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Jabber giggles in the echo of the door slamming. What’s his name or whatever leaves in a flurry of embarrassment and anger, and Jabber is practically bouncing in the joy of it, cozying up on Zanka’s lap instead of whoever he’d initially invited over. Jabber never thought himself possessive, really, but he’s been digging at Zanka for months now, pushing and pushing and he just hasn’t given in, though Jabber knows he wants to. And the opportunity to see that look of Zanka’s face as he scared away the one and only man he’s brought over since they’ve lived together -
Well, he wasn’t perfect.
Their shared space is lit with a warm amber color, casting long shadows. It turns Zanka’s blonde hair to a warmer auburn, casting a soft glow on his face. He looks so beautiful, even with his face twisted in anger, teeth bared like a feral dog, and Jabber can’t help but think that he’d stay here, unwelcome, on Zanka’s lap forever just to bask in that gaze.
Zanka looks at him with a burning hot glare, his hands wrapped so tight around Jabber’s wrists that he can feel his bones creaking. It hurts, and Jabber sings.
“Don’t fucking play with me,” Zanka growls; His breath is hot against Jabber’s face, and Jabber grins, leaning closer. Zanka hasn’t shoved him off him yet.
“Come on pretty boy,” Jabber coos, “It wasn’t anything serious! Just a little fu-” The words are cut off as Zanka slaps him hard, the sound echoing through the room. Jabber’s head jerks to the side from the force and he breathes heavily through his nose, eyes closed on instinct. He turns his face back to Zanka, but he doesn’t get very far before Zanka is slapping him again.
It stings worse this time, forcing a soft moan from Jabber’s lips. It seems to be Zanka’s breaking point.
Jabber is shoved off of Zanka’s lap, pushed to the floor onto his knees, head nearly knocking into the armrest of their shitty prefurnished sofa. He doesn’t get to gather his bearings before Zanka is sliding his hand through Jabber’s locs, grabbing the roots and tugging hard. Jabber yelps, an undignified sound, as he’s hauled up, peering up at Zanka through watery eyes and a mischievous grin.
Zanka is staring at him with pupils blown so wide, it’s like his eye was taken over by the night sky. His face is flushed, from anger or excitement, it doesn’t matter anymore, because while holding Jabber up by his hair, he slaps him again, and again, and again.
Jabber can’t help but thrust his hips forward, meeting nothing but air. He’s so hard it hurts, straining at his jeans, his cheek stinging in time with the throbbing in his stomach. Zanka withdraws, letting go of Jabber’s hair and letting him drop. Jabber whines in protest.
“Hey, come on, you can do more,” He says, a bit breathlessly.
“Shut up,” Zanka says, and he turns from Jabber, walking away, down the hall. He pauses in front of his bedroom door, turning to glare at Jabber with heat-filled and hateful eyes. “Come on then.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Jabber’s gait is a bit awkward with his erection, practically tripping over himself in haste.
Zanka’s room is plain, but Jabber doesn’t get to really pay attention to it because the moment he’s pushed in the room, he’s being manhandled onto Zanka’s bed and their lips are meeting in a sloppy kiss. It gets wet quickly, with how much spit had built up in Jabber's mouth and Zanka's determination to chew his tongue to pieces.
Zanka kisses like he's trying to eat Jabber, nipping at his lips and teeth all while trying to shove his tongue deeper, and Jabber meets him with enthusiasm and an equal desire to shove as much of himself as he can into Zanka’s mouth. It helps that Zanka's hand is clutching his chin and jaw, fingers digging into the sore skin of his cheek as he keeps Jabber’s mouth open.
Zanka is over him, knees bracketing Jabber’s thin hips, and he grinds down in one fluid motion, groins meeting in a harsh move. Even through the layers of their clothes, Jabber can feel the heat and friction and he groans low into Zanka’s mouth, feeling him swallow up the sounds. Zanka's other hand is running up Jabber's side, under his shirt, blunt nails digging in hard. It scratches over his ribs, too dull to break skin, but he can feel it leave angry welts, and can only pant when Zanka digs his fingers between Jabber's ribs and presses. It's like their version of a gentle caress, Jabber thinks giddily, rutting up.
