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Unfixable	By : Manga_bird Category: +A through F > Detroit: Become Human Views: 56 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work using Detroit Become Human - not for profit

Chapter List
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“Ph-phck! Uhn! Nn-nn-Ni-” Gavin whined again as a cold hand covered his mouth. A gentle breath whispered in his ear, reminding him to be quiet. Gavin arched his spine as he was bounced again. “N-Nines!” A deep chuckle sounded against his ear, sending prickles down his spine. He wished more than anything that they were in a bed right now, but it wasn’t like there was any privacy around the camp. They were lucky to have a little forest along the edge of the resting camp. It seemed to be an unspoken rule that what happened beyond the treeline stayed beyond the treeline. They’d actually been pretty lucky so far. They’d been seen coming and going, but they’d never come across anyone else in the trees.
“Fuck! I swear your ass is looser! You’re sucking me right in…Can you feel it, Gav? Can you feel how deep I’m hitting?” Gavin wasn’t sure he could focus on anything else. Each thrust felt like it was jabbing his spine. He bent further, almost digging his stress-bitten nails into the rough bark of the tree. It was less than comfortable, with his rough woollen trousers tugged down to his ankles and having to keep his scratchy shirt and jacket on. The material was rough and itchy on his skin, and the lice infested stitches didn’t help. Keeping their clothes on also meant that he couldn’t see Nines’ body. He was in uniform, too. He was pretty sure he’d look hot out of his clothes. He’d definitely felt abs during their earlier fondling.
“Phck! I can feel it! Phck, you’re so phcking deep!” Gavin moaned as he looked over his shoulder. Nines’ cheeks were flushed with the effort as he snapped his hips. That stupid little curl of hair was almost hiding one of his silvery eyes as he gripped his hips and rocked. Gavin’s legs trembled as he felt cold hands move from his hips to his ass. They squeezed the plush flesh, prying him wider. Nines’ lips quirked as he looked down to watch his shaft sinking into Gavin’s inviting flesh. He let out a low moan as he watched it disappear, biting his lip as warm flesh slapped his pelvis. The impact sent small ripples through Gavin’s plump cheeks and thighs.
“Are you close, Gavin?” Nines asked as he leaned lower, nipping the shell of his ear as he let out a desperate little mewl and nodded. Nines enjoyed the way he arched against his chest and trembled as he gripped his shaft. He gasped and whined in objection, almost flinching out of his grip. “Sorry,” Nines murmured as he pumped and squeezed. He knew his hand was cold. Fuck French winters! He slipped his free hand up the front of Gavin’s shirt, stroking his way higher across the warm skin until he could tweak and tease his nipples.
“Phck! Harder! P-please-phck!” Nines smirked as he buried his face in the rough wool of Gavin’s coat. The thick jackets were cumbersome, but it was so cold they couldn’t take them off. It was a wonder they’d managed to get hard enough to fuck in the first place. He squeezed and pumped faster, smearing pre-ejaculate around the flushed tip. It was throbbing. He could feel the release filtering down, getting ready to spill. Gavin let out a delicious little mewl as he pinched one of his nipples and rolled. His thighs were quivering. Muscles spasming. “Nines!” He spilled. Nines smirked as he felt the warmth coat his fingers.
“You’re so good, Gavin…Just hold on a little longer…” Nines didn’t hesitate to release Gavin’s shaft to grip his hip again. Gavin planted his feet with a whine and held himself steady as he cut loose. The slaps and whines increased as he bounced Gavin’s smaller body against his own. He quickened his pace, chasing his own release. He let out a final moan before pulling out and bending low over Gavin’s back. He gasped and trembled as he used his dirtied hand to jerk himself to completion, spilling on the earth between their feet.
“Phck, Nines…” Gavin barely let him catch his breath as he turned in his arms and claimed his lips. Nines hummed and smiled into the kiss, chasing his lips and resting his clean hand on the small of his back. He allowed him to linger a while longer, until the cold bit their bare skin and reminded them of the season. They hurriedly pulled their thick pants and trousers up, still stealing kisses between fasting belts and straightening collars. “Phck, I don’t want to go back tomorrow…” It was too soon. He’d barely been back for two days! It wasn’t fair at all. He was supposed to be off for at least twelve.
“I know…but you were lucky to get time off at all. I’ve heard stories about the Brits working thirty days or more in the trenches.” Gavin balked at the idea. Fresh recruits were getting harder to come by, and things didn’t seem to be getting any better. They were supposed to be working on a four days on, twelve days off rotation at the front. That had gone out the window pretty quickly as their numbers dwindled. Men got injured. Men got killed. In some parts, they even deserted. “Try not to get injured again. I’m getting sick of patching you up all the time,” Nines teased as he straightened the white band on his sleeve, making sure the red cross looked presentable.
