Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

━ ◦ the first passes the quickest ◦ ━

The first time it happens, Jiyan is in the midst of helping clear injured civilians off a Tacet Field that cropped up overnight near a remote village. He has witnessed such cruel violence before — many a time, in fact — though seeing it unfold so gruesomely before his very eyes never gets easier no matter how much time passes. It's as he's moving an elderly man into the makeshift medic's tent they've managed to scrounge up that he first hears it.

“Help me.”

The voice is faint, like a distant cry, but Jiyan hears it like someone has just breathed the words directly against the shell of his ear. He whips his head around so violently that it causes a sharp pain in his neck, teal hair rustling with the movement.

“Head Medic, this is the last of the civilians. We’ll need to start administ—”

“Hold, someone is still out there.” He shifts the weight of the man slumped against his shoulder over to the medic before him, who accepts the burden without question. “Begin divvying up the patients based on injury. Treat those with more grievous injuries first.”

“Sir, the Midnight Rangers told us the area is cleared,” the woman urges with a bit more insistence in her tone. “All that’s left is for the General to finish eradicating the Tacet Discords.” Jiyan wets his lips. His gaze slides down the poor medic’s haggard expression, the blood on her hands and grime covering her from the knees down where she’s been forced to work in the mud to help clear the wounded. The old man draped around her shoulders has not suffered the worst injuries of the night, but his age will cause complications in pain management and treatment, no matter how severe the injury. Jiyan is needed here; that much is beyond evident to him. If there are still civilians outside or soldiers injured in the outbreak, then they will be brought to the tents accordingly.

The voice flickers again.

“Save me!”

Jiyan clenches a fist by his side, and the tacet mark between his shoulder blades burns like a hot iron being pressed into his skin.

“Get that man to a cot and make certain he’s amply hydrated.” He does not wait to see whether the medic will listen; she at least does not try to prevent him from leaving a second time, and Jiyan slips out of the tent.

The wastes of what used to be a lively village with bountiful crop stretches out across the fields. Midnight Rangers blot the landscape in sparse groups, though the threat level seems to have diminished enough to make the outbreak small scale and minor by military standards. Minor, Jiyan could almost scoff at the notion. Minor because the casualties are still minimal and the spread of the Tacet Discord outbreak did not go further than the village. Those that escaped with their lives will not call this incident minor. Those that lost their homes and families, the very livelihood they relied on for survival — none will speak of this destruction as a minor outbreak.

“Jiyan!”

It comes as a yell, and the raw, quivering desperation in the tone sends a chill down Jiyan’s spine. The medic startles, almost tripping on rubble as he climbs over a fallen arch to reach what used to be the main square of the village.

“Here’s the thing. Our captain’s got an urgent matter to attend to…”

The voice comes from behind him, he’s so certain of it, so why is it that when he turns around there is nothing but jagged stones ripping up from the earth like claws reaching for the sky? A sharp pain resonates behind his right eye. Jiyan hisses at the sensation, body wobbling to the left and right before he stabilizes himself on the quaking ground.

“Please, please help us. We’ve been training so hard for the Gulpuff Relay. So please…”

Something in his consciousness raises warning flags. He can’t be hearing these words now, not when they are echoes of a horror long past. The swarm of voices rushes at him like a tidal wave, all bringing about a dull thrum in his veins.

“Yeah, please, Jiyan!”

He staggers with a hissed inhale. A few meters ahead, there is a lifeless body bent and twisted at unnatural angles. Blood sprays across the cobbles. Jiyan forces his legs into action, but the tremors rippling through the earth make his steps uneven.

“Please, Jiyan. Why didn’t you help us?”

His tacet mark throbs, and he has the fleeting thought of desiring for it to be carved from his skin just to alleviate the searing pain that coils around it. His left knee gives out and careens to the jagged ground harshly. Jiyan can barely catch himself before he topples over completely, kneeling where he landed and bracing his weight on his other leg. When he glances up at the body before him once more, it’s through teal hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes. Another figure crawls out from the shadows of a collapsed building. It drags itself forward on its stomach, face mutilated beyond recognition, but the voice that calls to Jiyan through cracked lips and a hollow mouth is that of a friend. He recalls exactly where he buried that friend, and where he planted a flower honoring his memory on the hill beside Knell Square.

“Faster… if only you had been just a little faster. If only you had been a Resonator then. If only you had awoken your Forte then. Would we still have died?”

Jiyan grips his knee tighter and watches the approaching corpse in mute horror.

“-edic! Someone, get to him now!”

There’s a flash of black and silver before him, then purple flames erupt forward and scorch the ground where that reanimated corpse was moments prior. Jiyan’s panicked gaze flits up and down in a flurry, barely registering the man before him to be the General of the Midnight Rangers until Geshulin is upon him next. One hand grips the collar of Jiyan’s teal overcoat, and another finds the white strap buckled across his chest. A startled grunt escapes his lips as his back collides with the ground, and some jagged rock finds its way into his body through his clothing. The pain blooms instantly, and a sharp cry leaves Jiyan’s parted lips. It goes ignored by the man pinning him to the ground.

“You are a Resonator, combat medic! Get your act together and fight if there is an enemy in front of you,” Geshulin spits down at him. He yanks Jiyan up from the ground briefly just to release his grip and let him fall in the same place as before. This time, the rock digs harder into the wound that’s opened on his shoulder. The pain behind his right eye subsides. When he sits up on his elbows and looks past where the general straddles his thighs with both feet, it’s to not find the massacred form of his friend but that of a low class Tacet Discord. “Have you lost all sense of fighting by wasting away in medic tents? Shall I drag you back out of there to fight once more? What use would your death be when you desire to prevent that very thing?”

The sharp sting of disappointment coating the general’s tone almost outweighs the pain blossoming across Jiyan’s shoulder, and he dips his chin low to his chest in shame. Geshulin scoffs from where he stands over his prone body.

“Do me a sweet favor and die now if you don’t intend to be useful.”

What use is such power if wasted on a simple combat medic? Jiyan asks of himself time and time again, at the end of a long day of countless losses on the fields of battle. He grits his teeth through the pain, steels himself to look into those harsh gold-tinged eyes, and lifts his chin to stare down the general.

Whatever Geshulin sees in his gaze is enough to earn him a narrowed glare, but with it comes some form of mercy as the man steps back over Jiyan’s waist and goes to retrieve the sword he threw down so carelessly on his warpath to beat sense into his subordinate.

Jiyan forces himself to his feet, trying his hardest to minimize any singles of struggle that might linger in his muscles. The heat of Geshulin’s gaze feels hot on his back when he turns back to the medical tents. The warmth of his wound spreads to a throb, and the blood is sticky as it seeps between his skin and tight shirt pulled over his torso. He’s only able to breathe a little easier when the flap of the tent falls into place behind him, effectively shutting him off from the all-too-perceptive eyes of his general.

“Head Medic, we need you to operate immediately!”

He doesn’t even spare the thought of treating his own wound first as he moves into the tent, taking up one of the white coats and heaving it over his shoulders.

“Injury?” he asks when one of the nurses passes a pair of gloves his way.

“Debris caught in an open wound on the forearm.” A gasp follows, though Jiyan pays it no mind. “Sir, your shoulder — are you injured? Let me ask for another doctor right aw—”

“No, medic. The civilians come first. I will be fine. We treat them as best we can here, then I will accept care for myself. Clear?”

“…Yes, sir.”

The pain truly does not hinder him. How could that be his main focus when there is a man writhing on the cot before him, and the general’s words ring like echoing gongs in his ears? This is his purpose. What he was brought to the battlefield to do. If he cannot do this one thing, then truly, he would serve more use to the general as a corpse. The imagine of the silver-haired man flashes through his head as he’s handed forceps and gauze. The twisted smile bent by the thin scar running diagonally across his lips.

Jiyan exhales, shifting to look upon the face of the man he’s operating on in an attempt to distract himself. What he sees there instead almost makes him drop the forceps. This body wears the face of another dead comrade. Jietang. His flower resides closer to the square. It was planted amongst a bundle of other seeds.

“You failed us.”

“I didn’t,” he wants to cry back, a desperate plea for mercy from these ghosts. Instead, he cleans the wound and stitches it shut all while hearing the voice of a fallen friend call out to him from the patient’s mouth. All he hears are insults hewn from a tree of regrets, and in his golden gaze, all he sees is the evidence of his failures.

Jiyan doesn’t crumple, even when his shoulder starts refusing to move according to how his brain wants it to later into the night. Between his pride and the singing horror of seeing dead friends’ faces painted over those of each patient he tends to, he finds himself incapable of slowing down for even a moment. It would be a moment too long, if he were to stop now, and he’s not sure he could convince his body to keep working again if he lets himself stall.

“Head Medic, we need you here!”

“Head Medic—”

“Over here, Head Medic!”

“Jiyan.”

He dozing in and out of consciousness in front of the sinks, but the sound of the general’s voice behind him startles him into full awareness. Jiyan snaps the faucet back and shuts off the water in a rush.

“General Geshu,” he says before fully turning around to an empty tent void of any conscious life aside from himself. More importantly, void of Geshulin.

“Head Medic?” It’s the umpteenth time someone has called his name tonight, though for once it’s not accompanied by a request for help. “Is something the matter?” A guard pokes his head into the tent. Jiyan shuts his mouth and shakes his head slightly.

“It’s nothing. Am I needed elsewhere?”

“No, but the general asked us to escort you back to base once you finished up here.”

The space behind his right eye is throbbing again, though this time Jiyan is certain it’s a product of exhaustion. He rubs at his temple for a few seconds before following the soldier out into the humid night air. The stench of death lingers about. If it were up to Jiyan, he would remain here with the other medics and the unit of soldiers in charge of clearing debris and helping villagers recuperate. His value lies elsewhere, however, following the active duty Rangers wherever they go, and in turn Geshulin. Perhaps he shall always be five steps behind that man, left to watch his back and chase his heels like a lost dog who knows no other master. If I could just —

The three guards walking ahead of him chat so casually on their short walk back to the base encampment that Jiyan would almost believe nothing happened hours prior. It’s one flaw he’s always possessed: he can never easily let go of the horrors he has to witness, can never close his eyes without seeing the faces of the dead around him. He cannot close his heart. It was the first thing Geshulin said to him the day they met, when Jiyan appeared before him bright-eyed and eager to be at the general’s beck and call.

“Your heart is your greatest weakness.”

Jiyan stiffens, and a chill passes down his spine. Right foot forward, then left. Right, then left. If he stops moving, then it will slow the Rangers escorting him down, and the longer they linger on empty roads, the higher risk of being attacked by Exiles or Tacet Discords. Should he be responsible for more death today?

“Are you certain you are not too soft to be under my command?”

They are well out of range of the Tacet Field, and no rain has fallen upwards on this night. Stronger emotional connection to the affected area leads to more intense hallucinations — it’s one of the most basic lessons he’s learned in the military outside of fighting itself. What then is driving him to such madness now?

“Sir, this man is the new combat medic. The one you nominated to be in charge of Unit 0-81.”

Jiyan touches a hand to his forehead, mussing the clump of bangs clinging to his skin, and presses the pads of his fingers hard into it in an attempt to dispel the memory. He can’t unsee the crooked grin or sharp eyes lingering in his mind, though.

“Jiyan, was it?”

“Yes, General Geshu.”

“You will fight well for Jinzhou, that much I know. Keep my men alive so that they can continue fighting.”

“Sir, if I may…”

Geshulin had looked at him with interest in that moment, and Jiyan made the fatal mistake of locking eyes with him right then. That gaze has become his drug, it seeps through his skin, it intoxicates his lungs, he chases after that high no matter their interaction — even as the sea of disappointments began lapping at his ankles, Jiyan ignored every wrong Geshulin had ever committed if it meant just seeing that damn intrigue in his eyes once more. No matter how many barely trained soldiers were sent ahead of the stronger units, no matter how many fights were initiated in horrid conditions, when Rangers were pulled from their infirmary beds to take up weapons they could not properly wield.

Jiyan longs for validation as much as he longs to right the general’s wrongs by advising him of better courses of action. If this war ends tomorrow, will people speak of the bravery shown by every soldier or the failures of their general who sacrificed them for the sake of one more Tacet Discord cut down?

The stormy waters sway above his knees, climbing up his thighs, and all it would take — one misstep, one slip — Jiyan would drown in his failures, swirling ever-downwards to a spiral that cries Geshulin, Geshulin, Geshulin like a sick mantra.

“If I may, General, be so bold as to suggest that my abilities both as a combat medic and Resonator would be better served directly under your command.”

The creeping grin that had stretched Geshulin’s lips was one of near admiration for a split second, or at least as close to such an emotion as the man could get. It passes too quickly, it lingers in Jiyan’s blood, it haunts the phantom memory like a vice.

Though he longs for the comfort of a hot shower and his own bed in the barracks, Jiyan instead diverts his path upon reaching the encampment. His head throbs as much as his shoulder does, and the untreated wound back there is nearing the point of unbearable itchiness and burning. Still, for better or for worse, he knows his duty and does it well. That excuse carries him to General Geshulin’s office, steps away from the front of Geshulin’s desk with hands folded behind his back to mask the pain of the wound this very man inflicted on him.

“Report.”

“Seventeen injured, sir. Only two in critical condition, but we can treat them better once they’re transported back to base. If I had the cha—”

“Report on what you saw, Head Medic.”

Jiyan snaps his jaw shut so quickly that he bites the inside of his cheek. Blood springs forth from the wound in an instant and coats his tongue. Of course the general would wish to know about this matter, that falls in line with his area of jurisdiction. Jiyan was a proper fool to imagine he would be exempt from questioning.

“Hallucinations. I imagine they were caused by the high frequencies of the Tacet Field resonating with my mark. Combined with a lack of proper sleep, being so close to an active outbreak makes me a rather susceptible target for those phantoms.”

“Must I ask a direct question of you with every sentence to get a proper answer out of you, Jiyan?” Geshulin clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth to elicit a small tsk sound, and the medic declines to acknowledge the twist in his gut upon hearing his name on his general’s lips in such a manner. “What did you see? Answer properly this time, or I’ll be quite disappointed in you.” Heat builds in Jiyan’s cheeks. It’s almost like the man knows that his face presents itself to Jiyan in those hallucinations.

“Former comrades. Ones that I buried. I mistook that Tacet Discord for a… friend, and in turn, neglected the danger that I was putting myself and other Rangers in. I apologize for my mistake, general. It shall not happen again.” Jiyan would rather be plucked apart limb by limb than admit that Geshulin was part of those hallucinations, and that his disappointment in Jiyan haunts the latter more than his inability to save his comrades.

“You cannot guarantee such a thing though—” Geshulin flicks his wrist outwards “—so do not fill my ears with empty commitments.” I do not expect such levels of perfection from you is what underlines the snipped words. When golden eyes slide up the length of his body to gaze upon his face, Jiyan has to force himself to not fidget under the intensity of Geshulin’s stare. A moment of grace, perhaps, like the man is tossing him a bone that’s been gnawed on time and time again. Nonetheless, Jiyan accepts the gift for what it is and revels in it. His disappointment does not lie in Jiyan’s susceptibility to the hallucinations.

