(no subject)
Title: Dune (5/8)
Authors: butterflyweb and nemesis_cry
Genre: Sci Fi, AU to our "Acts" AU
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairing: Yunho/Yoochun
Summary: Enemies as members of opposing factions, they have to fight to survive as they are landed in unusual circumstances
Warnings: swearing, violence and sexual themes.
AN: Inspired by the premise of Barry B. Longyear's Enemy Mine.
AN2: Not a formal part of our multi-chaptered Acts of Contrition and Acts of Insurrection storyline but using elements of both.
Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4
He's never been a restless sleeper, so when he wakes in the middle of the night, he attributes it to the still throbbing pain in his leg. Its other possible cause, namely Yoochun's clinging limbs, has become far too commonplace to be the case.
Less commonplace are the soft whimpers escaping his lips.
Yunho turns on his side, the blanket shifting around his shoulders as he pries strong fists from his shirt. Another nightmare, no doubt. He's always at a loss about what to say or do when the other man is dreaming. He tries to ignore it, but that still takes a toll on his psyche, as if he knows he should intervene but is too cowardly to do so.
This time, he lays as gentle a hand as he can manage on the other man's upper arm, shaking lightly. He doesn't wake and Yunho grits his teeth. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. He shakes him slightly hard, adding his name for good measure. "Yoochun," he hisses. "Hey, wake up."
The other man stirs, moving until he's buried closer in Yunho's arms, giving him no choice but to let him. For a moment, he thinks the rebel is cold and lets him cuddle up close, strange though it is, considering they've got the life-support going in lieu of a fire. He believes it, though, until he feels the slight thrust of hips against his and hears Yoochun moan again.
It's not fear or pain or cold. It's arousal.
The realization hits him with a start, freezing him in place. Something which does nothing to dissuade the slumbering man at his side, feeling the brush of lips against his neck. Shit, he thinks, grimacing and placing a hand on Yoochun's chest, trying to push him away without waking him.
Words he doesn't understand are whispered in his ear, soft and slurred and alluring. They make him shiver despite the warmth from the thermo-blanket and from Yoochun's excitement pressing into his thigh.
"Yoochun," he tries again, accompanying the words with a gentle shove when he feels fingers working against his skin. "Come on, man, wake up. You're dreaming. Yoochun!"
It does the trick, the other man startling from his dream but still not fully awake. Dark eyes meet his, something mumbled in that same unidentified language, but the touches to his skin have halted, as have the movements of the other's hips. A hand still rests on his stomach, however, and it's not awake enough for his tastes.
"You were dreaming," he repeats, his own hand hovering over Yoochun's back. "Okay?"
There's no pretending on either side anymore. Yunho searches his gaze but finds no answers. The other man's gaze is heavy, pupils slightly dilated, his breath more than a little labored. Instead of pulling away, he finds Yoochun hiding his face in his shirt, clinging to him like he does every night. Except this is undeniably different.
"What are you doing?" he asks uncertainly, giving into resting a hand between the other's shoulder blades.
"Just shut up," comes the quiet reply and Yunho feels himself tense, mouth opened to retort when a hand covers it, something in Yoochun's voice he can't identify and it irks him. "Please."
He shuts up and waits, his heart beating a wild rhythm in his chest when Yoochun's hips recover their movement against his. He's being used and he knows, being angled in such a way as to give the other man satisfaction and he doesn't fight it. Yoochun presses his shoulder down and lies on top of him, straddling his hips with the ease of a man who's done this before.
It's that, if nothing else, that makes Yunho want to stop him. His own resistance is minimal after a month of solitude and silence and little to no release.
It's not much of an excuse, but it's enough of one to comfort him as he meets Yoochun's eyes, breath catching as hips shift against his own, bringing his own growing erection into sudden contact with the other man's. A hand braces itself next to his ear, an elbow by his shoulder and that dark head is bowed, soft grunts falling from his lips.
