(no subject)
TITLE: Indefinite Variables, pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, part 6, pt 7 (COMPLETE).
RATING: ehm, NC-17 ish.
AUTHOR: johnwilmot
CHARACTERS: Eugene Morrow/Robert Capa (GATTACA/Sunshine crossover!)
WORD COUNT: ~17000 and not finished! (I don't even know man)
DISCLAIMER: Characters/movies not mine, no profit being made, etc.
WARNINGS: Spoilers if you haven't seen GATTACA - which, if you haven't, GO NOW. Change in the ending of it. Takes place before the launch of Icarus II. Also, I haven't posted a fic of any sort in years upon years, but this idea just struck me, so if you read, please comment!
SUMMARY: In the not-so-distant future, man has all but perfected his own genetic code, essentially ruling out the possibility of error. Or so they thought. A mission has failed. Eugene Morrow takes in the young trainee Robert Capa as he prepares for any further mistakes.
"I don't want to go," Eugene had insisted stubbornly, wheeling himself away from the kitchen with his newly poured glass of vodka and out onto the terrace, willing to sacrifice himself to the biting cold of the evening if it meant avoiding the conversation.
"When's the last time you even left the house?" Capa followed after him, hands on his hips as per usual when he was dissatisfied with something. Eugene scoffed.
"I go out all the time. I have a morning run every day after you leave." Eyes flickered in Capa's direction to catch the flash of amusement before it could be smothered down by a discerning look.
"It's just one little thing, Eugene," Capa said, his voice sounding about as close to pleading as Eugene could ever imagine it came. Well, he could certainly imagine, but not in any realistic, family-friendly sense.
"One little thing of dozens of GATTACA's finest all patting themselves on the backs for a job well done that's already failed once. I don't think it takes a genius physicist to say putting me in that equation would be a bad idea. In fact, you should call Irene up right now and ask her what she thinks about bringing me along." When the crew for Icarus I had been sent off into the void, Eugene had only found out about it days later. Irene knew better, after Vincent's funeral, to take Eugene anywhere near GATTACA's elite, near anyone that might actually take what he said to heart.
Capa sighed, looking off out onto the horizon as the sun hovered lazily there, wavering illusionary lines in the atmosphere as it weighed the decision of going to rest once more for the day. Honestly, there were days when Capa almost wished it would just go ahead and give out and spare them all the torturous 'what if' tip-toeing. But that was only very recently and probably only due to the amount of stress that he felt from the whole project, just an idle thought in the back of his mind that had no real stock to it. Capa was a thinker, not an actor, so he could understand the sun's hesitance, he supposed, if he were to be like Eugene and assign it some ridiculous personification. And yet lately there was something that set his teeth on edge about something being so close and yet so far away, right there in front of him and yet refusing to budge, waiting to explode and yet still holding off...
"I really don't want to go," he finally admitted, not tearing his eyes away. "You'd be doing me a favour, not making me suffer it alone. I'm not good at this stuff."
"So you want me to do your schmoozing for you, is that it?" Eugene quipped, giving a little laugh and waiting for Capa's answer in the form of facial expression. The answer was: not amused.
"We can go out afterward," Capa persisted. "Wherever you want."
Both men knew that Capa was not one for social events, much less ones that he wasn't required to attend, and Eugene took the bait, his interest piqued. Even as a cripple he still had something of a taste for mingling with the elite in the nightlife, even if it was only to scoff a little at their habits and how comfortable they were in their skins, especially in dire times such as these.
"I expect a very expensive bottle of red wine, at the very least," Eugene bargained, catching the look of restrained relief and maybe even happiness over Capa's features as the man turned away.
"Wear something nice," he said as he walked back into the house, not catching Eugene's sardonic little laugh.
"Don't I always?"
Eugene wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Certainly, it was the same old ceremonial reach-around, the handshakes and pictures and speeches, the salutes and accounts of selflessness and bravery of the supposed crew members. He understood that part. It all seemed to be centred around the captain, a man named Kaneda, with the crew only mentioned by name and designation, and he could tell even from his view in the audience that Capa was not at all disappointed to not have to give the kind of speech that Kaneda was giving now, a speech that was somehow supposed to reassure the world that Earth's future was in capable and yet not overly-arrogant hands in roughly five or ten minutes. Really, the words rolled over Eugene like the night wind when he'd had enough to drink, like any attempt at solace when he heard a particular concerto that Vincent used to listen to, like the waves of the ocean over his body back when he used to frequent it, before the accident, as if he were made to be a part of it, as if his body and the body of water were one. It had never been what was in the water that mattered, only the fluid movement of himself in it, the feeling of the shaping of the molecular structures together, binding and latching on and forming something new. Sometimes he liked to think that that was how Vincent had felt about his journey to space, too. Every piece of him had come from a star - he was simply rearranging the pieces so that they made sense again.
No, it wasn't the ceremony that Eugene was at all interested in, sitting in his wheelchair beside Irene in his best jacket, itching for a cigarette to toy with between his fingers as he watched the nervous inflections of the crew between applauses, summed up each face and tried to account a name to it from the little tidbits about the crew Capa had shared during his training. Rather, he understood now, it was Capa's reaction to his crewmates, seeing him in his natural habitat, that he was curious about. Perhaps he had considered the idea that Capa would be more at ease, would finally seem as if he belonged some place, and if he'd had more of a conscience he would have felt guilty for being so relieved that the man seemed just as out of place here as he did when Irene had first presented him at Eugene's loft. He could tell by the subtle gestures, how he didn't even seem to belong in the clothes he was wearing - to his credit, Eugene had never seen him wear something remotely formal, and while the jacket and tie suited him fine, it did seem strangely like they couldn't quite come to rest on shoulders that were used to wearing clothing for the most simple and direct of purposes only - by the very way his eyes flicked about when there was mention of the 'payload' and the 'most informed physicist assigned to operate it' was mentioned. Yes, Eugene considered himself an expert by now when it came to Capa's little microexpressions giving away what he was feeling, and he could almost feel his own stomach knotting from the tension the other man emitted, could almost feel sweat on his own brow from the moisture he felt sure he could see glistening on Capa's forehead.
But then something shifted. Capa's expression showed the tiniest glimpse of surprise, and he braved a glance to his right at the woman standing next to him, the announced pilot of the expedition, which would have seemed like a more important job if the ship wasn't fully capable of piloting itself. A quick survey proved that she, too, had apparently picked up on those subtle little glimpses into Capa's feelings; she had surreptitiously slipped her hand between them to grasp his in a show of support, and when their eyes met she offered a kindly smile, which Capa returned in the best way he knew how. Restrained, slightly puzzled, but attempting to show gratitude nonetheless.
"Amazing the efforts they put into looking like they'll actually get it right this time, isn't it?" Eugene said off- handedly as he helped himself to one of the hors d'oeuvres on the table, a sort of cracker spread with cavier, which he crunched into with intention. It seemed that almost everything Eugene did had some kind of point behind it, some kind of irony laced around its edges.