His own nails are sharper and he digs them into Zanka’s shoulders meanly, a little disappointed at the cloth of his shirt dampening his scratches. He wants to see his marks left on Zanka, angry red lines and bites and bruises, just as he wants Zanka to leave the same things on him. Zanka hisses when Jabber's nails pinch into the side of his neck and he drags his hand up and without any grace, tugs Jabber’s stiff nipple hard, pinching and pulling meanly in retaliation, and the sting of the metal pulling against sensitive flesh electrocutes him.
Jabber whines, back arching, “Ow, fuck,” he says, but it’s muffled into Zanka’s mouth. Zanka just makes a little grunt before he's sucking on Jabber's tongue like a fucking lollipop and it's lewd and wet and Jabber is so fucking giddy.
Zanka pulls back, with a wet pop that has Jabber thinking about something else he could put in his mouth, hips slowing their grind. “Yer so fucking irritating, Wonger,” he spits viciously, tugging on Jabber's shirt as he yanks it off. Even in the dim light of the room and Jabber's brown skin, he can make out the angry lines of his scratches on his ribs, and decides that Jabber is not leaving unmarred.
“Gonna fuckin chew yer flesh up,” Zanka is murmuring threats into Jabbers skin. Jabber can't help the high pitched giggles, feeling like he's drunk on Zanka's touch. It's not soft, not gentle in the way that makes Jabbers skin crawl.
“Knew you was a freak,” Jabber gasped out around a particularly painful nip to his chest, “Just needed someone to match ya, ain't that right, pretty boy?” He tugs at Zanka's shirt needily, desperate to feel the flex of his shoulders and warm skin under his hands.
“Just shut up,” Zanka spits, but his throat flexes around a hard swallow and Jabber knows he's right.
“Yeah, just rough me up, come on,” Jabber coos, and his voice is wet and melodious, seductive like the ocean.
“Yer fucking disgusting,” Zanka says as hes pulling back to take off his shirt, and then one hand of his, strong and calloused, is wrapping around Jabber’s throat and squeezing hard. “Gettin’ off getting slapped around, like a fuckin punching bag. Could do fuckin anythin’ to ya and it wouldn't be enough, huh?”
Jabber gasps, throat working hard. Zanka's hand is like a brick against his neck, unmoving and suffocating, and the air deprivation is so good, making him feel so fuzzy.
“Could do anything,” Zanka says again, his other hand reaching to his bedside table as he reaches for something. “Could carve you up, or dig a knife int’ya, fuck your guts up with a blade,” He purrs, and Jabber's eyes are wet, and his dick fucking hurts, and Zanka relaxes his grip just enough for Jabber to get some air back before he's squeezing again.
“Burn you too; Always smoking those fuckin’ blunts, thinking the windows enough..Thoughtcha were suppos’d to be smart?” Zanka says as he sets something down next to him on the bed, but Jabber's not looking, too focused on Zanka's burning eyes, “Next time I catch you, I'm putting that shit out on yer tongue. Maybe it'll shut ya up.”
God, Jabber can practically feel the burn already, the ash settling in on his tongue; Can see Zanka's face as he forces Jabber’s mouth open, makes him stick out his tongue, and it's the mental imagery of being used like an ashtray, mixed with the perfect hard grind and the squeezing hand around his throat that has him falling over the edge so fast he didn't even realize he was on it.
He can barely moan, just a broken gasp, as his hips jerk uncontrollably, whiteness clouding out his vision and heat exploding in his stomach.
He can just make out a faint curse from Zanka and then the hands withdraw from his neck, the rush of oxygen prolonging his pleasure. His pants are uncomfortably wet, a leaking spot in the front that has Zanka spitting some sort of curse before rolling his hips again, a mean stroke that has Jabber gasping in overstimulation. His vision is still blurry with tears, mouth wet and dripping with spit.
Zanka leans down to bite his lower lip hard, the soft flesh already bitten and raw. God, he’s so mean with it, nipping at the spots where he’s already torn the skin, sinking his teeth in deeper to the red splits. It hurts bad, the sting of digging deeper into flesh already split apart, but it burns so good.
“Hah!” Jabber coughs, overstimulation and the delightful bite of pain making his head numb. He’s only slightly surprised at the fact that he’s still hard, but he’s always been a bit of an exception to the status quo, so he takes it as it is.
Jabber’s hands are reaching up, grabbing onto the longer strands of Zanka’s hair, tugging meanly. He wants more, but his tongue is so wet and numb that it feels like lead in his mouth, clogging up his throat and pushing against his teeth.
