(no subject)
Title: Dune (4/8)
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 3
The next night, they go their separate ways. At least insofar as it is possible, considering they have only one scanner and the trust they share is a thin link keeping them from plotting the other's death. For all his claims of superiority, Yunho finds doubt plaguing him with every step. What if he goes back and the crafts are gone? What if the other's sent him on a wild goose chase, hoping he'll die?
Worst of all, what if a storm hits and he loses his way?
Engine grease marks his way back, glowing vaguely in the shine of an unfamiliar moon. It was a strange discovery earlier that night, when they started picking apart what was left of their ships. His own, for all its functionality, was useless. Yoochun's, on the other hand, was customized from alloys that responded to strangest compounds. Light, or the lack of it. Fire. Even water, as they found when a canteen spilled over the controls. A short-circuit revived the life-support, returning it to a dull humming in the dark.
Returning with water heavy on his back, he's surprised he remembers the shocked pleasure on the rebel's face, as if to say 'I'm not useless'. It bothers Yunho that he's able to recall it so exactly but there's nothing to be done. Until he sees the ships at the foot of a neighboring dune, he needs to occupy his thoughts. Panic is simple and always close at hand. So's desperation.
Unfortunately, the only thing on this rock to contemplate without fear of either is his companion. And when it became that, and not enemy or captor, he isn't sure and doesn't care to think about. Yunho hefts the pack a little higher, trying to ignore the scream of his muscles. He's felt worse in training, he can deal with this.
It doesn't stop the sharp stab of relief that comes when he spots their wreckage, hitting hard enough to leave him momentarily dizzy.
Yoochun emerges from the cockpit of his craft and for a moment, Yunho fears he was right, that he's been betrayed. He drops the canteens to the sand, watches them roll harmlessly over soft soil and then drags them the remainder of the way.
"What're you doing?" he calls out, hostile and frowning.
"Bad run. By the time I got there, all that was left was wet sand." But the other man is grinning and he doesn't get why. "Made myself useful. Come see."
Warily, Yunho does as told, leaving the canteens where they are for the moment and approaching the craft on the right side and climbing up to look at whatever has Yoochun smiling like a fool.
The interior of the cockpit, already wider and more spacious than his own, has been gutted. The seats (the craft originally intended for a co-pilot as well, as was the trademark of older models) have been deposited on the other side of the fighter, toppled over into the sand, where they've joined the targeting screen and equipment. He looks at Yoochun, momentarily confused.
The other man shrugs, smile dimming slightly but still in place. "Figured now that we have life support, this'll serve us better than half of a thermal blanket and a dying fire."
"You want us to sleep in here?" He doesn't think to ask if he's invited in this of all places, lately they've been a strangely functional unit, finding a rhythm that works well enough.
"It's big enough," Yoochun points out hurriedly, arms crossed over his chest when Yunho fails to share in his excitement. "What's wrong with it... besides being a rebel ship, that is?"
The other man is, as always, quick to become defensive and Yunho merely shakes his head. "It's fine." And then, borne out of a strange motivation remarkably close to guilt, he gives Yoochun an approving nod. "...Good job."
***
He knows he shouldn't give a flying fuck about the other man's opinion. He's a snob, arrogant and worst of all, he's a member of the Guard. But he's also the only other human being on this rock.
Proudly nodding towards his ship, he slides down after Yunho. "We shouldn't leave them down here, in case a sandstorm hits." The other man's ship has an empty cockpit. He doesn't suggest it, but he figures it's their best shot.
The other man nods, running a hand through his hair. It's a surprisingly unguarded action, moreso than he's seen out of him so far. "We'll store them in my ship, along with the remainder of the rations." They haven't seen any animals so far, but it's a precaution worth taking.
Yoochun picks up one of the canteens, unscrewing the top to take a couple of long sips. He's learning to work through dehydration, but his heavy activity in the heat of the sun has left him all but faint for a good while, forcing him to rest. What he takes isn't enough to slake his thirst, but he knows better than to be greedy when they have a limited supply. Hesitating, he offers it to Yunho.
"Thanks."
