Chapter Text
Most people knew that Jabber was an extremely good fighter. Defying the laws of physics with how she seems to scale walls and move incredible distances in mere moments, defying the laws of biology with the fact she's lived this long and hasn't died from trying out some new poison supply, she is a scary opponent, to say the least.
Another thing that most people know about her, is that she has an insatiable need for excitement. She gets herself into terrifying life-threatening situations because of boredom; she wants the rush of a fight, to feel the endorphins of the pain she's given when she loses, or the rush from a successful victory. However, as previously established, monotony is not something that is in her ballpark. She’s been dating Zanka Nijuku for almost seven months. Zanka Nijuku has won an equal number.
Needless to say, with them having a few fights every week, she's not doing too hot! Although if you asked Jabber, she looks especially hot on the ground beneath her. Regardless! It had become a routine, something constant. Zanka would call her in the middle of the night, try to beat her, and then absolutely get her shit rocked, or for a different kind of fight that was with lips and spit rather than fists and blood, she’d find herself outside the cleaners' base, at the call of her favourite cleaner with a particularly nasty attitude, and find her way inside.
But Jabber wants something different. Does she love Zanka? Loves a weird word for the obsession/poorly communicated bdsm shit they have going on, but sometimes when Zanka gets all cuddly after a fight, it doesn't burn like how it does with other people, so she figures that means something, but she cares about the girl, no matter how much she tries to show disdain, Jabber wants her to be happy. Is it corny? Extremely. Jabber, could not give less of a shit. Gah, back on topic, Wonger, so, she had a proposal for her beautiful Zan-zan, a simple, not at all worrying idea that was sure to guarantee the woman a victory and make Jabber feel uh, yeah, a-fucking-mazing!
Which is how they ended up here! Jabber, too many drinks in, dressed like a whore with make-up to match. She thinks she lost count of her drinks at.. At the fourth whisky and Coke, her partner had given her? They've upped it to just shots, and Zanka's been sitting there, sipping her beer like she isn't drugging her girlfriend, and isn't fucking insane. (in both senses bowchicka bowbow) Jabber should really get them those couple of tees- A loud laugh catches her attention, she had just been staring down at the wood of the bar, tracing out the shapes that she saw in it, and noticing that a lot of them seemed to look like Zanka.
But when she looks up, she sees her partner's face twisted into a smile, grinning at something the barkeep said in a way that makes Jabber, quite frankly, want to start a bar fight and smash that bottle of Jack over that pretty little skank's head. She’s been flirting with Zanka all night! Had her nasty fuckin’ eyes all over her when she walked in, and before it was fine! Yeah, Jabber uses her attractiveness to pay for shit for their dates all the time, so surely her wifey using hers once wouldn't be a problem, right? Yeah, well that's a piece of logic that someone who, 1 isn't intoxicated, and 2 isn't Jabber motherfucking Wonger would need! She's a possessive piece of shit, and she knows this, Zanka knows this too, and by the way that little freak has been glancing over at her, she knows that Zanka knows- blah blah, her gaybo is intentionally being a cunt just to piss her off!
In reality, the bartender made a joke about how drunk Jabber was getting, Zanka laughed, and gave a little context of their little scene here. Zanka is in absolutely no way cheating on Jabber; she's just drunk out of her mind and gets a little angry when she's like this.
“Zanka..” She mutters as she paws at the woman's dress shirt, “You fucking prick.” She wobbles a little in place as she tugs at the woman's shirt collar.
Zanka looks over, eyebrows furrowed, and a smile on her face that makes Jabber's face warm, the warm light on the bar makes her seem to glow, and right now that angers her an borderline insane amount.
“What’d I do this time?”
A hiccup escapes her, and Zanka glances down at her lips for just a moment, a moment too long, as Jabber notices and smirks, something that was most likely her trying to be suave but ends up looking just ridiculous. She grins and feels an odd feeling stir in her chest, standing and offering the woman a hand.
“I think its ‘bout time we get out of here. Huh, Jabbs?” A warm, large hand finds it say into her own, metal touching her skin and making the warm feeling turn jagged at the edges, bouncing within the walls of her being and shredding its confines, eager for a way out, to release the energy, the feelings at the source of the issue, how fucking beautiful Jabber looks like this.
To most people, there would be no appeal. However, she sees tawny skin with a layer of clammy sweat over it, how the woman's plump lips are wet from a mixture of saliva she hadn't been able to keep in her mouth and from some of her drink. Zanka doesn't like liquor, thinks it tastes like rubbing alcohol, and makes her head feel as if it's been bashed in. Even in these conditions, she finds she wants the woman. Wants to make her bleed, yearns to kiss off the stuff on her lips until it's more her saliva than her own.
