(no subject)
Title: Acts of Insurrection (19/20)
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; Six; Seven; Eight; Nine; Ten; Eleven; Twelve; Thirteen; Fourteen; Fifteen; Sixteen; Seventeen; Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
There's never been a reception like this, not even for the Empress and her following, not even on Elysia and the damn rock is now being called the cradle of a new era all across the empire. The Hydra trains its guns not so conspicuously onto them and Changmin swallows past the lump of anxiety in his throat that tells him this can still be a trick of the Guard. It can still go terribly amiss and he's got his hopes up already, when in fact Yoochun and Junsu could be dead bodies floating out into space somewhere.
Get a grip, Shim, he tells himself, flanking the two person craft and wishing the manufacturers had used clearer glass. He can't tell who's inside or how many. His hands are stuck to the controls so he stays clear of the scanner. Jaejoong's prayers pouring through the comsys and Yunho's silence give him an inkling that he's not alone in doing so.
They escort the ship into the docking bay, hearts in their throats, and Changmin has to take deep breaths to calm himself, focusing on feeling each breath enter and leave his lungs like he was taught to do as a child. It brings him back to center, insides still feeling remarkably empty as they set down, the bay seal reforming as their ships pass through. He punches the cockpit as soon as he can, scrambling from the ship. His eyes light on Jaejoong's, the other man white as a ghost, cheeks wet with salt as he jumps down from his ship. His lips move rapidly with prayers to the Gods and it's times like these Changmin wishes he hadn't lost his faith.
Yunho lands a heavy hand on his shoulder, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and staring straight ahead. If they were a painting, Changmin thinks dimly, this is how they'd stand: Yunho always looking ahead, always one step behind them all. If they were a painting, they wouldn't be surrounded by armed men with their eyes trained on the two-person craft landed in the center of the bay.
It's like in a horror movie of ancient times, he thinks, recalling visits to museums that still had video projectors for such antiques. There's even a hiss when the hatch slides open, lifting over and up like a bird's wing unfolding.
There's no smoke and no music, though, just the audible sound of cocked weapons and the sound of boots on metal grates. Two pairs. Two distinct ways of walking. He must be an idiot for clinging to such flimsy details but he doesn't care, it doesn't matter. Any assurance is treasured.
He sees them first, moving before any of the others, uncaring of Jiexi harsh tones barking in the headset he still wears. "Hyung?" he chokes, tears coming to his eyes unbidden as he sees Yoochun's familiar features, bloodied and bruised but there and he's tearing across the deck, the others on his heels.
Real flesh and skin hits his with the force of impact, Yoochun and Junsu pressed together because he doesn't know which to touch first, which to soothe and apologize and cry to or for, first. Yoochun winces under his embrace but doesn't try to extricate himself, wobbling slightly on knees that shake with every step. The look on his face is a mask that can't be decoded, not by Changmin, not even by Jaejoong who is suddenly there, by their side and sobbing.
Yoochun tries to shush him, pulling him close and Jaejoong wraps him in a ginger embrace, his words tumbling over each other in his native tongue, a blur of syllables and sobs and Changmin presses his face into Junsu's hair, shoulders shaking. He pulls back, needing to see his face when Yunho is suddenly there, hands cupping Junsu's jaw as he forces out questions about his health in a ragged voice.
There are eyes on them, men staring as if this is a public spectacle, but they don't give a damn. The rebels can go fuck themselves, the Guard too. What happens now is irrelevant, Changmin thinks, loosening his hold on Junsu's arms when the other man whimpers in pain. Except it's a lie. It's far from irrelevant. Someone has to pay for this.
Yunho seems to share his thoughts, barking into his headset that they need medics down here right fucking now, hands shaking with anger and Changmin knows they're going to blow the bastards to holy hell for this.
