running lost | TVXQ, au.
homin / R, 1965w. ao3
they don't care that they're on opposite sides; yunho and changmin want to be together. desire is dangerous, and so is this game of tag.
tw - blood, violence.
six seconds before the screams start the air catches a buzz that has nothing to do with the crisp winter weather of pyongyang, thrums, alive, and even in the crowd his skin heats up, running thin over his skin under his clothes. his heartbeat slows but his veins pump.
three seconds, two, and then it’s time.
changmin is on autopilot from the moment the fucker of a ceo doubles over at his podium, coughing-the guy gypsies from the poor, makes money through human trafficking. changmin has not taken the time to remember his name-has slipped into the sort of zone where thought would take long enough to be fatal, and he’s registering things moments after he’s done them, not thinking, moving on instinct as he zips through the throng of panicked people, takes down bodyguard after bodyguard. conscious thought returns while he’s holding the epipen, and the ceo’s life, in his hand. for one long moment he hesitates while the fucker wheezes, but unlike him he’s not the sort of person to just let a person die, even if they are an asshole on the universal scale. he takes a small amount of pleasure in stabbing him hard with the pen, and that pleasure is expensive: he’s focused on getting him out of there and starting to think about the sting in his hands, and-
it reaches his ears first, his brain that registers the separate shots, the sharp single hisscrack and the rattle of uncontrolled fire. sniper his conscious brain recognizes, alarmed, snarling at him. in the same second his brain is jerking his head up towards the origin of the shot, readying.
it’s not so much as seeing the red dot dance over his own body and center on his chest as feeling yunho’s gaze behind it. he raises his eyes, because if yunho’s going to kill him then he’s damn well going to face him head on. changmin has time to take a breath, and then another, and then yunho raises himself from his stance and changmin’s holding his gaze as steadily as he can with the adrenaline coursing through his body.
yunho stands smoothly, cradling the rifle against his self, and it’s been whole seconds now that changmin hasn’t moved, but ceo’s still wheezing and probably isn’t going to notice.
yunho’s hand is pale against the black metal of his gun, in the snow-cloudy afternoon light, and he points downward, taps his index finger once, twice, against the body of the rifle and then a double-tap of his index and middle fingers. changmin signals his response with the spread of his fingers and a jerk of his head: it’s not like he had plans for the evening.
yunho nods, once, and melts back out of sight.
changmin steels, starts hauling ass as reporters start flooding the area, quicker than the cops these days.
the ceo-changmin catches the reflection of his name on the tag lapled to his suit, grins wry when it reads shim something-is too out of it to be able to focus on where changmin’s driving, but he’s with it enough to keep shooting changmin glances filled with anger, and there’s more than a little fear there, too. the surge from the epipen has left the man jittery, and changmin’s own adrenaline from the fight isn’t helping him much either.
changmin drives south, counting intersections, takes in the alley on his side of the car, and the two story buildings on either side.
“where are we?” ceo rasps, peering blearily out the window at the derelict shops.
“shut up,” changmin snaps. he doesn’t have to incapacitate him before he goes for the plasti-ties, but he unclips the handheld taser from his belt anyway. he thinks of sunyoung and amber, the little girls he’d found and freed from ceo’s personal rooms hours and hours ago, barely out of their teens with handcuff marks and finger shaped bruises on their arms.
disgust coils through him, cold and ugly, and he amps up the voltage to near deadly before he jams it into the ceo’s leg.
“sweet dreams.” he growls, fits his palm to the steering wheel and does a U-turn in the direction of the nearest police station.
