Secret Santa
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Title: Comforting
For: Cat ( marmaladecat )
Rating: M - explicit in some places.
Request: Memory loss. Either character. To whatever extent you like. Permanent or not.
It was unfair, not to mention rather irresponsible of him. As his commanding officer, Yzak had every right to demand that the insolent guy remember everything. That's how the military worked. The commander ordered, and the soldier obeyed. But how, exactly, does one go about demanding such things as reversal of memory loss? From the victim no less.
*****************
Yzak Joule had never put much stock in the hows and whys of executing an order. He ordered, or was ordered to, and they got fulfilled; that's all there was to it. No negotiations, or finding a deeper meaning to things. The enemy never waited around for you to solve your inner conflicts; you most definitely did NOT have any kind of inner conflicts. Unfortunately for Yzak's peace of mind, and fortunately for Yzak's inner turmoil, peace was not as elusive as wartime made it out to be.
Peace meant that one got leave, and one got to relax... Yzak Joule obviously did NOT do such plebeian things as relaxing. If one wanted to improve, one had to prepare constantly, making sure that no situation ever caught him unprepared. This was Yzak's general idea. However one Dearka Elsman didn't approve, after all, none of the aforementioned points ever hinted towards anything even remotely resembling
spend time with Dearka. Then again, Dearka knew fully well that Yzak would sooner eat hot coal, than ever admiting to needing to feel vulnerable in any form. Oh no... Yzak and vulnerable in the same sentence, phrase or even loosely associated words could not possibly be conceived. Well... not unless the one doing the conceiving was Dearka Elsman.
A stray touch here, a caress there, a fallen document requiring Dearka to wriggle his arse (otherwise known as pick up the paper), a small
'involuntary' stretch and there was no such thing as ZAFT enforced military practice. Well, not from Yzak's point of view anyway. Had anyone asked Dearka, the answer would've been a radically different one. Despite what outsiders may have thought, Yzak never once protested getting distracted. Most grumbling, if any, tended to occur AFTER said distraction: when labored breathing has finally been restored and sweaty backs alerted the distracted pair of lovers about the existence of an outside world. As Dearka so astutely tended to notice, these protests were geared more toward the activity Yzak had previously been distracted from, rather than toward the distraction itself. Therefore, Yzak could always count on Dearka dragging him back to bed and screw the outside... well
inside world.
Yet what does the bastard do? He gets himself into an accident and loses his memory. Obviously, the damsel in distress (some snot-nosed 6-year-old that Yzak most definitely did not wish unmentionable things to) gets away unscathed. What sort of soldier was Dearka? As an ace mobile suit pilot, he should have been ashamed of himself to get hit by a mere car. Obviously, remembering Yzak's upcoming ire, the idiot deftly escaped getting hit by the car... only to promptly ram his head into the nearest light pole.
Yzak had to give him credit though. Dearka took the meaning of hard-headed to a whole new level: barely a scratch, mild dizzyiness and he had even managed a cheerful smile toward the brat. The normal thing would've been to go and inquire about his friend's health, but then when had Yzak done anything normal? Military equaled elite, as such normal had no place in Yzak's vocabulary... or behavioural repertoire, in this case. So imagine Yzak's surprise when Dearka just stares up at him questioningly.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" is the best Yzak can muster with a straight face.
Dearka's blank stare, obviously prompted another harsh accusation.
"Is
that how you answer your commander?!"
"Commander?"
"Yes", came the dry reply,"the person you report to for military duty. Your JOB", Yzak finished rather crossly.
"Oh... so I'm a soldier... and... what's my name?", came the disturbingly earnest question.
"Dearka... Elsman", Yzak's voice cracked noticeably.
"Good", Dearka grinned, "then it's settled: Dearka Elsman reporting for duty, sir", he stood up still a little wobbly, but his saluting stance was impeccable otherwise.
*****************
Yzak was drumming his fingers impatiently. There was nothing to object: Dearka's behaviour was irreproachable. As a matter of fact, had it been a few years back, Yzak would have been the first in line to offer his friendship to the guy. The problem, however, was that it was NOT a few years back. Yzak did not need someone to look up to, he had a whole ship's crew for that. Yzak needed someone who'd stay by his side and support him, someone to laugh all his worries off, someone to wink at him saucily.
He had always thought that after all that's happened, there wouldn't be any more trials. How could he forget everything... how could he forget HIM?? How could he fail to notice that Yzak was suffering of insomnia? How could he forget that he had to keep him warm? How could he be so unfeeling and leave him to fall prey to his inner demons? To relive each and every single vile and vicious act he'd commited in the name of his own pride? Dearka was supposed to quietly explain that everyone is flawed. That what matters most is how one makes ammends, what one learns from that. How could he?? Dearka knew very well that Yzak would be unable to forgive himself. He needed to know that
someone did though, that someone understood he needed to be distracted.
