M17 - ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE - Pre & Post Expendables 1
Pairing: Yin Yang/Gunner Jensen
ONESHOT: Designated Allotment
Being twice as prepared kept the team on their toes, their hand to hand expert most of all. Making up for his height being his skill with firearms, his deeply instilled talent for martial arts and extensive knowledge of the human body, resulting in his amiable position on their team. Gunnar was deadly in a different sense: his sheer height and weight, his trigger-happiness (his kill shots being a couple shots to a whole clip), his over all brute strength, and the fact that he shot first and asked questions later. How the two, Yin Yang and Gunnar seemed to levitate toward one another would be, in Christmas's suddenly immortal words: "The world's eighth most disastrous wonder."
Naturally, the two would be at each other's necks, especially before they knew each other, years ago after Yin Yang was done in covert missions bouncing the map and had already liquidated most of the Triad and Yakuza branching syndicates. Gunnar shared as much over cleaning his rifles that his life began following a brief stint in military prison, then getting slapped with a Dishonorable Discharge after serving his sentence, he says in conclusion to the whole story, "The fucker told me to show him what I was made of, so I broke his right arm and made him swallow two dentures worth of his own teeth. My only regret is that now he has to jack off with his left hand, but he still can't get over his lisp worth shit! Poor, stupid fuck."
They shared first glances.
The bar of their first meeting seemed sketchy enough to be the veteran swill joint, and that's where the team happened to be in their pre-soldier of fortune phase, Gunnar having completed his tour in South America alongside the four crazy Yanks from the West and a fellow 'Brownjob' from across the pond. He knew he looked like shit after taking several good pops from some Navy sailor boys docking nearby on their port, he savored the cut in his lower lip and the surfaced blood-swell on his inner cheek, the high left by adrenaline made him more mellow than usual. Until he noticed out of the corner of his eye a pretty little thing also on their Import list. It was a kid no older than seventeen strutting around in pale olive fatigues, black aviator sunglasses and a cadet cap concealing in tight order on his features, his hair in a slightly overgrown crew cut, sleeves rolled halfway up his elbows.
The brat motioned for bottled water as Gunnar stared on, his eyes never straying or blinking away the physical image, he dryly croaked to his comrades, "Boys, I think I'm in love…"
All eyes at his table turned, scouring every corner, every nook and piss-stained cranny they searched for the bombshell in heels, they saw Gunnar rise and pat Christmas on the shoulder while he half-staggered twinkle-eyed to an occupied barstool, "Christmas, save my seat. I'm gonna go over there and say 'hi' to my future bride."
"Whose ever heard of Gunnar libertine-extraordinaire cocking about on one knee?" the Brit chuckled into his whiskey and soda, their eyes followed their beyond-hope head over heels-in sexual haze goo-goo eyed Swede, they swallowed their cigars seeing who their friendly giant was headed for, "If that fucking roué proposes to our contact, we're gonna have to leash up our Swedish polar bear."
"Hoo-ah," they all toasted whilst watching from their shitty vantage something close to antenna soaps.
"How's about a drink. I'm buying," the new arrival heard to his left, he watched a shaved paw resembling a human hand skim along the scratched hardwood laminate, laying a bill down in front of the barkeeper and smack the water glass away with the whiskey-filled tumbler. He kept his hands close, the military-issued handgun in his hip holster closer to his right hand, Gunnar watched the smaller right hand twitch as he downed the liquid courage and grit his teeth to the burn.
"I'm a lover, baby," the Swede grinned teasingly, he took the offered tumbler from the stranger's hand and whispered as an afterthought, "Don't push it."
"I'm a fighter, 'baby'," the man said in a surprisingly accentuated, sharp and musical voice, the Swedish looked down at the man who still coolly sipped water and stared straight ahead into a mirror which reflected everything behind them.
"Oh, these? These bad boys?" Gunnar asked, motioning to the partially formed bruises and bled out bandages on his arms, "These're for show."