* * *
his hotel receptionist barely glances up as he goes up to is room-changmin’s booked under a false name, using the fake identity’s credit card, and no one notices him as he folds in on himself, makes himself blend with the ease of practice and goes on about his business.
he washes away sweat and grime and blood down the shower drain, and dries out his lengthening hair with a steady debate going on in his head: risks and pay offs and want.
protocol is done by muscle memory after he finishes in the bathroom. he rechecks his equipment and dresses, layering his kit under his clothes. baretta, dual daggers, brass.
he’s half an hour early to the alley, probably set because 00:00 hours was easier to signal than 23:45, and right damn now would have been tempting, but not practical under the circumstances. this isn’t practical, not for him, and definitely not for yunho-he doubts the older male’s CO would have let him on a long enough leash other than ‘come straight back,’ with or without changmin’s head on a silver platter. maybe he’s not here under sooman’s orders. changmin doubts that too; yunho had been far too good a soldier boy to risk something like that. then again, looking back, he wouldn’t have pegged yunho for the falling in love type, either.
changmin touches the base of his throat, where the laser sight had rested. he waits in the dark, on the rooftop overlooking the rendezvous point.
yunho is seventeen minutes early to the their spot. he climbs the metal fire escape quietly enough that changmin doesn’t even hear him, but he’s keeping an eye on the tripwire so he sees yunho see it, sees yunho ease his way onto the roof beneath it, almost soundless in the dark.
“hey,” changmin greets, and there’s a mix of wariness and want battling in his body. yunho stalks towards him, and changmin’s wariness spikes-he’s settling into combat stance without even thinking.
“that should have been you.” yunho hisses when he’s close enough to be heard without their voices carrying. yunho clearly hasn’t had the luxury of a shower or a mental cool down period. desire and anger are interchangeable sometimes, and they surge within changmin like liquid fire.
“what?” changmin snaps, answering, voice icy. “dead on the ground? yeah, it should have been. why aren’t i?”
“no, changmin, that fucker!” yunho rakes a hand through his hair, and changmin relaxes, ever so slightly, even as yunho closes the distance, leans in inches from his face. “that should have been you not caring, not getting attached to people.”
changmin nearly, nearly laughs, laughs like caring too much about everyone that even shows a glimpse of a good side isn’t his only standing flaw. “what? like you’re doing a bang-up job of it right now? if that’s the case why are you even here,”
yunho cries out, a snarl of incoherence, but changmin’s still calm and holding perfectly still when he reaches out with a verbal blade and cuts, just so.
“you’re still here on sooman’s leash, aren’t you? loyal little soldier boy.”
changmin steps out of yunho’s reach even as yunho’s lip is curling over his teeth, lunging at him, and then they’re both dancing-steps and moves of parry, block and attack, stinging blows that hurt ribs and knuckles and will leave spectacular bruises come morning, brass.
they’re making it up as they go along, like they’d always done, for everything, and changmin keeps an eye on what’s at his back, until he’s back against the wall of the stairwell shelter, and he can defend until yunho gets a leg between his thighs and closes the gap with his mouth, and it’s not like changmin wants to defend against that.
“only most of the time,” yunho whispers against changmin’s lips. changmin kisses him back hard, tongue swiping and teeth nipping while he pulls yunho’s shirt up out of his dark jeans, feeling for the holster to toss the older male’s pistol aside and scraping his booted foot up the inside of yunho’s leg, feeling for a knife sheath.
yunho tugs the garrotte wire free from changmin’s hair, letting the inky, long locks fall around his jaw and curl at his nape, steps back for a moment to grab changmin’s boot before he can resettle his foot, feeling for the blade hidden there and sending the knife skittering across the rooftop, then the other. for a second they’re holding each other’s gaze, dishevelled and teetering on the edge between operational sensibilities and disciplinary action.
then yunho’s stepped back in, and they’re pressing against each other, and they’re way, way over that blurry, blurry line.
yunho’s panting, breath hot against changmin’s neck, and desire is thrilling under changmin’s skin, making him whimper. yunho’s got both hands under his clothes again, but he’s pushing up his shirt. changmin’s hands hesitate on the older male’s fly.
“can’t,” changmin whispers. “if we…” changmin can feel yunho’s hard-on through the fabric, thick and heavy and it takes all of his self-control to take his hand away. “my CO will be able to smell it.”
yunho laughs raggedly. “boa’s not that good.”
