Chapter Text
The Valkyrie, as she called it, was a mobile fortress, capable of both driving and hovering across rough terrain. Compact yet deceptively spacious, it had everything a normal home would—a living room, kitchen, dining area, bathroom, and, unfortunately, only one bedroom. One fucking bed.
Yoru still wasn’t over that last part.
This machine-thing Killjoy had built for this mission specifically was so cool. It had heat-warming tech that could shelter anyone to withstand the icy cold of Icebox. It was basically a VLT/R as it could transport agents anywhere through flying or driving. This was special though, as it also had high-tech security just in case anyone breaches the compounds of the space.
Yoru’s boots crunched against the snow as he trudged forward, eyes set on the looming expanse of ice and metal ahead. It had been three weeks since the mission started—three weeks of dead ends, old ruins, and encrypted data that even Killjoy struggled to crack. Three weeks of sleeping in the high-tech, spaceship-like base she had built specifically for this mission.
Its sleek, metallic surface reflected the dim glow of Icebox’s artificial lighting, the hum of its engines steady in the silence. The ramp lowered as the duelist approached, allowing him to step into the warmth of the temporary home.
Another day of finding little to no new information. He clicked in the passcode to enter the Valkyrie, stepping inside, he took off his shows that were covered in snow. Yoru sighed as he shrugged off his jacket, rolling his shoulders.
His gaze fell on Chamber—who was currently making dinner in the kitchen. The aroma of the food he was making spread across the room, he knew exactly what dish Chamber was making. Yoru had to admit that Chamber was a good cook—a great one, even. He enjoyed the homemade meals he cooked—specifically Foie Gras.
It is a french delicacy that was made from duck or goose liver, renowned for its rich, buttery flavor and velvety texture and is made by force-feeding the birds to grow their livers. Which was weird to say the least, but nonetheless, Yoru enjoys its savour. It is sauteed with daikon and served with a sesame, garlic, and soy sauce. He was excited to eat it again for the nth time while on this mission.
He hated to admit he liked the dish, he didn’t wanna praise the already high-ego that Chamber had. But sometimes, he really wanted to ask Chamber to make him the dish, especially on nights where he was starving after a long day of finding something he didn’t even know.
“Bonjour, mon-ami, did you find anything?” “
Significant? No. Hints of a puzzle waiting to be solved? Yes.” Yoru sighed, sitting down on the marble counter which doubled as a dining table, in front of the kitchen.
He looked attentively at Chamber’s actions—the way he cooked. “You’ll eventually solve this problem, mon-ami. You were gone all day, I started to miss your sunny-demeanour. So I decided to cook this dish.” Chamber explained.
Yoru huffed and patiently waited for his food to be served. He had to admit that Chamber looked great in an apron…It was showing off his toned-muscles, especially since he got his sleeves rolled up. He was fascinated by the golden tattoos that shined because of the kitchen lights.
“Admiring me again, mon ange?” His thoughts were interrupted by Chamber’s smirk.
The riftwalker’s heart flushed at the sudden call-out. He didn’t know how to feel or what to say, so he remained silent. Dammit! Stop thinking about him, Yoru! Think about how annoying Chamber is!
The metallic hum of Killjoy’s ”flying house” as Yoru described it, vibrated softly beneath Yoru’s feet as he sat at the edge of the seat, running a hand down his face. Three weeks of this mission. Three weeks of sharing space with Chamber, who had been nothing short of a smug bastard the entire time. (Except when he cooked)
“Looking tense, mon ami.” Chamber’s voice broke through the cold air. “You know, stress is bad for the skin.”
Yoru scoffed, rolling his eyes as he continued watching Chamber cook. “Shut up.”
Chamber merely chuckled, unfazed as he matched Yoru’s pace. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually enjoy my company.”
Yoru clicked his tongue. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Yoru should’ve known this would be a disaster the moment he learned they’d have to share a bed. No, the moment Brim gave him a thumbs up for this mission but decided to add Chamber on it last minute. He huffed.
Yoru had been trying to get Brimstone to agree to his idea to land on Icebox so that he could discover more about his riftwalking abilities and his ancestor’s secrets. This could further Yoru’s agenda and help him improve his skills as a riftwalker. But also give him closure on who exactly his ancestors were. When Brimstone finally agreed to his plans, he was overjoyed.
Though, Brim had 1 exception, to bring the rich french bastard—Chamber. And, of course, out of all the agents, Chamber was the one assigned to accompany him. Not because he was necessary for the mission—no, his presence was purely precautionary, a backup in case Omega agents decided to show up. Yoru was the one leading this mission, the one desperate to uncover the truth about his ancestors and their connection to his rift powers. Chamber? He was just there. Existing.
And flirting. Always fucking flirting.