It's not formal or friendly, but it's civil enough to seem strange. Then again, it's no stranger than clinging to his shirt when he sleeps, so Yoochun doesn't waste time worrying about it. Normal rules, he's beginning to realize don't really apply to them anymore. They've got to start making their own.
He watches the way the other man's throat works with every economic swallow and thinks of the knife strapped at his ankle. It would be easy to make a reach for it and slash across his jugular. All he does is climb back over their ships and put out a hand. "You throw, I catch. It'll work faster that way."
Yunho nods, tossing him the first canteen. The second is heavier than he expected, causing him to wobble slightly but he manages to save face and not go tumbling off the side, depositing it in the empty cockpit. Rations come next and as he moves to set the supply inside, his hand catches on the edge of something small but sharp, slicing the pad of his thumb. He hisses in annoyance more so than pain, reaching in to remove the cause. Tugging it free, he is surprised to find a small picture. Old and worn about the edges, but still clear enough.
It's of a family, each standing with military straightness, the man's hand tight on the boy's shoulder. The soldier's father. For a moment, Yoochun just stares at the picture before he hears the other man call at him, moving to tuck it back inside the cockpit and somehow ending up with it in his pocket.
It's not something he should've seen. He knows it the moment he starts replacing Yunho's harsh eyes with the boy's impressionable gaze. He knows it when in every instance where the man straightens his shoulders with unnatural determination, he sees a young boy trying to meet his father's expectations.
"You're a million miles away," Yunho complains once they're done, probably having considered it's no use to slow him even more while they work. "Don't worry, I'm sure Her... Majesty's fine and dandy without you."
Remarkable how the man manages to drive away any shred of sympathy by merely opening his mouth.
"Maybe you should keep your mouth shut about things you don't understand," Yoochun mutters, turning from him and feeling the dig of the picture in his pocket.
"What's to understand?" Yunho presses, climbing up onto the skiff with some difficulty. "Her father was a tyrant and you people indulge her fantasies of the good old days. It's suicidal at best."
Yoochun grits his teeth, a cold glare settling on his features. "A tyrant? The lot of you would know about tyranny. Tell me, what amount of rape and murder is considered acceptable for your 'new order'?"
"You think there wasn't enough rape and murder before the liberation? No government is perfect. But at least we don't let the outer rim planets starve to death!"
His head snaps up, eyes wet and flashing. "You're right. You saved us from starvation--with guns and troops and bloodshed. Forgive me, how can I thank you?"
"Fuck off," the soldier snarls, "you bastards hate the Guard. You'll never realize we're no worse than your Whore's Daddy, with his execution orders and his forgetfulness whenever corruption trials were mentioned. What about the men and women in his harem, hmm? The ones he raped and murdered, do you just pretend they didn't exist? Do you--"
Yoochun cuts him off with a hard shove, knocking him off the front of the skiff and into the sand, listening as Yunho chokes on the air that fled from his lungs on impact. He stands, fists clenched and shaking with rage.
"You killed children, you bastard. I saw it with my own eyes, watched you rip families apart for nothing. She wasn't there and you knew it!" He's distantly aware he's screaming, even if there's no echo in this vast and empty wasteland. It shakes him to find he still remembers. To find he can still relive those days.
It's why he knows his enemy is wrong.
Over the edge of the craft, he sees the other man sprawled on the sand and groaning in pain and contemplates putting a bullet in him. Anger fades quickly when he recalls the miles of empty space surrounding him, the whole planet-full of it. He remembers being alone in his home village, with nothing but dead bodies for company for better than a month. He's not ready to revisit the madness that ensued.
"Get up, you fuck. If you're waiting for an apology, you'll have to spend the day there."
There no reply, only a low groan of pain, the other man twisting on the sand and for a heartstopping moment, Yoochun thinks he may've fallen on a piece of shrapnel, that he has unwittingly injured him fatally. Panic flares in his chest. "Yunho, get up."
His request goes unheeded, the other man's eyes dark and unfocused when he opens them.
"Yunho... come on, man..." Empty words and choking guilt drag him from his perch, hands shaking at the thought of an accident that wasn't quite an accident. He's been wanting Yunho dead for a week. "Did I hurt you? What... shit, what hurts? Let me see."
