Chapter Text
Zanka knows he’s being watched.
How could he not sense the blazing eyes on the back of his head everywhere he went? He trained for multiple years, each year spent honing his instincts and abilities to be better than those he grew up around in the academy. It seems like this stalker of his didn’t hold high standards for Zanka, as even in this moment where Zanka is digging Lovely Assistaff into the belly of a trash beast, he can feel the back of his hair singing from the intensity of the followers stare.
It pissed Zanka off a lot. He’s already been on edge and training harder than usual after the fight he had with a certain, dreadhead raider. Just the flashbacks to their fight is enough to fill Zanka with shame, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment from losing to such a person.
Seriously, losing to an insane masochist of all people did intense damage to his ego. The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration as he plucked Assistaff away from the beast, turning to the other cleaners that were on standby while he finished off the last ones.
The constant surveillance is starting to feel familiar to Zanka, but not in a way that’s to be celebrated, as one would do if it was maybe an old friend or a lower member trying to be sneaky with watching a senior do missions. No, familiar in a way that the cleaner has become so used to the stare during the past two-or-so weeks that he starts to wonder where his stalker is if he doesn’t feel the eyes immediately after wandering outside the walls of HQ.
These days, that frustration is turning into some sense of morbid curiosity that the cleaner refuses to touch or examine beyond the surface.
Zanka doesn’t exactly hold himself to the highest of standards—he’s aware that there will always be other givers stronger, quicker, and more intelligent than him. He’s made peace with those facts, and instead of wallowing about it like he did at the bottom of that well during the younger years of his life, he shifts the energy to more training and meditation.
In a way he knows he should be ashamed of, Zanka feels sorta…special?
He’s not the strongest like Enjin, nor does he have the best agility like Riyo. But even so, he’s the one being stalked? Instead of his colleagues who are on higher levels than himself?
A light, cherry-red color rises to dust his cheeks, the uniform he’s wearing starting to feel tight against his skin. It’s not entirely sparks of shame that prick this time, however, but maybe more like being flustered and also being self-aware that you shouldn’t feel a certain way. It causes a weird mixture of thoughts and feelings Zanka doesn’t have the energy nor knowledge to untangle.
Especially when being stalked. Zanka knows this, but his brain ticks at him—for the follower who possibly sees him as strong. Someone with enough potential to spend their days watching him dally around the ground instead of doing their own business.
Something’s wrong with me, Zanka sighs to himself, kicking away the corpse and finally coming back into reality. The intensity of his stalker dips a little, and to only himself, the blonde feels a pang of irritation that the fiery gaze watered down.
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His stalker feels extremely close today.
Unusually closer. It’s making Zanka jittery, which he isn’t enjoying as the last trash beast is flung away by his staff.
Zanka was sent on a solo mission, as it didn’t require much hands-on work. Just a few beasts of a low level, and with Zanka being the only one without work today due to recovery, was chosen to be sent off to the location and get rid of them for the town.
The moment he left the HQ walls by himself, it felt as though someone was breathing down his neck. His hackles have been raised this entire mission, his head flicking over his shoulders multiple times during the time he’s been out, instincts working overtime, screaming at him that someone’s there and he needs to act on it before it’s too late.
Zanka continues to act oblivious.
It was one of the first things he’s ever learned—never let an enemy be aware that you know of their existence. It’ll only cause more harm to yourself, and make escaping harder to accomplish if the situation so calls for that tactic.
So, keeping that in mind, Zanka schemes up a not-so-smart plan to lure out his stalker. With him being closer than usual now that he has the cleaner alone, Zanka uses this as an advantage, even if the plan in question includes acts he’s never attempted to do before.
The acts being the arts of seduction. The name of the technique itself makes the man stand awkwardly as he fidgets with Lovely Assistaff in his hands. Depending on how much of a loser this person is, it might work in Zanka’s favor. If not, then he’ll have to live with this embarrassment for the rest of his life.
“Okay, let’s not dwell on it for too long and just do it,” he mutters to himself, calming his nerves and scanning the building for a place that’s secluded but also in the sight of the person, making it easier for them to observe his every move.
Finding a good spot, Zanka starts to walk over, building up the courage to put more effort into his strides than he normally would. Instead of simple, long steps, the cleaner swayed his hips side to side in what he assumed to be sensual, a heavy blush coating his entire face as his neck and ears started to be tainted pink. He tried his best to make his pace more enticing for the person following close behind.
