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limitlessmonster · 1 year

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Title: Burn Down the World Pairing: YinWar Rating: E (nsfw) Multichapter Ch 1 WC: 1600 Summary: “But it was Yin.And for Yin, he would burn down the world as he took himself with it.” A YinWar Partner In Crime AU A/N: Expanded the pain and UST from the YinWar Concert teaser I wrote on Twitter from a few weeks ago. Based on their concert promo mini film. Thanks to the amazing @caedi for the stellar graphic and the cheerleading, and to my zucchini @kaijoskopycat for the extra pair of eyes. 🖤🤍 Inspired by these two songs.

On AO3

***

WAR

The hotel room smells like old cigars and stale alcohol.

War never was much of a drinker until Yin, but now as he watches him get ready, puttering around the room with such ridiculous giddiness like a kid in a candy store, he finds himself gravitate toward the happy bottle with more enthusiasm than he cares to admit.

He takes a swig now, the slow burn of it tracing a line of fire down his throat before settling in a pool of lava in the pit of his gut. It should have helped quell his anxiety, should have eased the pang of jealousy he feels but has no right to feel while his eyes follow Yin’s movements across the room as he finishes preparing for their unwelcome guest.

Well, unwelcome to me anyway…

War lets out a humorless chuckle, the sound soft but biting, a far cry from his unabashed laughter that Yin always said crinkles his nose and radiates from his eyes. There would be nothing of the sort radiating from any crevice out of him tonight. He shouldn’t be angry. Shouldn’t feel shunted aside and forgotten. Shouldn’t feel possessive. He scoffs at that and takes another swig directly from the bottle.

Fuck the glass; fuck everything at this point.

Because despite the gravitational pull, the pleasant warmth he feels when Yin’s undivided attention is centered on him, Yin isn’t his. Would never be his despite the voice in the back of his mind that tries to convince him otherwise. This is a partnership. A business transaction. A way to give themselves a better life than anything they could have built working at that shitty restaurant breaking their backs like a pair of fucking servants, dirt poor for the rest of their lives.

“Will you work with me?” Yin had asked him then, sparking the fire in War’s veins that spread and caught like kerosine on crack. He would never admit it, but even then he had been Yin’s already.

***

An hour later, War is well on his way to I Don’t Fucking Careville, half the bottle already making a warm little home in the seething pit of his stomach. It has helped to tether the inexplicable rage, keep it at bay, even as Yin drunkenly sways in disjointed rhythm in front of him like a sad uncle pathetically gyrating the air at some family party. War’s eyes follow Yin’s movements, his head subconsciously (or perhaps a little drunkenly) tilted to the side as he watches Yin lift the bottle to his mouth and take a generous gulp of the expensive bottle of Dom he had insisted on splurging on in honor of their guest. His gaze stays on Yin’s mouth, traces the curve of it, the purse it makes as Yin winces with the alcohol’s unforgiving burn, and finds himself thinking about another drunken night only days ago when that mouth was on his before it trailed like whispered embers down his neck, his torso, following a path that led much farther south than War usually let anyone go.

But it was Yin.

And for Yin, he would burn down the world as he took himself with it.

He swallows hard at the recollection, takes another long swig of the alcohol as a knock interrupts his unwanted trip down memory lane. Yin immediately lights up like a Christmas tree and War resists the urge to throw the fucking bottle.

***

The music plays quietly from the speaker in the corner, some old-timey jazz number Yin had picked thinking it sounded a little like music a stripper could dance to. War resists the urge to tell Yin that the stripper would fucking dance to Hansen’s Mmm Bop if he throws enough money at her, but Yin had wanted the experience to be as authentic as he’s seen in movies. War supposes he can understand the fantasy; encouraged it, even.

Another drink, slow and steady.

Then an eyeroll to end all eyerolls as he regrets his life decisions.

He pays attention to the room now, the stain on the carpet from the tomato juice Yin had spilled trying to drunkenly make himself a Bloody Mary, the scratches on the wooden coffee table from War’s fingernails a few nights before. He closes his eyes, lips hard-pressed into a line so tight it causes him to exhale sharply through his nose at the memory.

Another swig.

He’s going to finish the entire bottle at this rate.

If Yin has noticed anything, he makes no mention of it. Shows no sign that War’s discomfort at having this trashpile bodyrolling in front of Yin as he showers her with a wad of cash is anything of immediate concern.