The smaller man just kept politely tipping back the glass of water, not at all seeming interested in Gunnar's latest scrap and nose-skinning sessions at the civilian wharf, he leaned closer - almost bending in half as he placed his elbows on the finger-greased bar, he said as if he were whispering a secret, "I wouldn't hurt my date unless they've ran off with the prom king."
"I'm not a girl," came that quick, reserved reply, the hands almost too gracefully tapping fingertips to the wooden laminate tabletop in boredom, or tension.
"Didn't say you were, baby," Gunnar chuckled easily to the answer, he admitted oh so calmly, "You're everything I want in a night or two."
"You're big, strong, cocky, hard to take down-" the newcomer said, polishing the last half of water in the glass, "-everything I want in a fight."
"Baby, you got it all wrong. The fight should be in here," the Swede laughed at the serious tone used on him, he motioned with a single non-threatening finger to the slighter man's upper left torso, the stranger let past something that could be mistaken as gum chewing, he found it cute as he did about Every aspect of the smaller man that he gradually began to learn about. Bit by bit.
They shared names.
"Gunnar Jensen," he said, wiping his right hand of boxing mitt-worked sweat, peanut salt and whiskey mist off the tumbler, the other man took hold of his palm and gave a hearty squeeze before a firm shake, which made him smile broader and not the least turned off from the 'iron hand in a velvet glove' palm moving their limbs up and down.
"Yang Han-," the slighter man replied, he disconnected their hands and took out a pen from his pocket, the right finger making fluid but sure strokes in blue ink on a napkin, he handed it to Gunnar.
"What the hell…" the Swede squinted down at the writing, he dug inside his breast pocket and placed a pair of glasses over the bridge of his nose, he exclaimed after absorbing the winding neat tumble of pen strokes and grazed ends, "Your writing's prettier than mine!"
Happening to be gauging Gunnar's reaction, the stranger soaked up the smile and suddenly lush lips below a set of reading bifocals, the silver rims neither too wide or big, rather accentuating and complimenting the Swede's gently sloping cheekbones. He said, "Or Yin Yang."
"I think I'll like calling you Yang better, it suits you," Gunnar chuckled, not at all noticing how he was making Yin Yang shy, or the table full of doubled up Yankees and a Briton.
They shared weapons.
It happened to be one of those shit-storm jobs a few weeks after Yin Yang was recruited (and learning that he was actually twenty six, two years younger than Gunnar), and the team was knee deep in bullets and bodies, what was supposed to be a strict recon became a snowballing situation. First, Gunnar thought it was a grand fucking idea to silently kill and conceal enemies, they let him have his fun with the first two dozen corpses rotting in obscure places. Second, he thought it would be a fucking hoot to bust down doors screaming 'Fuck! I Love This Job!' and mow down more enemies. Third, he thought it was pure shits and giggles when he threw a dozen hand grenades and one with the pin missing down into the enemy bunker, which really shook the revolutionary anarchist nest, resulting in the entire city piling into the compound and the team giving Gunnar the much-needed earful.
"Why does Every fucking job have to be a Cock of the Walk Pageant, Gunnar!" Christmas shouted over the constant blasts of shells hitting the meager covering he scrambled skin-close behind, he kicked sand in Gunnar's direction who fared off no better, "If it's shot off now, you ain't no more special than a paper condom!"
Gunnar threw a rock from his low crouched position to the Brit who only quashed himself further into the crumbling wall, he angrily huffed, "I didn't knock the dick out of your mouth and tell you Not to blow your cover!"
"Haw-fuckin-hee-haw-mother fuckin-haw!" the Briton guffawed noisily to contrast their situation and how they wished to be back in their plane cooling down from the field's heat, he shouted to his left behind another wall, "Plan, Barney?"
"Working on it!" their leader flashed in and out with both barrels spitting lead and hellfire before they could follow the clips and bodies to the floor.
Gunnar peeped out with his rifle positioned over the low rock hedge, his trigger on automatic as the rifle butt kicked back into his shoulder, he repositioned long enough only to line his barrel specks and anything that could bleed, the empty clicking made him swear angrily, "Fuck! I'm out!"
