(no subject)
Title: Acts of Insurrection (6/20)
Authors: butterflyweb and nemesis_cry
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: OT5
Warning(s): violence, graphic sex, language
Summary: It's been six months since Changmin crashed on the remote planet known as Elysia. Five months since Yunho and Junsu found him. Four months since Jaejoong was shot by a man he and Yoochun both trusted. Now training as the Empress' men, former soldiers and former rebels have shed past allegiances in service of a common goal. But the tide is turning--and not in their favor.
Banner credit: luvmeanddespair
A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful feedback for the first part. We hope you enjoy this one!
Prequel: Acts of Contrition
Acts of Insurrection: One; Two; Three; Four; Five
Chapter Six
Yoochun wipes oily hands against his trousers. The Cerberus looks like a wounded beast behind him, all torn fuselage and darkened hull. Whoever hit them--Guard or mercenary or pirate alike--had a good aim. It was a near-miss when it came to the engines and the life-support. He can't help think Yunho was right, even this time. He keeps the thought to himself, checking the inventory on his panel and pretending not to look at the other man's fixed expression. He's in a ruminative mood. That doesn't bode well.
Repairs are progressing well enough, even if Junsu's late with the parts they need.
Jaejoong comes up beside him, a streak of grime marring a pale cheek, dark hair tied back messily and falling into his face as he peers over the other's shoulder. Sharp eyes scan the screen, mouth twisting slightly. "Can't believe we even made a landing," he murmurs, nodding at the screen. "All power to deflector shields and look what good it did."
"At least the hyperdrive didn't give out," he murmurs in acknowledgment, dreading to think of the alternative. At best, they would've been boarded. At worst, their air would've been vented out before they could mobilize. Yoochun finds that's another thought he can't dwell on for long.
Jaejoong's hand on his shoulder lets him know he's not hiding it as well as he thinks.
"No use dwelling on could've beens," he reminds gently, but firmly. "We're all here and in one piece."
Yoochun smiles, reaching up to cup his cheek. A dark mark ensues, not unlike a tattoo. "Not all of us."
Something crashes at the far end of the hangar and they break apart, Jaejoong smirking despite himself. "Come on, as soon as Su-ah gets back with the parts we need, we'll be out of here."
Yoochun nods, unable to stop the smile that comes when he sees the work his hands have done. Not that another smudge of grime does much to lessen Jaejoong's appearance. The other man looks like he went tumbling headfirst through a grease pit. Yoochun has a brief, fleeting memory of his lover as a child, mud streaking his chubby features and stuck in clumps through his hair. Some things never change.
"He's going to laugh his ass off when he sees you, you know." If there's one person in their tangle of hearts and bodies who is still caught up irrevocably in Jaejoong, it's Junsu.
Jaejoong smirks, wiping ineffectively at his cheek. "I like him laughing. It's infectious." And if it makes Yunho or Changmin crack a smile, that's always an added bonus.
Yoochun grins, shrugging. "In that case..." He smears a streak of oil over Jaejoong's forehead, laughing at the other man's indignant shout, his heart lightening slightly under dark thoughts. "Of course, if you really want him to laugh, you'll go after Min."
None of them have the stones to try it with Yunho.
"Just because he's young doesn't mean he won't kick my ass," Jaejoong points out, leaning in seemingly to grab something out of the toolbox. "You're slacking off, Chunnie," he adds in a murmur, clicking his tongue. "Wanna help me patch up the hull?"
"You're being a nag, Joongie," he returns with a soft smirk, but nods his understanding. He receives a grin and a playful slap to his hip for the comment, though they have neither the time nor the inclination to fool around. Fact remains that their ship has been torn to pieces and they ran away like cowardly dogs.
Reality is a bleak thing and Yoochun doesn't know how to fix it. No matter how much he may try.
***
He's going to kill him if he doesn't stop pulling Jaejoong's hair. Even chopped short, it's every john's favorite toy. They paw and pull at it so hard he's seen it come out in thick clumps, but then that could just as well be because of their diet. Neither has touched anything but stale bread for months.
The man gives a low moan and Yoochun covers his ears but not his eyes. This isn't the life they should be leading.
