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Zanka woke up to three slow realizations.
One: he was alive, which felt statistically impossible given the amount of pain trying to crawl up his spine.
Two: the ceiling lights were aggressively white.
Three: He couldn’t fucking move.
The nausea hit next. It was vague at first, then sickening, like his body was trying to reject itself from the inside. He tried valiantly to lift his arm. Nothing happened.
Tried again.
Still static.
His body lay there, stubborn and unresponsive, refusing to cooperate no matter how hard he pushed at it. Now, if that didn’t feel like something straight out of a body-horror film. As someone on the competitive karate circuit, Zanka was no stranger to injuries. But never like this.
Zanka felt like he had been compressed in a god damn trash compactor.
The last thing he could remember was being at martial arts practice. He had been sparring with his mentee while Sensei Enjin watched from the sidelines, correcting footwork and timing. Then all of a sudden, Rudo’s staff slammed into his lower back, the impact sharp and final—and the world flipped upside down.
Right. His lower back. Which currently felt deep and wrong, like the ground had punched straight through him.
And to be taken out by Rudo of all people and sent to the hospital.
God. How embarrassing.
A shape moved at the edge of his vision.
A figure stood a few feet from the bed, scribbling notes on a clipboard. They were tall and lanky and…dressed in a baby-pink nurse’s uniform that looked ripped straight out of a costume catalog. Frilly long sleeves, a white apron, even a little nurse’s headband perched on top.
It was all…very cute.
It was also deeply unsettling on someone who looked so—wrong.
The figure was humming.
Not the soft, apologetic humming Zanka associated with hospitals. This was cheerful. Upbeat.
As he said before. Wrong.
One magenta eye glinted as the figure turned slightly, long dreadlocks shifting to obscure the rest of their face. Zanka squinted at the clipboard. Whatever was written there was complete gibberish. Lines, symbols, little doodles. Nothing that looked remotely medical.
Okay, Zanka thought dimly. What the fuck kind of hospital is this.
He shut his eyes, choosing denial. If this was a dream, he could still wake up. This was still salvageable.
“Oh, Zanka,” the figure said, his deep voice lilting, almost sing-song. “You’re finally awake.”
Zanka’s eyes snapped open.
The man turned fully, revealing his face and the front of his outfit. Zanka had to begrudgingly admit that if it weren’t for the general creepiness of the situation, the guy would be good-looking in an androgynous sort of way. He had sharp features, waist-long dreads with golden coils, and feline eyes framed by long lashes.
Not that Zanka was into any of that, of course. He was just making random observations. Due to the fact that he couldn’t move.
The guy had a clipboard tucked under one arm, and his face was split into a pleased smile. His ID badge swung forward, proud and unmistakable.
JABBER — RN
So this freak was supposed to be his registered nurse?!
Zanka stared at him.
Jabber stared back.
Neither of them blinked.
“Where,” Zanka croaked, “am I.”
“Raiders Hospital,” Jabber said brightly, as if this were excellent news. “Third floor, trauma unit, to be exact. And—lucky you—it’s also the night shift!”
Zanka swallowed. It felt like trying to force something down through cotton.
“…Why,” he asked carefully, “can’t I move.”
Jabber’s smile still did not falter. It anything, he just looked even more pleased.
“Oh, that,” he said, glancing down at his clipboard. He made a little tsk sound, scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a flower, then leaned closer. “I might’ve accidentally infected—I mean, injected—”
Panic flared in Zanka’s veins. “Excuse me?” He managed.
Jabber paused to yawn. “Jeez, long night—um, a little bit too much anesthetic through your epidural.”
What the absolute fuck.
“What the absolute fuck,” Zanka repeated out loud.
“Nah, you’re fine,” Jabber replied immediately. “I mean, you’re paralyzed right now, but it’s temporary…” He tapped the pen against his cheek. “Probably?”
Zanka closed his eyes for half a second and reconsidered the concept of consciousness.
When he opened them again, Jabber was even closer.
That was not how space was supposed to work.
Jabber hovered at his bedside like an overgrown cat, head tilted, one hand still scribbling notes as if nothing were wrong at all. Zanka caught another glimpse of the clipboard. It seemed that Jabber was now doodling something that vaguely resembled dinosaurs.
“This is actually really interesting,” Jabber continued conversationally. “I don’t usually get to see reactions firsthand.”
Zanka’s jaw tightened. Of course, this would be his luck. He wanted to go home. He wanted his own bed. He wanted to never leave his house again.