It isn't until he's too close to retreat that he realizes it was a mistake, the other man's fist slamming hard into his jaw. He sprawls backwards in the sand, hands flying up to cover his face where his cheek aches, clenching his teeth and wincing at the spike of pain that ensues. Lying, cheating bastard. Who is on him in a second, trying his best to punch his face in.
On some level, he knows that it's hypocritical to get upset, that it's only natural, but fuck all if he's going to let some Guard motherfucker think he can teach him a lesson for refusing to buy into propagandist lies. Instead of trying to parry the blows, he uses the other's impetus to drag him down by the neck, pulling down until their lips connect with a harsh sound that's probably his own teeth breaking.
It's thoughtless. And it works. Yunho struggles only briefly, his fists landing on his shoulders instead and pinning him down.
***
There is no softness between them, only clutching, vice-like fingers and white-hot hatred to propel their actions. He digs the heel of his hands into the man's shoulders, pushing away only there's nowhere to go with only soft sand beneath them and so he just holds him there, the clack and bite of their teeth painfully loud.
They slide together wetly, wasting moisture in angry kisses that don't mean anything and never could, their breaths harsh and full of the growing heat. Or maybe that's the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, sending Yunho's free hand to cup the other man's cock, his grip tight and punishing where it should be gentle.
"Fuck," Yoochun chokes and he fights the urge to cover those lips with his hand.
"Shut up." This isn't about being together, this isn't about comfort. It's sex and it's raw and heated like the sand covering this planet. Fingers pull at his hair in punishment, till he's sure it'll loosen from his scalp and he presses harder, catches a whine and a moan in the back of his throat.
A leg hooks around his own, dragging him closer and he wants to spit harsh words like 'whore' and 'slut' and 'look, bitch, you're begging for it' but the air is stolen from his lungs and his mouth is covered anyway, swollen and bruised. Fumbling hands work at his trousers, drag Yoochun's off his skinny hips with little fanfare and he fists them both, rocking into Yoochun and his own touch.
Harsh, broken breaths catch against his temple, wetting his hair with warm vapor and hatred that he understands only too well. But he finds himself echoing the same sounds quickly enough as their lengths brush and send spikes of pleasure down his spine, the pressure intense and unbelievable. Just like the whole experience.
Just like being caught on a deserted rock with his worst enemy.
The other man's hips thrust up against his own, moans and whimpers that Yunho tries to drown out spilling from his lips only moments before he shudders and spills between their bodies, over arid sand and his own clothes.
He wants to be disgusted, to claim weakness but he can only follow, biting harshly at a jutting collarbone and taking sick pride in the other's gasp of pain. Hate you, he thinks, forehead pressed against the delicate skin of Yoochun's throat, chest heaving. Hate you.
There is no breath for words between them, the sun insistent and unforgiving on the back of his neck.
Yoochun's heart is loud in his ear and it takes only a few rhythmic thumps of pumped blood through its valves to rouse the other man. He shoves him again and again he falls, though this time the impact is gentle and welcome.
Yunho closes his eyes, not wanting to see their joint shame. Not wanting to admit it happened. At least in that, this is just like being back on the Acheron.
He can't say the same about anything else.
***
A week later, their rations run out.
Yoochun tries not to indulge the sliver of panic that sticks in him. He knows better by now, should know better. He can't fall apart at the first shimmer of adversity--his life in this place will be made of it at every turn. Best to recognize it now, suck it up, and solve the problem.
The solution comes in splitting up once more, to search for food as they do water, logic dictating that the two will be found in much the same space. Silence has been the prevailing attribute of the past week and it doesn't change now, nothing but a harsh, quick nod from each at departure, before they set off in opposite directions, a canteen strapped to their backs.
His trek is successful in that he finds water, but trying to gouge what's edible of the vegetation and what's poisonous makes him hesitate and waste time. There's fruit the size of his fist in the trees, but he's never been much of a climber. His throwing arm is pretty good, though and he manages to send his knife flying into a thinner branch.
Twice, it comes back before he can duck and it grazes his arm. The rush of blood and warmth is a relief in the newly descended cold night.
At the bottom of the water source, he finds eggs and deeper, in wet sand, worms the size of small snakes. He doesn't discriminate. His stomach rumbles at the sight.
