They’d been having this argument ever since the capture of Iserlohn. Never all at once, but in spurts as something reminded Schönkopf of his concern for Yang Wenli. He’d never found anyone else so worthy of his loyalty; he didn’t want to lose him for such a simple reason as “Admiral Yang doesn’t carry a gun” when that was so easily solved.
Unfortunately, Yang himself didn’t seem to care.
“How do you expect to defend yourself?” Schönkopf asked, exasperated, as they returned to Iserlohn after the official celebration and promotion ceremonies on Heinessen. Julian had told him about the Patriotic Knights Corps and how Yang had long since stirred up bad feelings among extremists. “Just because we’re being posted on a station you control—”
Yang waved a hand in acknowledgement. “If someone reaches me, many things will have gone badly wrong.”
Schönkopf leaned forward until he could look Yang in the eyes. This would be easier if Yang would sit in chairs like a normal person instead of finding the least convenient flat surface possible—in this case, the balcony where the command deck extended over the bridge crew’s stations—like a human-shaped cat. Still, Schönkopf could manage. “So, just like your plan?”
“Exactly.” Yang smiled, turning to face Schönkopf more fully. “And did it matter that Stockhausen knew how to use a gun?”
It hadn’t, but Schönkopf wasn’t going to concede that point. “You expect Julian to learn to use a gun when you won’t.”
“I never said I didn’t know how to use a gun.” Yang patted Schönkopf’s shoulder; his fingers were like burning brands where they brushed against both Schönkopf’s skin and propriety. “I went through basic training, same as anyone else at a military academy. I was just terrible at it.”
“If you demonstrate you can use a gun, I’ll stop harrying you about this.” Schönkopf slid his hands forward until they touched Yang’s leg. If they weren’t in public, he’d take this another step further. But they were, and so he contented himself with the brush of his fingers against the crisply wrinkled fabric of Yang’s uniform pants.
Yang’s hand slid down Schönkopf’s arm, lazy-looking and casual in a way Schönkopf hadn’t yet figured out how to match. “Once we’ve settled into Iserlohn, you can take me to a shooting range,” he agreed. “And then you’ll understand how hopeless it is.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Schönkopf turned his hand over for exactly long enough to squeeze Yang’s fingers before he straightened back up.
Schönkopf told Julian about this deal, because he knew that Yang would forget without his ward’s reminders. Not out of malice—Yang had never been anything but sincere with him—but because there was so much work for Yang to do that Schönkopf knew it would slip his mind.
Even with those reminders, Schönkopf started hanging around Yang’s office as soon as he’d finished establishing his men’s new routine and doing his own initial bureaucratic processes. He rarely went inside it, because Yang did need to work, but he could still join the parade of people ensuring that Yang remembered to take breaks, eat food, and fill out all the necessary paperwork.
And, of course, dragging him out to have fun sometimes.
Even if Yang disagreed with the idea that going to the shooting range was fun, he didn’t stop Schönkopf from declaring “You’ve been sitting at this desk for five hours. Come do something else.” and leading him out with a strong grip on his wrist. The advantage of a ground force commander’s reputation, Schönkopf thought wryly, was that people might assume he was a bit of a brute but also that he had reason to be dragging Yang around.
Yang didn’t make that assumption, but he also didn’t pull away from Schönkopf’s grip. He kept pace easily enough, and only bothered asking where they were going when Schönkopf dumped him into a seat on Iserlohn’s internal rail system. “We’ve been here a month,” Schönkopf said, exasperated. “Where do you think I’m taking you?”
“The shooting range,” Yang said a moment later, eyes clearing. “Julian’s been trying to get me to come with him, but—”
Schönkopf laughed and leaned closer, so he could murmur into Yang’s ear. “I want you alone.”
The quiet, “Ah,” Yang made was swallowed by the hum of the railcar speeding into Iserlohn’s guts, but the way Yang’s fingers tightened made it clear Yang understood Schönkopf’s intentions.
Satisfied, Schönkopf straightened and waited quietly for their arrival.
It didn’t take long to claim a booth at the shooting range and close the door to ensure their privacy. Schönkopf had already picked up an extra pistol, and handed it to Yang once they entered. “This is lighter than mine,” he said at Yang’s questioning look. “It’s the same model I’m teaching Julian to use.”
Yang took it and examined it closely. “Standard model,” he noted. “They taught us how to use these at the Academy too.” He opened it to check if it was loaded, fingers crisp and accurate. Schönkopf had believed him about going through basic training, but he hadn’t been sure how much Yang had retained; seeing the economical motions of long-drilled habit answered that question. No matter how good or bad Yang was at shooting a pistol, he clearly knew how to tend to one.
Once Yang had satisfied himself that the pistol was in good condition, he moved to the front of the shooting booth. Schönkopf watched, silent, as Yang straightened himself, set his feet, and raised the pistol at the target. Yang knew formal military posture, though Schönkopf knew he hated to stand on ceremony. Still, his arms were too stiff and his legs weren’t braced properly; evidence that—more than not carrying a pistol the way most officers did—Yang hadn’t used a gun in years.