War doesn’t know if this makes him feel worse or if it makes it easier to forget things they had done together that now takes an entire bottle to almost block out.

Another swig. And then another. The edges of his vision have started to cloud, hazy wisps of fuzz framing everything with a filtered glow. His mouth quirks at that, grateful for it, but cursing it all the same because it’s never fast enough, never potent enough until he’s seen too much, felt too much, before, finally, the forgetting begins.

He drapes his arm over the side of the couch, relishes the numbing buzz he’s starting to feel, the tingle on the ends of his fingertips exacerbated by the acute awareness of Yin’s hand, close enough to touch if his fingers flicked toward it just so.

When the girl twists her blonde strands around her fingertip and gives Yin a cloying look that makes War’s stomach turn, he clenches his fists to pause the tremor rolling through his body, the instantaneous way his breath is sucked right out of him.

He catches Yin lick his lips, his mouth parted in awe and eyes slightly shuttered as the girl undulates her hips toward him, the strap of her trash red lingerie falling down her arm as she uses her free hand to unhook her bra. Her fingers then reach for Yin, toying with his open collar before brushing wisp-soft touches along Yin’s bare skin.

Smashing the bottle tightly gripped in his hand is starting to sound pretty damn good now, if it weren’t such a waste of expensive liquor.

Yin exhales achingly slow in response, and War feels a twitch in his pants, curses his weakness with it. He momentarily tracks the girl’s movement, rolls his eyes and fights the urge to vomit up half the bottle he’s consumed when he catches Yin’s eye. Yin tilts his head toward her, an offering of sorts, come here, have fun, do it for me, and War shoves himself to his feet, feigning sickness and waving off Yin’s silent invitation as he barrels into the bathroom.

A half second is all it takes before his pants are halfway to his knees, the belt buckle only partially undone as he slides his hand into his boxers and exhales relief at the first stroke. He bites his lip, the taste metallic and bitter as he breaks skin. The pain is nothing compared to the wrenching ache that had bloomed in his chest at having been made to watch whatever the fuck that was going on outside the sanctuary of the bathroom.

He grunts as he strokes faster, dropping his head back against the door with a soft thud. Eyelids hooded. Eyes glazed as images of Yin kneeling before him flood his brain like a hit of coke directly into every brain cell his inebriation would allow. His body reacts as it remembers Yin’s mouth, remembers the heat it left on the tip of his cock, the flick of his tongue before he took War into his mouth entirely, devouring him like a man starving, desperate. Reverent.

War keeps pace like that, matching his body’s memory of Yin’s movements, the stunted rhythm, the stifled moans as War had thrusted into the back of Yin’s throat, and sooner than he’s ready, War feels release claw out of him, his free hand clamping shamefully against his mouth as streaks of white spurt at intervals across the tile floor, his body rolling through the sensation in jilted spasms.

He bottoms out, sliding graceless on the soiled floor and breathing hard through his nostrils. If Yin were to discover him, he would never be able to explain without bringing up something else he is fairly sure neither of them want to discuss. He closes his eyes, forces his heartbeat to slow, remembers the way Yin’s eyes had looked at him when he was sure War had been satisfied. The near worshiping way his gaze had darkened, the trail his tongue had left on the split of his lips when he licked away remnants of War from his mouth.

Heat prickles behind War’s eyelids and he presses a palm against them, an imperceptible shake of his head the only thing he allows of himself to mark his inexcusable stupidity. After all, sex and love are different things.

But it was Yin.

And for Yin, he would burn down the world as he took himself with it.

A few minutes later, he hears muffled voices — an argument maybe? — then a shuffle of movement, faint footsteps. A door slams, rattling the paper-thin walls. He’s too tired to see what the commotion is about, too fucked out drunk and frankly, a little humiliated with his own little party to bother leaving the comfort of the small space.

He closes his eyes, exhaustion creeping in, darkness crowding and grasping the corners of his vision, his memories. War exhales slowly, a smile tilting a corner of his mouth, grateful at last that the bottle has started its long-awaited work before he remembers nothing at all.