Capa gave the half-laugh that he usually did, distracted as he watched the group around them at the restaurant chatting and shaking hands warmly. He had already made rounds enough that he had slumped gratefully into a seat across from Eugene, who had been chatting rather candidly with an engineer that obviously couldn't comprehend that he was subtly being mocked but was still happy to excuse himself from the jagged wit of the crippled man by the time Capa had found his way to their reserved table.
"I saved you some," Eugene offered, gesturing to a bottle of wine that was more than half-empty, smiling like the child caught with his cheeks stuffed with stolen candy.
"Some," Capa snorted, tilting the bottle at the remnants.
"Don't worry, I'll get another-"
"No, it's fine, you don't-"
"No, really. Waiter. Waiter!" Eugene beckoned the man over. "I sincerely hope you don't expect my friend to go all night without a proper bottle of wine. He's an international hero, you know."
"Of course not, sir. I'll bring one right away."
"Let it breathe this time!" Eugene shouted as the man hurried away, also all too glad to be free of the jowls of the word- wielding menace. Capa was stuck between embarrassment and laughing and shaking his head at the man, brushing his hair away from his face in true nervous gesture, his sleeved elbow resting on the table.
"So, that crew of yours. I figured Mace was the box-jawed, perpetually pissed-off looking one." Eugene laughed to himself as he topped off his glass and poured the remainder of the wine into another and pushed it in Capa's direction.
"Yeah, that's him."
"I was so hoping he'd be blond, too. But then again, Hitler wasn't either."
Capa flashed him a warning look. "He has a temper, but he knows what he's doing. And he's dedicated to this mission, and that's what matters."
"Of course, of course," Eugene waved it off. Really, any emotional reaction that he spurred from Capa was suitable, and as time had proven, being drunk urged this desire to get a reaction from the man all the more.
"And the pilot. What was her name?" Eugene nodded across the room at the brunette, who was smiling and chatting with some of the other crew members. When Capa turned to look in the same direction, she smiled and waved.
"Cassie."
"I take it that's not her last name."
Capa turned and looked at him, a frown etched into his features. "That's just what everyone calls her, just like we call Corazon 'Cory'."
"Of course," Eugene replied, taking a long drink but never removing his eyes from Capa, who stared back levelly, obviously irritated and ready to meet this competition head- on, wordlessly questioning what Eugene was getting at.
"Well?" Eugene finally asked, eyes moving back to Cassie. "Why don't you go dance with her?"
"What?"
"She's been looking over here. Women don't get all dressed up like that just to be ignored all night."
Capa faltered, obviously not expecting this. "That's not - it's not really appropriate."
"Please. If dancing's becoming inappropriate then I'm moving to the fucking moon. Stop being a coward and go dance with her. Unless you want me to."
The flicker of sparks between their eyes was nearly tangible, Capa's jaw setting as Eugene waited, nearly breathless, waiting for verbal whiplash, for an insult, anything. Instead he watched Capa swallow down half of the glass he had poured him in one go and stand. "Fine," he said with reluctance, and he stormed away to Cassie's side of the room.
Eugene lit a cigarette, watching him approach her awkwardly, watching the initial exchange of small talk, Capa's reluctant and awkward body language juxtaposing the smooth and rhythmic flow of the music. He watched as she touched his arm, straightened one of the lapels on his jacket, laughed a little too enthusiastically at what he assumed was an attempted joke. He simply smoked, and watched, as she must have made some comment on the music, gesturing over to the band, and then appeared to ask him to dance, to which Capa gave a reluctant look and even shook his head, 'oh no I couldn't,' 'oh but please Capa, just once,', and she was urging him out onto the dance floor and forcing his hand into hers and his other on her waist, smiling as she helped them find their footing together in time with the music. Eugene felt as if he could write the very script for the words between them. 'There, not so bad, is it?' She would say, and he would smile, bow his head the way he did, eyelashes much too long, making him look bashful and sweet. But instead of the smile he imagined, Capa gave the same restrained one and chanced a glance over at Eugene, their eyes locking for a long moment as Eugene took a long drag and let the smoke waft toward the ceiling from between his lips.
Momentarily the waiter returned with the second bottle. "Here you go, sir. The best red in the house, courtesy of the maître d'. He insisted on only the best for the crew of Icarus II."
"Well I hope he's got a few dozen cases of that, and maybe some Vestial virgins while he's at it, so we can box it all up and send it gift-wrapped by the time they have to take off," Eugene snapped, the puzzled waiter setting the bottle down and shifting, unsure of how to respond. "It's fine," Eugene finally said, glancing over the expensive label and back at the slow-dancing couple, and yet the waiter still lingered, confused by the man's misplaced frustration. "I said it's fine!" And then the message was clear, and Eugene poured another as the man hurried away and the band picked up another romantic tune, one that wafted over the entire restaurant. He caught eyes with Irene across the room, who was nowhere near dressed to the nines as she used to, only seemed to hover here out of obligation anymore, and felt the parallels of the situation coming crashing in, as well as a renewed kinship with her. They were the only two members of the room that didn't really belong, however well they looked the part. They had no stakes in the future, dwelled only in the past.
The sun had long since tucked itself in to sleep, was edging closer toward the inevitable hours when it would rise, when Capa heard it. He had come home later than anticipated, roped into more socialising with the rest of the crew, trying to force himself to have a good time as Harvey and the others got more than a little drunk and discussed what they would miss most about Earth. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to be privy to, but it was ultimately better than sharing more supposedly meaningful moments with Cassie as she commented on how he looked tired, or asked him repeatedly if he was enjoying himself, seemed to try to force ease on him when they both knew that it was a near impossible task in situations like these. By the time the song had ended and he had edged himself away from the dance, Eugene was nowhere to be found, and a little questioning earned him the answer that 'the blonde woman' had given him a ride home.
And he had come home to a silent house, expecting that Eugene had somehow managed to get himself into bed, drunkenness aside, and was now in a blissful, dreamless slumber. Capa felt the opposite creeping upon him: the days were shorter now that fall had set in, and the countdown to the launch of Icarus II was in the double digits. Sleep would not come easy, and he was curled under a thin blanket on his bed with a book when he heard it.
Sobbing.
He frowned, lowering the book and staring in the direction from which it was coming - downstairs - as if that would make the sound of it clearer, because at first he couldn't exactly make out what it was. But a particular wail made it clear what it was, and who it had come from, making Capa shift, turning the little lamp closer toward his book, eyeing his set of headphones hanging near his desk, contemplating drowning himself in some of Harvey's space sounds that he'd recorded to distract himself. It seemed polite, after all, to pretend that he was none the wiser, although if Capa was honest with himself he was just plain uncomfortable, uncertain what to do in the face of such an emotional display, even from a distance. Even more unsettling, he wasn't positive as to the cause of it.
Eventually he couldn't ignore it - no amount of books or recordings would erase from his mind the fact that it was happening - and so he slipped out of bed in his tied pyjama slacks and his grey sleeveless, bare feet making no sound as he padded down the spiral staircase, peering in the dark toward the bedroom that he had only seen the interior of a few times before. Tentatively he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door, staring down in the dark at the man pressed face down, still in full evening garb, into his pillows.