It doesn’t stop the smile curling on his lips as he digs his nails into Zanka’s nape and hears the bitten off his of pain as talons breach skin.
Truth be told, it’s been a long time coming; That is, the fumbling of hands as they each try to rip the clothes off the other. Months of slamming doors, muted shouting-filled arguments as they tried not to wake the neighbors, RA’s knocking on the door and asking if everything was okay. No, nothing was okay - It was perfect. Months of wiggling his way under Zanka’s skin has come to fruition, and now Jabber gets to reap the consequences of his actions.
There’s enough light in Zanka’s room that Jabber can see the smeared blood on Zanka’s lips and chin, pale from being wiped away haphazardly with spit. His paler skin glows in the dark, and Jabber drools with the desire to mark him, break his skin and litter it blue and black and red, but he doesn’t get to indulge before he’s being roughly flipped over.
His face is shoved into the sheets beneath him, neck craning at such an uncomfortable angle he can’t help but twist to try to ease the ache; But Zanka just shoves him down meaner, forcing him to bend a little sharper, hearing his shoulder blades creak. Then there’s a ripping noise and Jabber gasps in surprise as his shirt is pulled off him, torn into two.
“How- What the fuck,” He says breathily into the sheets, biting his lower lip, “What if I liked that shirt?”
“Don’t give a fuck,” Is Zanka’s gruff response, because he’s too focused on leaning down and biting the expanse of Jabber’s back. Jabber’s always been skinny, too tall with not enough meat on his bones, all lean muscle and harsh angles. Zanka’s teeth drag along his spine, catching on the ridges, thumbs pressing hard into his hips. Then they catch onto the waist band of Jabber’s honestly too tight jeans, forcing them over his hips with no fanfare.
Jabber’s not wearing underwear, of course, and the damp drag of denim against his aching cock pushes just past pleasure into pain and he giggles, halfheartedly helping kick them off his feet and onto the floor carelessly.
Then, for a moment, there’s nothing. No wet kisses, no bruising touches but he can still feel the heat of Zanka behind him. Jabber frowns, glances behind him, and freezes.
Zanka’s face is red, a mix of a blush and left over smeared blood, both his and Jabber’s because Zanka’s lip is being pierced by his own teeth, sluggishly bleeding onto his chin. His eyes are blown wide, gaping voids threatening to swallow Jabber and everything around him. And he’s panting, chest heaving as his eyes roam over Jabber’s bare body like he’s trying to figure out where first to sink his teeth in. Jabber feels small, weak, like a rabbit, and Zanka is salivating like a starving tiger.
Jabber chews on his lower lip, swollen tongue teasing the raw spots as he takes in the sight. His heart is pounding in his chest, like the first time he ever greened out. He remembers feeling like his head was falling off, head lulling and chest burning because he kept forgetting how to breathe. The mix of panic and headiness swam up his body like he was dipping beneath the waves, and it’s a feeling he hadn’t quite managed to experience again; Until now.
Until Zanka was looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, pupils so blown there was no blue left to see, all desperate aching hunger.
“Don’t do dat,” Zanka said suddenly, voice raspy and accent thick, teeth red as he freed his swollen bottom lip.
Jabber blinked, “Do what?”
Zanka bent his head down, pressing it into the base of Jabber’s spine. His bangs were mused, skin flushed and warm against Jabber’s own. “Look at me like that.”
Jabber couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him. “C’mon big guy, don’t get distracted now,” He purred, wiggling his hips just so and giggling again when Zanka landed a small slap to his ass, hard enough to feel it, but not the cracking sting he wanted.
“Shuddup,” Zanka said, and one hand was pushing Jabber’s face into the sheets again as he climbed half of the bed to dig around in his nightstand drawer.
“Ugh- wait, c’mon, we don’t need lube, just stick it in,” Jabber whined high-pitched and pouty, voice muffled in the thick comforter. Zanka snorted derisively.
“Sorry, I don’t wan’ friction burn on my dick,” Zanka said, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all, and the first touch of cold lube to Jabber’s skin made him jump. It was slick, but definitely not as much as Jabber was expecting which made him grin and wiggle. Plus, it wasn’t like Zanka was being nice with it either.
Yes, before Jabber could say anything, even goad Zanka into more, two fingers were pushing at his rim, just barely wet enough to ease the stretch. Jabber moaned threadily, back arching as a fiery ache spread through his lower half, zipping up his spine. Zanka didn’t give him time to prepare for the stretch; His own fingers were shorter, but thicker than Jabber’s own, and he forced them deeper without much pause.