#yinwar #yin anan #war wanarat #yinwar concert #partner in crime #burn down the world #;fics

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limitlessmonster · 1 year

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Title: Burn Down the World Pairing: YinWar Rating: E (nsfw) Multichapter Ch wc: 1800 Summary: “But it was Yin.And for Yin, he would burn down the world as he took himself with it.” A YinWar Partner In Crime AU A/N: Expanded the pain and UST from the YinWar Concert teaser I wrote on Twitter from a few weeks ago. Based on their concert promo mini film. Thanks to the amazing @caedi for the stellar graphic and the cheerleading, and to my zucchini @kaijoskopycat for the extra pair of eyes. 🖤🤍 Inspired by these two songs. On AO3

***

YIN

The door to the bathroom remains closed.

Tilting his head back and closing his eyes, Yin exhales, the breath long and drawn out until he feels his lungs deflate completely, the twinge in his chest spidering out and spreading like poison.

In his defense, he isn’t known for making the smartest choices. He’d proven that already when he’d found himself on his knees, the warmth of his mouth matching the heat of War’s skin only a few days before.

He still remembers it, remembers the sensation on his lips, his tongue. The taste of salt as he let his mouth travel distances over the expanse of War’s body he’d only dreamed of, but never thought he’d ever have the chance to explore. But War had let him. Had reciprocated. Had taken control after Yin had made the first jump, leaped off the edge of the cliff they’d been dancing on for weeks following the first heist. Probably for far longer than that.

War had always been this enigmatic thing. Unattainable and ethereal and Yin had fallen before he’d even said hello. Long days that bled into nights working aches into their bones with little to show for it had finally made Yin bold when he’d concocted the plan for the first job. War’s matching discontentment made him a natural partner and when they shook on the deal, Yin couldn’t help but wonder if the electric current he’d felt pass between them with War’s hand clasped firmly in his had been his imagination.

The high from their success had been nothing like the high he’d gotten watching War light up when he’d talked about his plans. When he’d talked about the person he wanted to spend them with. A part of Yin had been afraid to ask, afraid of what he might feel if he couldn’t get the answer he wanted, but before he could chicken out, the hope that had burrowed inside him flared with the intimacy of the moment, with War’s proximity so close he could smell the aftershave he’d used that morning.

“Have you found the person you want to take?”

“Mind your business!” War had answered around a laugh, brushing off the question with ease. “I won’t tell you! It’s definitely not you!”

The sting of it remains with Yin, burrowed deep with that same hope he’d felt, wrapped around it like barbed wire cutting into every vulnerable part of him each time the booze takes too long to numb. To help him forget. Until he’d drank so much of it he couldn’t remember his own name.

His mistake.

He should have known better, should have stopped himself. Stopped the inevitable.

But it was War.

And for War, he would burn down the world as he took himself with it.

“P’Yin?”

Vaguely, he remembers that the girl is still standing there when she addresses him. He lifts his head, alcohol making his movements a little sluggish as he tries to focus on her. Her head is tilted to the side, red lingerie tossed haphazardly on the floor as she gazes at him expectantly. He appreciates the aesthetics, the curve of her full breasts, the way her mouth pouts just a little at the questioning way she says his name. But despite that, despite her being here is his idea to begin with, all he thinks about is the electric current he’d felt when War’s hand had come so close to his earlier that he might have been able to touch it with just a flick of his fingers.

But War had left. Taken the current with him, leaving Yin to nurse the abrupt absence, the hit to his pride.

And so he looks at the girl, the way her eyes roam over him as though she were on the brink of starvation, and waves a hand. “I think we’re done here.”

She quirks a brow, confusion settling across her features as though she isn’t used to someone telling her no.

“But we’re just getting started,” she says, tone light and smile teasing.

Yin counts off a stack of bills, clips it between his fingers and hands it off to her, his eyes trained on the bathroom door. A soft thud from the other side prompts a subtle raise of his own brow, his focus shifting as he wonders if War is okay or if he’s managed to pass out on the bathroom floor.

“You’ll still get paid,” Yin says, attuned to the soft grunt sounding from behind the door. He should have taken some water in there with him. He attempts to get up only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“What if I still want to do the job?” the girl coaxes, lashes lowering.

Yin stares at her as though she’d grown a second head. Had he not been clear? Again, he offers her the money, resists the urge to just throw it at her as his irritation with her reluctance to leave flares.

“Did I stutter? How much clearer can I get?” he says, tilting his head up to look at her with marked apathy. His attention is back on the bathroom door as he hears a subtle scraping sound followed by an audible thud. Worry spikes in his gut. He manages to get up, buttoning his shirt to emphasize his point. “Leave. Now.”

