Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/46950.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Air_Gear
  Relationship:
      Akira_Udou/Agito_Wanijima
  Additional Tags:
      Angry_Sex, Dubious_Consent, Angst, Fighting, Minor_Violence, 1000-5000
      Words, Community:_yaoi_challenge
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-02-16 Words: 2981
****** DE:isolate ******
by Piru_(pyrefly)
Summary
     Akira seeks redemption. Agito won't let him.
Notes
     This was an entry into yaoi_challenge (on LJ) a while back. The
     prompt was, "Something dark and antagonistic, playing up their
     rivalry, all of the betrayal and other messy things going on in their
     dynamic, and the fact that they're both inherently violent people."
            DE : d(is)tance . c(ol)lision . (at)onement . pr(e)lude

I. distance;
Distance is a major factor in human affairs.
Distance is a numerical description of how far apart objects are at any given
moment in time—a measure of a spatial interval.
But distances are also relative. They are meaningless measurements until given
a standard of comparison. It is from these norms and paradigms that we derive
our so-called absolutes.
As he and Agito glare at each other across a mere three-meter expanse of the
dimly lit abandoned shed's floor, in the end, Akira is keenly aware that
distance is ultimately always a relative measure. He spent countless months
hiding underground, ignoring echoes of the past, but certain confrontations
seem to be inevitable, and now that he's finally face-to-face with the boy
who's as integral to his existence as he himself is, it's as though they
couldn't be further apart. There might as well be light-years between them.
Although Akira is the one who requested the encounter, it is Agito who finds
the courage to speak first.
Intently fixing his one eye on Akira's features, the blue-haired boy asks, “You
called this meeting—why? Speak, so we can get this over with.”
The words are not angry or spiteful. They are simply cold and
emotionless—which, Akira finds, probably hurts more than all the hate-filled
reproaches and infuriated diatribe he had expected. Rage, he knows. Rage he can
deal with. But dead words devoid of feeling are another matter entirely.
Akira is shaking his head. Words are not his expertise to begin with. He is not
one to carefully enunciate his thoughts because he is a creature who acts on
impulse and instinct. How can he verbally express what he cannot even clearly
explain to himself?
“I wanted to talk,” he says finally, throwing up a hand in an ultimately empty
gesture. “We didn't exactly get any opportunity to last time.”
Agito is still studying him carefully with that animal eye of his. Akira can
guess what is going on in the shark's head—calculating, is there an opening? a
weakness? should I be defensive?He probably thinks that it is all a trick, but
the real trick is that it isn't.
Despite his largely animal nature, Akira can no longer deny that there is also
enough of him that is human. For months, he had ignored that part of himself,
but when the past came back to confront his present at the Behemoth battle, he
was reminded of his own humanity. But the person he'd seen reflected in Agito's
feral eye was broken and incomplete.
And so he seeks to close the gap between them, if only for the sake of the
memory of a smile.
 