Yang’s first shot missed the target entirely. That he’d survived everything, Schönkopf thought, was a testament to both his luck and the dedication of the officers surrounding him.
Yang fired a full volley of a dozen shots, which scattered across the target and the wall behind it, and then clicked the pistol’s safety back on and turned to Schönkopf. “The instructors gave up on me by the end of the year,” he said wryly. “What’s your judgement, Commodore?”
“There’s room for improvement.” Schönkopf grinned at Yang’s sour look. “You know how to handle a gun, even if you can’t aim for shit.”
Yang raised his eyebrows with an unimpressed look. “Have I adequately demonstrated I can use a gun, Schönkopf?”
“I want to improve your form a little.” Schönkopf stepped forward with a smile. When Yang didn’t move, Schönkopf laughed and grabbed his shoulders, turning him back to face the target. “Go on, get ready to shoot.”
Yang snorted, but didn’t object. He raised the gun steadily, not removing the safety. Likely for the best, Schönkopf thought; as much as he did want to help improve Yang’s posture, he didn’t think that would be the only thing they did. Schönkopf liked the way Yang looked with his back straight and his eyes steadily fixed on his target, finally using every inch of his height instead of sliding away into his more typical slouch. If Yang stood like this more often, perhaps more people would see his strength instead of dismissing Yang and his recommendations out of hand.
But those were thoughts for another time. Schönkopf pressed gently on Yang’s shoulders and murmured “Relax.” He slid his hands down Yang’s arms, taking the opportunity to shift so that his chest brushed against Yang’s back.
Yang exhaled sharply at the contact, and the tip of his pistol quivered before steadying. Schönkopf rested his fingers on the slight bend of Yang’s elbows. They’d softened, as he’d hoped; they were strong now, but not locked, and could take the recoil more easily.
“Is that all?” Yang asked, holding himself upright and not leaning back. Schönkopf had almost hoped he would, despite knowing that would ruin the pretense of shooting lessons.
Schönkopf closed that distance himself. “Match your feet to mine,” he said, trying not to get too distracted just yet by the clean scent lingering in Yang’s hair. “It’ll be steadier.”
“Does it count if I’m leaning against you?” Despite his complaints, Yang did adjust his feet until they were braced against Schönkopf’s.
“Do you want me to step away?”
Yang leaned his weight into Schönkopf for the briefest moment, but even that short contact sent a jolt of heat through Schönkopf’s core. By the time Schönkopf caught his breath, Yang had moved his center back over his own feet. “Stay where you are,” Yang said. “But move your hands if you want me to shoot again.”
Schönkopf laughed and moved his hands from Yang’s arms to his hips. The twitch of Yang’s muscles was a lovely reward, but Yang didn’t acknowledge his choice otherwise. Even as Schönkopf, curious, began inching his fingers under Yang’s shirt and towards the band of his trousers, Yang kept his focus on his pistol and the range.
Yang flicked the safety back off and pulled the trigger as Schönkopf’s questing fingers met over the fly of his pants. Schönkopf saw a new hole burnt into the target, closer to the center than most of Yang’s previous shots had been. “Nicely done,” Schönkopf said. He leaned over Yang’s shoulder and whispered, “Shall we continue?”
“How much do you care if I can use a gun?” Yang’s exasperated tone was belied by the fondness of his glance and the kiss he pressed to Schönkopf’s cheek. “Continue,” he said, and turned back to the firing range.
Schönkopf grinned and leaned down to nip at Yang’s neck. He couldn’t leave any marks without undoing the collar, and there was something else he was more interested in opening up first. Yang didn’t seem to mind, either, if the stutter in his breath and the way he was leaning back against Schönkopf now was anything to go by.
His fingers made quick work of opening the fly of Yang’s trousers. From there, he could spread his hand along Yang’s cock—still soft right now, but stirring at his touch—and press his hips forward into Yang’s ass. Yang groaned, and Schönkopf heard another shot ring out. Dangerous to still have the gun on. Dangerous to still be firing. Intoxicating, too, to trust that Yang would keep the point steadily forwards.
Schönkopf ground his burgeoning erection against Yang. “What do you think of my teaching methods?” he asked, voice breathy with arousal. He bit at Yang’s ear, whispered, “Motivating?”
Yang’s laugh turned into a groan. “Which gun do you want me focusing on?” His legs spread apart and his hips rocked back into Schönkopf’s, which Schönkopf thought said a lot about which one Yang wanted to think about.
“Both?” Schönkopf worked Yang’s cock out of his pants and squeezed gently. It was firming up nicely, thick and hot in his fingers as he slowly started jerking Yang off. His other hand moved up to brace Yang’s chest against his. “I believe in your ability to multitask.”
Yang swore, then took a deep shuddering breath and pulled the trigger three times. Schönkopf looked up from admiring the glorious indecency of Yang’s erect cock rising out of his uniform. Three new holes, clustered together in the second ring of the target. Schönkopf’s hips jerked forward involuntarily at this improvement. He wanted to pull out his own cock and praise Yang and reward him by fucking him. He couldn’t do that; as relatively-private as these booths were, that would be messy and a step too far for either of them.
