Two –maybe three? He wasn't sure anymore. He'd call it two and a half– weeks was a long time when there wasn't much else to do but gather information and plan.
The guards and scientists were careful, but Zanka had always been good at observing, good at finding any slight detail or misstep that he could use to give himself the upper hand. It was a necessary tool for the average like him, and something that allowed him to turn the tides even on a stronger or more gifted opponent. Here, he'd use it to swing the odds back in his favor. It had been worth it to stay mostly quiet, to bide his time and make himself seem like less of a threat. Clearly, they'd let their guard down. And he'd make them regret it.
He mentally compiled all the info he'd gleaned so far:
-The kitchens were somewhere to his right, and definitely contained knives.
-There was at least one unlocked door in the direction of the kitchen, that would be his best bet.
-The guards couldn't electrocute him while he was in physical contact with someone else, unless they wanted to shock them too.
-The labs and the right side were connected by another hallway.
-Lovely Assistaff was being held somewhere within a 3 minute walk of the lab room they always took him to.
-The shorter guard always seemed to be the one to interact with him physically, and opposite for Jabber.
-The shorter guard kept the lanyard with the keycard and handcuff keys in their right pocket, while the taller wore it tucked into their shirt.
-The guards wouldn't handcuff him to bring him back to the cell if he was passed out, and there was always a moment when one had to let go to unlock and open the cell door.
-They only ever used the remotes when they were in the same room, meaning there was a large chance they could be blocked by a wall or door.
-The keycards seemingly unlocked all electronic doors, if he could get one it would probably unlock his collar as well.
It allowed him to create the base of a solid plan. The only big obstacle left was the tranquilizer stored in his collar. Putting aside the fact that he needed to be awake on the walk back to his cell for his plan to work, getting a hostage would probably be his best bet for finding the exit given how labarynthine the entire place seemed, and even if they couldn't shock him they could still just put him to sleep without consequence.
Luckily, the solution for that presented itself one day in the lab when the old man had casually let it slip that the potency of the tranquilizer degraded over time while talking –mostly to himself– about how they'd need to refill his collar soon. The man's fatal flaw truly was how much he loved to talk about his "work". And Zanka was more than willing to take advantage of it.
Even without the information, he could tell that the chemicals typically used to end their sessions were losing their kick. Over the last week especially he'd been able to fight it longer and longer, though made sure each time to make it look like he was passing out just as fast as usual.
He needed to find the balance between waiting until the tranquilizer was weak enough that he could stay awake as long as he needed to get out, but not so long that they'd refill his supply and he'd be back at square one. It helped that unlike Jabber, they werent dosing him at pickup as well. Still, he probably only had a handful of days left to make his move.
He knew it was time when he managed to stay awake all the way back to the cell, albeit hazy and disoriented. A problem that was only exacerbated by making sure his eyes stayed closed and body limp like a ragdoll. If they didn't refill it the next day he'd be able to put his plan into action.
...
He thought occasionally about getting Jabber involved, but only briefly. While it was true he was a strong fighter, he was just too much of a wildcard to really consider it. He couldn't trust that Jabber wouldn't waste time trying to seek out fights with the guards or anyone else in the building once free. Or with Zanka.
Plus, his plan relied on being able to get out of range of the remotes as quickly as possible, and it would be practically impossible to free Jabber and do that.
Part of him felt guilty about the idea of leaving Jabber behind, but he quickly squashed it. Jabber had tried to kill him or leave him for dead numerous times, he was simply returning the favor. He only felt guilt because of their temporary alliance. But thats all it was. Temporary. Whatever fragile truce they'd built was fickle, and whatever bond they had was based soley on their forced proximity. Once they got out all bets would be off.