But he had bigger things to worry about. The hidden secrets of his ancestors—fragments of history buried beneath the ice of Icebox. That was what mattered. He wasn’t here to be distracted. He wasn’t here for anything else. But he kept thinking about the Frenchman.
The worst part? Yoru didn’t completely hate his presence. Sure, Chamber was an annoying, arrogant rich bastard with a smirk Yoru wanted to wipe off his face (or maybe he didn’t—maybe he wanted to do something else to it, but that was a dangerous thought, one he quickly buried). But at the end of the day, having him around wasn’t… unbearable. Not that Yoru would ever admit that.
“Finished.” Yoru was snapped out of his thoughts as Chamber prepared the meal for the both of them. The pan still hot. He sliced the meat into 2 with his slender hands. Put them into plates and garnish it with soy sauce and some sliced spring onions.
Yoru was excited to eat. His eyes basically gushed with delight as the plate was presented in front of him along with cutlery. His stomach grumbled, he was practically drooling. He dug in immediately.
The Foie Gras was delicious. Its silky, melt-in-your-mouth texture and a very subtle taste. A rich and buttery meat flavour. A subtle sweetness and balance, and a creamy and smooth taste. It was rather authentic.
Chamber sat beside him. Noticing the younger agents’s “hidden” exhilaration to eat the dish he prepared was endearing. “Enjoying the food, Yoru?” “Mmmmhm” Yoru muttered in between spoonfuls. He chuckled at the sight. Chamber, eating delicately and savouring each bite slowly. Yoru, practically shoving the food down his throat like he hasn’t eaten in days, like a starved Victorian child. They finished their meals at the same time.
Yoru, feeling relief and food-fever after. He felt like this was the perfect day—besides the bad parts.
He mentioned he wanted a clean shower to the Frenchman and went inside the bathroom. The bath made him comfortable, refreshed, and revitalized after all that hard work.
He needed to unwind.
He needed to take the edge off.
He went to the supply room to get himself newly cleaned clothes. Put them on and sighed a sigh of relief.
After dinner, he had thought Chamber had taken his time lounging on the couch with a glass of wine, so he found himself back in their shared bedroom, lying on his back, exhaling slowly. He hadn’t gotten off since this mission started, too focused on his goals, too frustrated by the lack of progress.
It was just stress relief. Nothing more.
He pulled down his waistband, palming himself as he shut his eyes. The warmth of his own hand was a relief, the friction sending shivers down his spine. His breath hitched as he picked up a rhythm, seeking that release, that escape—
And yet, distraction came in the form of a half-naked, Chamber stepping into the bedroom, towel low on his hips, golden tattoos gleaming under the dim artificial light. “Bonne nuit, mon ami.” Chamber smirked, running a towel over his damp hair, making it a mess of waves. “If you need anything, just text me, hmm?”
Yoru’s eyes snapped open.
Yoru barely registered his words. His mind had short-circuited the second he laid eyes on him.
Fuck.
Water dripped from his hair, trailing down his neck, over his collarbones, past the golden tattoos lining his arms. His chest was still damp, his toned stomach glistening under the soft light. He had a hand on his hip, his other hand holding his glasses as he dried them with the towel.
Yoru felt something in him snap. His dick twitched in his grip, and he hated himself for it.
Chamber raised an eyebrow. “You alright?” Yoru gritted his teeth, quickly yanking the covers over himself. “I’m fine. Go away.” Yoru muttered, voice strained. How had he not noticed the shower was on?
Chamber smirked but said nothing, disappearing into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and Yoru exhaled sharply, his hand still curled into a fist under the sheets, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His dick was already half-hard. He cursed himself, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The mental image wouldn’t leave him alone—Chamber’s body, the droplets of water running down his chest, the way his golden tattoos gleamed against damp skin.
How far did they go?
His throat went dry. His skin prickled, heat pooling low in his stomach, something unsettlingly raw twisting in his chest. Why the hell did Chamber look like that? All toned muscle, smooth golden skin, and the teasing dip of his towel just low enough to make Yoru’s brain go places it shouldn’t.
He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth.
No. No fucking way. Yoru inhaled sharply, a frustrated growl slipping past his lips.
He needed to stop.
He needed to unwind.
The sound of music being played inside of the bathroom spread across the room. ‘Supermassive Black Hole, Song by Muse’ started playing. This appalled the horny duelist, but the music played like it was describing the predicament Yoru was in. He never knew Chamber was into these songs, though.
His hand ghosted over the waistband of his sweatpants.
Just for a bit. Just enough to clear his head.
He pushed his hand down, fingers wrapping around his cock, already leaking at the tip. He started rocking to the beat. A shaky breath left him as he stroked, slow at first, then firmer, chasing some sort of relief from this unbearable heat. He was just unwinding that’s all! This week has been stressful for him. He needed relief and an outlet. So he wasn’t stroking his dick to another man! To Chamber. No fucking way! It was just a long, frustrating week, and he was pent-up. That was all.
