driftfleet ic contact. (audio, video, text, action.)

[astrobleme]

[There's just a generic, computer-synthesized greeting that implores you to leave a message at your convenience.]

Comments

[astrobleme]

[Wrong? Shinji opens his eyes, then, revealing a quality that's both alarmed and tender. Several years ago, Shinji would have said this is wrong. Two boys weren't supposed to touch each other this way. Marriage was meant for a man and a woman, perfectly complementary, with procreation as a goal more so than emotion. He didn't know any better, so he clung to those moral lessons, his world view unchallenged. All of that unraveled rapidly as soon as he looked a little harder and noticed how much people suffered from prejudice and so on. It wasn't something he could change--he's ineffective--he's a nobody--but he could at least treat people better than the world treated them.

He didn't really realize he could be like that until he met Kaworu, though. And he honestly did wrestle with that attraction, unable to understand how he could like girls and boys at the same time. It's still kind of mystifying. But now...]

I don't think it's wrong at all.

[Now, Shinji stops strangling Kaworu's shirt so he can smooth a hand down his back. It's a maternal gesture, too, but one he's learned all on his own. He just wants to protect Kaworu while he's in this very vulnerable state. Being alone together...

Despite the Heron's chilly air, his face is warm like a summer afternoon.]

Yeah. Let's go.

[He finds and clasps one of Kaworu's slim hands, before leading him away from the cargo bay. They first stop off at the bathroom, where Shinji coaxes Kaworu into washing his face and hands, and brushing his teeth, just in case. Then they sequester themselves in his--their?--private bunk for what Shinji hopes will be the rest of the night. Once Kaworu is sitting on the bed, Shinji actually kneels down to unlace Kaworu's shoes and tug off each of them. It feels nice to take care of Kaworu like this. Different, but nice.]

Socks on or off? [he asks, looking up with a smile.]

[paraclete]

[Though Kaworu's safely seated, he can feel the world pitching. His equilibrium has been betrayed completely by all the alcohol he drank, but it feels more like maybe the ship they're on is weaving through their black surroundings like a glossy dragonfly. Yeah, something skimming one of those marshes he's always wanted to visit. Kaworu can imagine himself as being miniscule enough to passenger the flight of a dragonfly. There are Lilin even littler than that. If Lilith had been his mother, would he be able to fit on a dragonfly's wing? Would he be something other than human?

But, kneeling, Shinji looks small, too. There's something wrong about it. Even addled, Kaworu can recognize that there's something wrong about Shinji being below him in this way. Groggy, trying to slog his way out of a dream, Kaworu thinks, I should be down there with him. No; He should be up here. But the primeval tickle in his belly likes the situation. Shinji's gentle hands. Shinji's face turned up towards him, the sweetest flower. Pretty eyes. Blue. They're blue. And attention, and care, and a warmth that Kaworu could bend and reach for.

He'll fall over if he bends. He knows that much. Still, when he moves, it's deliberately, with foggy but calculated movements through which he wobbles.] I don't care if they stay on, [he says, even as he maneuvers so that he's on the floor, first balancing on all fours, then scooting closer. After a moment, he's positioned so that his knees are close to Shinji's, and he straightens up and reaches out so he can take Shinji's face in both of his hands.] Don't be down here all by yourself. I won't let you. [For once, his hands are warm. His face is warm, too.] You were too far away when I was up there without you. [Some cultures believe that Hell is just an absence of God. In your presence there is fullness of joy. Hell denies that promise. Shinji's face was feet away from Kaworu's, and it felt colder than the moon. Now that they're together again, there's sunlight. He leans in even further, eyes bright.] Now I can look at your face closely and it's so pretty that I want to do it forever. And I can feel you. I want to do that forever, too. Leave my socks on, or take them off; it doesn't matter if I get to be like this with you.

[astrobleme]

[Socks on. Socks on, Shinji thinks, and thinks again, if only because Kaworu's feet have moved out of range. Kaworu himself is that much closer, knees almost touching, hands splaying like curls of ivy. There's no chance of Shinji interrupting that--this--this monologue, it could be called--while he's cradled and stared at and staring back in turn. His smile recedes, a sun moving behind branches, but not because he's anywhere near to upset. He's still very warm. Kaworu's hands mysteriously feel even warmer.]

I wasn't... that far away, really... [But it was too far away by Kaworu's estimation. Shinji would think that's weird, maybe invasive, maybe even disturbing, if it had been anyone else saying so. In Kaworu's voice, it sounds like another compliment: Shinji has his own field of gravity. He has always admired Jupiter for having so much gravitational force.