"Big damn surprise!" Road shouted and threw his own rifle aside, clicking the tiny leaver from 'Automatic' in favor of the single-fire, and continued firing with only one round each trigger pull.
"Gunnar!" Yin Yang lunged past the Swede, tripping an oncoming hostile he grabbed Gunnar's empty rifle, taking the shoulder strap in hand, he wrapped and double knotted around the exposed neck, he yanked back with all his strength once before the enemy fighter's air passage collapsed and spine snapped. He scrambled back behind the wall at his teammate's side with bullets following him, another jumped over the hedge, sandwiching Yin Yang atop Gunnar on the ground, he threw a right elbow to dislodge the hostile, only making the man grab Yin Yang by the shoulders and slam him down on Gunnar. The Swede clutched the hands, twisting them off his friend as the slighter man pummeled the invader's upper torso into a bag of bones, he shouted into his friend's ear, "Yang, kick up!"
With that, they both pushed the body off and felt a rain of blood as the body descended in a hole-riddled piece of road kill at their side, just then the cavalry decided to get off it's throne and pull the recon team out of Satan's ass crack, a tank came rolling in through the rubble, 'Pain Killer' spray painted on the front. Gunnar stood along with the rest of his team, snapping in a new clip when Road handed him one, they formed a line aside their single tank, pushing the hostile forces back until they fully retreated to where they came from.
Caesar kicked the tank on the side and shouted, "Thanks for nothing, buddy fucker!"
"Ain't you boys all dressed and rouged for the spring formal," Tool uncorked himself from the tank and leaned over the metal lip, surveying all the perfectly pissed faces leering his way, "How about a shit-happy 'Thank you, Tool'."
"Not in this life, knife beater," Christmas said, he spoke after much pondering and breathing deeply, "We've really screwed the ready, fellas. How's it feel to have pissed away four-mil, Gunnar!"
"Like Marti Gras and Christmas fucking me over at the same time," Gunnar easily answered, he motioned to the dead bodies littering around their only standing forms, "Compared to all these shit-bags, we're on the 'Perfectly Angelic'-list."
They shared utensils.
In times of uprising or on the verge of revolution, business was always booming for the Expendables team, of course it became an unofficial moniker which soon evolved into dealings made in a contract and a phrase: "I want Barney Ross and the Expendables."
" 'Expendables'?" Caesar piped up nonchalantly to Barney's mini-tales of how they were huddled tit-up in the Australian plains around a fire, each of them stripped to their camo-pants, undershirts and boots, a gun each at their side beneath a strange spread of constellation, "I think I can get used to that."
"We sound like some seventies' crack band," Road offhandedly commented, flipping a page in his ragged pinup monthly magazine in some language from the country they were in last, he gave the book to Christmas and said, "Translate this gibberish for me, Lee."
"Pig Latin and 'merican? The door swings both ways when it comes to Reading and Speaking English," Christmas took the offered paperback and read off a page full of writing rather than skin, he read the article about the model's likes, dislikes and her views on nudity, all very blandly stated as one could expect, "-So there you have it, boys. She likes her men shaved, well groomed and polite, I guess only Yin Yang and I have a better chance with this girl than all your inches combined. Sorry, Road."
Yin Yang was half listening, propped up against the tire of their armored Jeep, he fiddled with their radio for a local station, only coming upon a horrible glam-pop channel. Gunnar bobbed his head rhythmically while peeling open a fully hydrated MRE, he sat beside his comrade and scooted closer until they touched elbow to elbow. They all briefly traded barbs over what kind of guy the pinup preferred, first stating that Barney new his way around a woman's emotions and body, Christmas afterward being moonlighted for his eagerness to please and undying loyalty, then came Caesar with his challenge of a dick-measuring contest, later was Road with his superhuman endurance, Yin Yang and Gunnar decided to play judge rather than compare their own secret bed talents.
