(no subject)
Title: Dune (3/8)
Authors: butterflyweb and nemesis_cry
Genre: Sci Fi, AU to our "Acts" AU
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairing: Yunho/Yoochun
Summary: Enemies as members of opposing factions, they have to fight to survive as they are landed in unusual circumstances
Warnings: swearing, violence and sexual themes.
AN: Inspired by the premise of Barry B. Longyear's Enemy Mine.
AN2: Not a formal part of our multi-chaptered Acts of Contrition and Acts of Insurrection storyline but using elements of both.
Chapter 1; 2
Sand is hard to shake off once it's in your clothes, but Yunho doesn't fight the scratch of it against his skin. It reminds him that he's alive and kicking and grounds him in a present that's far from desirable. Then again, it's all he's got and he'll have to make do.
He kicks up his feet and leans his back against an enemy craft, ignoring the absurdity of his relaxation. It's fatigue more than anything else. His arms still sore from the shigawire, all he can do is unpack their survival kit and inventory the contents. It's methodical and calming but one thing unnerves him.
When exactly did it become 'their' survival kit? When exactly, he wonders, did he stop thinking of himself as a single, self-sufficient unit?
The rebel is taking stock of their craft, rummaging through the cockpits for things they can make use of, guns still strapped to his thigh. He makes a pile of the things he collects, dragging his arm across his forehead, sweating heavily. There is nothing but silence between them for hours, until the sun starts to sink towards the horizon, the other man's voice low and gravelly from lack of hydration.
"I keep thinking how much I would love to see the ocean," comes the quiet, muttered words. The gaze remains fixed on his task however, as if the rebel is not even aware he's speaking aloud. "Something that you take for granted and then you realize you may never see it again. Strange how things are like that."
He can't tell if an answer is required so he keeps silent, neither encouraging nor discouraging the soft droning of the other's voice. He knows Basic well enough that Yunho can't help wonder where he's from. If he's from one of the central planets, a good boy turned bad. If he joined the rebels to snub his parents or he if was born on a backwater moon with too little food and too little hope and the Whore's lies to keep him warm at night.
"I used to swim a lot. Mostly because our fishing boats kept sinking." He smiles, but it's not directed at Yunho. "Me and Jaejoong... a friend of mine, we used to make bets whenever we went out to sea. He'd always get it right. He always could read the future."
A prophet? Yunho frowns, quietly arranging the items in his pack, if soley for something to do with his hands. Such beliefs are long considered archaic in the lives and attitudes of the Guard. It seems only fitting that the ignorance of these savages extends to wishful belief and frivolous ritual.
"We were inseparable. As much as we could be, with him tending to his mother. She had a bad sickness for most of his life and they were too poor to afford a healer." The other man stares down at the sand, his mind seemingly miles from where he is. "I used to be afraid he would inherit it."
Talk of healers and prophets takes him back to childhood fears and legends his mother used to read before all the old books were banned and colorful, joyful ones appeared. He didn't question the shift and he doesn't now. Just like he didn't question the orders to shoot on protesters outside the Imperial Palace when he was still in training at the Academy. Some things he finds less difficult to live with than that, but if the rebel wants to compare sob stories, he thinks he's got the issue covered. War is hell, after all.
"He didn't. I mean... he was fanciful and he changed his mind all the time about everything. But he was alright in the head. He knew things that people didn't, that's all. Saved my life a couple of times, thanks to it."
The other man is quiet for a long moment, looking out into the distance blankly before finally turning his gaze to Yunho. His features are mired in grief ill-healed.
"Until you murdered him."
A reply catches in Yunho's throat. Insufficient. Uncouth. Empty. He draws himself to his legs on shaking knees but without help, part of him wondering if the other man is being literal about it. Many have died under his hand, under fire spewed from his canons and his guns. It's not impossible.
He tells himself he doesn't care.
"I need to take a leak." For an excuse, it's surprisingly weak.
***
Nightfall comes swiftly and bitterly cold, stealing the air from his lungs. Yoochun shakes even in his proximity to the tiny fire they've managed to create. It won't last long without fuel to feed it, he knows, and he shudders to contemplate when that happens. He tugs the blanket up further, trying to tell himself he feels no remorse for taking it for himself. His flightsuit is threadbare and painfully thin. The other man has the stolen wealth of traitors to cover his back, nevermind that even the thick fabric isn't much defense against the harsh 180 of the desert air.