“Losing your focus, Schönkopf?” Yang asked, though his voice wasn’t very steady. “I thought I was the one multitasking.”
Schönkopf licked his lips and ran his thumb over the head of Yang’s cock. It twitched in his grip, Yang let out a moan, and Schönkopf said, “I know what I’m doing.” He leaned over Yang’s shoulder to get a better view of Yang’s cock and started undoing Yang’s collar. Once the buttons were freed, Schönkopf used his teeth to pull the fabric away and bare Yang’s spacer-pale skin. There, where it would be covered by uniform collars and soft turtlenecks, Schönkopf pressed his mouth down and sucked.
Yang’s whine was framed by another pair of shots. As much as Schönkopf wanted to look, he kept his teeth locked on Yang’s skin and his eyes fixed on Yang’s cock. He liked those too: the taste of Yang’s skin, the give of his shoulder, the knowledge that a bruise would linger there that Yang wouldn’t allow anyone else to see; the way pre-come gathered and spread along Yang’s cock with the motion of his hand, the flushed flesh contrasting the navy-blue folds of his uniform, the awareness that he was doing this to Yang—
Schönkopf increased the pace of his hand along Yang’s cock. He released his teeth with a gasp and licked at it, setting Yang shuddering. That shot must have gone astray, because there was no way Yang could hold himself steady against the change in sensation. Schönkopf moaned and rutted forward, wishing he could touch himself too; his cock was so tight in his own uniform trousers, and this wasn’t enough even though it was all he could have right now.
“Fuck, Schönkopf, let me—” A familiar click—the pistol’s safety being activated—and then a clatter as the gun fell to the ground. Yang’s weight dropped back to Schönkopf then, and Schönkopf lifted his head to find Yang’s mouth already seeking his. They collided, hungry and biting, and Schönkopf groaned as Yang’s tongue dragged along his lips.
One of Yang’s hands tangled in his hair to hold him in place. The light pain prickled along his spine, and it was suddenly all he could do to hold them both upright. Schönkopf clutched at Yang, and Yang’s other hand reached around to grab Schönkopf’s own ass.
Schönkopf fucked forward, heedless of how cock was trapped in his trousers. Yang had him, he had Yang, and he could feel the tension in Yang’s muscles building as he neared orgasm. “Come on,” Schönkopf panted in the brief breaks between their messy kisses, “fire your gun for me, Yang.”
Yang laughed and dug his fingers into Schönkopf’s ass. Schönkopf grabbed at his chest in return, aiming for his nipple but not bothering to care how close he got. That, and another deep kiss, and the tight twist of his fingers around Yang’s cock, and Yang came for him with a groan. His body shook in Schönkopf’s arms, and Schönkopf didn’t stop jerking him until his body slowed and slumped in Schönkopf’s grasp.
“A good enough shot for you?” Yang asked, breathy and giddy as he looked up at Schönkopf. His eyes were dilated—hard though it was to tell when his eyes were so dark to begin with—and bright with pleasure.
Schönkopf kissed him again, because he could and he wanted to and nobody could stop him. This one was sweeter, softer, lingering on Yang’s smile. “Very good,” Schönkopf reassured Yang, and then slowly sank down to the ground with him. “Better than I’d hoped.”
“Exceeds expectations,” Yang murmured, relaxing against Schönkopf. “I’ll take that.”
Yang’s cock, sticky with come but softer now, was still gorgeous as it lay against his rumpled uniform. Schönkopf loved him like this, when all the facades of formality had been stripped away and made into the costume they were. Schönkopf reached for his own cock, still hard and insistent in his trousers, and Yang followed his movement. “You want help?”
“I’m good.” Schönkopf sighed with relief as he undid his own trousers and shoved his pants down to free his cock. He gripped himself with the hand still slick with Yang’s come and thrust his hips forward as Yang watched with his sharp eyes. The heaviness of Yang’s body and the knowledge that Yang would see and remember every bit of this added an extra spark, and he had already been close.
It took less than a minute for him to come, soft and hot as pleasure flooded through him and escaped from his cock in spurts. Most of it stayed with his hand. Some of it, Schönkopf was sure, would land on his trousers and leave stains.
But that was a problem for later, and not nearly as important as the way Yang looked at him and tilted his head back down for another kiss. “If this is what your shooting lessons are like,” Yang murmured against his lips, “then I’m sure I can be convinced to attend them more regularly.”
Schönkopf laughed, and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe them both clean as best he could. “If I know you’ll agree to this more, then I’ll spend longer on the pistol before moving to your cock.”
Yang sighed, rueful, but he was still smiling as he said, “I think I can live with that.”
You’d better, Schönkopf thought, but he didn’t voice that thought. He kissed Yang again, and then drew them both to their feet. He had accomplished enough today. Let the future come as it may; they would both be prepared to meet it.