He counts the seconds till time is up, till the man is finished taking his pleasure, leaving a smear of his filthy seed on Jaejoong's cheek. Yoochun bites his lip until it nearly splits, forcing himself to stay still, to not move from where he is until the man has passed the other boy the credits and left the dark alley. He scrambles up then, moving to pull Jaejoong up and get them both the fuck out of this place, so they can just pretend it didn't happen. Until it happens again.
Jaejoong spits, scrubbing at his face with the torn edge of his sleeve.
They don't talk until they've walked far enough out of the darkened alley, side-by-side like children only they're not anymore; they haven't been children since Yoochun dragged them out of the village and into the city. It's his fault.
"Look at me," he whispers, drawing Jaejoong by the hand until he can see his face properly in a streetlight. "Does anything... does anything hurt?"
The other boy's eyes are fathomless in the dim light. "No. I'm alright." Yoochun nods shakily, smoothing his thumb over Jaejoong's cheek.
He rinses his mouth from the sink in a public lav while Yoochun stands angled to the door, sharp eyes keeping a watch, if only so he doesn't have to see Jaejoong. He's witnessed the other boy putting the soap in his mouth to scrub out the taste, has stopped him from it more than once, afraid he'd poison himself. Has stood by him and stroked his hair as he vomited afterwards. But that was a long time ago. Now Jaejoong simply takes a mouthful of water and spits, like it's little more than ritual.
Yoochun doesn't know what hurts more: the credits in his pockets that will keep them fed for another day or the sight of his lover, his best friend, cleaning himself up after selling his body yet again.
The grimy, broken mirror holds no answers, so Jaejoong doesn't stare into it too long. His eyes are always a little too red, a little too sickly these days, but he's stopped losing weight. Protruding cheekbones are starting to recover their roundness. If he keeps at it, in another few months, he'll be looking like he did back in the village.
No. He'll never look like he did then. He was an idiot back then.
Washing his face, his hands, he makes the effort to draw back and work up the courage to face another day. Another twenty-four hours until he has to do this again. Until he knows he'll do it again, gladly, because it's the only way they've got left.
Because it's the only way he knows how to take care of Yoochun.
A cold hand slips into his own, tugging him close until he's folded into Yoochun's arms. The other boy kisses his neck, his jaw, and then simply holds him for a long, long moment. It's almost as ritual as cleaning up after, in a way. He rests his head on his lover's shoulders, lets himself relearn Yoochun's shape, the give and take of his body, the pleasure and comfort that touch brings.
"Let's get some food in you," Yoochun whispers, and Jaejoong nods, ignoring the warm wet of tears on his shoulder. They don't talk about it.
This part of town is more or less new to them. They have to move around, they have no other choice. There's always a fluctuation in ships coming in at one space port or the other, filling one side of the town with noise and money. They can't afford to miss out or they'll starve.
Around here, the taverns are noisy in a way that makes Jaejoong uneasy. Too many people and it wouldn't be the first time he's seen the faces of clients watching him from the crowd. They're in his nightmares and in his every waking moment, watching him, threatening him by their sheer presence. Whenever possible, he presses his hand to Yoochun's, but that's not safe either. In the end, it's the bathroom trips that make him most uneasy. He knows what goes on in there and he knows he's being lied to. Knows that while he eats, Yoochun is on his knees or up against dirty tiles, hurting for him.
It isn't normal that he doesn't intervene, but then nothing's normal anymore.
The barkeeper's a fat man, deep in conversation with a bunch of other fat men that Jaejoong pretends don't look him up and down. It's a girl who comes to their table and she couldn't be older than he is. Something in her expression makes him think that's not all they have in common. She fills his drink with a softened look, nodding at him, and her fingers skim his shoulder in a gentle touch as she leaves. Jaejoong swallows, taking a sip of the warm liquor they didn't order, feeling it burn pleasantly in his stomach.
Yoochun watches him with that half-angry, half-guilty look Jaejoong hates so much, unable to do anything more than stare. He buys them food that's always in excess and that Jaejoong always finds himself retching later, esophagus as torn as his pride.