He tells himself it's kindness enough that he hasn't made an effort to tie him up again, but the memory of shigawire scars littering his arms is still too vivid for the thought to cement any kind of self-congratulation. It's such images that keep him awake; that and the cold breeze and his meddling guilt.
"Fuck!" he swears, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the starry sky. To his side, the other man barely makes a sound, but Yoochun convinces himself he hears teeth chattering. He inhales a sharp, painful breath, the shock of cold air into his lungs tightening his chest. Trying to distract himself, he tries to pick out a star to guide him to Elysia, but fails, his mind returning like a rubber band to his own shivering misery.
He only emerges when he hears the other stand and wobble the unnaturally short distance separating them. He pulls at a corner of the blanket and Yoochun's eyes widen in disbelief.
"No fucking way..."
"I'm not going to die of hypothermia by morning," the Guard grits out, slipping beside him in the make-shift sleeping bag. "Deal with it."
"Bastard," Yoochun spits without heat, as if even that is smothered by the chill. Childishly, he tugs at the blanket, trying to cover more of himself. He's uncomfortable on his back but hell if he'll turn it to this man.
There's a grunt of effort as dark eyes squeeze shut and he assumes the other is still in pain from his leg. Noticing isn't necessarily caring, though, and he resolves to keep his distance. However difficult that may be with only one blanket to share and freezing temperatures around them.
"Keep your hands to yourself," he mocks the other petulantly, annoyance coursing through him.
A disgusted snort, the other man not bothering to open his eyes. "Says the man who clung to me like a pathetic, whining child."
It's spoken with such self-satisfied arrogance that Yoochun wants to reach for his gun. "I don't owe you anything." Even if hypothermia doesn't kill them, he's starting to grow certain that one of them won't make it through the night if the other man won't stop talking.
"No, you just seemed determined to kill us both." A shake of the head. "Shut up and sleep."
He obeys sullenly, telling himself it's exhaustion and not the order that prevails.
***
Yunho wakes up with the weight of something warm and heavy pressing down on him. He feels sunlight bearing down on his skin and so, keeps his eyes closed a moment longer. If he tries really hard, he can almost remember the waxy taste of lipstick from the mouths of the whores he used to meet on the Dionysus. They didn't have such dark hair, though, all bleached blondes.
And they didn't have lips as full as the ones pressed into his shirt.
He groans and yawns and waits for the other man to take the message. This is just embarrassing, not to mention treason.
It would be his misfortune that the rebel is a heavy sleeper. A noise is muffled into his shoulder, arms winding tighter around him. He tries not to think that this is the second time he's held the man in less than twenty four hours. There is some comfort in knowing he had no choice in either scenario. For a moment, he debates shoving him off, wonders if he's willing to take the punch in the mouth that's likely to come from startling the other man.
It's not fear that keeps him from acting.
He thinks of saying his name but it's stark realization to find he has no idea who this man is. They've been on this planet for seventy-two hours, alone with no one to save or damn them, and he doesn't even know that much.
"Hey... wake up..." He tries to shake his shoulders, but to no avail. In the end, it's rolling them over that does the trick.
"What? What's going on?"
Yunho arches an eyebrow at him, pulling back now that the man's grasp on him has broken. "You really need to break the habit of clinging to the nearest warm body, seeing as at the moment, I'm your sole victim."
Confusion fades from dark eyes as they settle on him with a frown. "Says the guy lying on top of me." It's not even a low blow, since it's the truth.
Yunho shuffles away and to the side, licking chapped lips with his tongue. They're going to be in trouble soon. "I'd have thrown a bucket of water on you, but in case you haven't noticed, we seem to be lacking in that department."
"Believe me, I've noticed." He shakes his head. "But it was your brilliant plan to come back to the crash. Tell me, what will you think of next?"
"Food. Water. You know, the basic necessities." Yunho smirks, wondering at his own amusement. He's stranded on a planet that wants to kill him with a man who wants to kill him and yet, he's smiling. Maybe it's heatstroke. "It's too hot to move now. If we find another water source around here, we can make our way there tonight." It seems like a good enough solution, provided there aren't any more sandstorms.
The rebel nods, eyes drifting from Yunho to study the landscape. "We'd be better off to sleep during the days and wake at night. Better to keep blood flowing when it's cold; less chance of frostbite or hypothermia. Might have better luck with hunting then as well. Rations are running low."