"Eugene?" He said hesitantly, voice soft and yet shattering the illusion of solitude, the other man only shifting to acknowledge his presence, turning his face away. His legs hung helplessly halfway off the bed, as if he had only somewhat managed to fling himself onto it before giving up. Capa sighed, teeth gritting in apprehension of what to do, until he decided to take authority and pushed the door open more fully.
"Here," he said patiently, even when the pillows that bore Eugene's face grumbled something that could have been made out to sound distinctly like 'go away' if listened to carefully. Capa approached the bed, taking Eugene's legs and lifting them more fully onto the mattress with a huff, straightening them out and then turning the man over onto his back.
"I don't need your bloody help," Eugene blubbered venomously.
"Clearly," Capa retorted with the same patience, crawling onto the mattress and moving his fingers to the buttons of Eugene's vest.
"You've got more important things to do than help a cripple. Go save the world, Robert," Eugene snapped, eyes strikingly clear, suddenly, on his tear-stained face, and his tone lucid enough to give Capa pause. He met his gaze with frustration and confusion, maybe embarrassment for being so stupid as to have thought the man would have accepted his help.
"Fine," he said, abandoning the buttons and making to move off of the bed, readying for his escape back to the upstairs and away from the other man's misery. Eugene's hand grabbed his wrist with surprising speed, however, stopping him in his tracks, pulling him back down and forcing him to grapple for positioning, one knee on either side of the man's waist to avoid toppling entirely.
"Don't go," Eugene murmured, more quietly, and for a moment it was clear that there was more than one meaning behind those two words. Capa's features softened.
"I don't want to," Capa whispered, poking a hole in his own defenses and allowing the light of vulnerability to shine through, exposing a whole slew of uncertainties, of fears of failure and the insane pressure of it all, as well as the more basic instincts of just plain not wanting to die. Eugene's hand crept to the side of Capa's face, fingering a loose strand of hair from the tight ponytail before just resting his palm there, Capa as still and complacent as always, eyes watching him, waiting for the next move, ever the passive opponent. Watching behind his chess pieces and his algorithms, waiting to act.
"You'll get what Vincent didn't," Eugene said with a tone of bitterness. "You'll get to take her with you."
Capa frowned, needing a moment to piece this together, the events of the night having equally confused him and seeming long past, now. "I'd rather stay right here," he said, just as quietly, solemn enough to be a prayer, as if the more reverently he said it, the less Eugene could shoot it down.
Still, Eugene laughed. "With a drunken cripple."
"No," Capa corrected. "With Jerome Morrow."
Eugene stared at him, green eyes searching in the dark. "Jerome Morrow is dead."
Capa shifted, somehow having found his balance on the other man's hips, fingers pulling the red vest apart and easing the man's arms out of it just as patiently as he had before. "No. Jerome Morrow, Olympic medalist, genius, impeccable chess player..." His eyes glanced up. "The man who got Vincent to Titan. He's right here." The red vest was gingerly laid aside, his hands stopping at the white button-up underneath as he looked up. "He's always been here."
Fresh tears welled again in Eugene's eyes as he examined every inch of the face in front of him, a face still stroked underneath his hand, his thumb exploring the smoothness of it without resistance on Capa's part until he gradually pulled it closer, bringing their mouths together. Capa breathed out, surprise and tension exhaling as he was caught in Eugene's wine-flavoured grasp.
Eugene pulled back just enough to breathe out, "Say it again."
"Jerome," Capa murmured, and this time he took initiative, his jaw tilted to press swollen lips against Eugene's, mouths smothering the air from each other in their frantic collision, tongues intertwining between hot breath and panting and the slightest of sounds from Eugene's throat.
It had been too long since that moment out on the terrace, and he was impatient, frustrated with how clinical and detached Capa seemed even now, still had that rigid, habitual feeling that every made man carried from birth: that he was owed something. He grasped for a handful of Capa's hair, half of it falling free of what held it back and away from his face, and a slight gasp was his reward. Capa's fingers had started on his buttons again, gradually opening the pressed and ironed collared piece and exposing skin, a hand worn with the countless hours spent scribbling notes to himself or typing away at a computer sliding slowly up the expanse of warmth, feeling ribs as Eugene's chest expanded and collapsed, feeling right up and over his heart. Jerome, Jerome the metronome's heartbeat was decidedly erratic.
But Eugene was never one for second place, so he grabbed the handful of Capa's shirt accessible to him and pushed it up, yanking it over the younger man's head and tossing it carelessly aside, looking at the mussed-haired and swollen- lipped result it left in its wake. Capa may have still been playing at trying to help him prepare for bed, but Eugene was pushing this into the light, forcing their relationship out of the shadows of ambiguity, just as he always did. He had become so careless with his own existence that every action was almost a dare, a risk that left Capa baffled in its wake. Practically forcing him to dance with Cassie, for instance.
"Don't you think this counts as inappropriate?" Eugene dared, as if on cue, knowing full well that he was risking everything and might send Capa scurrying away. But Capa knew this game by now, knew to expect it, so he only gave a low, smothered little laugh as he hovered over Eugene's mouth.
"Not as inappropriate as it is indefinite," he said, barely above a whisper, having wanted to retort with something witty but only managing the brutally honest instead. "But like you said," he breathed, "things with risks are the only things worth doing."
And he had sobered up hours ago, but Eugene quickly became drunk on Capa's skin, Capa's lips, Capa's eyes watching him in the dark as he shifted up to reach for his mouth, his hands grappling for pale skin that clung to a too-thin frame, his mind wanting to ask where all the muscle from those push-ups had gone as his mouth explored Capa's neck thoroughly, humming against it all the way up to his ear and eliciting sighs of reverie from a shining throat. For the first time since he could remember, he was reluctant, even shy when it came to his useless legs, and Capa read it in his expression. At least in this way they were on an equal playing field; Jerome Eugene Morrow, so usually self-assured, now without the means to plunge in headfirst and lead the way, and Robert Capa, usually so restrained, entirely unaccustomed to glossing over the awkwardness of such events and always the passive player, the follower rather than the leader, seeing where he needed to take initiative. And when it was a need rather than a want, Capa could do it, had to do it. He remembered Eugene's shaken sobs that he had tried to hide and didn't hesitate as his hands moved to the man's waist, expertly unfastening the button and dragging the zipper down.
He watched as Eugene turned his face away, Capa slowly following his path as he tugged Eugene's pants off of his lifeless legs, carefully removing neatly polished shoes as well before climbing back up and over him, brushing fingers through his hair and kissing his mouth with reassurance. His hand reached under the thin fabric left and took hold of Eugene's length with the same surprising lack of hesitance, and this time Eugene didn't bother to mask whatever sound came to fruition, eyes closing as his head tilted back at the sensation. It was achingly slow even at the steady pace that Capa afforded him, and the closeness of his lithe body, the flexing of his arm between them as Eugene's hands slid up and over his shoulders, explored the contours of his back, simply weren't enough. His hips arched as best they could with two deadweight legs holding them back, but he allowed Capa to maintain control, only swallowed and stuttered out nonsensicalities in efforts to show his frustration.