But not this time.
Before they can even order, two men break away under the barkeeper's scrutiny and evident nod of approval, coming towards them. Jaejoong feels his chest constrict painfully. Yoochun has his back turned to their advance. He can't anticipate.
A meaty hand falls on Yoochun's shoulder, squeezing painfully. "How much for your pretty friend there?" the man chuckles, voice low and obscene. Yoochun's jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists before relaxing.
"Fifty credits and you get whatever you want," he says tightly. "But he's not selling."
The man frowns even as he laughs heartily. "Don't matter if he's selling. I like 'em with a bit of a fight in 'em." His companion nods, slipping into the booth next to Jaejoong, eyes as dark and lustful as his breath is foul.
They must think Yoochun is pimping him out, Jaejoong realizes with something like detachment. They must think he's a whore. The swell of wounded pride and denial within him is surprising.
Yoochun bares teeth. "I don't think you heard me," he hisses. "He's not selling." Fingers creep towards the cutlery. "You want something from me, fifty credits. Otherwise, find someone else."
The man's glare holds finality. "See my friend over there?" he asks, nodding towards the bar. "He's had your friend's pretty little mouth just yesterday. So don't you fucking tell me he's not selling." A sneer. "If you know what's good for you, boy, you'll take the offer or he'll be having me and all my friends, you got that?"
Before Yoochun can even move from his seat, intent on clawing the bastard's eyes out, Jaejoong tears away from the other man, kicking him solidly in the gut. Chaos erupts in less than a moment, the wheezing fuck grabbing at Jaejoong's legs even as Yoochun's fingers clench around his knife, trying to stab the asshole who attempts to pull him from the booth.
Someone punches him in the face with too much force and not giving a damn if they break his nose or not--who needs pretty if it's such a hassle to get it? His vision blurs, darkened shapes appearing before him, sound dull and hollow in his ears. And then he hears screaming. Yoochun's screaming, other people's screaming. Reality crashes onto him and he's fighting off the hands pulling at his hair. He doesn't want to die but he doesn't care anymore. It's why he kicks and claws a man's cheeks like an animal.
Teeth that hurt from chewing on nothing but day old bread for months dig into an ear, biting, chopping off with unleashed resilience. He doesn't know what he's doing but he knows he has to do something.
It barely even registers when hands drag the man's form off of him and he sees blood on his legs, blood on the floor around him. He can't remember how he got there and that's what draws his attention the most. Not the woman standing above him with a razor in her hand.
Yoochun is beside him then, bleeding and crying, clutching him with strength he didn't know the other boy had anymore. Jaejoong wraps pale fingers around his lover's arm, holding him tightly in exchange. "What..." he chokes, looking up at the woman with unfocused eyes, trying to understand.
She doesn't smile. She's not an angel or a fairy as she wipes the blade against her thigh. "Any of you fuckers lay a hand on these two and you'll have me to deal with, you got that?" she tells the tavern at large, no one answering, no one daring to. To Jaejoong, she adds a swift: "That blood isn't yours. Get up."
The order doesn't make it through, Jaejoong's eyes on the bloody smear the blade left behind. Yoochun drags him to his feet, arms still wound tightly around him. "What do you want?" he barks, bite and snarl in the place of fear. They knows better than to think that anyone does a favor for free.
The ghost of smile makes it to her lips. "Your company at my dinner table," she shrugs, folding the razor closed. "You interest me." Her eyes are fixed on Yoochun's as she speaks and Jaejoong almost wants to trust her.
Yoochun's heart pounds heavily in his chest. "What do you think, Jae?" he whispers in their native dialect, unwilling to make the decision himself. If there's even a decision to make. The woman has shown she's more than capable of getting her own way.
"I don't..." he begins, hesitating still. Part of him tells him to go, get out of there and never stop running until they're back in their old village, safe. The rest of him is tired and hungry and pragmatic. They wouldn't even make it out the door. "We don't..."
"None of my men'll touch you," she adds, evidently bored with the wait. They're not important enough to merit her patience. "You look like you haven't eaten in days. Come to my table and it's on the house, you get to save your money."
