stays silent, watching Zanka intently. He does his best to focus on thoughts of getting better to protect his friends, his family, and not on how satisfying it is to wipe the floor with people.

(The muffled snap of a finger breaking, a strangled scream shuddering through the body beneath him–)

“I’ll only step in to prevent serious injury,” Semiu decides. “But once you’ve got a good handle on this shit you better lock it the fuck down. I can see what you got in you, and it’s not bad, but it is dangerous if you’re not the one in control. We clear?”

Zanka goes red. “Crystal,” he mutters. Glancing at them, he’s pretty sure Enjin and Riyo think he’s blushing from the acknowledgement of his potential to be dangerous, and being put on the spot. It’s only Semiu that’s truly clocked his little issue. Although it’s…nice, he supposes, to have assurance that his dark side isn’t a bad thing.

“Ooh, dangerous,” Enjin crows, grinning at Semiu. “Better watch out, or my boy’s gonna getcha!”

Semiu pushes him away by the face. “Don’t be a jackass.”

The two of them start to make their way back to the sidelines, and Riyo hops up and offers Zanka a hand. He takes it, resisting the urge to let his much greater weight and height drag her petite ass down. Then they both dust themselves off, take a few steps away from each other, and jump right back into it.

Even if Semiu hadn’t said anything, Riyo would’ve noticed that something has shifted. Her response to that shift seems to be forgoing the use of the Ripper in favor of hand to hand. Not what Zanka would’ve chosen, but then he doesn’t have the same self imposed restrictions, or a lethal fallback. All he has is his Lovely Assistaff. 

They spar for another twenty minutes, Riyo sticking to hand to hand and Zanka gradually getting hit less and less by unnecessarily large rocks. More importantly, Semiu redirects him three more times, and after the second time, something in him relaxes. With her there, he doesn’t have to worry about going too far. He doesn’t have to pull his blows, or match Riyo’s rhythm. He doesn’t have to keep a leash on the monster inside of him, because if he loses control she’s right there to knock him into the dirt.

The third time is when Enjin decides it’s time to call it quits, because they’re both panting, sweaty, and bruised everywhere, and Zanka’s technically still not supposed to be exerting himself too much.

(They are all very, very bad at following medical instructions.)

(Eishia can’t heal them because she’s keeping her energy in reserve for cleaners still out on assignment, but they stop by anyway to patch themselves up and grab some bruise cream. She looks so distraught that even Enjin avoids looking her in the eye.)

The next day goes very similarly, except that Enjin and Riyo are out on assignment and instead of shooting him with rocks, Semiu joins Guita to tag team Zanka. It lets her correct Zanka much more effectively, and make sure he’s actually challenged. Not that Guita isn’t skilled, she wouldn’t be a cleaner if she wasn’t, but her comfort zone is being kaiju sized and fighting trash beasts in a similar weight class. Plus, Zanka has a few years on her and a lot more experience with fighting other humans.

Honestly, their sparring is weighted more in Guita’s favor as far as improving goes. She’s apparently gotten much better at dealing with smaller, faster trash beasts while still at size one, which lets her conserve energy.

Meanwhile, Zanka had his shortest fight yet with Jabber not two days ago. That motherfucker better be prepared the next time they meet–

He makes an undignified sound as his face hits the dirt.

“Wowie, that was close!” Guita exclaims. She crouches down and pokes Zanka’s shoulder with one claw, careful not to actually puncture anything. “You good?” 

“‘M Fine,” Zanka groans. This isn’t the first time Semiu’s fully redirected him today, but it’s the only time he’s been redirected straight into the ground. That shit hurts. Which does absolutely nothing to quench the fire in his blood; kinda stokes it even.

Exhaling slowly, he picks himself up and brushes off the dust.

The receptionist examines him. “You’re done,” she declares.

“Wait, what?”

“Awww, but Semiuuu–”

“Zanka needs to stop,” she says to Guita firmly. “You can schedule another session later.”

The younger cleaner hangs her head sadly, and deactivates her vital instrument, shrinking and then unzipping it to show her pouting face. It has exactly zero effect on the receptionist.

“Oh well.” Guita turns to him and waves a paw. “Bye bye Zanka! Catch ya later!”

“Bye,” Zanka manages. He waits until she’s out of hearing range to round on Semiu. “I got poisoned two days ago, I don’t need t’ be babied!”

“That’s not why I ended it,” Semiu says sharply, hands on her hips. “This is why. You’re getting the hang of tapping into those urges of yours, but the ultimate lesson here is about control. And right now? You’re letting them control you instead of the other way around.” She sighs. “It’s okay to like dishing it out. It’s even okay to actually do it. But I am not babysitting your ass forever, and I don’t want nobody telling me you went too far because I never taught you to do it responsibly.” 

Zanka bites his lip, knuckles going white around Assistaff. 

She…might have a point. The moment he thought about dishing it out to Jabber, the bloodlust he’d kept at a steady simmer had flared into something that had sharpened the world into what would hurt, and what wouldn’t hurt enough.

Even now, bloodlust is raging through him, his teeth clenched against the desire to find someone, anyone (magenta eyes, gold glinting on long locs) and leave proof of his worth all over their skin in red and purple.

Abruptly, he feels sick.