Unfortunately, Zanka was currently a fully conscious, medically paralyzed adult man, trapped in a hospital with what might be the most psychotic nurse in the entire unit—possibly the entire hospital—during the night shift.
After a long, silent moment, he muttered, “I want a different nurse.”
“Your vitals are really steady,” Jabber said, completely ignoring his distress. He tapped the monitor with a sharp fingernail. “Heart rate’s calm. Blood pressure’s holdin’. Oxygen saturation’s perfect. Most people would be spikin’ by now.”
“Is there no one else in this fucking hospital?” Zanka tried again.
Jabber leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to share a secret. “I do like my men the way I like my charts,” he purred, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his bottom lip like a parody of a pin-up nurse. “Nice and stable.”
“Oh my god,” Zanka groaned. “Just my luck to be stuck with a fucking freak.”
Jabber tilted his head, wide-eyed and mock innocent, batting his lashes around those violently pink eyes as if he’d never been accused of anything in his life.
And that was when Zanka made the terrible mistake of really looking at him.
Oh.
Oh no.
In a deeply unfortunate twist of fate that dug up every suppressed, ill-advised part of his psyche, Zanka realized Jabber wasn’t just… objectively good-looking. He was annoyingly attractive. The kind of attractive that made people glance twice on the street. Tall, sharp-featured, all wrong angles and confidence. Uncomfortably close to his type, if one ignored the general instability and, you know, professional ethics.
“Don’t bother hiding it, buddy,” Jabber chirped. “Your heartbeat changed when I leaned in just now.”
Even though Zanka had just begun to regain the faintest sensation in his limbs, his body was reacting to Jabber’s proximity in a way he did not appreciate. There was a traitorous warmth, a very inconvenient awareness that had nothing to do with spinal nerves and everything to do with how close Jabber was leaning.
The nurse smelled faintly of antiseptic and something warmer underneath—soap, maybe, or cheap cologne—but damn it, Zanka would be lying if he said it didn’t get to him. For one, it had been a while. For another, the deeply, unfairly gorgeous man hovering over him was doing absolutely nothing to help.
“So…” Zanka said, throat dry, heartbeat picking up despite himself. They could both hear it now, steady but louder on the monitor. “You’re really the only nurse in this entire unit?”
Jabber nodded. “Mmhm. Boss man and the others left me allll alone.”
“That doesn’t…sound legal.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Jabber said easily. “But this isn’t really a real unit.”
Zanka frowned. “What.”
Jabber gestured vaguely around them. “Iit’s an overflow ward, duh. The main hospital’s packed, so anyone who’s stable-but-not-really gets sent here. So we’re a lil’ understaffed at the moment.”
Zanka stared at the ceiling.
“So let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “I’m paralyzed, stuck in a converted hospital annex, five miles from the city, and my only medical supervision is—”
“—me,” Jabber finished happily.
The monitor beeped a little faster.
Jabber’s eyes flicked to it, then back to Zanka. His grin sharpened into something knowing.
Zanka took a deep breath and tried his best to think of the unsexiest things possible. Such as the one time he’d accidentally walked in on Enjin taking a shit. Or that time Rudo’s feet had stunk up the entire studio so badly they’d had to open every window in the middle of winter.
Jabber’s hand reached out and, uncharacteristically gentle, brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair away from Zanka’s forehead.
Zanka stiffened. As much as one could stiffen under the circumstances. “This is extremely unprofessional,” he said tightly. “I could report you to the hospital board.”
“Oh,” Jabber replied, eyelids lowering, voice warm with certainty. “But you won’t.”
Zanka scoffed. “And what makes ya so sure?”
Jabber’s gaze drifted—slow, deliberate—down the line of Zanka’s body. His eyes stopped at where Zanka’s crotch was now poking through the night gown, unmistakable and extremely prominent.
“So…whaddya say?” Jabber’s hand trailed down, ghosting over the gown to settle mere inches away from Zanka’s dick. “Wanna play a little?”
Zanka was usually a man of strict routines and self-control.
He woke up at 5:30 a.m. every day to train with his staff, followed by a morning meditation and a cup of green tea afterward. Then he would go to his job as an accountant, where he took a quiet, almost masochistic pride in being reliable. Of course, there were moments when he felt an almost animalistic impulse to be the one in control, to do something sharp and impulsive before discipline would come and slam the door shut.
That being said, he rarely ever indulged in impulse.
But still.
