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Zanka's heat hit him violently and fast, like always.
Moments before, he was running all over the place, his feet quick and his dodges graceful. The force of his steps was picking up small stones into the air and the sways of Assistaff were strong enough to send them flying wherever he wanted. His eyesight was sharp, his mind was fresh and his plan was going perfectly.
Now, he was barely able to stand upright. Leaning his entire weight on Assistaff, his knees trembling, his body basically folded in half due to the sudden cramp in his abdomen, his mouth open and panting, his face flushed and sweaty with fever.
He tried his best to keep his eyes wide open, but they felt so, so heavy, he wanted to close them, just for a second…
“What's up with you, Mr. Bad Attitude?!”, Jabber laughed at him from across the small plain that had been their fighting arena the entire time. “Come on, come on, I'm waiting!”, he jumped in place a few times to let out his excess excitement, Mankira's huge claws moving with him. “Attack me, attack me, attack me!!!”
“I. Will”, Zanka panted, unable to utter a longer sentence. His palms were getting so sweaty, they were sliding on Assistaff, but he couldn't afford to fall to his knees. Not now, not in front of him. “Just”, he swallowed excess saliva pooling in his mouth, “give me a minute.”
“What, you're injured? But I haven't touched you yet, have I?”, Jabber groaned, dissatisfaction audible in his voice. They'd been playing cat and mouse for a bit under twenty minutes now, and it was usually the time during their fights when Zanka got his ass beat. This is it, Zanka thought. He's going to pounce now. He's going to pounce and kill me, and I won't be able to do anything about it. “Man, that's no fun!” Zanka squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact.
It didn't come.
He wasn't sure what to expect when he forced his eyelids open.
Jabber was simply staring at him, with his head tilted, his locs covering a tiny bit of his face, but unable to completely hide the confusion plastered all over it.
“What?”, Zanka snapped. His body was on fire, his legs felt like cotton and his eyes were getting teary. He definitely looked awful, which only enraged him more. How dare that bastard see him like that. “Scared I might”, another desperate pant for air, “beat your stupid ass?”
“Dude. Are you sick or something?”, Jabber seemed… concerned. That almost made Zanka's veins pop. Some raider didn't have the privilege of getting concerned about him!
“I'm not sick”, he growled, trying to straighten up, but his abdominal muscles tied themselves into one, huge knot, keeping him in the dumbest position he'd ever been in. He tried to compensate by giving the other the nastiest possible look. “Come, see just how healthy”, pant, “I am. Fucker.”
“Healthy?”, Jabber watched with a scrunched nose as Zanka's Anima dissipated without his consent, leaving Assistaff bare. At least the texture of wood gave him more friction to grab onto. “You're about to fall over. Sit down.”
Zanka wanted to snap back. To argue. To bicker. To explain to him, calmly and in no way accusatorily, that he could still fight. But before he forced some air through his throat, he saw Jabber deactivate Mankira completely.
He looked disappointed.
Zanka felt his knees give in. He fell to the ground slowly, still holding onto Assistaff as hard as he could. He felt hot, but he was shivering, his lungs unable to take a deeper breath, his fingers losing their dexterity, his heart pounding and his stomach tightening itself more and more. He wanted to cry.
Jabber took a step towards him.
“You're in heat, man.”
That was the moment Zanka felt a wave of brutal, primal fear that grabbed him by the throat like a rope grabs a sinner's neck. Moments later, he felt sweat on his entire back, his heart running in circles across his ribcage, his breaths suddenly shallow and not giving any air.
He remembered that Jabber was an alpha.
He couldn't lift his head. Paralyzed with the kind of fear he'd never felt before, he could only watch the other's feet, coming closer to him. Then, the raider crouched, his eyes suddenly on Zanka's level.
He was holding Zanka's choker, ripped from his wrist in the beginning of the fight. And he was calling someone.
“Zanka?! Everything okay?!”, Semiu's voice shot through the air after the first signal, “we lost your coordinates, can you update them? We'll send someone immediately.” A short pause. Zanka was panting. Jabber was still looking him right in the eye. “Zanka? Can you hear me?”
“He can't really talk right now”, Jabber said with a flat tone. Nothing but a statement of fact.
It changed the conversation's mood immediately.
“Where is he? What did you do to him?”, the woman's voice was low, threatening. Zanka almost felt better hearing the change in her tone.
“Me? Nothing”, he groaned into the choker like he wanted to roll his eyes. “He went into heat, or something. Can you pick him up?”
A second or two of silence on the other side.
“We can. Where are you?”
Zanka watched in utter bewilderment as the other explained their exact location. Semiu assured that someone would be there in ten minutes and hung up in a hurry. Jabber played with the choker for a moment, before he eventually noticed the other's look.
“Ah, I guess you can have it back now”, he mumbled and passed it to him. “Here.”
As absurd as the situation was, Zanka wasn't about to argue. He stretched out a quivering hand and watched the choker be placed in his palm. No trading. No catch. He could just- have it.
He tried to put it back on his wrist, but his motor functions were a complete mess. His fingers were slippery and freezing, his whole arms were trembling, his eyes couldn’t focus and his stomach was convulsing in an impossible to ignore way. He fought with the choker’s clasp for a good few seconds.