***
The medical ward is achingly quiet. Nothing but the muted hum of machines and slow, even breaths, surrounded by surface after surface of cool, soft white. Yunho stands by Changmin's shouder, eyes roving over Junsu's still, sleeping form. The medics have put them both in stasis to heal, repairer fluid draining through IVs, faces covered with masks to regulate breathing. A healing sleep, but all Yunho can see is the heavy bruises and vivid cuts against pale, pale skin. Junsu has a tube down his throat, esophagaus torn and traces of water in his lungs. Fury is cold in Yunho's veins.
Changmin stirs slightly from where his head is pillowed on Junsu's mattress, fingers hooked around the other man's wrist, thumb pressed firmly to his pulse.
He's alive, he's alive. The thought is cold comfort at the sight of what's been done to them. No mercy, Yunho thinks, tangling a hand in Changmin's shirt and trying not to rip the material.
Distantly, alarms blare with the newest tactical decision, with the newest casualty list. Fewer and fewer on their side, that seems to be the way things are going and Yunho breathes a sigh of relief. It's not like he can tear himself away from his lovers' bedsides. Not after all that has happened and all that can still happen, no matter what assurances the medics offer them. Torture takes its toll on a man. It leaves traces, scars that go far beyond what the medical eye can see. Yunho knows and he vows revenge.
Next to Junsu's bed, the partition is pulled abruptly aside, Jaejoong tearing off the last two rings that hold it fastened to the ceiling in his haste. He doesn't look back as he storms out, the door banging shut behind him.
Fear makes itself sickeningly noticeable as Yunho's heart thuds in his chest, skirting Junsu's cot to go to Yoochun's side, past the bewildered medic to check his pulse, heart-rate calming slightly as it beats steady and even beneath his fingertips. He takes a deep breath, squeezing his lover's hand lightly before letting it rest on cool sheets, turning to go after Jaejoong.
He hasn't gotten far, crumpled outside the med bay doors, fists pressed to his eyes and shaking. Yunho kneels beside him, hesitant on whether to touch him or not, deciding after a moment that a punch in the face is not only deserved, but the least of his worries at the moment. He pushes a lock of sweat-damp hair behind Jaejoong ear, voice low as he speaks to him.
"Why did you run off? What's wrong?" Poor excuse for a leader's help, but he's at a loss and loathe to let Jaejoong go any further on his own. Can't lose them again. Not ever.
For a moment, the other man ignores him, sobs shattering his composure as he beats fists against his face. "Those bastards," Yunho can discern after a while amid broken cries and flowing tears. "Those... fucking bastards."
"It's..." It's not okay, so he stops the pathetic assurance from breaking past his lips. "They're safe. Our boys are safe. They're home..." He grabs hold of Jaejoong's wrists, loathe to let him hurt himself, fingers clenched tight around thin bone. Jaejoong's hands are strangely unsuited to his frail form. Short fingers and a wide, flat palm, marred by callouses and nails bitten to a quick. Yunho kisses his knuckles softly, trying to get Jaejoong to look at him.
"Jae..."
He gets no further.
"They raped him," Jaejoong bites out like he's spitting glasses, eyes rimmed in scarlet as they snap to meet Yunho's. "Those sick fucks raped him."
Yunho doesn't know what to do. Helplessness and self-loathing overwhelm him for a brief moment, grounding him in place, with Jaejoong's wrists in his hands and tears on his cheeks--and when did he start crying? How? How is it even possible?
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, the words not enough, never enough. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He clings to Jaejoong and cradles his head against his shoulder as if he can offer comfort. It takes a moment but the other man relaxes into him, fists grabbing at his shirt and pulling.
"They... raped him..." Jaejoong repeats, shaking and hitting his back as if that'll ease the burden off his shoulders. "What monsters... what..."
Yunho has no answers for him, can't bring himself to speak. Everything he's known, every once of duty and honor still left in him, the lingering remains of pride in uniform, of title and prestige and rank are bleached clean in this moment. Thrice now, the Guard has dared to take from him what is his. No more. Never again.
