Archive of Our Own

The youngest of the Nijiku siblings was no coward. He’d stared down hulking aberrations with jaws that could snap steel. He’d fought these things in brutal efficiency . Like always, lately other humans; Raiders .
But now, he couldn't face what presented to him months ago. 

The air was thick with dust and the distant roar of more trash beasts could be heard. The Cleaner barely registered any of it. His heart hammered against his ribs as he pressed his back against the cold, crumbling wall of a derelict building, his grip on his lovely assiststaff was so tight his knuckles had gone white. Palms sweating. 

It wasn’t the first time he was in this situation by the way.

Jabber Wonger had been chasing him for three blocks now. Not precisely with lethal precision nor with a coordinated strategy of such rival. No,no this was something far more humiliating. 

It was literally a hunt and Zanka was the prey.  He’d beaten Jabber before, more than once he can proudly say. 

The lanky menace was a pain in the ass, a persistent thorn in his side, but Zanka had always been able to put him in his place with a well-aimed attack from his staff and a scoff.

Then, a month ago, everything had snapped into horrifying clarity.

He’d landed a solid hit, sending Jabber skidding back across the rubble. The raider’s long dreadlocks whipped around his face,  instead of a snarl of pain, a strange, choked sound had escaped his lips.

 The wind had shifted, and it had hit Zanka full in the face. Not the usual scent of dust, sweat, and the peculiar mix of chemicals of Jabber’s being. This was… layered. Underneath the familiar, there was a note of something... Something that resonated in a primal, untouched part of Zanka's brain. 

A sweet, rich, scent of warm, creamy chocolate. He could argue is was more like honey but it was definitely chocolate or a mix with delicious coffee,something intoxicating like alcohol too. 

That overwhelming sensation could mean only one thing. 

Omega.

Jabber, the monstrous, deranged masochist  who gave him nightmares and headaches for so long, was an Omega. 

And not just any Omega. An unclaimed one. And the way those magenta eyes had locked onto him, wide and knowing what could do to Zanka, he just couldn't hide his intentions.

The Cleaner had fled. For the first time in his life, he’d run from a fight.

That was the first time Jabber chased him too. 

It was how usually goes .

Zanka was an Alpha. He knew that much biologically. He’d just never… been a normal one. Usually Alphas were dominant since the beginning , Zanka never tried to be intimidating, he was awkward, extremely self conscious. Hating unnecessary violence. His build showed that. 

He’d never felt the desperation of a rut, he was still young but still nothing happened. He never had the urge to claim or knot anyone. The very idea had always filled him with a vague horror. He’d thought, perhaps, he was just broken.

Now he knew he wasn't broken. He was just dormant. And Jabber,  thirsty, insane who being wasn’t even in heat, had found the ignition switch and was gleefully mashing it.

"Hell nah, stay the fuck away!" Zanka yelled, his voice cracking with a cocktail of horror and a shameful, burning excitement. He ducked behind a massive, rusted piece of machinery, clutching Assiststaff to his chest like a holy relic. His body was a traitor because there was a low, insistent thrumming starting deep in his bones, a feeling he’d never experienced, hot all over his body, every cell reacting. A rut. A goddamn rut, slowly stoked into life by sheer, obsessive proximity.

The footsteps. A soft, deliberate crunch of grit on the ground.  Playful. 

"Oh, Zan-Zan~," Jabber's voice echoed through the empty shell of the building, a singsong croon that made Zanka’s skin prickle. "Come on, bro! I know yo wanna do it. Please come out and claim me, yeah?" There was a rustle of movement "I'm nice and ready, baby."

Zanka squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the voice that slithered into his ears and coiled, warm and traitorously pleasant, in his gut. That scent was stronger now. It invaded his senses, painting the inside of his mind with rich, creamy chocolate, warm and intoxicating. It promised a taste he was suddenly, desperately, craving. Assiststaff felt cold and useless in his hands. What was the point of a weapon against this?
He thought Jabber was a beta or an alpha like him, he had never detected any pheromones. 

"Not a chance, you freak!" Zanka shouted back, hating how shaky it sounded. "I'll blast you through the damn wall!"

A soft, dark chuckle was the response. It was much, much closer now. "You could," Jabber mused, his voice coming from just around the corner. "But you won't. Your scent’s finally talkin’ to me, Zan. It’s all…  scared ,my poor Cleaner but under it… ooh, there’s somethin’ hungry, ain't there? Somethin' that finally woke up."

Zanka felt a growl, rumble in his chest for the first time in his life. It was a sound of raw panic and rage. He was horrified. He was terrified. And the soul-shattering worst part, was the mounting excitement that made his heart race. 

 The scent was so incredibly sweet, so delicious, that a primal, previously silent part of him howled to close the distance, to bury his face in the source of the warmth and just bite.

"Don't fight it, Zan-Zan," Jabber whispered, his face finally appearing as he peeked around the corner of the machinery, magenta  glowing in those big insane eyes with obsessive, manic delight. A predator who had successfully turned his would-be hunter into terrified, trembling prey. "Just give in. Claim me. I been waitin’ for you my whole life. "

"Stay the fuck away! You smell like unwiped ass!" Zanka shouted, the words tearing out of his throat as a desperate, last-ditch weapon. He didn't wait for a response. He bolted. His blue sash whipped around him, streaming behind like a banner of retreat as he vaulted over a collapsed support beam and scrambled toward a jagged hole in the refinery wall.

Behind him, there was a stunned silence.

"Huh?" Jabber blinked with confusion. He stopped dead in his tracks, tilting his head like a  stray dog. "I don't—" He lifted the collar of his ragged shirt to his nose and inhaled deeply. His face cycled through realization, mild offense, and then a sort of grudging, shrug-like acceptance. "Okay, fair point, but that ain't ME, yeah? Is not my body. Is my clothing, ya know? Working with poisons, my sweet soups and shit, stirring nasty brews all day ...that stuff is not precisely all glamorous, ya feel me?" He cupped a hand around his mouth as Zanka's fleeing form grew smaller. "You can sense my pheromones, Zan! My actual, real-deal scent! Is not that bad, huh? You said it yourself, I know you can smell the good stuff under all this! Come on, mr sadiiiiist!"

Zanka kept running. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. The wide, open sleeves of his uniform flapped uselessly against his arms , his tassel piercings swinging wildly with each desperate stride. He could see the exit, a gaping tear in the corrugated metal wall where sunlight poured through like a promise of successful escape. Just a few more meters. Just a few more.

Freedom !

Jabber rolled his eyes with theatrical exasperation. "Fine," he muttered to himself, cracking his neck to one side. "We doin' this the fun way."