They're desperate enough that the offer of free food sways them, pride and apprehension taking a back seat to empty stomachs. Nevertheless, they don't take any chances, hands clasped tightly as they sit, Yoochun sliding the knife off the table and placing it in his lap. The action catches the woman's notice, her teeth bared in something like a smile.
"Distrusting. Smart of you."
"You didn't save our skin for company," Yoochun hisses and while it's not an accusation, it isn't far from it. Jaejoong tightens his grip on his hand. Undeterred, Yoochun repeats his question: "What do you want with us?"
Plates of food are laid before them, pitchers of liquor refilled by the barkeeper's tremulous hands.
The woman draws her legs up, propping them against the table. For a moment, she looks like a much younger, innocent version of herself. It's poor comparison, considering the razor is still firmly in her hand. "I don't want to fuck you, which is more than half the people who've spoken to you so far can say," she retorts, firm but not harsh.
Yoochun bites his tender lip, hesitating before reaching for the glass of liquor, prodding Jaejoong in the ribs to eat. They have no room to be choosers of charity. "Something else, then," he returns, fingers tight around the glass.
"You've got a lot of nerve, kid," one of the men snarls, leaning against the bar. It's as if all eyes are on them. "Kind woman offers you a hand and you're questioning her motives. Where's your manners?"
He nearly breaks the glass in the surge of panic that goes through him. Jaejoong's hand tightens in his.
"We're grateful," Yoochun chokes out, eyes sliding to the woman. "I just...I need to know the cost of the favor." Whether I'm willing to pay it.
"There's no cost," she shrugs. "You're free to leave whenever you like. Free to... go back to whoring on the streets." Her men give a low chuckle, silenced with a glance. "Or you can stay with me, and I promise you no one'll ever touch him again." She's clever enough to address Yoochun but point her finger at Jaejoong.
The words slice through him, white hot and straight to his core and suddenly he can see it. Is close enough to grasp it. He can still fix this. He can keep his promise to Jaejoong, take care of him like he swore he would.
"Done," he says suddenly, firmly. Not meeting Jaejoong's eyes.
The woman smiles, pushing a plate towards him. "I knew we'd see eye to eye..."
He offers a weak smile in return, feeling Jaejoong's hold on his hand loosen ever so slightly. He'll understand. He has to. Has to know that Yoochun can't let him go back to that, not when there's a chance at a way out, however slim.
"Who are you?" comes his lover's soft, edged voice, eyes black as obsidian and fixed on the woman's face.
The smile, when it comes, is feral. "You may call me Your Highness."
***
Junsu wakes up chained to a thick pipe, stripped but apparently unharmed. The same redhead that he saw earlier is kneeling by him, slapping his cheek.
"Finally," he groans. "Gods, you were heavy to carry. You should consider going on a diet, you know that?" His voice is as silken smooth as Junsu remembers but there's no pretense anymore. His gaze is predatory and satisfied. "Don't worry, I didn't peek at your privates. Honest. It's a tough job, but I had to make sure you were clean. Some people... they've got all sorts of things under their clothes and my bosses want you alive and well, you see."
Junsu snarls, lunging against the restraints. "Who the fuck are you?" he spits, trying to ignore the heat in his face at the other man's words.
"I'm a genie," comes the breathy reply, the redhead drawing back on his haunches and standing up. The effect is immediate: he towers over Junsu proudly, but he's unimpressive. Junsu won't let him be anything else.
"Release me!"
A pout and a pair of pants are thrown in his direction. "Do you have seventy thousand credits?"
"I have a gun muzzle with your filthy name on it if you don't." It's a worthless threat, chained and unarmed, and what's worse is the other man knows it. "You don't know who you're fucking with."
The redhead smirks. "Kim Junsu. Lieutenant in the Imperial Guard until eleven months ago when you up and left, taking your Captain with you. You were born on Piraeus and lived there your whole life up to the quake... Still think I don't know who you are?"
He raises his chin defiantly even as a chill runs down his spine. The Guard. Holy fucking gods, the Guard. "What do you want with me?"
The lights are turned off abruptly.
"I'm taking you home, Junsu-ah. I'm taking you home."