Perking his hearing, Zanka was becoming more aware of the faltering, hefty steps of the man behind him. If it was completely silent around the building, he would’ve also heard the panting coming from the darkness too.
He’s more than happy when he reaches the designated area, plopping down not-so-gracefully and throwing his head back with more force than necessary, making a show of tugging at his collar and flaunting his bare neck as he rolls his head to the side of the cool wall. Zanka knows his blush is adding to this pathetic act, but if his hunch is right, then it’s probably helping his case, which he’s silently thankful for.
His chest heaves quickly as short puffs of air leave his lips. Deciding to add more to the already obscene acting, he even lets loose a few whines while taking off the outer layer of his uniform and placing it on a spot beside him.
Now just in his tight undershirt that closely hugs all of his muscles, face red and flushed and panting heavily, he’s sure that the figure he sees lurking in the shadows knows what Zanka’s doing to him right now.
The corner of Zanka’s lip twitched upwards, and that seemed to be the final blow to his stalker.
He only has a split second to react as another body comes crashing out from the dark, a sharp dink! ringing throughout the quiet building as flipped and landed in a squat position a few feet away, Lovely Assistaff activated and pointed forward defensively.
Zanka could let out a laugh in disbelief as he realized his hunch was indeed correct.
It wasn’t just anyone following him around for the past weeks.
It was Jabber Wonger, of all people.
“I wish I could say I was shocked, but I gotta admit that I ain’t.” Zanka breathlessly said as he stood back up, sizing Jabber with his eyes as Mankira sparkled beautifully in the light peeking through broken slabs of concrete. The cleaner shivered at the memory of those claws piercing his chest, pumping him full of some hallucinogenic drug that he doesn’t want to experience ever again. His glare never left Jabber’s body as he swiftly moved Lovely Assistaff to be behind his back, her long, blue handle standing taller than himself.
The crazed glint in the raiders' eyes sparked more at the sight of Zanka in his fighting position, his voice high-pitched and laced with adrenaline and misplaced lust when he spoke. Zanka, embarrassingly, felt his face become hot and flushed a bright red when he realized the emotions coming from Jabber.
Ugh, seriously? How many loose screws does this guy have?!
“Zanka, my friend!” Jabber announced, spreading his arms to what seemed to be a mock invitation for a hug. The cleaner sneered, moving his legs backwards into a lunge position. Noticing this, the raider raised his hands and Mankira receded a little, leaving tiny claws that looked almost like thick needles visible instead of huge, threatening blades.
At this, Zanka raised a cautious eyebrow, lessening on his defense but his guard still high up. “What are you doing, Jabber?”
Jabber shivered at the way Zanka growled his name, his smile widening even further as his sharp canines were reflected off the shallow light beam. The tight clench in the cleaner’s gut that was given as a response to the expression didn’t go unnoticed.
Now’s not the time to get riled up, he thought to himself, shaking his head to get rid of the images beginning to flash through his mind.
“Hm? Not happy to see me after all this time?” The raider quipped, doing a dramatic twirl as if to remind Zanka of what he looked like. As if he could forget such an appearance. “I even designed a new version of Mankira for our amazing fights! Isn’t she just beautiful?” He sighed almost dreamily, flipping his hand back and forth to show Zanka the entire mechanism.
“Why would I be happy to see you? And what’s with the new addition?” The cleaner snapped back, annoyance and slight hesitance evident in his tone. He nearly died from the weapon’s other forms last time they battled, and now there’s another one? Zanka let out an exhausted sigh, regretting dragging out Jabber with his silly acts of seduction. He shivered uncomfortably.
Jabber, however, trembled with subtle excitement, but it faded just as quickly as it came. The big, manic smile on his features fell into an unimpressed frown as the words registered.
“C’mon man! Don’t be like that, we haven’t seen each other in so long!” He announced before charging at Zanka, Mankira’s new form scraping Lovely Assistaff surprisingly deeper than what the cleaner thought they were capable of.
“Didn’t you miss me, babe?”
Babe?
By pure luck he managed to dodge that hit. Zanka’s eyes widened at Jabber’s ferocity and skittered back, dust flying around their frames from the recoil of their forces clashing. Jabber seemed way too fired up, as he gave no time for the cleaner to catch his breath again before lunging at him once more. Zanka was starting to become frustrated, he spent so much time training these past weeks and he's still unable to keep up with the raider?