Right?
He hated that the image of Chamber was what lingered in his mind. Hated how easy it was to picture him without the towel—how his fingers itched to trace the lines of his tattoos. He bit his lip, pumping faster, breath growing uneven. The worst part was that he could still hear the shower running. He could imagine Chamber under the water, droplets sliding down his back, over his skin—
And then, the worst thing happened. A groan slipped from his lips.
The bathroom door creaked open. The music less muffled now.
“Yoru?”
Fuck.
Yoru yanked his hand away so fast it hurt. His entire body tensed, blood running cold as he whipped his head towards the door. Aching as it was desperate for more.
Chamber stood there, half-done with his shower, water still dripping from his hair. His chest rose and fell with faint exertion, skin flushed from the heat of the steam. His towel was slung low, teasing the cut of his hips, his stomach taut, his tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric.
He looked—ethereal.
Yoru wanted to die.
“Are you alright?” Chamber asked, tilting his head, voice smooth but laced with concern.
Yoru’s heart slammed against his ribs. His pants felt impossibly tight. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look normal. “I—I’m fine.” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “Go finish your damn shower and music.”
Chamber raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “If you say so,” he hummed before stepping back into the bathroom. The music resumed playing.
Yoru barely held back a pained groan, his hand twitching, desperate to do something—anything. But there was no fucking way he could continue with Chamber right there. On the other side of the goddamn door.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body to calm down. It didn’t work.
Minutes later, Chamber emerged again, fully clothed this time—thank God. He slipped into bed beside Yoru without another word, and Yoru did his best to ignore him, turning onto his side, stiff as a board.
The heat still lingered, crawling under his skin, refusing to fade. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.
But sleep did not grant him mercy. Because that night, a dream came.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The world around him was hazy, edges blurred like a half-finished painting. A soft, golden glow illuminated everything, warm and inviting. He felt weightless, his body submerged in something that wasn’t quite reality.
He was standing in the bedroom.
But it was… different.
The air was thick—humid—like the aftermath of a long shower. A faint scent of cologne lingered, rich and undeniably familiar. His breath came slow, deep, like he was waiting for something, anticipating something.
And then— A voice, low and smooth, brushed against his ear.
" Lost in thought, mon chéri?"
Yoru’s body locked up. He turned, but Chamber was already there.
Too close.
Standing before him, golden tattoos gleaming against the dim light, Chamber met his gaze with something unreadable—something dark, something intoxicating.
Yoru’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t speak.
Chamber stepped closer, slow and deliberate, the heat of his body pressing into Yoru’s space. His scent—something expensive, musky, and maddeningly good—wrapped around him, making it impossible to think.
Yoru should move. He should say something. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was physically unable to get away.
Chamber’s lips curled into a smirk, and fuck, Yoru hated how easily that look sent a shiver down his spine. His oh-so-kissable lips.
"You keep staring, mon cœur." His voice was soft, teasing, yet dangerous. Yoru’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He felt flutters in his stomach. “I’m—” The word barely left his lips before Chamber tilted his head, bringing their faces closer. Yoru instinctively leans in.
His fingertips brushed along Yoru’s wrist—just barely, just light enough to send sparks up his arm. Yoru felt the warmth of it travel straight to his stomach. A display of dominance and affection. "What is it?" Chamber murmured, voice like silk. Yoru’s breath hitched. His mind screamed at him to move, to say something, anything, but his body betrayed him—because he wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t pushing Chamber off like he should. Instead, he stood there, wanting.
Needing.
Chamber’s fingers ghosted over his jaw, the touch featherlight—a question.
A test.
Yoru swallowed hard. His throat was dry, his entire body burning. Chamber exhaled, and Yoru felt it—warm and slow, just against his lips. Too close. His gaze flickered downward, traitorous, lingering on Chamber’s lips for a fraction too long. Chamber’s smirk widened. "I see."
Then—
Lips met lips.
Yoru’s world shattered.
Heat exploded through his body as Chamber kissed him, slow and deep, like he’d been waiting for this.
His hands found Yoru’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest, and fuck—fuck—Yoru felt like he was drowning. His lips wet.
He should pull away.
He should stop this. But he didn’t.
Instead, his hands found Chamber’s shoulders, gripping tight, as if anchoring himself from the storm inside him. His mouth moved on instinct, parting, letting Chamber taste him, steal the breath from his lungs, ruin him completely.
The kiss deepened. The weight of his body pressing down.
Yoru moaned—a small, helpless sound, one he immediately hated himself for. Chamber chuckled against his lips, low and knowing.