He dropped into a crouch,  dreadlocks pooling around him on the dusty floor like sleeping serpents. The air around his lean body shimmered, distorted, and then cracked with a sound like a whip snapping. Mankira, his cherished power, surged. In a single, explosive pulse of motion, he launched himself forward, a human projectile propelled by pure impulse. The world blurred past him. Debris scattered in his wake. He cleared the distance Zanka had scrambled across in less than a second.

Zanka skidded to a halt so abruptly that his boots left black streaks on the concrete. His heart plummeted into his stomach. 

There, landing in a graceful casual crouch directly in front of the exit, blocking the sunlight and the freedom it represented, was  Wonger. The claws that had extended during his brief use of power retracted, shrinking back into normal rings in those slender fingers. 

Jabber straightened up slowly, deliberately, and licked his lips with an infuriating, leisurely drag of his tongue. He lifted one index finger and wagged it back and forth like a scolding parent to a very naughty child.

"Ah, ah, ah, Zan-Zan," he crooned, his voice a sing-song melody of triumph. "Yer not runnin' . Chase is over. Time for the finale, okay ?"

Zanka's  chest was heaving, his face a shade of crimson so deep it looked almost painful. Sweat plastered hair to his forehead.  Breathless, but not entirely from the race (he was fit as hell ).His  blue eyes were wide and wild, fixed helplessly on the man standing between him and escape.

Jabber saw the look. Savored it. And then, without a shred of shame, he walked towards the Cleaner. Steps heavy, decisive, menacing.

Once, close enough, Wonger dropped to his knees.

The sound of his kneecaps hitting the cracked concrete echoed in the empty refinery like a gunshot.  He looked up at Zanka through his lashes, those eyes luminous with a desperate, aching, utterly unashamed need that stole the breath from Zanka's lungs.

"I'm about to explode, man," Jabber said, and for the first time, his voice lost its teasing lilt. It was raw. Honest. Cracking at the edges with a yearning so intense it bordered on physical pain. "I ain't playin' no more. I can't. My whole body's on fire, Zan. It's been days. I ain't even in heat... I'm not too far though and I'm like this. That's what you do to me." He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "So fine. Fine, okay? Don't bite. If you're too scared to claim me, if that's too much, I get it. I'm a lot. I know! "

Wow how reasonable. Zanka's eye twiched. 

The Raider leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping his own thighs, his knuckles tight. His voice dropped to a desperate, pleading whisper. 
"But could ya please fuck me? Just fuck me, Zan. Please? Pretty pleaseeeee?"

He drew out the word, let it hang in the dusty air, his pink eyes shimmering with something that looked terrifyingly close to tears. He was kneeling. Kneeling and begging. 

Nijiku looked down at him. His face was still burning red, the flush now extending to the tips of his ears, which poked out from his disheveled hair. Sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose, catching on the edge of his shaved eyebrows. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The scent was overwhelming now, wrapping around him like a physical embrace, seeping into his pores, clouding his thoughts. The rut that had been smoldering low in his belly roared to life, a furnace someone had just thrown open the doors. 

This Omega was so unshameful. It was the most terrifying and the most awe-inspiring thing Zanka had ever witnessed.

 No pride. No pretense. Just raw, naked want, offered up to him on a silver platter. Kneeling. Waiting. 

"You're nuts," Zanka whispered, his voice hoarse, strangled. 
Jabber's lips curled into a small, hopeful, heartbreaking smile. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "for you. Now please, Zan. I'm beggin' here. My knees hurt but not how I like it. The floor's nasty. Just... I need it. I need you!" 

And Zanka, trembling, left his assiststaff aside carefully near a huge piece of rock. He’d been hugging his lovely the whole time. Red-faced and undone, he took a step forward. 

With a sudden, violent motion, Zanka  grabbed Jabber's forearm. His fingers wrapped around the  warm limb, and he yanked the kneeling Omega up from the filthy concrete . Jabber stumbled forward and ended up chest-to-chest with Zanka, close enough that their breath mingled in the scant inches between them.

It was dangerous. Gods, it was so unbelievably dangerous to be this close. One scratch of a hidden  claw, one puff of aerosolized powder, and Zanka could be on his knees next, drugged out of his mind, compliant, suggestible, a puppet with his strings handed over to a madman. The thought sent ice down his spine even as the heat in his gut roared louder.

"Ummm, bossy," Jabber hummed, his voice dropping into a pleased, sultry purr that vibrated against Zanka's chest. He didn't pull away from the grip. If anything, he leaned into it, his body pliant and willing. A shudder ran through him, visible even through his ragged clothes. "Yeah, I'm drippin', maaaaan. Been drippin' for days. You got no idea what you do to me."

"Why?" Zanka asked.
 
Jabber tilted his head "Why what, sugar?" he purred, the pet name rolling off his tongue like warm honey.

Zanka swallowed hard, his throat clicking dryly. His grip on Jabber's forearm tightened, fingers digging into the brown skin hard enough to bruise. "You... you haven't poisoned me. T-to do what you want. To make me comply." The words tumbled out in a rush, accusation and confusion tangled together. "What's your plan? What's your angle?"

A slow, wicked grin spread across Jabber's face, sharp at the edges but somehow still soft. "Oh?" He leaned closer, their noses almost brushing. "Ohhh, dirty mind you got there, Zan-Zan."

"Answer me!" Zanka shook him, a rough, jerking motion "Tell me the truth!"

Jabber  just let himself be shaken, his body loose and yielding, that infuriating smile never leaving his lips. When Zanka stopped, chest heaving, Jabber let out a long, theatrical sigh.

"I don't know where you get these ideas, man. Super drugs that make people obey?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah, okay, there's some shit out there. Stuff that makes you unable to think straight. Messes with your motor control, your decision making. Turns you into a droolin' mess." He paused, his  eyes   meet Zanka's with sudden, startling clarity. "But I highly doubt I'm gonna find those nice, fancy chemicals in this abyss, yeah? Not exactly a well-stocked pharmacy down here."

He lifted his free hand, the one Zanka wasn't crushing in his grip,and gestured vaguely at the crumbling refinery around them, at the slums beyond, at the whole wretched, decaying world they inhabited.

"I'm more... specialized," Jabber continued "Specialized in the basics. Immobilize. Disable. Kill." He listed the words casually "Fast-acting nerve agents. Paralytic compounds. Stuff that stops your lungs or your heart. Clean. Efficient. Boring, honestly."

His eyes fluttered half-closed, and he inhaled deeply, deliberately, through his nose, dragging Zanka's scent into his lungs like a drowning man gasping for air. His whole body shuddered against Zanka's grip, a full-body tremor of pure, unfiltered want.

