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It was the first time either of them had heard silence in a long while. X wept quietly for the longest time, Zero may have done the same. Anxiety electrified the air between them. This time, there was no comforting, no relief that Hell had decided to close its gates for a little while. There was only the anticipation of the inevitable. They went outside their tent and jogged around the encampment. They stretched themselves and each other. They watched a day, or two or three, pass, just splayed out on the tough desert grass, letting bugs and lizards make their way around or over them. Neither wanted to eat, neither wanted to drink or sleep or talk. They needed the silence.
Evening came one of those days, the sky and sun blood-red as it sank beneath the horizon. For some reason, voices returned. From the camp, off in the distance, tired warriors startled at the sounds of their commanders screeching and whooping wildly at the sky. They both decided to lose it together. It was a relief to them, to let their voices echo into the emptiness, the cooling night air rushing through their innards and seeping into their synth-skin, to breathe without the acrid blast of smoke, coolant, and ichor staining the atmosphere.
At twilight, they looked at each other again. X’s face was struck brilliantly by the moon, its dramatic, silvery light betraying his damp cheeks and glassy eyes. He looked bewildered, almost foreign to Zero. And Zero was in shadow, barely lit, only the dying glow of the sun to shine on him. Mysterious and dark to X.
Neither knew what started it, but they began to fight. It was a little more than just sparring, a little more primal. No weapons were drawn—there was no intention to harm—just some strange need to trade blows, to feel pain again. To be reminded that they were still alive, and that the world wasn’t dead yet.
The moon was mid-sky when X pinned Zero to the dusty earth, and they stopped, panting to cool their systems. Still no words. Nothing. Just the subtle ache in their bodies, and a gaze between them that couldn’t be described by words. X leaned to one arm, wiping some of the dust and ichor bleeding from Zero’s new face. Away from his chin. Away from his cheek. Away from his lips. Zero quietly stared through inky blue eyes as his friend adjusted some of his blond strands, patting a little dust from his red chest piece.
He reached up with both hands and did the same: dusting him off and wiping away at any bleeding. Mimicking the way X wiped his thumb across his own lips, he did the same, but slower. More contemplatively; watching the way the plush flesh molded beneath his finger. X’s eyes bore into his, saying everything.
Zero cupped his cheeks and kissed him. X didn’t tug away or resist, only relaxing into the touch. Returning it. Showing him how to make it more exciting. He was causing Zero to make noises he hadn’t made in a century, and the sanguine, ashen taste in their mouths made no difference to either of them. They moved as deftly about each other as they did when they fought, and it was easy, welcomed even, to pull open the other’s chest piece and begin to wander down.
“Wait,” X rasped, now beneath Zero, his hair mussed in with the dust, chest bared, breathless, confused, in desperate need. “Camp.”
Zero blinked, nodding in agreement. They took a moment to find helmets and links for armor, dust each other off, and shake out their hair. They made sure they were suited up correctly. Then Zero grabbed X's hand tightly in his, and they took off for their tent.
A few people warily greeted them, but most were off in another tent across the camp, having some sort of party. Breach of protocol, and they’d all be fucked if any battalions of Golems found their encampment, but neither commander was thinking about that. God they were frazzled. Two weeks of unceasing battles. Two months since X had been home, if it was even still there. Zero was only finally comfortably synced within his new form. Fuck everything.
Making sure they were alone, Zero sealed the front of the tent shut. The clunk of armor being tossed to the ground sounded behind him, once, twice, and before he could even fully turn, X pulled him forward and his mouth was on his. X kissed furiously now, like the wrath behind their spar earlier hadn’t yet fully subsided in him. Zero pulled back several times, trying to ease him a bit, show some restraint before he shoved them back out the tent. X clutched him tight to his body, raking off the red chest plate and helmet, toiling through his thin golden locks. Zero cupped his cheek in one hand, a pec in the other, meeting him deeply, thumbing his tears, letting him get his frenzy out before they entered more delicate territory. Soothing him between kisses, he ran his hand up into his frumpy brown hair, massaging his scalp gently. It was gentler than Zero was used to being, but something had come over him.
They found themselves seated on the floor mat, X sobbing into Zero’s chest. Still Zero soothed him, running his hands along his arm and waist, and when X curled up in his lap, along the rise of his hip and thigh.
“I’m sorry,” X breathed, voice shuddering. “I need this.”
“Don’t be,” Zero murmured. “I need you too.”