“But if I get injured, I get to see you.” Gavin grinned in that cheeky way that let him know he wasn’t serious. Nines returned the affection with a soft look of his own. He cupped his stubbled cheeks and looked into his dirty green eyes. The shade was almost unique. A mixture of green and blue with hazel flecks. Green was the dominant shade, only letting the blue come through in small patches. They were really quite beautiful, like green lapis lazuli. Nines sighed with regret. It was getting late. It wasn’t nightfall yet, but it probably wasn’t far off. The days somehow felt shorter in France. He lost some of his previous cheer as he ran his silvery eyes over Gavin’s face, committing every detail to memory. Love is the last thing he’d expected to find upon being drafted into the medical corps and packed off to France.
Gavin had already been fighting for almost half a year by the time he and his brothers had arrived at the camp. There was a faded scar across his nose from some barbed wire that had blown down into the trenches during some earlier shelling. The skin had healed over, but the angry pink line was unlikely to ever fade. His skin was worn from the harsh weather, leaving his hands rough and chapped. His lips were the same. Cracked and stress bitten. Nines and his closest brother were in the medical corps, and had largely remained at the resting camp helping in the recovery tents. That’s where he’d first met Gavin.
He'd been sitting up in a cot yelling about how he felt fine; that it was just a sniffle, and he was ready to head back to his unit. If he hadn’t been yelling at Connor, Nines probably would have let it slide and moved on. Connor wasn’t good at confrontation, though he was naturally soothing and could often calm these situations. At that point, he’d been holding his hands up and speaking softly, trying to placate Gavin’s temper-tantrum. Perhaps he’d been drawn to him then. The set jaw. The sharp lower canines. The fluffed brunette hair. The roughish stubble he hadn’t had time to shave in a week, and the colourful, blazing eyes. Nines had stepped across just as Gavin had tossed the thin sheets off and made to stand. His raging green eyes had widened in shock as Nines’ firm hand had pressed him into the mattress.
“I believe Corporal Anderson told you to stay.” He’d noted the skin of Gavin’s cheeks flush at the reminder. His Adam’s apple had bobbed as he’d stared up like a trapped animal. With a nod, Nines had taken over his care. He’d directed him to lie back, checked his charts, and double checked his temperature. It had been over a hundred. He’d clearly caught whatever flu was currently ravishing the frontline. Nines had calmly and firmly informed him he would be no more than a liability at the front and he was more likely to get his own men sick than anything else. He’d been a better patient after that, and by the end of the month, he’d become a favourite of both Nines and Connor, though in different ways.
Connor enjoyed his wit and the almost brotherly air he gave off. He’d often ruffle his hair or jab his shoulder with a fond smirk. With Nines, things had rapidly become a little more heated. They’d snarked and argued about his health constantly, and Nines would forever follow him around the camp reminding him he was supposed to be resting and threatening to carry him back to bed himself. Their relationship had taken an unexpected turn a few months ago when Gavin had dared him to do it. Nines had obliged. He still remembered the rough feel of Gavin’s lips as he’d pulled him down after being set on his cot. They were lucky that the other patients had either been outside or sleeping off their fevers. It had been hard to pry himself away from Gavin’s clinging hands and the fingers laced in his hair. He’d looked worried as they’d parted, afraid of rejection. That look had softened once Nines had returned to leave a chaste peck on his lips.
He knew it was unwise. Doctors didn’t get involved with patients. Technically, he was an emergency field medic, but there was little difference on the front. He was often the ranking officer in charge of their section. Despite that, he hadn’t been able to resist Gavin’s wiles. It was barely two weeks after that they’d snuck into the forest for the first time. It had been warmer then. Still summer. Connor had figured it out relatively quickly. However, he’d remained silent on the matter. At least they weren’t in the same unit, like their brother and his lover.
Since that day, they’d been almost inseparable outside of working hours. Once Gavin’s fever had passed, he’d returned to the front for his usual rotation of four days. Nines had waited impatiently for his return. He’d remained in the camp for twelve days and rotated out again. It had been harder to part with each cycle. On the third rotation, Gavin had been carried back after a single day. The shelling had knocked a section of the trench wall loose, and Gavin had taken a blow to the head after losing his helmet. He’d lost it while diving beneath the falling section to cover one of his men. Private Miller had sprained his ankle in the fall, so they’d both been sent back for treatment.
Gavin had healed relatively quickly and returned after a day of rest and a few stitches across his temple. He’d returned to the camp a few days later, as usual, before being rotated out again. He’d returned to camp with Sixty the next time, both of them bloody and snarling about whose fault it was that they were in trouble. Apparently, they’d started a brawl with their equally short tempers. Nines had patched them up with a sigh and, after a few words with Connor, Sixty had decided that Gavin wasn’t all bad. They weren’t exactly friends, but he’d at least tolerate him if he was involved with his little brother. He also came to admire him a little after seeing how he looked out for the younger men in his unit. He wasn’t really high in rank. He was only a sergeant, but he’d outlived everyone in his original unit and now had a lot of green recruits to train up. Miller was the only other soldier with any experience, and even he was a few years younger than Gavin.