"Mmmm," he hummed, the sound vibrating low in his throat. "Besides..."  eyes opened again "What's the fun in that? Drugging you? Making you into some mindless puppet?" He leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of Zanka's ear, his breath hot and his voice a whispered promise. "Pheromones are enough, babe. Nothing artificial needed. Just you. Just me."

He pulled back just enough to meet Zanka's eyes again, his expression open, raw, terrifyingly sincere.

"I don't want a puppet. I want you. All of you. The real you. The you that's been hidin' so deep inside you didn't even know he existed. I want that Alpha... when I discovered you were one I couldn't be happier! But I would love ya even if you were a beta or an Omega I don't really mind!"

Zanka's expression softened a little.

"So no. No drugs. No tricks. Just... please." The Raider said with fervor. 

Zanka didn't know who started the kiss.

Later, he would try to piece it together, try to assign blame, try to reconstruct the exact sequence of events that led to his complete  crazyness .  One moment they were standing there,Jabber's words hanging between them, Zanka's hand still wrapped around his forearm and the next moment, they were kissing.

It was sloppy. Desperate. A collision. Teeth clacked together, and Zanka tasted copper, couldn't tell if it was his blood or Jabber's, didn't care. Jabber's free hand came up and fisted itself in the front of Zanka's uniform, dragging him closer. 

Zanka moved without thinking. His body was no longer his own, it belonged to the rut, to the Alpha, to the primal thing that had woken up and was now driving him like a beast wearing his skin. He surged forward, using his grip on Jabber's forearm as leverage, and slammed the Omega back against the concrete wall of the refinery.

The impact drove a gasp from Jabber's lungs, but it was swallowed immediately by Zanka's mouth, consumed, devoured. The sound of it, the wet, desperate slide of lips and tongues, the harsh panting breaths they took between kisses, the low, rumbling sounds that Zanka didn't even realize he was making, echoed obscenely in the empty space.

His legs spread instinctively, making room for Zanka to press closer, and the hand fisted in the Cleaner's uniform tugged insistently, pulling him into that space, demanding more. His head fell back against the wall,exposing the column of his throat. 
It was right there. Bare. Waiting. Begging.

Zanka tore his mouth away from Jabber's lips with a gasp, his breath coming in ragged, animal pants. His eyes were blown wide, the pupils swallowing the irises, leaving only a thin ring of color. He stared at the exposed throat,his canines  throbbed with a need so intense it was physically painful.

"Zan," Jabber breathed, his voice wrecked, his  eyes wet and shining and so full of desperate hope. He tilted his head further, offering more, offering everything. "Please. Please. I'm yours. I've always been yours... please."

Zanka opened his mouth. Lowered his head. 

He managed to avoid doing it. He shut his eyes and bit his lower lip instead. 

Zanka's hands moved with a roughness born of inexperience and overwhelming instinct, spinning Jabber around to face the cold concrete wall. The Omega went willingly, eagerly, his palms slapping flat against the grimy surface to brace himself. He pressed his legs together, arched his back with a shameless, feline grace, and presented himself, exposed, vulnerable, trusting. 

"Harder," Jabber gasped, his cheek pressed against the rough concrete, his pink eyes squeezed shut. "Hit me. Scratch me. I can take it, Zan, I want—"

The words cut through the red haze of Zanka's rut like a blade of ice water. His movements faltered. His grip, which had been tightening on Jabber's hip with bruising intensity, loosened. Even lost in the frenzy, even drowning in pheromones and instinct and the maddening, aching need to claim, those words struck something deep and immutable in him. Something that was still him.

"I w-won't hurt ya," Zanka managed, his voice a wrecked, stuttering thing, torn between the growl of the Alpha and the quiet desperation of the man. His forehead dropped forward, pressing against the back of Jabber's shoulder, his breath hot and ragged through the fabric of the raider's shirt. "Jabber. Don't... don't ask me that no more."

Jabber whimpered, a small, confused sound. "But I—"

"No." The word was firm, even as Zanka's body trembled with the effort of restraint. "I ain't... I ain't like that. I don't wanna hurt you. I don't... that ain't me."

A shudder ran through him that had nothing to do with pleasure but  everything to do with the crashing collision of fantasy and reality. This was his first time.

His first time.

For all his strength, for all his reputation as a Cleaner who took down beasts without flinching, he was an expert in that sense .But Zanka Nijiku had never done this. Never been with anyone. Never let himself get close enough. And in the scattered, half-formed daydreams he'd occasionally allowed himself, fleeting moments of weakness, in the quiet dark of his quarters it had never looked like this.

There had been a bed. A soft, comfortable bed with clean sheets that smelled like nothing but fabric. There had been candles, maybe, something warm and gentle to push back the darkness. There had been time, and care, real love.

The dirty floor of an abandoned refinery, the cold concrete wall, the dust and grime and the distant sounds of semi sentient monsters none of this was how it was supposed to go.

And yet.

And yet his body was on fire, and Jabber was right there, and the chocolate scent was so thick he could swim in it, and the sound of the Omega's needy whimper bypassed every rational circuit in his brain and went straight to the hindbrain, the animal brain, the part of him that was no longer taking requests.

Neither of them bothered to undress fully. There was no time for that, no patience, no room in their hormone-addled minds for anything as civilized as removing clothing . Zanka's  uniform rode up, pants down. Jabber's  were shoved down just enough, just barely enough . 

Zanka was positioning himself between welcoming thighs, the first thrust inside in the wet pussy punched a sound out of Jabber that echoed through the empty building, a raw, open-mouthed moan of pain and ecstasy. His forehead fell against the concrete,  eyes rolling up toward the ceiling, seeing nothing, feeling everything. 

"Ahh—yes—Zan!—" he gasped, his voice cracking and soaring, utterly shameless in his pleasure. His hands scrambled for purchase, fingernails scraping uselessly. 

Zanka couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but move. The rut had him in its jaws now, and it shook him like a dog with a rabbit, driving his hips forward in a rhythm that was primal, punishing, desperate.

 The tight heat engulfing him was overwhelming,wet and hot so, so perfect, squeezing around him with every thrust, dragging sounds from his own throat that he didn't recognize. 

It felt so good. Too good.  He forgot the fact that he was a Cleaner and Jabber was a raider and they were supposed to be enemies. None of it mattered. There was only this. Only the slick slide of their bodies, the slap of skin against skin, the obscene, wet sounds that filled the abandoned building and bounced off the rusted machinery.

Then he felt it.