It's the most logical he's heard him in twenty-four hours. And it's not even acerbic. Yunho thinks he might be dreaming.
His nod is curt, agreement strange to dispense and almost sinful.
***
He's always been a quick study. He learns the ways of the planet as it changes and shifts around them and for all his arguments, returning to the ship is the only thing they can do. With sands transforming the landscape at any time, they need a fixed point, somewhere to call home.
The first oasis they find is half a kilometer away, but full of weeds that have to be cut before they can touch water. He wonders at the biology of the planet, if it's always been this odd or if the terraforming screwed it up. He supposes it's the latter. He gulps water greedily, filling the meager canteen he's found. They'll have to find a better means of bring water back with them. A couple of canteens are not nearly enough to last the both of them without daily treks. Fire is too precious to waste boiling water and he can only hope that he isn't poisoning himself with each greedy swallow.
A hand on his shoulder signals him to slow down.
"Give your body time to adjust," the other man advises and it's not an order, for once. He wonders at his impassive expression, betrayed only by a flicker of satisfaction when his lips touch liquid.
He breathes heavily as he wipes his mouth, nodding after a moment. Scooping water into his hands once more, he cups it to his face instead of his lips, letting the cool liquid wash the grime and sweat from his skin, wetting dark locks. He wishes he could immerse himself fully, but drinking comes before bathing. Necessity before luxury.
"Can you swim?" he finds himself asking, curiosity mild in his tone. He doesn't know what prompted it, but he doesn't move to negate the statement, simply waits for an answer.
"Yeah," the Guard mutters after a long moment. "I used to get Gold at swimming events back on Attica all the time."
Yoochun arches an eyebrow, disbelieving simply because of the amount of information thrown in for his enjoyment. The other man is anything but forthcoming. "Really?"
"No."
He snorts, a smirk tugging at his mouth against his will. "Too bad, then. You seem the type. All rank and prestige and medals and a stick up your ass the size of a willow tree."
There's silence and then a strong arm pushes him into the small pond with unexpected force.
"Hey!" He tries for anger but all he feels is relief at the water soaking his clothes. He ducks his head under the surface, delighting in the feeling of cool submersion before breaking water once again, pushing slick hair out of his eyes and trying not to grin. He's supposed to be pissed off, not grateful.
"Pretty fucking bold from someone who'd sink like a rock if I did the same."
"It's not that deep," comes the soft reply and under the streaming sun rays, Yoochun can't help think the other man is smiling.
He's a child at heart and that's got to be the only reason his next words are a challenge: "Come on, then, surprise me. Jump in."
A derisive huff from the other's direction. "I don't have to prove anything to you."
Yoochun does grin then, laying back in the water until he's floating slightly, arms making gentle waves as he propels himself backwards. "Afraid?"
"You're wasting time," he is rebuffed, even as the other hesitates.
Yoochun knows he's right but he can't yet emerge from the water, nor from his memories of a--mostly happy--childhood on Elysia. Because when he does, he'll have to face the sad reality of being trapped on an unfamiliar planet with a man who wants to kill him. After nearly four days of this, he's tired.
A sigh draws him back to the present, eyes focusing on the figure hunched a few feet away. Their gazes lock, the soldier pursing his lips into a thin line.
"What's your name?"
"Yoochun... Park."
The other man nods. "I'm Yunho." He's as impassive as ever, but temptation wins out in the end. "That pond better be shallow," he adds, his laughter a strange sound that Yoochun never expected to hear.
Under murky water, he forgets, if only for a moment, to care.
***
Nighttime finds them on the wing roof of Yunho's craft, drying in their flightsuits. It's far from friendly, but it's quiet and strangely companionable. He wonders if the other man is putting on a charade because he's noticed the missing ammunition. There's still a knife strapped to his ankle, were that the case. Yunho doesn't get too close.
His breath is vapor that rises and gets lost in the nightly chill. Yunho follows it with his eyes before sitting up.
"I'm turning in," he notes, trying hard to keep his tone even and unassuming. It's an easy slide from the top of his craft to the ground and he has a flash of remembrance to days long gone when he was a rook at the Academy. Then, like now, he expected to be followed. "You coming?"
There is the slightest moment of silence before dark eyes flit to meet his, followed by a nod. The man doesn't stir, however, and Yunho certainly doesn't intend to wait for him. He moves to stretch out on the ground a few meters away, bringing the blanket around himself, eyes shutting. He's never been one to indulge in nighttime wonderings--has never really had any trouble falling asleep instantly. But he's smart enough, in this type of situation, not to be the one who falls asleep first.