Gavin had been injured a few more times, luckily always superficial. A bullet had caught his arm. Nines had winced with each stitch as Gavin had teared up and let out pitiful little whines as the surgical thread was pulled through his flesh. He’d sliced his hand across the palm while re-setting the barbed wire after some shelling. Nines had cradled his bleeding hand, washing it with alcohol and searching for any rusted flakes left behind. His shoulder wound had become infected, and he’d been sent back to camp to have it seen to. Nines had opened the wound and washed it daily to ensure it remained clean and aired enough to heal. He’d started to joke that he was getting hurt on purpose so they could meet more often. Gavin had smirked at that.
“Just imagine if I got shot for real. I’d be here for months and you’d get sick of me!” he’d huffed as he’d popped a poorly rolled cigarette in his mouth. Nines had taken the lighter and flipped it shut at that, resting a hand on his confused cheek. Gavin’s green eyes had blinked in surprise at how sad and worried Nines’ silvery blues had become. Being a medic and seeing how deadly such injuries could be, Nines hadn’t been able to laugh at such humour.
“Please don’t…” Gavin had sworn under his breath before pulling him down for a kiss. Nines wasn’t one for silent foreboding, but he couldn’t help it. They hadn’t had many scuffles since he’d arrived, but familiar faces disappeared. Bodies came back in bags. Soldiers were listed as missing. Each time he watched Gavin climb into the truck, he knew it could be the last. He’d been to the front himself and seen first-hand the poor conditions and utter carnage that could occur. He’d been there on the job to grab any injured men they could find after the latest failed raid.
No man’s land was a grim and foreboding place at the best of times, but trying to run across it in pairs with stretchers and medical bags while under fire added to the chilling sense of dread. Their own men were covering them, trying to give them time to grab those closest to their own lines. Nines and Connor had managed to grab three men that day before they’d lost light and the higher-ups had deemed it too dangerous to continue. The most horrifying part of the day had come after sunset. When the land was quiet. When the gunfire stopped. That was when the groaning had started. The wordless pleas for help. The weak cries to let someone know they were still alive out there. It sounded like there were hundreds. It was worse as time wore on and the sound slowly stopped.
Nines had volunteered to stay at the front while Connor had returned with the injured. If they had a chance just before dawn, he’d go over the top again to grab more men before the other side noticed. He’d found Gavin that night and stayed with him. It had been his turn for lookout duty, so he’d stood on a raised platform by the fire step peering through the darkness towards enemy lines. Nines had kept him company, speaking in hushed voices. Captain Allen had spotted them during his rounds, but said nothing about it. There was little enough comfort to be found in the trenches as it was. So long as they were performing their duties, he wasn’t going to intrude.
They hadn’t found anyone else alive that morning. No one they could get to, anyway. Nines had returned to camp with extra bodies and a dull sense of loss. Connor, at least, had the good news that two of the men they’d retrieved had survived. They were heading back to town for recovery and being shipped home, but they’d survived. Nines had volunteered for the grim task of dressing the dead. Sorting through their effects and checking tags to write condolence letters home. He’d carefully packaged old letters that had been tucked in vests. Family pictures. A pocket watch. A wooden soldier. A wedding band. A silver tin with tobacco inside. A locket containing a picture of a woman. A silver crucifix. Once the packaging was done, he’d written the usual condolences. Sorry for your loss. He fought bravely until the end. He will be remembered as a hero. Such bravery is extraordinary.
He’d been more anxious since that day. Having seen and experienced the front for himself, he now knew exactly what he was sending Gavin into each time he left. It chilled him to the bone. That wasn’t the last time they went over the top. Gavin had been over more than once. Each time they’d retreated. They’d also fought the enemy off during their own raids. There was even a time that Gavin had gleefully returned to the resting camp, clutching a piece of wood torn from the enemy barricade. He’d made it all the way across before retreating. They hadn’t had the manpower that time to push through. Nines would have been angry at him for being so reckless, but that was his job. Those were his orders. Get as far as you can and breach enemy lines, unless a retreat is ordered.
“Here, I want you to have it.” Nines had no idea why Gavin thought he’d want a shard of wood from the enemy barricade, but he’d accepted it. He likely saw it as an accomplishment, that he’d been so brave as to get to the other side. Nines saw it as a reminder of how close he’d come to staring death in the face. He’d fought his way right to hell’s gate and stolen the knocker. Nines still had that shard. It was about the size of his hand, with sharp, jagged edges. It had been damp when Gavin first returned, but it had dried out since sitting on his bedside in the camp. He fell asleep staring at it every night when Gavin was away, praying to God that he came back.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he murmured, still cupping Gavin’s cheek as they stood hidden in the trees. Gavin huffed and covered Nines’ hand with his own. His fingers were freezing. The huff of his breath turned white in the crisp air.
“Sure, I will…I promise.”
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Unfixable