...Maybe once he got out he'd find some way to tell the raiders where he was so they could come deal with him. Except that would be actively helping the enemy regain a powerful fighter, he'd have no way to explain that. Maybe he'd inform the Hell Guard. The idea sent a familiar pang of panic through him, both at the idea of having to contact his family and the knowledge that whatever they'd do to Jabber would likely be even worse than what he was enduring here. The Cleaners then? Maybe he could convince them to raid the place and shut down whatever the organization was. And when they found Jabber surely they'd want to take him for interrogation. Though they'd probably end up letting the Hell Guard have him anyway.
He'd figure out what to do with Jabber later, for now he just needed to get out first.
...
The next day came, and with it came the usual trials. It was hard to really pay attention to anything though, too busy waiting for the sedative, wondering obsessively if he'd managed to plan and time everything correctly. He'd only get one chance.
When the experiment was finally over and he felt the familiar feeling wash over him lightly, he could have cried with relief.
It had been the right move to wait another day, the tranquilizer wasn't weak enough to be entirely negligible, but it was weak enough that he could stay awake without much trouble. Not that he'd let them know that.
It was go time.
He relaxed his body, taking slower breaths, trying to lower his heartrate. The tranquilizer, dull as it was, helped on that account at least.
Steady, slow breaths at a constant rate. That was the key.
He was completely limp, eyes closed, and made sure not to react at all to the sound of the door opening and people coming in. He waited, and even after they disconnected him from the machine and undid his restraints he waited still.
Two pairs of arms grabbed his biceps and hoisted him upwards. He remained completely limp even as the position tugged painfully at his shoulders.
He felt them drag him out of the room and along the now-familiar series of turns, only in reverse. They paused to scan the keycard, and then he could tell by the musty smell alone that they were back in the original corridor of cells. Almost there. Almost time.
They marched his body down the hallway, and when the guard on his right –hopefully the taller guard, or he was in big trouble– let go to unlock and open the cell, Zanka struck.
He opened his eyes and planted his feet under him in one motion, ramming his body to the left and into the unsuspecting guard still holding him, knocking them off balance while at the same time he made a grab at their right pocket. It seemed lady luck didn't hate him entirely because it was infact the shorter guard who had been left holding him, and his fingers closed around a long lanyard cord.
The continued momentum sent the guard crashing to the floor, and Zanka almost landed on top of him, just barely managing to save himself from stumbling over them as he tore his arm free and broke into a run. Dual sounds of alarm from the guards and a disbelieving shriek of laughter from Jabber echoed behind him but he paid them no mind, too busy sprinting like his life depended on it. Probably because it did.
He rounded the corner, almost clipping it with his hip, and a gunshot rang out into the wall where he'd just been. He crashed through the push doors, now fully in uncharted territory, and was met with the choice of another hallway to the left or a set of double doors straight ahead. Luckily, the double doors had windows and he could see what looked to be the kitchen through them.
He burst through them, and immediately scanned his surroundings. There was a bucket and mop next to the door, and he quickly shoved the long wooden handle of the mop through the vertical door handles before he tied them together sloppily with a rag, creating a makeshift barricade. It wouldn't hold for long, but hopefully it would hold long enough for him to arm himself and get the collar off.
The kitchen was medium sized, a bit bigger than what they had at Cleaner HQ and surprisingly well maintained. Looking around frantically, he saw a knife block on the other side of the kitchen and beelined for it.
The door he'd barricaded started to slam with heavy hits, somehow even louder than the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but his luck was holding for now. The lack of electricity probably meant that he'd been right about the remotes, and even among all the adrenaline he felt a tiny swell of smug pride.
He grabbed the biggest chef's knife he could find and tried to figure out his next move. He needed to get the collar off first and foremost, and he brought the lanyard with the keycard up to it to unlock it.
Nothing happened.
He moved it around all over the collar, trying to get it to click and unlock the way it did with the doors. Maybe he had to stick it in somewhere? He felt around desperately for some sort of slit or divet to swipe, but there was only a small, cylindrical extrusion on the back and more tiny round ports. Fuck. Fuck.