"Gods... want you..." Yoochun's words are slurred, the syllables uneven as they fall into the night, broken only by the sound of a zipper coming undone. There's not much room to move, but there's enough heat between them that it doesn't matter.
Yunho gasps out a name and feels surprised to hear 'Yoochun' echo off the walls.
The other's eyes meet his, searching dark shadows, lips parted around harsh breaths. A hand reaches down to find Yunho's wrist, fingers curling around it in a kind of desperation even as Yoochun ducks his head against Yunho's shoulder. The solider stares up through the cracked glass of the cockpit, unseeing as the friction between their bodies increases, his hand fisting in Yoochun's shirt.
He releases hard and fast, clothes stained with come, first his own, then Yoochun's. The other man's orgasm is loud and his expression is almost one of pain, but he slumps against Yunho so heavily that there's no mistaking the shivers of pleasure for anything but that.
"Oh Gods..." is his conclusion, so wholly inappropriate and cliché that Yunho kisses him again just to silence it. Full lips move slowly against his own and he relaxes his grip on Yoochun's shirt, smoothing a hand down the other man's back.
When it breaks, Yoochun takes to hiding again, head tucking under Yunho's chin but otherwise doesn't move. The other's weight is warm and heavy on top of him and Yunho feels his eyes begin to slip shut, the even breath against his skin lulling him to sleep before he can think to protest.
***
He wakes a second time to the feel of Yunho's hands on him. A washcloth that he knows used to be part of the seat padding in the Guard skiff is pressed over his thighs and stomach, water cool but not cold where it passes over his skin.
"Creepy," he smirks, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to glare at the man kneeling beside him.
A snort from the other's direction. "Figures that basic hygeine would wake you but not us being practically stuck to each other."
"Savage, remember?" Yoochun grins, allowing the pseudo sponge bath. His eyes slip shut, but only momentarily, because he's not willing to let go of this dream just yet. More so than the previous night, he feels something after being dead for better than a month. He thinks he may've been dead for years without knowing it, and all it's taken is getting stranded on a deserted planet to shake him from that deep depression.
It's bullshit, of course, and he opens his eyes fully expecting to be glared at or mocked, rather than gazed at with such intensity as only Yunho possesses. "What?" He forces a grin as he asks, uncomfortable with being the object of scrutiny.
A hand brushes over his stomach, then higher over his ribs, a smirk crossing the other's lips. "You think more than I would've given you credit for."
Closest thing to a compliment yet and surprisingly, it's not directly related to how good he is in bed. Yoochun frowns, a smile teasing but not quite making it to his lips. "Gods save me," he chuckles as that questing hand stops palm down over his heart, "I've shocked the Guard."
That mention of their past is rousing to the other man. "Not yet," he smiles, "but here's your chance. Can you cook?"
The grin finally makes it through at that, Yoochun pushing himself into a sitting position and with only the smallest hesitation, leaning in to kiss the other man briefly. "Prepare to be awed."
He tries his best, creative juices flowing even if he's working with potentially tasteless--if not poisonous, which the scanner vouches for--sand-snakes and fruit that looks a lot like potatoes except it grows on trees. Mercifully, Yunho doesn't stick around to watch him do it. A water source virtually on their doorstep is too much temptation to pass up and they've become domesticated enough that the other man states, in all seriousness, that he's going to do laundry.
It's a decision that leaves him in his underwear and boots with thankfully no one around to witness. Drawing the knife from his ankle, he slices the fruit into wedges, popping a piece into his mouth and deciding after a few chews that it's not horrible. Nothing like the rich tapestry his home planet has to offer, but more than welcome on an empty stomach. At most, the activity keeps his hands busy and his head from worrying until Yunho's return.
He smiles without looking up when he hears boots kicking up soft tufts of sand, the tension in his shoulders easing. "It's almost done, so..." He trails off as he lifts his eyes to find Yunho's, the other man's features blank. "What's wrong?"
A black and white snapshot is held out between two fingers and twisted in his direction. Yunho doesn't speak. Yoochun curses his memory, his lack of foresight.