"What's a man to do to get a spoon out here?" Gunnar finally broke the near-fistfight ready to break out amongst their ranks, Yin Yang unthinkingly licked his own spoon clean and handed it to the Swede, "Thanks, babe."
"So what's your choice of weapon?" asked Christmas to Gunnar, the whole team looked to their teammate while he cleaned his tray and cleared his throat.
"For what?" the Swedish team member questioned, at a complete loss for why everyone seemed to jump on his words.
"You know 'what' for bloody What I'm implying, Gunnar," the Brit said, everyone loomed over the pair sharing a tire and personal space.
"Buddy fucking," Gunnar answered almost too outwardly, all eyes rolled to Yin Yang and the love-song-swooning radio, the Swede said possessively, "Hey, that's for Me to know and for this guy to find out."
Yin Yang sat up the rest of the night and the next few weeks with a knife and handgun under his cot, thankfully Gunnar kept his distance with Road's undecipherable magazine.
They shared food.
Being the most daring and last to regret anything, Gunnar was given everything from road kill to rattlesnake to shut his stomach up, as Road put it: "You've got the digestive system of a incinerator and the taste buds of a vulture."
"Jealous?" Gunnar said, his fork picking through bush meat stew and mystery meat surprise, none of which the other men were fond of, maybe except Barney and Tool as they lounged about in an African market tent.
"Right, just run into the yard and pull something out of the ground at random and throw it into the blender," Christmas sarcastically worded, sipping his coffee and noting the coordinates on their map, "You taking notes, Yin Yang?"
"I don't need to," Yin Yang said, taking an exemplary plum from his pouch and idly reading a Chinese-printed novel, Gunnar easily took his wrist and munched the flesh off the fruit until the slighter man was left with a sticky hand, "He'll eat anything I'm having and anything I don't."
"Oh! Have a taste of this stuff!" Gunnar said after spitting out the plum pit, he dipped his finger into a sugary syrup that settled at the bottom of his tea, and swiped it over Yin Yang's lower lip.
Yin Yang licked the spicy-sweetness off his lips and flipped the page in his book, visibly sinking into his seat and taking a long draw from his ice water. He nearly jumped out of his skin the moment his teammate grabbed his hand and Actually took bites of the fruit in his hand, he was astonished by how gentle Gunnar was with his teeth and licking away the nectar before continuing on in his own meal.
They shared body heat.
A decade, maybe two passed before they ever shared more, if not completely: their kisses and their bodily comforts, only in a way how Gunnar kept insisting that he'd 'rather fuck (Yin Yang) in a bed' than the dirt or self-supplied cots. Vary rarely were they alone long enough for the occasional groping, frottage and hand jobs, but once did the conversation arise for why singularly he was given the treatment and not his friend. The Swede sat awake under their motion-activated floodlights, his mind too heavy with worry over their current mission consisting of escorting a convoy across Siberia into India for reasons unknown to them. He surveyed warily the flat forest spread and blanketed with thick snow, it was dry and burned his lips and lungs to breathe, but he silently scanned the horizon for a missing detail, coming upon nothing but blinding dark white seeming as if to glare with moonlight.
"Hey, Yang," he whispered, sensing movement behind him, he heard a seat being pulled up to his back and Yin Yang sitting atop, Gunnar already facing away with knees planted on either side of his shoulders, he said after the slighter man settled behind him, "Thought you were asleep."
"Was. I woke up and decided to be on watch with you," Yin Yang answered, he took his blanket and wrapped it around himself and his friend, he leaned forward until he was nearly laying across the Swede's back, cheek to shoulder, chest to shoulder blades and his arms clutched gently around the sinuous neck, he hiked up the wool coverlet over both their necks and squeezed their bodies together.
"Get comfortable, we're gonna be up for another nine and a half hours," Gunnar murmured, glancing to his left shoulder to a head full of black hair, he reached up from his knee with his left hand and felt the soft, dark strands tickling under his palm.
"Gunnar?" Yin Yang shifted slightly over his shoulder blades, the small voice soft and questioning.
