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The desolate industrial zone on the outskirts of the Ground was a ghost of what it once might have been—rusted skeletons of factories looming like forgotten giants, overgrown with twisted vines that clawed at cracked concrete walls.
Broken glass crunched underfoot, and the air hung heavy with the metallic tang of rust and the earthy dampness of decay, mixed with the faint, acrid scent of lingering Trash Beast residue from old attacks.
The late afternoon sun filtered through shattered windows in hazy beams, casting long shadows that danced across the ground as Zanka moved.
Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down his neck and soaking into the collar of his simple black training shirt, which clung to his toned frame like a second skin.
His pants were loose for mobility, but every muscle in his body tensed with precision as he swung the staff in fluid arcs—the weapon extending and retracting with a low hum of power.
Each strike against a rusted pillar sent echoes reverberating through the emptiness, the impact vibrating up his arms and fueling that burning need to push harder, to prove he wasn't just average.
His breaths came in measured huffs, the only sound in the vast emptiness besides the whoosh of his weapon cutting the air and the occasional thud that sent sparks of pain through his knuckles.
He was lost in it, the rhythm a meditation, his serious expression etched with focus—dark eyes narrowed, jaw set, every movement a testament to his unyielding determination.
But then—a rustle. Faint, deliberate. Zanka froze mid-swing, staff poised, senses sharpening like a blade.
His heart rate spiked, not from fear, but from the instinctual readiness for a fight.
"Who's there?" he called, voice steady but laced with warning, echoing off the decaying structures. "Show yourself."
A low, manic chuckle slithered from the shadows behind a collapsed wall, sending a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the cooling air.
Out stepped Jabber Wonger, his dreads swaying like dark tendrils in the dim light, claws glinting as if testing the air.
He was dressed in his usual ragged Raider gear—torn jacket hanging off his shoulders, revealing scarred skin beneath a bloodstained shirt, pants ripped at the knees from who-knows-what skirmish.
His grin stretched wide, unhinged and predatory, eyes gleaming with that feverish delight that always set Zanka's nerves on fire. "Ah ha ha... Zanka-kun! What a surprise—out here all by your lonesome? Or... are you just punishing yourself for being so... average?"
Zanka's grip tightened on his staff, the wood creaking under his fingers, heart pounding not just from the workout but from the sudden intrusion—the way Jabber's presence always ignited something volatile in him.
"Jabber. What the hell are you doing here? This isn't your playground. Leave—now—before I make you regret showing up."
Jabber tilted his head, stepping closer with that lazy, confident saunter, his taller frame casting a shadow that forced Zanka to tilt his chin up slightly to meet those wild eyes.
The air between them thickened instantly, heavy with unspoken tension—the kind that prickled the skin like electricity, coiling low in the gut, making Zanka's breath hitch despite himself.
Jabber's breath carried a faint metallic tang, like blood and adrenaline, his claws twitching as if itching to draw more.
"Make me regret it? Ooh, I like the sound of that, my friend. But why so quick to chase me off? Afraid I'll see through that tough act? You come out here alone 'cause you don't want your Cleaner pals knowing how much you hold back, right? How you're always one step from snapping. Ah ha, is that it? Mad at being 'average' again?"Zanka's jaw clenched, a flicker of irritation—and something hotter, more dangerous—flaring in his chest.
Jabber always knew how to dig under his skin, poking at insecurities like open wounds.
"You don't know shit about me. Just fuck off—I'm not in the mood for your psycho bullshit today."
Jabber's laugh was sharp, echoing off the walls like shattered glass, closing the distance until he was inches away, their chests nearly brushing.
The heat radiating from him was palpable, the scent of sweat and faint blood mixing with the zone's decay, making the air feel thicker, heavier, Zanka's pulse quickening as the tension built like a storm ready to break.
"Not in the mood? Liar. I can see it—that fire in your eyes. You're out here beating on junk 'cause you need to let loose, Zanka-kun. So why not on me? Hit me. Hurt me. I know you want to—deep down, you're just as twisted as I am, hiding it behind that serious face."
He reached out suddenly, his clawed finger tracing Zanka's jawline slowly, the sharp tip grazing just enough to send a jolt through Zanka's body—a mix of threat and something uncomfortably intimate, the touch lingering like a promise of pain and pleasure twisted together.
The touch ignited Zanka like a spark to dry tinder. He slapped Jabber's hand away hard, the impact stinging his palm, but Jabber just grinned wider, steadying himself with a laugh.