“Understood, sir.”

“Did you see rain?” The general presses, leaning to the left a bit in his seat and brushing a bunch of silver hair over his shoulder.

“I — pardon?” Jiyan squeezes his fists tighter by his sides. “No, sir. There was no rain around me at the time of the hallucination.”

“Then explain to me how you are dripping all over my floor. Unless you fell into a river on your way here?”

Jiyan glances down at himself, only to receive confirmation that yes, he is indeed soaked to the skin, but he has no recollection of rain at all.

“It was — I, there was no Retroact Rain in that village. It rained on our walk back here. Normal rain,” he blurts, though the words feel sticky on his tongue and he’s not wholly sure it’s the truth. Geshulin scoffs but it blooms into a bout of laughter shortly after. He tilts his head back, exposing more of the line of his tacet mark, and Jiyan watches it twitch and vibrate as the man laughs.

“All this time we’ve been praising that intuition of yours, but all sense has left you entirely.”

“...Sir?”

“You neglected to take your antidote this morning before I deployed Unit 0-80 to that village.”

Jiyan has no opportunity to retort as a small vial of neon blue liquid sails through the air in his direction. He catches it with one hand, just before it careens into his face thanks to the general’s impeccable aim.

“Drink, now preferably. Unless you desire to wander out into the wilderness tonight and die thanks to cheap hallucinations of people you know are long passed.”

Jiyan doesn’t have the stomach or the gall to counter those words by telling Geshulin that many of his phantoms wear his face and mimic his voice. To stall his mouth from spewing things it shouldn’t, he uncorks the vial and downs the contents without wincing once. When he finishes with it, he chucks it back towards Geshulin, eyes narrowing to a half-hearted glare when the man tilts his head to the left and lets the glass collide with the wall rather than his face. It shatters on impact. The spray of shards it creates is beautiful, in its own way, as it creates an iridescent halo around Geshulin’s silver hair.

“Content now?” he quips in lieu of outing his thoughts further to the man.

“With you? Never.” Geshulin somehow manages to make the jab sound like pure seduction. “You are being reassigned.”

“No—!” Jiyan jolts forward, one foot catching on the back of the other and making him stumble forward. He’s only able to keep himself upright by slamming his hands down on the edge of the general’s desk. Geshulin watches on in idle amusement. He hums once Jiyan steadies himself.

“Unit 0-81. Combat Medic. Your originally intended role I had assigned you to so long ago.”

Geshulin laughs as he rises from his chair, and Jiyan’s blood boils in his veins.

“General, please reconsider this, I’m needed here.”

“Needed where? By my side?” Jiyan startles at those words, and he traces the wound on the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Fingers brush the underside of his chin. When Geshulin firmly cups his face and tilts it upwards, Jiyan ragdolls in his hold and simply lets it happen. “Do you still harbor that silly little puppy crush of yours?”

He hisses through his teeth, and his arm jerks upwards to snatch at Geshulin’s wrist, gloved fingers tightening hard about it.

“That is hardly appropriate talk to mention to your subordinate,” he spits out, but the man across from him merely smiles wide. All teeth and parted lips and a heady gleam in his eyes that makes Jiyan’s spine tingle.

“When have ethics ever affected my way of doing things?”

“Perhaps that is a change you ought to make, general.”

“Congratulations on your promotion, Captain.”

Jiyan startles enough to slip from the hand cradling his face. Geshulin drops to his chair, laughter tumbling from his scarred lips. The earrings hanging down on either side of his head tinkle like wind chimes as he shudders from the force of his amusement. It rings in Jiyan’s ears.

Captain.

Captain.

Jiyan would have thought just two minutes ago that he had higher chances of being struck by four bolts of lightning in quick succession than to hear those words from Geshulin’s mouth.

“You’re expected to attend battle meetings from here on out,” the general says once his laughter finally dies down to nothing. “Unit 0-81 is already aware of the shift in leadership, but they’ll be awaiting a proper introduction from you first thing in the morning. You and the other captains still report to me, of course.”

Jiyan eases back on his heels and puts distance between his body and the desk. Geshulin gives chase once more to taunt the younger Resonator, rounding the edge of the wood and stepping across the blocky metal floor. The heels of his boots click against it. Jiyan stands firm despite his racing heart, even when he steps so close that Jiyan can smell the blood and sweat clinging to his skin. Underneath that, a notable touch of fresh rain. Geshulin tucks his hands behind his back and leans at the waist, making himself even smaller than Jiyan just enough so that he can angle his head upwards and stare into the medic’s eyes from below. It does things to Jiyan’s stomach, makes it turn into a dissolving mess of nerves and want.

“Do not make me regret this, Jiyan.” He’s so deliberate in the way he delivers those words and echoes Jiyan’s name after. He makes such a point to rarely speak the medic’s name at all, as though he knows the way Jiyan would rip himself apart to hear it on his tongue. If they were to be engaged in any sort of psychological warfare, Jiyan would be wrecked upon the first blow. “I will not have a Resonator of your ability and potential waste away in a tent doing a job that could be done by thirty other men around you.”

“A weapon is meant to be brandished,” Jiyan utters, watching those muted yellow eyes flit around. “Lack of use will lead to rust. I understand, General.”

Geshulin straightens his back and steps to the side, and a shaky exhale escapes Jiyan now that he has his personal space back intact.

“You aren’t—” the general cuts his thought short. “Go treat that wound before it causes bigger issues. Neglecting yourself will do no one any favors in a war.”

Jiyan pushes the budding confusion in his gut down. Tucking an arm behind his back, he bows at the waist.

“Then I bid you goodnight, General Geshu.” He manages to reach the door before Geshulin remembers that he always has to have the last word.

“This is not a punishment, Jiyan.”

He cannot think of what to say to that, so he says nothing at all.

Chapter Text

━ ◦ the second curls through the air like wisps of acrid smoke ◦ ━

The wound on his back heals in time, though the haunting phantom that frequents Jiyan on lonely nights and in empty dreams does not dwindle.

He did not get the chance to say goodbye to his squadmates in 0-80, because each one of them died the following day in a Tacet Discord attack that Jiyan could not be dispatched on due to his injury. They had to tie him to a bed in the medical ward at camp to prevent him from trying to leave. Then they had to inject him with tranquilizer when the report came about the battle just so that he wouldn’t strangle the messenger. He blames Geshulin, because it’s easy.

At night, he lies awake haunted by the thought that if he had just take his antidote that day, then he wouldn’t have chased after a Tacet Discord blindly, his general wouldn’t have had to wrestle him to the ground to keep him from getting himself killed, and he would have been able to be deployed alongside those men. Perhaps he would have died right there with them, but even that thought fills him with less shame than the notion of being sidelined for a stupid injury he could have prevented while they fought for their lives and lost .

The title of Captain bestowed upon him rolls off the tongues of his now subordinates far too easily, and it lets Jiyan slip into the delusion that Geshulin was right. Perhaps this has been the role he’s been meant to play all this time. He falls into it with a blinding passion, as though it’s the most important duty he’s ever had. Comfortable. He is comfortable like this, and that terrifies him. A blessing he accepts without regret is that he is pulled further and further from Geshulin’s hold as time, and subsequently the war, progresses.

That pull is like a rope drawn taut, and it strains with every day that passes to the point where Jiyan’s body tenses each time he receives a message or a call via his gourd. Though he is expecting the call today, it still puts him on high alert when it at last comes through and his gourd buzzes against his desk. The new desk, in his new quarters, at a camp several kilometers west of the main encampment. Jiyan sighs as he rolls the gourd forward, answering the call a moment later. A hologram springs to life on the other side of the wood, and soon after, it takes the shape of Geshulin.

“Your report, Captain.” He stands with his hands behind his back, and even with the wavering distortion of blue lines, Jiyan can still make out the man’s standard scowl that usually appears when they speak. Jiyan clears his throat but does not bother with standing up to greet the general.

“A team of scouts left this morning to investigate further along the western bank, where the spikes in frequency were last recorded, but I am still awaiting their return. The forward team you dispatched cleared the path leading to the location Unit 0-88 fell last week. The debris was more substantial than anticipated, but given the progress made today, we ought to be able to push inwards and assess the situation.” Jiyan thumbs over the report in front of him, eyes tracing the list of names there. There are twenty-eight potential casualties to confirm. “The likelihood of survivors is slim to none,” he adds, clearing his throat right after to keep emotion from seeping into his tone.

“We are not looking for survivors. Recover dog tags if you must, but the main priority should be to dispose of any leftover TDs or ones produced from the dead.” Jiyan’s expression twists. The general cocks his head to the side. “Unless you are incapable of doing so, Captain?”

“Those could be former comrades, sir.”

“So you would let them kill you and your men? Simply because they used to be someone you fought alongside?”

“I would not put any of my team or the men you sent here in danger. Hesitation is inevitable, and I will not disparage anyone under my leadership for their emotions about having to kill former friends.”

Geshulin’s scoff comes through a bit warbled by the transmission, but the roll of his eyes is crystal clear. “They will bear no resemblance to anyone they might have known. They won’t know who they are killing, and if you want them to operate efficiently, then you should keep it that way.”

“…Acknowledged, general.”

“What is the situation with the Retroact Rain over there?”

“It’s minimal, though the excavation team encountered some the closer they got to the attack site. I anticipate there will be more should we fight tomorrow. Antidotes are on standby, and we still have an additional crate for your men to use.” Jiyan drums his fingers against the desk. Geshulin turns ninety degrees and looks over to the center of the room where Jiyan has constructed a makeshift war table with rudimentary maps laid out across the surface.

“Show me the terrain,” he demands. Pushing up from the comfort of his chair, the medic rounds the desk and goes to stand beside the hologram by the table. A slight buzz passes through his body as he brushes through Geshulin’s shoulder to leave over the maps.

“This is where we detected the last recorded signal from Unit 0-88—” he points to a crater circled in red “—and we’ve cleared a path here from the southeast. The Rain started right at this ridge, just before the site.” Geshulin hums, leaning over the table and Jiyan’s shoulder. Another vibration shakes Jiyan when the man’s stomach phases through his elbow.

“Have your men take two doses of the antidote,” he recommends. Though his voice loses some edge, he still bears a level of authority that Jiyan is compelled to obey. “The emotional connection they feel to that place will be heightened because it was their fellow Rangers who died there. The potential for hallucinations will be much higher. Did you go out to investigate yourself?”

“I went with two scouts to view the ridge from a distance, but we were not close enough to it to feel the effects of the Rain. The residual energy was quite substantial, though.”

“You took an antidote before, yes?”

Jiyan purses his lips and withdraws his hand from the map. He could laugh at the absurdity of his own actions. The weight of Geshulin’s gaze bears down on him like an anvil even through a hologram.

“I was in a hurry to follow up with them and neglected to ask about the possibility of the Rain before we left, so—”

“Take one immediately.”

“Of course.”

“I’m being serious, Jiyan,” Geshulin hisses. “Do so now. You do not want me to have to come there and clean up your mess. I will toss you out in that Rain with nothing to spare you its effects if you keep behaving like a petulant child.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are ,” he cuts in before Jiyan can defend himself. “You are trying to make a point in making yourself suffer and see dead comrades. What point that is is well beyond me, but I promise you that you have not suffered even a fraction of what you really could. If you are so desperate to do so, then I have no issues making you because I know for a fact that you do not fully grasp how dangerous this foolish game you’re playing is. Should you want to keep all of your men alive and well, then man up, take the fucking antidote, and do your job as their leader. Putting yourself at an intentional disadvantage for the sake of skewed morals only puts them in danger, Jiyan. Use your brain and think outside yourself. You are no longer simply another soldier.”

“Is this the lesson you were trying to teach me in forcing me into this position?” Jiyan counters as bitterness lashes out from him. Though Geshulin cannot physically hit him through the hologram, the man still tries nonetheless, swinging a hand at the back of his subordinate’s head just for it to pass through Jiyan like a gust of air. The tingling in his head makes his vision distort briefly.

“Do you wish to wander out amongst your men like a madman with the intent to kill every last one of them because the Retroact Rain has forced you to believe that they are the enemy? I have lost more than one unit led by an idiotic captain to that very thing, all because — like you — they thought themselves above the notion of protecting themselves for the sake of their men.” Jiyan opens and shuts his mouth, words failing him. “I am teaching a selfish, self-destructive soldier what is truly at stake in a war.” Geshulin turns to him, but the medic cannot bring himself to look back so he remains where he is, completely still and glaring down at the table. Selfish , he says. Jiyan would wring his neck if he were actually here. “I would have thought you’d have pulled it together by now. Do so immediately .”

“Yes, sir.”

“I shall await your call tomorrow, and I should hope to hear positive news. Dismissed.”

“General,” he says in a rush before Geshulin can shut the call down. He lingers at Jiyan’s side a moment longer. Nervous eyes flit over the general’s stoic expression. “That day, did you know what the result of the battle would be? When Unit 0-80…” The question has been on his mind all this time, but asking as much in the presence of the other captains during official meetings would be equivalent to treason. As it is, Geshulin could still shut Jiyan down and refuse the accusations altogether.

For all his faults, Jiyan does not know the man to be a liar.

“Remember to take two doses of antidote before heading out tomorrow, Jiyan.” The hologram phases out of existence, and Jiyan’s gourd chirps a few times on his desk behind him as the call concludes. In that moment he desperately wishes that Geshulin had yelled at him for his disrespect instead of offering kindness.

He is not so disillusioned to believe that he’s not self-righteous in some regards. Certainly, he harbors an extent of moral superiority over his general, but Geshulin does the same in return. One thinks himself to be above morality, whilst the other contains himself in a rigid set of rules. Being accused of selfishness is an entirely different offense to his psyche, however, and it pricks at Jiyan’s fragile ego so much that he wishes to punch something until his knuckles bleed.

“Captain.”

Jiyan glances up from the map laid out before him. He can’t recall the door making any noise at all, but a Ranger stands before him and bows at the waist. “Report.”

“The scouts have returned — there have been no new developments to the west concerning the Tacet Fields, and the number of TDs has decreased by 38% since eradicating the larger of the hive system.”

“Good.” Very good, in fact, as it means he won’t have to suffer as many sleepless nights consumed by the anxiety that he’ll somehow wake up to all his people dead around him. “You can retire for the night. Be sure to pick up some muscle patches before you get dinner. I noticed you were rubbing at your shoulder during debriefing this morning.”

“A-Ah, thank you, Captain! Will do!” The Ranger turns by the door just before leaving, however, and turns back to Jiyan. “You’ll be retiring for dinner soon as well, right sir?”

He offers a performative smile.

“Of course.”

“Goodnight then, Captain.” If the man doubts Jiyan in the slightest, he at least has the decency to not comment on the white lie.

“The same to you.”

The door slips shut with a whoosh of air, and the moment he’s alone again, Jiyan clenches his fist against the table. A headache splits the right side of his head, to the point of making his eye throb and vision blur. He can rest easier tonight, and he keeps having to remind himself of that fact as he gazes at the map splayed out over the table once more. A nearly forty percent decrease is a good thing . The clock flickering on the wall reads well past midnight, so his next report will not be needed until morning. It ought to be an excuse to simply stave off his responsibility.