Authors: butterflyweb and nemesis_cry
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: OT5
Warning(s): violence, graphic sex, language
Summary: It's been six months since Changmin crashed on the remote planet known as Elysia. Five months since Yunho and Junsu found him. Four months since Jaejoong was shot by a man he and Yoochun both trusted. Now training as the Empress' men, former soldiers and former rebels have shed past allegiances in service of a common goal. But the tide is turning--and not in their favor.
Banner credit: luvmeanddespair
A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful feedback for the first part. We hope you enjoy this one!
Prequel: Acts of Contrition
Acts of Insurrection: One; Two; Three; Four; Five
Chapter Six
Yoochun wipes oily hands against his trousers. The Cerberus looks like a wounded beast behind him, all torn fuselage and darkened hull. Whoever hit them--Guard or mercenary or pirate alike--had a good aim. It was a near-miss when it came to the engines and the life-support. He can't help think Yunho was right, even this time. He keeps the thought to himself, checking the inventory on his panel and pretending not to look at the other man's fixed expression. He's in a ruminative mood. That doesn't bode well.
Repairs are progressing well enough, even if Junsu's late with the parts they need.
Jaejoong comes up beside him, a streak of grime marring a pale cheek, dark hair tied back messily and falling into his face as he peers over the other's shoulder. Sharp eyes scan the screen, mouth twisting slightly. "Can't believe we even made a landing," he murmurs, nodding at the screen. "All power to deflector shields and look what good it did."
"At least the hyperdrive didn't give out," he murmurs in acknowledgment, dreading to think of the alternative. At best, they would've been boarded. At worst, their air would've been vented out before they could mobilize. Yoochun finds that's another thought he can't dwell on for long.
Jaejoong's hand on his shoulder lets him know he's not hiding it as well as he thinks.
"No use dwelling on could've beens," he reminds gently, but firmly. "We're all here and in one piece."
Yoochun smiles, reaching up to cup his cheek. A dark mark ensues, not unlike a tattoo. "Not all of us."
Something crashes at the far end of the hangar and they break apart, Jaejoong smirking despite himself. "Come on, as soon as Su-ah gets back with the parts we need, we'll be out of here."
Yoochun nods, unable to stop the smile that comes when he sees the work his hands have done. Not that another smudge of grime does much to lessen Jaejoong's appearance. The other man looks like he went tumbling headfirst through a grease pit. Yoochun has a brief, fleeting memory of his lover as a child, mud streaking his chubby features and stuck in clumps through his hair. Some things never change.
"He's going to laugh his ass off when he sees you, you know." If there's one person in their tangle of hearts and bodies who is still caught up irrevocably in Jaejoong, it's Junsu.
Jaejoong smirks, wiping ineffectively at his cheek. "I like him laughing. It's infectious." And if it makes Yunho or Changmin crack a smile, that's always an added bonus.
Yoochun grins, shrugging. "In that case..." He smears a streak of oil over Jaejoong's forehead, laughing at the other man's indignant shout, his heart lightening slightly under dark thoughts. "Of course, if you really want him to laugh, you'll go after Min."
None of them have the stones to try it with Yunho.
"Just because he's young doesn't mean he won't kick my ass," Jaejoong points out, leaning in seemingly to grab something out of the toolbox. "You're slacking off, Chunnie," he adds in a murmur, clicking his tongue. "Wanna help me patch up the hull?"
"You're being a nag, Joongie," he returns with a soft smirk, but nods his understanding. He receives a grin and a playful slap to his hip for the comment, though they have neither the time nor the inclination to fool around. Fact remains that their ship has been torn to pieces and they ran away like cowardly dogs.
Reality is a bleak thing and Yoochun doesn't know how to fix it. No matter how much he may try.
***
He's going to kill him if he doesn't stop pulling Jaejoong's hair. Even chopped short, it's every john's favorite toy. They paw and pull at it so hard he's seen it come out in thick clumps, but then that could just as well be because of their diet. Neither has touched anything but stale bread for months.
The man gives a low moan and Yoochun covers his ears but not his eyes. This isn't the life they should be leading.