Shivering and waterlogged, he deposits his bounty on the cold sand, drawing his flightsuit back on over wet skin, his teeth chattering. He wraps it all in a cloth and tucks it away in his pack, filling the canteen and gathering what wood he thinks he can carry. The lifesupport on his craft is still going strong, but they've decided to err on the side of caution and collect what firewood they can on watertreks.
Treks that grow increasingly longer, or perhaps it simply feels that way, cold and wet and burdened with more than his thinning body cares to support. Arriving back at camp is a relief, stowing away his catch in the storage cockpit and climbing in his own craft. He draws the blanket around himself tightly, waiting for Yunho to return and promptly falling asleep from the exhaustion.
When he wakes, the sun is high in the sky and he's still alone in the craft turned shelter. It's cool too, and he hurries to turn off the life-support that's been rigged to activate on a regular basis to keep their air at a breathable temperature. He doesn't need it if he's not inside and he rushes out, eyes hurting from the glare and the heat before he has a time to adjust.
There's no sign of Yunho and still he searches, checking the other man's craft for supplies that haven't magically appeared during the night. Panic that he's held at bay for so long jumps in his throat, tight and choking. He swallows past it. He's only been gone a few hours. Maybe he got sidetracked. Maybe he fell.
Maybe he's dead.
Yoochun feels dizzy.
He sits down hard on the hot sand, fingers clenched in the fabric of his trousers. No. He's not dead. He had the scanner this time, he wouldn't have gotten lost. None of the water sources they've found have been deep enough to be a threat. Unless he'd tripped, hit his head. Unless he's lying face down in the pond and slowly drowning. Unless...Yoochun presses the heels of his hands hard against his eyes, willing himself to be calm. Not to let the sudden terror clawing at his insides win.
He's fine. He's fine, because Yoochun can't be alone here. He can't.
It must be minutes--though it could just as well be hours--later that he thinks he sees a mirage on a dune. A dark shape on a yellow landscape wavers and stumbles forward. As it nears the crafts, he can see arms and legs on the figure and even a head. He thinks he sees red seeping from its leg, then wonders why he can see the skin there but nowhere else. His fantasies tend to be clearer and he assumes his hallucinations should follow the same score.
When the figure falls to its knees with a shout, he knows he's not dreaming. He also knows that if Yunho's not already dying, he's going to fucking kill him with his bare hands. He lurches into action like a broken puppet, like a mad thing, tripping over himself as he climbs Yunho's craft, as he grabs a canteen and the med kit, tearing off towards the man. He can feel the hot sting of tears on his sunburnt face but pays them no mind as he scrambles up the dune, going to his knees beside Yunho.
There is blood everywhere, creeping into the sand like an unforgiving stain.
"What did you do, you fucking idiot," he spits, torn between rage and relief because how dare the other man do this to him? How dare he fucking disappear?
He grunts, dragging his backpack forward and struggling with the zipper to reveal four eggs, identical to the ones Yoochun found. "Fucking... snake. Bit me." He grimaces with a hollow laugh. "Stings like a bitch."
"Fuck," Yoochun hisses, pulling up his pantleg to see the wound. "Was it poisonous?"
"Didn't ask," the other man laughs, even though the sound is choked and full of unspoken relief. "Don't think so. Hurt enough that I had to stop walking a few times, though. Canteen's empty..." he adds as an afterthought, "sorry."
"Fuck the damn water," he answers dismissively, using what little he remembers from his boyhood on Elysia to gouge if the swelling is just infection or if it's worse. He's not sure, his vision swims and fuck, he knew they shouldn't have split up. This planet's a fucking danger zone and they're not ready, not by far to take it on by themselves.
A hand turns his chin up. "Have you been crying?"
He tries to pull away but the other man won't let him, the pads of his fingers digging into his jaw. "I was alone," he chokes, too fucking shaken to be humiliated. "I thought you were dead and I was alone and don't you ever fucking do that to me again, you son of a bitch." He lets out a harsh sob, tearing away from the other man to wipe at his eyes, shaking fingers doing their best to open the med kit.
The hand falls away, the other man reclining back into the sand.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and it's the last they speak of it.