The banging got louder. He needed to go, collar be damned. He ran out of the back entrance to the kitchen and immediately collided with someone, sending them both sprawling to the ground.
He scrambled for his knife, grabbing it and putting it in between him and the other person.
It was a girl, probably not much older than him, with slim glasses –now askew– and long, dark grey hair tied into a high ponytail. She looked as surprised as he felt, and then she seemed to notice the knife, surprise quickly morphing into fear.
For just a moment, he paused. She was wearing a uniform with the same insignia as the people in the labs, and she'd clearly been on her way to the kitchen, but there was still a chance she didn't know the full extent what was going on.
In the academy he'd had to learn quickly how to size people up with a single glance, and he could tell with certainty that she was no physical threat, not to mention that she was clearly terrified of Zanka. He imagined he made a pretty scary sight, dirty and sweaty and waving around a knife with wild eyes.
His moment of hesitation was punished by her activating her choker, yelling.
"Subject has bre-!"
Zanka punched her in the throat.
Hostage route it was then. It was no effort at all to wrestle himself behind her and put his knife to her throat, right above her choker.
"Listen very closely, ya better answer or you'll be dead before anyone can get here. Where's the exit. How do I get back up to the surface."
She just trembled, breaths coming in quick bursts. He pressed the knife in further, until there was a thin seam of red beading up.
"Now. I'm serious." He growled, and his voice sounded foreign to him.
At that she swallowed, and finally spoke with a shaky voice.
"T-there's two elevators, one in sector A and one in sector D, b-but you need a keycard for both and-"
"Where the hell are sectors A and D?"
"Sector A is the dormitories and sector D is on the left side of the labs just pleasedonthurtme-"
He heard the sound of wood splintering, and a giant crash. Shit. He was out of time.
"Get up! Move! You're taking me to whichever one's closer."
They didn't get the chance to run more than around twenty feet before the doors crashed open once more and in came the two guards, guns drawn and looking absolutely livid. Zanka pulled the girl in front of him as a shield, knife still at her throat.
No one moved. A stalemate. Zanka cleared his throat.
"Listen. Just let me go and I won-"
Apparently his luck had run out, since the next thing he experienced was the familiar hot-white pain of electricity, causing him to choke out a pained groan and the girl he was holding to scream as they both seized up and collapsed to the floor.
No. He'd been so close.
He pushed himself up on his elbows, muscles screaming, as the sound of heavy boots got closer.
No, not yet. Not like this.
With a final surge of strength, he pushed himself onto his feet and surged onward down the hall away from the guards, slamming partially into the wall as he went but staying mostly upright. He'd dropped the knife but maybe if he could just round a corner, maybe-
Another gunshot rang out and this one did connect, sending a piercing, searing pain all the way through his left shoulder, and he crashed face first onto the ground. The impact only made the wound hurt worse and he was delirious with pain. He could feel the blood pooling around his shoulder, soaking through the front of his uniform.
The footfalls of heavy boots came near his head once more and in his final moments of conciousness he hoped his blood at least made one of them slip and fall. Then he blacked out entirely.
...
Zanka woke up hazy, and in bursts. If he had the wherewithal to think properly he'd probably be surprised to wake up at all, but as it was all he could do was barely grasp conciousness as the world drifted around him, coming and going in strange puzzle pieces that made no sense. Being dragged down a hallway backwards by his collar....faded voices coming in and out...."-re trouble than he's w-"....."not finished wi-"....being shoved onto some sort of table...the feel of liquid being sprayed and an intense stinging where it touched..."-ood loss if we don-".....and then another, hotter, more intense and concentrated pain worse than anything he'd experienced so far....the sound of someone screaming and crying, only pausing when he inhaled, air like glass in his throat...."-ject asks for 'Kyouka', likel-"....at some point Lovely Assistaff was there, but then he blinked and she was gone.....everything hurt, and then finally the darkness seemed to take him for real.
...