“There it is,” Semiu says with sympathy. Eyes fades back into normal glasses.

“I know why I wanna hurt those shitty raiders, but why the fuck do I wanna hurt people I actually like?” Zanka bites his lip even harder.

“It’s just how you’re wired. Ain’t nothing wrong with it as long as you’re in control,” she tells him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Then she gives him a wry smile. “But even when you are, it can throw you off a bit once you drop out of it. Why don’t you go catch up with Guita and walk her to the infirmary? And go make her some hot chocolate when that’s done with.”

Semiu seems to be familiar with people who are… like Zanka, but he isn’t quite as confident that being nice to Guita will fix the yawning pit of guilt in his stomach. After all, even Kyouka never had it this bad, and she once beat a fellow trainee so brutally he left the Academy rather than spar with her again.

But control requires discipline. Semiu is taking on the role of instructing him in this right now, so if she thinks this is what he needs to do, he owes it to her to do it. 

“Yeah, alright,” he sighs. Semiu lets her hand fall, and he lets Assistaff fade, giving her a quick spin and tap on the ground to make sure she isn’t damaged. Nothing pings him. “Thanks fer doin’ all this. I know you’d rather be at the front desk.”

“Damn right. But helping out a friend isn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon.” She smirks at him. “Plus, my schedule’s looking a helluva lot easier tomorrow without having to pick up my own prescription.”

Zanka groans, feeling his face warm. “Just. Write me a list. To make sure I don’t forget what I’m grabbin’.”

“I’ll leave one on the front desk tonight. You can grab it on your way out.” She turns on her heel, then pauses to glance back at him. “One more thing. You did good today.” And with that, she sets off towards whatever she’s got scheduled next, leaving Zanka to go track down Guita.

Semiu’s approval is enough to lighten his mood considerably, and after getting Guita checked out and making her hot chocolate, he does admittedly feel a bit better. 

But he can’t quite cast aside his worry that learning how to draw on his dark side during fights could bleed over into everything else. He’s accessing a part of himself that makes him dangerous; sure, he’s only doing it to protect the people he cares about, but what if he hurts them?

(‘Only,’ ha. Liar. It feels good to be dangerous.)

Zanka’s thoughts chase themselves in circles all the way till dinner and through rec time, tying him in knots right up until he gets into bed early so he can get up at ass o’clock the next morning for Semiu’s ‘prescription.’

He doesn’t come to a single conclusion.

Chapter Text

Zanka only wrangled one week of daily training with Semiu out of Corvus, but in that one week he gets pretty damn good at pushing through the expectation of a moment to recover. And in the weeks after that, he perfects it. 

(He doesn’t have a choice. Not when–)

He takes a Jeep out to Hole Town about a month later, after a long series of revelations and betrayals, intent on being the shithead rebellious teen he’s always pretended he wasn’t. After all, what better way is there to forget the pit in his stomach than to fill it with cheap booze and bad decisions? He’s fucking earned that by now. 

(How could he, how could he–)

Walking into the first dive bar he sees is where it all pays off. He sees the teal hair and big ass instrument of that manhole kid coming out of a backroom as soon as he walks in the door, followed by that familiar head of neat locs and magenta eyes.

The kid doesn’t notice him, beelining for the bartender with single minded focus. Zanka is completely unsurprised that the bartender doesn’t seem to care her new customer looks about twelve.

Jabber also doesn’t notice Zanka at first, wearing that same dull expression from that time the cleaner got the drop on him. His gaze drifts along each down-on-their-luck patron, half lidded with disinterest, until finally they land on Zanka.

His face immediately lights up, and every bit of rage in Zanka lights up in response.

Without a target for it within his reach, it’s just been simmering away, twisting his mind and heart up into knots. But here’s someone who can take all of it. Who deserves it. Who wants it.

“No way no way, you here for me Zanka baby?” 

“As if,” he sneers. “But since you’re here–”

“I don’t have the patience for you and your little boytoy right now, Jabber,” the kid interrupts. “Take it somewhere else.”

“Aw, but Cthoni–”

“I’d listen to the lady,” the bartender says. Her eyes are narrowed in warning. “You fuck this place up and your faces are goin’ up on the wall of every bar in town.”

Zanka wants to care about that, he really does, but with Jabber right in front of him he’s holding onto his composure by his goddamn fingernails. Teeth gritted, both hands on Lovely Assistaff, he takes a single step towards the raiders. Jabber launches himself forward in turn, pink anima blooming on his knuckles.

Apparently this is the provocation manhole kid (manhole lady?) needs to decide that if they won’t take it outside on their own, she’s gonna make them. In the same moment that Jabber moves, she activates her vital instrument and opens a portal right beneath Zanka’s feet. The backside of another one appears as he drops, presumably to catch Jabber.

The asshole must have a sense of humor, or really hate her coworker, because the portals spit them out straight into a wall. Zanka’s easily able to absorb the impact and bounce off since he went through feet first, but Jabber only barely avoids slamming his face into dirty concrete.

“Where the fuck did yer buddy send us?” Zanka snaps, transforming Assistaff and swinging her at Jabber to force him away.

The raider’s eyes dart around, then focus back on Zanka. “Chill out, we’re still in Hole Town. Now, we gon’ dance or what?” His face splits in a wild grin.