He had just been hit in the back by his own damn student, was stuck here during the night shift, barely mobile, and trapped alone with a crazy (but hot) motherfucker who clearly knew exactly what he was doing. It’s fine to indulge once in a while, he told himself. And if there was ever a time he’d earned it, it was now.
With what little mobility he had regained—and even less self-respect—Zanka sighed and nodded.
Jabber’s grin was so wide it almost cracked his face in two. His long fingers circled around Zanka’s groin, never quite touching it, like he was outlining him for a diagram. The whole thing was incredibly frustrating. If Zanka could move his arm, he would definitely be the one setting the pace right now.
“You gonna actually do anything,” Zanka snapped, “or is this all ya got?”
Jabber leaned closer instead, pinning Zanka beneath the weight of his stare. His face twisted into a mock pout, eyes huge and glittering. “I was just thinkin’,” he said softly, “how I oughta thank you for being such good company. I’m usually sooo lonely here. No one ever visits me.”
God. Why. Why did he agree to this again.
“I can’t wait to observe ya more,” Jabber said, almost wistful. “You’re already doin’ so well for my research. Seein’ the effects of my poison on your body firsthand—it’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for, right?”
“...Excuse me?” Zanka’s ears burned red. “Your poison?”
“I usually prefer bein’ the one who can’t move,” Jabber went on, completely ignoring him. “But this works just as well.”
Then, Jabber’s hand wrapped around Zanka and squeezed.
Zanka sucked in a sharp breath, wincing at the pain. “Y-you’re fucking disgusting,” he hissed.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Jabber said. “I know exactly what ya are. I knew it the second I looked into your eyes. You like this.”
Jabber shifted slightly onto the bed so that his face was just inches away from Zanka’s crotch as he lifted the gown, letting Zanka’s dick out. The hospital air felt like a cool reprieve on his shaft, and he throbbed under Jabber’s eyes. Those pink eyes, which were currently focused on Zanka and Zanka alone. Those pink eyes, which looked hungry.
“I can’t believe you fuckin’ poisoned me, you crazy bitch,” Zanka groaned and looked at the ceiling again, questioning all his life choices—
When he felt something soft press against the tip of his cock.
He looked down again to see Jabber’s lips pressing kisses all the way down his dick, stopping at the bottom to look back up at Zanka again. “Sorry,” he said sardonically—not looking sorry at all—before taking half of Zanka into his mouth.
One of Jabber’s hands wrapped around the base as he garbled around Zanka’s cock. There was a wet sensation on his balls, and it took Zanka a second to realize that the guy was drooling, spit spilling down his chin, and unable to stop it.
It was then that Jabber went so deep that he choked around him, and his eyes rolled back, hand falling limply onto Zanka’s side. Zanka’s lip twitched.
He looked obscene. It felt so sloppy, warm, and wet.
Zanka’s toes curled as he squeezed his eyes shut, everything in his body concentrating on trying not to cum. His hips involuntarily snapped at the sensations, and he felt Jabbers throat spasm.
“Fuck!” Zanka cried out, hand shooting out to grip the back of Jabber’s head. It took him a second to realize that he had gotten so worked up that he was able to move his arms again.
He pushed Jabber further down, thrusting as deep as he could. That was when he felt teeth scrape over the side of his dick, and Jabber’s lip curl.
A warning.
Zanka just pushed in harder, gritting his teeth. What a brat.
He continued thrusting into Jabber’s mouth, holding the back of his head firmly in place. When he hit the back of his throat, he held it there, cutting off all airflow, feeling Jabber’s chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.
“One,” Zanka began counting. “Two.”
Jabber’s throat spasmed around him.
“Three. Four. Five.”
Jabber’s nails were scratching up Zanka’s thighs.
“Six. Seven….mmf…eight…”
Tears were rolling down Jabber’s cheeks.
“Nine…ten. Eleven.” A shaky breath. “Twelve.”
Jabber pinched the side of Zanka’s thigh. Hard. Instead of letting up his grip, Zanka reached down and stuck his thumb in Jabber’s mouth as well, making his lips stretch unnaturally wide. Jabber’s entire body jerked.
Once. Twice.
When Zanka looked down, Jabber’s eyes were cloudy, glazed over.
Zanka took that as a sign that he won this round.
He finally let go of the other man’s hair, and Jabber pulled off with a sputter, wheezing for oxygen. “Shit, man,” Jabber rasped.
Zanka’s cock couldn’t help but twitch at the roughness of his voice.