"Yeah, Yang?" the Swedish teammate turned and nuzzled his cheek along the silky tufts in acknowledgement.
"Why won't you let me see you?" the whisper became less than a breath hanging in atomized dewdrops in the cold air, he sounded almost on the verge of self-consciousness as he asked the longer the first question went unanswered, "Why won't you let me touch you?"
"Baby, you've seen me in every way women are happy not to know about me," Gunnar weakly laughed, he knew what his friend was wondering, it was about why he never let Yin Yang unbutton his pants or run so much as a finger over his raging hard-ons, he answered honestly, "I don't want to scare you, okay?"
"Scare me?" the slighter man looked up from his position on the larger shoulder, their eyes met hesitantly for what felt like forever and another eternity, he asked more surely, "What's there to be afraid of?"
"Look, Yang, there has to be some boundaries, some limits to what you can do to me and what you can Take from me," Gunnar suddenly had an epitome of how he was pushed to such extremes of actually Scolding his teammate for Wanting, Craving insistently for something they both avoided until the topic arose, a questioned apologetically for Yin Yang and his own sake, "Am I getting through to you at all?"
"I don't understand," Yin Yang leaned forward, pulling the towering body closer to himself until they were comfortably suffocating in the embrace, their touching skin burning with lust, he breathed teasingly, so closely to Gunnar's half-open mouth, tasting the contrastingly hot breath lingering between them.
He felt his left hand being led downward, over the mounds of muscle shivering and expanding in breath, until his fingers settled on a prominent bulge, throbbing and twitching in his grasp as he gave a testing slide. His Swedish teammate drew in a gasp, he glanced down and flushed red in sudden recognition on what he was holding on to, the half-hard length hardly fit in his small hands, the fabric in his hand seeming as if to stretch the longer he held, flesh swelling ever so copiously under his light touch brought a visible thrill to him. Gunnar drew his prying fingers away before they could unzip him and peel back the material for a better look, Yin Yang pouted and thrust his own hardness into his back, merely earning a few heavy words to calm him down for the moment.
"One of these days, something's gonna have to give and I don't want you to be the one to take the brunt of it," the Swede whispered, his lips pressing fleetingly on the velvety corner of skin, he spoke as the night deepened with years worth of regret piling on them, "So for now, let's just pretend we're a fucking married couple and we're stranded in Aspen or some cliché shit like that."
"What should we do for our honeymoon?" Yin Yang whispered, falling into beat with the fantasy they never took the time to build, the heat of his bare arms resting and coiling on the Swede's collarbone.
"Anything you want, baby," he answered, he laid his left palm on the head resting once more on his shoulder, he leaned back into the warmth of his friend's torso, also noticing the erection pressed brazenly into his back not wavering at all, he pressed a kiss to the brow, "Room service and the works; sky's the limit."
"I was thinking of just staying in our room," the slighter man murmured so low that Gunnar visibly strained, his mind searching out the silky ghost of a voice seducing him out of his uncertainties of fucking Yin Yang just as he yearned for, but there was nothing against giving into their imaginations.
If things when right this job and they had more than a few hours to recuperate, he would take his teammate out to a hotel or resort, something that was convenient at the time, but they would be there, just the two of them for a week having a proper date rather than it being them and the team over gas-burned carcass and fermented bug juice wine. He opted for renting out a private riviera, imagining Yin Yang in his customary white undershirt and white long sleeve unbuttoned so it billowed gracefully behind, dress pants the palest shade of eggshell, and much left to the mind's eye to fill in. In such fantasies, Gunnar always imagined himself naked, no matter how he stripped so fast or how he managed to tear off his own clothing, but he'd catch Yin Yang from behind staring out an open patio door, wrapping his arms around and lifting the slighter frame up, that agile torso propped against his own body in wanton desire.
"Yeah?" Gunnar whispered, on the verge of pulling his fly open and carelessly stroking to completion.
"Undressing and slipping into bed…" the low gasp feeding him, making his musing come alive, he suddenly remember some tidbits of his daydreams, finally sinking back into it's stark opposing imagery.