"I swear I didn't steal it," he starts, voice catching when he realizes his lie. "I just... I didn't mean to go through your stuff. Your leg was injured. And I didn't think you'd be able to get back up." And all the excuses he tries to come up with feel hollow to his own ears. "I'm sorry..."
"Why did you take it?"
His blood pounds in his temples. "I...I don't know," he gets out, whetting his lips, suddenly feeling naked in front of the other man's eyes. "I needed something to remind me you were...human, I guess. I didn't think."
"Okay." Apparently, that's all the other man seems to need. Kneeling on the ground around their improvised meal, their first on this planet, he slides the photograph back towards Yoochun and leaves it there. No compliments over the food ensue, but no complaints either. A strange, uncomfortable silence falls and Yoochun feels it twisting in his gut, as if he's been caught stealing from the collection plate in temple.
In the end, he can't take it anymore, not after being shown what could be instead of what is. One month is a long time to wait for their relationship to evolve again, he thinks, even if time is the one thing they have in abundance.
"Is that... is that your father?" he asks, the man's eyes glaring at him from years ago.
"Yes," the other replies shortly and for a moment, it seems like it's all he will say on the matter. Yoochun gives a small nod, looking back down at his food. There is another long silence and then Yunho shifts, reaching to take a piece of fruit. "He was a Captain in the Guard." A pause. "Your people killed him eight years ago."
It's not quite a slap in the face, though Yoochun fully believes him capable of being that cruel; it's more like a sign that he shouldn't pry in things that aren't his business. But by the time their food is gone and Yunho leaves again, the photograph is still on the ground, untouched.
Yoochun finds a place for it in the frame of a cracked windshield.
***
By the time night falls, those words remain the last Yunho has spoken to him.
Sparing the other man only the most cursory nod when he hesitantly announces he's going to bed, Yunho remains by their small fire, arms wrapped around himself and staring at nothing. He's not angry. Not really. Not when it comes to Yoochun's actions, invasive and treacherous though they might have been. But they aren't the greatest sin committed against him since they were thrown together and he can let it go.
The other man's words stick a little deeper in his chest.
"I needed something to remind me you were...human."
He pushes the heel of his boot idly into the sand, features set in a brooding mask. Wonders how much of Yoochun still needs the reminder.
Dousing the fire, he saves the half-burnt wood for another time, another night with the promise of a scorching dawn, and climbs the skiff to slip in under a canopy of hard warmth and sincere awkwardness over their situation. Yunho blames it all on himself. He has no room to be surprised just like he has no room to move or shift next to Yoochun's lithe body for fear of giving the wrong impression. Not that he can do worse than make the other man think he's infuriated.
His back to the wall, he sighs and closes his eyes, waiting to hear the familiar droning of the life-support in his ear. Instead, he hears every sound that escapes the other, every deep breath that slides over his skin.
There's silence between them and he half-expects an apology when warm lips press against his own insistently with a broken plea. It's that alone that keeps him from shoving Yoochun back; that and the way his stomach tightens at being touched by unfamiliar, enemy hands, delighting in the attention. It's wrong, it's sick, it's incredibly arousing and Yoochun knows it. Gods, he knows it.
Hips slide against his, a hand dipping down between Yunho's thighs to cup him roughly, stroking as if this is natural and perhaps, in another life, in different circumstances, it would be.
Yunho gasps at the demanding strokes, slightly surprised but not really when Yoochun pushes his shirt up and slides down his body with lips and tongue and expert hands that know what they're doing even if Yunho doesn't.
Deft fingers work at the close of his trousers, a warm hand closing around him even as the other man leaves harsh, sucking kisses over the expanse of his stomach. He can't help himself--he slides a hand through dark, greasy locks, fingers tightening briefly when Yoochun takes it as encouragement and moves lower.
He wants to pull away, to stop him, but his body disregards his mind with far too much ease, a low moan spilling from his lips as Yoochun takes him in his mouth.
"Gods," he breathes, body and mind warring treacherously for control of his senses. "Yes..."