He counts the seconds till time is up, till the man is finished taking his pleasure, leaving a smear of his filthy seed on Jaejoong's cheek. Yoochun bites his lip until it nearly splits, forcing himself to stay still, to not move from where he is until the man has passed the other boy the credits and left the dark alley. He scrambles up then, moving to pull Jaejoong up and get them both the fuck out of this place, so they can just pretend it didn't happen. Until it happens again.
Jaejoong spits, scrubbing at his face with the torn edge of his sleeve.
They don't talk until they've walked far enough out of the darkened alley, side-by-side like children only they're not anymore; they haven't been children since Yoochun dragged them out of the village and into the city. It's his fault.
"Look at me," he whispers, drawing Jaejoong by the hand until he can see his face properly in a streetlight. "Does anything... does anything hurt?"
The other boy's eyes are fathomless in the dim light. "No. I'm alright." Yoochun nods shakily, smoothing his thumb over Jaejoong's cheek.
He rinses his mouth from the sink in a public lav while Yoochun stands angled to the door, sharp eyes keeping a watch, if only so he doesn't have to see Jaejoong. He's witnessed the other boy putting the soap in his mouth to scrub out the taste, has stopped him from it more than once, afraid he'd poison himself. Has stood by him and stroked his hair as he vomited afterwards. But that was a long time ago. Now Jaejoong simply takes a mouthful of water and spits, like it's little more than ritual.
Yoochun doesn't know what hurts more: the credits in his pockets that will keep them fed for another day or the sight of his lover, his best friend, cleaning himself up after selling his body yet again.
The grimy, broken mirror holds no answers, so Jaejoong doesn't stare into it too long. His eyes are always a little too red, a little too sickly these days, but he's stopped losing weight. Protruding cheekbones are starting to recover their roundness. If he keeps at it, in another few months, he'll be looking like he did back in the village.
No. He'll never look like he did then. He was an idiot back then.
Washing his face, his hands, he makes the effort to draw back and work up the courage to face another day. Another twenty-four hours until he has to do this again. Until he knows he'll do it again, gladly, because it's the only way they've got left.
Because it's the only way he knows how to take care of Yoochun.
A cold hand slips into his own, tugging him close until he's folded into Yoochun's arms. The other boy kisses his neck, his jaw, and then simply holds him for a long, long moment. It's almost as ritual as cleaning up after, in a way. He rests his head on his lover's shoulders, lets himself relearn Yoochun's shape, the give and take of his body, the pleasure and comfort that touch brings.
"Let's get some food in you," Yoochun whispers, and Jaejoong nods, ignoring the warm wet of tears on his shoulder. They don't talk about it.
This part of town is more or less new to them. They have to move around, they have no other choice. There's always a fluctuation in ships coming in at one space port or the other, filling one side of the town with noise and money. They can't afford to miss out or they'll starve.
Around here, the taverns are noisy in a way that makes Jaejoong uneasy. Too many people and it wouldn't be the first time he's seen the faces of clients watching him from the crowd. They're in his nightmares and in his every waking moment, watching him, threatening him by their sheer presence. Whenever possible, he presses his hand to Yoochun's, but that's not safe either. In the end, it's the bathroom trips that make him most uneasy. He knows what goes on in there and he knows he's being lied to. Knows that while he eats, Yoochun is on his knees or up against dirty tiles, hurting for him.
It isn't normal that he doesn't intervene, but then nothing's normal anymore.
The barkeeper's a fat man, deep in conversation with a bunch of other fat men that Jaejoong pretends don't look him up and down. It's a girl who comes to their table and she couldn't be older than he is. Something in her expression makes him think that's not all they have in common. She fills his drink with a softened look, nodding at him, and her fingers skim his shoulder in a gentle touch as she leaves. Jaejoong swallows, taking a sip of the warm liquor they didn't order, feeling it burn pleasantly in his stomach.
Yoochun watches him with that half-angry, half-guilty look Jaejoong hates so much, unable to do anything more than stare. He buys them food that's always in excess and that Jaejoong always finds himself retching later, esophagus as torn as his pride.
But not this time.