Again, that clinical, near detached feeling, even as he felt Capa trying earnestly to give him what he wanted, and Eugene felt more frustrated than ever before, more desperate to force some kind of emotional response from him. He gripped Capa's arm, forcing him to look at him, to see the urgency in his face, and Capa bit his lip, flickered one of those microexpressions that Eugene had come to memorise. There was a silent exchange then as the doubt settled into curiosity, and Eugene's eyes gestured toward the side table. Capa moved toward it, pulled it open and fished out what he needed.
There were condoms, but in some strange, uncharacteristic surge of risk-taking, Capa didn't take one; he had only seen one of Eugene's 'guests' once in the time he had been here, was almost certain he could attest to Eugene's nearly impeccable health if not for his crippled status and taste for alcohol. Anyway, something in their wordless language seemed like it would have been an insulting move on his part, to Eugene, Eugene who was so proud and yet felt so immensely, was begging for him not to go on his mission with no illusions cast as to why. Capa shimmied out of his pyjamas and underwear awkwardly, catching Eugene's gaze as he watched him, and then came to settle back down over the man's waist, handing him the bottle he had retrieved.
Then, then Eugene felt a little less helpless, and he pulled Capa down by the neck to connect their mouths again as he reached between them, taking the man's cock in his hand and working his fist over it enthusiastically, muffling Capa's surprised sounds between their lips. It was a delicate process as he fussed with the lube, getting enough over in his hand to cover his own length. Capa broke the kiss with a pant, hesitating, and Eugene looked at him.
"Tell me you're certain," Eugene murmured near his ear, past long strands of hair.
"Nothing's certain," Capa retorted with a little laugh, masking his nerves with more expertise than usual. Eugene wagered that this must have meant it was more than the usual apprehension. It didn't seem outlandish to assume that this was new territory; he already assumed that sex wasn't a huge priority in Capa's life, but this was, from what Eugene gathered, not even in the ballpark of his usual thought processes.
"Tell me." Eugene's hand massaged Capa's cock with intention, his chest going hollow at the sound it earned him.
"Fuck-" Capa swore, eyes squeezing shut, "-just do it - please."
With that encouragement, Eugene slipped two fingers inside of him, easing at first as Capa tensed, his arm craning a bit but luckily Capa shifted to support his own weight over him. Their mouths were close, Capa's eyes squeezed shut tight as Eugene pressed into him curiously, watching his expression as he did so, biting his tongue to keep himself lucid in the growing haze of desire, to keep cool. Red, the colour of passion and anger and sensory overload, was fighting to keep cool, to be blue, fighting to urge blue to be its own opposite. Opposite colours of the colour spectrum, they should have been unable to mingle, like oil and vinegar, and yet a cloudy, purple mist was willing itself to form, the colour he sometimes saw behind his eyelids in his sleep when he pictured the swirling collisions of stars, the dark and empty void of space.
Capa gasped out, grappled for the pillow behind Eugene's head as his body began moving in accord with Eugene's hand, his thin arm finally flexing the muscles they had been hiding as his grip tightened. Eugene took this as a sign, still watching carefully for any change in his expression as he removed his fingers, pulled Capa's hip closer. It came all too eagerly, and Capa was no longer hesitant, no longer slow to act, but rather rushed and hazy as he reached between them for Eugene's stiff cock to aid him as he lowered himself, with a slow and steady ease, onto it.
It was unclear which groan came from which man. Eugene's hand grasped for Capa's skin instantly, fingers digging haphazardly into ribs at first and then up, finally clutching the hair on the back of his head and inadvertently yanking the rest of it free from its confines, watching as it curtained down and framed the physicist's face. He snaked his hand down over his body again, attempting to smooth out the tension, to urge him to relax himself. Poor Capa, always so needlessly tense, a clenched fist on a relaxed day; please, Eugene wordlessly pleaded, please just let me in this one time.
The tenderness of his hands, the need of his mouth as they continued to distract themselves with lips on skin and opposing lips as Capa's body rocked over Eugene's struggling hips, trying to accustom itself to the feeling, all of it broke down Capa's subconscious walls perhaps more than any words could have. Waves could lap at a stone for years and rub it smooth, but this felt like an oncoming tsunami.
And then he broke, and Eugene's eyes were open to witness it, the blooming stars behind Robert Capa's eyes as they widened, his lips dry as his mouth widened with a desperate gasp, his spine curving as something connected, Eugene's hips pressing him upward, deep into the other man as his body allowed it with sudden and amazing force. Capa's hips rolled down, crashed down on Eugene's lap, forcing a similar groan from the other man, eyebrows twisted and formed together in desperation, an almost pained expression from the sudden intensity of it. Eugene's fingers dug into Capa's bony hip as he pulled it down on top of him more fully, biting his lip and moaning into it at the tightness, the surrounding warmth.
Everything was Capa, Robert Capa, all around him: the smell of him; their mingling sweat as he all but forced the younger man to stay close, to where when he opened his eyes nothing else was in his line of vision; his hair tickling his face at intervals as he moved on top of him, his pace gradually quickening, graciously agile in response to Eugene's frustrating restrictions of movement. Capa was his ocean, his pool to lap endlessly, and this time every inch mattered - Eugene wanted every single part of him in his blood, made man's blood, blood diluted with alcohol and self-loathing and grief. He wanted this Capa, the one giving quiet sounds of pain and then loud yelps of pleasure as if in call-and- response, the one with unbelievability and something almost unrecognisable bursting behind his eyes, the resulting blue the most beautiful blue Eugene had ever seen.
His hands were everywhere, sliding up Capa's arms as they surrounded him, Capa gripping sheets on either side of him until his knuckles were white, their breath mingling as their molecular structure rearranged itself, formed into something new, atom particles, pieces of stars, shifting and refitting themselves exactly as they should be. They were both murmuring names that neither was accustomed to being called, and Capa's movements were erratic as he all but writhed over Eugene's body before he gave a shudder, a choked sound escaping as he tensed, come covering the other man's stomach between them. The resulting clenching brought Eugene's nails digging into Capa's waist, and he hissed, arching upward as best he could to be nearer, nearer to that warmth, and then gradually eased as well, letting Capa collapse onto him in panting exhaustion.
The best part, to Eugene, was that he didn't shift to move away, didn't crawl back into his safety shell and become the Capa that he had grown accustomed to, cold and clinical and aloof, but rather remained this breathless, wide-eyed Robert Capa that he had been reaching for since they had met. It couldn't last, wouldn't last, but both men knew that. He was all too accommodating when Eugene murmured something about helping him shift the sheets, and they shielded themselves from the cold, compacted neatly together, Eugene pulling the physicist closer to him in order to tangle a hand in his hair and rest the man's head on his collarbone, Capa all but wrapping himself around the other man, showing no aversion to his lack of movement in his legs, and, it seemed, finally letting the muscles in his shoulders ease, finally letting sleep take him. Eugene closed his eyes and dreamt of blue, blue oceans under a purple nighttime sky.