“Won't be dancin’ any more when I'm done with ya,” Zanka promises. And with that, he throws himself forward once more, Jabber rising to meet him, and the fire eating him alive settles.

In the end, Semiu’s help is what makes all the difference.

Before, he just blocked in the rough area of where he saw Mankira coming, and usually guessed correctly. Now, thanks to Semiu taking ruthless advantage of them, he's much more aware of where the holes are in his guard as a natural consequence of using a mid range weapon. And while he's not really any faster, it means he doesn't have to think as hard about how to block attacks to them, which cuts down his response time. He can also anticipate which weak points are the most enticing target, cutting that time further. Same logic as dodging bullets, really, but adapted for close combat.

Jabber picks up on it pretty quick. “Y’know, I think I’m seein’ a pattern; you always improve more after I give you an ass whooping. Don’t normally got the patience to do it this many times, but you’re so mad consistent that it's actually worth it!”

Furious at this assessment, Zanka lets himself sink deeper into the darkness in him. The next time he knocks Jabber back, he's not just ready to dodge Mankira swiping at him from an improbable position, he's bringing Assistaff around to slam into the opening that that swipe has to leave.

Being right has never tasted so sweet.

Jabber yelps, then lets out a thin whine as he flits away from where Assistaff is buried in the floor. The motherfucker did manage to avoid the full impact, but the glancing bit of contact Zanka made is still enough to have him grabbing his ribs.

The corners of Zanka’s mouth pull back and up without his permission, cheeks heating and a laugh bubbling up before he bites it back.

“Oh, Zanka, I’m beginning to like this hard work thing of yours,” Jabber giggles. “I was right about you the whole time, I was just wrong ‘bout where it’s hiding, huh?”

And for the first time, the thought doesn’t induce angry denial. Jabber thinks they're the same kind of fucked up? Then he'll prove it. He'll prove Jabber is right to see potential in him, that he's fucking worth something.

(It worked. All his training worked. He might really be enough this time.)

There's a part of Zanka that’s aware that this is where Semiu would normally stop him. That he’s losing control, and it’s a bad idea to keep going. He’s aware of where the line is for once, so he could stop himself and deny the monster in him the violence it so desperately wants…

Or he could win.

The decision is easy, with Jabber right in front of him. After all, he was here to make bad choices. And what choice could be worse?

That’s the last coherent thought he has for a while, because the fight kicks back into gear almost before he finishes it. But not because he’s panicking, no; his mind is clearer than it's ever been now that he's no longer fighting himself to hold on.

The loss of control should make Zanka sloppy; instead, the bloodthirst sharpens him, drowning out every other concern. His whole world is zeroed in on causing as much pain as possible, never letting up even in the wake of hits that anyone but Jabber would need a split second to recover from. It carries him through several near misses with Mankira that would’ve taken him out before. 

Jabber keeps up a steady stream of shit talk the whole damn time, interspersed with bursts of manic laughter, but the only noises that actually register to Zanka are the ones he makes when he takes a hit. A thready whine, a bitten off scream, a punched out uhn– Zanka drinks them in like a man dying of thirst.

One near miss snags both his haori and shirt and severs his belt, ruining his only casual outfit. Time slows as the wind from Mankira’s claws skims his skin, mere millimeters between him and whatever she’s coated in. And in that drawn out instant, Jabber– slips.

As if in slow motion, Zanka watches the foot he’s pivoting on slide on a patch of wet concrete, forcing him to correct his balance, and sees the exact right way to make sure he can’t. Lovely Assistaff hums with anticipation and practically leaps for the crack in his defense.

Zanka will admit it. He was trying to catch Jabber between a blade and a spike. Even if he hadn’t been cut by the first slash, any attempt to dislodge his leg from that spot would’ve cut him to the bone. But somehow, impossibly, Jabber manages to move just enough to take the impact between the two spikes on that side instead with only a minor scratch. His leg goes out from under him, though, Assistaff punching both spikes into the concrete to pin it.

Blinding clarity still holding out, and knowing Jabber is still perfectly capable of mauling him, Zanka darts in to crush his windpipe. Eight pounds of pressure, his subconscious whispers. Dodge the swipe of Mankira’s smaller claws, reach– no, big claws are right behind, gotta move, deflect–

He frantically lashes out as he executes a less than graceful roll to avoid getting stabbed, and miraculously knocks the closest claw off course and directly into Jabber’s side. Jabber pulls it, of course, so it barely punctures the skin and immediately retracts, but the fact remains that Jabber just unintentionally poisoned himself with a dose meant for Zanka.

They both stare at it for a long moment, then make eye contact.

“Well shit,” Jabber says with a wobbly grin.

This time, Zanka doesn’t stop the dark laughter that bubbles up. The raider awkwardly shifts to swipe at him again, unable to turn fully with his leg stuck sideways, but Mankira is already looking a bit shaky. Without wasting another moment, Zanka grabs Lovely Assistaff and makes the calculated decision to release Jabber’s leg in order to take Mankira out of the fight.

He catches her wires in Assistaff’s jaws with a wide sweep, twirls until they’re all wrapped up and impossible for Jabber to maneuver with, and then pierces Assistaff’s prongs deep into the concrete above Jabber’s head to trap them there.