He clutches Jaejoong's hair in his hands, soothes and pulls back all at once. "They'll pay. I swear I'll make them pay." Vehemence instills his words with a promise he can't break. It doesn't matter how the Guard ended up like this--transformed when he wasn't looking, in the space of a few short months--they are animals and they need to be put down. "I swear."
Tearful eyes hold his own, hard under the weakness of sorrow. "Promise me we'll destroy them. Every single one."
"We'll destroy them," he whispers over Jaejoong's tears. "We'll rip them to a fucking shred, I swear to you. They'll pay."
***
It's not so hard, in the end.
Jiexi follows the battle step by step from the main deck on the Cerberus, relaying Yunho's orders to the rest of their makeshift fleet. Much like venomous ants they rush the wounded beast that is the Acheron and put all they've got into taking it out. Retaliation is a dream. The outer rim planets have neither the manpower nor the guts to stand up to the rebels, no matter how strong a Guard base they may have. Evacuations begin with the first reports on the cortex.
Somewhere in her father's throne room, she imagines the Admiral and his throng of aides trying to minimize the damage. There is no minimizing this damage, there is no ignoring her sway over the people anymore. A change is coming, and retribution will be swift and terrible.
She steps forward, boots squeaking on the grimy deck, watching with sharp eyes through the viewshield as three fighters lead their own formation, raining down like horsemen of hell. Her knights.
Sparing a thought for the ones still in their sickbeds, she thinks herself kind and licks her lips at the sight of the Acheron coming alive with fire.
"Are we safe?" she asks one of her crew members, his name irrelevant to her at this point in time. The man nods, barely taking his eyes off the sight before them.
None of them have witnessed something like this in their lifetimes. Nothing like this has happened since the unification, a good half century ago. There have been no more wars and no more ships to battle the Guard. No one to teach them to submit to higher rule. That's her cross to bear and her mission. Hers, that is, and Yunho's. He has his lovers and she has his allegiance.
Fair trade, she thinks, watching her fighters return with the glare of a battleship exploding at their backs. Fair trade.
For now.
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; Six; Seven; Eight; Nine; Ten; Eleven; Twelve; Thirteen; Fourteen; Fifteen; Sixteen; Seventeen; Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
There's never been a reception like this, not even for the Empress and her following, not even on Elysia and the damn rock is now being called the cradle of a new era all across the empire. The Hydra trains its guns not so conspicuously onto them and Changmin swallows past the lump of anxiety in his throat that tells him this can still be a trick of the Guard. It can still go terribly amiss and he's got his hopes up already, when in fact Yoochun and Junsu could be dead bodies floating out into space somewhere.
Get a grip, Shim, he tells himself, flanking the two person craft and wishing the manufacturers had used clearer glass. He can't tell who's inside or how many. His hands are stuck to the controls so he stays clear of the scanner. Jaejoong's prayers pouring through the comsys and Yunho's silence give him an inkling that he's not alone in doing so.
They escort the ship into the docking bay, hearts in their throats, and Changmin has to take deep breaths to calm himself, focusing on feeling each breath enter and leave his lungs like he was taught to do as a child. It brings him back to center, insides still feeling remarkably empty as they set down, the bay seal reforming as their ships pass through. He punches the cockpit as soon as he can, scrambling from the ship. His eyes light on Jaejoong's, the other man white as a ghost, cheeks wet with salt as he jumps down from his ship. His lips move rapidly with prayers to the Gods and it's times like these Changmin wishes he hadn't lost his faith.
Yunho lands a heavy hand on his shoulder, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and staring straight ahead. If they were a painting, Changmin thinks dimly, this is how they'd stand: Yunho always looking ahead, always one step behind them all. If they were a painting, they wouldn't be surrounded by armed men with their eyes trained on the two-person craft landed in the center of the bay.
It's like in a horror movie of ancient times, he thinks, recalling visits to museums that still had video projectors for such antiques. There's even a hiss when the hatch slides open, lifting over and up like a bird's wing unfolding.