RATING: ehm, NC-17 ish.
AUTHOR: johnwilmot
CHARACTERS: Eugene Morrow/Robert Capa (GATTACA/Sunshine crossover!)
WORD COUNT: ~17000 and not finished! (I don't even know man)
DISCLAIMER: Characters/movies not mine, no profit being made, etc.
WARNINGS: Spoilers if you haven't seen GATTACA - which, if you haven't, GO NOW. Change in the ending of it. Takes place before the launch of Icarus II. Also, I haven't posted a fic of any sort in years upon years, but this idea just struck me, so if you read, please comment!
SUMMARY: In the not-so-distant future, man has all but perfected his own genetic code, essentially ruling out the possibility of error. Or so they thought. A mission has failed. Eugene Morrow takes in the young trainee Robert Capa as he prepares for any further mistakes.
"I don't want to go," Eugene had insisted stubbornly, wheeling himself away from the kitchen with his newly poured glass of vodka and out onto the terrace, willing to sacrifice himself to the biting cold of the evening if it meant avoiding the conversation.
"When's the last time you even left the house?" Capa followed after him, hands on his hips as per usual when he was dissatisfied with something. Eugene scoffed.
"I go out all the time. I have a morning run every day after you leave." Eyes flickered in Capa's direction to catch the flash of amusement before it could be smothered down by a discerning look.
"It's just one little thing, Eugene," Capa said, his voice sounding about as close to pleading as Eugene could ever imagine it came. Well, he could certainly imagine, but not in any realistic, family-friendly sense.
"One little thing of dozens of GATTACA's finest all patting themselves on the backs for a job well done that's already failed once. I don't think it takes a genius physicist to say putting me in that equation would be a bad idea. In fact, you should call Irene up right now and ask her what she thinks about bringing me along." When the crew for Icarus I had been sent off into the void, Eugene had only found out about it days later. Irene knew better, after Vincent's funeral, to take Eugene anywhere near GATTACA's elite, near anyone that might actually take what he said to heart.
Capa sighed, looking off out onto the horizon as the sun hovered lazily there, wavering illusionary lines in the atmosphere as it weighed the decision of going to rest once more for the day. Honestly, there were days when Capa almost wished it would just go ahead and give out and spare them all the torturous 'what if' tip-toeing. But that was only very recently and probably only due to the amount of stress that he felt from the whole project, just an idle thought in the back of his mind that had no real stock to it. Capa was a thinker, not an actor, so he could understand the sun's hesitance, he supposed, if he were to be like Eugene and assign it some ridiculous personification. And yet lately there was something that set his teeth on edge about something being so close and yet so far away, right there in front of him and yet refusing to budge, waiting to explode and yet still holding off...
"I really don't want to go," he finally admitted, not tearing his eyes away. "You'd be doing me a favour, not making me suffer it alone. I'm not good at this stuff."
"So you want me to do your schmoozing for you, is that it?" Eugene quipped, giving a little laugh and waiting for Capa's answer in the form of facial expression. The answer was: not amused.
"We can go out afterward," Capa persisted. "Wherever you want."
Both men knew that Capa was not one for social events, much less ones that he wasn't required to attend, and Eugene took the bait, his interest piqued. Even as a cripple he still had something of a taste for mingling with the elite in the nightlife, even if it was only to scoff a little at their habits and how comfortable they were in their skins, especially in dire times such as these.
"I expect a very expensive bottle of red wine, at the very least," Eugene bargained, catching the look of restrained relief and maybe even happiness over Capa's features as the man turned away.
"Wear something nice," he said as he walked back into the house, not catching Eugene's sardonic little laugh.
"Don't I always?"
Eugene wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Certainly, it was the same old ceremonial reach-around, the handshakes and pictures and speeches, the salutes and accounts of selflessness and bravery of the supposed crew members. He understood that part. It all seemed to be centred around the captain, a man named Kaneda, with the crew only mentioned by name and designation, and he could tell even from his view in the audience that Capa was not at all disappointed to not have to give the kind of speech that Kaneda was giving now, a speech that was somehow supposed to reassure the world that Earth's future was in capable and yet not overly-arrogant hands in roughly five or ten minutes. Really, the words rolled over Eugene like the night wind when he'd had enough to drink, like any attempt at solace when he heard a particular concerto that Vincent used to listen to, like the waves of the ocean over his body back when he used to frequent it, before the accident, as if he were made to be a part of it, as if his body and the body of water were one. It had never been what was in the water that mattered, only the fluid movement of himself in it, the feeling of the shaping of the molecular structures together, binding and latching on and forming something new. Sometimes he liked to think that that was how Vincent had felt about his journey to space, too. Every piece of him had come from a star - he was simply rearranging the pieces so that they made sense again.
No, it wasn't the ceremony that Eugene was at all interested in, sitting in his wheelchair beside Irene in his best jacket, itching for a cigarette to toy with between his fingers as he watched the nervous inflections of the crew between applauses, summed up each face and tried to account a name to it from the little tidbits about the crew Capa had shared during his training. Rather, he understood now, it was Capa's reaction to his crewmates, seeing him in his natural habitat, that he was curious about. Perhaps he had considered the idea that Capa would be more at ease, would finally seem as if he belonged some place, and if he'd had more of a conscience he would have felt guilty for being so relieved that the man seemed just as out of place here as he did when Irene had first presented him at Eugene's loft. He could tell by the subtle gestures, how he didn't even seem to belong in the clothes he was wearing - to his credit, Eugene had never seen him wear something remotely formal, and while the jacket and tie suited him fine, it did seem strangely like they couldn't quite come to rest on shoulders that were used to wearing clothing for the most simple and direct of purposes only - by the very way his eyes flicked about when there was mention of the 'payload' and the 'most informed physicist assigned to operate it' was mentioned. Yes, Eugene considered himself an expert by now when it came to Capa's little microexpressions giving away what he was feeling, and he could almost feel his own stomach knotting from the tension the other man emitted, could almost feel sweat on his own brow from the moisture he felt sure he could see glistening on Capa's forehead.
But then something shifted. Capa's expression showed the tiniest glimpse of surprise, and he braved a glance to his right at the woman standing next to him, the announced pilot of the expedition, which would have seemed like a more important job if the ship wasn't fully capable of piloting itself. A quick survey proved that she, too, had apparently picked up on those subtle little glimpses into Capa's feelings; she had surreptitiously slipped her hand between them to grasp his in a show of support, and when their eyes met she offered a kindly smile, which Capa returned in the best way he knew how. Restrained, slightly puzzled, but attempting to show gratitude nonetheless.
"Amazing the efforts they put into looking like they'll actually get it right this time, isn't it?" Eugene said off- handedly as he helped himself to one of the hors d'oeuvres on the table, a sort of cracker spread with cavier, which he crunched into with intention. It seemed that almost everything Eugene did had some kind of point behind it, some kind of irony laced around its edges.