Full lips that he's seen pressed against his own, that he's heard spew insults and lies, slide down his length, tight and warm and so easy to get lost in. They work him in a fast rhythm that's as alien as the man kneeling over him. It's the practiced ease of prostitutes on the Dionysus and Yunho bites the inside of his cheek to keep from falling under their spell.
Until a hand creeps up to wrap around his wrist, the grasp tight and pleading even as the other man's action never ceases. Yunho closes his eyes, breathing raggedly, fingers still clutching dark strands as Yoochun swallows him deeper. He finds his hips moving of their own accord, a calloused hand steadying them.
He bites his fist, his thumb but there's no holding back, not with Yoochun's touch sending shivers down his spine. Yunho muffles a cry, his hand in Yoochun's hair pulling up in warning only to find the other man continuing his ministrations, doubling his efforts as if he wants Yunho to come in his mouth. It's strange and full of mangled rules and promises but Yunho finds himself letting go instead of insisting, back arching off the shuttle floor.
His orgasm leaves him breathless and torn up inside, confused where he should be relaxed.
The feeling doesn't fade as he watches Yoochun's throat work, the other man pulling away to lie down beside him, chest heaving and lips swollen. Yunho watches him for a long moment, reaching out a hand to push lengthening hair from the other's eyes. He knows the name of this game at least--you don't take without giving in return. Even trade and no one owes anybody anything.
Shifting closer, he makes to move down Yoochun's slim form when a hand on his arm stops him. "What are you doing?"
"Returning the favor," he answers, voice low as if there's anyone to overhear them on this planet.
Dark eyes stare into his own uncomprehendingly. "But that's not... you don't have to."
He slips a hand under soft cotton and sure enough, the other man is hard and warm beneath his fingers, instead of detached as his voice sounds. "What were you planning to do about this, then?" he asks, genuinely curious to understand how the rebel's mind works. "Jack off while I sleep?"
A half-hearted shrug gives affirmation, even as he sees the other's eyes dilate at his touch. "You don't have to," the other man repeats, fingers wrapping around Yunho's wrist and squeezing slightly.
Yunho frowns, shaking his head. "Heard you the first time." He's not as big of a creep as Yoochun seems to think. The Guard is all about sharing and he's been through this too many times to not know how it works. He wonders why it's so strange to Yoochun, why the other man's hand won't let go of his even after he's leaned back on the blanket and covered his eyes with his free hand, looking strangely submissive.
His frown deepens, a small seed of anger sown that he tries to ignore. Yoochun doesn't get to close his eyes and pretend he's with someone else, not after he's all but forced his way twice into Yunho's bed. He reaches up to pull the other man's hand away, frustration coursing through him.
"Stop it," he hisses, leaning in to kiss him.
He finds wide eyes boring into his own. "This isn't how it's supposed to be," he protests and Yunho doesn't get it. Damn right this isn't how it's supposed to be but it's what they've got, just like the fickle weather and the sand dunes around them. They have to make do.
"What, in the name of the Gods, is your problem?" he hisses, drawing back on his haunches and pressing shaking palms against his eyes. "You look like I'm going to fucking rape you or something."
He hears the muted scuffle of movement, hands on his arms, Yoochun entirely too close. "No, that's not--" The other man swallows audibly. "You just...you don't owe me anything. That's not how it--you just don't."
Yunho stares at him like he's grown a second head. "What are you talking about?" Sex is easy, just another bodily function he needs to keep in check. What's gotten into the other man has nothing to do with the ease he's used to. "You practically force yourself on me and then you decide you don't want it?"
Yoochun hisses between his teeth, pressing his hands over his eyes in mimicry of Yunho's actions only moments ago. "It's complicated. I just...I wanted to...for you. I don't want anything back."
Which might as well translate to 'I don't want you', as far as Yunho's concerned. Raising his hands in surrender, he shrugs. "Okay. Fine. Goodnight." He slips back under the blanket, a headache coming on. It's none of his fucking business anyway.