Jiyan finally lets himself turn away from the desk, shrugging off his teal overcoat and beginning to get to work on the belts and buckles keeping it dangling about his body. The quiet that comes with having his own quarters has plagued him far more than he imagined it would. While in the barracks, he always harbored silent complaints about the noise, whether it be from soldiers staying up late or just the sounds of snoring and loud breathing — Jiyan despised it for the longest time. Yet now that he is finally far and away from that din, he longs for something to disrupt the silence. Perhaps he should’ve taken the sleeping pills offered to him by one of the medics when he had the chance, but the risk of sleeping through some sort of emergency outweighed Jiyan’s inability to fall asleep in silence.

He leaves his overcoat hanging on the headboard and doesn’t bother changing out of his day clothes. It’s hardly the most comfortable but again —

“If an outbreak happens in the middle of the night, I must be ready.” Empty air responds, and Jiyan squeezes his eyes shut. Muttering to himself alone in a room just to fill the void of silence might be a new low for him.

“That’s what your unit is for.”

Jiyan is up and out of the bed so quickly that his head spins, vision distorting as blood rushes upwards violently and swiftly. When his eyes hone in on the figure leaning against the wall beside the door, he drops back down to the mattress like a deadweight, sitting on the edge of it with his mouth hanging agape.

“When did you get here, sir? No one informed me that you were coming,” he blurts, fumbling to compose himself and seem mildly presentable.

“Ha! Such bumbling naivety.” The man draws forward out of the shadows by the door and sneers at Jiyan. “I'm not here, Jiyan, not truly. Have you lost every last bit of your reason?”

He hadn’t slipped up in taking the antidote to dispel the worst of the hallucinations (the humiliation remains as a raw, aching bruise on his ego) until today. And of course he would catch the stray effects of the Retroact Rain now of all times. There is no sane explanation as to why he sees General Geshu in his room right now, not when the man is maintaining his station on the frontlines at the main base and Jiyan’s camp is hours away. It seems he must prove his general right once more and play the part of an idiot, punished for each one of his mistakes methodically. He slams the heels of his hands against his face so hard that it hurts, driving them against his eyes and rubbing furiously. Yet when he squints through the darkness at the visage of his general, Geshulin is still there, arms crossed over his chest and leg propped up against the wall.

He immediately looks to the sole window in his room, staring out into the night in search of rain but the skies are clear and no rain falls upwards at present. That trip to the ridge must truly have been his undoing today. Jiyan blinks and turns back to face the phantom, only to come face to face with it, inches from his face and causing a chill to sweep over his entire body.

“This frail mind, why did I ever give you this position?” He’s tilted his chin up so that he can look Jiyan in the eye, and the visage before the medic is so startlingly real that he’s almost of the mind to reach out and touch him. The thought of this phantom of his general being tangible makes his stomach churn with nausea. “You wither away like a walking corpse with each passing day, and for what? These men you lead — they are designed to die for you.”

“No,” Jiyan retorts, barely leaving a moment of silence between them. What use is there in arguing with a ghost?

“What good will you be in battle if you can’t look at a map for more than five minutes? You think carrying a lance would be easier? Defending those souls you find to be so precious?”

Jiyan’s jaw shifts under the pressure of his clenched teeth. It’s not worth the argument at all because this hallucination exists with the sole intention of tormenting him, and yet he cannot block it out and keep quiet. Perhaps it’s all due to the fact that this phantom wears the face of someone he respects, a man he loathes for his morals and ethics but admires nonetheless.

Worse yet, there is a dwindling flame in Jiyan’s chest that desires to shift those beliefs to something more palatable, and that flickering hope is arrogant enough to think it he’s capable of doing so.

“You are so small , Jiyan. That worldview of yours is tainted by wistful hopes and rose-tinted glasses. But how could anyone expect one so young and inexperienced to understand the brutality of war?”

“It was you who said that my youth is an asset, that my mind is brilliant — you, my general. The moment I was old enough, I came running to you, and you accepted my bargain without question.”

“Had you a tail, you would have been wagging it like an excited little puppy. When did the oh so elegant portrait you painted of me in your mind begin to rot at the edges? Better yet, how is it that you despise me with such passionate fury but still crave my validation, my approval, my placating words… my affections? Years pass yet you still yearn to be my most loyal dog.”

Jiyan’s cheeks flame with embarrassment, and he jerks backwards to get away from the phantom. He curls onto his side in a fetal position on the bed, drawing his arms close to his chest. The glare he sends the wall is both frightened and infuriated.

“When was the last time you did it?” The phantom Geshulin continues at his back. Jiyan feels like a child trying to hide from the monster under the bed. “Thought of my harsh words coaxing you to completion, then praising you for following orders so well ?”

“Leave me be.”

“I will, when you stop thinking about the man whose face I wear.”

Jiyan grits his teeth. That is an assured impossibility that can never come to fruition because despite all his attempts and mental gymnastics, he cannot simply cease thinking about Geshulin.

“Anything I did in the past was out of pent-up frustrations and hormones.”

“And the fact that you thought of me while you did it?”

He clenches his hand around his own wrist so hard that it hurts.

“Misplaced judgment,” he spits.

“Would it be so wrong?” The hallucination tuts and clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “You’re all alone here after all and have more privacy than you used to. Or are you more used to having an audience? Turned over facing the wall just like this in the barracks with your comrades sleeping mere feet away?” Every muscle in his body is taut with tension, as though movement will make this phantom smell blood in the water and strike harder and deeper. “It won’t take much, with how pathetic you are.”

Jiyan squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can manage, to the point of pain and an explosion of white behind his eyelids. Guilt gnaws at the lining of his stomach like a parasite. It is disdainful enough to have such lewd thoughts about his general, but to act upon them when surrounded by comrades is stooping to all new levels. While he was far from the only soldier to do so, he tried to maintain some semblance of decency even when others were blatant about what (or who ) they were doing in the next bed over. He’s not once deigned to touch himself since receiving his promotion though — would it not be more acceptable to do so now? In the quiet and privacy of his own space, he has no need to worry about disturbing those trying to rest.

“That’s it, you’re considering it now. I bet your body is already interested too,” Geshulin’s voice tuts behind him, and like it’s attempting to respond to the words, Jiyan’s traitorous cock twitches against the confines of his pants. He pushes the heel of his hand against the bulge that’s trying to form beneath the layers. “What a delightful mess you’d make, Jiyan. Splayed out underneath me with nothing but my marks to cover you. Tell me — do you think I’d use my teeth? It might be fun to bite until you plead for mercy…”

“Stop,” Jiyan pleads, though now it’s his voice that betrays him because the command comes out desperate and whiny. His palm slips as his hips jerk forward on their own accord, and the pressure is rough but delicious against his member that’s filling out more by the second.

“So noisy already? It seems to me like you’d need something nice and big to muffle you. That’s not a foreign thought to you, I know. You’ve spent entire meetings fantasizing about dropping to your knees like a common whore and sucking me off under my desk.”

Jiyan curses under his breath. It’s pointless, useless, just utter nonsense that he can’t get out of his head. He’s pent up and driven to the edge, sleep-deprived — likely even incapable of reason by now. He can blame any one of those things, yet none will change the fact that his resolve shatters like glass that’s been shot. He flips onto his back and fumbles with the zipper and buttons of his pants, frantic in his movements. It takes little to yank his pants down his thighs, his underwear going with to catch at the bend of his knees. The cool air hits his cock as it springs up, erect and glistening with a carnal need to be touched. Jiyan almost moans at the mere contact of air against his overheated, tense body. He doesn’t waste time with lube even though it’s at the back of the second drawer in his nightstand (ever so carefully and discreetly placed just in case ) and decides spit will be more than enough for him to get the job done.

“What a needy little thing you are.” Geshulin’s phantom makes itself known again as Jiyan spits into his palm. The medic can see him out of the corner of his eye still, and it makes his cock twitch and leak every time that leering gaze slips over his body. Silence, then as Jiyan wraps his wet fingers around the base of his length, Geshulin speaks again, “I thought it would be bigger, Jiyan.”

He comes undone on the spot, spurting hot streaks of semen up his stomach and across the fabric of his shirt. The moan that rips from his lips is equal parts pleased and surprised by the sudden release, though Jiyan’s hips don’t get the message and continue to thrust up against the tight ring of his fingers. He feels no relief at all, no desire to stop or slow down, and so he simply scoops up the mess of cum on his stomach with his unoccupied hand and uses it to slide below his taut balls in search of other pleasures. Slippery fingers nudge against his opening, pushing milky white cum inside as his index and middle fingers stretch the gap wider.

"You are so weak," comes the voice along the shell of his ear, and the phantom touch of cold breath tickles behind his ear. Jiyan moans out a pathetic whimper, hips canting forward as his slick member fucks uselessly over his hand, and he digs his heels into the mattress. Two digits push further into his hole. He’s forced to hiss through his teeth at the burn in his overt eagerness to finger himself. Jiyan tilts his head to the side, gaze finding the phantom of his general beside the bed just as before, and he rolls his tongue over the split open seam of his lips. “How lewd. We ought to put you on your knees for all the men to use at their leisure. It’d be an awful shame to let such a pretty mouth go to waste.”

Jiyan buries his face against his shoulder and bites down on what skin he can to suppress the slew of noises tumbling from his lips. The angle of his body is wretched, and his fingers can’t reach that desirable spot inside his hole no matter how hard he tries. He withdraws the digits with a gasp, turning onto his side and clutching the flesh of his bicep between his teeth once more as he reaches behind the curve of his ass and seeks bliss at this improved angle. He plunges two fingers into himself with ease and digs hard in search of his prostate. He glances up at the side of the bed again, through wet lashes and quickly forming tears, and his eyes finding gold shimmering ones in the darkness.

“You…” he breathes, and the hallucination chuckles back at him.

“Are you seeking permission?” Geshulin moves further down along the edge of the bed and stops when he's eye level with Jiyan’s weeping dick. “Hm, but I don't think you want it badly enough?”

The complaint that threatens to tumble from his lips is cut short by a soft moan he can't hold back, and he twists his fingers in his hole while squeezing the base of his cock.

“Beg?”

“Geshulin…”

The phantom tilts his head to the side and grins.

“Beg for it, Jiyan.”

Jiyan jerks against the bed and thrusts up hard against his hand. His gaze zeroes in Geshulin’s face like the man has some sort of magnetic effect on him. His own fingers suddenly aren't enough, his hand jerking along his length doesn't provide enough stimulation and satisfaction, and he craves more — more contact, a firmer grip, an unforgiving voice coaxing him onwards.

“Some cheap substitute your fingers are — don’t you wish they were the real thing? Don’t you wish for me to be the real deal?”

“I need to — please, Geshu, pl-please, I need to cum, it hurts,” he babbles against his shoulder, trying to muffle the pathetic display as much as he can. “Wanna cum already, around, ah, around your cock.”

“There we go,” comes the blissfully pleased voice of the man he craves. “Why don’t you be a good boy and cum again for me?”

Jiyan’s fingers slip against his walls and press right up into his g spot. That’s all it takes for him to clamp his teeth down and cry out into the firm muscle of his arm, cum dribbling out from his slit and making a further mess of his hand as he thrusts blindly through the high. It’s weak and far less satisfying than the first, mostly on account of Jiyan not waiting long at all and diving straight into overstimulating himself. His heart races wildly. He wets his lips as his gaze finds the hallucination crouched beside his bed. It grins back at him.

He sinks against the mattress with as much grace as a wet towel being tossed to the ground. The insides of his thighs are sticky. He smooths down his softening cock and traps it between his legs. Above him, the ceiling seems to stretch upwards infinitely.

“You wish so badly that you had been there that day when your former unit died,” Geshulin says once Jiyan’s ears stop ringing. The medic swallows roughly around the lump in his throat. “Don’t you imagine that’s why the real me envisions you to be so self-destructive? All these men you lead now, lives in your hands that you would so easily let slip through the cracks because you believe that you should have died alongside them. Does it upset you to have to see my face in your hallucinations rather than those of the dead? Do you wish for them to crawl up from the ground and curse you out for being spared by fate? You, who has nothing in comparison to them.”

The corners of Jiyan’s eyes sting, but he wills himself to contain the tears. The phantom dissipates and leaves him in a cold and quiet room; the only sounds are those of his panting as it bounces off the metal walls and surrounds him with a thick fog of shame. Jiyan falls asleep like that, feeling all sorts of pathetic about himself despite the fact that he finally rests well and for the entire night without disturbance.

Chapter Text

━ ◦ the third drives nails through your feet so that you cannot leave ◦ ━

“If we send out three squads tonight, then the issue could easily be squashed before noon tomorrow. The scouts reported that the Tacet Field hasn’t spread any further.”

“Then how long until another crops up in its place? Are we sending men out to chop weeds or cut down trees? We ought to focus on the roots, otherwise, we’ll never escape this cycle!”

Two months later, Jiyan has still not settled into his role as Captain wholly. These meetings, for one, are often spent in silence on his part unless he is directly called upon to speak. Listening tends to be a strength of his though, even if it means having to suffer through nonsensical squabbles between other captains.

“Leave them as is and they’ll simply be able to flank any team we try to send out! Our focus ought to be on eradicating as many TDs as we can while preventing the spread from progressing further. We can only go for the source once we have a safe path.”

“As I said earlier — had you been listening — there will never be a ‘safe path’ for any units! These outbreaks will continue happening in increasing frequency until we take out the source of their power!”

“Jiyan.”

He lifts his chin to look across the war table and to where Geshulin sits. They’ve both been listening to these two captains argue back and forth for what feels like over an hour at this point, though it seems the general has had enough of their squabbling. Far past the point of belated, in Jiyan’s opinion, but as the youngest present, he will not be divulging such thoughts to any of these men. Geshulin, however, seems to have other plans.

“What say you?”

Jiyan has to spend several seconds buffering his thoughts to even react. He inches forward some in his chair, unfurling his arms from their current resting place over his chest. A blue hologram springs to life on the table. It paints the landscape in a topographic map, and Jiyan fidgets with the edge of the table to get it centered the way he'd like it to be.

“The goal ought to be to minimize casualties rather than maximize eliminations. An army is only as strong as its weakest link, and should we allow any unit to fall in number or strength, then we would be inviting an opening that could easily be prevented.” He glances through the rippling effects of the hologram to make eye contact with the general. Subconscious, yet still in search of approval. He receives the slightest upturn of Geshulin’s lips, and a nod so miniscule that Jiyan could easily write it off as a trick of the light caused by the hologram. “It is true that there will never be a guaranteed safe path for any of our units, even if the general led the charge himself. However, it is also important to keep the spread contained and make certain it does not push past the base camp. We cannot afford to rely solely on the flank camps when their main focus at present is treating the injured, and allowing any ounce of the TDs to press that close to the city would be the antithesis of our goal to thwart those efforts. All in all — my stance would be that both Captains Jingyi and Lan have valid points that ought to be considered in your final judgments, General Geshu.”

“And what would you suggest as a resolution that will satisfy both their concerns?” Geshulin presses him further as he leans closer to the war table. Jiyan opens and closes his mouth around nothing for a few terse seconds. His gaze flits down to assess the map, honing in on the small golden-hued dots that represent their units.