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 3
The next night, they go their separate ways. At least insofar as it is possible, considering they have only one scanner and the trust they share is a thin link keeping them from plotting the other's death. For all his claims of superiority, Yunho finds doubt plaguing him with every step. What if he goes back and the crafts are gone? What if the other's sent him on a wild goose chase, hoping he'll die?
Worst of all, what if a storm hits and he loses his way?
Engine grease marks his way back, glowing vaguely in the shine of an unfamiliar moon. It was a strange discovery earlier that night, when they started picking apart what was left of their ships. His own, for all its functionality, was useless. Yoochun's, on the other hand, was customized from alloys that responded to strangest compounds. Light, or the lack of it. Fire. Even water, as they found when a canteen spilled over the controls. A short-circuit revived the life-support, returning it to a dull humming in the dark.
Returning with water heavy on his back, he's surprised he remembers the shocked pleasure on the rebel's face, as if to say 'I'm not useless'. It bothers Yunho that he's able to recall it so exactly but there's nothing to be done. Until he sees the ships at the foot of a neighboring dune, he needs to occupy his thoughts. Panic is simple and always close at hand. So's desperation.
Unfortunately, the only thing on this rock to contemplate without fear of either is his companion. And when it became that, and not enemy or captor, he isn't sure and doesn't care to think about. Yunho hefts the pack a little higher, trying to ignore the scream of his muscles. He's felt worse in training, he can deal with this.
It doesn't stop the sharp stab of relief that comes when he spots their wreckage, hitting hard enough to leave him momentarily dizzy.
Yoochun emerges from the cockpit of his craft and for a moment, Yunho fears he was right, that he's been betrayed. He drops the canteens to the sand, watches them roll harmlessly over soft soil and then drags them the remainder of the way.
"What're you doing?" he calls out, hostile and frowning.
"Bad run. By the time I got there, all that was left was wet sand." But the other man is grinning and he doesn't get why. "Made myself useful. Come see."
Warily, Yunho does as told, leaving the canteens where they are for the moment and approaching the craft on the right side and climbing up to look at whatever has Yoochun smiling like a fool.
The interior of the cockpit, already wider and more spacious than his own, has been gutted. The seats (the craft originally intended for a co-pilot as well, as was the trademark of older models) have been deposited on the other side of the fighter, toppled over into the sand, where they've joined the targeting screen and equipment. He looks at Yoochun, momentarily confused.
The other man shrugs, smile dimming slightly but still in place. "Figured now that we have life support, this'll serve us better than half of a thermal blanket and a dying fire."
"You want us to sleep in here?" He doesn't think to ask if he's invited in this of all places, lately they've been a strangely functional unit, finding a rhythm that works well enough.
"It's big enough," Yoochun points out hurriedly, arms crossed over his chest when Yunho fails to share in his excitement. "What's wrong with it... besides being a rebel ship, that is?"
The other man is, as always, quick to become defensive and Yunho merely shakes his head. "It's fine." And then, borne out of a strange motivation remarkably close to guilt, he gives Yoochun an approving nod. "...Good job."
***
He knows he shouldn't give a flying fuck about the other man's opinion. He's a snob, arrogant and worst of all, he's a member of the Guard. But he's also the only other human being on this rock.
Proudly nodding towards his ship, he slides down after Yunho. "We shouldn't leave them down here, in case a sandstorm hits." The other man's ship has an empty cockpit. He doesn't suggest it, but he figures it's their best shot.
The other man nods, running a hand through his hair. It's a surprisingly unguarded action, moreso than he's seen out of him so far. "We'll store them in my ship, along with the remainder of the rations." They haven't seen any animals so far, but it's a precaution worth taking.
Yoochun picks up one of the canteens, unscrewing the top to take a couple of long sips. He's learning to work through dehydration, but his heavy activity in the heat of the sun has left him all but faint for a good while, forcing him to rest. What he takes isn't enough to slake his thirst, but he knows better than to be greedy when they have a limited supply. Hesitating, he offers it to Yunho.
"Thanks."