Images of his smaller, pathetic self entered his mind as he was abruptly pinned to the ground, Mankira’s shiny claws inches away from his neck. He growled angrily as gathered the strength to shove Jabber off of him, switching their positions and tightening the muscles of his legs around Jabber’s waist, slamming the arch of Lovely Assistaff around the raider’s neck to keep him in place as he yelled.
“Will you calm down?!” Zanka screeched, glaring down at the body beneath him.
“Careful, Zanka, you’re in a dangerous position right now.” Jabber sing-songed as the cleaner felt him rut his hips up, their bottom-halves perfectly molded together. A surprised yelp left his lips as he dug Assistaff deeper into Jabber’s neck, noticing the ringed-fingers slide up his legs and slither around the back of his thighs, meanly squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.
“Wha the hell, man?! Whaddya’ think yer doin?” Zanka blushed furiously, his voice rising a few octaves as he slapped away the nosy hands and leaned back on Jabber’s lap. The man beneath him made a dramatic, lewd show of moaning and drooling.
Zanka was disgustingly aroused at the sight.
“Ah ah, Zanka! You’re so impatient.” Jabber purred as he bucked his hip up again, the outline of his dick becoming alarmingly close to the curve of Zanka’s ass. Another embarrassing noise slipped from his throat. Jabber’s eyes sparkled at the sound, doing it again and again.
Zanka allowed every move. At some point in his lust-induced haze, he started to grind back, his slim hips rolling down and moving in sync with the man below him. Jabber’s hands never left his thighs, using them as leverage to control Zanka’s hips.
The raider continued until Zanka was reduced to a shivering, drooling mess on top of him, lips shiny with saliva and swollen from biting to keep himself silent.
Jabber was not shy of letting loose a loud groan at the sight above him.
“Look at you, Mr. Proper,” His voice dripped full of sarcasm when saying the name, all while smirking as his fingertips played with the waistband of Zanka’s pants. “Moaning like a bitch in heat because of sum’ grindin’. This ya first time?”
Zanka was stupidly turned on, feeling the front of his pants getting more wet the stronger Jabber rutted his dick against his ass. He knows he should be slicing that throat open, enjoying the view as blood spilled from the cut, but pleasure is racking his body and taking over his mind. Though, Zanka is acknowledging the itch in the back of his thoughts. Something ugly and odd was rearing inside him, clawing and scratching at him to bite.
The cleaner came to a sudden realization. It made him pulse with instant hunger, the strong need to take control over the situation. His gaze locked in on a spot on Jabber’s neck as he removed Lovely Assistaff, the skin unmarred and smooth and begging to be bit, covered in deep marks from Zanka.
I want to bite him. I want to see him bleed. I want to see him ruined because of me.
“See something ya like, baby?” Jabber whispered, low and husky, audible to the cleaner only. Zanka barely registered the fingers tangling in his hair as he dove down to fit his head in the curve of Jabber’s throat.
He showed no mercy in the way he bullied his teeth into the skin, deep enough that blood flowed into his mouth and flooded his senses, his mind muddled and murky, filled only with the thought to make Jabber bleed.
Zanka didn’t stop there. He released the bloody, torn skin, hardly paying any attention to the way Jabber was beginning to become a writhing mess beneath him. Drool was dripping down the corners of his mouth, his eyes rolled back in bliss, ringed hands fiddled with his shirt in a feeble attempt to yank it off before sliding down to squeeze and fondle his ass.
The various feelings of pleasure made Zanka lose his mind. The sadistic thoughts pursued, throbbing to the point of pain overtaking pleasure.
He quickly gave in, complying with the urges to continue leaving marks and beautiful trails of blood down the dreadheads neck. Leaning down again, he sunk his teeth right into Jabber’s Adam's apple, his tongue lapping up the area as his hands explored the raider's clothed chest, dragging down until the tips of his fingers were brushing dreadhead’s V-line.
Zanka didn’t get farther than that. His marking session was cut short, harsh fingers yanking his head with enough force to make him hiss in pain, his scalp burning uncomfortably.
“Why’d ya stop me?” Zanka asked, his voice rough from being so focused on biting and sucking. Staring down at a Jabber with glossed eyes and a mess on his face, the pretty sight settled an uncomfortable urge in his chest, his dick leaking embarrassingly at the thought that he made Jabber like this.
“You seem pretty eager for me to fuck ya like there’s no tomorrow, babe.” Jabber growled, no traces of his normally chirpy voice. Shivers ran down the smaller man’s spine, whether it was excitement or fear, Zanka didn’t know.
One thing he did know, though, was that he wanted Jabber to himself.
And he was gonna make it happen.