“If… no, it is a given that these two outbreaks in the northeast will be a hindrance for the units there. Their captains sent those holograms this morning warning us of their movements. With our four teams being currently held here at the main base, we can act as a hinge to deploy units when and where needed.” Jiyan draws a few uneven lines across the map as he speaks, and he prides himself on the fact that he only glances up to assess Geshulin’s reaction once as he does so. “I recommend deploying Unit 0-81 at the tip of the hinge as we have more proficient combat medics. Unit 0-82 ought to face northwest given that they possess the highest percentage of close-quarter combat Rangers, and Captain Lan with 0-84 should be ready to assist 0-83 in the east. They had the most extensive Tacet Field spread of late and having 0-84’s long-range capabilities as support would be the most reasonable course of action.”

“Where would you have me be, General?” The general’s voice lilts upwards at the end as he hurls the taunt Jiyan’s way. Jingyi and Lan do not bother hiding their snickers.

“You asked for my assessment of the situation, General Geshu,” Jiyan counters, eyes honing in on the man’s one golden eye that’s not obscured by his grey fringe. “Do not find fault in me for providing that which was asked of me.” Lan’s laughter devolves into a serious fit of coughs as the air in the room takes a sudden turn towards tension.

“Then answer my question.” Geshulin’s tone loses its mirth. He leans against the war table, forcing the holographic map to minimize, and it leaves no barrier between their glares now. Jiyan’s breath hitches on the inhale. “Where would you have me be?”

“Here,” Jiyan chokes out. “At this base. Your men would best serve as the center of the hinge as they can mobilize faster than any other unit. If needed, you could disperse your men in whatever direction to minimize damages and casualties.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Jingyi chimes in, clearing her throat a little when she interjects. “General, his logic is sound.”

“As expected of the brightest mind of the next generation.” Jiyan ignores the quip from Lan’s side in favor of staring Geshulin down, but the general has yet to let his expression budge even the slightest bit.

“General, if I can push my unit towards 0-87 and 0-88, I can guarantee that we will minimize losses and treat the wounded without having to transport them all the way back to the far camps outside Jinzhou.” He’s well aware of how desperate he sounds, but the itch in the back of his skull cannot shake the images of fallen comrades and civilians that he was too late to save. “As a combat medic, my duty lies in—”

“No.”

“—pardon?”

Both Lan and Jingyi look anywhere but the war table and the two men squaring off on either side of it.

“Your duty? As a combat medic? You are a Captain, first and foremost.”

“Gener—”

“What intelligence is there in putting more of those precious lives you so badly wish to save on the line to save the measly few? Minimize damages? A field of crops will mean absolutely nothing to a Tacet Discord. Do you intend to lure them away from a few potato plants?” Geshulin stands up straight and tall, chin lifted and forcing his gaze to angle down at Jiyan. “Those wounded won’t be in fighting shape when the worst of it comes. Then we’re just warming beds with dead meat.”

“They’re — they’re still alive, sir?! Alive enough to return to a normal life once this war is over!”

Geshulin laughs, cruel and hearty, and it makes Jiyan’s blood chill in his veins.

“Dismissed,” he utters in a starkly flat tone. Jingyi and Lan scramble to depart from the room, hardly managing to bow and properly excuse themselves in their rush to escape. Jiyan’s brain doesn’t catch up until the door opens to let them out, then he’s bending at the waist and echoing their farewells to the general. “Not you.” Jiyan stills. He lifts himself into a rigid stance once the door shuts behind the other two captains.

“General, I mean no disrespect in what I’m saying.”

“What exactly do you think it means to hold my position?” Geshulin asks in lieu of addressing Jiyan’s half-baked apology. He taps the edge of the table, and the blue hologram springs back into existence. He takes his index finger and runs it over the dots representing the two units who requested assistance earlier in the day, the ones this very meeting was to be centered around. Jiyan is rendered utterly speechless when that finger draws an x over each one. “Accepting sacrifices for what they are.”

The younger man clenches his fists by his sides, teeth sinking into the side of his tongue. His gaze cannot tear away from those marks.

“See, you still decline to use that brain of yours to think as a Captain. That message we received this morning was not one asking for assistance from medical-oriented teams such as yours. It was not a request for assistance at all, Jiyan.” He hates the way his instincts react to the way Geshulin utters his name. “They were informing me of their sacrifice. They will handle the Tacet Fields there, they will squash the outbreaks surrounding them, and most of them will die doing so. And we will accept that sacrifice for what it is because you are needed elsewhere.” Each word is so sharply punctuated that they feel like small jabs to the gut. “War is as ugly as it is glorious. Being a leader in a war means accepting harsh truths and understanding when losses are a necessity for future successes. You must learn this lesson, Jiyan.”

“Why?” Jiyan demands, incredulous.

“What good is a self-sacrificing lamb on the battlefield? Learning these things now wi—”

“You aim to make me replace you.” His tone is accusatory.

“No, I aim to make sure you have the tools you need to step up when it is required of you.”

“For what purpose?” Jiyan presses, hands slamming down on the table separating them. The hologram shudders with the force of the action. “So that you can go off and die like you want to?”

“You were not promoted to question me!”

Jiyan startles at the nonchalant affirmation. They make eye contact through the wavering blue mountains reaching up from the hologram. Geshulin reaches through the phantom ridges. A bandaged hand cups the underside of Jiyan’s jaw. It’s far too gentle for the vitriol churning the air between their bodies.

“I was promoted to replace you.” Jiyan pulls back and stands up straight. The general’s hand falls back to his side. “Because it’s easier for a captain to be promoted to general than it is for a mere combat medic to do so. Is that it? If that’s your reasoning, then I’m at least owed a confirmation.”

“No. That is not the reason why you were promoted, but I suppose that would make for a better story. I’m sure you hear all the lewd rumors the other captains have concocted since your promotion — yet you always act none the wiser even when they’re snickering mere feet away.” Jiyan bristles at the comment, but it serves its purpose as Geshulin is very clearly trying to divert the subject away because Jiyan is too close to the right answer. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s because you truly wouldn’t mind getting on your knees like they say you already have.”

“Do you wish to die before this war is over?” Jiyan inquires as a counterattack, dislodging Geshulin’s grin and forcing the man to take him seriously again. The medic, too, employs the same tactics as his general: change the subject when someone hovers over the correct answer long enough to disrupt the sense of safety that lies in having secrets. Luckily for Jiyan, though, the man opposite him takes the bait.

“It is not so simple. As general, I must have a contingency plan for all my decisions. And if I die, there needs to be an assurance that all my men who have laid down their lives have not died for a defeat they tried to prevent.”

If. No such word exists in Geshulin’s dictionary, and they both are wholly aware of that. It is a lie, plain and simple, meant to appease and placate so that Jiyan will shut up and take orders like a good soldier should. If only means when to Geshulin, and Jiyan takes those words, tucks them away inside his chest, and lets them sprout thorns into his heart. The contingency plan is not what happens if Geshulin dies, it’s what goes into effect should he survive because he fully intends to lose it all in this arena of war.

“How much longer?” Jiyan continues. He’s clenched his teeth too hard, and a throbbing pain blossoms in his left temple. “Do you intend for this war to continue, that is.”

“I have no control over when a Threnodian desires to appear, nor can I control when the worst storms will strike.” And yet Geshulin seems to have an internal clock that is a ticking time bomb counting down to a self-inflicted doom. The man lets out a sigh that makes him sound some decades older than he is. He retreats to his desk several feet behind the war table, where his gourd sits atop a stack of papers like some crude paperweight and his sword leans against one of the side edges. Jiyan lingers where he is. “I cannot know when this war will be over. I can only hope the we still have soldiers by the end of it.”

“You expect sacrifice out of your men,” Jiyan says, a bit of inquisitiveness pushed into his tone.

“Expectations are not desires. I am not cruel simply for the sake of it: do you think me to be heartless? That when a man tells me of the newborn child waiting at home for their return, I feel nothing? That I want to throw them in the line of fire to die?”

“You make… little effort to stop it when your men offer themselves to do so, though.” Perhaps his sense actually is leaving him, because he finds himself making wrong observations with an increasing frequency these days.

“Jiyan.”

“I know. I’m well aware. We cannot save everyone. That is the nature of war.”

“So why do you ask me these things time and time again expecting my answer to change?”

“You did not deem it necessary for me to be amongst those sacrifices.”

Geshulin’s expression is conflicted.

“You are — there is still more I would have you do, more you are capable of. I could not let you die alongside Unit 0-80.”

“Then you admit you knew they would die?” His skin itches, and the medic shifts his weight from foot to foot. He gnaws at the end of his thumb and snatches the nail between his teeth. None of it keeps him busy enough, so he resorts to pacing along the edge of the war table in an effort to soothe himself.

“I asked them to do so. But I did not ask you to do so, so when you decided to try to kill yourself time and time again afterward, how did you expect me to react?”

“Why save me? Why single me out above them? It’s not fucking fair, Geshulin, it’s not, didn’t you stop to think about it for even a moment?” His rage exhales like fire, and the block of coal that is Geshulin’s cruel, cruel heart stokes the flames. “There could be hundreds of Resonators better than me out there! Hell, some of those men could have Awakened at some point. You knew what that would do to me, you knew how being the sole survivor would affect me, so why would you instigate it?”

“Promoting you to Captain was supposed to give you something that would take your mind off of that burden,” the general hisses in return, eyes flitting to meet Jiyan’s every time he turns.

“Any one of those Rangers could have taken my place!”

“None of them were you, Jiyan!” Geshulin finally snaps, and his voice roars across the room with enough force to make the younger Resonator stop dead in his tracks. Nervous yellow eyes move to find the man’s face, but the expression he finds there is not one of anger. Conflicted, exasperated, desperate — Jiyan would never use a single one of those words to describe the general on a regular basis, but they are the only things that come to mind now. “It has to be you. Who else can take my place but you?”

“I do not want to be in that role. I cannot be a leader, it’s–I won’t be any good at it, you said as much yourself. My heart will only get in the way.”

“It is a last resort, Jiyan,” Geshulin says in a much more mellowed-out tone. “I trust that if there comes a time when you need to step forward, then you shall. You have not disappointed me in your role as Captain thus far. Are these reassurances enough for you?”

He desires to say no, but the praise numbs his thoughts more than he’d like to admit. The issue is that a plan of last resort would not need such meticulous and carefully laid-out planning. Especially for a man such as Geshulin, who always aims to achieve Plan A and never pursues Plan B unless he is the last man standing. To jump all the way to the last resort would mean exactly what Jiyan fears. Yet, he cannot allow admission of the fact that he desires to change Geshulin with his own two hands, to mold the man like wet clay into a more morally appealing shape, to give his heart a better reason to drum in the confines of his ribcage whenever they interact. Because he cannot justify desiring this man as he is now, Jiyan must change him and conform him into what he believes to be more acceptable.

“Would you want it?” he blurts out on a whim. It comes with instant regret and shame, but it is driven by the sickening realization that the man he both loathes and craves so desperately will die. Yet if (when) Geshulin departs, then all this longing, the pent-up desires, every ounce of Jiyan’s obsession will be an unresolved mess. A stain on his heart that cannot be wiped away. If even there is the slightest chance —

“Want what?”

Jiyan must snatch it with both hands and refuse to let go. He squeezes his eyes shut, steeling himself for the next of his sacrilegious actions. Geshulin only turns around to face him once he’s already a foot away and sinking to his knees before him. The shock that crosses the general’s face fills Jiyan’s stomach with sick delight. He takes a subconscious step backward and bumps into the edge of the desk. He grabs for the lip with both hands. The medic looks up at him through fluttering teal lashes. With hands neatly folded over his knees, feet tucked under his bottom, and chin squarely lifted so that Geshulin has no choice but to see his gold-tinged eyes watching him ever so carefully, Jiyan waits.

The line of the general’s tacet mark seems to buzz. Jiyan’s own throbs between his shoulder blades.

“Would you want me?” he offers again, more boldly this time. Geshulin’s lips draw to one corner as he purses his lips. Outwardly, he remains completely put together — from the neat lines of his clothes and straps, each buckle in its own haphazard placement as intended, and that cloud of grey hair billowing out behind him like a curtain. He looks the same as ever, and Jiyan wants him all the more because of it. Perhaps he should have stood before the man and made his offer that way; Jiyan stands a measly few inches taller but it’s enough to feel some modicum of a difference when they’re squaring off. Yet in those situations, it’s usually at the tail end of a disagreement, or Jiyan has made some sort of mistake, or he feels daring enough to give Geshulin an unsolicited opinion. It makes sense now for him to lower himself before the man like it’s where he belongs in their oddly tense exchanges of power and position. Here he is, a mere captain to Geshulin’s role as general. A subordinate to his supervisor. Or, if Jiyan wishes to be particularly unconscionable, his mentee to Geshulin’s mentor. None of the comparisons taste good on his tongue, and he would rather see the two of them for what they truly are. When staring down the barrel of the same gun, one on either side, they are nothing more than human beings.

“My earlier words were not a demand of you,” Geshulin hisses like the mere thought of what Jiyan is offering is an affront. The medic does not lose hope for there is no denial in those words. A mere misunderstanding.

“I did not believe you were ordering me around, sir.” Jiyan lowers his chin and shakes his head a little, causing the tassels hanging from his ears to rustle against his shoulders. “I have never paid any mind to what others may say of me. Cheap rumors are one of their limited sources of entertainment, and so be it, but it is not because of what they believe that I am doing this.” He jerks to look Geshulin in the eye once more. It catches the other man by surprise, clearly, based on how he blinks faster for a few seconds after Jiyan does so. “How long must we dance around the subject of my feelings towards you, general? Neither of us is oblivious to this: you know, and I know that you know. It is not that I am asking you to reciprocate those feelings; rather that I… I am willing to play whatever role you’d like me to, be used in whatever way you see fit.”

“The utter lack of self-respect you have the gall to display is an indignity in and of itself!”

Jiyan’s teeth chatter as he lets out a shuddering breath. It’s sick, and it feels wrong when the outraged tone makes his gut pool with want.

“Shall I phrase it differently to soothe what little is left of your conscience?”

The palm that strikes his cheek comes out of nowhere, or at least Jiyan wasn’t expecting it in the heat of the moment. Too focused on watching the way a shadow fell over Geshulin’s eyes and the emotion in them twisted. There is no skin-on-skin contact thanks to the black glove that runs from his bicep down, covering every inch of skin in between. But he might as well have smacked Jiyan with a bare palm with the way it burns like fire.

“You…” He uses a tone of voice Jiyan has never been privy to before — right then, he hears the slightest tinge of regret in his general’s voice, but Jiyan has never known the man to regret anything. “Ha…” Geshulin slumps against his desk and braces his weight against it with one hand, bringing the one he struck Jiyan with up to cover his scowling face. “Was it raining? It had to have been. What reason would there be for me to lose my mind now?”

Jiyan opts not to interrupt the mildly deranged ramblings as they continue, and he remains as patient as ever where he kneels before Geshulin. It’s due to that rapt attention that he expects it when Geshulin reaches his hand back down to Jiyan’s face, though this time it does not come with a slap. Rather, the ridged fabric of his glove runs over his aching cheek and down to his chin. Geshulin cups it, lifting Jiyan’s face higher with the edge of his index finger.

