.
.
It has been many successful-unsuccessful years of Zim's invasion.
All of these foolish Earth-Creatures were much more resourceful than he thought. Zim decided it would be best to remain on this planet, learning their ways and weaknesses, swearing to himself to use the experience in defeating all lifeforms for good.
.
.
"Move it to your left!" Dib snaps, peering through Zim's newest pair of microscope googles. "No! No! Your other left—FORGET IT!"
He grunts loudly in irritation, hoisting himself up on a self-modified work harness and turning his back to Zim.
It's very tempting to snip apart Dib's straps.
Just one.
One is all it takes, and Dib will crash painfully face-first onto the ground.
Zim cackles quietly.
Plotting evil is something he has missed dearly.
He hasn't stopped being evil. It's just… complicated.
That's it, yes.
Complicated.
(Also it is Dib's fault!)
"Why in the HELL do you have a nuclear tapeworm in here?"
Zim looks up at Dib, crossing his arms as if haughty. "If you're too weak-minded to grasp the basics of Irken technology—"
"You mean the technology—YOUR technology, I might add— that I've hacked on more than one occasion?" Dib scoffs, wiping off his cheek with a dark, fire-resistant glove. "Let's face it," he says. "I understand these mechanisms better than you, Zim."
A vein bulges in Zim's forehead.
Just because Dib is correct—DOESN'T MEAN HE'S RIGHT!
"You DARE speak to the Almighty Zim—YOUR FUTURE OVERLORD—in this manner!?"
Dib flips himself upside-down, staring pointedly TO Zim's infuriated expression. They're close enough to breath each other's air. Zim loathes the feeling of heat tickling up his body, confounding his senses, whenever Dib gets physically near. It's irresistible. It's dumb.
"Uh, yeah, I do," he monotones. "You couldn't overlord a pepperoni pizza from Bloaty's if you tried."
"Computer!" Zim barks. "I must know how one must overlord a pepperoni pizza! Tell me! TELL ME NOW!"
Dib's eyes roll in exasperation.
"Computer, disregard that," he orders, straightening up, pushing off from the wall-panels with a foot and unhooking from the harness. "I need you to reroute the antiparticle energy out of the main weapons system and into Quadrant Three for containment."
A small, acknowledging beep.
Zim gawks.
"Why does Computer obey the likes of YOU!?"
"Because it knows that I know what I'm doing," Dib says curtly, but without the usual spitefulness. Zim does not understand Dib. They are rivals, enemies, and yet… Dib spends time with him willingly. "Try to not bite my head off for a second, all right? Jeez."
"Your head is HORRIBLE…" Zim mutters. "And BIG… big and ugly and full of nothing… full of garzook maggots…"
One of the mechanical legs of his PAK revealing itself, holding out an item from within.
Zim snatches onto his newest invention—a high frequency warning scanner and silencer—and fiddles with the programmable controls, glaring.
He never asked for Dib to invite himself over. Zim never asked him to calculate and disassemble and learn reverse-engineering on this advanced machinery. Dib foils Zim's plans, and stalks him and insults him, and provides a great entertainment when Zim overpowers him.
Dib makes the idea of world domination more exciting when Zim finally succeeds at succeeding.
This spherical, subterranean chamber was never built for a low physical tolerance. Any amount of extreme temperature shift, combined with the delicacy of Irken technological instruments, would result in permanent damage on the mainframe or them.
And by that, Zim means an explosion.
A very ookey explosion.
Dib goes to another wall-panel at his eye-level, prying it open with a claw hammer. He's yanked off his trench coat and his blueberry-colored long sleeve shirt, exposing all of his upper body, mopping off his neck and groaning. Sweat slicks on Dib's too-pale skin.
For a disgusting filth of human, Zim supposes Dib is pleasing for being so tall. All of his thin, sinewy muscles.
Zim's antennae twitches faintly.
eeeeeee urrrrrrrrrr deedle deedle screeeelllllllll ee ee ee blurrrrrrblurblur !
(It must be the equipment or Zim's own pulse.)
"Your muscles are repulsive to look at, Pathetic Earth Boy…" Zim sneers.
Dib ttches, concentrating on taking out handfuls of broken and exposed wires needing replacement.
"Stop looking then," he whispers.
"They're in my FACE!"
"And you're on MY CASE and need to KNOCK. IT. OFF.!" Dib shouts, whirling around and holding up the pliers.
Zim's eyes flash a ruby-glow.
The four mechanical legs emerge out of his PAK, surrounding them and hovering as if threatening.
"This is MY base of operations, Dib-Creature!"
"My, my, my… me, me, me…" Dib says mockingly, but eyes him and smirks as if amused. No ounce of fear shown. Zim wonders if Dib was ever and truly afraid of him, while knowing the truths and the lies, while knowing Zim themselves. "You're an idiot."
The heat Zim so loathes…
He gets it now.
MINE.
Dib's mouth has the sharp-sting of wetness, inside and out. Zim wants it. He wants Dib's warmth and his resistance against Zim.
Zim shoves harder against Dib, plundering him, ravaging him for more, more. Their mouths widen open. Zim's long, segmented tongue flicks in. He doesn't give Dib an inch, backing him against the wall-panels. His talon-like hands grip against Dib's sides.
MINE.
Dib tightly breathes in, grinning and moaning lightly as Zim's teeth pinch on his lip.
"Shit," he exhales.
Dib's hips rock up, needing the light green, talon fingers outlining his cock.
Zim cackles.
MINE.
MINE.
MINE.
.
.