Yoru hated that sound. (He didn’t.)
Chamber pressed him back—against the wall, against the bed, he didn’t know, he didn’t care.
All he knew was the heat. The weight. The way Chamber’s hands traveled lower, grasping, exploring, pulling him under.
Yoru gasped as Chamber’s lips left a trail—his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. The heat of his breath evident as he went down— Fuck.
He was burning up.
He was going to—
He woke up.
—-------------------------------------------------------
Yoru moaned. His body arched. He jerked upright, gasping, body slick with sweat. His chest heaved, his breath ragged as he took in the dim room, the weight of reality crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His breath was ragged, his sheets damp, his body aching.
The dream—it was just a dream.
His skin was burning, his thighs sticky.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
His stomach twisted as he shifted, feeling the dampness in his underwear, the undeniable evidence of what had just happened.
His heart pounded. His face burned. Panic shot through him like a bullet.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, mortified.
Not only had he dreamed of Chamber—he had fucking come in his sleep.
Over him.
His body betrayed him.
His face burned as he glanced to his side.
He shoved his face into his pillow.
Chamber was still asleep, lying on his stomach, his bare back exposed through the dress shirt. The sheets were just barely covering his waist, teasing the curve of his spine. His hair was a tousled mess, and his breathing was slow, steady. He looked gorgeous as the morning light beamed on his skin. Highlighting his golden tattoos and striking stupidly handsome face.
Completely unaware.
Thank fuck.
Yoru inched away, horrified, his hands clenched into fists. He needed to fix this. Clean up. Forget this ever happened. Because it meant nothing.
Nothing at all. Right?
Right.
…Right?
He was so fucked.
Yoru laid there, paralyzed, his mind racing a hundred miles per hour. His body still buzzed from the aftershocks of the dream, the vivid images seared into his brain like a goddamn brand. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
This wasn’t happening.
He refused to accept it. He refused to acknowledge what it meant. His throat felt tight as he carefully—painstakingly—peeled the covers off his body, wincing at the cool air meeting his damp skin. He needed to get up. Needed to fix this before Chamber woke up. Needed to pretend this never fucking happened.
He moved with the stealth of a trained assassin, sliding off the bed in slow, deliberate motions. The last thing he wanted was to wake Chamber up and have him ask why Yoru was sneaking out of bed like a goddamn criminal.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a spare towel from the nightstand and pressed it against his thighs, a burning wave of shame creeping up his spine. His hands curled into fists. His heart still pounded, his skin still tingled from the phantom touches of his dream.
Get a grip. Get a fucking grip.
As quietly as possible, he tiptoed toward the bathroom, praying to every deity in existence that Chamber stayed asleep.
The soft creak of the door nearly made him jump out of his skin, but Chamber didn’t stir. Yoru slipped inside, locking the door behind him before pressing his forehead against it. His breath was ragged, his entire body a mess of nerves.
He braced himself against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face was flushed, his hair a mess, and his expression was one of absolute, undeniable horror.
"What the fuck," he whispered to himself.
He turned on the faucet, cupping his hands under the icy stream before splashing it onto his face. It did nothing to ease the burning heat crawling up his spine. His mind kept replaying the dream.
His underwear clung to him, humiliatingly damp.
He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. He needed to clean up. Fast. And then? He’d bury this memory so deep in his subconscious that not even Killjoy’s fancy tech could retrieve it.
He exhaled sharply, peeling off his soiled underwear with a grimace.
He stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast, scalding hot. Maybe if he burned himself alive, he’d be free from the weight of this fucking dream.
But even as the water hit his skin, even as he scrubbed himself raw, he couldn’t erase the ghost of Chamber’s touch from his mind.
The way he kissed him.
The way he held him.
The way he whispered, "Mon cœur," like Yoru belonged to him.
Yoru slammed his fist against the shower wall, chest heaving. No. It wasn’t real.
It was just his stupid, traitorous brain screwing with him. This didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
If it did…
He was so fucked.
This was just stress. Just a stupid, meaningless wet dream. His body reacting to pent-up frustration, nothing more. It didn’t mean anything. Didn’t mean anything.
Then why did it feel so real?
He stopped the light shower. He grabbed another towel, dampened it, and wiped himself down as quickly as possible, trying not to think too hard about the situation. About why his body had chosen Chamber—of all people—to do this over.
Yoru didn’t like him. He tolerated him at best. The man was an arrogant, flirtatious bastard with a stupidly perfect face and an infuriating amount of charm.
And yet— Yoru slammed his fist against the sink, gripping the porcelain until his knuckles turned white. No. He was going to get rid of this feeling. And then, he was going to walk out of this bathroom, pretend nothing happened, and never think about it again.
That was the plan. And Yoru would stick to it.