“You should not be real,” he murmurs under his breath, but the stillness in the air lets Jiyan hear it as well. When he withdraws his hand, Geshulin clutches the side of his head and squeezes his eyes shut so hard that it shows in the lines of his forehead. “Yet you cannot be a Tacet Discord because there has been no Retroact Rain remotely near here. I would have received a report if there had been. Thus… if I am not the one losing my mind, then you must be.”

“You want me,” Jiyan breathes out as realization washes over him like he’s been doused with frigid water. His general looks down at him with an expression that borders on horror. A huffed laugh leaves Jiyan’s lips.

“Don’t be foolish,” comes the retort, but the medic simply continues to grin like a madman. “I want to put you in your place, I want to teach you a lesson, I want to beat you senseless more often than not. Occasionally I even desire to kill a man in front of you to see that perfect picture you’ve painted of me smear and melt down to something hideous.” Geshulin grabs for Jiyan’s laughing mouth, slamming his palm over the seam of his lips and forcing his head back. His fingers dig into the man’s jawbone. “I want to eradicate every ounce of admiration you have left because I have done nothing to warrant such positive emotions. You should not admire me for anything other than my battle prowess. Yet you still want me no matter how much I attempt to prove to you what kind of man I truly am. That is the visage that plagues me. As if it isn’t enough to have to see those pathetic eyes following my every move in every meeting, every meal, every walk across camp. You are always there. Why are you always there?”

The general’s tone takes a turn for desperation, and though he’s blocking Jiyan’s mouth, it’s clear that he longs for an answer. It’s simple truly — Jiyan is not making any efforts to follow the man around wherever he goes. He does not let his gaze track Geshulin’s every move despite aching for his attention and approval. Rather, he seems to be expecting Jiyan’s attention in every aspect of his daily life, to the point of manifesting it in similar ways to how Jiyan does. Geshulin wants to run, yet Jiyan wishes to chase with all his might. All roads lead to the same place, where they chase each other around in circles.

“The great General Geshu and his loyal pet dog,” Geshulin scoffs. “Such rumors seem true no matter which angle you look at it from.”

Jiyan hums against the hand clasped over his mouth, and he’s granted relief moments later. “You were the one to appoint me to my current role, and that has only exasperated those rumors. So which of us is truly responsible here?” He dares to lean forward, hand inching up from his lap to rest against the man’s knee.

“I am beginning to think that I can do nothing to dissuade you.” He sets his lips into a thin line. “And it seems in my attempts to do so, obsession has grown in place of my dislike of you.” Oh, that makes Jiyan’s stomach jump and flip over itself, and every nerve ending in his body sings with delight upon hearing the admission Geshulin had been holding out.

“At what point did you start desiring me, general?”

Geshulin sighs and rests a heavy hand atop Jiyan’s head, mussing the teal strands as he does so. The touch bears a gentle roughness. “Do not ask me such juvenile questions.” When Jiyan tries to slide his hand higher, he's stopped by fingers latching around his wrist and plucking the offending hand away. “No. If there is something I desire then… I shall take it myself.”

The general moves backward and braces his weight against the desk. He reaches for the button keeping his overshirt on, letting it loose and making the fabric part to expose that tight black undershirt beneath.

“General—”

“I am not your general here and now, Jiyan, just as you are not my soldier or my subordinate. If you are beneath me in any regard, then it is because you are still a yapping dog trying to bite my heels for attention.” Jiyan sinks his teeth into his lower lip. His stomach clenches and turns over on itself as Geshulin grabs the collar of his open shirt and pulls it back further. It slips down the length of his bicep, then catches on his elbows, and Jiyan’s breath hitches in his throat at the same moment. “Come.”

“S-Sir,” he exhales, bursting to his feet in the blink of an eye to stand before the man. “Geshulin.” He crowds the man against the edge of the desk and all but blocks him from moving even an inch without brushing against Jiyan’s overheated body. Geshulin hisses air between his teeth. He glares at Jiyan through his silver bangs, nudging him hard with a flat palm against Jiyan’s arm. It’s with the hand wrapped in bandages though, where his bare skin peeks out below the wrist and his fingers are free to touch as they please, and he brushes the expanse of skin that Jiyan has exposed along his right arm. Lithe fingers dip into the fold of arm and chest, jolting harshly against Jiyan’s armpit as he tries to shove the younger man back a bit. The mere contact has Jiyan’s Tacet Mark throbbing between his shoulder blades.

“I will not be kind, nor should you expect endless generosity from me. If we do this then we will not do it again, we will not speak of it, and my attitude towards you will not change. You must know this,” Geshulin says through a whisper, continuing to shed his shirt until his arms are free. He throws it to the side. Jiyan doesn’t wait to see where it falls. He can’t keep his hands to himself, that’s for certain, because the second his eyes have access to that skintight black undershirt clinging to Geshulin’s muscled body, his hands move forward to grab the slim waist before him like a carnivore getting its first taste of meat.

“Why is it that you keep trying to make excuses for your desires?” Jiyan inquires as he yanks himself into the man’s space. The look of shock that crosses those golden eyes is delicious. He leans in close to lay his lips on the shell of Geshulin’s ear. “Do you imagine that I do not crave those unkind parts of you in this way? Because you would be wrong in thinking so.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve romanticized something,” Geshulin mumbles, but his ear turns hot and flushed red when Jiyan nips at the cartilage. There’s a hand at his chest, tangling around the buckle that is pulled taut over his pecs. Jiyan isn’t sure what to expect next, but when he’s tugged around with a strength that makes his stomach drop, he lets out a strangled gasp that sounds more akin to a whimper than anything else. Now it is his turn to be slammed against the edge of the desk, but Geshulin does not stop there — he sweeps his arms across the surface behind Jiyan’s back until papers and items are cascading to the floor on either side of it. He snaps back to that cursed strap and makes it whip harshly against Jiyan’s chest as he’s shoved down to his back atop the metal surface.

He swallows around nothing, tongue darting out to wet his upper lip. The position alone is vulnerable, but the nudge of Geshulin’s hands urging his knees to part and allow him space between them has Jiyan’s head shrouded by a thick fog of want. Hands climb the tops of his thighs, running along the clothed skin beneath his overcoat, and they stop at the clasps of his belts.

“I’ll take you apart piece by piece and revel in the delight of doing so.” Geshulin hums after he speaks, and he draws one of Jiyan’s legs up by hooking his hand under the bend of his knee—the muscle twitches and trembles beneath the touch. Jiyan has to cover his mouth with the back of his hand upon seeing Geshulin in such a suggestive position: between his legs, hips nearly flush with his ass, and the bulge already straining against Jiyan’s pants ever so close to the hand that is still working his belts open. The other slides from Jiyan’s knee to his ankle, and Geshulin hooks the foot up over his shoulder, bending further over Jiyan to the point where it’s wholly a lewd imitation of fucking.

“Do not be horrible to me because you think it will make my feelings change,” he says to the side, unable to bear the weight of eye contact with the man as he speaks. Geshulin leans in so close that hot breath touches the underside of Jiyan’s jaw. The blunt edges of teeth scrape down the length of his throat, catching on the turtleneck that climbs all the way up his neck and tugging it down as Geshulin sinks lower.

“I do not intend to disrespect you in that way,” comes the hushed and breathy exhale once he’s pulled Jiyan’s turtleneck halfway down. “Moreso, I will ruin you in such a way that any time you touch yourself, you’ll have to think of my lips and my fingers, every ounce of it will remind you of my touch, so that you can be plagued the way I am.” Jiyan shudders as teeth nip harder at the bare expanse of skin the man exposed.

“I already do,” Jiyan says without thinking, and when Geshulin bites down particularly hard right after, he keens up off the desk and presses the firm line of his body against Geshulin’s. “The moments when you are not in my mind are fewer than those in which you are.”

The man above him shudders before standing upright. His hand grips Jiyan’s thigh firmly, squeezing at the flesh when Jiyan’s ankle threatens to slip from its place atop his shoulder. Jiyan shifts his weight onto his elbows and props himself up on the desk. His overcoat pools around his body against the surface as it’s pulled away, and though still fully clothed underneath, Geshulin stares down at his body like he’s been stripped of everything.

“You will think of me even far into the future when you find someone to warm your bed and keep you company. If I must, I shall haunt you without relent for all eternity if it means making you suffer even an ounce of the agony I have lived with thus far. For every second that my hedonistic desires have manifested themselves, I will relinquish it onto you tenfold.” Geshulin traces the lines of his body through his clothes, running gloved fingers down the center of his chest and across the softness of his stomach. He stops at the clasp of Jiyan’s pants and flicks the button loose like it's nothing. With a shrug, he tosses Jiyan’s ankle off his shoulder, but before the medic can go anywhere, firm hands are wrapped around his hips and digging into the waistband of his pants.

Jiyan draws a hand up to grab a fistful of Geshulin’s black shirt. “And if I already desire that? Will that frighten you?” Geshulin narrows his eyes then yanks his pants down, taking his underwear along with them until they can go no farther thanks to his boots.

“Get them off,” the older mutters, and though Jiyan is thoroughly embarrassed by the sudden exposure (and the way Geshulin stares at his half-hard cock dribbling against his hip), he kicks at the blockage to the best of his ability with no help from the man. Positioned between his legs, blocking the way, and making things even harder for Jiyan by leaving his pants and underwear around his knees — everything about him is as infuriating as ever, but it makes Jiyan crave him all the more. One boot thuds to the floor so loud that he worries a guard might come to check on them. Geshulin wraps his gloved hand around the base of Jiyan’s cock, and the younger man jerks violently as he kicks his leg out beside the former’s hip. The second boot leaves his foot in a flurry, knocking into the side of the war table before bouncing down to the floor louder than the first. But seconds tick by, silence filled by Jiyan’s heaving breaths, and no one comes to the door.

Geshulin tightens the ring of his fingers around the younger man and runs it up the length of his member, caressing his slit with the tip of his index finger before digging it in mercilessly. Jiyan’s breaths turn to stuttered moans, ones that he tries to contain by sealing his lips, but the sensation of another person’s hand on his cock after such pent-up and unrelieved frustrations makes the pleasure all the more heady. It doesn’t help that every movement he makes, no matter how slight, has his Tacet Mark rubbing against the silk overcoat that’s laid out beneath him. The delicate silk and Geshulin’s hand combined are a recipe for Jiyan’s destruction. He grabs the man’s wrist with both hands, squishing his chest together with his biceps as he does, but his grip is marred by the pinpricks of pleasure cascading over him. He cannot do much to slow the motion of Geshulin’s hand, and he’s left to helplessly watch as precum leaks from his cock just to be used as a crude imitation of lube on the man’s palm.

“Ge-Geshu, wait, it’s too —- it’s too early, I can’t cum yet!” Jiyan gasps and jolts upwards, a lightning bolt of tightness overtaking his muscles; it’s so abrupt that his vision blackens around the edges just before a stinging erupts in the corners of his eyes.

“I won’t let you cum too soon,” Geshulin hums. Jiyan glances down between his legs to find that cursed hand still wrapped tight around his dick, though now he’s squeezing the base of him in a vice to keep the orgasm at bay. “There is still much I wish to do to you yet.”

The tightness around Jiyan's length lets up at last, and the man between his legs pulls back to finish ridding him of his pants and undergarments. They join the other shed articles of clothing on the floor. He's granted the privilege then of watching Geshulin strip — first, the black tank top he always hides away, unveiling tanned skin and jagged scars that occupy most of his torso. Then goes the glove that climbs up his right arm, and he rolls it down to his forearm before catching the tip of the middle finger and pulling it off the rest of the way with his teeth. Jiyan can't hide how his cock twitches with interest and arousal.

“You… will be my ruin,” Geshulin murmurs as he wraps warm hands around the bare flesh of the younger’s thighs. Seconds later, he lowers himself between Jiyan's legs and hooks both of them over his shoulders as he presses his face against the sensitive and immaculate skin there. He nips at the flesh, taking Jiyan's inner thigh between his teeth and clasping around it with a firm bite that's sure to leave a mark. “My greatest mistake.” The vibrations of his voice that comes out like a growl reverberate through Jiyan's groin, and he reaches down to grab a fistful of silver hair. “I will destroy us both in one fell swoop.” With those words, Geshulin drags his tongue over the seam of Jiyan’s balls, up the length of his dick in an absurd show of lewdness before suckling the tip between his lips.

Jiyan lets loose a strangled sound that he rushes to muffle with his free hand, and he bites down hard around the gilded gauntlet lining the back of it. The metal hurts his teeth, but that’s a small price to pay when compared to the potential humiliation of being caught like this. With his general sucking his dick atop that very man’s desk of all places.

“Tsk, tsk,” Geshulin tuts, letting the cock between his lips pop free. Two fingers slide over the wet trail left behind then traverse lower and smooth over Jiyan’s perineum. Jiyan clenches at the sudden cold sensation. “Don’t be so shy when your body is doing all the talking for you… isn’t this what you wanted?” A finger pushes past his rim, accompanied by a chuckle from Geshulin where he laps at the base of the medic’s cock. “So honest… your hole is practically begging for it. Tell me with your words too, little dragon.”

“Mpmh—!” Jiyan gasps as the man’s finger shoves deeper inside him, coaxing his hole open in an attempt to search for something deeper. He releases Geshulin’s hair to throw his hand down against something firmer, and he ends up gripping the edge of the desk like his life depends on it. The breath against his skin is too hot, the lips at his cock are so warm and wet, the finger inside him quickly becomes two before he can brace himself properly.

“Is that the best you can do?” Geshulin lines his lips up with the tip of Jiyan’s cock once again, and this time he swallows the full length down to the base like it's nothing. His hips jerk up from the desk subconsciously, thrusting his cock against the back of the older’s throat, yet despite that, it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He glances up the planes of Jiyan’s stomach and chest to fight for eye contact, those dull yellow eyes boring holes into him more with each noise that’s punched out of Jiyan’s lungs. Geshulin is merciless indeed because he looks far too pleased with himself when the pads of his fingers angle into that sensitive little bundle of nerves deep inside Jiyan.

“F-Fuck, wait—Geshu!” He cums suddenly, spurting hot ropes of semen into Geshulin’s waiting mouth. The man only sucks at his length harder, like he’s trying to suck the cum right out of Jiyan with a fervor that makes the younger Resonator’s head go fuzzy. He pulls free of Jiyan’s throbbing cock, and rather than getting to his feet or moving away from him, Geshulin dips lower and opens his mouth against the quivering pucker of Jiyan’s ass. Alongside his fingers, he thrusts his tongue into the small opening he’s made for himself. It takes a moment for the euphoria to pass enough for Jiyan to realize what’s going on, but when the tongue against his walls feels too moist, and something leaks out from his hole between Geshulin’s fingers, the realization hits him like a punch in the gut.

General Geshulin is currently tongue-fucking Jiyan’s own semen into his ass, with two fingers stretching him wide atop the general’s desk where he’s laid out like a whore.

