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Jabber could feel a pair of eyes on him. Burning and searing through him like the fresh wounds littering his body, as if his thoughts could be seen and read the harder his head was stared at. As much as he enjoyed the attention, that familiar gaze made him feel uncomfortable.
There was some rustling from behind before Zanka finally came to sit beside him. He looked just as battered as Jabber felt, bloody and bruised from head to toe. There were slashes in some areas of his clothes where mankira had grazed them, never breaking skin. The cleaner's chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths. They had just wrapped up another (somewhat friendly) fade, and Jabber was shocked at how much progress Zanka has been making in such little time. The two young men had been spar buddies for some time now, at least a year having passed since their first one-on-one battle. They met secretly every new moon when it was the darkest, and fought until neither could go any further. Zanka had become stronger, this time having managed to avoid being scratched by mankira, and as a result was unfortunately very much sober. Unfortunate for Jabber, because Zanka was the kind of guy who was into aftercare.
Weirdo, Jabber thought, looking down at his own bruised knuckles that were blooming into a dark red hue. What was so hot about making the hurt... Well... Hurt less?
He could feel those eyes on him again, but this time there was a sensible weight behind them. Jabber knew what was coming. A hot pit formed in his stomach as he waited in heavy anticipation. This was always the worst part, and Jabber couldn't understand why Zanka was so insistent on sticking around. Or why he let him do it.
Zanka stayed knowingly quiet as Jabber flinched, a jolting and unnatural movement. He had reached over and practically caressed Jabber's face with the back of his hand, aiming for a particular black and blue that was forming beside the raider's lip.
"I been told you," Jabber started angrily as he quickly grabbed the younger boy's wrist and whipped his head towards him. "Stop fucking touching me. How many times do I gotta tell you!" He hates how his voice sounds. How desperate.
How affected.
He begins to feel a cold sweat forming as the turning in his stomach begins to feel icey.
Zanka's face heated up quickly, the red spreading on his cheeks, barely noticeable under the blood that was smeared on his skin. "Whatever!' He shouted as he smacked the raider's hand away and averted his gaze. "I don't care. 'S not like I enjoy it either."
The two of them sat. Sat in silence. The cold, dark, looming silence that always followed like a routine. They fight. They rest. Zanka pushes too far, attempting to pull down Jabber's walls. Taking advantage of his vulnerability. Jabber snaps and pushes him away. Rinse and repeat.
He's not sure why he does it, Jabber thinks. Why Zanka tried to come a little closer everytime. Why it caused his chest to tighten and his heart to race. I hate it, he thinks. So confusing...
Zanka was the one to break the silence, "Why do ya keep doin' that," he throws the question into the still air, hair falling to the side as he glances towards Jabber before quickly turning away. He grips Lovely Assistaff tightly, considering the raider's pensive expression and tucking the image of his pouty face somewhere in the back of his mind.
Jabber avoids looking at Zanka, knowing that if he did, he'll feel a rush of even more feelings that he did not want to figure out. "...Doing what?" He asks dryly after a moment of silence.
"Puttin' a wall between us. Yer always on gaurd, like yer protectin' yerself from somethin'. I got no other ill intent besides beatin' yer ass to a bloody, helpless pulp." Something in the way Zanka spoke quietly, and almost as if to himself, made him sound hurt. As if.
"..." Jabber peeked at the cleaner. His head was hung low as he gazed at Jabber sideways. His face was still flushed, and Jabber is beginning to feel the blood rush to his face as well. He quickly looked away as more vague and unwelcome feelings bubbled up from inside, going up his stomach and chest and throat until he was finally able to make a sound.
"... The hell do you care." He started, voice coming out weaker than he had intended. "Just hurt me n' dip."
Stay.
"You can stop forcing yourself to hang around me like some kinda lost puppy. I can't stand it."
Yes he could.
"Why do ya figure I stick 'round," Zanka responded quickly, almost as if he had it memorized and practiced. This struck something inside of Jabber. More unnamed emotions. "Yer wrong. I'm not forcin' myself, so stop pushin' me away an' jus' let it happen."