The resistance. A thin, fragile barrier inside Jabber's body, something he hadn't expected, hadn't anticipated, hadn't even considered. His rut-fogged brain couldn't process it in time to stop. Couldn't process it until he felt the exact moment he broke through, sharp, sudden give, a tear. Jabber's body clenched  hard around him . 

Zanka's eyes flew wide open. His hips faltered, nearly stopped. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water, cutting through the red haze. 

Virgin.

Jabber was a virgin. Had been a virgin. Until this moment. Until him.

He stared down, blood mixed with his  pre cum and Jabber's own slickness. Horrified and awestruck and shaken to his core. The side of Jabber's face he could see was flushed, his expression slack with a pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.  A single tear had escaped the corner of his eye,  his lips were curled in a smile almost drunken.

"Ahh, f-fuck," Jabber stammered, his voice hitching with every residual tremor that wracked his lean body. He shifted beneath Zanka, deliberately, consciously, and spread his legs even wider. The motion drove Zanka deeper,  they both groaned in unison. "It burns so good... s-so good, Zan, Mr. Bad Attitude,I'll ahh—"

His babble dissolved into another helpless moan as Zanka rolled his hips forward again. Slowly this time. Carefully. 
"You..." Zanka's voice was wrecked, barely a rasp. "You never...?"

Jabber laughed, breathless and giddy and slightly hysterical. "What, you think I just—mmnn—throw myself at every Alpha who appears? Nah, Zan-Zan. Only you. Always been... only you." He bit his lower lip, another tear slipping free. "Knew it the first time we fought. Knew you were the one. My Alpha. Been savin' it. Savin'... everything."

The confession hit Zanka harder than any physical blow ever could. He was still a prejudiced guy. He hated it. 

Zanka's hand slid up from Jabber's hip, up the curve of his spine, over the fabric of his ragged shirt, until it reached the back of his neck. His fingers spread, wrapping around the nape, feeling the fine hairs there under those wild dreadlocks , the warmth, the pulse fluttering wildly beneath the skin.He continued the path to Wongers chin ,it was settled in a firm grip. 

Zanka guided Jabber's face towards him and kissed his lips.
It was a strange, contorted thing, their faces meeting at an odd angle, Jabber's head twisted back over his shoulder while Zanka hunched over him from behind. Their noses bumped. One of Zanka's tassel earring swung forward and brushed against Jabber's cheek. It should have been clumsy and uncomfortable and ridiculous but felt so good. 
Jabber gasped into it,  he whimpered. His eyes, which had been screwed shut, flew open, wide and wet. He was in disbelief because he hadn't expected this. Another kiss. 
"Z-Zan..." he breathed against Zanka's lips, the single syllable cracking in the middle.

He couldn't tell how much it lasts.

Zanka just kept kissing him, slow.One hand pressed flat against the Omega's chest, feeling the frantic hammer of his heartbeat through his ribs. Playing with his nipples until they got hard , that same hand soon closed around his erect ,eager cock ,teasing his balls in a firm repetitive movement , the callused palm made it even better, clumsy yes but exquisite, Jabber shivered and mewled .

His Alpha's hips moved, deep rhythm that built and built, and he swallowed every gasp, every whimper, every desperate little sound that fell from Jabber's lips and into his own mouth.

In that moment, with Jabber trembling and pliant beneath his hands and the chocolate scent wrapping around them both like a blanket, Zanka thought that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"Gonna..." Jabber gasped against his mouth, his voice high and light "Zan, I'm gonna please, please, please—"

Zanka moaned  involuntary, and his grip on Jabber's chin tightened just slightly. 

"Not stoppin'," he managed, the words barely coherent. 

Jabber came with a shattered cry, a sound of pure overwhelming release that echoed off the refinery walls and left him trembling,  wrecked.

Cum spilled all around the wall and his stomach. His abused pussy juices dripping while being pounded.

 Jabber was pliant, boneless as the cleaner kept fucking him mercyless, let him chase his own release. Zanka was the one who kept him standing . Until he finally came too.

Wonger was amazed of the way he could feel Zanka's seed fill his insides,hot,sticky and he thought he could get use to this,being Zan-Zan's toy, a body were he could just indulge with his lowest desires. Only think about it made his pulse spike again.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of ragged breathing.

Zanka pulled out carefully in order to avoid hurting further the recently deflowered Omega.The sudden absence of contact, of heat, of connection, left him feeling strangely hollow. He stumbled backward, his bare back hitting the concrete wall behind him with a dull thud, and slid down until he was half-sitting, half-sprawled against it. His hands came up and covered his face, palms pressing hard against his eyes, fingers tangling in his disheveled hair. 

What had he done?

The reality of it crashed over him in waves. He'd just had sex. His first time. In an abandoned refinery with Jabber Wonger.

 The man who'd been chasing him for so long . The man who'd terrorized him. The Omega whose scent had driven him into his first rut, whose obsessive desire had worn down every wall he'd built, whose shameless begging had finally, completely undone him.

No wonder why his own family rejected him, they sensed his true nature. 

His face burned beneath his palms. His heart raced. His body still thrummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, and that only made the shame worse. He pressed his hands harder against his eyes, as if he could block out the last hour of his life.

Now he understands Gris, Dalmon and Enjin conversations about this type of thing... 

 Conclusion : He hates the post-nut clarity. 

A few feet away, Jabber pushed himself up. It was a struggle,his arms were shaking, his elbows scraped raw from the concrete, and every muscle in his body felt like it had been replaced with jelly. He managed to get onto his elbows first, wincing at the sting, then slowly, laboriously pushed himself up onto his hands.  Dreadlocks fell around his face in a tangled curtain, and he blew a stray lock out of his mouth with a puff of air.

Unlike Zanka, Jabber was over the moon. Utterly delighted. 

"Wow," he breathed, his voice hoarse and cracking. "Goddamn, man. That was..." He paused, searching for the right word, and then a wide, blissed-out grin spread across his angular face. "Ufff. Amazing. I friggin' knew it. I knew it would be like that. Knew you had it in you, Zan-Zan."

He was a mess. A complete mess. His  skin was slick with sweat, streaked with dust from the floor, marked here and there with the beginnings of what would probably be delicious bruises, fingerprints pressed into his hips, his forearms, the back of his neck. And he could feel it, too. 

The evidence of what they'd done. Something warm and unmistakable trickling down his inner thigh, and the sensation made him shiver with a strange, possessive sort of pride.

His legs, when he tried to move them, trembled violently. Like a newborn fawn trying to stand for the first time.  Bambi on ice. He let out a breathless little laugh at his own predicament and decided that walking was overrated. 

Crawling would do just fine.