He’s tempted to hit the man upside the head when Geshulin’s unoccupied hand wanders back to his poor overstimulated cock, but the sharp stabs of pleasure hit him so incessantly that he can’t find the willpower to do anything except lie there and take it. Geshulin palms at his balls and folds his limp cock into the same fistful, rolling both in his hand as he teases along Jiyan’s walls with his tongue.

“It’s too much,” he finally manages to mumble. Sweat drips down from his brow and races across his temple to disappear into his hair. The accelerated beating of his heart makes a tightness constrict his chest, rapping so hard that it feels like it’s drumming against the confines of his ribcage. Geshulin pulls himself back just enough to laugh. Rather than the vibrations, it’s actually the emotion that crosses over the older man’s face that makes Jiyan spasm violently. He looks close to eating Jiyan alive. His thighs try to force themselves shut and instead clamp around Geshulin’s head with Jiyan’s heels digging into his scarred back.

“Are you so desperate?” The loss of his warm tongue writhing along his tight walls brings an emptiness Jiyan does not expect. When Geshulin withdraws his fingers right after, milky white fluid drips from the end of his middle finger to the floor. “Do you become so pathetically hard every time I talk down to you? How lewd, Jiyan, how filthy.” The snarky remark is accentuated by each button on Geshulin’s pants popping open under the pressure of his hands ripping at them. The rigid outline of his erection is so clearly visible in his underwear, and the dark splotch where precum has leaked from his slit is equally conspicuous.

“You’re no better,” Jiyan huffs. He tilts his head back to rest on the desk. His muscles already feel like they’re made of water despite having only orgasmed once, and he takes a moment to rest his burning eyes while listening to the chorus of their breaths and Geshulin’s pants hitting the floor. The man above him maneuvers his legs into a new position, hooking one in the crook of his elbow while easing the other further to the side with a palm pressed firmly against his inner thigh. The stretch bears the eroticism of Geshulin’s movements. “How often do you think of shutting me up with your dick?”

“As often as I imagine doing this,” Geshulin spits, and the blunt, rounded tip of his member nudges against Jiyan’s perineum. It slides in with little resistance, slippery and wet thanks to the saliva and semen coating his hole.

“Ngh, wait,” Jiyan chokes on air as the stretch takes a sudden turn for something more painful than pleasurable. He draws his fingers into tight fists, flexing them out and in over and over in a desperate attempt to soothe the tension in his body. Geshulin halts entirely — and it’s not that Jiyan expected him to ignore his requests altogether, but the slight respect he’s given goes straight to his heart and pierces it with another arrow. The bare minimum, the most basic kindness Geshulin could ever exhibit, yet the space the man has carved out in Jiyan’s heart swells a little bit bigger. “Just… ease into it a bit, I haven’t—”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but his partner hears the unsaid words and slows his pace as he begins to push deeper inside. Jiyan can only compare the sensation of Geshulin bottoming out to being split open. No amount of resituating makes it better either, and he writhes against the desk trying to alleviate some of the discomfort. The grip Geshulin has on his legs tightens, and he stills all of Jiyan’s shifting by leaning over him more.

“Quit moving.” Jiyan whimpers. He squeezes his eyes shut to avoid that crow-like gaze. “You’ll make it worse, you have to relax and stop flopping around like a damn fish.” His body listens to the words before his brain can fully process them. Geshulin massages his palm into the flesh of his thigh. His thumb rolls into the muscle in small, methodical circles. It gives Jiyan something else to focus on in a way that isn’t trying to dig his way out of his skin. “You’re doing well,” his partner says out of the blue. Jiyan’s soul snaps back to his body, and golden eyes open to hone in on the man bending him in two currently. “You’re taking it well, little dragon, like you should.”

“How did you—”

“You’re so easy to read, Jiyan. You preen any time I give you even the slightest compliment.” Geshulin shifts his hips a bit, making his cock jostle Jiyan’s insides a little but it’s far less painful this time. “You look for my reassurance and affirmations like they’re nectar from the gods. How could I not know that praise is what makes you behave while my cock is buried in your hole?” Jiyan stutters around air but he doesn’t earn an opportunity to retort because Geshulin pulls out about halfway. It disrupts the younger’s train of thought, but the subsequent thrust dismantles every last bit of his coherence. “More?” The man is grinning, one corner of his lips twisting up as he gives another shallow thrust.

Jiyan’s lips part but no sound comes out until Geshulin fucks harder into him. Every noise he emits can only be described as half-hearted grunts because he can’t keep up with moaning fully at the pace Geshulin settles for. His cock jostles against his stomach and rubs a translucent bead of cum onto his black shirt with every quick thrust. He’s not even fully hard again, yet the intense stimulation on his prostate forces cum out nonetheless, and Geshulin seems to delight in the pathetic display before him. He pushes Jiyan’s leg up higher and closer to the desk. Without missing a beat, he tilts his body and fucks into Jiyan’s sopping hole with more passion. The new angle makes Jiyan see stars in the edges of his vision, and his groans crack into weak whines. He reaches up to grip Geshulin by the arm. His partner lets him cling to his bicep, even though Jiyan is most certainly digging his nails into the skin there and leaving deep crescents in his wake.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, I won’t last,” Geshulin moans. The desk trembles violently under the weight and force of their sex, and Jiyan himself feels about as fragile as it does at present.

“Old man,” he laughs, drawing his chin down to his shoulder. He glances towards Geshulin through fluttering lashes and heavy blinks. Whatever Jiyan looks like in the man’s eyes is enough to keep him quiet and for once he doesn’t try to counter Jiyan’s pestering.

The grip on Jiyan’s thigh slips, and Geshulin has to brace his hand against the desk by the younger’s hip. He thrusts wildly against Jiyan a few more times before the pace devolves into a staggered rush toward a climax. Warmth spreads through Jiyan’s muscles, and his fingertips tingle like he’s been electrocuted. When he glances down his body, the pool of cum on his abdomen has spread further, and strings of cum now reach up his stomach. The orgasm lingers despite his cock not having anything left to give. Geshulin gives one last thrust before pulling out entirely. Jiyan hears himself whine at the abrupt emptiness. The man above him pays him no mind in favor of placing his wet and throbbing cock alongside Jiyan’s soft one. The difference between them affects Geshulin as much as it affects Jiyan, based on the way he cums on the spot, shooting his load over Jiyan’s and making a further mess of the medic’s poor shirt.

The aftermath dawns on both of them like a slow sunset. Geshulin unhooks his arm from under Jiyan’s leg and lets the latter rest atop the desk as he makes his arms bear the brunt of his own weight. He keeps both hands close to the narrow taper of Jiyan’s waist. The younger Resonator can no longer see his eyes and instead traces Geshulin’s lashes and closed eyelids with his gaze.

Jiyan’s heart is fluttering dangerously in his chest. He tries to blame it on the exertion — tries to make an excuse that won’t lead to him admitting the iron-tight grip Geshulin has on his heart — but as his lips open and close around wordless desires, he finds himself drawing a blank. It’s humiliating, in a way, to be so novice at something. When he was in training, the other recruits alongside him never denied themselves pleasures of the flesh, but Jiyan was so intensely focused on his studies and doing well that he neglected all of that fun. There was the boy who would hold his hand and lead him out to the field by the training square at night. They would sit in the grass surrounded by plants and flowers Jiyan knew so much about, and when Jiyan would regale the boy with useless information about them, the boy in turn would tell him of the stars above their heads. He had tried to kiss Jiyan, on one of those nights, but Jiyan had deflected it by pressing a flower to his lips and laughing the incident off.

Now, he feels emboldened. He leans forward into the space that Geshulin is occupying before him, lips parted and wanting, and there’s a flicker of shock that crosses over the general’s face when his eyes snap open to assess what the hell Jiyan is doing but it’s only there for a split second.

Two fingers press into the line of his lips. Jiyan barely feels himself being nudged away. It’s gentle, like Geshulin is trying not to make it a blow to his ego, but Jiyan’s insides erupt into flames of embarrassment and shame and a disgusting amount of desperation. Suddenly they’re right back where they started, and Jiyan feels a fool all over again.

“Save that for someone who actually means something to you,” Geshulin breathes out. Jiyan sinks back against the desk, propping himself up on his elbows as he stares forward at Geshulin’s bare chest. There’s a slashing scar running from the right side of his collarbone down to the underside of his left pec. Jiyan feels the same wound opening up on his chest, digging its way out from inside his body and making his heart cry out a dirge between them played by a weeping organ. If not you then who? He wordlessly turns over and secures his feet on the ground. It’s a crude presentation of his naked body, but he hopes it tempts the general nonetheless, as his cock twitches between his legs and against the edge of the desk.

“Come on, again,” he mutters over his shoulder, and when Geshulin sinks into him once more, Jiyan presses his lips to the back of his hand and imagines a reality in which he’s kissing the man.

Chapter Text

━ ◦ the fourth clings to your skin like a bruise ◦ ━

Sweat pours down from Jiyan’s forehead. The heat is sticky and makes the air cling to his skin like it's part of his body, and though the sun is tucked away behind the horizon and thick, dark clouds, his eyes still burn the longer they're open.

He really should have gotten more sleep last night.

Jiyan shifts his weight to look off to the left, where his general stands at the edge of the square still brandishing a wooden sword in his right hand.

That very face is what kept him awake far past midnight, and the curse of having to see the real version of the man mere hours later only exasperates the ache in Jiyan’s bones.

The pace of the war has slowed considerably over the past several weeks. The number of outbreaks has dwindled to something more manageable, and even Geshulin finds time to remain at the base camp where he keeps Jiyan and Lan nearby for the sake of emergencies. Jingyi and her team were pushed forward to the outskirts alongside a fresh team of scouts that could provide recon as needed. The calm, however, must be harkening towards an ever-present storm that Jiyan awaits with bated breath.

He has been granted permission to spend time in the medical tents once more, though not all his time as that would be detrimental to his battle prowess, as Geshulin likes to remind him. Thus, Jiyan finds himself here, in the training square behind the building that houses the war room and Geshulin’s quarters, sparring with his general day in and day out. He supposes there must be some form of stress relief for them to partake in, given that they have not so much as breathed one word about what occurred some weeks back now.

Three weeks and four days that is, but Jiyan is not keeping track of such measurements because that would be a foolish thing to do. He will not admit that he has thought about Geshulin every day since they fucked for the first and, according to Geshulin’s desires, last time, but it is like a maggot latched onto his brain to constantly remind him of the fact every time he sees the general. It wriggles beneath his skull with every dull clang of their dummy swords meeting, and it makes his body hot with every brush of contact between their bodies.

Perhaps Geshulin craves to make Jiyan insane by doing this because the medic cannot think of a crueler form of punishment than this.

“Come on, again,” the general exhales, though he’s hardly breaking a sweat compared to Jiyan. Another layer of humiliation, he supposes. “You’re slow today.”

“It’s still early,” Jiyan refutes, bolstering his weight on his training sword and hoisting himself up from one knee to both feet.

“You can’t have been having a particularly good dream given how quickly you answered my call.” The medic narrows his gaze and tries to look intimidating. It comes across as more petulant than anything. “It’s more likely that you hardly slept at all.”

“What an honor it is, sir, that you know me so well.” Jiyan angles the end of his wooden sword towards the general’s face.

“A pleasant little nighttime visitor then?”

Jiyan lunges without thinking further, extending his arm out to the side and drawing the blade across the front of his body when he approaches Geshulin in a flash. It skates along the edge of his opponent’s weapon and hooks on the guard. Jiyan finds purchase in that heated gaze.

“Again, as you said.”

The flurry of movements happens so quickly that Jiyan almost misses the cue of Geshulin’s right foot sliding forward before he’s forced backward. Wood splinters beneath his grasp where he clutches the hilt with all his might; it’s all he can do to keep the blunt edge of his opponent’s faux blade from clipping his nose. His feet scrape against the dirt below. The impact alone is enough to send both of them closer to the edge of the square. Jiyan thrusts forward to put the general off-kilter, and it works for all of two seconds before Geshulin has recovered and twists to launch another attack. That split second allows just enough time for Jiyan to close some of the distance before the other man can, and he takes up the offensive this time.

Wood splinters between them as Geshulin’s sword careens upwards to block the attack just before it collides with his cheekbone. Jiyan would have pulled back before he struck his general; though, given Geshulin’s widened eyes, the latter does not share in that confidence. Jiyan twists at the waist, bringing his blade along with him. The sound of it grating against Geshulin’s makes him want to claw at his eardrums, but the burning in his chest drives him forward despite that horrendous noise. He reaches the man’s shoulder, and their swords lift off each other. The momentum it provides allows Jiyan an opening. He drives the sword towards the gap between Geshulin’s bicep and torso. He’s just about to make contact when something snags his Achilles tendon and yanks him off balance. He catches a sideways glimpse of the general’s growing smirk before he has to redirect his focus to saving himself from a nasty fall.

The collision with the ground causes a searing pain to shoot up his arm, starting from where he lands on his elbow and going up into his neck. His training sword tumbles too and skids across the dirt until it’s out of reach. He hisses when he first attempts to move and his elbow throbs immediately.

“I hope for your sake we never meet on the battlefield as foes,” Geshulin sighs from above and behind him. Jiyan would glare over his shoulder if he weren’t so focused on recovering his sword. He manages to stretch his right arm out about a foot before a foot cascades down onto his back. It doesn’t bear enough force to keep Jiyan immobile, but the toes of Geshulin’s boot inch upwards bit by bit until the whole shoe presses firmly between Jiyan’s shoulder blades. The sole rubs against the fluttering line of his Tacet Mark.

Jiyan clenches his fist around air and trembles like a leaf under the contact.

“That was an improvement from before, though,” the man continues. His tone carries utter neutrality to it, but Jiyan knows better — and he knows that Geshulin is well aware of Jiyan’s squirming with every gentle press of his heel. When the younger tries to escape from the pin with force, Geshulin shifts and drops to his knees, locking Jiyan in with a crude and suggestive press of groin to ass. He snakes a hand up the line of Jiyan’s spine, and unwrapped fingertips burn against his flesh as they reach the exposed expanse of his Tacet Mark.

“Victory is yours, general,” he says in a rush before any indecent noise can come out first. Geshulin huffs out a laugh behind him. The pad of his thumb digs into the thickest portion of his mark. Jiyan isn’t sure if the stinging that erupts in the touch’s wake is from Geshulin’s nail piercing his skin or overstimulation from the touch. “W-We need to — discuss troop and unit movements.”

“Let’s save it for another time,” the older man murmurs. He rolls the pad of his thumb around in a circle. Jiyan has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering into the dirt. The warmth of Geshulin’s crotch reaches Jiyan through layers of pants and underwear. Something about fiddling with his Tacet Mark must be getting the general off to some degree if the incessant twitching and growing hardness along the cleft of his ass is any indication.

“General—” Jiyan cuts short with a gasp as the thumb along his spine reaches higher and kisses the uppermost end of his mark.

“So fascinating, really, that it flutters under stimulation like you’re on the brink of Overclocking,” Geshulin continues. “I’ve read your report: no documented history of any such thing and your frequency displays high stability with a low risk of Overclocking. Yet I’ve only seen this sort of activity in Tacet Marks when a Resonator is about to lose control.” Jiyan shifts against the ground, his neck hot with embarrassment. “Is it the act of fighting me that draws such a visceral reaction out of you? Or is it just me ?”