Authors: butterflyweb and nemesis_cry
Genre: Sci Fi, AU to our "Acts" AU
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairing: Yunho/Yoochun
Summary: Enemies as members of opposing factions, they have to fight to survive as they are landed in unusual circumstances
Warnings: swearing, violence and sexual themes.
AN: Inspired by the premise of Barry B. Longyear's Enemy Mine.
AN2: Not a formal part of our multi-chaptered Acts of Contrition and Acts of Insurrection storyline but using elements of both.
Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4
He's never been a restless sleeper, so when he wakes in the middle of the night, he attributes it to the still throbbing pain in his leg. Its other possible cause, namely Yoochun's clinging limbs, has become far too commonplace to be the case.
Less commonplace are the soft whimpers escaping his lips.
Yunho turns on his side, the blanket shifting around his shoulders as he pries strong fists from his shirt. Another nightmare, no doubt. He's always at a loss about what to say or do when the other man is dreaming. He tries to ignore it, but that still takes a toll on his psyche, as if he knows he should intervene but is too cowardly to do so.
This time, he lays as gentle a hand as he can manage on the other man's upper arm, shaking lightly. He doesn't wake and Yunho grits his teeth. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. He shakes him slightly hard, adding his name for good measure. "Yoochun," he hisses. "Hey, wake up."
The other man stirs, moving until he's buried closer in Yunho's arms, giving him no choice but to let him. For a moment, he thinks the rebel is cold and lets him cuddle up close, strange though it is, considering they've got the life-support going in lieu of a fire. He believes it, though, until he feels the slight thrust of hips against his and hears Yoochun moan again.
It's not fear or pain or cold. It's arousal.
The realization hits him with a start, freezing him in place. Something which does nothing to dissuade the slumbering man at his side, feeling the brush of lips against his neck. Shit, he thinks, grimacing and placing a hand on Yoochun's chest, trying to push him away without waking him.
Words he doesn't understand are whispered in his ear, soft and slurred and alluring. They make him shiver despite the warmth from the thermo-blanket and from Yoochun's excitement pressing into his thigh.
"Yoochun," he tries again, accompanying the words with a gentle shove when he feels fingers working against his skin. "Come on, man, wake up. You're dreaming. Yoochun!"
It does the trick, the other man startling from his dream but still not fully awake. Dark eyes meet his, something mumbled in that same unidentified language, but the touches to his skin have halted, as have the movements of the other's hips. A hand still rests on his stomach, however, and it's not awake enough for his tastes.
"You were dreaming," he repeats, his own hand hovering over Yoochun's back. "Okay?"
There's no pretending on either side anymore. Yunho searches his gaze but finds no answers. The other man's gaze is heavy, pupils slightly dilated, his breath more than a little labored. Instead of pulling away, he finds Yoochun hiding his face in his shirt, clinging to him like he does every night. Except this is undeniably different.
"What are you doing?" he asks uncertainly, giving into resting a hand between the other's shoulder blades.
"Just shut up," comes the quiet reply and Yunho feels himself tense, mouth opened to retort when a hand covers it, something in Yoochun's voice he can't identify and it irks him. "Please."
He shuts up and waits, his heart beating a wild rhythm in his chest when Yoochun's hips recover their movement against his. He's being used and he knows, being angled in such a way as to give the other man satisfaction and he doesn't fight it. Yoochun presses his shoulder down and lies on top of him, straddling his hips with the ease of a man who's done this before.
It's that, if nothing else, that makes Yunho want to stop him. His own resistance is minimal after a month of solitude and silence and little to no release.
It's not much of an excuse, but it's enough of one to comfort him as he meets Yoochun's eyes, breath catching as hips shift against his own, bringing his own growing erection into sudden contact with the other man's. A hand braces itself next to his ear, an elbow by his shoulder and that dark head is bowed, soft grunts falling from his lips.
"Gods... want you..." Yoochun's words are slurred, the syllables uneven as they fall into the night, broken only by the sound of a zipper coming undone. There's not much room to move, but there's enough heat between them that it doesn't matter.