He doesn't have a long wait--the other half of the blanket lifts only moments later, with barely any hesitation. A warm body fills the space beside his own, hard angles bumping his hip without apology. It's like bunking with other pilots at the Academy and all too different.
It's a hot breath on the back of his neck that makes him tense up in expectation. He feels it even out, the other man slowly falling asleep against his back. Or seeming to.
Yunho doesn't trust signs, he always make sure. Rolling over slowly, he freezes at the sight of dark eyes staring into his own.
"What?" he asks uneasily, jaw set. Part of him wants to turn back over, the rest knows sleep will not come with the feel of those eyes boring holes into his back. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
A half-hearted shrug, the rebel's gaze never breaking his. "You think I'm going to fall asleep first?"
"Afraid?" Yunho retorts, throwing the other's question back at him. "It's below me to stab you in the back, if that's what you're worried about." The same doesn't apply to the rebel. "Can you say the same?"
He watches the other's jaw tighten. "It's beneath you, so it must be something I would do, is that it? I've had plenty of chances to kill you, what makes now any different?"
The knife at his ankle is well out of reach and there's no charger in his gun. He's virtually harmless. Then again, so is Yunho.
"Absolutely nothing," he shrugs, silently taking back the words. "Close your eyes. And go to sleep."
He shifts until his back is turned, staring out over the sands before shutting his eyes and taking his own order.
***
It's already becoming commonplace, he thinks with a sinking heart, to wake to the scorch of sun on his face and the scrape of sand beneath him. Not to mention his enemy's embrace. Yoochun winces, making to move away from the other man. At least this time he wakes first and can successful elude the blame for it, nevermind his tendency to cling in his sleep. Making the attempt to shift from under the blanket, he slips slightly on the shifting sand, nearly falling flat on top of the other man.
He catches himself on one arm, propping the other on Yunho's chest. It's abrupt and harsh enough to wake his bedfellow, but not quick enough to miss the groan that escapes him when their hips meet. Belatedly, Yoochun realizes, he's hard.
For a moment, he's frozen, his heart in his throat because while he's heard enough stories about the cruelty of the Guard, about their quick tempers and their sinful judgments, he's at a loss about what to do. Common-sense eventually kicks in and he removes his hands from the other's chest, moving slowly because he's fully expecting to get hit in the face for this.
Yunho looks at him blearily, seemingly uncomprehending and he takes the opportunity to scramble backwards, away from a threat he hadn't even thought about till now.
A hand catches his wrist but lets go just as quickly, as if the other man doesn't know what he's doing. Yoochun wonders if he's just realized he's not dreaming anymore.
"Sorry," he thinks he hears him say, the word insufficient as he all but runs into the dunes.
He doesn't go far. In a place where there are no landmarks, where the shifting sand makes it impossible to gain one's bearings, he doesn't dare. Rather, he climbs staggeringly to the top of a single dune and sinks to his knees, looking out across the expanse. He doesn't know why it's hitting him now, why this hard, but it is. He's stuck here. Will most likely spend the rest of his short life here and will die here--if he's lucky and Yunho's buddies haven't caught his SOS. With no one for company, no one to keep him sane but that man, who could be a fucking sadistic bastard, who could be a rapist for all he knows. Who could be the person who killed his best friend in cold blood so many years ago.
He swipes furiously at his eyes, trying to pull himself together. He will not be this weak. He's better than this.
The sound of sand shifting alerts him to another presence. Squaring his jaw, he turns to tell the other man that he doesn't care, that they need to come up with different sleeping arrangements, when he finds a protein bar thrown at him.
"Breakfast," Yunho supplies the obvious. "And a peace offering."
"Look, I don't give a fuck about... just don't touch me, alright?" It's defensive as all hell but fuck if he isn't going to make himself clear.
Yunho sinks to his haunches beside him, something between annoyance and amusement etched on his features. "Not if you paid me."
It irks him that there's always a come-back to look forward to. It irks him even more that it makes him want to quirk a smile. It's wrong and twisted and above all, it's dangerous. Stockholm Syndrome. Fraternizing with the enemy. All the bad things they've got all those bad punishments for among Her Majesty's force.
"Don't worry," he shoots back, biting into the nutrition bar without question. "Left my credits in my other pants."
