Work Text:
Whoever said that poison is bitter was a massive fuckin’ liar.
Zanka knew this for a fact.
Poison wasn't bitter. Poison was sweet, in the way that eating an entire cake for dinner tasted wonderful, until an hour later he was vomiting until he never wanted to taste the dulcet chocolate ever again.
It was sweet in the way that secretly taking a drag from a cigarette that Enjin had discarded, unfinished, filled him with a nicotine buzz that soothed his nerves, yet burned his throat and lungs from the inside out.
It was sweet in the way a certain someone’s tongue scraped his mouth, before filling it with the metallic, rusty taste of blood from his own lips being devoured, bitten raw under Jabber’s attention.
Sweet, until it wasn't.
Still, Zanka couldn't help but down the poison every time it was offered to him.
“Yo, my man, you still healing?”
Zanka let out a long sigh, but when Jabber’s devious grin was within eyesight, he relaxed — involuntarily, of course. Because Jabber was poison.
And he was not happy to see him.
Of course.
The warm feeling in his chest, fluttering in his ribs was just his body’s natural reaction to the person who beat the shit out of him showing up in his room to check on him. It was just nerves! Relaxed nerves, if that was even a thing.
“Yeah, of course I’m still healin’. Ya nearly killed me.” He scooted over, ever so slightly, and Jabber slid in next to him and patted his chest. Zanka swatted his hand away. “Where do ya think yer touchin’? Hands off.”
“Aw,” Jabber pouted. “Hurry up so we can hash it out again.” His teeth glittered in the dim light, his smile less of a smile and more of a leer. He was watching Zanka, waiting for the right moment when his defenses would slip and he'd inevitably turn to Jabber and let him fill him with his poison.
Jabber’s fingers slid over Zanka’s fisted hands, caressing over his knuckles and pressing lightly, insistently, between his fingers until Zanka crumbled and let Jabber intertwine their fingers.
Poison felt the same as syrup when it slid down his throat, but Zanka closed his eyes and let it sink in all the same. His fingers twitched as he subconsciously squeezed Jabber’s hand tighter. Zanka was familiar with his hands, now.
He had been learning every line, every bump, every cut and every bruise since Jabber had first found him, healing, and let himself in.
The sides of Jabber’s fingers were rough with callouses, and the pads of his fingers had the tiniest scars. His nails, bitten short and to the quick. There was barely any crescent to see.
Fingers rough from rubbing against his metal gloves, no doubt, and nails short to keep them from breaking.
Oh, and his temperature. His palm was warm, almost feverishly so, compared to the chill that Zanka’s hands always seemed to have. Zanka liked the way Jabber’s hands felt in his own, like he had his own personal sun cradled in his palms.
The tension in the air thickened, and the hair on Zanka’s neck stood on end as Jabber’s other hand came up to hold his cheek, pushing the hair away from his face as he thumbed his lip.
I shoulda trimmed my hair… He thought absentmindedly, his lips parting around Jabber’s thumb.
Oh, he thought, trying to derail his train of thought, I’m gettin’ distracted.
Remember, Zanka, poison. He's poison.
Jabber pulled him in closer, and Zanka closed his eyes.
It would be fine.
After all, poison in small doses would lead to resistance.
Jabber’s kiss, as per usual, started off delicate. Flirtatious, fast, fleeting. It felt like forever as expectation blossomed in Zanka’s chest. He knew what came next.
And he wanted it. He craved it, like a drug, because Jabber was such a sweet poison he couldn't help but take him while he had him.
Jabber’s teeth punctured his shoulder, just low enough for Zanka’s clothing to hide the mark. He licked away the blood and pressed a reassuring kiss over the bruise. “You're good at keepin’ quiet.”
The praise, however backhanded, brought the heat to his cheeks, which he was sure were cherry-red with humiliation.
Jabber, Jabber, Jabber.
He's—
Zanka tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, squirming to get further away from Jabber’s teeth and tongue.
—mine.
“You're so fine,” Jabber said as he grabbed Zanka’s thigh. “Say somethin’ nasty to me.” He held Zanka’s gaze as he leaned in and licked his cheek.