When he woke up in the cell he felt dead. Like a living corpse, soul not permitted to pass through to whatever was beyond, cursed to lay paralyzed and rot for eternity. It was quiet, and the irregular drip of the ceiling threatened to drive him insane. It probably would if he had the energy. He opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling, and just wondered why he was still alive.
He'd failed. His big plan, his last ditch effort. And it had failed.
He just laid there, numbness overtaking everything. And then loathing. Of course it hadn't worked. Of course he was still trapped here. Of course even his best hadn't been enough. Damnit. He'd been so close. Always so close.
He brought his right hand up to his shoulder. Through a hole he could feel that underneath the fabric of his uniform were white bandages. They seemed to wrap around his torso and neck too, but likely only to keep the main ones in place.
He wondered again why they'd kept him alive. But it wasn't really a question. He wasn't a threat anymore –they'd been able to prove they could neutralize him pretty effectively, and the same trick wouldnt work twice– and, more importantly, they probably still needed to finish up their experiments.
It reminded him of his first day in the lab, of them zapping him awake, not letting him pass out from the pain. He wondered how many times they'd fix him up, how long they'd keep him there, not letting him die.
Something came over him at that thought, a different kind of anger and fear. Being trapped was one thing, being experimented on was one thing, hell, even the idea of them killing him was awful but par for the course. But the idea of them doing the opposite, forcing him to stay alive for who knew how long? That was worse. And if they expected him to just sit pretty and let them heal him just so they could keep using him, they were dead wrong.
He pulled back the bandages, ignoring the aching pain still lancing through his shoulder. He was no ones pet, he was no ones plaything, and they didn't get to decide when he was done living.
He finally reached skin and instead of stiches to yank out he felt only tough, thick, warped skin that stung intensely with every touch.
The feel of it snapped him out of it and he ripped his hand away. What was he doing??
He took a moment to just breathe, and he noticed his whole body was barely trembling. What the hell, he hadn't seriously been about to- no. Of course he hadn't. He hadn't.
He'd just needed to remind himself that he could. If he needed to.
He did his best to smooth the bandages back out, fingers moving against his own wound almost apologetically. He'd almost done something really stupid.
He suddenly remembered he wasn't alone, and in a panic looked over towards Jabber's cell. Luckily, a barely moving lump right next to the bars confirmed he was there and asleep, and Zanka was grateful for it. It was probably night then, the only question was how far in.
He looked back up at the ceiling.
Usually he'd take this time to think about how to escape, but now the idea just stung. He couldn't handle it right now.
Instead, he thought of the Cleaners, like he had on the first night. He wondered, not for the first time, what they thought had happened to him, and if they were still looking for him. He hoped that they were, almost as much as he hoped that they weren't. If they hadn't found him by now they likely never would; when blow dart guy took him he was probably smart enough to not leave behind any trail to follow. It was a fool's errand. But some selfish part inside him really hoped they were trying anyway. He hoped they missed him.
He hoped Rudo was keeping along with his training, the brat had a fire in him that Zanka could begrudgingly respect, even if he was the type of natural talent Zanka resented. Rudo was trying to become a better person, and every day he was improving, both emotionally and with his vital instrument, progressing at a rate fitting of a genius. Still, without Zanka there he'd better not be slacking with his training or he'd pay for it on the battlefield, prodigy or not. Hopefully Enjin and Riyo were keeping him in line. Enjin and Riyo...how were they holding up?
Honestly, those two were probably doing the same as ever. They'd managed just fine before Zanka got there, and it stood to reason they'd be the same after he left. He hoped Riyo was able to find someone else to be herself around though, he of all people knew how exhausting it was to wear a mask all the time. Maybe Rudo would fill his role in that regard, she seemed to have really taken a shine to him since he joined. Though part of him doubted Rudo had the social or emotional fluency to see past the fronts she put up, much less notice the things she herself tried to ignore, like how she tended to linger in the infirmary longer than anyone else and snag sweet drinks for their resident healer every time she got the chance.