Jabber let out a weak mewling giggle, half-delirious with the burning sensation. Zanka spread his fingers wide, catching on his rim with every thrust, curling his fingers up carelessly; A halfhearted attempt to find his prostate, too focused with stretching him out meanly.
He withdrew his fingers too soon, a messy job, and Jabber couldn’t even tease him, too focused on the sudden pressing feeling at his hole, quickly satiating the emptiness. It burned, bad; The heaviness inside him made his drop, a broken cry escaping his lips at the aching pain, burning into a heady pleasure. The sound Zanka made as he pressed in too, a sharp hiss that broke off into a groan as he forced himself in deeper, only a quick smearing off leftover lube aiding the way - It made Jabber dizzy, so very dizzy.
It took a moment, even as Jabber did his best to give into the stretch, for Zanka to press in fully. He said something quietly under his breath as his hips met Jabber’s ass, something crude and spit viciously, but Jabber was too busy moaning into the pillow, trying not to kick his legs out - A feeble task, because even with his love for pain, instincts often won over. Luckily, Zanka was there.
A hand forced his shoulders down, the other hand grabbing one of Jabber’s ankles while his leg moved to knock his knees apart, and keep them apart.
“Ya wanted this so bad, so now yer gonna stay there and take it,” Zanka growled, torso curling over Jabber’s. Jabber gasped out happily as Zanka rolled his hips forward meanly, and then from there it was a dance of lust and anger. Zanka went back to gnawing on Jabber, like he was a chew toy. Teeth dug into the sides of his vertebrae, nipping the flesh on his sides all while his nails dug into Jabber.
Jabber fought back, weakly really, he just enjoyed the feeling of Zanka’s ironclad grip stopping him from moving at all. He remembered the first time he saw Zanka without a shirt, accidentally (yes, it was an accident - mostly). Having only seen him in baggy sweaters and the occasional way too oversized t-shirt, Jabber had been gobsmacked to see how… Bulky, Zanka was for lack of a better word. Muscular big arms, wide shoulders, and a chest that Jabber did dream about motorboating more than once. While it wasn’t a deciding factor in their intense sexual tension, it was definitely an added benefit.
Jabber’s moans were shameless, panting and crying into the comforter, a wet spot forming beneath his cheek as his eyes rolled back with each thrust. Zanka grazed against his prostate, definitely enough to know it was there, but he wasn’t focusing on Jabber’s pleasure at all.
Withdrawing from chewing on Jabber like a fucking dog, Zanka groaned low and deep. His hand, calloused and rough, stopped pushing down on Jabber’s head - Instead, he tangled his fingers into the roots of his hair, grabbing onto his locs and yanking his head back harshly. It was less a moan and more a cry that broke free from Jabber’s throat, deep and crackling as electricity pulsed behind his eyes.
“Always on ma fuckin’ nerves,” Zanka began again, the words hot against Jabber’s ears, “Always bringin’ people back, always moanin’ up a storm. Betcha don’t sound like this, though, huh? They can’t fuck ya like this, can’t be mean like ya want them to, huh?” Jabber could barely breath, back arching into each brutal thrust. It was true - It was hard to find people who could be mean to Jabber the way he wanted, even harder to find people Jabber could be mean to. Too scared to break him, too many questions of ‘color?’. Never said his name with that churlish tone.
No one hid that same vulgar and brutish energy underneath their skin like Zanka did.
The first time Jabber had glimpsed it was when he had blown smoke straight into Zanka’s face, after he asked him to put out the blunt in the dorms. He remembered the look in Zanka’s eyes, his face cold and unflinching despite the thick haze of smoke stinking up their kitchen. Zanka grabbed Jabber’s thin wrist with a thick hand. And then, quicker than Jabber was prepared for, Zanka had grabbed the blunt from his hand and crumpled it, flecks of bud sprinkling to the floor. If the burning pain of the lit end suddenly going out affected him, it wasn’t shown on Zanka’s face.
And then Zanka left the dorm and Jabber was left staring after him, head thready from the weed and pants tightening quicker than he could realize, and Jabber suddenly had a new fascination.
Zanka was a storm of viciousness and harshness, all carefully wrapped beneath a paper-thin covering of properness and determination, a facade of a well-bred man hiding the same kind of fucked up Jabber was.