"Ooh, touchy! That shove... it tingles. Do it again—harder. Make it hurt, my friend. Or are you scared? Scared I'll like it too much?" Jabber leaned in closer, his breath hot against Zanka's ear, voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down Zanka's spine.
"Scared you'll like it too?"Zanka's breath hitched, the proximity sending heat pooling low in his belly—the way Jabber's manic energy pulled at him, stirring that dark, buried urge he hated acknowledging.
"Shut your mouth," he snarled, shoving Jabber hard in the chest, sending him stumbling back a step.
But Jabber lunged forward like a predator, grabbing Zanka's collar and yanking him close, their faces inches apart."Make me," Jabber taunted, eyes burning with challenge, his grin feral.
"Or are you all talk? Come on—show me that brutality you hide so well, you coward."The words snapped something primal in Zanka.
He grabbed Jabber's dreads, yanking hard to pull his head back, exposing his throat.
"You want rough? Fine—you asked for it, you bastard." Their lips crashed together in a brutal kiss—teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance, hands clawing at clothes with no gentleness.
Jabber laughed into the kiss, the sound vibrating against Zanka's mouth, his claws raking down Zanka's back hard enough to tear fabric and draw thin lines of blood that stung like fire.
They stumbled across the cracked floor, slamming into walls as they tore at each other's clothes—Zanka's shirt ripped open, buttons flying, Jabber's jacket discarded in a heap.
The impact against a rusted beam jarred Zanka's spine, but the pain only fueled the fire, his hands fisting in Jabber's dreads to yank harder, eliciting a moan that was pure ecstasy from the Raider.
"Yes—hurt me more!" Jabber gasped, grinding against him, their arousals pressing through fabric in a friction that made Zanka's head spin.
Zanka shoved him down onto a pile of old mats—dusty but soft enough to cushion the fall—straddling him with knees pinning his hips.
But Jabber reversed it with a vicious twist, using his claws to hook into Zanka's pants and flip them, slamming Zanka onto his back with enough force to knock the wind out of him.
The concrete bit into his skin through the mats, cold and unforgiving, but the pain mingled with the heat building in his core.
"Nah—I'm topping this time," Jabber growled, voice thick with lust, his taller frame caging Zanka in completely.
"You take it like the tough guy you are."He yanked Zanka's pants down roughly, exposing him to the cool air—the tip of his cock already leaking, hard and throbbing from the adrenaline.
Jabber freed himself next—thick, veined length springing out, slick with precum—and positioned himself at Zanka's entrance.
No lube, no prep—just a quick spit into his palm for a slick slide as he rubbed the tip against Zanka's hole, teasing with shallow presses that made Zanka's body clench in anticipation and dread.
"Wait—you crazy fuck—" Zanka started, but Jabber thrust in hard, burying himself halfway in one brutal push.
Zanka's back arched off the mats, a pained groan tearing from his throat—the stretch burned like fire, his body resisting the intrusion, every nerve screaming from the roughness.
It hurt—deep, aching pain that made his vision blur—but beneath it, a twisted pleasure sparked, the fullness overwhelming in a way that had him gasping.
Jabber moaned loudly, head falling back as he savored the tightness.
"Fuck—yes! So tight... you feel that? Taking me like a champ. Harder? You want harder?" He pulled back slightly, then slammed in deeper, setting a punishing rhythm—rough, relentless thrusts that had Zanka's body rocking against the mats, dust kicking up around them in clouds that stung his eyes.
Zanka's hands clawed at Jabber's arms, drawing blood, his moans a mix of pain and unwilling pleasure.
"You—bastard—slow down!" But his hips bucked up to meet each thrust, betraying him, the friction hitting that spot inside that made stars explode behind his eyes.
The pain was exquisite—Jabber's cock dragging against his walls with every brutal snap, the stretch bordering on too much, but the masochistic glint in Jabber's eyes only fueled it.
Jabber reveled in every wince, every gasp of pain from Zanka—the way his body trembled, the moans that escaped despite his gritted teeth.
"Look at your face—moaning like a whore," Jabber taunted, leaning down to bite Zanka's shoulder hard enough to break skin, the copper taste flooding his mouth as Zanka cried out.
"You love it—admit it. You're breaking for me, Zanka-kun. Scream louder—no one's here to hear."