He would pull at the undershirt tucked at the ends into Yin Yang's pants, after working the front half free, he would run a large hand through the confusion of tense and expanded muscle, first circling over the tender navel, traveling upward to the very protuberant beginning of a ribcage, and higher until their bodies are pressed flushed together. Layers of clothing and a few steps to the bed keeping them from going further…
"Uh-huh?" he said longingly, noticing how Yin Yang's kissed along his jawbone, his thought coming back in stutters and halts, "You're asking for it, Yang."
Brown eyes met blue, the slighter man drew back only slightly as he simpered timidly, but still indirect of their actions, "I never said no."
"But for what I want to do, we'll need time and privacy," Gunnar nearly growled, the sound, the future anticipation and Feel of pleasure taking him over, he kept his gaze over his shoulder to his friend, "Think you can wait until then?"
"Can you?" Yin Yang asked, rocking once and nipping on the Swede's jawbone.
"Fuck!" Gunnar cursed lowly, he was sorry to even put up a front and sticking to it as he admitted, "I won't like it, but I'll wait."
Hours ticked by silently as snow fell, their newly welcomed teammate trudged out of their tent and said to the two, "Guys, Barney's gotten word that we're clear for the next ten hours, we're moving at sun up."
They both knew what that meant, the whole team had an extra few hours to sleep and reassemble their wits, Gunnar nodded, "Thanks, Billy."
They shared sleeping quarters.
For the time being since the men knew Gunnar wouldn't keep his hands off Yin Yang and Yin Yang would not at all attempt to sleep, they were told only to be within reaching distance during the day. Currently, the snow kept falling, they disentangled themselves from each other and followed Billy into their tent, then they saw for themselves how Billy crawled into a sleeping bag next to Barney, the veteran hugging the young man closer as he sensed warmth near. They squinted in the dark and saw another happy couple united by the Siberian cold, Caesar pressed chest to back against Road in their own fart bag, the two still standing then searched about for Christmas, they found the last teammate reclined in their jeep with the heat running.
Yin Yang shrugged as if he knew the whole time, "Smart people."
"Too bad Santa didn't bring Christmas a present to 'snog' with," Gunnar said a little too truthfully, since they both thought the Brit looked lonely without anybody to cuddle up next to, he strode up to Barney's foot and kicked the boot, "Who 'unnecessarily fraternizes', Barney?"
"Fuck off, Gunnar," Barney rasped against Billy's forehead, he grumbled sleepily, "Kick his ass, Yin Yang."
"With pleasure," Yin Yang smacked the side of his boot against Gunnar's ass, but only had a look as if to say 'Want some? Come get some.' when the Swede whipped around, he instead put down a sleeping bag on the waterproofed flooring and laid down first inside the heat-reflective bedding.
The slighter man opened his blanket and rolled it into a pillow, slipping into the bag and placing the makeshift cushioning beneath their heads, he shivered at the feel of a palm running soothingly through his hair, and down his back, ending just above his waist. There were words at the tip of their tongues, neither ballsy enough to say them, three little words that felt like summing up their years together, they were both so harrowingly easy and terribly difficult to utter, turning their tongues into lead and voices into nonexistent smoke. Neither knew when they woke or felt the tug of sleep as they dropped off the cold continent into dreams, warming them to each other, bring them closer unconsciously, gently tying their lives together in one great, messy knot. One that both were too comfortable in to break free of.
The End.
The ending was so shamelessly 'Inception'-like.
If you're wondering 'what about first kisses or sex for the first time', sorrily, it's in the other fic I've already written with them two. This fic is of the phases of when they first met (References? Jet Li's 'The Defender' & Dolph Lundgren's 'Red Scorpion' for visuals), to the beginning of 'The Expendables 2'. Dija see the Billy/Barney & Road/Caesar? I had to do it, it was Too funny & fitting~! I wanted to do the smut so badly, but it's going to be deleted as soon as it's read by the higher ups. Sorry.