And then there was Enjin. He worried about him most of all. Zanka wasn't self-centered enough to think his dissapearence would be the kind of thing to throw the older man off his game, but he knew it must have screwed a lot of things up for him logistically, and felt horribly guilty for it. He only hoped Enjin didnt think it had been a waste to take him in, even if he hadn't amounted to anything in the end. Even if he never had been able to prove that an average joe could rise above a genius. He was still eternally glad Enjin had found him in the well that day. Even if it had ended up with him here, he still wouldn't change anything.
If they could see him now...
Probably best not to think about that.
...
He didn't get any sleep, despite how exhausted he felt. He wasn't sure how many hours it had been before he heard Jabber start to stir beside him.
Jabber always seemed slow to wake, movements sluggish and eyes squinted, and he tended to let out big, lasting yawns that reminded Zanka of a cat.
Eventually he realized Zanka was there and that seemed to perk him up slightly.
"Yoo, Zankaa. You watchin me sleep? Didn't know ya'were," He let out another large yawn. "didn'know you were into that." He said sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
Then it seemed he remembered what had happened yesterday and actually woke up, eyes fully open as he looked over Zanka.
"Oh shit wait, you tried to make a run for it!" He cackled. "How far'd you get? Not gonna lie, I was lowkey surprised they brought you back in one piece, they seemed piiissed. So what'd you see? And how'd they catch you?"
Petulantly, a part of Zanka wanted to withold the information he'd hard won. What had Jabber said when Zanka had questioned him upon their arrival? "What do I get in return?"
....Yeah, actually nevermind. Not a chance he was opening that can of worms.
"I got past the kitchen. Apparently theres two exits, and one's in the lab area."
"Huh. And the other?"
"The dormitories. Wherever that is. Probably further right."
Jabber hummed, then looked at him again with that shit-eating grin.
"If you knew where they were why didn't you just leave?"
Zanka felt his eye twitch.
"Probably cause by the time I found out, they were right on my ass. I would've if I could."
"Awww, you're tellin me you didn't stick around to save me too? That's cold." Jabber fake pouted.
"I get out and I don't have to see yer stupid face ever again? Sounds like a win-win to me."
Jabber just played up the pouting, smile betraying his true feelings.
"C'monnn, you know you wouldn't just leave me here, I'd get so bored without you. I'd have to bust out all by myself just to hunt you down."
"Well if you could get out by yourself then I guess its not a problem I left ya, is it?" He replied sharply.
"It's about the principle of it, Zan-zan."
Zanka just huffed bitterly and tried to roll his eyes into the back of his head, not answering. He was happy enough to let the conversation about his humiliating attempt at escape end there.
Though of course, Jabber, forever a heat-seeking missile towards things Zanka wanted to avoid, pressed onwards.
"Seriously though, you weren't even gonna let me know you were makin a break for it? I know we got our differences an' all but I can keep a secret. I even coulda helped." He said with a wink.
"I don't need yer help."
Jabber just laughed, unbothered. The constant sound of it was really starting to get on his nerves.
"Right, cause you did so well on your own. Guess I'm just imagining you sittin here talkin to me. Must be the poisons, right?"
"At least I tried something!" He snapped back. "At least I want to get out of here! For a guy who claims to be so bored all the time ya seem pretty damn complacent to me!"
Jabber just shrugged. "I'm always bored. Plus I mean it's not too bad in here, all things considered. Some of the poisons are pretty interesting, and I'm learnin a lot about Mankira. Only thing I'm really missin is a good fight, and we could scratch that itch together if you'd just loosen up. I know you wanna."
"Ya don't know shit actually, the last thing I wanna do is get in some sloppy beatdown with you fer no good reason."