It's not formal or friendly, but it's civil enough to seem strange. Then again, it's no stranger than clinging to his shirt when he sleeps, so Yoochun doesn't waste time worrying about it. Normal rules, he's beginning to realize don't really apply to them anymore. They've got to start making their own.
He watches the way the other man's throat works with every economic swallow and thinks of the knife strapped at his ankle. It would be easy to make a reach for it and slash across his jugular. All he does is climb back over their ships and put out a hand. "You throw, I catch. It'll work faster that way."
Yunho nods, tossing him the first canteen. The second is heavier than he expected, causing him to wobble slightly but he manages to save face and not go tumbling off the side, depositing it in the empty cockpit. Rations come next and as he moves to set the supply inside, his hand catches on the edge of something small but sharp, slicing the pad of his thumb. He hisses in annoyance more so than pain, reaching in to remove the cause. Tugging it free, he is surprised to find a small picture. Old and worn about the edges, but still clear enough.
It's of a family, each standing with military straightness, the man's hand tight on the boy's shoulder. The soldier's father. For a moment, Yoochun just stares at the picture before he hears the other man call at him, moving to tuck it back inside the cockpit and somehow ending up with it in his pocket.
It's not something he should've seen. He knows it the moment he starts replacing Yunho's harsh eyes with the boy's impressionable gaze. He knows it when in every instance where the man straightens his shoulders with unnatural determination, he sees a young boy trying to meet his father's expectations.
"You're a million miles away," Yunho complains once they're done, probably having considered it's no use to slow him even more while they work. "Don't worry, I'm sure Her... Majesty's fine and dandy without you."
Remarkable how the man manages to drive away any shred of sympathy by merely opening his mouth.
"Maybe you should keep your mouth shut about things you don't understand," Yoochun mutters, turning from him and feeling the dig of the picture in his pocket.
"What's to understand?" Yunho presses, climbing up onto the skiff with some difficulty. "Her father was a tyrant and you people indulge her fantasies of the good old days. It's suicidal at best."
Yoochun grits his teeth, a cold glare settling on his features. "A tyrant? The lot of you would know about tyranny. Tell me, what amount of rape and murder is considered acceptable for your 'new order'?"
"You think there wasn't enough rape and murder before the liberation? No government is perfect. But at least we don't let the outer rim planets starve to death!"
His head snaps up, eyes wet and flashing. "You're right. You saved us from starvation--with guns and troops and bloodshed. Forgive me, how can I thank you?"
"Fuck off," the soldier snarls, "you bastards hate the Guard. You'll never realize we're no worse than your Whore's Daddy, with his execution orders and his forgetfulness whenever corruption trials were mentioned. What about the men and women in his harem, hmm? The ones he raped and murdered, do you just pretend they didn't exist? Do you--"
Yoochun cuts him off with a hard shove, knocking him off the front of the skiff and into the sand, listening as Yunho chokes on the air that fled from his lungs on impact. He stands, fists clenched and shaking with rage.
"You killed children, you bastard. I saw it with my own eyes, watched you rip families apart for nothing. She wasn't there and you knew it!" He's distantly aware he's screaming, even if there's no echo in this vast and empty wasteland. It shakes him to find he still remembers. To find he can still relive those days.
It's why he knows his enemy is wrong.
Over the edge of the craft, he sees the other man sprawled on the sand and groaning in pain and contemplates putting a bullet in him. Anger fades quickly when he recalls the miles of empty space surrounding him, the whole planet-full of it. He remembers being alone in his home village, with nothing but dead bodies for company for better than a month. He's not ready to revisit the madness that ensued.
"Get up, you fuck. If you're waiting for an apology, you'll have to spend the day there."
There no reply, only a low groan of pain, the other man twisting on the sand and for a heartstopping moment, Yoochun thinks he may've fallen on a piece of shrapnel, that he has unwittingly injured him fatally. Panic flares in his chest. "Yunho, get up."
His request goes unheeded, the other man's eyes dark and unfocused when he opens them.
"Yunho... come on, man..." Empty words and choking guilt drag him from his perch, hands shaking at the thought of an accident that wasn't quite an accident. He's been wanting Yunho dead for a week. "Did I hurt you? What... shit, what hurts? Let me see."