Zanka's response was a guttural curse, but his body arched into the bites, the pain twisting into pleasure that had him hardening further.
He hated it—hated how good it felt, how Jabber's roughness unlocked something dark inside him—but the chemistry was undeniable, their bodies moving in a savage rhythm that felt like an extension of their fights.
Jabber's thrusts turned erratic, deeper, his claws digging into Zanka's hips to pull him back onto each slam, leaving bloody crescents that burned like brands.
Suddenly, a sharp buzz cut through the haze—Zanka's choker communicator vibrating against his neck, the Cleaners' insignia glowing faintly.
A call.
"Shit—" Zanka gasped, fumbling to answer it with one hand while Jabber kept thrusting relentlessly, the movement making his voice hitch.
"Y-yeah? This is Zanka."Enjin's voice crackled through, oblivious but persistent.
"Zanka? Finally—where the hell have you been? We need a status update on that patrol route you scouted last week. Anything unusual? Trash Beast activity picking up?"
Jabber's eyes lit up with wicked delight, thrusting harder on purpose, the slap of skin echoing louder as he grinned down at Zanka, mouthing "Keep talking."
Zanka's face contorted, biting his lip to stifle a moan, his body shaking from the dual assault—pleasure coiling tight while he struggled to form words.
"N-nothing... unusual. Just—ah—finishing up some... personal training. Route's... clear." His voice broke on the last word as Jabber hit that spot dead-on, stars bursting in his vision, a low whimper escaping despite his efforts.
Enjin paused, sounding concerned. "Personal training? You sound out of breath—rough session? And hey, while I have you, about the next op. Riyo's pushing for a team sweep in the eastern sector, but I want your take. You think Jabber's crew is lurking there? That guy's a pain in the ass—masochistic freak always popping up where we don't want him."
The irony hit Zanka like a punch, Jabber's laugh vibrating against his skin as he thrust even harder, claws digging into his hips for leverage, the pain sending a jolt straight to his cock.
Zanka's mind reeled, body trembling as he choked back a moan.
"J-Jabber? Yeah... he's... persistent. Gotta... hit him hard to keep him down." A muffled gasp slipped out as Jabber ground in deeper, circling his hips teasingly, the pressure building unbearably.
Enjin laughed. "Hit him hard? That's your style. But seriously, any signs? Amo spotted some Raider marks near the old factories—your training spot, right? You sure you're alone out there?"
Jabber's grin turned demonic, loving the risk—the thought of getting caught making his thrusts vicious, one hand sliding up to wrap around Zanka's throat, squeezing just enough to restrict air, the pressure making Zanka's head spin, vision spotting with black edges.
Zanka enjoyed it—more than he'd admit—the way the lack of breath amplified every sensation, the choke making his body feel alive, on the brink, the control Jabber took stirring that hidden thrill.
But not as obsessively as Jabber craved pain; for Zanka, it was a reluctant rush, leaving him conflicted even as pleasure surged.
"N-no... alone," Zanka managed, voice strained and breaking, a whimper nearly escaping as Jabber choked harder, thrusting relentlessly.
"Just... me. I'll... check the marks tomorrow."Enjin hummed thoughtfully.
"Alright, but report in sooner next time—you had us worried. Get some rest; big meeting tomorrow. Over."
Zanka hung up with a gasp, tossing the choker aside as a moan ripped from his throat.
"You—fucking psycho—if he knew—"Jabber released his throat, laughing manically.
"Ah ha ha! He almost did! Your voice cracking like that—moaning for me while talking to your boss? Priceless! The risk... fuck, it makes you clench so tight." He thrust viciously now, the slap of skin echoing like gunfire, choking Zanka again lightly for the thrill.
Zanka came first—unexpectedly, untouched, his release spilling between them in hot spurts as pleasure overrode the pain, body shaking with the intensity.
The orgasm hit like a freight train, waves crashing through him, leaving him weak and trembling beneath Jabber.
Jabber groaned at the sight, thrusting through Zanka's climax until he followed—groaning lowly as he came deep inside, hot pulses filling Zanka in waves that made him feel claimed, overflowed.
But Jabber didn't stop—slowing to soft, teasing thrusts post-orgasm, savoring the oversensitivity, his cock still twitching inside as Zanka whimpered from the stimulation.
"Feel that? Me staying in you... filling you more. You take it so well, Zanka-kun."