Before they can even order, two men break away under the barkeeper's scrutiny and evident nod of approval, coming towards them. Jaejoong feels his chest constrict painfully. Yoochun has his back turned to their advance. He can't anticipate.
A meaty hand falls on Yoochun's shoulder, squeezing painfully. "How much for your pretty friend there?" the man chuckles, voice low and obscene. Yoochun's jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists before relaxing.
"Fifty credits and you get whatever you want," he says tightly. "But he's not selling."
The man frowns even as he laughs heartily. "Don't matter if he's selling. I like 'em with a bit of a fight in 'em." His companion nods, slipping into the booth next to Jaejoong, eyes as dark and lustful as his breath is foul.
They must think Yoochun is pimping him out, Jaejoong realizes with something like detachment. They must think he's a whore. The swell of wounded pride and denial within him is surprising.
Yoochun bares teeth. "I don't think you heard me," he hisses. "He's not selling." Fingers creep towards the cutlery. "You want something from me, fifty credits. Otherwise, find someone else."
The man's glare holds finality. "See my friend over there?" he asks, nodding towards the bar. "He's had your friend's pretty little mouth just yesterday. So don't you fucking tell me he's not selling." A sneer. "If you know what's good for you, boy, you'll take the offer or he'll be having me and all my friends, you got that?"
Before Yoochun can even move from his seat, intent on clawing the bastard's eyes out, Jaejoong tears away from the other man, kicking him solidly in the gut. Chaos erupts in less than a moment, the wheezing fuck grabbing at Jaejoong's legs even as Yoochun's fingers clench around his knife, trying to stab the asshole who attempts to pull him from the booth.
Someone punches him in the face with too much force and not giving a damn if they break his nose or not--who needs pretty if it's such a hassle to get it? His vision blurs, darkened shapes appearing before him, sound dull and hollow in his ears. And then he hears screaming. Yoochun's screaming, other people's screaming. Reality crashes onto him and he's fighting off the hands pulling at his hair. He doesn't want to die but he doesn't care anymore. It's why he kicks and claws a man's cheeks like an animal.
Teeth that hurt from chewing on nothing but day old bread for months dig into an ear, biting, chopping off with unleashed resilience. He doesn't know what he's doing but he knows he has to do something.
It barely even registers when hands drag the man's form off of him and he sees blood on his legs, blood on the floor around him. He can't remember how he got there and that's what draws his attention the most. Not the woman standing above him with a razor in her hand.
Yoochun is beside him then, bleeding and crying, clutching him with strength he didn't know the other boy had anymore. Jaejoong wraps pale fingers around his lover's arm, holding him tightly in exchange. "What..." he chokes, looking up at the woman with unfocused eyes, trying to understand.
She doesn't smile. She's not an angel or a fairy as she wipes the blade against her thigh. "Any of you fuckers lay a hand on these two and you'll have me to deal with, you got that?" she tells the tavern at large, no one answering, no one daring to. To Jaejoong, she adds a swift: "That blood isn't yours. Get up."
The order doesn't make it through, Jaejoong's eyes on the bloody smear the blade left behind. Yoochun drags him to his feet, arms still wound tightly around him. "What do you want?" he barks, bite and snarl in the place of fear. They knows better than to think that anyone does a favor for free.
The ghost of smile makes it to her lips. "Your company at my dinner table," she shrugs, folding the razor closed. "You interest me." Her eyes are fixed on Yoochun's as she speaks and Jaejoong almost wants to trust her.
Yoochun's heart pounds heavily in his chest. "What do you think, Jae?" he whispers in their native dialect, unwilling to make the decision himself. If there's even a decision to make. The woman has shown she's more than capable of getting her own way.
"I don't..." he begins, hesitating still. Part of him tells him to go, get out of there and never stop running until they're back in their old village, safe. The rest of him is tired and hungry and pragmatic. They wouldn't even make it out the door. "We don't..."
"None of my men'll touch you," she adds, evidently bored with the wait. They're not important enough to merit her patience. "You look like you haven't eaten in days. Come to my table and it's on the house, you get to save your money."
