Title: All the time in the world
Author: Carmarthen (lacorneille@earthlink.net)
Fandom/Pairing: James Bond movies, Die Another Day; Zao/Moon (Graves)
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine. Bond is Ian Fleming's and the movies are property of MGM and probably a few other companies. I really, really want Zao, though, and Graves is a woobie, albeit an evil one.
Rating: R for language, references to homosexuality, and quasi-explicit sex (I'm working on it, okay?).
Spoilers: For Die Another Day. Loads of them.
Warnings: Gay sex, amorality, not-quite-multiple-personalities, world domination, and present tense.
Summary: Moon is starting to lose hold of himself in Graves. Zao is there.
Archive: I am a Fandom of One here, I think: my personal site (http://thewritegirls.populli.net/carmarthen). If you actually want to archive it for some reason, feel free to ask.
Notes: afrai made me. Amara nagged me into finishing it and expanding the smut from, um, one sentence to two paragraphs. Baby steps, here. And no one else was writing it! "All the time in the world" is a lyric from On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Hopefully the Graves/Moon thing actually works, that they're the same person only...not.

for the most fabulous afrai: happy really late Chinese New Year, or birthday, or something
with many thanks to Amara for being a fabulous beta and nagger

All the time in the world

For months, all of Moon's too-few dreams have been of Zao, and so when he opens his eyes to find Zao, albeit a pale-skinned Zao with a diamond-studded face, looking down at him, he thinks at first that it is merely another dream, his sanity slipping further from him.

But he stands, slowly, and Zao does not disappear.

Zao lifts his hood and slides off his sunglasses to reveal uncanny blue eyes. He looks down and away, with something between shame and fear in his posture, then looks up again to meet Moon's gaze. His head is shaven now, and Moon has a brief visceral memory of fisting his hands in Zao's hair, Zao pressing him back against his desk hard enough to leave bruises the next day and -- but that had been Korea. This is now.

Zao evidently sees whatever he had been looking for in Moon's eyes, for he says in Korean, his tone gruff and a faint smile playing about his lips, "You look terrible."

Moon replies, "You aren't looking too good yourself." It feels good to speak Korean again.

Zao grins openly then, and Moon lets the corner of his mouth quirk up in Graves' sneering half-smile, and they embrace. This feels like home, the scent and solid warmth of Zao, his face pressed for a moment against Zao's shoulder.

Zao pulls back slightly, but does not dislodge Moon's hand on his arm. He glances briefly down at Alvarez's machine. "You're still feeling the side effects?" His voice is gentle, and Moon thinks that he really doesn't deserve Zao's concern at all.

Moon shrugs. "The insomnia is permanent for me. An hour a day in the dream machine keeps me sane." Not precisely the truth, but he can hardly explain his current fracturing of reality to himself, much less Zao.

He touches Zao's jaw lightly with his fingertips and turns Zao's face to the side so the diamonds catch the light. "What happened to you?"

Zao half-smiles, and says bitterly, "Bond."

The surge of hatred that rises in Moon's breast then surprises him somewhat. That Bond dared to harm Zao -- he will enjoy Bond's death more than he had anticipated. "He knows nothing. I've been this close to him and he still didn't know who I really was."

He turns away from Zao abruptly, and asks, "You saw my father after you were exchanged?"

Zao's voice reveals nothing. "Yes. General Moon still mourns your death."

Moon stares at his reflection in the mirror mounted over the control desk. "My death," he says softly, his voice trailing off into a bitter laugh. The face in the mirror has become all too familiar these past months. Sometimes he almost thinks of it as his.

Zao's eyes in the mirror are kind, and his hand is warm on Moon's arm, through his sleeve. "Tan-Sun--"

Moon shakes his head sharply and covers his face with one hand, so Zao won't see the harsh twist of his mouth and the self-hatred in his eyes. He keeps the other arm wrapped hard around his ribs. "He is dead," he says, but leans back into Zao's warmth anyway, into the hard arm sliding around his waist and the memory that is Zao. Reality and memory blur more every day. Zao represents all that is real: off-duty sparring, the hard, exhilarating match of flesh and bone; lazy, hot summer nights in Korea, when the humidity was almost palpable and they couldn't bear to touch more than the tips of their fingers while they slept; fierce, desperate sex in Moon's office whenever they could steal time.