He spotted his baggy pants crumpled in a heap near a rusted pipe. Oh, he didn't know when he got rid of those, he could sworn he didn't took off his pants, his shoes were scattered nearby too, maybe the fucking exteminated his last working neurons. He began to crawl toward them, his movements slow and unsteady, his long hair dragging along the dusty floor. He'd made it about three feet when Zanka's voice cut through the silence.

"Where do you think you are going?"

The words were low.  There was something in them that hadn't been there before.It made the fine hairs on the back of Jabber's neck stand up.

He froze mid-crawl. Slowly, he turned his head, raising one  eyebrow. And his  eyes went wide.

Zanka was standing now. He'd pushed himself up from the wall, and he was looming. His tall, slender frame seemed bigger somehow, more imposing. But it was his face that made Jabber's breath catch.

 Teeth. They glinted in the dim light as his lips pulled back in a smirk that was nothing like the flustered, blushing Cleaner who had been running from him an hour ago. And below his waist... well. Little Zanka was not so little anymore. Not little at all, actually. He was up again. Very up. Impressively up.

Zanka remembered the conclusion he already came to terms to. If he fucked everything up, he might as well double it up. 

"Uh," Jabber swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "I-I... Zan-Zan?" His voice came out as a squeak, undignified and more than a little turned on. "Is everything cool? You good, bro?"

Zanka  gave him a predatory curl of his lips that made something hot and helpless twist in Jabber's gut as  stepped forward. 
Oh, he was so handsome and  sexy. 

The pheromones.

They hit him like a physical wall, rolling off Zanka in thick, intoxicating waves. It was stronger now than it had been before, now that his Cleaner had stopped running, stopped hiding, stopped suppressing. 

It was like sacred incense. That was the first note, warm, smoky, like a temple. Vanilla, sweet and smooth and comforting. Spearmint, sharp and cool, invigorating.  Beneath it, grounding it all an  earthy touch. Strong. Steady. The scent of an Alpha who had finally, completely awakened.

Completely awakened. 

Seeing that omega, not being able to stand, the evidence of their union still dripping from his body, made Zanka's mind short circuit. 

Jabber's mouth watered. His body, which had been trembling with exhaustion moments before, went weak all over again. A fresh wave of heat washed through him, settling low in his belly, making his spent muscles clench with renewed need.

 He wanted to submit. Gods, he wanted to submit. He wanted to roll over and show his belly and let this Alpha do whatever he wanted, take whatever he wanted, claim him again and again until there was no doubt left in the world about who he belonged to.

 Zanka inhaled, and Jabber realized with a jolt that the sensing went both ways now. Zanka's nostrils flared, his blue eyes darkening, and Jabber knew that his own pheromones were just as strong, just as potent. Toasted caramel now, richer and deeper than the simple chocolate from before. Still chocolate, yes, but layered. And rum. Warm, intoxicating rum that made the Alpha's pupils blow wide. Jabber could almost feel the taste of it heavy on Zanka's tongue.

Zanka grabbed him again .

There was nothing gentle about it either, not that Jabber wanted gentle, hell no. Hands fisted in his ragged shirt, hauled him up from his crawling position, and then Zanka's mouth was on his, fierce and demanding and hungry. The kiss was deep, consuming, all tongue and teeth and that subtle scrape of those larger canines. 
Between kisses, Jabber spoke, his words coming out in breathless, delighted bursts. "My man—" kiss "—my man wanna go another round? I knew you would" kiss, deeper this time "I'm fuckin' in! I'm so in, Zan, you got no idea!" 

Zanka pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes. That smirk was still there, sharper now, more confident. The blushing, stammering Cleaner who had hidden behind a rusted machine was gone. 
"You are fucking right," Zanka said "We ain't done. Not even close."

Jabber's grin stretched wide, manic and joyful  "Oh, Zan-Zan," he purred, winding his arms around the Alpha's neck "I been waitin' my whole life for you. Take whatever you want. I'm yours. All yours."

/////

Zanka barely made it to the meeting point.

Every step was a battle. His legs felt like they were made of rusted scrap metal, heavy and uncooperative, and there was a deep, bone-level exhaustion settled into every muscle of his body. Uniform, usually immaculate was a disaster. Torn at the seams in places, unstitched along one shoulder, smeared with dust and grime and substances he didn't want to think about. The  sash at his waist was crumpled and knotted hastily, barely holding together. There was a small smear of dried blood at the corner of his mouth, not his own though. 

The sun had been high when the chase began.  On the horizon, the sky painted the slums in shades of orange and purple. 

Zanka had called Enjin through the choker an hour ago with a voice so hollow and wrecked that his fellow Cleaner had dropped everything and driven out immediately.

The vehicle was parked on a ridge overlooking the collapsed refinery district, its engine still ticking as it cooled. Enjin was leaning against the hood, smoking, his sharp eyes tracking Zanka's approach with growing concern. The younger Cleaner was walking like a man returning from war. Head down. Shoulders slumped. Assiststaff clutched in a grip like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Yo, Zanka!" Enjin called out, pushing off the vehicle,stepping on the cigarette butt and walked toward him. His voice was casual, but his eyes were not.   "Are you okay?" He is in one piece,good news right?

Zanka stopped a few feet away. He didn't look up. His hair was a tangled mess, his tassel piercings askew, eyebrows furrowed in an expression of profound, bone-deep distress.

"I..." His voice cracked. He swallowed, tried again. "I need to talk. I need advice. I think... I made a huge mistake ."

His shoulders, already slumped, seemed to droop even further. More like a puppet with its strings cut. 

Enjin's expression shifted from casual concern to genuine alarm. "Zanka." He stepped closer, one hand reaching out to grip the younger man's shoulder. "Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention? What happened out there? Here, drink this." 

Enjin gave him a canteen, the younger cleaner drank in big gulps. 

"Can we... can we sit down first?" Zanka asked, his voice small. "I don't think I can stand much longer."

They ended up on the hood of the vehicle, side by side, their boots resting on the front bumper. Enjin had done a quick but thorough check of Zanka's body, probing for broken bones, checking for deep lacerations, looking for signs of concussion or poisoning. He found none. Just the superficial signs of a scuffle. Scrapes. Bruises. Dirt. 

"No broken bones," Enjin announced, settling back against the windshield. "Just signs of a fight. And a lot of dirt. You wanna tell me what happened? The mission go sideways? You ran into bandits? Higher-level trash beasts than we expected?"

Zanka was quiet for a long moment. He stared at his hands, which were resting on his lap, still gripping Assiststaff like a lifeline. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I had a rut."

Enjin blinked. Then a wide, relieved grin spread across his face. He let out a short laugh and clapped Zanka on the back with enough force to make the younger man lurch forward.