Yunho gasps out a name and feels surprised to hear 'Yoochun' echo off the walls.
The other's eyes meet his, searching dark shadows, lips parted around harsh breaths. A hand reaches down to find Yunho's wrist, fingers curling around it in a kind of desperation even as Yoochun ducks his head against Yunho's shoulder. The solider stares up through the cracked glass of the cockpit, unseeing as the friction between their bodies increases, his hand fisting in Yoochun's shirt.
He releases hard and fast, clothes stained with come, first his own, then Yoochun's. The other man's orgasm is loud and his expression is almost one of pain, but he slumps against Yunho so heavily that there's no mistaking the shivers of pleasure for anything but that.
"Oh Gods..." is his conclusion, so wholly inappropriate and cliché that Yunho kisses him again just to silence it. Full lips move slowly against his own and he relaxes his grip on Yoochun's shirt, smoothing a hand down the other man's back.
When it breaks, Yoochun takes to hiding again, head tucking under Yunho's chin but otherwise doesn't move. The other's weight is warm and heavy on top of him and Yunho feels his eyes begin to slip shut, the even breath against his skin lulling him to sleep before he can think to protest.
***
He wakes a second time to the feel of Yunho's hands on him. A washcloth that he knows used to be part of the seat padding in the Guard skiff is pressed over his thighs and stomach, water cool but not cold where it passes over his skin.
"Creepy," he smirks, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to glare at the man kneeling beside him.
A snort from the other's direction. "Figures that basic hygeine would wake you but not us being practically stuck to each other."
"Savage, remember?" Yoochun grins, allowing the pseudo sponge bath. His eyes slip shut, but only momentarily, because he's not willing to let go of this dream just yet. More so than the previous night, he feels something after being dead for better than a month. He thinks he may've been dead for years without knowing it, and all it's taken is getting stranded on a deserted planet to shake him from that deep depression.
It's bullshit, of course, and he opens his eyes fully expecting to be glared at or mocked, rather than gazed at with such intensity as only Yunho possesses. "What?" He forces a grin as he asks, uncomfortable with being the object of scrutiny.
A hand brushes over his stomach, then higher over his ribs, a smirk crossing the other's lips. "You think more than I would've given you credit for."
Closest thing to a compliment yet and surprisingly, it's not directly related to how good he is in bed. Yoochun frowns, a smile teasing but not quite making it to his lips. "Gods save me," he chuckles as that questing hand stops palm down over his heart, "I've shocked the Guard."
That mention of their past is rousing to the other man. "Not yet," he smiles, "but here's your chance. Can you cook?"
The grin finally makes it through at that, Yoochun pushing himself into a sitting position and with only the smallest hesitation, leaning in to kiss the other man briefly. "Prepare to be awed."
He tries his best, creative juices flowing even if he's working with potentially tasteless--if not poisonous, which the scanner vouches for--sand-snakes and fruit that looks a lot like potatoes except it grows on trees. Mercifully, Yunho doesn't stick around to watch him do it. A water source virtually on their doorstep is too much temptation to pass up and they've become domesticated enough that the other man states, in all seriousness, that he's going to do laundry.
It's a decision that leaves him in his underwear and boots with thankfully no one around to witness. Drawing the knife from his ankle, he slices the fruit into wedges, popping a piece into his mouth and deciding after a few chews that it's not horrible. Nothing like the rich tapestry his home planet has to offer, but more than welcome on an empty stomach. At most, the activity keeps his hands busy and his head from worrying until Yunho's return.
He smiles without looking up when he hears boots kicking up soft tufts of sand, the tension in his shoulders easing. "It's almost done, so..." He trails off as he lifts his eyes to find Yunho's, the other man's features blank. "What's wrong?"
A black and white snapshot is held out between two fingers and twisted in his direction. Yunho doesn't speak. Yoochun curses his memory, his lack of foresight.