Jiyan finds some semblance of sanity then, enough to twist his arm about Geshulin’s thigh and swing him to the ground in Jiyan’s stead. The medic rotates himself in a rush to get the man pinned, and the wooden sword Geshulin had clasped seconds prior now lays useless several meters away. They switch positions with a thud and a small puff of dirt that billows out from behind the general’s head when he collides with the earth. Both disarmed, sweating, panting for breath, and with heaving chests — the suggestive nature of this position too is not lost on the medic, what with him positioned between the man’s legs and bracing the weight of his thigh against his forearm.

“Am I permitted to ask the same question of you, general?” Jiyan sneers a little as he reaches out for Geshulin’s neck with his unoccupied hand. He hesitates, awaiting an answer from the man, and though he expects vehement denial and refusal, what he receives instead makes his brain buffer. Geshulin lifts his chin and tilts his head further into the ground. Silvery white hair cascades around his head. It frames the lines of his neck. And in the middle, a pulsating Tacet Mark that invites Jiyan to touch, amplified by Geshulin’s allowance that comes without need for words.

Jiyan’s fingers tremble when he brushes over the man’s collarbone. He traces the jutting bone with his index and middle fingers, before mapping out a path upwards. He pinches the straining tendons delicately on the way. When he finally comes close to Geshulin’s Tacet Mark, it jolts like a surge of electricity struck it , and the longest point stretches further to brush against where Jiyan’s thumb rests at the base of the man’s neck. The reaction is minute but Jiyan’s hyper-intense focus lets him see the micro reactions passing over Geshulin’s face. The way his eyebrows twitch inwards, his blinking turns erratic for no more than a second, and how the bend of his knee against Jiyan’s arm tightens.

Jiyan drinks it in like it’s the finest wine he’s ever tasted. He leans over Geshulin’s body in full, until his lips come to brush over the slight protrusion of his Adam’s apple.

“You call me the animal when you’re the one slobbering over me like a bitch in heat, general ,” Jiyan whispers as he exhales hot breath against the twitching mark beneath his lips. “For all your bravado, you haven’t stopped wanting me for a second—” he lays his tongue flat on Geshulin’s skin then, all but tasting electricity when he comes into contact with the mark on the general’s neck “—and it shows.” Jiyan twists his head and pinches skin between his canine teeth. He is refused the chance to revel in the man’s reaction, as the man sends him flying backward in an impressive and sudden show of strength. He rebalances moments before he slams into the ground on the other side of the training square , but all it saves him is a little bit of pain because the impact of striking the earth isn’t mitigated at all. He lands with one arm folded against his side, elbow digging into one of his lower ribs. Pain blossoms down his waist. He wouldn’t be shocked if he cracked a rib. Despite wincing and hissing in pain, he still pulls himself up enough to look over at Geshulin.

The man sits up across the dirt, with one hand clasped tight around his neck to cover the flaring Tacet Mark beneath. Some scent lingers in the air — acrid like a candle that’s been burning for too long — and Jiyan finds out why after taking a closer look at the general. Black flames outlined in a purple hue dance around Geshulin’s fingers, spreading up his forearms.

“You cannot afford to play stupid, dangerous games,” the general grits out . He gets to his feet without sparing Jiyan any more wisdom or ridicule, then exits the training yard as though he didn’t nearly Overclock at five o’clock in the morning and wipe both himself and Jiyan out of existence. The medic, in turn, finds in him a retort far too late, and Geshulin is long gone already, so he buries it in his throat and tries to forget it.

Then what are you doing? Why are you nipping at my heels when I am trying to walk away?

On Jiyan’s arm, where metal curves around his elbow and up his bicep, there is a distinct handprint that’s been melted into the furnished bronze.

Though it takes a considerable amount of effort, Jiyan forces himself to get to his feet. He prides himself on not wobbling too much when he does too. The one and only direct exit out of the training yard is, alas, through the war room that also serves as Geshulin’s office. Jiyan debates climbing the tall fence surrounding the perimeter of the yard , but the throb in his side ends that pipe dream rather quickly.

A childish yet prominent urge to avoid the source of his frustrations and desires combined, born out of an annoyance towards two things: one, how the situation unraveled so hastily, and two, his very own weakness that allowed it to happen at all . Jiyan thinks, however, that given the chance to go back in time to that moment, he would still make the same decision without a lick of hesitation.

The war room is void of life when he crosses the threshold. It seems he has been spared this time , and with any luck, Geshulin has already retreated up to the second floor to brood in his quarters alone and away from Jiyan. The medic aims to do the same when he passes through the narrow halls to reach the door to his own room, where he can safely tuck himself and his feelings away. The buzzing beneath his skin is simply an annoyance that lingers while he peels layers of clothing off. His gauntlet clings to his arm, refusing to budge easily thanks to the imprint of Geshulin’s hand that makes it want to stay in place. He, too, struggles with his shirt, if only because lifting his arms higher than his chest makes the pain in his ribs flare to near-unbearable degrees.

Jiyan regrets stopping in front of the mirror in the bathroom. There’s bruising that has spread across his side already, though that is far from his main concern. He ought to open the cabinet and pull out his medical supplies quickly — ignore what stares back at him in the reflection so that he can keep on pretending to be wholly sane. When it’s Geshulin’s face hovering beside his, however, he can’t help but stay rooted to the spot. Though he knows better, Jiyan still jerks his head to glimpse over his shoulder. It only serves as confirmation that the man exists solely in the mirror.

“These aren’t the marks you want me to leave on you, no?”

Jiyan hisses and yanks the cabinet door open so hard that the metal knob slams into the edge of the mirror. It splinters the glass in the blink of an eye. Rippled streaks stretch across the surface until the hallucination becomes fragmented.

“What more do you have to do for me to want you?” The cracked lips taunt him still.

Jiyan grabs the first aid kit from the cupboard then turns to escape his destruction. His ability to stay composed and not jump out of his skin upon reentering the main room of his quarters ought to be rewarded. It could also be boiled down to the embarrassing frequency in which he envisions his general in his room , though those instances are always notably hallucinations. Jiyan knows the man who stands near the doorway is far from that because his Tacet Mark burns hot between his shoulder blades.

“You’re injured,” Geshulin says, nodding towards the bruise that’s on full display thanks to Jiyan’s half-naked state.

“I am a doctor still, sir. You need not assist me.”

“You’ll do more harm than good trying to wrap that yourself.”

“Then I’ll go to the medic tents,” Jiyan argues. It earns him a glare, but that sharp gaze slips past his head and into the bathroom behind Jiyan. A flash of concern dares to cross Geshulin’s features, and Jiyan is so affronted by the sight that he leans to block the view of the cracked mirror as though it carries all his secrets with it.

“Did you Overclock while we were training?”

Jiyan scoffs, moving to toss the first aid kit on the foot of his bed.

“I ought to be the one asking that, if it were not so obvious in how you nearly combusted.” When Jiyan goes to lean down, pain ripples through his side hard enough for him to wince. A hand comes down on the first aid kit before he can get to it first. He should never have let it go in the first place, such a rookie mistake that was . Geshulin stands far too close to him, and when Jiyan lifts his chin to level the general with a stare, he finds the man within arm’s reach all of a sudden. “I have never once Overclocked, and you should not flatter yourself into thinking you would cause my first.”

“But I was your first in some regards,” comes the oh-so-nonchalant response that precedes Geshulin’s typical shit-eating grin he wears when he’s rather proud of himself. He holds the med kit up over his head, and though it's not out of Jiyan’s reach, he cannot lift his arm to snatch it away.

“Which stupid, dangerous game is this, general?” he retorts instead, letting spite creep into his tone.

“The one where I cannot find the self-control to leave you alone.” Geshulin sighs and lowers the kit, popping it open to retrieve the bandages from inside. “Lift your right arm.”

Jiyan does as instructed because he's a good and loyal dog, and does not think for a second to disobey the order. Geshulin curls his palm around the curve of Jiyan's rib cage. He cups the bruising, squeezing enough for it to hurt, then pulls back and replaces his touch with that of the bandage. It's a gentler process than Jiyan anticipated from the man.

“I do not afford you the pleasure of being correct often but — you were right earlier.” Jiyan gnaws on the inside of his lip to keep himself from unraveling in the general’s hands. “I do still desire you. But my feelings have not changed. Does that upset you?”

“I don’t understand why it should,” Jiyan replies coolly, “given that you made your terms very clear. What I told you then remains true: my aim is not to alter your feelings towards me. It seems as though we will need to shift our terms of agreement, however, if you insist on driving us both to the brink of insanity because you can’t keep it in your pants.” Geshulin laughs through his nose.

“Don’t pretend as though you aren’t delighted in this turn of events.” The way those murky yellow eyes scan his features makes Jiyan’s skin itch. They seem to see straight through him. “How many times have you touched yourself to the thought of me since then?” Fingers splay over his bare chest, and Jiyan reaches up to halt their movements as they wander to squeeze his pec. “I have yet to pick you apart piece by piece like I wish to, and those thoughts continue to eat away at the edges of my mind.”

“Shall we still call that hatred , general?”

The silver-haired man chuckles, pulling his hand back and replacing it with the medical wrap. Jiyan will gladly and willfully indulge in his general’s delusions if it means being able to remain at arm’s length with him.

“You know what I desire to do,” Geshulin states after the first pass of the bandage around Jiyan's torso. “Why allow yourself pain in continuing to pursue me?”

“You fail to understand that I will be hurt regardless.”

“It will hurt more if we become involved and you are left alone at the end of this war.”

“If I asked, would you pretend with me?” Jiyan reaches up as Geshulin’s movements stutter and halt on the next pass. The bandage clings to his body. The man before him holds the remainder in a tight grip.

“Pretend in what way?”

“That there's not a war happening, that you are not my general and I am not your subordinate, that… that you do not intend to die before the fighting ends.” He clenches his fingers around Geshulin’s wrist tighter. “Have me and pretend, or do not have me at all.”

The general clears his throat, tugging himself free of Jiyan’s grip, and he continues to tug the wrap around. Seconds tick by in silence. When the length of the wrap runs out, it's secured in place with sharp tooth clips. Geshulin lets his fingers trail lower, down the bare skin laid out before him and across the slopes and ridges of Jiyan’s abdomen.

“You lack any sense of self-preservation. If not for me, then you would have tried to kill yourself thinking it would save everyone long ago,” the man murmurs as he pulls his gaze up from Jiyan’s naked chest.

“And what is it you are trying to do in dying to end the war?” Geshulin doesn't realize his blunder until it's too late and all he can do is press a frown onto his lips in petulant indignation. “I suppose you'll have to stick around to make sure I don't make any foolish decisions, though.”

Jiyan tilts his chin down and their lips come so close to touching that he can taste the slight inhaled gasp Geshulin breathes in when their noses brush.

“This is not what I promoted you for,” the general recovers quickly, exhaling the words over his face. He leans his head back to provide some faux idea of personal space but does not move more than that .

“I know.”

“I told you to save that for someone who means something to you.”

“Mhm.” His hungry gaze watches the bob of Geshulin’s throat as he swallows.

“Jiyan.”

“Just this once.” Jiyan licks the seam of his lips like a man parched in the desert. Geshulin’s look so tempting right before him, and he wants to taste. “You smell like coffee.”

“ Jiyan .”

His knees almost buckle at the soft tone the general uses on him, uttering his name in such a gentle and reverent way that Jiyan can almost make himself believe this is all far more real than he knows it to be. Almost as though there is no expiration date on this murky mess of a relationship they’ve found themselves in.

“Again,” Jiyan murmurs, still close and lingering in Geshulin’s space. The general’s thigh slips between his legs and rubs up into the soft bulge of his cock. It stirs with interest already. Jiyan subconsciously drags his crotch over the length of that thick, corded muscle again. A shaky breath escapes his lungs. That seems to be Geshulin’s breaking point.

A hand weaves into his hair from the back, right inside the tight elastic keeping the teal strands pulled back, and Geshulin yanks him hard enough to make his neck twist and curl.

“Jiyan,” he hisses again, this time more gravely and wanton. Jiyan, in turn, ruts against his leg like a dog in heat. “ Jiyan . Are you close already?”

“It’s…” The medic pants, cheeks flushed up to his cheekbones with humiliation. Geshulin’s lip curls upwards as he cackles in Jiyan’s face.

“Such a wanton little dragon, Jiyan .”

“Mm-hmm, I-I need—”

Geshulin’s lips cut him off, and every nerve in Jiyan’s body sings praises in response to the contact. He’s greedy and desperate, not longing for some sort of faux intimacy that might come out of a typical first kiss. It’s near cannibalistic, the way he eats at the kiss Geshulin allows him, and the general has to continually tug at his hair to keep Jiyan from trying to crawl further into his skin. Jiyan’s weight is overbearing against him, though, and he works the man up against the wall. He kneads at the firm body beneath his fingertips, squeezing and gripping Geshulin’s sides as he grinds his hips down into the stiff weight of the thigh between his legs again. Geshulin slides a hand behind his back and digs into the divot of his lower back. Another hand comes to join the first, then both dare to inch into Jiyan’s pants, past the fabric and underwear to squeeze at the curve of his ass. When Jiyan gasps into the general’s mouth, Geshulin slides his tongue past the breach and digs the tip into the center of Jiyan’s.

If he could, Jiyan would keep his eyes firmly set on the man’s expression: how one eye is squeezed shut while the other is barely slit open to assess each contortion of Jiyan’s face, the red blush that sits high upon his cheekbones and makes his face flush so prettily, the grey fringe that sticks every which way as their heads keep knocking together. The stimulation against his erection and the sensation of Geshulin’s tongue tracing every centimeter of his mouth combined make it impossible to stay fully lucid , and it hurts his head to try to remain cross-eyed and focused while being all but devoured.

White flashes behind his eyelids when he finally closes his eyes, and the pleasure that rocks his body makes his knees buckle. He slumps down Geshulin’s body, all strength escaping his muscles, and Geshulin is too far gone to catch him. His nails scratch along Jiyan’s bare back in an attempt to find purchase, but he leaves angry red marks in his wake instead. Jiyan lands on his knees before the man, head turned inwards so that his temple rests against Geshulin’s stomach.

Above him, Geshulin pants into the back of his hand as though he cannot believe what he’s just done. His other hand acts on other, more base desires as it drags over Jiyan’s scalp and caresses the back of the medic’s head.

“Come have tea in my quarters this evening,” Geshulin mutters through his fingers. Red blotches still paint his features, and Jiyan delights in the sight.

“I want you,” he says, a bit blunt and dumb.

“This evening,” the general reiterates, but his fingers tighten in Jiyan’s hair. Jiyan tilts his head up to find the man gazing down at him with his tongue between his teeth. Desire is such a heady and fickle thing.

“Why wait?” The medic pulls a hand up to palm over the bulge in Geshulin’s pants, cupping the stiffness through his clothes and rolling his thumb across it. His own groin aches with a need that will go unfulfilled.