"oi!" 

"Really? That's it? Man, I thought something was seriously wrong!" Enjin leaned back, shaking his head with amusement. "It was about time, Zanka! You're what, almost eighteen? Most Alphas hit their first rut way earlier. I was starting to think you were broken or somethin' ." He winked, nudging Zanka with his elbow. "Bet you just jerked your way out, huh? No shame in that, man. We've all been there done that . Ruts are a pain in the ass, literally. You just gotta ride 'em out and—"

"I claimed an Omega."

The words fell out of Zanka's mouth suddenly. 
Enjin's grin froze. 

"Oh." A pause. "Okay. That's... that's a little different."

He shifted on the hood, turning slightly to face Zanka more directly. His tone became gentler, the joking camaraderie replaced by something more serious.

"Look, an Omega happened to be out here? That's... weird, but not unheard of. Some Alphas lose control during their rut, Zanka. It happens. It's not great, but it happens. We can figure this out. We can solve it somehow. Maybe find this Omega and—"

"This Omega has been pursuing me for a long time."

Zanka still didn't look up. His voice was flat. Hollow. 

The leader went very, very still. His mind began to race, connecting dots, assembling a picture he really, really didn't want to see. The torn clothes. The blood on Zanka's mouth. The hollowness in his voice. The way he couldn't meet Enjin's eyes.

 Pursuing him. For a long time, huh? 

"In the name of everything that's dear and sacred," Enjin said "please don't tell me it's the crazy, batshit Omega raider who tried to kidnap my lil Rudo."

Zanka nodded.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Enjin's jaw tightened. He stared at the side of Zanka's face for a long moment, processing, remembering. It all came back in a flood of unwelcome memories. The fight inside the massive trash beast. Zodyl's raiders swarming them. The chaos, the blood, the desperate battle to protect Rudo and the other Cleaners. And him. Jabber Wonger. The lanky menace who developed a strange fixation in  Zanka. The poison specialist. The enforcer.

Oh, well. 

They all knew Zodyl only recruited Alpha Givers into his inner circle. It was practically doctrine. Alphas were stronger, more aggressive, better suited to the brutal hierarchy of the raiders. But Jabber Wonger had been an exception , rumors had said. An Omega. And not just any Omega, an elite front-line fighter, a powerful Giver whose abilities with poison and his Mankira made him a nightmare. So Zodyl had kept him despite his designation,that secondary gender. Recognizing that the man's skill and ferocity far outweighed whatever outdated prejudices others might hold.

His obsession with Zanka? That hadn't been a secret. Not to the Cleaners . Not to the Raiders . Every encounter, every skirmish, every battle, Jabber's  eyes had always found Zanka. His taunts had always been a little more personal. His attacks a little less lethal and a little more... playful. 
Now, it seemed, the cat had finally caught his mouse. Or maybe the mouse had turned around and decided the cat wasn't so bad after all.

Enjin took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Then, with the forced cheerfulness of a man trying to find a silver lining in a dumpster fire, he grinned and clapped Zanka on the shoulder again.

"Hey!" 

"Well! As long as you didn't knock him up, it's all good! No harm, no foul, right?"

Zanka flinched.

"I..." Zanka's voice was barely audible. His face, flushed a mortified crimson. "We didn't... I didn't use protection."

"Uh."

The syllable hung in the air between them, stretching into an uncomfortable, agonizing silence. Enjin's hand was still on Zanka's shoulder. 

"I see, understandable, it's not easy to find those things here, you were unprepared, it was so sudden" Enjin said, his voice carefully, painfully neutral. He cleared his throat again. "I don't... I mean, I don't think you can, uh, impregnate someone on the first round, right? That's not really how it works, is it? The odds are pretty low, statistically speaking..."

He trailed off, his attempt at reassurance wilting under the weight of Zanka's miserable silence.

"It has nothing to do with being the first time," Zanka said quietly. "You know that, Enjin."

The older man did know that. Fertility wasn't about experience. It's biology,baby. Chemistry. Compatibility. That Omega had been pursuing him with single-minded obsession,  his pheromones had been potent enough to trigger a dormant Alpha's first rut, the compatibility between them was off the charts. 

Zanka, meanwhile, was lost in his own spiraling thoughts. His mind kept circling back to the things Jabber had said during those frenzied hours in the refinery. The way he'd moaned about carrying Zanka's pups. The way he'd described it, beautiful. The pain of their births would be beautiful. He'd said it with such enthusiasm, such genuine, unhinged longing, while Zanka was pounding into him so hard the concrete wall behind them had crumbled slightly. Zanka had been in a frenzy. A full rut. He hadn't been thinking. He hadn't been capable of thinking. And now...

Enjin was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed, a deep, world-weary sound, and leaned back against the windshield, staring up at the darkening sky.

"Look, Zanka." His voice was different now. Softer. Less the joking friend and more the dad (zanka would cringe if he hears that) or older brother figure he sometimes became. "Don't you worry, okay? I know this is... a lot. But maybe..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Maybe this isn't the disaster you think it is. Maybe love or whatever the hell this is could make that derailed raider find his right path. With you."

He turned his head to look at Zanka,  expression serious but not unkind.

"You two always had a crazy chemistry, man. Anyone could see it. After every battle with him, you were always in a really good mood. Especially after you started winning against him. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Attraction is weird. Life is weird. The heart wants what it wants, and apparently your heart wants a psychotic masochist. Maybe my future partner, if I have one, could be a spherite who's waiting for me up there hehe"

Zanka finally looked up.

" My heart? It was all instincts, man "

" Love or whatever starts somewhere. "

His  blue eyes, which had been dull, flickered with a tiny  fragile spark of hope that he was almost afraid to acknowledge.

"You... you think so?" His voice was small, uncertain. "You don't think I'm... I don't know. A traitor? For sleeping with the enemy? For—"

"For claiming someone who's been obsessed with you since the moment he laid eyes on you?" Enjin interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Zanka. That guy chased you. If anything, I'm impressed you held out as long as you did."

Zanka's face went red again. 

"He's still a raider," he muttered, looking away. "He works for Zodyl. He tried to kidnap Rudo he still might . He's dangerous, Enjin, he almost killed Gris. He's not... he's not a good person."

"No," Enjin agreed quietly. "He's probably not. But people change. Circumstances change. And if there's anyone in this wretched world who might be able to pull him back from the edge, it's probably you." He nudged Zanka with his elbow, a ghost of his earlier grin returning. "Besides, if he steps out of line, you can just kick his ass again. You've done it before. He enjoys it, though..." 