"I swear I didn't steal it," he starts, voice catching when he realizes his lie. "I just... I didn't mean to go through your stuff. Your leg was injured. And I didn't think you'd be able to get back up." And all the excuses he tries to come up with feel hollow to his own ears. "I'm sorry..."
"Why did you take it?"
His blood pounds in his temples. "I...I don't know," he gets out, whetting his lips, suddenly feeling naked in front of the other man's eyes. "I needed something to remind me you were...human, I guess. I didn't think."
"Okay." Apparently, that's all the other man seems to need. Kneeling on the ground around their improvised meal, their first on this planet, he slides the photograph back towards Yoochun and leaves it there. No compliments over the food ensue, but no complaints either. A strange, uncomfortable silence falls and Yoochun feels it twisting in his gut, as if he's been caught stealing from the collection plate in temple.
In the end, he can't take it anymore, not after being shown what could be instead of what is. One month is a long time to wait for their relationship to evolve again, he thinks, even if time is the one thing they have in abundance.
"Is that... is that your father?" he asks, the man's eyes glaring at him from years ago.
"Yes," the other replies shortly and for a moment, it seems like it's all he will say on the matter. Yoochun gives a small nod, looking back down at his food. There is another long silence and then Yunho shifts, reaching to take a piece of fruit. "He was a Captain in the Guard." A pause. "Your people killed him eight years ago."
It's not quite a slap in the face, though Yoochun fully believes him capable of being that cruel; it's more like a sign that he shouldn't pry in things that aren't his business. But by the time their food is gone and Yunho leaves again, the photograph is still on the ground, untouched.
Yoochun finds a place for it in the frame of a cracked windshield.
***
By the time night falls, those words remain the last Yunho has spoken to him.
Sparing the other man only the most cursory nod when he hesitantly announces he's going to bed, Yunho remains by their small fire, arms wrapped around himself and staring at nothing. He's not angry. Not really. Not when it comes to Yoochun's actions, invasive and treacherous though they might have been. But they aren't the greatest sin committed against him since they were thrown together and he can let it go.
The other man's words stick a little deeper in his chest.
"I needed something to remind me you were...human."
He pushes the heel of his boot idly into the sand, features set in a brooding mask. Wonders how much of Yoochun still needs the reminder.
Dousing the fire, he saves the half-burnt wood for another time, another night with the promise of a scorching dawn, and climbs the skiff to slip in under a canopy of hard warmth and sincere awkwardness over their situation. Yunho blames it all on himself. He has no room to be surprised just like he has no room to move or shift next to Yoochun's lithe body for fear of giving the wrong impression. Not that he can do worse than make the other man think he's infuriated.
His back to the wall, he sighs and closes his eyes, waiting to hear the familiar droning of the life-support in his ear. Instead, he hears every sound that escapes the other, every deep breath that slides over his skin.
There's silence between them and he half-expects an apology when warm lips press against his own insistently with a broken plea. It's that alone that keeps him from shoving Yoochun back; that and the way his stomach tightens at being touched by unfamiliar, enemy hands, delighting in the attention. It's wrong, it's sick, it's incredibly arousing and Yoochun knows it. Gods, he knows it.
Hips slide against his, a hand dipping down between Yunho's thighs to cup him roughly, stroking as if this is natural and perhaps, in another life, in different circumstances, it would be.
Yunho gasps at the demanding strokes, slightly surprised but not really when Yoochun pushes his shirt up and slides down his body with lips and tongue and expert hands that know what they're doing even if Yunho doesn't.
Deft fingers work at the close of his trousers, a warm hand closing around him even as the other man leaves harsh, sucking kisses over the expanse of his stomach. He can't help himself--he slides a hand through dark, greasy locks, fingers tightening briefly when Yoochun takes it as encouragement and moves lower.
He wants to pull away, to stop him, but his body disregards his mind with far too much ease, a low moan spilling from his lips as Yoochun takes him in his mouth.
"Gods," he breathes, body and mind warring treacherously for control of his senses. "Yes..."