"Man, why do you just keep lying all the time? Don't you ever get sick of it? I can see it in your eyes that you wanna beat the crap outta me, and I know you ain't scared of a little pain yourself, so whats the holdup?" Jabber said as he stood up, wrapping his arms lazily around the bars as he leaned on them and continued to talk.
"I mean we've been here for what, weeks? And other than that weak ass punch and the shoe throwing you haven't done shit, even though its obvious you wanna."
Zanka hated looking up at Jabber from the ground, and stood up to face him.
"Stop acting like ya know me, god you really piss me off."
"I do know you though. I told you before, with me, you're free. We're the same."
Over the course of the conversation Zanka had gotten closer and closer to the bars. Even after noticing, he didn't back down. If anything, he got closer, getting up in Jabbers face.
"Let me get this through yer thick skull. I. Am nothing like you."
There was a tension now, strung taut and waiting to snap.
Jabber gave a *tsk tsk* that made a vein on Zanka's forehead twitch. "Ehh, you're kinda a shitty liar, especially when you look at me like that. You totally wanna punch me again. Go ahead, do it." He made a beckoning gesture with his hands and put his face right up to the bars. "C'mon, I'll even let you have the first hit."
He wanted to. He really wanted to. Even at this angle, if he did it right, he could probably hit Jabbers jaw with enough momentum to knock him out in one hit. Then he wouldn't have to listen to him anymore. But then he'd also be proving Jabber right.
"We're the same"
Ha. That couldn't be further from the truth. Where Jabber had innate talent, Zanka had hard work. Where Jabber attacked indiscriminately, Zanka planned. Where Jabber let his impulses rule him, Zanka had self-control. Desires and inherent nature meant nothing, they could all be overcome with enough willpower. That was what really mattered.
Zanka let his shoulders drop, body untensing.
He was different than Jabber because he chose to be different. And he'd make that choice as many times as he needed to, for the rest of his life. Even when it was hard. Even when it physically pained him to not send a fist straight over into Jabbers stupidly punchable face.
He closed his eyes, breathing out.
"I told ya, I'm not-"
Jabber's fist slammed into his cheekbone and he reeled back.
"Son of a BITCH!"
"Oops." Grinned a clearly unapolagetic Jabber.
He lunged forward, trying to hit Jabber back but missing slightly as Jabber tilted his head to the side, only clipping his ear. Zanka grabbed his shirt with the hand that had missed and didnt wait a second to send another punch with his other hand into Jabbers solar plexus, which was still pressed up against the bars. That one did connect, forcing a wheezing sound out of Jabber and filling Zanka with a sick sort of satisfaction, and with it began their brawl.
It was hard to fight through the bars, on the rare occasions he had to fight unarmed Zanka preferred hook punches and sweeping kicks that mimicked how he fought with Assistaff instead of straightforward jabs, but there was no room for anything else. It was frustrating, the bars becoming an obstacle and a weapon at once as they pushed and pulled, punching and scratching and grabbing anything they could reach.
Zanka forgot how flexible Jabber was, as he ducked low to dodge a hit and used his grip on the bars to hold himself up as sent his heel directly into Zanka's knee, making him stumble as his right leg gave out on him.
"FUCK!"
As he sprung back up he jabbed his fist forward, trying to re-break Jabbers nose, but he was too fast, leaning his head back so all Zanka's attack did was graze his chin. Zanka was fast too though, and instead he moved his hand down, grabbed the collar of his hood, and pulled towards him, causing Jabber to slam face first into the bars. Zanka tried to pull back and regroup but Jabber had taken advantage of the proximity, his own hand knotted in Zankas clothes keeping him locked in place, and Jabber used his other hand to grab at Zanka's left shoulder, digging his fingers into the still-healing bullet wound, ripping a scream from Zanka's throat as his vision temporarily whited out with pain. He grabbed both of Jabbers lapels, keeping him pinned to the bars and sent a high kick of his own directly into Jabbers kidneys, the pained "OOF" it pushed out only incentivizing him to do it again. And again. Jabber grabbed his leg and twisted him off balance, rushing forward to punch Zanka square in the face with his other hand. Zanka felt blood immediately start gushing from his nose but still didn't let go of Jabber, one hand keeping him in place as the other went for his face, sending an all-knuckle punch directly to Jabbers left eye, splitting the skin above it open. Before he could recover, Zanka stole Jabbers move and crouched down to fold in half and slam his heel forward through the bars, this time directly into Jabbers crotch, making Jabber keel over as breath left his lungs, along with an embarassing noise.