There's no smoke and no music, though, just the audible sound of cocked weapons and the sound of boots on metal grates. Two pairs. Two distinct ways of walking. He must be an idiot for clinging to such flimsy details but he doesn't care, it doesn't matter. Any assurance is treasured.
He sees them first, moving before any of the others, uncaring of Jiexi harsh tones barking in the headset he still wears. "Hyung?" he chokes, tears coming to his eyes unbidden as he sees Yoochun's familiar features, bloodied and bruised but there and he's tearing across the deck, the others on his heels.
Real flesh and skin hits his with the force of impact, Yoochun and Junsu pressed together because he doesn't know which to touch first, which to soothe and apologize and cry to or for, first. Yoochun winces under his embrace but doesn't try to extricate himself, wobbling slightly on knees that shake with every step. The look on his face is a mask that can't be decoded, not by Changmin, not even by Jaejoong who is suddenly there, by their side and sobbing.
Yoochun tries to shush him, pulling him close and Jaejoong wraps him in a ginger embrace, his words tumbling over each other in his native tongue, a blur of syllables and sobs and Changmin presses his face into Junsu's hair, shoulders shaking. He pulls back, needing to see his face when Yunho is suddenly there, hands cupping Junsu's jaw as he forces out questions about his health in a ragged voice.
There are eyes on them, men staring as if this is a public spectacle, but they don't give a damn. The rebels can go fuck themselves, the Guard too. What happens now is irrelevant, Changmin thinks, loosening his hold on Junsu's arms when the other man whimpers in pain. Except it's a lie. It's far from irrelevant. Someone has to pay for this.
Yunho seems to share his thoughts, barking into his headset that they need medics down here right fucking now, hands shaking with anger and Changmin knows they're going to blow the bastards to holy hell for this.
***
The medical ward is achingly quiet. Nothing but the muted hum of machines and slow, even breaths, surrounded by surface after surface of cool, soft white. Yunho stands by Changmin's shouder, eyes roving over Junsu's still, sleeping form. The medics have put them both in stasis to heal, repairer fluid draining through IVs, faces covered with masks to regulate breathing. A healing sleep, but all Yunho can see is the heavy bruises and vivid cuts against pale, pale skin. Junsu has a tube down his throat, esophagaus torn and traces of water in his lungs. Fury is cold in Yunho's veins.
Changmin stirs slightly from where his head is pillowed on Junsu's mattress, fingers hooked around the other man's wrist, thumb pressed firmly to his pulse.
He's alive, he's alive. The thought is cold comfort at the sight of what's been done to them. No mercy, Yunho thinks, tangling a hand in Changmin's shirt and trying not to rip the material.
Distantly, alarms blare with the newest tactical decision, with the newest casualty list. Fewer and fewer on their side, that seems to be the way things are going and Yunho breathes a sigh of relief. It's not like he can tear himself away from his lovers' bedsides. Not after all that has happened and all that can still happen, no matter what assurances the medics offer them. Torture takes its toll on a man. It leaves traces, scars that go far beyond what the medical eye can see. Yunho knows and he vows revenge.
Next to Junsu's bed, the partition is pulled abruptly aside, Jaejoong tearing off the last two rings that hold it fastened to the ceiling in his haste. He doesn't look back as he storms out, the door banging shut behind him.
Fear makes itself sickeningly noticeable as Yunho's heart thuds in his chest, skirting Junsu's cot to go to Yoochun's side, past the bewildered medic to check his pulse, heart-rate calming slightly as it beats steady and even beneath his fingertips. He takes a deep breath, squeezing his lover's hand lightly before letting it rest on cool sheets, turning to go after Jaejoong.
He hasn't gotten far, crumpled outside the med bay doors, fists pressed to his eyes and shaking. Yunho kneels beside him, hesitant on whether to touch him or not, deciding after a moment that a punch in the face is not only deserved, but the least of his worries at the moment. He pushes a lock of sweat-damp hair behind Jaejoong ear, voice low as he speaks to him.