It isn't until he's too close to retreat that he realizes it was a mistake, the other man's fist slamming hard into his jaw. He sprawls backwards in the sand, hands flying up to cover his face where his cheek aches, clenching his teeth and wincing at the spike of pain that ensues. Lying, cheating bastard. Who is on him in a second, trying his best to punch his face in.
On some level, he knows that it's hypocritical to get upset, that it's only natural, but fuck all if he's going to let some Guard motherfucker think he can teach him a lesson for refusing to buy into propagandist lies. Instead of trying to parry the blows, he uses the other's impetus to drag him down by the neck, pulling down until their lips connect with a harsh sound that's probably his own teeth breaking.
It's thoughtless. And it works. Yunho struggles only briefly, his fists landing on his shoulders instead and pinning him down.
***
There is no softness between them, only clutching, vice-like fingers and white-hot hatred to propel their actions. He digs the heel of his hands into the man's shoulders, pushing away only there's nowhere to go with only soft sand beneath them and so he just holds him there, the clack and bite of their teeth painfully loud.
They slide together wetly, wasting moisture in angry kisses that don't mean anything and never could, their breaths harsh and full of the growing heat. Or maybe that's the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, sending Yunho's free hand to cup the other man's cock, his grip tight and punishing where it should be gentle.
"Fuck," Yoochun chokes and he fights the urge to cover those lips with his hand.
"Shut up." This isn't about being together, this isn't about comfort. It's sex and it's raw and heated like the sand covering this planet. Fingers pull at his hair in punishment, till he's sure it'll loosen from his scalp and he presses harder, catches a whine and a moan in the back of his throat.
A leg hooks around his own, dragging him closer and he wants to spit harsh words like 'whore' and 'slut' and 'look, bitch, you're begging for it' but the air is stolen from his lungs and his mouth is covered anyway, swollen and bruised. Fumbling hands work at his trousers, drag Yoochun's off his skinny hips with little fanfare and he fists them both, rocking into Yoochun and his own touch.
Harsh, broken breaths catch against his temple, wetting his hair with warm vapor and hatred that he understands only too well. But he finds himself echoing the same sounds quickly enough as their lengths brush and send spikes of pleasure down his spine, the pressure intense and unbelievable. Just like the whole experience.
Just like being caught on a deserted rock with his worst enemy.
The other man's hips thrust up against his own, moans and whimpers that Yunho tries to drown out spilling from his lips only moments before he shudders and spills between their bodies, over arid sand and his own clothes.
He wants to be disgusted, to claim weakness but he can only follow, biting harshly at a jutting collarbone and taking sick pride in the other's gasp of pain. Hate you, he thinks, forehead pressed against the delicate skin of Yoochun's throat, chest heaving. Hate you.
There is no breath for words between them, the sun insistent and unforgiving on the back of his neck.
Yoochun's heart is loud in his ear and it takes only a few rhythmic thumps of pumped blood through its valves to rouse the other man. He shoves him again and again he falls, though this time the impact is gentle and welcome.
Yunho closes his eyes, not wanting to see their joint shame. Not wanting to admit it happened. At least in that, this is just like being back on the Acheron.
He can't say the same about anything else.
***
A week later, their rations run out.
Yoochun tries not to indulge the sliver of panic that sticks in him. He knows better by now, should know better. He can't fall apart at the first shimmer of adversity--his life in this place will be made of it at every turn. Best to recognize it now, suck it up, and solve the problem.
The solution comes in splitting up once more, to search for food as they do water, logic dictating that the two will be found in much the same space. Silence has been the prevailing attribute of the past week and it doesn't change now, nothing but a harsh, quick nod from each at departure, before they set off in opposite directions, a canteen strapped to their backs.
His trek is successful in that he finds water, but trying to gouge what's edible of the vegetation and what's poisonous makes him hesitate and waste time. There's fruit the size of his fist in the trees, but he's never been much of a climber. His throwing arm is pretty good, though and he manages to send his knife flying into a thinner branch.
Twice, it comes back before he can duck and it grazes his arm. The rush of blood and warmth is a relief in the newly descended cold night.
At the bottom of the water source, he finds eggs and deeper, in wet sand, worms the size of small snakes. He doesn't discriminate. His stomach rumbles at the sight.