Jabber didn't have a response to this. What could he possibly say? The words that Zanka dropped on him made his head swirl, feeling like a pool of unresearched chemicals and toxins. Not forcing himself? What could he possibly mean. There's no way he could stop pushing the cleaner away, not when he makes him so...
Jabber couldn't put a word to it. He confused Jabber with his actions and words, and treated him with such gentleness sometimes that it hurt. And not in a way that Jabber enjoyed. He could stand physical pain but this, the constant touches, the brushing of hands, the leaning into each other and eye contact that spoke more than words, it hurt in a way that was not enjoyable.
Not one bit, Jabber thought to himself unsurely.
Not at all...
Jabber was snapped out of his thoughts as Zanka began to stand up, the light haired boy letting out a soft scoff that sounded offended. "Fine. Have it yer way," he said as he brushed off his clothes in a pointless attempt to seem a bit more put together. "I won't bother ya anymore since yer beggin' me ta leave."
As Zanka turned he felt a hand on his. It was a hesitant touch that was barely there, but still a touch nonetheless. He glanced behind his shoulder and felt his face heat up once more as he caught a glimpse of Jabber's distraught face. Another one for later, he thought.
"I'm scared." Jabber's voice was barely there, his hand slightly trembling as it stopped midway in the air. He looked down at his shoes as he tried to control his breathing, a hot pressure building behind his eyes as they began to water.
When Zanka realized that the raider wasn't going to continue, he took the silent outreached hand and sat beside him again, this time facing him with his body. "Scared?" He asked, looking for an answer in the older boy's face.
Jabber fidgeted with the rings of mankira as he tried to get his voice out again, his throat starting to close as his eyes and nose burned. Hate it.
"Scary," Jabber murmured as he turned his head fully away from Zanka, not wanting him to see the tears threatening his eyes. Not wanting to lay himself bare and share his vulnerability. "The feeling... When you hold me. When you're kind. I don't want it. It's scary." He gripped Zanka's hand tighter as he bit his lip until he felt the skin break there, the pain grounding him as he battled his emotions. Zanka watched him with baited breath and half lidded eyes, glancing at Jabber's now bloody lips as he waited for him to continue.
"My stomach hurts and I-I can't breathe. I don't understand it. It's scary," he choked out. "You're scary."
Zanka let out a long, shuddering breath he didn't realize he was holding. He brought his free hand up to Jabber's jaw and slowly turned his head so they were face-to-face.
Beautiful, Zanka thought as he watched the tears begin to stream down the raider's dark, flushed cheeks. Jabber's eyes were glossy and wet as he finally looked up to meet Zanka's. His gaze was confident and dark as those downturned eyes stared into his own.
"I thought ya liked gettin' hurt?" The question sounded more like a statement as Zanka's eyes continued to roam Jabber's face, looking like he wanted to devour him whole.
"I do." Jabber sniffled as he looked downwards again, gaze landing on their intertwined fingers. The feeling of the calloused hands in his, the gentle touch on his face, the hungry and dark eyes on his... It was all too much.
"But not like this," he whispered. "This is the bad kind of hurt. Where you gut me and leave me to rot." You'll leave.
The sigh Zanka let out made Jabber's heart drop to his stomach. He quickly looked up at the cleaner and searched his eyes, looking for the inevitable hatred and disappointment he always finds in others once they're done playing with him.
"Yer right," Zanka starts, and Jabbers feels the pad of his thumb caress his cheeks as he begins to wipe his tears. "But if that means I get ta hurt ya even more n' see these sides of ya that yer hidin', then I'm willin' ta explore that with ya."
Jabber chokes out a sob as he realizes the emotions behind those half-lidded eyes are welcoming and wanting, his tears starting to pour as he breaks down, like a leaking faucet.
Zanka's eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in closer, still cupping Jabber's face. The raider's breath hitched as their lips met gently. He leaned into the kiss as it deepened, but as quickly as it came, it left. Jabber found himself chasing the other's lips and let out a whine as Zanka pulled away, smiling sadistically.
"Ya know," the younger boy said thoughtfully,
"I think I'll continue ta hurt ya some more now that I know how hot ya look when yer a cryin' mess.
Jabber was unsure if he was excited or scared as his heart thrummed in his chest, finding that he regretted letting Zanka know him deeper less than he had expected to.