Authors: butterflyweb and nemesis_cry
Genre: Sci Fi, AU to our "Acts" AU
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairing: Yunho/Yoochun
Summary: Enemies as members of opposing factions, they have to fight to survive as they are landed in unusual circumstances
Warnings: swearing, violence and sexual themes.
AN: Inspired by the premise of Barry B. Longyear's Enemy Mine.
AN2: Not a formal part of our multi-chaptered Acts of Contrition and Acts of Insurrection storyline but using elements of both.
Chapter 1; 2
Sand is hard to shake off once it's in your clothes, but Yunho doesn't fight the scratch of it against his skin. It reminds him that he's alive and kicking and grounds him in a present that's far from desirable. Then again, it's all he's got and he'll have to make do.
He kicks up his feet and leans his back against an enemy craft, ignoring the absurdity of his relaxation. It's fatigue more than anything else. His arms still sore from the shigawire, all he can do is unpack their survival kit and inventory the contents. It's methodical and calming but one thing unnerves him.
When exactly did it become 'their' survival kit? When exactly, he wonders, did he stop thinking of himself as a single, self-sufficient unit?
The rebel is taking stock of their craft, rummaging through the cockpits for things they can make use of, guns still strapped to his thigh. He makes a pile of the things he collects, dragging his arm across his forehead, sweating heavily. There is nothing but silence between them for hours, until the sun starts to sink towards the horizon, the other man's voice low and gravelly from lack of hydration.
"I keep thinking how much I would love to see the ocean," comes the quiet, muttered words. The gaze remains fixed on his task however, as if the rebel is not even aware he's speaking aloud. "Something that you take for granted and then you realize you may never see it again. Strange how things are like that."
He can't tell if an answer is required so he keeps silent, neither encouraging nor discouraging the soft droning of the other's voice. He knows Basic well enough that Yunho can't help wonder where he's from. If he's from one of the central planets, a good boy turned bad. If he joined the rebels to snub his parents or he if was born on a backwater moon with too little food and too little hope and the Whore's lies to keep him warm at night.
"I used to swim a lot. Mostly because our fishing boats kept sinking." He smiles, but it's not directed at Yunho. "Me and Jaejoong... a friend of mine, we used to make bets whenever we went out to sea. He'd always get it right. He always could read the future."
A prophet? Yunho frowns, quietly arranging the items in his pack, if soley for something to do with his hands. Such beliefs are long considered archaic in the lives and attitudes of the Guard. It seems only fitting that the ignorance of these savages extends to wishful belief and frivolous ritual.
"We were inseparable. As much as we could be, with him tending to his mother. She had a bad sickness for most of his life and they were too poor to afford a healer." The other man stares down at the sand, his mind seemingly miles from where he is. "I used to be afraid he would inherit it."
Talk of healers and prophets takes him back to childhood fears and legends his mother used to read before all the old books were banned and colorful, joyful ones appeared. He didn't question the shift and he doesn't now. Just like he didn't question the orders to shoot on protesters outside the Imperial Palace when he was still in training at the Academy. Some things he finds less difficult to live with than that, but if the rebel wants to compare sob stories, he thinks he's got the issue covered. War is hell, after all.
"He didn't. I mean... he was fanciful and he changed his mind all the time about everything. But he was alright in the head. He knew things that people didn't, that's all. Saved my life a couple of times, thanks to it."
The other man is quiet for a long moment, looking out into the distance blankly before finally turning his gaze to Yunho. His features are mired in grief ill-healed.
"Until you murdered him."
A reply catches in Yunho's throat. Insufficient. Uncouth. Empty. He draws himself to his legs on shaking knees but without help, part of him wondering if the other man is being literal about it. Many have died under his hand, under fire spewed from his canons and his guns. It's not impossible.
He tells himself he doesn't care.
"I need to take a leak." For an excuse, it's surprisingly weak.
***
Nightfall comes swiftly and bitterly cold, stealing the air from his lungs. Yoochun shakes even in his proximity to the tiny fire they've managed to create. It won't last long without fuel to feed it, he knows, and he shudders to contemplate when that happens. He tugs the blanket up further, trying to tell himself he feels no remorse for taking it for himself. His flightsuit is threadbare and painfully thin. The other man has the stolen wealth of traitors to cover his back, nevermind that even the thick fabric isn't much defense against the harsh 180 of the desert air.