The remains of his haori are quickly repurposed into restraints, before Jabber can get the bright idea to bypass Assistaff by deactivating and then reactivating Mankira. To keep Jabber from contorting his body to kick him while he does this, or accidentally touching Mankira, Zanka ends up kneeling over Jabber’s waist, shins pressing the man’s thighs down.

He is… acutely aware of how close his ass is to Jabber’s hips, the whole time he’s tying those dangerous hands to Assistaff.

Apparently, so is Jabber.

“No fair, getting me all tied up and helpless and teasin’ me,” he wheezes, body wracked with shivers from whatever the fuck was in those claws. “You could do anything to me like this. Tear me apart and make me scream, ride me while you cut me up–”

“Shut the fuck up!” Zanka slaps him right across the mouth, face going red. Despite himself, the picture Jabber paints crawls right into his brain, the sense memory of fingering himself some nights along with every noise and drop of blood he’s dragged out of the man beneath him combining into something filthy.

“Ngh! Yeah, fuck, do that again,” Jabber moans.

It’s stupid to play this game, Zanka knows that, but the hunger briefly overwhelms him. He slaps Jabber again.

“AH! Nf, yeah…”

“Thought I told you to shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

Oh, this motherfucker.

Zanka roughly pries Jabber’s mouth open, hooking his fingers on his jaw to keep him from biting.

Another admission for the pile: the moment Zanka had realized he was gonna get the upper hand without beating Jabber into a bloody pulp first, that this fight was gonna follow the trajectory of the last time he won… he'd known, having already committed to one bad decision, that he was gonna make the worst decision of all.

“As if I’d let ya anywhere near my ass without lube,” he scoffs. “But… I could use a little stress relief, if ya wanna hurt that bad.”

Even with the toxin coursing through him, Jabber is quick on the uptake, glowing eyes widening. He moves his head like he’s trying to nod, garbled words pouring from his mouth along with shaky giggles.

“Got somethin’ to say?”

More attempts to nod.

“Make it good or I’m gaggin’ you.” Zanka’s words prompt a full body shudder, distinct from the little spasms caused by the toxin. He removes his fingers.

“D-don’t need lube if you fuck me,” Jabber suggests, eyes bright with more than just anima. “‘Bout time you took what you earned, right?”

“That’s not safe,” Zanka blurts reflexively, Semiu’s brief yet intensely mortifying lecture on safe sex popping into his head. 

Almost immediately, he realizes his mistake. Jabber’s face goes blank, the delight dimming to disinterest, and the bitter taste of inadequacy floods his mouth. Anger quickly follows, though, because how dare this piece of shit look at him like that for the crime of having fucking standards?

“Wipe that look off yer face,” Zanka snarls. “I said it’s not safe, not that your whore ass wouldn’t deserve it.” 

The disinterest lingers for a split second, then vanishes as quick as it came. “Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll bust a nut right here!”

“Go ahead. I’ll be takin’ what I want either way.” Zanka shifts his weight to move backwards and almost catches a knee to the dick for his trouble. “Asshole! Watch the fuckin’ package, ya want me to fuck you or not?!”

“What, you thought I was gonna make it easy for you Zan-zan? It’s no fun if I’m not strugglin’ to get away!”

Right. Of course. How could he forget that particular loose screw.

Still pissed, Zanka is on alert as he tries again. This time he manages to get Jabber’s belt undone and toss it to the side with minimal trouble, the attached lantern clattering loudly where it lands. 

The sash thing is slightly more difficult. He has to wrestle with Jabber to get a grip on his ankles, which he uses to secure the man’s calves against his shoulder and remove his shoes while he’s at it. He could’ve just slung Jabber’s knees over his shoulder for a better hold, but this way the jackass can’t kick him with those stupid bony heels.

Once the sash is out of the way, though, it’s easy as anything to yank Jabber’s pants off too.

Zanka pauses. “Commando. Seriously?” All he gets in response is a sleazy grin and another attempt to wrench a leg free while he moves it to the other shoulder.

The words are a distraction from his thoughts, which are firmly on all the skin he just exposed. He’s fairly certain most people in his situation would be fixated on their partner’s dick (no, not partner, bad word– ugh, whatever), but not him. 

Truth is, rage and momentum have gotten him this far, but he’s still never, well. Gotten this far. So it’s a whole lotta new territory, in more ways than one, and his nerves need a minute to take it all in and pick up momentum again. Which is why his gaze skitters away from Jabber’s dick.

(It’s a nice dick. He thinks. Looks nice to him anyways. Happy trail half covered by a torn undershirt leading to tight curls at the base. Curved, proportional, wet at the tip.)

Face and ears burning, he locks onto the marks scattered across all that new territory instead. Under the new scrapes and red marks darkening into bruises are faint, pale scars, mixed with larger ones that are raised and dark purplish pink. He wants to trace them with his tongue, replace them with his teeth.

One in particular catches his eye: a pale, puckered divot with a ring of darker, slightly pink toned skin around the edge about halfway up the inside of Jabber’s right thigh. He knows that kind of scar; sure enough, when he cranes his neck, he sees a matching one on the other side.

“Oh yeah, your little bang-bang girly got me but good,” Jabber comments when he moves a hand to touch it. “Kinda mad she pumped me fulla lead that time and then wouldn’t bring the smoke down in Tori, but I’da been mad disappointed if I missed out on this ‘cause I killed ya. Oughta thank her, probably.”