No equation could describe how drawn in he feels and he wants to be. How badly he wants to be closer until there's no distance left between their bodies. His tongue is uneasy pink nervousness somewhere behind his teeth. He says,] If you want to look at me, then look at me. And if you want to... feel me, then... [Is he going to kiss me? Or rather, Am I supposed to kiss him? More importantly, is this where they're going to kiss for the first time? On the cold, unyielding floor of a room in a spaceship on an interdimensional reality TV show? None of this is what Shinji imagined for their first kiss, when he dared to imagine a first kiss at all.

He didn't imagine it would be so soft and inexplicable, either. His eyes are slivers of blue and then less than that when their lips finally come together.]

[paraclete]

[Something inside of Kaworu is pitching forward. Upward. And, worse than anything, backward, into adolescence. Real adolescence. Those formative years he can't change. Repeat, Kaworu says; don't dwell on the past; but it's always at his heels. Yeah, he dwells. He dwells now, as his palms hold Shinji's face, as his mouth holds a million secrets. The warmth and give of lips, at least, is no longer one of those secrets between them. Finally they're sharing one of those somethings Kaworu wouldn't talk about — right now, it feels like he's talking about it. A kiss is its own sort of communication. His nerve endings are striking up a conversation with Shinji's own. But there are still furtive words low in his throat. I wanted this. He wanted it so much that he took it. Back then, it was the wrong decision. Ikari gasping. Kaworu's own greed for sharing air and contact. I wanted this. He inhales, and he keeps kissing Shinji.

He doesn't know if he really remembers what that first kiss felt like. It was a long time ago, and the experience has been muddied over time by sorrow and self-loathing. What he does know is that this is barely like it. There's the greed, yeah, which he felt as a child and still feels now. The desire that's warped and exaggerated into need. But there's no panic here, no scrabbling for balance — they are balanced; they are harmonized; they are perfectly in sync, having met each other in the middle. As long as this kiss lasts, Kaworu doesn't feel guilty. Maybe it's a freedom found in alcohol, or perhaps Shinji's body is what absolves Kaworu — but for once, for once, his joy is a clear spring, not toxic with disgrace. It's enough to make him—

He laughs. There's such a bubbling of elation in his body that it comes out as laughter, first tickling at Shinji's lips before Kaworu pulls back a couple of inches. His laugh is soft but unrestrained, different from his usual mild composition. His hands still hover at Shinji's jawline, but he presses his cheek against his friend's and sags with relief.]

I told you I wouldn't be disappointed, [he says, quiet, still on an upswing of delight. He draws back to look into Shinji's eyes. Despite that joy and his needless lungs, he looks breathless with anticipation, and flustered too.] Are you disappointed?

[astrobleme]

[I wanted this, too.

It's impossible to mistake Kaworu's laughter for anything other than what it is: his heart and soul, fully exposed. As much as Shinji wants to be cradled, he wants to do the same for Kaworu and ferry him someplace warm, someplace perfect. The floor's natural chill is irrelevant now. It could be a cloud of steam for how full and light Shinji feels when he inhales again, unsteadily, his ancient eyes glittering. This should have happened months and months ago. He should have leaned over and kissed Kaworu the first time he felt the inclination to. Before he learned this boy's name, even before that, Shinji knew he was going to orbit Kaworu throughout whatever's left of forever.

For now, Shinji is trying and failing to stifle his own laughter. He can't remember the last time he laughed--it must have been with Kaworu, but he can't remember why or what happened. There's nothing bitter or painful about these giggles. He swallows mouthfuls of them, only to hiccup with glee and keep giggling. He wants to seem cool and modest, not insanely desperate for affection.]

But... [He leans back in.] But it's just one kiss, [he confides, finally, tilting their heads together. The opportunity to touch Kaworu without reservation is the greatest gift.] If we keep trying it, I bet I'll disappoint you... sooner or later... [It's bold of him to suggest another kiss, but he doesn't see why not, why they shouldn't. They're both interested. Kaworu isn't disappointed. Shinji tries to imagine what it'll be like to wake up tomorrow next to someone who loves him and wants to kiss him and likes kissing him a lot. His newfound hope is more vibrant than an emission nebula's colors. He's so excited to find out; he can't stop smiling about it, not even if his life depended on it. The scent and barest taste of alcohol are enlivening to his senses.]

If I was disappointed, I wouldn't want more of this.