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Something a bit odd about Jabber and Zanka’s relationship is that if you were to ask each what their first kiss was like, one of them would be horribly incorrect in their response.
Zanka remembered it as follows.
They had known each other for five months. Jabber would call her to ragebait her into fighting, and almost every single time Jabber would wipe the floor with her. It was a pitiful routine, really; he would come in, fight her, make her think she was going to win, allow her to get a hit on him, only to change his fighting style to one of the several he apparently had saved up, and have her against a wall or deflected in a matter of moments.
This day in particular had been building up for a while.
Air burns her lungs as she takes greedy breaths in, adrenaline pumps through her veins as she swings Assistaff, metal prongs clashing with the sharp blades of Mankira. Her arms tense and scream with exhaustion and the force of holding back the oncoming pressure.
She could tell Jabber's grasp was starting to fail him, Mankira shaking more than she normally does.
(Zanka didn't know, but Jabber had dosed himself before the fight to make it more likely that she would win. He enjoyed their little fights, even if Zanka wasn't able to beat his ass as good as he would have wanted, and he knows that too many losses will make Zanka shut down.)
“Come on, Zanki.” His ragged breath fills the room, and Zanka feels a flare of pride at thinking she had tired him out. “I know ya want to bash my pretty skull in, let yourself go, come on,”
Her eyes glance over him, she ducks her head slightly, and the force he was using against assistaff causes him to fall forward slightly, she twists assistaff, and she catches on his ankles, causing him to fall onto the ground. Zanka's heart pounds in her chest, and a stream of sweat drips into her eye, causing her to back up slightly to blink away the pain.
How on earth was she meant to ‘win’ a fight against him? If she goes forward, there would be no way to restrain his hands without risking getting dosed with whatever he was packing today, but if she stays back, that's just giving the freak a chance to get his stamina back up and lunge again.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
She tries to think, but her head feels fuzzy. Each thing that she thinks to do against him, she easily sees how he could retaliate and hurt her-
“Baby~ don’t tell me you're giving up yet!”
His eyes twitch, and she sees his chest heave, a line of drool falling to the floor, as he looks at her, animalistic want in his eyes. Mankira's blades seem to flash in and out of existence? She scrunches her eyebrows as some of the blades retreat into the man's hands.
“Fuck!” Jabber’s voice cracks, and he leans against a wall, muttering something to himself about whiskey. His whole body felt as if engulfed by flames; he was starting to think that alleyway drugs may not have been the best choice.
“That’s all I mean to ya, huh? Just some pathetic nobody ya can, what, humiliate for your own perverse fuckin’ pleasure, and largen yer own fuckin’ ego?” She walks up to him, the slight appeal of him seeming actually weak under her, overwhelmed by anger. Staring into pink eyes, they don’t have the same flame they normally do.
Zanka had made a mistake. She, against all good cause or logic, had fallen for the raider. She started to think of his little mannerisms as cute, even when they were trying to kill her. When she witnessed him laugh after defeating her last time, sitting right beside the raging ego-crash, was the desire to hear it more. God, she wanted him so bad, there were nights she felt nauseous over how her stomach filled with butterflies at the nicknames he called her, or how pretty he looked covered in blood. He doesn't feel the same. He never would, and all of her little dreams of having the genius Jabber fucking Wonger as a partner were dumb!
A fist connects with his face before she can think further. Pain radiates through her knuckles and her thumb, regretting having tucked it in unthinkingly.
“I hate that I came to like ya.”
Her face is filled with disgust. And it feels wrong to Jabber, because it's not directed at him.
“Wait, you like me? Like you like like me?” Regardless of the tense situation, his eyes widen, and an open-mouthed smile forms on his face.
“Don't make it worse than it already is.” She looks at the ground; anywhere that wasn't Jabber seemed like an infinitely more appealing sight than him.
Jabber's jaw drops, and he looks.. Positively giddy. She rolls her eyes, preparing for an onslaught of shit-talking, but instead feels hands on her waist, pulling her closer.
He bites his lip, reminding her of the weirdo frat boys she saw in those movies she would see back at the HQ. “New fighting style unlocked, dude.”
He makes a come-hither motion and-
That is what Zanka remembers their first kiss being. Not the most romantic of course, now how she had expected she would hit first base for the first time. But later it would be a story that she would tell with a blush on her face to her receptive audience(Amo). No complaints could be said there; it had gotten her a surprisingly good relationship with Jabber afterwards.
But I'm sure that by now you understand that this wasn't what their real first kiss was, and wasn't the first time Zanka had gotten to first base. It wouldn't be until almost a year later that Zanka would learn about this incident.
The night was just beginning, the sun beginning to set over the horizon, and capturing everything in its sight in its beautiful rays.
“Mm,” Jabber hummed as he looked down at the body of his lover. She didn't know that she was his, but he did, and surely that was all that mattered.
They had fought, as was the excuse for most of their meet-ups, but Zanka was awfully.. Different today. It wasn't bad, Jabber doesn't ever think Zanka could be bad.
She lies on the ground, lines of red marked up her side, seeping blood carefully out of the holes that had been made in her uniform. Jabber feels his mouth begin to pool with saliva, a flame igniting in him, and he simply can't help but lean down and get a taste of the warm, delicious copper for himself.
Zanka had been limp for roughly about.. forty minutes now, if he had to guess? He dosed her with something that he’d normally use on himself, so needless to say, with someone with a tolerance as low as his lover's, it knocked her cold out.
But how could he not? God, she was so fucking beautiful he just couldn't control himself, he’s just a man, how could he keep himself from claiming all he could of this marvel of a ‘man’ before him? A buffet! All for Jabber to take and savor! He can't help a groan from escaping him; he’s really gotten lucky with this. He picks up the woman; she's so limp and pliant in his grasp, he wishes he could always have her like this.
Jabber may be insane, a genius who used his knowledge for.. Not great things to say, the least, but he loved the classics! Zanka's head falls into the crook of his neck, and he sighs, pulling her closer to him and drawing her hand over his shoulder; it falls limp down his back.
He entwines their fingers and puts their arms out, and with a tight grip around her waist, he starts to lead them in what he liked to call kitchen dancing. Just sweet domesticity, tinged with his own special flavor of fucked up.
They sway, and he spins her, and as the sun finally dips below the horizon, he dips her, enveloping her mouth in a kiss, biting and suckling on her lips. He ends up putting her on the ground and sets to work mapping out each of her teeth, noting that she has a singular silver tooth in the back of her mouth, and when he swirls his tongue around it, she shivers.
Just something useful to know for later.
Eventually, he decides that it's best for his partner to get on home, he picks her up in a bridal carry, making sure to hold her tight and practically skips as he walks back to the cleaners base, one day he will get to hold her just so, and she will have accepted that she's all his, no one else's, and they will have like, a little house that he gets to spend his days cooking and taking care of their little baby in. Zanka would come home from work, and he would straighten her uniform and bite on her lips until they bled, and then dish her up some food and talk about how her day was over dinner. She would let him dance with her just as he did then; she would be so happy about it, too! Her eyes would be cold, as if she hated it, but deep down, they’d both know that this is where she is meant to be!
He knocks on the door and puts her on the doorstep carefully, before running.