A sudden clatter made Yzak once again aware of his surroundings. Dearka had apparently dropped his clipboard, and instead of leaning down to collect it (such a perfect opportunity wasted), he was just staring...no glowering at it. And that's when it hit him: Dearka was in pain. Probably much more than him with all his nightmares. Dearka was alone, with a captain that was constantly barking orders at him, without a word of thanks. After all, Dearka can't remember that Yzak does not explicitly say thanks, he must must have forgotten that Yzak thrived on challenging him, on making Dearka his equal. Just because their clothes were a different colour now, it didn't mean that Dearka's skills were any less.
Wordlessly standing, Yzak attempted to nonchalantly march up to Dearka and help him out with whatever task was making the blond miserable. Of course, things didn't quite go as planned: they never did whenever Dearka entered the equation. Yzak stumbled quite gracelessly, and the clipboard all but slipped from his fingers. In the end he had somehow managed to complete an otherwise mundane task, with minimal misfires, but with a considerably higher blood pressure.
"Sorry", it was barely a whisper, but as Yzak had heard it.
Dearka was uncharacteristically guarded, hiding his face, stance rigid and fists clenched tightly. Yzak couldn't answer. Dearka not looking at him, scared of him and ... shivering? There was no possible way. Was this all HIS fault? Had he been so lost in self pity that he had hurt Dearka. There was no way to hurt the guy. He always laughed it off.
"What IS it that you want? Just
once I want to hear you say: well done... or even just alright... just once... please..."
Yzak's eyes widened considerably, moreso on seeing Dearka tearing up. There was no plausible reason to make him any better. No earthly compliment would ever do Dearka's actions, or better yet Yzak's feelings, justice. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, words leaving him, scurrying back down his throat. Giving up any attempt at coherency, Yzak threw his arms around the blond. He pressed his lips to Dearka's as tightly as possible, trying to ignore the rather unfamiliar stiffening from the other, at these actions.
Forcefully pressing his tongue to Dearka's lips, he wriggled it around, desperately trying to convey his feelings to the taller boy. To his great surprise, Dearka appeared to crouch down a bit, but as he also opened his lips, Yzak stopped wondering about anything else. Engaging Dearka's tongue in competition had never been hard, this time being no different. It was wet, messy and their chins were liberally coated with saliva, but it was also exhilariating.
Leaning back briefly, Yzak looked into Dearka's shocked expression, finally mustering his courage to utter some sort of response to the blond's earlier question.
"Perfect", he rasped breathlessly," so utterly perfect...".
Seeing Dearka eyes soften, Yzak once again attacked the taller boy. Nipping, sucking or downright biting every available surface of skin, it didn't matter. This worked and that satisfied Yzak for the time being. He did long for warm strong arms that swept him away from dull reports, but this time it was his arms that had to do it. Coats, shirts, trousers soon lay on a heap at their feet and Dearka was sitting in the middle of the commander's desk. It did vaguely occur to Yzak that the door was unlocked, but the three feet distance was eventually deemed as needless time wasting. Besides, didn't Dearka always taunt him about these things? Shameless debauchery on dining tables, wardrobes, bathrooms or even groping during public speeches.
Dearka was busy moaning and scratching at Yzak's back. For all that he was making all the right noises, Yzak couldn't bring himself to fully enjoy things. It was always Dearka who entered him, Dearka who whispered comforting words, Dearka who hugged him tightly. There was no other way around it, so Yzak selfishly climbed into Dearka's lap and stared at the blond, silently commanding him to go ahead. This was not Yzak's place anymore. Everything else be damned: Yzak did not do
nice.
Dearka just tugged Yzak closer, and entered him in one swift stroke. It was painful, and Dearka apologized and kissed him and made him shiver with hot puffs of breath, that he exhaled on Yzak's shoulder. They moved in sync not missing a beat, sweat slicked, hot and passionate as always. Just like Yzak needed to, in order to drive away his demons. As always, their mutual climax took Yzak by complete surprise, eyes wide and back arched at a dramatic angle.
As he slowly returned to the land of the living, Yzak became gradually aware of whispered chanting
"Never again... you're mine... mine...Yzak... Yzak... YZAK...", Dearka's words seemed to flow together, as if the speaker wasn't quite certain of their meaning, abandoning them half way.
Yzak, for his part, just hugged him tightly. He was expected to be selfish and demand affection, loyalty and protection... In exchange he'd ... Truthfully, there wasn't anything that he could do to equal his lover's action. But barking orders, clinging to him, and being comforted seemed to be enough. So he did just that: kept ordering everyone around, and at night, clung to Dearka as tightly as he could. And it was enough to comfort both of them. It was the
only thing that comforted either of them...