And now Jabber was heaving for breath as Zanka sank his teeth into the soft skin of his neck hard in time with a particularly rough thrust that had Jabber sobbing around a broken sound.
It’s a lot harder to bite through skin than most people think; Zanka was not most people and Jabber couldn’t help but imagine the sound of taking a chunk out of an apple as he felt sharp canines puncture his skin.
“Fuck, what are you, man, a fuckin’ dog?” Jabber couldn’t help but gasp out, grinning. He could feel Zanka’s lip twitch against his neck, though he couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or a smile. Zanka’s hands suddenly left Jabber’s hair, instead moving to grasp his neck. The grasp wasn’t particularly hard, but it pressed against the wound on his neck in a way that stung, and Jabber giggled deliriously. He rocked his hips back desperately, the sound of flesh slapping echoing through Zanka’s room.
He’d be surprised if their neighbors could look either of them in the eye the next day - Or if Zanka could.
“Didn’t answer me, Wonger,” Zanka said, grasp tightening just a bit.
Jabber shook his head weakly, “Don’t- Ah, fuck- Don’t remember!” His brain felt like it was bouncing around in his head, slamming against the sides of his skull. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t collapse into a boneless pile if it wasn’t for Zanka holding him up.
He hissed when Zanka’s other hand let go of its bruising grip on his hip to wrap around Jabber’s leaking cock - Too tight, too dry, too rough. It was perfect, and Jabber worried he would come soon. He could feel it building up in his stomach again, though he wasn’t sure how long it had been since his first one.
“Nobody else can fuck ya like this, huh?” Zanka asked again, and this time one of his nails dug into a puncture wound on his neck and Jabber made a sound like a dog being kicked, head jerking uncontrollably at the sting.
“No, fuck, just you- You fucking-,” Each word was being punched out of Jabber at this point, and his hands dug their sharp nails into Zanka’s forearms, dragging down in desperation, “Fuckin’ sadist!”
Zanka laughed at that, a surprisingly light sound, though it broke off as Jabber’s nails sunk in deeper, raising harsh red marks like cat scratches; Not deep enough to draw blood, but tempting.
“Like you said,” Zanka said, his voice soft like he was almost unbelieving of his own words leaking from his throat, “I’m just like ya.”
Then his wrist twisted on the upturn of Jabber’s cock, and his hips grinded forward into that one spot that made him see stars, and Jabber came with a drawn out moan.
Fuck, was the only thought Jabber could come up with as Zanka licked up the side of his neck, as light pulsed behind his eyes, and overstimulation flooded his system as Zanka just kept fucking jacking him off, pumping his hand til Jabber could only heave gasping breaths, hips twitching uselessly because he couldn’t escape but there was nothing else coming out and it hurt so good.
“Zanka, Zanka-,” He chanted, and his throat was so raw from all his useless crying and the moans that spilled out of him freely. He was vocal in bed, sure, but only when his partner was good (he didn’t care to pretend for others), but Zanka drew noises out of him like a fucking pornstar and his throat felt so used.
He choked at the sudden emptiness from Zanka withdrawing. His limbs felt numb as he was manhandled easily, flipped onto his back, head bouncing as it hit the comforter. Then his legs were being hiked up and he was so grateful for his almost unnatural flexibility because Zanka sank in fully in one thrust.
“Not done witcha yet,” Zanka breathed through bitten lips and Jabber could only dig his nails into Zanka’s back and bite along those horribly broad shoulders as he was forced to take it.
He didn’t even notice the tears spilling out the corners of his eyes til Zanka drew his red-stained tongue across his cheeks, cleaning them up, and Jabber just cackled, loud and freely.
Apparently that was enough because Zanka groaned, low and long, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. Jabber could feel him cum, feel his cock pulse inside his raw hole, weak and faltering thrusts coming to an end as Zanka buried his face in Jabber’s bruised neck. Soft pants blew at the small baby hairs and Jabber shivered from the feeling.
For a moment, the two just laid there. The silence was only broken by their respective panting.
Then Zanka pulls out, hissing as his softening cock slips, and Jabber laughs at him. “Man. You fuck like a beast, Z-anka!” Jabber’s voice is a little hoarse and he draws out the ‘z’ in his name sweetly. Zanka shakes his head like he’s disappointed as he flops next to Jabber. Well, the bed is full-sized, but they’re both kind of oversized, so Zanka is actually half on top of Jabber, face-down still.