Shivering and waterlogged, he deposits his bounty on the cold sand, drawing his flightsuit back on over wet skin, his teeth chattering. He wraps it all in a cloth and tucks it away in his pack, filling the canteen and gathering what wood he thinks he can carry. The lifesupport on his craft is still going strong, but they've decided to err on the side of caution and collect what firewood they can on watertreks.
Treks that grow increasingly longer, or perhaps it simply feels that way, cold and wet and burdened with more than his thinning body cares to support. Arriving back at camp is a relief, stowing away his catch in the storage cockpit and climbing in his own craft. He draws the blanket around himself tightly, waiting for Yunho to return and promptly falling asleep from the exhaustion.
When he wakes, the sun is high in the sky and he's still alone in the craft turned shelter. It's cool too, and he hurries to turn off the life-support that's been rigged to activate on a regular basis to keep their air at a breathable temperature. He doesn't need it if he's not inside and he rushes out, eyes hurting from the glare and the heat before he has a time to adjust.
There's no sign of Yunho and still he searches, checking the other man's craft for supplies that haven't magically appeared during the night. Panic that he's held at bay for so long jumps in his throat, tight and choking. He swallows past it. He's only been gone a few hours. Maybe he got sidetracked. Maybe he fell.
Maybe he's dead.
Yoochun feels dizzy.
He sits down hard on the hot sand, fingers clenched in the fabric of his trousers. No. He's not dead. He had the scanner this time, he wouldn't have gotten lost. None of the water sources they've found have been deep enough to be a threat. Unless he'd tripped, hit his head. Unless he's lying face down in the pond and slowly drowning. Unless...Yoochun presses the heels of his hands hard against his eyes, willing himself to be calm. Not to let the sudden terror clawing at his insides win.
He's fine. He's fine, because Yoochun can't be alone here. He can't.
It must be minutes--though it could just as well be hours--later that he thinks he sees a mirage on a dune. A dark shape on a yellow landscape wavers and stumbles forward. As it nears the crafts, he can see arms and legs on the figure and even a head. He thinks he sees red seeping from its leg, then wonders why he can see the skin there but nowhere else. His fantasies tend to be clearer and he assumes his hallucinations should follow the same score.
When the figure falls to its knees with a shout, he knows he's not dreaming. He also knows that if Yunho's not already dying, he's going to fucking kill him with his bare hands. He lurches into action like a broken puppet, like a mad thing, tripping over himself as he climbs Yunho's craft, as he grabs a canteen and the med kit, tearing off towards the man. He can feel the hot sting of tears on his sunburnt face but pays them no mind as he scrambles up the dune, going to his knees beside Yunho.
There is blood everywhere, creeping into the sand like an unforgiving stain.
"What did you do, you fucking idiot," he spits, torn between rage and relief because how dare the other man do this to him? How dare he fucking disappear?
He grunts, dragging his backpack forward and struggling with the zipper to reveal four eggs, identical to the ones Yoochun found. "Fucking... snake. Bit me." He grimaces with a hollow laugh. "Stings like a bitch."
"Fuck," Yoochun hisses, pulling up his pantleg to see the wound. "Was it poisonous?"
"Didn't ask," the other man laughs, even though the sound is choked and full of unspoken relief. "Don't think so. Hurt enough that I had to stop walking a few times, though. Canteen's empty..." he adds as an afterthought, "sorry."
"Fuck the damn water," he answers dismissively, using what little he remembers from his boyhood on Elysia to gouge if the swelling is just infection or if it's worse. He's not sure, his vision swims and fuck, he knew they shouldn't have split up. This planet's a fucking danger zone and they're not ready, not by far to take it on by themselves.
A hand turns his chin up. "Have you been crying?"
He tries to pull away but the other man won't let him, the pads of his fingers digging into his jaw. "I was alone," he chokes, too fucking shaken to be humiliated. "I thought you were dead and I was alone and don't you ever fucking do that to me again, you son of a bitch." He lets out a harsh sob, tearing away from the other man to wipe at his eyes, shaking fingers doing their best to open the med kit.
The hand falls away, the other man reclining back into the sand.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and it's the last they speak of it.