Capa gave the half-laugh that he usually did, distracted as he watched the group around them at the restaurant chatting and shaking hands warmly. He had already made rounds enough that he had slumped gratefully into a seat across from Eugene, who had been chatting rather candidly with an engineer that obviously couldn't comprehend that he was subtly being mocked but was still happy to excuse himself from the jagged wit of the crippled man by the time Capa had found his way to their reserved table.
"I saved you some," Eugene offered, gesturing to a bottle of wine that was more than half-empty, smiling like the child caught with his cheeks stuffed with stolen candy.
"Some," Capa snorted, tilting the bottle at the remnants.
"Don't worry, I'll get another-"
"No, it's fine, you don't-"
"No, really. Waiter. Waiter!" Eugene beckoned the man over. "I sincerely hope you don't expect my friend to go all night without a proper bottle of wine. He's an international hero, you know."
"Of course not, sir. I'll bring one right away."
"Let it breathe this time!" Eugene shouted as the man hurried away, also all too glad to be free of the jowls of the word- wielding menace. Capa was stuck between embarrassment and laughing and shaking his head at the man, brushing his hair away from his face in true nervous gesture, his sleeved elbow resting on the table.
"So, that crew of yours. I figured Mace was the box-jawed, perpetually pissed-off looking one." Eugene laughed to himself as he topped off his glass and poured the remainder of the wine into another and pushed it in Capa's direction.
"Yeah, that's him."
"I was so hoping he'd be blond, too. But then again, Hitler wasn't either."
Capa flashed him a warning look. "He has a temper, but he knows what he's doing. And he's dedicated to this mission, and that's what matters."
"Of course, of course," Eugene waved it off. Really, any emotional reaction that he spurred from Capa was suitable, and as time had proven, being drunk urged this desire to get a reaction from the man all the more.
"And the pilot. What was her name?" Eugene nodded across the room at the brunette, who was smiling and chatting with some of the other crew members. When Capa turned to look in the same direction, she smiled and waved.
"Cassie."
"I take it that's not her last name."
Capa turned and looked at him, a frown etched into his features. "That's just what everyone calls her, just like we call Corazon 'Cory'."
"Of course," Eugene replied, taking a long drink but never removing his eyes from Capa, who stared back levelly, obviously irritated and ready to meet this competition head- on, wordlessly questioning what Eugene was getting at.
"Well?" Eugene finally asked, eyes moving back to Cassie. "Why don't you go dance with her?"
"What?"
"She's been looking over here. Women don't get all dressed up like that just to be ignored all night."
Capa faltered, obviously not expecting this. "That's not - it's not really appropriate."
"Please. If dancing's becoming inappropriate then I'm moving to the fucking moon. Stop being a coward and go dance with her. Unless you want me to."
The flicker of sparks between their eyes was nearly tangible, Capa's jaw setting as Eugene waited, nearly breathless, waiting for verbal whiplash, for an insult, anything. Instead he watched Capa swallow down half of the glass he had poured him in one go and stand. "Fine," he said with reluctance, and he stormed away to Cassie's side of the room.
Eugene lit a cigarette, watching him approach her awkwardly, watching the initial exchange of small talk, Capa's reluctant and awkward body language juxtaposing the smooth and rhythmic flow of the music. He watched as she touched his arm, straightened one of the lapels on his jacket, laughed a little too enthusiastically at what he assumed was an attempted joke. He simply smoked, and watched, as she must have made some comment on the music, gesturing over to the band, and then appeared to ask him to dance, to which Capa gave a reluctant look and even shook his head, 'oh no I couldn't,' 'oh but please Capa, just once,', and she was urging him out onto the dance floor and forcing his hand into hers and his other on her waist, smiling as she helped them find their footing together in time with the music. Eugene felt as if he could write the very script for the words between them. 'There, not so bad, is it?' She would say, and he would smile, bow his head the way he did, eyelashes much too long, making him look bashful and sweet. But instead of the smile he imagined, Capa gave the same restrained one and chanced a glance over at Eugene, their eyes locking for a long moment as Eugene took a long drag and let the smoke waft toward the ceiling from between his lips.
Momentarily the waiter returned with the second bottle. "Here you go, sir. The best red in the house, courtesy of the maître d'. He insisted on only the best for the crew of Icarus II."
"Well I hope he's got a few dozen cases of that, and maybe some Vestial virgins while he's at it, so we can box it all up and send it gift-wrapped by the time they have to take off," Eugene snapped, the puzzled waiter setting the bottle down and shifting, unsure of how to respond. "It's fine," Eugene finally said, glancing over the expensive label and back at the slow-dancing couple, and yet the waiter still lingered, confused by the man's misplaced frustration. "I said it's fine!" And then the message was clear, and Eugene poured another as the man hurried away and the band picked up another romantic tune, one that wafted over the entire restaurant. He caught eyes with Irene across the room, who was nowhere near dressed to the nines as she used to, only seemed to hover here out of obligation anymore, and felt the parallels of the situation coming crashing in, as well as a renewed kinship with her. They were the only two members of the room that didn't really belong, however well they looked the part. They had no stakes in the future, dwelled only in the past.
The sun had long since tucked itself in to sleep, was edging closer toward the inevitable hours when it would rise, when Capa heard it. He had come home later than anticipated, roped into more socialising with the rest of the crew, trying to force himself to have a good time as Harvey and the others got more than a little drunk and discussed what they would miss most about Earth. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to be privy to, but it was ultimately better than sharing more supposedly meaningful moments with Cassie as she commented on how he looked tired, or asked him repeatedly if he was enjoying himself, seemed to try to force ease on him when they both knew that it was a near impossible task in situations like these. By the time the song had ended and he had edged himself away from the dance, Eugene was nowhere to be found, and a little questioning earned him the answer that 'the blonde woman' had given him a ride home.
And he had come home to a silent house, expecting that Eugene had somehow managed to get himself into bed, drunkenness aside, and was now in a blissful, dreamless slumber. Capa felt the opposite creeping upon him: the days were shorter now that fall had set in, and the countdown to the launch of Icarus II was in the double digits. Sleep would not come easy, and he was curled under a thin blanket on his bed with a book when he heard it.
Sobbing.
He frowned, lowering the book and staring in the direction from which it was coming - downstairs - as if that would make the sound of it clearer, because at first he couldn't exactly make out what it was. But a particular wail made it clear what it was, and who it had come from, making Capa shift, turning the little lamp closer toward his book, eyeing his set of headphones hanging near his desk, contemplating drowning himself in some of Harvey's space sounds that he'd recorded to distract himself. It seemed polite, after all, to pretend that he was none the wiser, although if Capa was honest with himself he was just plain uncomfortable, uncertain what to do in the face of such an emotional display, even from a distance. Even more unsettling, he wasn't positive as to the cause of it.
Eventually he couldn't ignore it - no amount of books or recordings would erase from his mind the fact that it was happening - and so he slipped out of bed in his tied pyjama slacks and his grey sleeveless, bare feet making no sound as he padded down the spiral staircase, peering in the dark toward the bedroom that he had only seen the interior of a few times before. Tentatively he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door, staring down in the dark at the man pressed face down, still in full evening garb, into his pillows.