I want him—
“Nah, ya don't say mean shit to someone ya li—”
Jabber broke eye contact and bit his ear.
Crunch.
—poison and all.
“Ya fucker!” Zanka hissed, punching Jabber in the jaw as his other hand darted up to cover the nick in his ear where Jabber bit him. His hand came back red with blood, but he could already feel the blood clotting and turning thick and gummy where the bite was at. He was stunned, the dull throb in his ear pissing him off more than anything else Jabber had done to him. That was all Jabber did to him? After everything else he'd done, such as, oh, he didn't know, almost killing him?
Multiple times, at that.
Jabber held his jaw and groaned, a whole-body shudder rippling through his body as his eyes rolled back, and he bit his lip to stifle the manic giggle that bubbled on his lips. He grabbed Zanka’s other thigh and pulled him closer, the sheets bunching up around his waist. Jabber laid between his legs and rolled his hips against him over the sheets.
Zanka froze, the flush in his neck growing so warm that he wanted to tear his skin off to hide how red it must be.
Jabber licked against the pulse in Zanka’s neck, and Zanka instinctively tensed, his legs squeezing around Jabber’s waist as he tried to close them — tried to fold his body up, to hide from the teeth that would ravage him.
For a masochist, Jabber really had a lot of sadistic tendencies.
“Hit me again, Mr. Bad Attitude. Keep it comin’.”
Zanka bit his lip and looked away, his lip curling. “No.”
Jabber grabbed his jaw and forced him to look back at him, the smile gone from his face. Instead, he looked serious. Deadly so.
“Zanka. My man.”
The heat in Zanka’s cheeks traveled south and pooled in his belly, but the moan on his lips was covered by Jabber’s hands. A soft “ungg” managed to slip through Jabber’s fingers, though, and he loosened his grip on Zanka’s face so that he could hear more. Each time Jabber mumbled possessively, his prosody emphasizing that Zanka was his, drew Zanka closer and closer to him, seeking refuge in the way Jabber held him tighter.
"Don't go catchin' a fade with anyone but me."
Anything he could say was broken off before it could even start in his throat, and he watched in horror as Jabber dug his fingers into his own ribcage — right where Zanka had broken his ribs. The semi-soft chub that had been rubbing steadily against Zanka’s own stiffened, and he found himself sucking in a shaky breath when Jabber started moving in earnest.
“I get it, man, you like your compliments and shit, but,” Jabber panted, “I like pain. You can fuck my shit up, 'cause I know you have it in you.” He massaged his fingers so hard into his broken ribs that Zanka had to look away, feeling disgusted as his own breaks throbbed painfully at the thought of stimulating them. It made him want to curl up and wilt away.
“Fine, baby steps.” Jabber pulled Zanka up and tossed his arms over his shoulders. “Scratch me, Mr. Kitty. Bite me, even. Just gimme something.”
Zanka pushed his hips back as Jabber pulled them forward, one hand on his ass and the other on his waist, and Zanka gave in. Especially when Jabber started sucking where his ear met his jaw, an erogenous zone that he had no idea he had until Jabber had found it several nights prior.
He slid his hands up the back of Jabber’s shirt, smoothing them over the planes of Jabber's back and taking note of the way the muscles twitched under his touch, before digging his nails into Jabber's shoulders and raking them down. The feeling of skin under his nails made him queasy, but Jabber jerked so beautifully beneath his touch — and the way his grip tightened on Zanka in all the right places, dragging him down so the friction between their pants and each other made the pooling fluids in Zanka’s undergarments squelch — that it made it all worth it.
Jabber pushed back the locs that had fallen in front of his face, leaning back to look down at Zanka’s hips, rolling against his lap. He bit his bottom lip and raised his hips, pushing Zanka up with them.
Zanka fell forward, hissing as their teeth clacked and Jabber immediately slipped his tongue into his mouth and wrapped him in a vice-like grip. He fell back and took Zanka with him, his frotting growing more erratic as he chased the high of his orgasm.