The nurse looked completely wrecked. His lips were swollen, and his eyes still had a glazed look to them. Now that the heat of the moment was over, Zanka felt a strange sort of guilt twisting in his stomach. His mouth had just begun to form the syllables for ‘sorry’ when Jabber’s body shook in a silent laugh. The word never left his mouth.
“I knew it,” Jabber said, looking back up at him, expression impossibly smug, “You’re a fuckin sadist.”
Zanka sat up then, eyes widening. “W-what? I thought you liked it—”
Jabber waved a hand, still grinning cheekily, “Stop it with the weird self-pity. God, I hate it when they do this.”
“They?!” Zanka spluttered. “Who’s they? Other patients?!”
“…It’s called an expression,” Jabber said, his hand going back to stroke Zanka’s dick, which was still slick with spit. “Relax. I’m not runnin’ a fan club.”
Zanka sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“The jealousy’s kind of hot though,” Jabber licked at the slit, which sent tingles skating down Zanka’s spine. “Now are ya gonna let me finish my job?”
“Right…right, yeah,” Zanka said, rapt. His attention was now completely focused again on how hard he still was and how good it felt.
He’d now gained enough mobility that he could prop himself up on his elbows, and he stayed like that, watching Jabber open his mouth again and swallowing him down to the root. Zanka began to thrust absent-mindedly, hitting the back of Jabber’s throat again.
Curious, Zanka pressed his fingers to Jabber’s throat, feeling the movement of muscle as he contracted. Jabber looked up then, and those eyes were the last thing he saw before coming.
He was already so close before, but the orgasm still came as a surprise. Zanka barely had time to warn the guy before he spilled down his throat. He hissed as Jabber swallowed around him, and kept going, making Zanka twitch in the aftershocks.
“Off, off,” Zanka kicked at Jabber’s side, fully sitting up. He was way too overstimulated and way too overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of the situation.
He took a moment to catch his breath as Jabber finally gave him a reprieve. The nurse just rested his head against his thigh, the whites of his eyes red from all the choking. The thought made Zanka blush. Zanka wasn’t an asshole, though. The least he would do was return the favor.
“Okay, you pervert,” Zanka choked out. “Your turn.”
“But I just had my turn,” Jabber said in a mock pout, and Zanka rolled his eyes.
He pushed Jabber’s head away and shifted off the bed. Every muscle in his body felt like it was being weighed down, and his head still felt a little bit like he was submerged underwater, but he managed to push Jabber onto the bed. Jabber, who was looking like a cat that got the cream and was a little too pleased. Jabber, who was currently spread out on the hospital bed with zero resistance.
He pushed up Jabber’s skirt, only to find a dark, wet spot in front of his boxers. Zanka pulled them down, revealing Jabber’s half-hard, dripping cock. It took him a second to realize that Jabber had come in his pants—skirt?—from just giving him head. The thought went straight to his own dick—which should have been completely spent after having one of the most intense orgasms of his life—but for some reason, he was still rock hard.
“That’s what I meant by I just had my turn,” Jabber said. His gaze flickered lower, “But you still look like you need some help.”
Zanka swallowed and stepped closer. He reached down between the folds of Jabber’s costume, wrapping his hand around his dick and giving it a few pumps. There was a bit of drool still leaking out of Jabber’s mouth.
“No can do, Zanka,” Jabber said. “Unlike you, I have a refractory period.”
“I—I usually do as well,” Zanka admitted, suddenly feeling slightly worried at how much blood had been rushing to his dick the whole time. He felt light-headed all of a sudden. How long had it been already? Ten minutes? An hour? Time didn’t feel real anymore.
“I think I have a better idea…” One of Jabber’s hands found its way to cup Zanka’s cheek. His tone dropped low, sultry. “Why don’t you fuck me?”
Those words surfaced a need so carnal and visceral inside Zanka that his vision nearly turned red. He needed to fuck Jabber. He needed to fuck him right there on that hospital bed, or he would die.
“Lie down,” Zanka said, crowding Jabber on the bed, hands shaky as he fumbled with himself. Zanka had never done anal before, and even in his haze, the considerate part of him knew that there was no self-lubrication there. “Do you—do ya need anything?”
Jabber shook his head, biting his lip for the extra effect, “Make it hurt.”
Well.
Zanka would like to believe that he was a good man.
He was really active in the martial arts community, was a stellar employee at work, and even volunteered at the animal shelter in his free time. Sure, he fought with his family sometimes, and maybe he let some dumb incompliance stuff slide at work once or twice, but at the end of the day, he held himself to high standards and rigid morals.
So, Zanka was a good man.
He did not fuck like he was a good man.