A long, shaky breath escaped Zanka's lips. It wasn't quite a laugh. 

"I don't know what to do now," he admitted. "I don't know how to... face anyone. Face the rest of the Cleaners. Face him. I left him there. After everything. I just... ran."

"Then you figure it out one step at a time," Enjin said. "And for what it's worth, I've got your back. Whatever happens next. Even if it's completely insane.You are my best baby boy after all!" 

"I'm totally not!"

" Yes you are" Enjin pitched Zanka's cheek. 

Suddenly, the choker on Zanka's wrist began to ring. A intermittent chirp communication request.  Insistent, rapid-fire buzz of someone calling over and over and over again, each ring bleeding into the next like a desperate, electronic scream.

Zanka stared down at it like it was a venomous snake coiled around his wrist. His face, which had just begun to recover its normal color, drained right back to pale.

"Are you gonna answer that?" Enjin asked, one eyebrow raised.

Zanka swallowed hard and tapped "Yeah?"

The response was instantaneous. Explosive. A wail so loud and so anguished that Enjin flinched. 

"ZAN-ZANNNNN! WHERE ARE YOU?! DON'T LEAVE ME, BABEEEEE! PLEASE!!! COME BACK TO MEEEEEE!"

Zanka's  eyes went impossibly wide. His mouth opened but no sound came out.  Frozen and helpless and utterly unprepared for the hurricane of emotion blasting through his wrist communicator.

Enjin, meanwhile, smiled. Because Zanka so stoic, composed, perpetually-annoyed Zanka looked absolutely, undeniably cute right now. Flustered. Panicked. Reactions that only Jabber Wonger seemed capable of eliciting. It was, Enjin decided, the most entertaining thing he'd witnessed in months.

But the wailing continued. It wasn't the theatrical, exaggerated whining Jabber had deployed during the chase. This was different. Raw. Genuine. The sound of an Omega whose Alpha had left, whose bond was fresh and fragile and screaming with separation distress. 

He could feel it. That was the terrifying part. Through whatever strange, half-formed bond had been established between them, Zanka could feel Jabber's distress like a physical sensation. A tightness in his chest that wasn't his own. A trembling anxiety that had no source in his own thoughts. It was disorienting. Overwhelming. 

When the heck had they exchanged blood in their chokers? Zanka racked his brain, flipping through fragmented memories of the past hours. The kissing. The biting, not the claiming bite, but the other ones, the ones he'd left on Jabber's shoulders, his collarbone, Had he nicked himself somehow? Had Jabber, in his enthusiasm, pressed their wounds together deliberately? It would be just like him. Just like Jabber Wonger to exploit a moment of vulnerability to forge another connection that couldn't be broken. A blood link through the choker system. A tether. A leash that went both ways.

"Zanka." Enjin's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, steady and calm. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe. I can see you freaking out."

Zanka sucked in a shaky breath. 

"Good," he continued, his tone shifting into something more strategic. "Now, here's what we're gonna do. You've got two options." He held up one finger. "Option one: you calm him down remotely. Talk him through it. Tell him you're coming back." He held up a second finger. "Option two: we go pick him up. Right now. We drive back there, we put him in the vehicle, and we figure out the rest later."

 "Pick him up? Enjin, he's a raider. We can't just—"

"Zanka." Enjin's voice was firm but not unkind. "An Omega in this state, freshly claimed, abandoned by their Alpha right after the act is dangerously unstable. And we're not talking about just any Omega here. We're talking about Jabber." He leaned closer, his expression serious. "Do you really want to leave someone like that alone, distressed, and probably vengeful in the middle of the slums? He will go berserk for you!"

Zanka's blood ran cold. He hadn't thought of that. He'd been so consumed by his own shame and his own panic, that he hadn't stopped to consider what leaving might do to Jabber. What the sudden abandonment might trigger in an already volatile mind.

"I..." He looked down at the choker, at the tearful, hiccuping sounds still spilling from the speaker. "Fuck. Fuck, okay. Okay! "

He raised the choker to his mouth again, his voice steadier this time. "Jabber. Jabber, listen to me. Are you still... are you still in that place? The refinery?"

"WUAAA! YES! DON'T LEAVE ME, ZAN-ZAN, MR. BAD ATTITUDE!" 

The accusation hit Zanka like a physical blow. He had said things.. . In the heat of the moment, buried deep inside Jabber, he'd said things that now feels he should have not! The moment his rut had subsided, he'd fled like a headless chicken. 

"Okay," Zanka said, his voice tight with guilt "Okay. I'm coming back. Stay there. Don't move. I'm coming back right now."

A shuddering breath came through the choker. "You... you mean it? You're not lying? Because I'll know if you're lying, Zan. I'll know and I'll—I'll—"

"I'm not lying." Zanka cut him off "I'm coming. Just... just stay put. And stop crying, okay? It makes me feel like crap. " 

" That's the bond, baby. That's us. You feel me now. You really feel me, right?" 

Zanka's hand tightened around his wrist. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I guess I do."

He ended the call and sat there for a moment. Then he turned to Enjin, who was already sliding off the hood of the vehicle and heading toward the driver's side.

"Let's go get your man," Enjin said, and there was no mockery "  yo Zanka." 

"Yeah?"

Enjin paused with his hand on the door. His expression was thoughtful. 

"Think about this for a second. Really think. Jabber Wonger is an elite front-line Giver. One of Zodyl's strongest enforcers. And now, thanks to you, he's bonded to a Cleaner. To you." He let that sink in for a moment. "We might be able to snatch him from Zodyl's hands. Turn an enemy into an ally. Having someone that powerful, someone who's now completely loyal to you could change the game ."

Zanka blinked. He hadn't even considered the strategic implications. He'd been too busy panicking about the personal ones.

"You're saying we should... recruit him?"

"I'm saying we should use the opportunity that's been literally dropped into your lap," Enjin replied then winked. Yellows eyes full of mirth.

Zanka slid off the hood, his legs still shaky but his resolve stronger now. He climbed into the passenger seat and stared out at the road ahead as the engine roared to life.

/////

Zanka's boots felt like they were filled with lead as he stepped out of the vehicle for the second time that day. The refinery loomed before him, its silhouette jagged and broken against the sky. 

He was holding onto Assiststaff like it was the only solid thing left in his universe again. His knuckles were bone-white around the stick. Fingers cramping from the pressure, but he couldn't make himself loosen his grip. The weapon was familiar. Reliable. 

"Zanka." Enjin  was  leaning against the hood of the vehicle, arms crossed "You gotta go inside, man. He's waiting for you. You can feel it, right?"