As always, Zanka came first. He tried to wait, but he was weak to pleasure and Jabber seemed to always know exactly what to do and how to play with him to—
He bit down on Jabber’s neck, digging his fingers into Jabber’s back as hard as he could, and Jabber moaned into his mouth as his grinding faded into small twitches. He gave Zanka two kisses: one last deep one, licking into his mouth like a beast, and one chaste peck to his nose.
Zanka couldn't move. It was like every bone in his body had crumbled like an instrument in Rudo’s hands, and he lay, slumped in Jabber’s arms, until his world stopped spinning and he could hear Jabber’s voice over the ringing in his ears.
“—ood boy.”
He pressed his face against Jabber’s neck, ignoring the bleeding bite that he had given him wetting his cheek.
The cum in his undergarments was sticky, and it was quickly grossing him out as it grew colder and seeped into his pants and the sheets. His bed was a mess.
The sheets had pulled up on one of the corners, and there were wet spots on the top sheet where it had been pressed between their bodies when they came. One of his pillows was on the floor. There were dark spots where they had bled onto the sheets. When he pulled his hands out from under Jabber, there was blood beginning to crust under his nails.
Jabber’s hands were on his ass.
Zanka breathed out a sigh, irritation setting in where satisfaction had once been. He wanted a bath. His mouth hurt where Jabber had bit his tongue and lips. His shoulder burned. His underwear gave him the ick. He was sweaty. His hair was sticking to his neck, and his clothes to his body. Jabber was starting to stink up his room.
Maybe he'd get Jabber to bathe with him. It sounded nice, and getting to sit with him in the hot water and relax wouldn't be half-bad.
“Hey, so…”
Jabber licked some of the blood from Zanka’s lip.
“Ugh. Ya nasty motherfu—”
“Uh-uh! Potty mouth, Mr. Bad Attitude~”
Zanka fell quiet, his teeth clicking as his jaw snapped shut. He glowered, before fishing up his pillow and smothering Jabber’s face with it.
He took it back: a bath with Jabber sounded like more misery. That fuck-ass masochist would find a way to torment him in there, and his sweet bath would be ruined. He got up and undressed, hyperaware of the way Jabber gaze traveled over his backside and he peeled his underwear off, sliding them down his legs as he bent over, and kicked them away. Jabber whistled softly, his stare making Zanka’s skin prickle as he fetched a towel to wrap around his waist so he could head to the bathroom without fear of running bare-assed into Rudo, Riyo, or, trashbeasts be damned, Enjin. If his idol saw his naked tush… he might as well end it all.
He'd be too embarrassed to ever face him again.
“See you around, Mr. Kitty. Next time you better give me a proper beating.”
Zanka turned around — for what? One last glance? A promise for next time? A saccharine kiss, sealed with poison?
But Jabber was long gone. The window swung gently on its hinges, creaking softly in the breeze, devoid of any signs that someone had gone through it. There wasn't even a footprint left on his sill.
Zanka shut it and buried the disappointment that curled around his heart. There was nothing for him to be upset about. Jabber was a Raider, an enemy. He was toxic. Their situationship was nothing more than obsession, poisonous and miserable and…
He wiped his cheek, but it wasn't blood that wet it. Zanka sniffled.
It would have been nice if Jabber had stayed, though. Even if he was garbage. Stupidly hot garbage.
After Zanka finished his bath and washed his undergarments, he crawled into bed — fresh sheets, of course, and the dirty ones were stashed under the mattress so no one would find them until he'd had the chance to wash them too — and pulled one of the pillows into his arms. It smelled a little like Jabber.
Comforting.
Zanka threw the pillow across the room, goosebumps pimpling his arms even before his mind finished the single-word thought.
He had to get his emotions in check.
Remember, he told himself. Raider? Tried to kill me on a few separate occasions?
But still.
It was kind of lonely without Jabber sprawled out, taking up more than his fair share of Zanka’s bed.
By the time he realized he had gone past the point of no return, he was sound asleep, dreaming of a poison, syrupy sweet, as he tilted his head back and let Jabber fill him to the brim.