Zanka’s rage ratchets right back up to boiling.

Due to either the toxin or his own desire getting the better of him, Jabber’s struggles have gotten weaker, so Zanka doesn’t hesitate to let go of one leg to shove his own pants down and then jam his fingers into the man’s infuriating mouth.

“Suck,” he demands. When Jabber tries to bite him, he simply pushes them further in. Can’t bite if ya can’t close yer mouth, he thinks viciously as Jabber gags and shudders.

It does have the downside of preventing him from actually sucking, but Zanka can’t find it in himself to mind all that much since the end result is getting to watch him squirm and flush and fail to land a kick while Zanka practically fucks his mouth.

Then his eyes uncross, and he does something Zanka never would’ve predicted: he deactivates Mankira entirely. The anima fades from his gaze and his instrument, leaving behind hazy magenta and ten silver rings peeking out from where Zanka bound him all the way from the wrists to the knuckles.

Jabber’s tongue curls around Zanka’s fingers for what feels like an eternity, tension singing through him as he prepares for Jabber to pull out some genius bullshit, waiting for the catch.

It never comes. All Jabber does is choke and drool on his fingers until they’re dripping with it, spit smeared halfway up his palm. Just whines and moans and thrashes and arches up into him like he’s begging for it– 

Jabber bucks his hips just so, their dicks sliding against each other, and Zanka decides that if the guy was gonna try something he would’ve done it already.

He yanks his fingers out and brings them to his achingly hard cock, giving himself a single stroke to coat it with Jabber’s spit.

“Last chance to back out.”

Jabber laughs in his face, voice ragged. “Don’t pussy out on me now Zan-zan!”

“Fuck you.”

Taking a deep breath, Zanka lines up and pushes in. 

His gasp is covered by a strangled shriek forcing its way out of Jabber's throat. It’s so much, so fucking much, both everything and nothing like what he expected. He gathers himself quickly though, unwilling to let Jabber see how affected he is.

Fuck, he’s tight. Tight enough that he’s actually pretty sure going in all at once might cause the kind of damage that would end things. So Zanka pulls out a bit and then pushes in again, over and over, working himself in a bit further each time. 

"Could you, hahh, go any slower?" Jabber finally taunts. "Gonna go soft if you - uhn! - keep being this boring!"

That hits Zanka right in a sore spot. "Not my fault yer mouth is too fuckin' useless to slick me up right," he spits back with a particularly vicious thrust. 

"AH!" It's the right choice; Jabber jerks with how loud he yelps. Then he looks Zanka in the eye smugly.

Before he can get out whatever shithead thing he's clearly about to say, Zanka slaps a hand over his mouth and roughly shoves the rest of the way in. His magenta eyes roll back a bit and a muffled scream shivers through his body, strong thighs tightening around Zanka's hips.

Without real lube, the way he clenches around Zanka's dick chafes a bit. It's worth it, though, for the knowledge that it must hurt like a bitch to be stretched open like this. The proof is in the bastard's teary eyes, in the shudder of his breathing and the tug of his wrists against the makeshift restraints.

"You gonna move or what," he rasps, grin peeking through Zanka's fingers.

Zanka grits his teeth and moves his hands, reaching for the backs of Jabber's knees and roughly pushing them back towards the man's probably cracked ribs. He's rewarded with a yelp, which quickly turns into a series of bitten off screams as he pulls out slow and then slams back in, the slide getting easier with every thrust.

Fuck, why the hell is this so good?!

The screams peter out into incoherent gasps, moans, and the occasional sob; for the first nearly overwhelming minute or so, Zanka can only ride it out, his face feeling hotter with each one. But then he realizes Jabber's fucked out noises are almost words, and leans in despite himself.

"Hurts...nh, ngh! Hurts so bad, fuck-"

The sick hunger in Zanka rises up, and he lets Jabber's leg fall to his right elbow so he can dig his nails into that thigh hard.

"AH! Fuck, yes! Fuck me up!" Jabber cries out. "C'mon, harder, make me bleed-"

Zanka wants to deny him, keep him on the edge and make him beg, but more than that he wants to hear Jabber scream and see that pretty face twisted in agony and ecstasy. And his head is such an absolute mess (how did he get here? What is he doing? Did he really just think this asshole is pretty?) that he gives in. 

He lets go of Jabber's leg entirely and slaps him across the face with enough force to turn his head and rock his whole body. Then he leans in further, prompting a gasp, and sinks his teeth into Jabber's exposed neck.

The wail he gets in response makes his head swim. He almost thinks he can feel their hearts pounding in time, more blood filling his mouth with every rabbit-quick beat.

He shifts his jaw, breathing heavy, and Jabber keens.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," the masochist pants, moving his hips as best he can with how Zanka's got him bent in half. "Move! Want you to split me open on tha-AH!"

Zanka bites down harder, then pulls back. "Shut the fuck up!" He snarls, not bothering to wipe the blood off his face.

"Or what?" Jabber sounds giddy with anticipation. 

Nothing Zanka can say in response will give him what he wants, so he grabs Jabber by the throat and starts choking him instead.  