Zanka could. The thread was practically vibrating now, humming with a frantic energy that made his own heart race . Jabber was in there. Alone. Distressed. 

"I don't know if I can do this," Zanka admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to... how to be what he needs. I've never—"

"You'll figure it out," Enjin interrupted, not unkindly. He felt so proud of Zanka, he worries about the other more than himself, cuteeee "You're a Cleaner. Figuring things out is what we do." 
Nijiku took a shaky breath and nodded. He forced his feet to move, one step at a time, toward the gaping hole in the refinery wall. 

He'd made it about ten paces when the scream came.

"ZANKA!"

His head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. There, on the rooftop of the refinery, silhouetted against the sunset was Jabber Wonger. His long hair whipped around him in the evening wind, his lean frame balanced precariously on the edge of the roof, his arms spread wide like a man about to embrace the heavens.

Zanka's heart stopped.

"Jabber!" The name tore from his throat as pure, primal terror flooded his veins. He was too far. Too far to catch him, too far to stop him, too far to do anything but watch as... 

Jabber jumped.

But this time, Zanka saw it clearly. The shimmer in the air around Jabber's body. The crackle of energy that preceded the activation of his Mankira. And then, bursting from his fingers in a flash of lethal grace, came the claws. Not the normal version Zanka had seen ,these were fully extended, gleaming even in the dying light. 

Although Jabber didn't use them to attack this time but to steer himself it wasn't less terrifying. 

The claws bit into the side of the refinery wall as he fell, dragging furrows through the corrugated metal with a shriek of tortured steel. Sparks cascaded around him like a meteor shower, illuminating his falling form in bursts of orange and gold. The claws acted as brakes, controlling his descent . He twisted mid-air, his body arcing with feline grace, and landed on the ground in a perfect three-point crouch.

The impact was almost silent. The claws retracted smoothly back . He rose from his crouch in one fluid motion, those  eyes already locked onto Zanka, already burning with that familiar adoring intensity.

From behind Zanka, Enjin let out a low, impressed murmur.

"Woah."

Jabber was already running.

Zanka barely had time to register what was happening before the Omega launched himself into the air for the second time in as many minutes. This time, the jump was a flying tackle of pure, desperate affection. Zanka's body reacted on instinct. He braced himself, feet planted wide, arms opening to catch the human projectile hurtling toward him. 
Somehow, impossibly, Zanka caught him. Caught him without dropping his weapon, without stumbling backward, without falling. 

Assiststaff remained clutched in his right hand, the shaft pressing against Jabber's back as the Omega's legs wrapped around his waist and his arms locked around Zanka's neck with the force of a vice grip.

He stood there in the middle of the ruined refinery yard, holding a fully grown, sobbing Omega in his arms,  and wondered what the hell his life had become.

"Don't leave me," Jabber gasped into his shoulder,  "Don't leave, don't leave, don'tleavedon'tleavemedon'tleave—"

Each repetition was a hammer blow to Zanka's chest. The words ran together, bleeding into one another, becoming a single, desperate sound. Jabber's fingers clawed at the back of Zanka's uniform, his face pressed so hard into the crook of Zanka's neck that it must have hurt, his entire body trembling. 

"Dont ya know? I love you," Jabber continued "I love you, loveyou, iloveyou, loveyou, iloveyou—"

The words vibrated against Zanka's skin, warm and wet with tears and devastatingly sincere. Jabber's voice cracked on every syllable, hoarse from screaming and crying and begging, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The words kept coming like a dam had broken inside him and everything he'd been holding back for months was finally pouring out.

There cleaner stood frozen, his heart pounding, his arms full of trembling Omega. And then he saw it.

The wound on Jabber's neck. The claiming bite. It was still fresh, raw and red and glistening with blood that welled up and trickled down in thin rivulets, staining the collar of his ragged shirt. All the movement... the jumping, the running, the desperate clinging had torn at the fragile edges of the wound, reopening what had barely begun to heal. Jabber didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care. The pain of a bleeding neck was clearly less important than the pain of an absent Alpha.

Something inside Zanka cracked. Reformed into a new shape he didn't have a name for yet.

Without saying a word, Zanka hugged him back. Because he felt guilty. Like trash. 

His left arm tightened around Jabber's waist, pulling him closer, holding him secure. His chin came down to rest on top of Jabber's head, his cheek pressing against the tangled, dusty dreadlocks. Jabber seemed like trying to curl,like a centipede, enough to fit in Zanka's arms as if he isn't taller. 
The cleaner didn't offer reassurances or promises or explanations. He just held him. Held him while the tears soaked through the shoulder of his uniform. Held him while the trembling began to subside, the rigid tension in Jabber's body melting.

The thread in Zanka's chest, which had been full of distress, slowly began to quiet. The frantic energy finally faded.

Relief. Safety. Home.

Jabber pulled back just far enough to look at Zanka's face. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, his cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears, his nose running. He was a complete mess. But the smile that spread across his angular face was radiant. Incandescent. The smile of a man who had been certain he'd been abandoned and had just been proven wrong. 

"You came back," he whispered, wonder in his voice. "You really came back." 

Zanka didn't trust himself to speak. His throat was too tight, his chest too full of emotions he couldn't name and wasn't ready to examine. So he just nodded, a short, jerky motion, and tightened his grip fractionally.

Jabber let out a laugh and buried his face back in Zanka's shoulder. "I knew it," he mumbled into the fabric. "I knew you were the one. I knew it since the first time you punched me... you're my Alpha. My Zan-Zan. My home."

"Uh, Jabber that's so fucked up. Here." Zanka produced a napkin and began cleaning his omega's face throughoutfully. 

Jabber laughed like a maniac. 

From the vehicle, Enjin watched the scene with an expression that was equal parts bemusement and genuine warmth. He'd seen a lot of strange things in his time as a Cleaner.  But watching Zanka Nijiku,his baby boy,his often stoic, prickly, perpetually-annoyed Zanka stand in the middle of a ruined refinery cradling a notorious raider in his arms while still holding his beloved Assiststaff? That might just take the prize for the strangest thing yet.

Or maybe not,Rudo trying to smile will always have the first place.

He pulled tapped his own choker and called to the Cleaner headquarters. Change of plans. 

"Enjin." the smooth voice of Semiu replied
 instantly. 

"We're bringing a very interesting guest. .Warn Shikage, okay, precious? I'll explain later." 

"Guest, huh. Okay." 

He settled back against the hood of the vehicle and waited, giving the two of them the time they needed. Whatever came next, the politics, the complications, the inevitable fallout with both the Cleaners and Zodyl's raiders, could wait. 

Gosh, Zodyls gonna be maaaad.