“she’ll know,” changmin insists, and yunho doesn’t try and refute that. changmin rests his forehead on yunho’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of him, basking in his presence while he can. he’s shipping out tomorrow; moscow. some oil industry princess needs a search and destroy.
shit, but-
“come with me,” changmin whispers. “fuck them.”
yunho is still against him, but he shakes his head, slowly, regretfully.
“i can’t,” he says, but it sounds like it hurts to admit. some of the anger that had been lost in changmin’s desire breaks the surface.
“what is it, yunho?“ he snaps. ”what do you owe him?”
“i owe him my life,” yunho says, and there’s that steel there, under all the desperation. “you owe him your life, changmin. he shaped us-”
“no!” changmin growls, leans back just enough to be able to see yunho’s eyes glinting in the gloom and knocks back memories of being raised and trained on the same side, under the same thumb, so much before. “sooman pulled me off death row, yunho, but you’re the one who made me.”
yunho shudders, his whole body aching, and presses against changmin again. “fucking goddamnit,” he groans, frustration and need roughening his voice.
changmin takes a breath. “hey,” he murmurs, and he can’t quite keep the smile out of his voice. “there’ll be plenty of other times to nearly kill me, right?”
i miss you already.
yunho chokes on his laughter and kisses changmin hard, a clash of heat and teeth and tongue. then just as abruptly he steps back, leaving changmin panting a little, having to fight to keep his balance. yunho doesn’t look all that steady, either; his hands are slightly shaky as he tries to tuck his shirt in. given the choice between looking presentable and gathering his kit, changmin sighs, goes for his weapons.
“i’ve got a diplomatic incident to start smoothing over,” yunho says, trying to straighten his jeans. “you’ve got some running to do, babyboy.”
changmin laughs then, tucking his gun back into his waistband. “you’re going to give me a head start, right? not that i need it.”
still, yunho manages to look dignified as he turns his back on the younger male. “one…” he starts, slowly. “two…”
changmin grins at yunho’s back, blows him a kiss he doesn’t catch, and runs.
they don't care that they're on opposite sides; yunho and changmin want to be together. desire is dangerous, and so is this game of tag.
tw - blood, violence.
six seconds before the screams start the air catches a buzz that has nothing to do with the crisp winter weather of pyongyang, thrums, alive, and even in the crowd his skin heats up, running thin over his skin under his clothes. his heartbeat slows but his veins pump.
three seconds, two, and then it’s time.
changmin is on autopilot from the moment the fucker of a ceo doubles over at his podium, coughing-the guy gypsies from the poor, makes money through human trafficking. changmin has not taken the time to remember his name-has slipped into the sort of zone where thought would take long enough to be fatal, and he’s registering things moments after he’s done them, not thinking, moving on instinct as he zips through the throng of panicked people, takes down bodyguard after bodyguard. conscious thought returns while he’s holding the epipen, and the ceo’s life, in his hand. for one long moment he hesitates while the fucker wheezes, but unlike him he’s not the sort of person to just let a person die, even if they are an asshole on the universal scale. he takes a small amount of pleasure in stabbing him hard with the pen, and that pleasure is expensive: he’s focused on getting him out of there and starting to think about the sting in his hands, and-
it reaches his ears first, his brain that registers the separate shots, the sharp single hisscrack and the rattle of uncontrolled fire. sniper his conscious brain recognizes, alarmed, snarling at him. in the same second his brain is jerking his head up towards the origin of the shot, readying.
it’s not so much as seeing the red dot dance over his own body and center on his chest as feeling yunho’s gaze behind it. he raises his eyes, because if yunho’s going to kill him then he’s damn well going to face him head on. changmin has time to take a breath, and then another, and then yunho raises himself from his stance and changmin’s holding his gaze as steadily as he can with the adrenaline coursing through his body.
yunho stands smoothly, cradling the rifle against his self, and it’s been whole seconds now that changmin hasn’t moved, but ceo’s still wheezing and probably isn’t going to notice.