He tells himself it's kindness enough that he hasn't made an effort to tie him up again, but the memory of shigawire scars littering his arms is still too vivid for the thought to cement any kind of self-congratulation. It's such images that keep him awake; that and the cold breeze and his meddling guilt.
"Fuck!" he swears, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the starry sky. To his side, the other man barely makes a sound, but Yoochun convinces himself he hears teeth chattering. He inhales a sharp, painful breath, the shock of cold air into his lungs tightening his chest. Trying to distract himself, he tries to pick out a star to guide him to Elysia, but fails, his mind returning like a rubber band to his own shivering misery.
He only emerges when he hears the other stand and wobble the unnaturally short distance separating them. He pulls at a corner of the blanket and Yoochun's eyes widen in disbelief.
"No fucking way..."
"I'm not going to die of hypothermia by morning," the Guard grits out, slipping beside him in the make-shift sleeping bag. "Deal with it."
"Bastard," Yoochun spits without heat, as if even that is smothered by the chill. Childishly, he tugs at the blanket, trying to cover more of himself. He's uncomfortable on his back but hell if he'll turn it to this man.
There's a grunt of effort as dark eyes squeeze shut and he assumes the other is still in pain from his leg. Noticing isn't necessarily caring, though, and he resolves to keep his distance. However difficult that may be with only one blanket to share and freezing temperatures around them.
"Keep your hands to yourself," he mocks the other petulantly, annoyance coursing through him.
A disgusted snort, the other man not bothering to open his eyes. "Says the man who clung to me like a pathetic, whining child."
It's spoken with such self-satisfied arrogance that Yoochun wants to reach for his gun. "I don't owe you anything." Even if hypothermia doesn't kill them, he's starting to grow certain that one of them won't make it through the night if the other man won't stop talking.
"No, you just seemed determined to kill us both." A shake of the head. "Shut up and sleep."
He obeys sullenly, telling himself it's exhaustion and not the order that prevails.
***
Yunho wakes up with the weight of something warm and heavy pressing down on him. He feels sunlight bearing down on his skin and so, keeps his eyes closed a moment longer. If he tries really hard, he can almost remember the waxy taste of lipstick from the mouths of the whores he used to meet on the Dionysus. They didn't have such dark hair, though, all bleached blondes.
And they didn't have lips as full as the ones pressed into his shirt.
He groans and yawns and waits for the other man to take the message. This is just embarrassing, not to mention treason.
It would be his misfortune that the rebel is a heavy sleeper. A noise is muffled into his shoulder, arms winding tighter around him. He tries not to think that this is the second time he's held the man in less than twenty four hours. There is some comfort in knowing he had no choice in either scenario. For a moment, he debates shoving him off, wonders if he's willing to take the punch in the mouth that's likely to come from startling the other man.
It's not fear that keeps him from acting.
He thinks of saying his name but it's stark realization to find he has no idea who this man is. They've been on this planet for seventy-two hours, alone with no one to save or damn them, and he doesn't even know that much.
"Hey... wake up..." He tries to shake his shoulders, but to no avail. In the end, it's rolling them over that does the trick.
"What? What's going on?"
Yunho arches an eyebrow at him, pulling back now that the man's grasp on him has broken. "You really need to break the habit of clinging to the nearest warm body, seeing as at the moment, I'm your sole victim."
Confusion fades from dark eyes as they settle on him with a frown. "Says the guy lying on top of me." It's not even a low blow, since it's the truth.
Yunho shuffles away and to the side, licking chapped lips with his tongue. They're going to be in trouble soon. "I'd have thrown a bucket of water on you, but in case you haven't noticed, we seem to be lacking in that department."
"Believe me, I've noticed." He shakes his head. "But it was your brilliant plan to come back to the crash. Tell me, what will you think of next?"
"Food. Water. You know, the basic necessities." Yunho smirks, wondering at his own amusement. He's stranded on a planet that wants to kill him with a man who wants to kill him and yet, he's smiling. Maybe it's heatstroke. "It's too hot to move now. If we find another water source around here, we can make our way there tonight." It seems like a good enough solution, provided there aren't any more sandstorms.
The rebel nods, eyes drifting from Yunho to study the landscape. "We'd be better off to sleep during the days and wake at night. Better to keep blood flowing when it's cold; less chance of frostbite or hypothermia. Might have better luck with hunting then as well. Rations are running low."