It's a disgusting feeling, she thinks as she walks the woman out of the bar after paying for their drinks, but recently she's been realising that things that are disgusting are often just a little away from something entirely unforgettable. Although practically every moment with her partner is unforgettable.. Except for when she's the one getting high off of her ass from whatever new thing Jabber found and wanted to play with.
Regardless, the outside world is consumed in darkness, the warm lighting form in the building absent, replaced with the subtle shine of the full-moon down on the people below in the city. The couple walks for a while. They had gotten a hotel room for the night before, deciding that going back to the cleaners after their plan would be a mistake. Jabber whines, her arm wrapped around the woman's, heels clacking against the pavement as she looks up at her, lined eyes looking pathetic as the other woman glances down at her.
“Zanki..” Zanka sees a grate and, knowing that her lover's stilettos would get stuck in it, tightens her hold and lifts her over it, setting her back down after they've passed it.
“Ya?”
“Where are we going?”
“That depends on how impatient yer gonna be.” Jabber looks at her with an expression that makes her release a sigh, something that's amused by her girlfriend's predictability, something that shows that even though every time it's going to be a need for something instant, a thing that most people would find annoying, she loves it. Likes it. Whatever, she has a partner to please and no time for semantics, who knows, if she does well, she might even catch a ‘good girl’ for her work today when Jabber wakes up aching from.. Well, who cares if she hasn't planned out what she's going to do! She’ll figure it out.
She could always just.. Ask her partner about it? No, this is supposed to be a night where she takes the wheel, Jabber isn't supposed to be thinking, let alone, what, making decisions about- anything!
Zanka is supposed to do what she wants to. That was how the other woman had initially talked her into this, but how is she-
Taking a breath, she collects herself and looks at the woman again.
Just.. relax. Let the intrusive thoughts win, as long as they don't cause death.
Her hand finds Jabber's hair, fingers tangling around dreads as she uses her grasp to practically throw the woman into the alleyway next to them, her hitting the ground with a thud. Zanka watches as tawny, scarred skin of her upper thighs is revealed due to her already short skirt riding up, fishnet tights stretching over the expanse, and making her want to bite into the skin, to see if that material would absorb the sticky blood she would coax from the woman.
Quickly, her boots find the woman's ribs, a hard kick causing her to attempt to curl in on herself, a yelp escaping the woman as she does so. Using her shoe, she rests the toe underneath Jabber's jaw and forces her face up.
Another, admittedly much more shaky breath enters her lungs, and she smiles down at the woman.
“How do ya already look soo..” She backs away slightly, then kneels and looks at how dirty her face is, how her hair that had been in a ponytail was now taken down, pressed up against the wall behind her, and, probably soaking in the dirty water of the alley, but her eyes were blasted, pupils wide, and she looked at Zanka as if Zanka was the world. As if everything was settled in her hands, which.. Made her feel powerful. Sharp, tendrils of electricity seem to lick up her limbs as she straddles the woman. “Desheviled. Ruined by, what, just the thought of me? Pleasing. And pathetic.”
It's a funny sight, someone who looks like an off duty business man and a local slut in an alley with the well-dressed woman in control? Well, that was a satisfying turn of events.
“Although.” She grabs the woman's hair with one hand, using that hand to cradle the face and picking up her other to slap the woman across the face, hard, a sound seeming to reverberate all through the alley, causing her partner to release a noise that she hopes she hears if somehow she doesn't go to hell. “Ya don't look so bad bein’ pathetic.”
“S for you..”
She hums at the voice, leaving the woman beneath her, so much weaker than it normally is, like she's either half asleep or entranced by something, and Zanka grins, tightening her grip on her hair and forcing her face closer to her, fully aware that it was a position that should hurt the woman's back.
“Speak up, how am I supposed to hear ya when you're fuckin’ whisperin’?”
“I’m pathetic for you,” Her voice is reverent and breathy in a way that makes Zanka's eyes widen because, okay, they may not use labels, and she may be drunk; however, that feels like, with that tone, it's crossing something.
She mutters something about her being out of her mind, and her hands find the woman's throat, the contrast of the skin being satisfying to look at as she caresses it, bruises evident from other occasions. Fingers bore into the purple marks that dance over tawny skin, making the woman twitch underneath her, groaning.
A grin covers her face as she looks into the woman's eyes, which seem to be practically rolling back in her head. After a moment, she adjusts her hands, putting more pressure on the side and carefully lowering her weight onto the woman's chest as she takes a seat. Jabber makes some pathetic noise, like a squeak toy that has just had all the air released from it as the pressure increases. After Zanka counts to a specific number, she releases the pressure, and the breath that the woman takes feels like it moves her a few inches into the air with how her lungs expand so aggressively.