yunho’s hand is pale against the black metal of his gun, in the snow-cloudy afternoon light, and he points downward, taps his index finger once, twice, against the body of the rifle and then a double-tap of his index and middle fingers. changmin signals his response with the spread of his fingers and a jerk of his head: it’s not like he had plans for the evening.
yunho nods, once, and melts back out of sight.
changmin steels, starts hauling ass as reporters start flooding the area, quicker than the cops these days.
the ceo-changmin catches the reflection of his name on the tag lapled to his suit, grins wry when it reads shim something-is too out of it to be able to focus on where changmin’s driving, but he’s with it enough to keep shooting changmin glances filled with anger, and there’s more than a little fear there, too. the surge from the epipen has left the man jittery, and changmin’s own adrenaline from the fight isn’t helping him much either.
changmin drives south, counting intersections, takes in the alley on his side of the car, and the two story buildings on either side.
“where are we?” ceo rasps, peering blearily out the window at the derelict shops.
“shut up,” changmin snaps. he doesn’t have to incapacitate him before he goes for the plasti-ties, but he unclips the handheld taser from his belt anyway. he thinks of sunyoung and amber, the little girls he’d found and freed from ceo’s personal rooms hours and hours ago, barely out of their teens with handcuff marks and finger shaped bruises on their arms.
disgust coils through him, cold and ugly, and he amps up the voltage to near deadly before he jams it into the ceo’s leg.
“sweet dreams.” he growls, fits his palm to the steering wheel and does a U-turn in the direction of the nearest police station.
* * *
his hotel receptionist barely glances up as he goes up to is room-changmin’s booked under a false name, using the fake identity’s credit card, and no one notices him as he folds in on himself, makes himself blend with the ease of practice and goes on about his business.
he washes away sweat and grime and blood down the shower drain, and dries out his lengthening hair with a steady debate going on in his head: risks and pay offs and want.
protocol is done by muscle memory after he finishes in the bathroom. he rechecks his equipment and dresses, layering his kit under his clothes. baretta, dual daggers, brass.
he’s half an hour early to the alley, probably set because 00:00 hours was easier to signal than 23:45, and right damn now would have been tempting, but not practical under the circumstances. this isn’t practical, not for him, and definitely not for yunho-he doubts the older male’s CO would have let him on a long enough leash other than ‘come straight back,’ with or without changmin’s head on a silver platter. maybe he’s not here under sooman’s orders. changmin doubts that too; yunho had been far too good a soldier boy to risk something like that. then again, looking back, he wouldn’t have pegged yunho for the falling in love type, either.
changmin touches the base of his throat, where the laser sight had rested. he waits in the dark, on the rooftop overlooking the rendezvous point.
yunho is seventeen minutes early to the their spot. he climbs the metal fire escape quietly enough that changmin doesn’t even hear him, but he’s keeping an eye on the tripwire so he sees yunho see it, sees yunho ease his way onto the roof beneath it, almost soundless in the dark.
“hey,” changmin greets, and there’s a mix of wariness and want battling in his body. yunho stalks towards him, and changmin’s wariness spikes-he’s settling into combat stance without even thinking.
“that should have been you.” yunho hisses when he’s close enough to be heard without their voices carrying. yunho clearly hasn’t had the luxury of a shower or a mental cool down period. desire and anger are interchangeable sometimes, and they surge within changmin like liquid fire.
“what?” changmin snaps, answering, voice icy. “dead on the ground? yeah, it should have been. why aren’t i?”
“no, changmin, that fucker!” yunho rakes a hand through his hair, and changmin relaxes, ever so slightly, even as yunho closes the distance, leans in inches from his face. “that should have been you not caring, not getting attached to people.”
changmin nearly, nearly laughs, laughs like caring too much about everyone that even shows a glimpse of a good side isn’t his only standing flaw. “what? like you’re doing a bang-up job of it right now? if that’s the case why are you even here,”
yunho cries out, a snarl of incoherence, but changmin’s still calm and holding perfectly still when he reaches out with a verbal blade and cuts, just so.