"Eugene?" He said hesitantly, voice soft and yet shattering the illusion of solitude, the other man only shifting to acknowledge his presence, turning his face away. His legs hung helplessly halfway off the bed, as if he had only somewhat managed to fling himself onto it before giving up. Capa sighed, teeth gritting in apprehension of what to do, until he decided to take authority and pushed the door open more fully.
"Here," he said patiently, even when the pillows that bore Eugene's face grumbled something that could have been made out to sound distinctly like 'go away' if listened to carefully. Capa approached the bed, taking Eugene's legs and lifting them more fully onto the mattress with a huff, straightening them out and then turning the man over onto his back.
"I don't need your bloody help," Eugene blubbered venomously.
"Clearly," Capa retorted with the same patience, crawling onto the mattress and moving his fingers to the buttons of Eugene's vest.
"You've got more important things to do than help a cripple. Go save the world, Robert," Eugene snapped, eyes strikingly clear, suddenly, on his tear-stained face, and his tone lucid enough to give Capa pause. He met his gaze with frustration and confusion, maybe embarrassment for being so stupid as to have thought the man would have accepted his help.
"Fine," he said, abandoning the buttons and making to move off of the bed, readying for his escape back to the upstairs and away from the other man's misery. Eugene's hand grabbed his wrist with surprising speed, however, stopping him in his tracks, pulling him back down and forcing him to grapple for positioning, one knee on either side of the man's waist to avoid toppling entirely.
"Don't go," Eugene murmured, more quietly, and for a moment it was clear that there was more than one meaning behind those two words. Capa's features softened.
"I don't want to," Capa whispered, poking a hole in his own defenses and allowing the light of vulnerability to shine through, exposing a whole slew of uncertainties, of fears of failure and the insane pressure of it all, as well as the more basic instincts of just plain not wanting to die. Eugene's hand crept to the side of Capa's face, fingering a loose strand of hair from the tight ponytail before just resting his palm there, Capa as still and complacent as always, eyes watching him, waiting for the next move, ever the passive opponent. Watching behind his chess pieces and his algorithms, waiting to act.
"You'll get what Vincent didn't," Eugene said with a tone of bitterness. "You'll get to take her with you."
Capa frowned, needing a moment to piece this together, the events of the night having equally confused him and seeming long past, now. "I'd rather stay right here," he said, just as quietly, solemn enough to be a prayer, as if the more reverently he said it, the less Eugene could shoot it down.
Still, Eugene laughed. "With a drunken cripple."
"No," Capa corrected. "With Jerome Morrow."
Eugene stared at him, green eyes searching in the dark. "Jerome Morrow is dead."
Capa shifted, somehow having found his balance on the other man's hips, fingers pulling the red vest apart and easing the man's arms out of it just as patiently as he had before. "No. Jerome Morrow, Olympic medalist, genius, impeccable chess player..." His eyes glanced up. "The man who got Vincent to Titan. He's right here." The red vest was gingerly laid aside, his hands stopping at the white button-up underneath as he looked up. "He's always been here."
Fresh tears welled again in Eugene's eyes as he examined every inch of the face in front of him, a face still stroked underneath his hand, his thumb exploring the smoothness of it without resistance on Capa's part until he gradually pulled it closer, bringing their mouths together. Capa breathed out, surprise and tension exhaling as he was caught in Eugene's wine-flavoured grasp.
Eugene pulled back just enough to breathe out, "Say it again."
"Jerome," Capa murmured, and this time he took initiative, his jaw tilted to press swollen lips against Eugene's, mouths smothering the air from each other in their frantic collision, tongues intertwining between hot breath and panting and the slightest of sounds from Eugene's throat.
It had been too long since that moment out on the terrace, and he was impatient, frustrated with how clinical and detached Capa seemed even now, still had that rigid, habitual feeling that every made man carried from birth: that he was owed something. He grasped for a handful of Capa's hair, half of it falling free of what held it back and away from his face, and a slight gasp was his reward. Capa's fingers had started on his buttons again, gradually opening the pressed and ironed collared piece and exposing skin, a hand worn with the countless hours spent scribbling notes to himself or typing away at a computer sliding slowly up the expanse of warmth, feeling ribs as Eugene's chest expanded and collapsed, feeling right up and over his heart. Jerome, Jerome the metronome's heartbeat was decidedly erratic.
But Eugene was never one for second place, so he grabbed the handful of Capa's shirt accessible to him and pushed it up, yanking it over the younger man's head and tossing it carelessly aside, looking at the mussed-haired and swollen- lipped result it left in its wake. Capa may have still been playing at trying to help him prepare for bed, but Eugene was pushing this into the light, forcing their relationship out of the shadows of ambiguity, just as he always did. He had become so careless with his own existence that every action was almost a dare, a risk that left Capa baffled in its wake. Practically forcing him to dance with Cassie, for instance.
"Don't you think this counts as inappropriate?" Eugene dared, as if on cue, knowing full well that he was risking everything and might send Capa scurrying away. But Capa knew this game by now, knew to expect it, so he only gave a low, smothered little laugh as he hovered over Eugene's mouth.
"Not as inappropriate as it is indefinite," he said, barely above a whisper, having wanted to retort with something witty but only managing the brutally honest instead. "But like you said," he breathed, "things with risks are the only things worth doing."
And he had sobered up hours ago, but Eugene quickly became drunk on Capa's skin, Capa's lips, Capa's eyes watching him in the dark as he shifted up to reach for his mouth, his hands grappling for pale skin that clung to a too-thin frame, his mind wanting to ask where all the muscle from those push-ups had gone as his mouth explored Capa's neck thoroughly, humming against it all the way up to his ear and eliciting sighs of reverie from a shining throat. For the first time since he could remember, he was reluctant, even shy when it came to his useless legs, and Capa read it in his expression. At least in this way they were on an equal playing field; Jerome Eugene Morrow, so usually self-assured, now without the means to plunge in headfirst and lead the way, and Robert Capa, usually so restrained, entirely unaccustomed to glossing over the awkwardness of such events and always the passive player, the follower rather than the leader, seeing where he needed to take initiative. And when it was a need rather than a want, Capa could do it, had to do it. He remembered Eugene's shaken sobs that he had tried to hide and didn't hesitate as his hands moved to the man's waist, expertly unfastening the button and dragging the zipper down.
He watched as Eugene turned his face away, Capa slowly following his path as he tugged Eugene's pants off of his lifeless legs, carefully removing neatly polished shoes as well before climbing back up and over him, brushing fingers through his hair and kissing his mouth with reassurance. His hand reached under the thin fabric left and took hold of Eugene's length with the same surprising lack of hesitance, and this time Eugene didn't bother to mask whatever sound came to fruition, eyes closing as his head tilted back at the sensation. It was achingly slow even at the steady pace that Capa afforded him, and the closeness of his lithe body, the flexing of his arm between them as Eugene's hands slid up and over his shoulders, explored the contours of his back, simply weren't enough. His hips arched as best they could with two deadweight legs holding them back, but he allowed Capa to maintain control, only swallowed and stuttered out nonsensicalities in efforts to show his frustration.