Iceland is cold. England is colder. Moon misses the heat.

"Zao," Moon breathes, hating the way his voice shakes, hating its quaver, its affected accent, hating that whenever he speaks now, all he hears is Graves. "I've missed you." He turns in Zao's arms, and Zao cups his jaw in one careful hand, strokes against the sensitive spot behind his ear. Then he leans down slightly and kisses him, rough and urgent, and thought vanishes.

They make it to Graves's living quarters in a blur of kissing and fumbling at each other's clothes, and Moon is suddenly intensely grateful that he'd had a bed put in. It has been nearly fifteen months since they saw each other last, and Moon is distantly surprised Zao has the control to unfasten their clothing, because he certainly doesn't.

Then skin, and heat, and Zao's body over his, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine that it is like what it was before. He could almost thank Bond for that, that Zao is still the same under his hands and mouth, not like his own body -- Graves's body -- in which he doubts he will ever feel comfortable. Almost.

He fumbles with one hand in the drawer next to the bed for lotion, even as Zao's weight presses him back into the cool cotton sheets and Zao's mouth closes over one nipple. Moon arches against him and gasps, and Zao takes the lotion from him and bites lightly at his shoulder.

Zao aligns their cocks with one lotion-slicked hand and strokes firmly. Moon pulls Zao's hips harder against his, pressing upwards, and guides Zao's mouth to his. They thrust against each other in a slick tangle of limbs, and with the almost painfully sweet singing of pleasure in his body, Moon forgets about everything. For one long moment he is no-one but himself in Zao's arms.

He lies on his back, after, Zao's arm heavy over his chest, and it still feels good and right for a few minutes. Then he remembers, or forgets -- he is never really sure anymore -- and Graves returns, reminding him that he has plans that need carrying out. Moon feels infinitesimally more comfortable in this skin, as he does whenever he relearns something familiar, but he can't look at Zao now, can't bear to look at him and remember how they used to be. Zao is not so different now that he does not remind Moon of the past.

Damn Bond for driving them to this.

Zao stirs next to him, stretching, and faint blue light from outside flickers off the diamonds embedded in his face. Moon thinks he must be a terribly perverse man to find them attractive.

It is difficult to voice, but it must be asked: "Zao?"

Zao opens one pale eye to look at him and makes a noncommittal, satiated noise that makes Moon want to kiss him again, and then fuck him until he can't walk.

No; he must not be distracted. "Does it bother you that I am...not as I was?" His voice shakes a bit on the last word, and he hates this new vulnerability, and the voice and body that make it so hard to hide.

Zao shifts onto his side, leans over and presses a kiss to the corner of Moon's mouth, and lays his hand flat over Moon's breastbone. "You will always be Tan-Sun here," he says quietly.

Moon supposes that is all the answer he will ever get from Zao, but it is enough.

"I don't deserve you," he says, and laughs, but it doesn't come out right. It's Graves' laugh, that annoying supercilious chuckle, and it wasn't what he had meant at all.

Zao understands, though, and he brushes his lips across Moon's forehead. He smiles faintly, and murmurs, "We can't stay here all night." There is hardly any regret in his voice, and Moon thinks that Zao doesn't really know what they are about to begin. This is his fault; he should have told him more, earlier, when there was still time to back out. He hadn't meant to let things go this far without telling Zao first.

Zao's scars are his fault. He had been too arrogant, had underestimated Bond. The small scar on Zao's shoulder is his fault. Had he sent word sooner, Zao would never have tried that suicidal stunt with the Chinese.

No -- it is too late for guilt, too late for regret. Moon lets his hand linger on Zao's cheek, and adds I'm sorry, to the words he can never say to Zao. Pride can be a double-edged sword.

"No," he finally says, and there is regret in Graves' voice.

Gustav Graves has places to go, people to see, a world to conquer. The West is weak and corrupt; it will fall before him and the new sun. Tomorrow, the world will lie at his feet, and for him and Zao -- well, they have all the time in the world.

Extremely Silly Outtake Which Totally Ruins the Mood of the Preceding
(highlight to read)

Return to Fanfiction by Carmarthen

All text and web design, in regards to thewritegirls.populli.net/carmarthen is Copyright © 2000-2002 "Carmarthen." All other trademarks, characters, pictures, and music cited and contained herein are the property of their respective owners.