“Shuddup. I ‘ave a first aid kit - I’ll clean ya up in a minute,” Zanka says. Jabber wrinkles his nose, but he supposes he’ll have to deal with the cutesy sweet aftercare if he wants to do this again - and by God, does he want to do this again.
After a few minutes of them both just laying there, with Jabber prodding curiously at the various bruises on his body and the growing uncomfortable feeling of cum leaking out of his ass, Zanka props himself up and climbs over Jabber out of bed. He disappears for a minute and Jabber sits there, brain surprisingly empty - No buzz, no fuss, just the pleasant aches and stings of a supremely good fuck.
Then Zanka is back, bangs still sweaty and sticking to his forehead and he’s carrying a bunch of shit in his arms. His face is still flushed, even in the dim lighting, and his eyes are still blown, though they’ve lost their harsh edge. Hate sex really is the way to go, huh.
Zanka pats Jabber’s thighs as he pulls them apart and the touch of a warm wet towel to his raw hole is both uncomfortable and soothing. Jabber wiggles, just a bit, as he’s cleaned because he doesn’t want to be too easy to deal with, nu-uh. Zanka wipes him down thoroughly, and it’s a bit uncomfortable, in the way that Jabber is unfamiliar with. Previous hookups would try to clean him up, if he bottomed at least, but he’d just shove them aside - No fuss needed.
But he lets Zanka clean him up. There’s an odd feeling in his chest, like the thrumming he’d feel whenever he’d see Zanka’s brows furrow in frustration, or his teeth bare like he was some rabid animal readying to bite. But now, Zanka is just… Zanka. His touch is firm as he cleans up the smeared blood, and he doesn’t warn Jabber when he presses an alcohol wipe to the now-dry bloodied bite mark on his neck, but he doesn’t snap at him.
And Jabber feels warm.
Part of him wants to reach out and do the same, wipe Zanka clean off their mess, soothe the bloodied scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t. And Zanka doesn’t complain, doesn’t snap at him. But the air is not without expectations.
Anxieties.
Jabber licks his lips; They feel dry, though he knows they’re not, swollen and raw from having bits of flesh torn away. Zanka’s face looks relaxed, but his hands are shaking and Jabber’s lips purse because he knows they’re both overthinking the same thing.
“Let’s do this again.”
“We’re not doing this again.”
The words leave them both at the same time and Jabber’s eyes widen as Zanka’s eyebrows furrow. Zanka speaks first.
“I ain’t gonna be yer hookup. I can’t just do the… the mean shit, man. And the fuckin’ around and stuff, I mean, it’s either just me or nothing,” Zanka said, and now he looks if not sad then a bit irritated. Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Jabber’s not good at this. Zanka’s saying something now, but Jabber’s just looking at Zanka, with his puffy lips and big blue eyes, and his horrible attitude and the soft moments where he’s actually pretty and sweet and so fucking fun to be around.
“Let’s date, then,” Jabber said. “I can like, do the not freak shit too y’know.” Jabber rolls his eyes for emphasis, “I mean, if you stop slappin’ me around, we’re gunna have a problem but yo! I can be a good boyfriend, bet!”
Zanka stares at him, “You’re crazy.”
“So are you.”
There’s a pause. And then Zanka tosses the dirtied cloth to the side and grabs Jabber’s face and they’re kissing.
It’s not the painful clashing of teeth and drawing of blood like earlier. It’s… sweet. Firm but languid and Jabber thinks oh, I guess this is nice. Because yeah, he might not be the best at all the sappy shit. He wants to get high and have fights, and yeah being number one is pretty good, because Jabber lives for the rush of dopamine.
Zanka is like him too, craves bloody carelessness and competition, but he also makes extra portions of food for Jabber and spends way too much time studying for it to be healthy, and he has such an extreme love for reptiles that Jabber also started to really fuck with them.
And along the way, Jabber started to do shit too. Brewed tea for Zanka instead of coffee because too much caffeine made Zanka tweak the fuck out. When he picked up food, he always grabbed something extra for Zanka. When Zanka was two seconds away from ripping the pages out of his textbook and eating them, Jabber would lean over and point out where he was going wrong. And yeah, he made it a habit to be as annoying as possible, but if he timed his lulls in behavior to boost Zanka’s mood, then that was neither here nor there.
So yeah. Jabber guesses he can do this, because he’s already been doing it.