Zanka took the chance to actually take a step back and breathe, limping a bit as he did. Jabber was still hunched over on the ground, hands cupped over the area, breathing hard. Zanka could see small drops of blood falling onto the floor from the cut above his eye, and felt his own nose doing the same, probably dripping on his uniform.
Jabber raised his head then, his curtain of hair parting as he locked in on Zanka with an even hungrier, desperate look. His pupils were blown wide, irises almost gone, and his face was flushed darker than Zanka had ever seen it. His breaths came out in pants, and his eyes started to go half-lidded as he ground against the heel of his palm. Absolutely disgusting.
"Zanka," He breathed out, "Zanka," repeating his name like a prayer.
Red filled his vision and he marched right back over to the bars, feeling like he didn't have control of his body. He needed to break Jabbers ribs again, maybe that would get him to shut up. (He knew it wouldn't.)
"Stop sayin my name like that, ya freak. God, I really hate you." Zanka could feel his hands shaking.
"Mmmm, yeah? Do- hahh, do something about it then, tough guy." Jabber managed in between pants, a particularly deep roll of his hips causing a delicious gasp to come out.
"Would you fucking- stop doing that!"
The hand that wasn't currently on Jabbers dick came up to hold on to Zanka's hip through the bars, and he realized just how close he'd gotten again. Jabber didn't do anything but grip the fabic there, not even tightly, but Zanka felt completely trapped in place anyway. He felt feverish, overwhelmed and understimulated and he needed to do something.
"I hate you." He was also breathing hard, not just from the fight. His gaze was locked on Jabber, and he moved his right leg through the bars, harshly moving Jabbers hand out of the way and stepping down on his dick instead, causing Jabber to keen and fold over again, head pressing against the bars. "I really fucking hate you."
Jabber was full on panting now, little noises escaping him with every huffed breath as he ground up against Zanka's shoe, his right hand joining his left at Zankas hips, moving from a steadying hold to a bruising grip as Zanka increased the pressure.
Jabber didn't have any smartass reply, still slouched over looking at the floor, lost in his own pleasure, and Zanka hated it. He took his right hand and threaded it through Jabbers locs, before making a fist and yanking Jabbers head up sharply to make him look up at Zanka. A gasping moan tore from Jabbers throat as he did, and his eyes fluttered open to meet Zanka's.
He looked absolutely wrecked, eyes unfocused and face sweaty, with a small bit of drool coming out of his mouth. He swallowed and looked like he was trying to formulate words, but nothing came out. His movements against Zanka got more desperate.
"Fucking pathetic. Look at you." Zanka's hands were still shaking and he felt high. He felt absolutely out of his mind. Jabbers eyes just rolled to the back of his head as he groaned, low and needy. His head tried to fall forward again but Zanka's grip on his locs kept him upright, the pull making him whimper and the sound tattooed itself immediately in Zanka's brain.
He took his left hand and moved it carefully through the bars so as to not hurt his shoulder any further, and wrapped it around Jabbers throat just above his collar. Not pressing yet, just holding it there, feeling the movement of every breath dragging through to Jabbers lungs, every bob of his adams apple as he swallowed. At the feeling of it, Jabber's whines and moans only got louder, moving himself fervently before he seemingly reached an apex, giving one last loud groan and a few thrusts, before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, only barely held up by Zanka's grip on his hair, body trembling with aftershocks.