Watching the way those magenta eyes go wide and watery, losing focus, makes Zanka feel like a wild animal. He wants to tear the man beneath him to fucking shreds. 

He settles for snapping his hips forward and finding a position that allows him to fuck Jabber without removing his hand. It takes a few tries, but he manages it. And once he does, one tan knee hooked over his left shoulder and the other around his hip, he starts slamming in hard enough to bruise. 

Jabber is still ridiculously tight, but it's no longer chafing so Zanka lets himself enjoy the feeling of that tightness on his cock. The heat, the barely-there slickness, the way Jabber's hole clenches every time he bottoms out... the undeniable sensation of having to force his way in.

He only means to take a glance down, but actually seeing what he's doing has him mesmerized. Jabber's hole is red and raw around him, and if the way it clenches feels good, the way it clings to him on the pull out is phenomenal. Like it's sucking him in.

It isn't enough. The beast inside of him wants more.

So he deliberately relaxes his hand, giving Jabber just enough time to take a deep breath. And on the next thrust, he digs his nails deep into the bite he left, punching that breath right back out in a strangled scream.

Satisfaction and shame flood him at the sound, twisting in his gut; he shouldn't be doing this. But it feels so fucking good.

"Z'nka," Jabber slurs out. "More."

"Yer disgusting," Zanka sneers, breathless. "Oughta be locked up."

"Y-yeah?"

Zanka chokes the fucker again, pulling out a wet gurgle. A bit of drool slides down one flushed cheek.

"Maybe I'll lock ya up myself," he muses. "Keep ya for my own personal use. Carve my name into yer skin, so even if you escape you'll never be able to get away from me." He lets go of Jabber's throat to push up the tattered remains of the man's top and drag red lines down his chest, blood beading up in their wake.

Jabber arches into Zanka's nails, his loud moan edged with pain and pleasure. “Yeah, that’s it baby, keep talkin’ sweet-”

Zanka cuts him off with another bone rattling slap across the face, his hand tingling with the impact. He already knows it isn't enough. Not for Jabber, and not for him either. He wraps his hand back around Jabber's neck.

“First thing I'd do is put that worthless fuckin’ mouth’a yers to better use than yappin’,” he promises, low and threatening. "Get it fitted with something that keeps ya wide open and gaggin’ for it. Though maybe if I got bored'a you I'd make ya useless for real. Sew that mouth shut, and cut off yer dick; stretch yer pathetic hole out so far the only thing it's good for is taking fists.”

Jabber practically pulses around his cock at the words, squirming frantically. More drool slides down one cheek to mix with the blood leaving crimson streaks on the flushed skin beneath Zanka's hand, and he briefly tightens his grip at the sight. The moment he loosens it again, Jabber's chest begins heaving erratically with quick, shallow breaths, each one verging on a sob.

It's disgusting. It's thrilling. It's driving Zanka fucking crazy.

“Of course a sick fuck like you would get off on that,” he spits. “Yer only ambition in life is to be a sloppy, slutty punching bag for anyone who can hit ya hard enough!”

Somehow, Jabber manages to gather himself for one last shithead comment. “N-not, unh, not anyone, ahaha. Only, hahh, s-sick fucks who wanna lock me up!”

It's delivered with a shaky giggle and a grin, and Zanka sees red. Without so much as a fuck you in warning he slams a fist down into the ribs he hit earlier, grabs a handful of locs to yank Jabber's head to the other side, and bites down viciously.

Jabber thrashes wildly, screaming again, but this time it's cut off abruptly as he locks up and goes tight around Zanka's dick. His throat works soundlessly, and the iron on Zanka's tongue only makes him fuck Jabber harder.

It takes a long moment for Zanka to register what happened, but even as he does he decides he doesn't care. All that matters is making Jabber feel every bit of what Zanka is doing to him. So instead of backing off or slowing down, he reaches down and claws a new set of lines into the thigh around his hip.

Jabber jerks hard beneath him, clenching again, and then goes limp. “T-too, too much,” he stutters.

Zanka dislodges his teeth, the word liar on the tip of his tongue.

Then Jabber continues. “Don't, nn, don't stop- hh!”

Pervert, Zanka thinks viciously. Freak. He can see Jabber's face now, and it only makes his blood hotter. The bastard is flushed from his hairline to where his skin disappears under his top, his one visible ear nearly red, and his magenta eyes are rolled back and shiny with tears. As Zanka watches, two perfect drops roll down to soak into one of his locs. 

When Zanka's gaze catches on Jabber's wet, red mouth, trembling a little with overstimulation, he doesn't think. He just smashes their mouths together and kisses him messily. 

It's terrible, honestly, but Jabber's surprised squeak is nice, and feeding Jabber his own blood is even better. It mixes with their spit and then, as Jabber makes the kiss even messier, it mixes with the blood already smeared on their faces.

Zanka is so fucking close, his head spinning, and all he can think is just a little more. Just a little more something, he doesn't know what, just- something.

He begins to slide his hand up Jabber's torso to press on the cuts he left, feels wetness, and then suddenly he does know. Without thinking twice, he grabs Jabber's still half hard cock and squeezes. The raider immediately begins trembling and twitching, and his mouth goes slack on a high pitched sob that pushes Zanka over the edge.

His vision goes white. 