“you’re still here on sooman’s leash, aren’t you? loyal little soldier boy.”
changmin steps out of yunho’s reach even as yunho’s lip is curling over his teeth, lunging at him, and then they’re both dancing-steps and moves of parry, block and attack, stinging blows that hurt ribs and knuckles and will leave spectacular bruises come morning, brass.
they’re making it up as they go along, like they’d always done, for everything, and changmin keeps an eye on what’s at his back, until he’s back against the wall of the stairwell shelter, and he can defend until yunho gets a leg between his thighs and closes the gap with his mouth, and it’s not like changmin wants to defend against that.
“only most of the time,” yunho whispers against changmin’s lips. changmin kisses him back hard, tongue swiping and teeth nipping while he pulls yunho’s shirt up out of his dark jeans, feeling for the holster to toss the older male’s pistol aside and scraping his booted foot up the inside of yunho’s leg, feeling for a knife sheath.
yunho tugs the garrotte wire free from changmin’s hair, letting the inky, long locks fall around his jaw and curl at his nape, steps back for a moment to grab changmin’s boot before he can resettle his foot, feeling for the blade hidden there and sending the knife skittering across the rooftop, then the other. for a second they’re holding each other’s gaze, dishevelled and teetering on the edge between operational sensibilities and disciplinary action.
then yunho’s stepped back in, and they’re pressing against each other, and they’re way, way over that blurry, blurry line.
yunho’s panting, breath hot against changmin’s neck, and desire is thrilling under changmin’s skin, making him whimper. yunho’s got both hands under his clothes again, but he’s pushing up his shirt. changmin’s hands hesitate on the older male’s fly.
“can’t,” changmin whispers. “if we…” changmin can feel yunho’s hard-on through the fabric, thick and heavy and it takes all of his self-control to take his hand away. “my CO will be able to smell it.”
yunho laughs raggedly. “boa’s not that good.”
“she’ll know,” changmin insists, and yunho doesn’t try and refute that. changmin rests his forehead on yunho’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of him, basking in his presence while he can. he’s shipping out tomorrow; moscow. some oil industry princess needs a search and destroy.
shit, but-
“come with me,” changmin whispers. “fuck them.”
yunho is still against him, but he shakes his head, slowly, regretfully.
“i can’t,” he says, but it sounds like it hurts to admit. some of the anger that had been lost in changmin’s desire breaks the surface.
“what is it, yunho?“ he snaps. ”what do you owe him?”
“i owe him my life,” yunho says, and there’s that steel there, under all the desperation. “you owe him your life, changmin. he shaped us-”
“no!” changmin growls, leans back just enough to be able to see yunho’s eyes glinting in the gloom and knocks back memories of being raised and trained on the same side, under the same thumb, so much before. “sooman pulled me off death row, yunho, but you’re the one who made me.”
yunho shudders, his whole body aching, and presses against changmin again. “fucking goddamnit,” he groans, frustration and need roughening his voice.
changmin takes a breath. “hey,” he murmurs, and he can’t quite keep the smile out of his voice. “there’ll be plenty of other times to nearly kill me, right?”
i miss you already.
yunho chokes on his laughter and kisses changmin hard, a clash of heat and teeth and tongue. then just as abruptly he steps back, leaving changmin panting a little, having to fight to keep his balance. yunho doesn’t look all that steady, either; his hands are slightly shaky as he tries to tuck his shirt in. given the choice between looking presentable and gathering his kit, changmin sighs, goes for his weapons.
“i’ve got a diplomatic incident to start smoothing over,” yunho says, trying to straighten his jeans. “you’ve got some running to do, babyboy.”
changmin laughs then, tucking his gun back into his waistband. “you’re going to give me a head start, right? not that i need it.”
still, yunho manages to look dignified as he turns his back on the younger male. “one…” he starts, slowly. “two…”
changmin grins at yunho’s back, blows him a kiss he doesn’t catch, and runs.