Zanka just watched him, his own breath coming out shaky, before reality seemed to sink in and he dropped Jabbers head like he'd been burned, stumbling backwards.
What the fuck. What the fuck was that.
Without even looking down he could tell he had another issue too. He could feel the fabric of his pants straining and the sight of Jabber, still fucked-out on the cell floor, did notmake it any better. What the hell had even happened??
He needed to run away, or hide, or just be anywhere other than here but there was nowhere to go. There wasn't even anything to hide behind. He was trapped and completely exposed and the second Jabber looked over he'd be able to see what Zanka needed to keep hidden from him. He kept backing up until he ran into the wall, ignoring the still throbbing pain in his shoulder. He slid down it, and pulled his knees up to his chest, crossing his ankles for extra insurance to try and hide his shame. He made a fist around his thumbs and tried to will it away with everything he had in him. His knuckles still stung.
Stupid. Stupid. He'd crossed a line he couldn't return from. And for what?? (The sound jabber had made when he pulled on his hair replayed in his mind and sent another rush of blood to his dick. Probably best to stop thinking about the "why".)
After a minute or so, Jabber picked himself off the ground with a pleased sigh, brushing his hair out of his face and wiping the drool from around his mouth. The cut above his eye was still bleeding sluggishly, painting a streak of red across his rich brown skin. He looked happier than Zanka had ever seen him. His head tilted when he saw Zanka on the other side of the room.
"What, not gonna let me return the favor? I'll be nice, promise. Won't even use any teeth." He grinned. "Unless you want me to, of course."
The mental image sent another wave of heat coursing through him. This was hell, he'd died and gone to hell, that was the only explanation. He'd been beaten to death in that polluted zone and everything since was cosmic punishment for his wretched soul. It had to be.
"Stop bein afraid, you ain't gotta hide your true self from me Zan-zan. I see you, clearer than anyone else does."
That was the worst part.
"Do you ever shut up?" he grit out.
"I mean I definitely can, come back over here and I'll show you~"
He wanted to scream. He'd be happy to go to the lab right now if it meant leaving this situation.
"C'mon, don't tell me you're just gonna stay over there, that doesn't look very comfortable."
"Shut up. Just shut up. Can't ya ever just leave me alone?!"
"Cool it, Mr. Bad Attitude, I'm just tryna help. Bein' a good samaritan and shit. Besides, you're one to talk when you can't seem to leave me alone either."
"Only cause you-! Nope. I'm not doin' this right now."
"Oh there's a lot you're not doing right now."
Zanka was seriously going to kill him. This was the nightmare scenario. And the worst part was that he had no one to blame but himself.
Jabber continued to make salacious comments and Zanka tried valiantly to tune him out. Maybe a miracle would happen and the entire facility would catch fire and explode, killing everyone inside, him included. That would be preferable to what he was going through currently.
An idea popped into his head. A terrible idea he'd probably regret. But he seemed to be doing a lot of that regardless and this at least had the highest chance of getting him what he wanted in the moment.
"Stop talkin' or I swear I'm never touching ya again."
Jabbers eyebrows shot into his hairline, but his mouth closed all the same.
Zanka would take a phyrric victory.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, once again wondering just how he'd ended up here. Jabber wouldn't stay quiet forever, better to set the terms while he still had the upper hand.
"Okay. Here's the deal. We don't ever talk about...this" He motioned between the two of them. "and once we're out, I'll fight ya as much as ya want." Nevermind that the chances of either of them getting out, much less both, were slim to none.
Jabbers smile only grew, and he opened his mouth to speak before Zanka cut him off.
"I'm serious, one weird comment and the deals off."
Jabber's mouth closed again as he seemed to re-evaluate his words. Asshole.
"You drive a hard bargain-"
"Watch it." He warned.
"-but I guess I'll accept for now. Offer's open though."
He always had to push the envelope, didn't he. Still, it was as good a solution as Zanka was gonna get, so he'd take it.
For now.