Her face contorts as she takes offense. “Asshole,” she says an octave too high, grabbing the wad of cash before picking up the discarded clothing on the floor. Throwing her trench coat on, she stuffs the scant pieces into her pocket.

Why is she still here? he thinks, annoyance piquing.

“Look, I don’t know what your fucking problem is all of a sudden, but your loss,” she snaps, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder before stalking out of the hotel room.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighs, settling back into the armchair as he waits for War to come out of the bathroom. Of all his bright ideas, this is definitely not one he’ll want to remember. After their night together, Yin hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t expected much in all honesty, but the cold reception he’d gotten when he’d come back from his unplanned errand had made whatever he’d been planning to say roll up in a terrified ball and hibernate somewhere safe from War’s withering glances.

Maybe it’s me, he’d thought. Maybe he wants something else. Someone else who isn’t me.

What a stupid plan. ***

An hour later, War still hasn’t come out and worry begins to creep in his veins, making him hyperaware. It seems to be a static feeling when it comes to War, the worry. War, who never takes enough care of himself, who used to sport burns and cuts and bruises on his legs, arms, fingers, and everywhere else in between because he couldn’t be bothered to be careful.

His instinct kicks in as he strides over, steps quiet and purposeful, before knocking on the door. “P’War?” he calls out before he knocks again. “You okay in there?”

A few seconds in, he knocks a few more times, fist pounding so hard against the cheap wood that he knows the neighboring guests can hear. He attempts to quiet it down, thinks of War and how upset he would be if he found out Yin is drawing unnecessary attention.

The silence remains and Yin turns the doorknob, surprised that his attempt to push the door open is met with resistance. He braces his weight against it and shoulders into the door, whatever is blocking it falling away to let him in. When he peeks in and sees War sprawled on the floor, his eyes widen as he rushes forward in a panic, sinking to his knees in front of War’s unconscious body. After he checks to make sure War is still breathing (just in case), he takes stock of the way War’s pants are still drawn around his thighs, leaving him exposed. Splatters on the floor make it obvious what War had been doing before he’d unceremoniously passed out. Seeing the evidence there, it’s easier to go into a mode he so often uses that taking care of War is now second nature. An instinctual compulsion he can never get rid of despite the jolt of anger he feels, the hurt there at having been slighted and forgotten about while War was having his own little party without him.

Strike two out of three. My fucking luck.

“P’War, can you walk? I need to clean you up.”

When his question is answered by incomprehensible mumbling, Yin sighs, resigned, and leaves the room only to come back with a bowl of water and soap. He quickly works War out of his shirt and takes a wet cloth to wipe him down, movements deft but gentle. War briefly opens his eyes, his eyelashes softly fluttering against his cheeks, but before he can say anything tangible, his head pitches to the side, his arm draped around Yin’s waist as he drunkenly whines, “don’t go…”, voice a partial whisper.

Yin exhales, grits his teeth and braces himself before crouching down to pick up War from the floor. He manages to stumble out of the bathroom with War in his arms, the effects of the alcohol still making his response time slower than normal. He settles War into the bed and under the blankets, taking care to remember what he had said.

“It’s definitely not you.”

Dragging a hand down his face, he stands there for a short while, arms crossed, teeth worrying the edge of his bottom lip. It shouldn’t have bothered him, War leaving. They were nothing. Business partners at best, forgettable one night stand (if he wants to get technical) at worst. War’s actions have made it clear that it would never be more than that.

And yet, he hopes.

If it were any other person, he would have forgotten already. Could care less if they were satisfied, if they were content. Would never jeopardize his dignity, his sanity wishing for something he shouldn’t want.

But it was War.

And for War, he would burn down the world as he took himself with it.

His eyes remain on him as War sleeps soundly beneath the comfort of the blankets he always steals in the middle of the night. War’s errant words lance through him, invade his thoughts over and over again like a parasite, the soundtrack to a life he could never have with the only person he can picture himself having it with. But when War mumbles Yin’s name in his sleep, soft and with a fondness that makes Yin ache, he realizes even in his anger and resentment, he’d been War’s already.

#yinwar #yin anan #war wanarat #partner in crime #yinwar concert #burn down the world #;fics

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