"Pull... out," Zanka gasped, but his voice lacked conviction, body still clenching around him.Jabber smirked, finally withdrawing with a wet pop, cum leaking from Zanka in a filthy trail that made him flush with shame.
"Not done yet," Jabber murmured, flipping Zanka onto his stomach roughly—the mats scraping his knees as Jabber yanked his hips up into doggy position.
Zanka's arms buckled weakly, face pressed into the old mats, but Jabber held him up, claws digging into his hips to pull him back onto each slam, leaving bloody crescents that burned like brands.
The new angle allowed even deeper penetration, Jabber's cock dragging against oversensitive walls with every brutal snap, the pain sharper but the pleasure building fast, twisting with the ache in a way that had Zanka moaning despite himself.
"You love it—moaning like that," Jabber taunted, slamming in harder, the slap of skin echoing louder.
"Look at your ass recoiling for me—taking every inch. Admit it, you enjoy breaking for me, Zanka-kun. Scream louder—no one's here to hear."
Zanka's response was a guttural curse, but his body arched back, pushing into the thrusts, the pain from the claws and depth mingling with ecstasy.
Jabber grabbed a fistful of Zanka's hair, yanking his head back hard to expose his throat—the pull sending sharp pain through his scalp that made Zanka gasp, the masochistic edge heightening everything.
"Fuck—you," Zanka snarled, but his voice broke into a moan as Jabber's free hand wrapped around his throat from behind, squeezing just enough to restrict air, the pressure making his head spin, vision spotting with black edges.
Jabber laughed manically, thrusting viciously.
"Choke you like this? You like not breathing for me, don't you? Feel that—your pulse racing under my fingers. You're getting tighter... you enjoy it, admit it— you're as fucked up as me."
Zanka's body betrayed him, the lack of air amplifying every sensation—the thrust hitting his prostate relentlessly, the pain from the hair-pull and choke twisting into a dark pleasure that had him teetering on the edge.
He enjoyed it—more than he'd admit—the way the breathplay made his body feel alive, on the brink, the control Jabber took stirring that hidden masochism he buried deep.
But not as much as Jabber craved pain; for Zanka, it was a reluctant thrill, a guilty rush that left him conflicted even as he moaned.
They came together—Zanka shuddering, spilling onto the mats again, the orgasm ripping through him like fire, waves crashing as his vision blurred from the choke, leaving him weak.
Jabber followed, groaning as he filled him once more, the warmth spreading deep.
Pulling out, Jabber flipped Zanka onto his back, straddling him for another round—missionary now, but rougher, his hands back on Zanka's throat, squeezing in pulses as he thrust in.
"Ride me," Jabber commanded suddenly, flipping them so Zanka was on top, impaled deep.
"Show me how much you hate enjoying this."Zanka, weak but defiant, started riding—slow at first, then harder, his hands on Jabber's chest for leverage, nails digging in to scratch bloody lines.
Jabber moaned loudly, eyes rolling back. "Ah ha—yes! Hurt me more! Claw harder—you thought you didn't enjoy this? Look at you, riding me like a slut. Admit it, Zanka-kun—you love my cock breaking you."
"Shut up," Zanka growled, but he continued riding, slamming down harder, the depth hitting his prostate with every drop, the pleasure building despite his words.
Jabber's hands roamed—pulling Zanka's hair to yank his head back, exposing his throat for bites that drew blood, the pain making Zanka's rhythm falter but intensifying the heat.
They came again—Zanka spilling over Jabber's stomach, Jabber filling him deep.
More rounds blurred: Jabber pinning Zanka against the wall, lifting him for standing thrusts that made Zanka's legs shake; back to doggy, Jabber's claws raking his back while choking him from behind.
Each time, Jabber reveled in Zanka's pain-twisted moans, the masochist in him thriving on the scratches and bites Zanka gave back; Zanka enjoyed the control loss, the breathplay making him lightheaded and euphoric, but not as obsessively as Jabber craved pain—it was a reluctant addiction, leaving him conflicted amid the ecstasy.
By the end, they lay tangled, breaths heavy, bodies marked with bites, scratches, and bruises—cum and blood mingling in a filthy testament to their chemistry.
"We're doing this again," Jabber murmured, tracing a bloody line on Zanka's chest.
Zanka sighed, eyes closing. "Shut up." But his hand rested on Jabber's hip, a silent admission. The abandoned zone held their secret—for now.
☘︎