It's the most logical he's heard him in twenty-four hours. And it's not even acerbic. Yunho thinks he might be dreaming.
His nod is curt, agreement strange to dispense and almost sinful.
***
He's always been a quick study. He learns the ways of the planet as it changes and shifts around them and for all his arguments, returning to the ship is the only thing they can do. With sands transforming the landscape at any time, they need a fixed point, somewhere to call home.
The first oasis they find is half a kilometer away, but full of weeds that have to be cut before they can touch water. He wonders at the biology of the planet, if it's always been this odd or if the terraforming screwed it up. He supposes it's the latter. He gulps water greedily, filling the meager canteen he's found. They'll have to find a better means of bring water back with them. A couple of canteens are not nearly enough to last the both of them without daily treks. Fire is too precious to waste boiling water and he can only hope that he isn't poisoning himself with each greedy swallow.
A hand on his shoulder signals him to slow down.
"Give your body time to adjust," the other man advises and it's not an order, for once. He wonders at his impassive expression, betrayed only by a flicker of satisfaction when his lips touch liquid.
He breathes heavily as he wipes his mouth, nodding after a moment. Scooping water into his hands once more, he cups it to his face instead of his lips, letting the cool liquid wash the grime and sweat from his skin, wetting dark locks. He wishes he could immerse himself fully, but drinking comes before bathing. Necessity before luxury.
"Can you swim?" he finds himself asking, curiosity mild in his tone. He doesn't know what prompted it, but he doesn't move to negate the statement, simply waits for an answer.
"Yeah," the Guard mutters after a long moment. "I used to get Gold at swimming events back on Attica all the time."
Yoochun arches an eyebrow, disbelieving simply because of the amount of information thrown in for his enjoyment. The other man is anything but forthcoming. "Really?"
"No."
He snorts, a smirk tugging at his mouth against his will. "Too bad, then. You seem the type. All rank and prestige and medals and a stick up your ass the size of a willow tree."
There's silence and then a strong arm pushes him into the small pond with unexpected force.
"Hey!" He tries for anger but all he feels is relief at the water soaking his clothes. He ducks his head under the surface, delighting in the feeling of cool submersion before breaking water once again, pushing slick hair out of his eyes and trying not to grin. He's supposed to be pissed off, not grateful.
"Pretty fucking bold from someone who'd sink like a rock if I did the same."
"It's not that deep," comes the soft reply and under the streaming sun rays, Yoochun can't help think the other man is smiling.
He's a child at heart and that's got to be the only reason his next words are a challenge: "Come on, then, surprise me. Jump in."
A derisive huff from the other's direction. "I don't have to prove anything to you."
Yoochun does grin then, laying back in the water until he's floating slightly, arms making gentle waves as he propels himself backwards. "Afraid?"
"You're wasting time," he is rebuffed, even as the other hesitates.
Yoochun knows he's right but he can't yet emerge from the water, nor from his memories of a--mostly happy--childhood on Elysia. Because when he does, he'll have to face the sad reality of being trapped on an unfamiliar planet with a man who wants to kill him. After nearly four days of this, he's tired.
A sigh draws him back to the present, eyes focusing on the figure hunched a few feet away. Their gazes lock, the soldier pursing his lips into a thin line.
"What's your name?"
"Yoochun... Park."
The other man nods. "I'm Yunho." He's as impassive as ever, but temptation wins out in the end. "That pond better be shallow," he adds, his laughter a strange sound that Yoochun never expected to hear.
Under murky water, he forgets, if only for a moment, to care.
***
Nighttime finds them on the wing roof of Yunho's craft, drying in their flightsuits. It's far from friendly, but it's quiet and strangely companionable. He wonders if the other man is putting on a charade because he's noticed the missing ammunition. There's still a knife strapped to his ankle, were that the case. Yunho doesn't get too close.
His breath is vapor that rises and gets lost in the nightly chill. Yunho follows it with his eyes before sitting up.
"I'm turning in," he notes, trying hard to keep his tone even and unassuming. It's an easy slide from the top of his craft to the ground and he has a flash of remembrance to days long gone when he was a rook at the Academy. Then, like now, he expected to be followed. "You coming?"
There is the slightest moment of silence before dark eyes flit to meet his, followed by a nod. The man doesn't stir, however, and Yunho certainly doesn't intend to wait for him. He moves to stretch out on the ground a few meters away, bringing the blanket around himself, eyes shutting. He's never been one to indulge in nighttime wonderings--has never really had any trouble falling asleep instantly. But he's smart enough, in this type of situation, not to be the one who falls asleep first.