Full lips that he's seen pressed against his own, that he's heard spew insults and lies, slide down his length, tight and warm and so easy to get lost in. They work him in a fast rhythm that's as alien as the man kneeling over him. It's the practiced ease of prostitutes on the Dionysus and Yunho bites the inside of his cheek to keep from falling under their spell.
Until a hand creeps up to wrap around his wrist, the grasp tight and pleading even as the other man's action never ceases. Yunho closes his eyes, breathing raggedly, fingers still clutching dark strands as Yoochun swallows him deeper. He finds his hips moving of their own accord, a calloused hand steadying them.
He bites his fist, his thumb but there's no holding back, not with Yoochun's touch sending shivers down his spine. Yunho muffles a cry, his hand in Yoochun's hair pulling up in warning only to find the other man continuing his ministrations, doubling his efforts as if he wants Yunho to come in his mouth. It's strange and full of mangled rules and promises but Yunho finds himself letting go instead of insisting, back arching off the shuttle floor.
His orgasm leaves him breathless and torn up inside, confused where he should be relaxed.
The feeling doesn't fade as he watches Yoochun's throat work, the other man pulling away to lie down beside him, chest heaving and lips swollen. Yunho watches him for a long moment, reaching out a hand to push lengthening hair from the other's eyes. He knows the name of this game at least--you don't take without giving in return. Even trade and no one owes anybody anything.
Shifting closer, he makes to move down Yoochun's slim form when a hand on his arm stops him. "What are you doing?"
"Returning the favor," he answers, voice low as if there's anyone to overhear them on this planet.
Dark eyes stare into his own uncomprehendingly. "But that's not... you don't have to."
He slips a hand under soft cotton and sure enough, the other man is hard and warm beneath his fingers, instead of detached as his voice sounds. "What were you planning to do about this, then?" he asks, genuinely curious to understand how the rebel's mind works. "Jack off while I sleep?"
A half-hearted shrug gives affirmation, even as he sees the other's eyes dilate at his touch. "You don't have to," the other man repeats, fingers wrapping around Yunho's wrist and squeezing slightly.
Yunho frowns, shaking his head. "Heard you the first time." He's not as big of a creep as Yoochun seems to think. The Guard is all about sharing and he's been through this too many times to not know how it works. He wonders why it's so strange to Yoochun, why the other man's hand won't let go of his even after he's leaned back on the blanket and covered his eyes with his free hand, looking strangely submissive.
His frown deepens, a small seed of anger sown that he tries to ignore. Yoochun doesn't get to close his eyes and pretend he's with someone else, not after he's all but forced his way twice into Yunho's bed. He reaches up to pull the other man's hand away, frustration coursing through him.
"Stop it," he hisses, leaning in to kiss him.
He finds wide eyes boring into his own. "This isn't how it's supposed to be," he protests and Yunho doesn't get it. Damn right this isn't how it's supposed to be but it's what they've got, just like the fickle weather and the sand dunes around them. They have to make do.
"What, in the name of the Gods, is your problem?" he hisses, drawing back on his haunches and pressing shaking palms against his eyes. "You look like I'm going to fucking rape you or something."
He hears the muted scuffle of movement, hands on his arms, Yoochun entirely too close. "No, that's not--" The other man swallows audibly. "You just...you don't owe me anything. That's not how it--you just don't."
Yunho stares at him like he's grown a second head. "What are you talking about?" Sex is easy, just another bodily function he needs to keep in check. What's gotten into the other man has nothing to do with the ease he's used to. "You practically force yourself on me and then you decide you don't want it?"
Yoochun hisses between his teeth, pressing his hands over his eyes in mimicry of Yunho's actions only moments ago. "It's complicated. I just...I wanted to...for you. I don't want anything back."
Which might as well translate to 'I don't want you', as far as Yunho's concerned. Raising his hands in surrender, he shrugs. "Okay. Fine. Goodnight." He slips back under the blanket, a headache coming on. It's none of his fucking business anyway.