They're desperate enough that the offer of free food sways them, pride and apprehension taking a back seat to empty stomachs. Nevertheless, they don't take any chances, hands clasped tightly as they sit, Yoochun sliding the knife off the table and placing it in his lap. The action catches the woman's notice, her teeth bared in something like a smile.
"Distrusting. Smart of you."
"You didn't save our skin for company," Yoochun hisses and while it's not an accusation, it isn't far from it. Jaejoong tightens his grip on his hand. Undeterred, Yoochun repeats his question: "What do you want with us?"
Plates of food are laid before them, pitchers of liquor refilled by the barkeeper's tremulous hands.
The woman draws her legs up, propping them against the table. For a moment, she looks like a much younger, innocent version of herself. It's poor comparison, considering the razor is still firmly in her hand. "I don't want to fuck you, which is more than half the people who've spoken to you so far can say," she retorts, firm but not harsh.
Yoochun bites his tender lip, hesitating before reaching for the glass of liquor, prodding Jaejoong in the ribs to eat. They have no room to be choosers of charity. "Something else, then," he returns, fingers tight around the glass.
"You've got a lot of nerve, kid," one of the men snarls, leaning against the bar. It's as if all eyes are on them. "Kind woman offers you a hand and you're questioning her motives. Where's your manners?"
He nearly breaks the glass in the surge of panic that goes through him. Jaejoong's hand tightens in his.
"We're grateful," Yoochun chokes out, eyes sliding to the woman. "I just...I need to know the cost of the favor." Whether I'm willing to pay it.
"There's no cost," she shrugs. "You're free to leave whenever you like. Free to... go back to whoring on the streets." Her men give a low chuckle, silenced with a glance. "Or you can stay with me, and I promise you no one'll ever touch him again." She's clever enough to address Yoochun but point her finger at Jaejoong.
The words slice through him, white hot and straight to his core and suddenly he can see it. Is close enough to grasp it. He can still fix this. He can keep his promise to Jaejoong, take care of him like he swore he would.
"Done," he says suddenly, firmly. Not meeting Jaejoong's eyes.
The woman smiles, pushing a plate towards him. "I knew we'd see eye to eye..."
He offers a weak smile in return, feeling Jaejoong's hold on his hand loosen ever so slightly. He'll understand. He has to. Has to know that Yoochun can't let him go back to that, not when there's a chance at a way out, however slim.
"Who are you?" comes his lover's soft, edged voice, eyes black as obsidian and fixed on the woman's face.
The smile, when it comes, is feral. "You may call me Your Highness."
***
Junsu wakes up chained to a thick pipe, stripped but apparently unharmed. The same redhead that he saw earlier is kneeling by him, slapping his cheek.
"Finally," he groans. "Gods, you were heavy to carry. You should consider going on a diet, you know that?" His voice is as silken smooth as Junsu remembers but there's no pretense anymore. His gaze is predatory and satisfied. "Don't worry, I didn't peek at your privates. Honest. It's a tough job, but I had to make sure you were clean. Some people... they've got all sorts of things under their clothes and my bosses want you alive and well, you see."
Junsu snarls, lunging against the restraints. "Who the fuck are you?" he spits, trying to ignore the heat in his face at the other man's words.
"I'm a genie," comes the breathy reply, the redhead drawing back on his haunches and standing up. The effect is immediate: he towers over Junsu proudly, but he's unimpressive. Junsu won't let him be anything else.
"Release me!"
A pout and a pair of pants are thrown in his direction. "Do you have seventy thousand credits?"
"I have a gun muzzle with your filthy name on it if you don't." It's a worthless threat, chained and unarmed, and what's worse is the other man knows it. "You don't know who you're fucking with."
The redhead smirks. "Kim Junsu. Lieutenant in the Imperial Guard until eleven months ago when you up and left, taking your Captain with you. You were born on Piraeus and lived there your whole life up to the quake... Still think I don't know who you are?"
He raises his chin defiantly even as a chill runs down his spine. The Guard. Holy fucking gods, the Guard. "What do you want with me?"
The lights are turned off abruptly.
"I'm taking you home, Junsu-ah. I'm taking you home."