His entire world narrows down to tight, hot, and the sound and sensation of a man in pain. Wet adds itself seconds later, his come slicking up Jabber's hole and making it squelch.

It feels like ages before his senses fully return to him. His breathing is loud to his own ears as he comes back to himself, so he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Then he takes stock of the situation. He concludes that he’s a little sore, but otherwise fine.

The same cannot be said for Jabber. He looks…

He looks wrecked.

The raider is still twitching a bit, and not quite soft (Zanka belatedly removes his hand). His top is rucked up, his stomach covered in come. Some very telling bruises are beginning to darken on his throat. His eyes are half lidded and vacant, still teary, and the dazed grin flickering across his red face is smeared with spit and blood.

Actually, his everything is kinda smeared with blood.

All at once Zanka is hit with the magnitude of what he's done. He didn't just have sex with a raider, no, little fuck up Zanka had to go and outright brutalize a raider during sex. Worse, it satisfied that part of him he's always thought he had to keep under lock and key.

How the fuck is he supposed to handle Jabber Wonger being the one to show him he doesn't? That he really can let the beast beneath his skin get a taste of freedom with this man?

How is he supposed to look Enjin in the eye now that he's done this? His mentor is a bit rough around the edges, but has always been firmly against hurting people just to hurt them. And what else could you possibly call this?

…How is he supposed to face Semiu when he lost control this badly?

Thoughts storming in his head, Zanka pulls out. Jabber lets out a little whimper.

“Sorry,” Zanka whispers, trying very hard to ignore the rush he gets seeing his own come drip out of Jabber's hole. It burns to apologize, but he kinda has to right?

Jabber just looks confused. “Huh?” He swipes his tongue through some of the mess on his face.

Gross. “Fer, I dunno, messin’ you up?”

Jabber takes a bit to process, and then– “Huh?”

Oh fuck this. The guy is too hopped up on endorphins to have a straight conversation. He'll just… clean Jabber up and give him some first aid. Much as it would serve him right to die from infection, Zanka refuses to indirectly kill him via sex. That would be just– no. Absolutely not.

(Semiu will kill him if she finds out what he’s done, but he can do at least this much to not betray what she taught him to do.)

First he wipes his dirty hand on Jabber’s shirt and tucks himself back into his pants, then he reaches for Jabber's purple wrap thing. All the nail marks have stopped bleeding, so he focuses on the bite marks first. To get a better look, he moves to kneel over Jabber's chest. And because it's already being sacrificed for the cause, he tucks the wrap between their bodies to avoid stains on his pants.

The bites don't seem to be bleeding very hard, but Zanka is painfully aware of how easily they could get infected, so they're still dangerous. 

After wiping away the worst of the blood, he reaches into his left leg pouch for the standard Cleaner disinfectant Eishia makes them carry even on their days off (just so they don’t get tetanus or some shit), and flushes out each place he broke the skin with careful squeezes. He just as carefully pretends he doesn't hear the little sounds Jabber makes each time.

It's hard, though.

Next he pulls out the gauze he keeps on hand for Assistaff. He has to lift up Jabber's neck a bit to wrap it and hold the gauze in place, and the gasp that stutters out makes him swallow. He can't help but notice the way his hand fits perfectly around the other man’s throat.

The process is a bit more difficult than strictly necessary since he still hasn't unwrapped Jabber’s hands. He would, but he's not actually convinced the guy wouldn't immediately try to start some shit.

By the time Zanka moves onto the scratches, rearranging them so he’s back between those long legs, Jabber seems to be coming down from wherever the hell he was floating.

“Hell y’bein’ all gentle for,” he mumbles. “Don’t like it.”

Guilt pricks Zanka. “It’s not about you. I’m doin’ this for me.”

“Lame.” Jabber seems to be aiming for dismissive, but his tone lands closer to nervous. In fact, Zanka almost gets the impression that he’s… flustered? “Was tryna nab myself a sadist, not a soft touch.”

(Hurting him is too satisfying to give up, but if gentle makes him lose composure Zanka’s willing to compromise–)

“Tough shit. Ya might bring out the monster in me, but this is part’a the package too,” Zanka informs him testily. “Y’don’t like it, you can run back to that scumbag boss’a yers and get him to beat yer ass instead.”

“Aw, you jealous?” Jabber coos. “Don't worry Zan-zan, won't be nobody but you if you get to that level. The boss can give it to me good, but he don't match my freak the way you do.”

Despite the mocking tone, there’s something genuine to the words that gets Zanka flustered too; a hint of reassurance and admiration. He really needs to get a handle on his thing for praise, he thinks, before Jabber figures it out and mocks him for that too. Or, worse, indulges it.

Then another thought occurs.

“...When you say give it to ya–”

Jabber bursts into loud, ugly laughter. “Oh fuck, ahaha! You thought–? No way, nuh uh! Not that he ain’t pretty, but he’s all empty inside. And fightin’ don’t get him all worked up like you ‘n me.”

“Oh fuck off, it’s a legitimate question with yer crazy ass,” Zanka snaps, embarrassed. He presses down more aggressively on the scratches he’s disinfecting in retaliation.

There’s quiet for the next minute or so as Zanka finishes up, interspersed with the occasional small sound of delight or pain. Jabber doesn’t fully break it until Zanka is done wrestling his pants up his uncooperative legs.