"Why did you run off? What's wrong?" Poor excuse for a leader's help, but he's at a loss and loathe to let Jaejoong go any further on his own. Can't lose them again. Not ever.
For a moment, the other man ignores him, sobs shattering his composure as he beats fists against his face. "Those bastards," Yunho can discern after a while amid broken cries and flowing tears. "Those... fucking bastards."
"It's..." It's not okay, so he stops the pathetic assurance from breaking past his lips. "They're safe. Our boys are safe. They're home..." He grabs hold of Jaejoong's wrists, loathe to let him hurt himself, fingers clenched tight around thin bone. Jaejoong's hands are strangely unsuited to his frail form. Short fingers and a wide, flat palm, marred by callouses and nails bitten to a quick. Yunho kisses his knuckles softly, trying to get Jaejoong to look at him.
"Jae..."
He gets no further.
"They raped him," Jaejoong bites out like he's spitting glasses, eyes rimmed in scarlet as they snap to meet Yunho's. "Those sick fucks raped him."
Yunho doesn't know what to do. Helplessness and self-loathing overwhelm him for a brief moment, grounding him in place, with Jaejoong's wrists in his hands and tears on his cheeks--and when did he start crying? How? How is it even possible?
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, the words not enough, never enough. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He clings to Jaejoong and cradles his head against his shoulder as if he can offer comfort. It takes a moment but the other man relaxes into him, fists grabbing at his shirt and pulling.
"They... raped him..." Jaejoong repeats, shaking and hitting his back as if that'll ease the burden off his shoulders. "What monsters... what..."
Yunho has no answers for him, can't bring himself to speak. Everything he's known, every once of duty and honor still left in him, the lingering remains of pride in uniform, of title and prestige and rank are bleached clean in this moment. Thrice now, the Guard has dared to take from him what is his. No more. Never again.
He clutches Jaejoong's hair in his hands, soothes and pulls back all at once. "They'll pay. I swear I'll make them pay." Vehemence instills his words with a promise he can't break. It doesn't matter how the Guard ended up like this--transformed when he wasn't looking, in the space of a few short months--they are animals and they need to be put down. "I swear."
Tearful eyes hold his own, hard under the weakness of sorrow. "Promise me we'll destroy them. Every single one."
"We'll destroy them," he whispers over Jaejoong's tears. "We'll rip them to a fucking shred, I swear to you. They'll pay."
***
It's not so hard, in the end.
Jiexi follows the battle step by step from the main deck on the Cerberus, relaying Yunho's orders to the rest of their makeshift fleet. Much like venomous ants they rush the wounded beast that is the Acheron and put all they've got into taking it out. Retaliation is a dream. The outer rim planets have neither the manpower nor the guts to stand up to the rebels, no matter how strong a Guard base they may have. Evacuations begin with the first reports on the cortex.
Somewhere in her father's throne room, she imagines the Admiral and his throng of aides trying to minimize the damage. There is no minimizing this damage, there is no ignoring her sway over the people anymore. A change is coming, and retribution will be swift and terrible.
She steps forward, boots squeaking on the grimy deck, watching with sharp eyes through the viewshield as three fighters lead their own formation, raining down like horsemen of hell. Her knights.
Sparing a thought for the ones still in their sickbeds, she thinks herself kind and licks her lips at the sight of the Acheron coming alive with fire.
"Are we safe?" she asks one of her crew members, his name irrelevant to her at this point in time. The man nods, barely taking his eyes off the sight before them.
None of them have witnessed something like this in their lifetimes. Nothing like this has happened since the unification, a good half century ago. There have been no more wars and no more ships to battle the Guard. No one to teach them to submit to higher rule. That's her cross to bear and her mission. Hers, that is, and Yunho's. He has his lovers and she has his allegiance.
Fair trade, she thinks, watching her fighters return with the glare of a battleship exploding at their backs. Fair trade.
For now.