He doesn't have a long wait--the other half of the blanket lifts only moments later, with barely any hesitation. A warm body fills the space beside his own, hard angles bumping his hip without apology. It's like bunking with other pilots at the Academy and all too different.
It's a hot breath on the back of his neck that makes him tense up in expectation. He feels it even out, the other man slowly falling asleep against his back. Or seeming to.
Yunho doesn't trust signs, he always make sure. Rolling over slowly, he freezes at the sight of dark eyes staring into his own.
"What?" he asks uneasily, jaw set. Part of him wants to turn back over, the rest knows sleep will not come with the feel of those eyes boring holes into his back. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
A half-hearted shrug, the rebel's gaze never breaking his. "You think I'm going to fall asleep first?"
"Afraid?" Yunho retorts, throwing the other's question back at him. "It's below me to stab you in the back, if that's what you're worried about." The same doesn't apply to the rebel. "Can you say the same?"
He watches the other's jaw tighten. "It's beneath you, so it must be something I would do, is that it? I've had plenty of chances to kill you, what makes now any different?"
The knife at his ankle is well out of reach and there's no charger in his gun. He's virtually harmless. Then again, so is Yunho.
"Absolutely nothing," he shrugs, silently taking back the words. "Close your eyes. And go to sleep."
He shifts until his back is turned, staring out over the sands before shutting his eyes and taking his own order.
***
It's already becoming commonplace, he thinks with a sinking heart, to wake to the scorch of sun on his face and the scrape of sand beneath him. Not to mention his enemy's embrace. Yoochun winces, making to move away from the other man. At least this time he wakes first and can successful elude the blame for it, nevermind his tendency to cling in his sleep. Making the attempt to shift from under the blanket, he slips slightly on the shifting sand, nearly falling flat on top of the other man.
He catches himself on one arm, propping the other on Yunho's chest. It's abrupt and harsh enough to wake his bedfellow, but not quick enough to miss the groan that escapes him when their hips meet. Belatedly, Yoochun realizes, he's hard.
For a moment, he's frozen, his heart in his throat because while he's heard enough stories about the cruelty of the Guard, about their quick tempers and their sinful judgments, he's at a loss about what to do. Common-sense eventually kicks in and he removes his hands from the other's chest, moving slowly because he's fully expecting to get hit in the face for this.
Yunho looks at him blearily, seemingly uncomprehending and he takes the opportunity to scramble backwards, away from a threat he hadn't even thought about till now.
A hand catches his wrist but lets go just as quickly, as if the other man doesn't know what he's doing. Yoochun wonders if he's just realized he's not dreaming anymore.
"Sorry," he thinks he hears him say, the word insufficient as he all but runs into the dunes.
He doesn't go far. In a place where there are no landmarks, where the shifting sand makes it impossible to gain one's bearings, he doesn't dare. Rather, he climbs staggeringly to the top of a single dune and sinks to his knees, looking out across the expanse. He doesn't know why it's hitting him now, why this hard, but it is. He's stuck here. Will most likely spend the rest of his short life here and will die here--if he's lucky and Yunho's buddies haven't caught his SOS. With no one for company, no one to keep him sane but that man, who could be a fucking sadistic bastard, who could be a rapist for all he knows. Who could be the person who killed his best friend in cold blood so many years ago.
He swipes furiously at his eyes, trying to pull himself together. He will not be this weak. He's better than this.
The sound of sand shifting alerts him to another presence. Squaring his jaw, he turns to tell the other man that he doesn't care, that they need to come up with different sleeping arrangements, when he finds a protein bar thrown at him.
"Breakfast," Yunho supplies the obvious. "And a peace offering."
"Look, I don't give a fuck about... just don't touch me, alright?" It's defensive as all hell but fuck if he isn't going to make himself clear.
Yunho sinks to his haunches beside him, something between annoyance and amusement etched on his features. "Not if you paid me."
It irks him that there's always a come-back to look forward to. It irks him even more that it makes him want to quirk a smile. It's wrong and twisted and above all, it's dangerous. Stockholm Syndrome. Fraternizing with the enemy. All the bad things they've got all those bad punishments for among Her Majesty's force.
"Don't worry," he shoots back, biting into the nutrition bar without question. "Left my credits in my other pants."