As soon as he felt that tight space willing to open up for him, Zanka hadn’t been able to control his thrust forward. It was way too dry, and he was sure Jabber had torn, but he couldn’t stop until he’d sheathed himself fully inside, falling forward into Jabber’s body.
Jabber was currently bent in half, and Zanka had one arm around his neck and the other stroking Jabber’s dick, which was leaking and erect by now. The whole thing probably hurt like hell, but Jabber was moaning and panting up a storm, looking like his mind had drifted off into another world. The guy had the dopiest grin on his face, almost as if he were on drugs. Which, honestly, Zanka didn’t find too hard to believe.
He grabbed a handful of Jabber’s hair, a sudden aggression forcing him even deeper as he fucked into him. Zanka felt like he was an outsider in his own body, the threads of control that he usually wound so tightly around himself snapping.
Every time the pain pleasure was too much—the sensation of Jabber gripping around Zanka like a vice, the friction against his cock—Zanka would bite at Jabber’s neck, letting his frustrations out in the form of marks on his skin. When Zanka finally regained some control over his body again, he looked down to find that Jabber’s entire chest was littered with hickies, and he couldn’t find it in himself to feel half bad.
The night ran on, with Zanka losing himself over and over again in Jabber’s body. By the time the sun had begun to rise, soft rays of pinkish dawn light streaming in through the blinds, Zanka had come inside Jabber so many times that his entire body was numb. He couldn’t think of anything else, or even form a coherent thought in general, besides just the pure physical sensations.
The entire ordeal had strained his muscles so much that he could feel his body spasming in its efforts to keep up. At some point, he wasn’t sure if Jabber had gone unconscious or if he was just uncharacteristically silent. Zanka couldn’t even find it in himself to care. His body was completely pressed against Jabber’s by now, and he just continued grinding mindlessly. Everything stunk of sweat and sex.
When he was finally able to speak again, he muttered the first coherent thoughts he had since entering Jabber into his neck: “I’m gonna pass out.”
And then he did exactly that.
Zanka blinked blearily, opening his eyes to bright sunlight and an open window. The autumn breeze rustled the blinds, and the bed was firm under his back. Reminiscent of the previous day, he had a couple of slow realizations.
One: after assessing his bodily damage, Zanka was relieved to find that although his back hurt like hell, his limbs were sore, and his abs felt like they had been punched, his dick was thankfully not hard anymore. Plus, he had full mobility and control of his body again.
Two: he had just had the most depraved sex marathon of his life with a hospital worker.
Three: said hospital worker had just walked into the room.
“Hey, Zanka! Hope you’re feelin’ better. Or not. That’s fine too.” Jabber’s voice was offensively chipper. “Heard the change in the monitor, figured ya probably woke up. Wow, man. I knew you were a sadist the moment I looked at ya, but I didn’t know to what extent. I’m gonna be sore for days.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Zanka groaned, dragging a hand over his face as if that could shield him from the cheer radiating off the man. “For the love of God.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Still not a dream.
When he opened them again, Jabber was leaning against the counter, looking infuriatingly pleased. His uniform was rumpled, headband crooked, dreadlocks slightly frizzed. He’d clearly showered and cleaned up a little, but there was a faint stiffness in the way he shifted his weight—a limp.
Zanka felt a flicker of deeply inappropriate satisfaction.
Unfortunately, Jabber was also still scribbling in that damned clipboard.
“Are you serious?” Zanka snapped. “You’re still taking notes?”
“Mhm,” Jabber hummed. “Conclusion: subject responds very well to stimulation.”
Zanka made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a dying animal.
“Oh, right,” Jabber added casually. “I should probably mention the dose earlier wasn’t entirely anesthetic.”
Zanka went very still.
“Um. Excuse me?”
Jabber flipped the clipboard around with pride.
Under Medication Administered, it read:
Painkiller
Mild sedative
Experimental aphrodisiac (oops ♡)
The room went silent for a few moments.
“You,” Zanka said slowly, “gave me an aphrodisiac.”
“It was a microdose,” Jabber corrected helpfully.
“I…am going to fucking kill you.”
“Oh, good!” Jabber beamed. “Full mobility’s back!”
Zanka swung his legs off the bed.
Jabber bolted.
They tore down the dim, empty corridor—one barefoot patient in a hospital gown and one unhinged nurse limping dramatically but laughing the entire way. Somewhere down the hall, an alarm started blaring.
Jabber glanced back, eyes sparkling, “You liked it, though!”
“JABBER—”
And the chase continued.