“Y’know, I was gonna go for round two once you let me up, but I think Imma let you have this one.”

“...Why,” Zanka grits out once the flash of fury passes. Improvement or not, he knows damn well he won because Jabber fucked up, not because he’s just that good. “Weren’t you the one talkin’ shit about how I get better when ya kick my ass?”

“Well yeah, but gettin’ you up to my level is gonna take a minute. Take it too fast and I’m gonna break ya before I get my perfect match,” Jabber explains. Then he huffs and looks away. “Imma be so for real though, this patience shit is not it. You better ‘ppreciate what I’m doin’ for you, baby.”

“What, not tryin’ to kill me?”

“Exactly!”

“Fer fuck’s sake, asshole, is this ‘cause I’m makin’ sure ya don’t die of infection? Is that why yer bein’ such a fuckin’ dick?” The thought stings, for some reason. So although he says it nearly inaudibly, Zanka can’t quite stop the words from leaving: “Shoulda known not even a twisted fuck like you could want all of me.”

Not inaudible enough, apparently. 

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth,” Jabber says, offended. “I’m tellin’ you I want you bad enough to wait! And like, everybody’s always sayin’ relationships need compromise, right? So if gettin’ the princess treatment is part’a gettin’ my shit rocked, then yeah, I want that too!”

Zanka just. Stares at him. Because how the fuck is he supposed to respond? How can Jabber say all that with a straight face?

(How could anyone like all of him?)

The longer he stares, the more his face heats, until he’s blushing all the way to his neck. He bites his lip to curb the tangle of emotion rising in him, but all he accomplishes is adding his own blood to the mess on his face.

“No fair,” Jabber pouts. “Come back down here and gimme a taste.”

It’s so off topic Zanka squints. “Huh?”

“You’re bleedin’, I wanna taste!”

“Ew, no!” The idea is not getting him hot again. It’s not.

“Come on, we already swapped spit, what’s a little blood, huh?” Jabber pleads. He wraps his legs around Zanka’s waist and tugs lightly.

“What do ya want me to do, spit it into yer mouth?!” Zanka knows the answer as soon as he asks.

“Hell yes, please and thank you!”

No way, Zanka tries to say. What comes out instead is “You’re disgusting. Why should I?”

Jabber’s legs tighten around him, revealing that the raider has a ridiculously short refractory period. (Or, maybe, that the toxin has side effects. It seems to have worn off, but who knows with him.) “You been so good to me this whole time, just gimme this one last thing yeah?” He opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue.

At good, Zanka’s brain stalls out, and he goes from flushed to bright red. Embarrassingly, it takes about point two seconds for Jabber to figure out why.

“No way,” he breathes, a grin spreading. “You got a praise kink or something?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“And it makes you mad to have it pointed out? Oh, we are gonna have so much fun–”

Zanka grabs a handful of his top and shoves it into his mouth, holding it in place so he can’t spit it out. “Okay, new plan. You promise not to bring that up, and I promise not to run from our next fight. Deal?” He absolutely cannot handle Jabber slamming that particular button while they’re fighting– or fucking. That would also be bad. Even if he can’t remember why right now.

Wait, no, why is he acting like this is gonna happen again? Just because Jabber, what, not only sees him, but embraces the monster inside of him when he lets it off its leash like something out of a cheesy kids book? Jabber would say anything to get a good thrashing, it didn’t mean shit.

It doesn’t mean a thing, that Zanka felt free for once. It doesn’t mean a thing that the monster isn’t howling any more, or rattling the bars of its cage. It doesn’t mean a single fucking thing that the horrible, all consuming guilt of even having that monster inside of him dissipated like morning mist in the sun when Jabber said he wanted him.

Rolling his eyes, Jabber nods. Zanka takes his hand off the fabric in his mouth and reaches for the bindings around his wrists, untying them from Assistaff.

“Gotta say, not used to endin’ things without one of us half dead on the floor,” Jabber remarks, stretching his arms out. “Huh. Head’s all quiet now.”

Zanka yanks Lovely Assistaff out of the concrete. “Fuck’s that mean?”

“Normally I’m all whooshin’ and whizzin’ inside, like an itty bitty box fulla way too many sparklers. Got thoughts on thoughts, chasin’ each other around till it feels like my brain’s leakin’ out my ears.”

The description is a bit whack, but Zanka understands, surprisingly. Though a better comparison for his head is probably a dog chewing off its own leg.

“Now though, it’s like, I dunno, all the thoughts are happy where they are. Curled up in their corners all cozy-like.” As he says this, Jabber absentmindedly rubs his left wrist, drawing Zanka’s attention to the ring of bruises forming there.

He looks so casual and comfortable lying there, covered in Zanka’s marks and legs still spread for him, that the cleaner spontaneously decides to make one more bad decision.

“Wanna grab a drink?”

Jabber’s sly smile warms him from the inside out. 

“Ah, why the fuck not. You buyin’?”

“Fuck no.”

*****

“Jabber.”

“Cthoni.”

“He is not coming back with us.”

“But Cthoni–”

“No, Jabber!”

“But he’s sssho pretty, an’ fighty, an’ he fucked me so good– why you holdin’ tha’ bottle like that?”