Her hands find the neckline of the woman's top, and rake nails down the skin showing on her collar bones. She watches with an amused laugh as the woman shivers at the thought, hands coming up and grazing Zanka's thigh, but moving away quickly.
“Yer so fuckin’ discustin’ I just- to see the Wonger,” picking up her other hand, she watches as the fingers meld as she moves them, “pliant.”
The voice sounds almost soothing in the accent. Something calm that, almost entirely, if someone couldn't hear the actual words spoken, would be thought to be simply an amused lover.
Of which, of course, she was an amused lover, regardless of the morality of it, or how it makes her feel afterwards, she loves the way that Jabber seems to fall apart in times like these.
Her hands find Jabber's arms, boring into the bare skin and drawing lines pink once again, bubbles of red seeping from the new wounds. She had intentionally stopped cutting her nails a bit before their meeting for purposes such as this.
Jabber groans, arms shaking for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, before stilling, and she watches the woman take a breath, closing her eyes, and an unsure smile comes to her face.
Making Jabber WOnger uncomfortable was something that most people thought impossible, when asked she would laugh and tell stories with disturbing undertones of people of whom made games out of trying to make her uncomfortable, of which anytime someone probed deeper gave them a feeling of murderous want. Regardless of knowing full well that it would be a marvel, rare experience if she succeeded, it always made her worried, more so initially, when the woman seemed.. Not as insane about it as she normally would. She was taught a wonderful thing of consent, and things just being more fun when everyone involved was having a good time, which got sticky sometimes with their games. At the beginning, the woman would be shouting and goading her on like there was no tomorrow, and she wanted to meet god with the most gruesome way out on her record.
Taking her pointer finger, she traces lines up the bleeding flesh, watching how it looks on her hands. Almost mesmerised at the way it dribbles down her fingers, she glances down at Jabber, of whom has been staring at her hand, a line of drool coming from her mouth unabashedly.
Zanka, knowing the kind of crazy her partner is, uses a nail to trace around the woman's lips, giggling at how it seems like another layer of the woman's lip liner, before she shoves fingers into the woman's mouth. Warmth is the first feeling that registers. Her tongue removes the ironic liquid from her fingers deftly, although with a bit more spit than she thinks is remotely necessary, and by the time she removes them, Jabber has returned to her, drunk off her partner's smile.
She shakes her hand, slobber flinging off of it. Then, she balls her fist, looking over her hand, the scarred flesh on her knuckles and wrist for a moment, before winding her arm back and punching Jabber in the nose. The woman spasms for a moment, and her head rolls back, mouth lolling open. In a second, a small trickle of blood comes down from her nose, falling to her mouth in a slow river.
It only takes a moment before her mouth is on the other woman's. Without even realising, she had gripped the woman's top and dragged her up to her mouth, and had begun greedily licking into her teeth, cleaning molars of excess blood and groaning at the taste of her partner in her.
Jabber takes longer to reciprocate; the taste of alcohol still prominent on her tongue, Zanka tastes like a glass of water after she's gone on a million-mile trek through a desert. All that she seems to be able to do from the woman's ministrations is futilely licking against the woman's tongue that had taken a deep interest in her; is it the most high-tech kissing technique? No. Is she struggling to stay on the same planet as her lover? Yes.
Zanka seems to suck the air from her lungs with each movement, biting on her lips and causing Jabber to move, one of her hands up to the woman's waist. She shivers. Zanka had always had a sensitive waist, something Jabber knew and normally took advantage of; however, currently, she thinks this is more of just trying to grab hold of something near, make sure that this isn't just some extremely hot (it always is when it's with Zanka) fantasy she's drugged herself into believing.
After a while, they have to separate for air. Well, Jabber doesn't have to, but Zanka knows that if she doesn't, that means that she's going to have to drag a passed-out woman home, and that doesn't look good to passersby.
Regardless, Jabber gasps for air like a fish out of water, gorgeous eyes opening and fluttering as she searches for Zanka wordlessly, putting more of her body weight on the woman again, and she calms. She allows herself to catch her breath again and looks down at Jabber, a shaky smile coming on her face.
“Say ah,”
Jabber opens his mouth and Zanka spits, hitting the woman's tongue bullseye and delivering her a combination of their saliva mixed with some sweat and blood.
The woman moans and swallows before opening her mouth and raising her tongue, showing she had swallowed it all, and giving the woman an expression that makes her want to eat Jabber alive.
But as she looks further down, she sees how the muck of the alley has begun to seep into the woman's clothes. She watches how the blood had begun to crust, some of it falling onto the ground around her.
A sigh escapes her as she realises her game should be coming to an end soon.