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It had been a point of pride to the Nijiku family that every descendant presented alpha in puberty. Even Zanka, as shameful as his existence eventually became, shared in that tradition. One of the few compliments he'd received from his father was about his secondary gender, though even that was followed by more expectation. Zanka was to wed an exceptional omega and continue the family lineage onward.
The thought was nauseating. A trophy of a partner in a pretend life someone else wanted for him. Zanka hadn't considered romance in a long time, didn't want to think about the particulars of what a marriage would even look like. He just needed to be strong - nothing more, nothing less.
Of course, of course, life had other plans for him. Every waking moment seemed a chance for the universe to play some cosmic joke on him. For once, he laughed with it.
An alpha. He'd fallen in love with an alpha. Worse, he'd fallen for a raider, and a demented one at that.
Jabber. Stupid, masochistic, violent, strong Jabber.
Maybe it wasn't the healthiest to enjoy fighting someone so much, but Zanka couldn't help it. Not when that someone moaned with ecstasy at every broken bone. Not when that someone babbled on about how strong Zanka was, how good it felt to be destroyed by him. Not when that someone flushed like a schoolgirl, drooling and giggling at being choked.
The irony of that someone being another alpha made the twist all the more enjoyable. Every kiss, every hit, every orgasm felt like proof against everything the Nijiku name stood for. Something Zanka took not to bolster the proud family image, but for his own pleasure and gain. Even if his gut twisted at the disgust evident in his siblings' gazes, he enjoyed the symbolic victory.
"Mark me."
The request came suddenly, during another fight of theirs. Jabber gasped for air, breath catching when his broken rib ached. It should disturb Zanka more, how beautiful his rival looked covered in blood and wounds. And yet...
"C'mon Zanka, mark me."
Zanka huffed. "I don't think alpha's mark each other, stupid."
"Sure they do," Jabber insisted. "Y'know, maybe if you bite me hard enough, it'll trick my body into thinking it's an omega."
Zanka snorted, which only made Jabber pout.
"C'mon, it's worth a try~."
"No fucking way," Zanka laughed. "That is NOT how any of that works. At all."
Still, Zanka strode forward, kneeling by Jabber, tracing the open wounds lightly with a finger. He didn't really want Jabber to turn into an omega, even if that was remotely possible. Zanka didn't need an excuse to bite him. Mark him.
Jabber was his. The mark just proved it.
Zanka sunk his teeth into Jabber's neck, not even checking for the scent gland. Instead, he focused on piercing skin, drawing blood. Jabber writhed and keened, his hands flailing to grip Zanka's back, arching to press his neck into Zanka's jaws.
Zanka released slowly, licking over the wound and taking in the scents and tastes Jabber had to offer. Once the wound was something approaching clean, Zanka pressed his nose against the crook of Jabber's neck, sniffing. A mix of sweat, blood, chemicals, and something floral hit his senses before he was overwhelmed with arousal, the unmistakable scent of pheromones settling in his gut as sheer heat.
Jabber grinded against Zanka, almost unconsciously, riding the same arousal and pheromones. In no mood to resist, Zanka joined the motion, the two rutting against each other recklessly. Jabber gasped at each twinge of pain and pleasure, practically melting at the sensations building. Before Zanka could fully register what he was doing, he bit down once more, instinctively seeking the scent glad.
Jabber screamed, though it devolved almost immediately into a crazed laugh. The bite hadn't particularly hurt, not when the masochist was sporting far worse injuries, but the rush of endorphins from being scented was intense. Even in this hazy state of lust, Zanka could feel the wetness of Jabber's crotch through the fabric of their pants. Could hear Jabber's orgasm, feel the full body tremors wracking him.
Zanka pushed himself up, getting a proper look at what Jabber had been reduced to. An utter mess, blissed out grin on his face, blood smeared everywhere, and two distinct bite marks on his neck. Zanka shuddered, too horny to register the shame he'd normally experience by now. Too horny to stop himself from what he really wanted to do, snaking a hand down Jabber's pants to explore whatever the raider had between his legs.
Zanka's fingers dipped until they reached a swollen nub, brushing over and around as Jabber arched and moaned thickly. Further down, to wetness and a warm hole. Zanka shivered, recognizing exactly what he was touching, excited to match his partner in one more way. He mentally noted to get a strap-on later, so he could rail Jabber until the idiot couldn't speak or think.
Jabber let out a breathy laugh, "Oh, Zan-Zan...that sounds incredible."
"...What?"
Jabber blinked. "Strap-on?"
Zanka blinked back. "I didn't think I said that out loud."
Jabber grinned wider, giddy at the information. "Guess we're both having a lot of fun then."
"No duh," Zanka muttered. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't like it."
Jabber's hands wandered aimlessly over Zanka's body, while Zanka thrust his fingers into Jabber. Their noises emboldened each other, movements getting braver and rougher. Jabber slipped a hand into Zanka's pants, a bright laugh of surprise bursting out as he seemed to make the same connection. His fingers explored more brazenly, brushing over Zanka's clit and entrance as if trying to memorize the surface on touch alone.
Zanka brushed his face against Jabber's neck, nipping along the surface to leave a trail of bruises, evidence of his claim. Jabber let out a shrill laugh at each bite, giggling and whining between. Both of them approached their climax in unison, Zanka stealing a kiss right before they tipped into orgasm. Their touches became far less coordinated by the second, but they didn't remove their hands until the waves of pleasure stopped and their bodies protested the continued contact.
Zanka flopped over to Jabber's side, eyes closed and breathing heavy. Ignored the shame creeping in now that arousal couldn't block it out.
"Damn," Jabber breathed.
"Huh?" Zanka's eyes flew open, gaze snapping to Jabber, looking half fucked out and half disappointed.
"You were right," Jabber said, smiling. "Can't be fucked into an omega."
Zanka blinked.
Then punched Jabber in the chest. "Obviously! Dumbass!"
Jabber cackled, the sound barely breaking through his ragged breaths and winces of pain. "A man can dream, Zan-Zan."
"You're delusional."
Still, Zanka laughed. At fate, at himself, with Jabber. He could see the sneer of disgust on his father's face. Zanka, the shame to the Nijiku family name. So disgusting it sullied the rest of them.
Good.
The sound of a blade cutting through skin drew Zanka's attention back to Jabber, who'd plunged Mankira into himself to administer some pain relief. The play was over, so it was time to clean up. Zanka shimmied closer, helping Jabber disinfect and patch the myriad wounds decorating his body. Many required stitches, something Jabber was far too comfortable doing to himself, but the bites were left mostly undisturbed. A prize Jabber wanted to show off, for now.
Once the first aid was done, Zanka dragged them both to the Cleaners HQ for a proper healing. Eishia would probably give him an earful for the fight, but by now most of the cleaners accepted the strange ritual for what it was. It kept Jabber under control and Zanka happy, so they ignored the more uncomfortable implications for the most part. Enjin mocked him mercilessly, but that was, if anything, standard fare.
As Zanka crawled into a tiny hospital bed by Jabber in the medical ward, he felt a now-familiar sense of comfort. He was at home, in the arms of a lunatic, in a group of equally insane givers. The only people he cared to prove himself to anymore were here, bleeding with him, laughing with him, crying with him. His family of freaks.