Again, that clinical, near detached feeling, even as he felt Capa trying earnestly to give him what he wanted, and Eugene felt more frustrated than ever before, more desperate to force some kind of emotional response from him. He gripped Capa's arm, forcing him to look at him, to see the urgency in his face, and Capa bit his lip, flickered one of those microexpressions that Eugene had come to memorise. There was a silent exchange then as the doubt settled into curiosity, and Eugene's eyes gestured toward the side table. Capa moved toward it, pulled it open and fished out what he needed.
There were condoms, but in some strange, uncharacteristic surge of risk-taking, Capa didn't take one; he had only seen one of Eugene's 'guests' once in the time he had been here, was almost certain he could attest to Eugene's nearly impeccable health if not for his crippled status and taste for alcohol. Anyway, something in their wordless language seemed like it would have been an insulting move on his part, to Eugene, Eugene who was so proud and yet felt so immensely, was begging for him not to go on his mission with no illusions cast as to why. Capa shimmied out of his pyjamas and underwear awkwardly, catching Eugene's gaze as he watched him, and then came to settle back down over the man's waist, handing him the bottle he had retrieved.
Then, then Eugene felt a little less helpless, and he pulled Capa down by the neck to connect their mouths again as he reached between them, taking the man's cock in his hand and working his fist over it enthusiastically, muffling Capa's surprised sounds between their lips. It was a delicate process as he fussed with the lube, getting enough over in his hand to cover his own length. Capa broke the kiss with a pant, hesitating, and Eugene looked at him.
"Tell me you're certain," Eugene murmured near his ear, past long strands of hair.
"Nothing's certain," Capa retorted with a little laugh, masking his nerves with more expertise than usual. Eugene wagered that this must have meant it was more than the usual apprehension. It didn't seem outlandish to assume that this was new territory; he already assumed that sex wasn't a huge priority in Capa's life, but this was, from what Eugene gathered, not even in the ballpark of his usual thought processes.
"Tell me." Eugene's hand massaged Capa's cock with intention, his chest going hollow at the sound it earned him.
"Fuck-" Capa swore, eyes squeezing shut, "-just do it - please."
With that encouragement, Eugene slipped two fingers inside of him, easing at first as Capa tensed, his arm craning a bit but luckily Capa shifted to support his own weight over him. Their mouths were close, Capa's eyes squeezed shut tight as Eugene pressed into him curiously, watching his expression as he did so, biting his tongue to keep himself lucid in the growing haze of desire, to keep cool. Red, the colour of passion and anger and sensory overload, was fighting to keep cool, to be blue, fighting to urge blue to be its own opposite. Opposite colours of the colour spectrum, they should have been unable to mingle, like oil and vinegar, and yet a cloudy, purple mist was willing itself to form, the colour he sometimes saw behind his eyelids in his sleep when he pictured the swirling collisions of stars, the dark and empty void of space.
Capa gasped out, grappled for the pillow behind Eugene's head as his body began moving in accord with Eugene's hand, his thin arm finally flexing the muscles they had been hiding as his grip tightened. Eugene took this as a sign, still watching carefully for any change in his expression as he removed his fingers, pulled Capa's hip closer. It came all too eagerly, and Capa was no longer hesitant, no longer slow to act, but rather rushed and hazy as he reached between them for Eugene's stiff cock to aid him as he lowered himself, with a slow and steady ease, onto it.
It was unclear which groan came from which man. Eugene's hand grasped for Capa's skin instantly, fingers digging haphazardly into ribs at first and then up, finally clutching the hair on the back of his head and inadvertently yanking the rest of it free from its confines, watching as it curtained down and framed the physicist's face. He snaked his hand down over his body again, attempting to smooth out the tension, to urge him to relax himself. Poor Capa, always so needlessly tense, a clenched fist on a relaxed day; please, Eugene wordlessly pleaded, please just let me in this one time.
The tenderness of his hands, the need of his mouth as they continued to distract themselves with lips on skin and opposing lips as Capa's body rocked over Eugene's struggling hips, trying to accustom itself to the feeling, all of it broke down Capa's subconscious walls perhaps more than any words could have. Waves could lap at a stone for years and rub it smooth, but this felt like an oncoming tsunami.
And then he broke, and Eugene's eyes were open to witness it, the blooming stars behind Robert Capa's eyes as they widened, his lips dry as his mouth widened with a desperate gasp, his spine curving as something connected, Eugene's hips pressing him upward, deep into the other man as his body allowed it with sudden and amazing force. Capa's hips rolled down, crashed down on Eugene's lap, forcing a similar groan from the other man, eyebrows twisted and formed together in desperation, an almost pained expression from the sudden intensity of it. Eugene's fingers dug into Capa's bony hip as he pulled it down on top of him more fully, biting his lip and moaning into it at the tightness, the surrounding warmth.
Everything was Capa, Robert Capa, all around him: the smell of him; their mingling sweat as he all but forced the younger man to stay close, to where when he opened his eyes nothing else was in his line of vision; his hair tickling his face at intervals as he moved on top of him, his pace gradually quickening, graciously agile in response to Eugene's frustrating restrictions of movement. Capa was his ocean, his pool to lap endlessly, and this time every inch mattered - Eugene wanted every single part of him in his blood, made man's blood, blood diluted with alcohol and self-loathing and grief. He wanted this Capa, the one giving quiet sounds of pain and then loud yelps of pleasure as if in call-and- response, the one with unbelievability and something almost unrecognisable bursting behind his eyes, the resulting blue the most beautiful blue Eugene had ever seen.
His hands were everywhere, sliding up Capa's arms as they surrounded him, Capa gripping sheets on either side of him until his knuckles were white, their breath mingling as their molecular structure rearranged itself, formed into something new, atom particles, pieces of stars, shifting and refitting themselves exactly as they should be. They were both murmuring names that neither was accustomed to being called, and Capa's movements were erratic as he all but writhed over Eugene's body before he gave a shudder, a choked sound escaping as he tensed, come covering the other man's stomach between them. The resulting clenching brought Eugene's nails digging into Capa's waist, and he hissed, arching upward as best he could to be nearer, nearer to that warmth, and then gradually eased as well, letting Capa collapse onto him in panting exhaustion.
The best part, to Eugene, was that he didn't shift to move away, didn't crawl back into his safety shell and become the Capa that he had grown accustomed to, cold and clinical and aloof, but rather remained this breathless, wide-eyed Robert Capa that he had been reaching for since they had met. It couldn't last, wouldn't last, but both men knew that. He was all too accommodating when Eugene murmured something about helping him shift the sheets, and they shielded themselves from the cold, compacted neatly together, Eugene pulling the physicist closer to him in order to tangle a hand in his hair and rest the man's head on his collarbone, Capa all but wrapping himself around the other man, showing no aversion to his lack of movement in his legs, and, it seemed, finally letting the muscles in his shoulders ease, finally letting sleep take him. Eugene closed his eyes and dreamt of blue, blue oceans under a purple nighttime sky.