“Because I may yet Overclock and destroy this entire building in the process.” Geshulin drags his hand around the side of Jiyan’s head and cups his chin. “Tonight…” The man bites his lower lip and drags the ridges of his teeth over the soft flesh. “Tonight.” Some other thought plagues him, but he deigns not to share it with Jiyan. He does sigh and tilt his head back, however, to allow Jiyan to continue his weak ministrations that only devolve further into hedonism.

He does not fight it when Jiyan twists in his hold to push his face into Geshulin’s crotch; in fact, the medic receives a rather pleasant, breathy moan upon laying the flat of his tongue against the growing bulge there. His cock twitches at the touch. Jiyan dares to peel the button of his pants free and snags the zipper between his teeth. If his intentions were to tempt Geshulin, then he would already have the man hook, line, and sinker. Most of what stirs in his gut is raw want. A starved craving that longs for another taste, another sip of sweet nectar, another bite of forbidden fruit. His heart aches and preemptively ices over because Jiyan knows — those harsh words hurled like rocks at the tumultuous waters of his feelings have left wounds that cannot go away easily. He knows that whatever warmth he yearns for will not be granted to him, because Geshulin’s intentions are to satisfy a curiosity born of obsessive disdain. The spite twisting around Jiyan’s heart forms a barrier of thorns, and he intentionally nips at the tip of Geshulin’s length where it pokes out from the band of his underwear. The hiss of air that whistles through the man’s teeth right after is a just reward. Jiyan tugs his garments lower and grants him the sweet relief of being free of the restraining clothing. When his cock springs free and lands like a slap across the medic’s face, it draws such a wanton sound from Geshulin’s lips that the primal parts of Jiyan’s brain react with the desire to pull it from the general over and over again.

“Touch yourself,” Geshulin commands, rubbing his leaking slit over Jiyan’s cheekbone. “Put a hand between your legs and cup your little cock like a good boy.” Jiyan groans around the two digits that are thrust into his mouth before he can respond verbally. The man above him stretches his lips wide with his pointer and middle fingers. He toys with the limp weight of Jiyan’s tongue, thrusting deeper when he sees Jiyan reach between his legs and cradle his aching erection. Even despite the clothing keeping him from direct contact, it offers a relief so heady that Jiyan sees stars when he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck it all—”

Geshulin grabs at his ponytail, and with one decisive yank, he swings Jiyan around so that the medic is now with his back to the wall, knees aching in protest at the awkward movement. Jiyan pinches his hand between his inner thighs in a vain attempt to stave off the pleasure. He drops his pants to the floor completely, stepping out of them and kicking them aside without missing a beat.

“I do not desire to hurt you but I cannot wait.” Geshulin pries Jiyan’s mouth open with his thumb. “What have you done to me, little dragon? That I would lose my mind entirely like this?” Jiyan twists to take the man’s appendage onto his tongue and slides it free of his mouth.

“You will not harm me,” he murmurs into the older’s palm. “Take me as you wish, I do not mind you being rough.”

Geshulin drives the full length of his erection between Jiyan’s lips without warning — it seems that reassurance was all he needed to be spurred into action — and the younger almost bites down on the dick filling his mouth due to the shock of it.

“Stop me if it gets to be too much,” Geshulin says, tone uncharacteristically soft compared to how he’s aiming to bury his cock in Jiyan’s throat. The medic has no choice but to steady his free hand flat against the wall behind him. In spite of their position, he cannot help but think about how desperately he wishes to kiss his general again.

Geshulin slides out of his mouth to the tip, balancing his cockhead at the opening of Jiyan’s swollen lips. When he thrusts forward, Jiyan digs the heel of his hand against his poor erection. The friction of his writhing body against the wall offers enough stimulation to tickle , but it feels more akin to being edged than true pleasure. Besides, Geshulin does not seem keen on allowing him anything direct. Each janky thrust of his hips drives his length into Jiyan’s throat, though it’s only enough to kiss the top of his throat and nothing more. It does nothing to keep the general from trying to go deeper.

Mercy comes when Geshulin nudges Jiyan’s trembling knees apart and pushes his hand aside with his shoe. In a move similar to the one he demonstrated during their spar, the older tilts the ball of his foot into Jiyan’s crotch. If not for the hefty length consuming all his attention, Jiyan would cry out in overstimulated pleasure. Instead, his eyes sting at the corners, and he fights the urge to gag around Geshulin’s cock.

“Indulging in you before… was supposed to — make me want you less,” Geshulin hisses as he fucks the medic’s mouth with shallow thrusts. “And yet I have touched myself to the thought of you more than ever. Your visage haunts me nearly every night.” Just as Jiyan is about to come undone, the man above him pulls back. His jaw aches when Geshulin pulls his member free. When he slumps against the wall, Geshulin squats down in front of him and grabs the younger’s face with both hands. “I was right to call you my ruin.”

“Let us destroy each other in full then,” Jiyan rasps out, throat raw from the harsh treatment moments ago. He cradles one of the general’s cheeks. Their lips brush but do not touch further than that. Geshulin disrupts the intimacy by hauling Jiyan to his feet and nudging him towards the bed. He sweeps the first aid kit from the mattress with the back of his hand. The supplies scatter across the floor, some rolling underneath the bedframe to disappear into the shadows. A complaint rests on the tip of Jiyan’s tongue , but Geshulin consumes it with his lips, delivering a proper kiss to the medic’s lips. He works to shed Jiyan of his pants in record time. The bedframe creaks and whines under the force of their movements atop each other, especially as Geshulin tries to flatten Jiyan into the bed once he’s got the younger man nude. “You’re wearing too many clothes again.”

The complaint comes at the cost of the man drawing back from where he’s perched between Jiyan’s legs. He sits up on his knees.

“How do you want me?” Geshulin inquires. He pulls his shirt up and over his head, allowing every scar and muscle beneath to be laid bare to his partner’s wandering gaze.

“Between my legs,” he mumbles back in a slight daze. “Like this.” Jiyan intertwines his arms behind Geshulin’s neck and yanks the man down. Bare skin rubs against each other, sweat-slick and hot, but Jiyan revels in the sensation. It’s warm and delightful and utterly intoxicating such that he’s not sure he will ever know pleasure like this. Geshulin clamors for something up and above Jiyan’s head, and it goes unknown until the medic hears the bedside table being fiddled with. “Second drawer, in the back.” The man grunts in response but produces the well-used bottle of lube seconds later.

Cold fingers rub circles around his rim, warming the lube and teasing Jiyan’s entrance in one go.

“I will not stop wanting you,” Jiyan admits as two fingers breach his hole and sink into his tight heat. Geshulin hums a little. He settles his fingers two knuckles deep and turns his head towards Jiyan’s neck. His breath disrupts the teal strands of hair trying to cling to the sweaty skin there.

“I am not asking you to stop.” Geshulin licks the underside of his jaw before sucking the flesh between his teeth. He nips at it until it blooms a pretty shade of deep red.

Jiyan curls up from the bed as those fingers along his walls dig deeper. The calloused pads are slick with lube and offer uncomfortably loud noises each time Geshulin pumps them in and out of Jiyan’s pulsing hole. His cock rubs against the firm line of Geshulin’s stomach where the man is bent over him. This position is far more intimate and knowing than their first. Despite the silver-haired man being intent on biting a path down Jiyan’s heaving chest, he also cannot seem to keep his gaze off Jiyan’s face. Analyzing and calculating in ways that remind Jiyan of the way the man strategizes for battles.

A third finger stretches his opening, and Geshulin finally touches his prostate. Some odd amalgamation of words leaves Jiyan’s lips, but he wouldn’t be able to consciously repeat any of them if asked.

“Your noises are as endearing as ever.” The nibble he leaves along the curve of Jiyan’s pec feels more akin to an animal bite. “I want to hear you sob as I fuck you into oblivion.”

The fingers pull free of Jiyan’s hole, and he whines out a complaint against Geshulin’s temple. The general shifts closer to him, easing his legs further apart to settle against the younger’s fluttering opening with the tip of his cock. The head goes in easily, drawn in by Jiyan’s hunger, but Geshulin stalls before anything further can happen. Frustration bubbles up in Jiyan’s chest.

“Beg me for it, pretty dragon.”

“Geshulin,” comes Jiyan’s firm response instead. The general leans to the side and takes one of his ears between his teeth. Jiyan moans like a whore being paid to do so.

“Let me hear it or I’ll leave you to fuck yourself on my cock in this position all day,” Geshulin purrs against the shell of that ear. The younger Resonator tightens his hold on the other man’s neck, which lets him bury the side of his face against his bicep to hide most of his flush.

“Pl…Please, Geshu, I need you inside . Fucking me, filling me up. I can’t—” Jiyan sinks his teeth into his lip before dealing the final blow. He exhales against Geshulin’s shoulder and lays a soft kiss on the heated flesh there. “I can’t cum without it.”

“So you do know how to follow orders.” The tone from the man trembles slightly, however, and Jiyan revels in how affected Geshulin is. “I’m almost tempted to put a leash and collar on you.” At last, he sinks the length of his dick into Jiyan. The younger’s body sings a harmony of pleasure and pain, dulled to a slight sting from the larger stretch.

“You d-don’t need to do that.” Jiyan rolls his hips forward to help bury the rest of his partner’s cock in his ass. “Everyone knows I’m already yours.” This sort of talking is dangerous — but it’s buried in the haze of lust , so the intimacy and honesty behind it dulls its sharp edges and makes them blunt where their chests rub together. Jiyan’s heart races. He longs to peel Geshulin’s ribs back and know if his general’s heart beats in unison now.

“So warm and tight, it’s really—” the older man moans as he tests out an experimental thrust. The slide draws a whimper out of Jiyan. The noise gets swallowed by Geshulin’s lips again, lips sealing together as he settles into a quick pace to fuck Jiyan. The kiss doesn’t last, for it would be impossible to with how forceful Geshulin’s thrusts are. It doesn’t keep them apart, however, and they pant with parted lips into each other’s mouths as Jiyan is railed into the mattress like it’s all he’s good for.

“Harder!” he cries out. He digs his head into the bed, and the man fucking him does exactly as told. The symphony of noises leaves nothing to the imagination between the wet slapping of skin on skin, the bedframe screeching its protests, and the pleasured moans passing between the two of them. Geshulin rolls the medic further up and draws his hips up off the bed, all but crawling on top of him to fuck into him at a deeper angle. It makes the head of his cock rub along Jiyan’s sensitive walls with each thrust, punishing his poor prostate each time Geshulin snaps his hips back to the younger’s ass.

Jiyan orgasms with his cock bouncing against the folds of his stomach as Geshulin bends him in two. He cums so hard that hot ropes of semen splatter up his chest and neck. His lips are parted in a silent scream that devolves into tiny punched-out moans thanks to Geshulin’s harsh thrusts. The pace doesn’t slow despite Jiyan’s quivering state, and Geshulin continues trying to milk him for all he’s worth by gripping the base of Jiyan’s cock and jerking it in time with his hips.

“T-Too much, ah, wait!?” Jiyan startles at the sensation but there’s nowhere for him to go with how he’s pinned under the general’s weight.

“Let me cum inside, fuck, Jiyan , I need to cum inside you.” Geshulin grits his teeth as he draws closer to his own high, and Jiyan swiftly comes up again to meet him at that peak. He’s too overstimulated to get actual words out, so he settles for just nodding frantically and grabbing at the man’s shoulder with a shaky hand. His vision goes spotty at the edges as he cums a second time, though it’s far weaker and much more unsatisfying than the first. A small stream of tears leaks out the corner of his eye and down his temple as cum dribbles from his slit. Geshulin thrusts hard, and warmth fills Jiyan from the inside. He continues thrusting through the orgasm until his hips falter and he has to unfold Jiyan into a more comfortable position.

They sink to the mattress in a sweaty heap of spent muscles and limbs.

Minutes pass where the two of them can do nothing more than gasp for air where they rest together. In fact, Jiyan almost falls asleep with the comfortable warmth and weight of his general sprawled out atop him. He thought Geshulin to be in a similar position himself — dozing and thoughtless, that is — but when the silence is finally broken, Jiyan realizes that’s not the case at all .

“Do not bury me.”

“Gesh—”

“Do not let yourself believe I am gone.” Jiyan’s jaw aches under the pressure of him trying to keep his lips from quivering. Geshulin’s thumb runs along the edge of his cheekbone. “Do not plant that flower for me, whatever you do. If you mourn me, then do not leave proof.”

It’s cruel . Utterly heartless, telling Jiyan how he is allowed to handle a loss that’s creeping closer and closer with every passing second.

“Then do not leave me,” Jiyan spits out as retribution.

Geshulin chuckles at that.

“Let go that bleeding heart, and you will flourish.”

Jiyan swings his weight against Geshulin and rolls their bodies to the side, flipping the position with delightful ease. He straddles the man’s hips, hands firm as they dig into the mattress on either side of Geshulin’s head. Their bare and spent cocks drag against each other like this. Arousal buds in his gut, and his hips move with a mind of their own as Jiyan rolls himself forward to increase the friction. Geshulin gasps out of a shaky groan. His grey lashes flutter shut, head falling back to drive into the mattress as he keens into the pleasure Jiyan is delivering to his cock. Jiyan’s hole is leaking semen, and he can feel it running down his ball sack just before it catches in his stuttered thrusts. It makes the drag of their members slick and messy but takes away some of the burn of their dry skin rubbing together.

Geshulin’s chin is tilted back, and all Jiyan can focus on is the pulsating line of his tacet mark. Red splotchy marks decorate the far edges, where Jiyan nipped a little too hard earlier. He draws up one hand from the mattress and folds long fingers around that mark, squeezing Geshulin’s neck in his grasp.

The only sounds passing between them are quiet whimpers and moans, echoing the slight creak in Jiyan’s bedframe with each jerky thrust of the medic’s hips.

The general grabs at Jiyan’s wrist, but rather than pulling his hand away, Geshulin steadies his grasp and keeps him there.

“You have always done well, Jiyan,” he hisses out between broken moans. Jiyan’s pace falters, and he thrusts down harder, making their slick cocks slip under the friction. “You will make for… a successful general.”

“Shut up.” Jiyan curls his nails in to scratch at that sensitive tacet mark, and the noise it draws from Geshulin’s lips is heady and intoxicating. Again, again, again . Their bodies writhe against one another in an attempt to chase the height of pleasure and draw it out yet again. More, more, more! He loses control of his motor functions as an intense orgasm hits him, and below him, Geshulin moans louder than before. Cum spurts out the tip of his cock, intermingling with Jiyan’s seed that now coats his scarred stomach. He has to grip Jiyan’s hip tight with his unoccupied hand to get the man to stop thrusting wildly atop him.

Jiyan sinks forward, fingers still loosely enclosing the man’s throat, and he drapes his chin over Geshulin’s shoulder. The position is intimate, and Geshulin holds him as though he’s fragile glass. The thumb at his hip massages into the skin.

A desperate attempt is nothing more than that — an attempt , and the medic cannot delude himself into believing that he could ever change Geshulin’s mind once it’s settled on something. Still… still, he longs to try, he longs for an alternative, he claws for a way to make this man see reason instead of the self-assured destruction he’s always been so keen on heralding.

“If I do not succeed , then know… there is no one else I would rather have replace me.”

If.

Jiyan turns his face into the man’s neck and sobs.

The tea they share that evening is cold and flavorless.