“You’re so useless”, Jabber rolled his head back, because only rolling his eyes was not enough. Not waiting for the other’s snappy response, he yanked the choker from him and put it on the shaky wrist in half a second. “There. Done.”
Zanka only huffed, because he would never thank his enemy. Jabber tilted his head once again and observed him for a while without much interest. Zanka swallowed a weird tightness in his throat, and prepared for the other to leave in a second or two.
He didn’t leave.
“What do you want”, Zanka hissed through his clinking teeth. For the past few minutes he’d been instinctively curling into a ball, still holding onto Assistaff, her touch his only comfort in the incomprehensible hell of his entire self being icecold, while the blood pulsing through his veins felt like molten iron moving under his skin in irregular waves, pooling somewhere in his core. He wanted the heat to go farther, to spill into his freezing limbs and to go away from his sweaty face. But he could only tighten his already white knuckles on Assistaff in desperate hopes that Jabber wouldn’t think of… that.
“I could help you, you know?”
Zanka inhaled sharply. Of course. Of fucking course. What was he thinking? Sure, Jabber didn’t like killing people he deemed strong, or fighting with anyone who couldn’t fight back. But nothing was ever said about doing other things to them.
He closed his eyes after seeing a hand stretch out towards him. For a short while, the world was nothing but black, filled with the barely audible howls of distant wind and the thumping of his own heart, assaulting his ears from the inside.
A touch on the back of his head. He could feel the slender fingers tangle themselves into his hair, dirty with dust and sweat. He held his breath, trying to get ready for what was about to happen.
Jabber gently pulled him close to his neck and wrapped his other arm around his back.
“What are you-”
“Just shut up”, he barked at him. Zanka gladly shut up. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on the surprising comfort the other’s warmth and scent were bringing him. Since their position allowed it, he snuggled more into Jabber’s neck. He smelled… good. Mostly like sweat because of their fight, but good. Mankira’s poisons, other chemicals, even the stench of trash couldn’t fully mask his natural scent, sweet and herbal, seeping slowly from his nape. As much as Zanka hated being an omega, in that exact moment he was almost happy he was one – because if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t find so much relief in that smell.
Jabber kept him close. Rubbed his back slightly, probably to pretend the situation wasn’t awkward for him. Allowed him to inhale his alpha scent as much as he needed. Watched his body slowly stop shivering and gradually calm down.
Grazed his fingers against Assistaff.
A sudden yelp shot through the air. A second later, Jabber was already a few steps away, pressing his fingers on his bleeding neck.
“Don’t. You. Dare”, Zanka spat through his teeth. Some blood trickled down his chin, but he didn’t wipe it. Both of his hands were firmly on Assistaff, protecting her from any potential harm.
“It was an accident”, Jabber hissed, trying to guess how bad the wound was from the touch alone. It didn’t seem deep, but the amount of blood on his palm and on Zanka’s mouth said otherwise. It almost looked like the bastard bit a piece of his skin off. “Fucking sadist.”
Zanka licked the blood off his chin.
“I only like beating you up”, he growled. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the call, but he was already feeling better. If Jabber gave him but two minutes, he’d gladly fight him again. He’d smack Assistaff right into his face, sending him flying…
Nervously, he changed his grip on her again. Why was he suddenly so jittery about Jabber coming in any contact with Assistaff? She was ultimately a weapon, designed to be used in combat, to be swung around and slammed right into people. He imagined her spikes biting into Jabber’s face, changing it instantly and permanently, crushing bones and ripping the skin off the muscles.
For some reason, he didn’t like the idea.
“Whatever”, Jabber yawned, but Zanka couldn’t tell whether or not his boredom was sincere. He could never tell what was going through the other’s head. “I’m not fighting you again today.”
The words ignited a barely extinguished fire in Zanka’s heart. He grit his teeth and, with Assistaff’s help, stood up. His knees were still weak, but they were finally functioning again, and his arms weren’t trembling as much, either. He could keep his posture more or less straight, and, slowly, carefully, impatiently, took a fighting stance.
The thought of all of it being possible solely due to Jabber’s scent made his abdomen tight again.
“Like hell you aren’t”, he snarled, the taste of Jabber’s blood still metallic and hot on his tongue.
“I’m not.” An eye roll. Then, a point with a finger towards a cloud of dust on the horizon. “Your folks are here, so I’m leaving.”
“Don’t you want to fight them?”
The words were oddly loud considering the roar of a car engine getting closer and closer. Jabber looked amused. Zanka wanted to die in a hole.
“Are you that desperate to keep me here, Mr. Bad Attitude?”, he teased with a big grin on his face. “Sorry, babe, boss wouldn’t be happy with that.”
So if he never found out, you’d stay?, Zanka wanted to ask.
“Don’t call me that, shithead”, he said instead. Jabber scoffed.
“Suit yourself.”
Those were the last words Zanka heard before the familiar silhouette disappeared from his field of view. Still recalling the other’s scent, he stared at the spot where he’d seen him last.
Maybe for a bit too long.