II. collision;
A collision is an isolated event in which two or more bodies each exert a force
upon the other, causing the exchange of energy or momentum, often resulting in
a crash or conflict.
Collisions are transdimensional and asymmetric.
Collisions can occur on the microscopic as well as the astronomic scale, from
atoms to galaxies of very different sizes.
Collisions are likely.
“What's there to talk about?”
Sure enough, he's on the defensive now, as though he's anticipating a sudden
sneak attack. “What do you want, Akira?”
Akira lifts his arms in a gesture of defeat, then lets them fall back down to
his sides when Agito visibly tenses, most likely expecting him to ball his
hands into fists. “Would you believe me if I said I might be looking for
redemption?”
That seems to surprise Agito a little, but only for a moment. Then, for the
first time, tell-tale signs of anger begin to appear in his face, in the furrow
of his brow and the twitching of the corner of his lips, and most of all, the
instant intensification of the dark look in his eyes.
“The Akira I once knew wasn't that weak,” he mutters, his voice low and dark,
his eye suspicious, searching.
Akira opens and closes his mouth a few times, vainly searching for words that
he know won't satisfy Agito anyway.
Shaking his head, he explains, “I can live with having been defeated by you,
but I can’t live with being your enemy.”
Agito growls menacingly. “We are enemies. Because of what you did to Akito, you
will always be my enemy.”
Akira blinks, rethinks his strategy. Akito. He had not expected Agito to be the
one to raise that topic.
But now that it has been mentioned, he would be a fool not to take advantage.
“Then let me speak to him! Let me apologize and try to rectify my actions.”
Even Akira isn't even sure how sincere he is. Certainly, apologies were not on
his agenda, as the beast inside him won't allow him to dwell on the past, won't
allow him to think in terms of right and wrong, fair and unjust. But he knows
that he can only succeed in talking reason into Akito, and, failing that, he
can use the white to get at the black half.
Instantly (yet not unexpectedly), the rage erupts from Agito's features like a
volcanic explosion. “Fuck no! You think I’ll let you speak to him? After you
broke his heart for the sake of that girl? You have lost all right to speak to
him.”
Akira takes that one like a physical blow to the chest. He had been expecting
the accusations, but when they finally hit him, the reality is more painful
than he had imagined. On the other hand, Agito's anger is not entirely
unwelcome, if only as an alternative to the stoicism he displayed before.
Emotion is useful.
So Akira decides to push on. “He can hear me right now, can’t he? You’re not
letting him speak, but that doesn’t mean he’s not listening.”
“He doesn’t want to speak to you,” Agito snarls, a little more guarded,
evasive.
Akira shakes his head and takes a step forward. “I don’t believe that. I
won’t.”
Agito tenses up, raises a hand and balls it into a fist as a warning. “You’d
better fucking believe it.”
“Akito! I know you can hear me. Talk to me! We have unfinished business, you
and I.” Akira continues to take slow, carefully measured but steady paces in
Agito's direction.
When Akira is within a meter's distance of him, Agito, trembling with fury,
strikes out with his arm as he yells, “You fucking moron! The only business you
have is with my fists!”
Despite Akira's attempt to dodge it, the punch manages to land a blow on his
forearm, leaving a stinging red mark that will surely produce a deep purple
bruise in the morning. But Akira doesn't pause to think about that. His leg is
already moving, instinct having taken over, and by hooking his foot around the
boy's ankle, he tackles the boy to the floor.
But Agito is quick on his feet, scraping his knees while he scrambles to get
up; the pain doesn't even register. An orange blur, he leaps forward, kicking
his knee out at the last second to impact Akira's stomach, but before he is
sent sprawling backwards, the older boy's hand strikes at Agito's face. The
slap leaves behind red marks and the nails deep scratches across the blue-
haired boy's cheek.
The temperature in the room has risen sharply, the air hot and muggy and
difficult to breathe, almost ironically recalling primeval jungles in the
ancient pasts, when great titans clashed and fought for dominance of the earth.
Akira strips off his shirt and fights to catch his breath as he rolls over into
a crouch, the beast's fighting instincts having entirely taken over. Gone are
the attempts to settle this matter with words. In the end, fists are the only
language the two of them understand.
Agito doesn't waste any time taking advantage of momentarily having the upper
hand. He kicks Akira in the side before crashing into him, and the two of them
topple back down to the floor. Agito is clawing at his face, trying to get
access to the exposed skin of Akira's neck, but the older boy is too well-
guarded, too quick to react, and a punch to the shoulder takes him completely
by surprise. Sparks of pain explode along his entire arm.
Akira tries to stand up, but Agito wrestles him back down to the ground, and
the two beasts grapple, searching for openings, vulnerabilities to expose. Just
as Akira's jaws clamp down on the skin of Agito's neck, the shark yanks his
head backward by his hair, but the teeth draw blood, and it is that sight, that
dually intoxicating and terrifying scent, more than anything, that brings Akira
back to himself.
Breathless and panting as he tries to hold Agito at a distance, he chokes out,
“Stop! We need to stop. I asked you here to talk, not to fight.”
Agito tears at Akira's arms, which try to impede his movements, but finds in
them a newly strengthened resolve that has as good as reinforced them with
iron. In an act of utter hopelessness, he jumps to his feet and tries to gain
the advantage that way, but Akira seems to anticipate his action, and before
finding the time to react, he finds himself pressed up against the wall.
Agito snarls like a cornered predator that has suddenly found itself the
hunted.
“We have nothing to talk about.” In Agito's eye and tone of voice, Akira
discerns a sudden note of desperation that he had failed to notice before.
“Don’t you understand? Akito is strong. Very soon now, he won't need me
anymore. Fighting you is the only thing I have left.”
But Akira continues to hold him down. The heat, the adrenaline, the sweet scent
of blood, and the tiny trembling body pressed against him make it hard to
think, to clear his head long enough to remember what he came here to do. He
only knows that this isn't how it's supposed to go. This isn't how he meant for
them to collide.
He shakes his head and whispers, “We don’t have to fight.”
 
III. atonement;
Atonement is the compensation for a sin or grave wrongdoing.
Atonement is often defined in terms of sacrifice.
Atonement is not limited to repentance, nor is it only about guilt and
forgiveness. Atonement is reconciliation.
Atonement is possible.
Agito continues to struggle violently, but Akira realizes that he has the upper
hand, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to push Agito down to the
floor. He shoves his fist into the boy’s sternum, sending him sprawling
backwards, and the impact with the concrete takes the wind out of the shark-
boy’s lungs. While Agito lays writhing, trying vainly to catch his breath,
Akira grabs hold of the boy's thin wrists and pins them to the floor above his
head. He crouches over him on all fours. Agito spits in his face. Akira just
shakes his head.
“We don’t have to fight,” he repeats, and then he slips his free hand down the
boy’s pants.
For just a second, Agito’s eyes widen in surprise, but it doesn’t last. He
growls as he knees Akira in the stomach, but the older boy seems unfazed and
does not loosen his grip on his wrists in the slightest. Instead, he retaliates
by collapsing on top of Agito. That much body weight is hard to struggle with.
Agito tries anyway.
But by then, Akira’s other hand has found its way to the boy's cock, holding it
in a firm grasp as he begins to slide his palm back and forth. He studies
Agito’s face carefully, watching as the feral look in the boy’s eyes gives way
to the slightest hint of fear and confusion. Agito grits his teeth and tries to
knee the older boy again, but Akira successfully pins his legs to the floor
with his own lower body. Akira pulls Agito’s boxers and pants down over his
hips, and the hand motions speed up.
Agito begins to pant in spite of himself, the sudden surge of heat in his loins
making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on finding an opening in
Akira’s defenses.
Akira, meanwhile, is growing quite a bulge in his own pants. He momentarily
halts his ministrations of Agito’s shaft long enough to unzip his pants and
free his own erection, then moves to stroke them off together.
Agito keeps trying to turn his moans into snarls, but it isn’t working very
well. The resulting purring sounds has a seductive effect on Akira, only
spurring him on.
When Agito’s cock begins to twitch with readiness, Akira lets go of their
erections, instead moving his hand to his own mouth, where he sucks on two of
his fingers, swirling his tongue around them to cover them in as much saliva as
possible. He keeps his eyes trained on Agito’s the entire time, gauging his
reaction. The boy glares back but struggles only minimally.
When he not-too-gently inserts those two fingers into Agito’s rear, however,
the boy protests by sinking sharp teeth into his left collarbone—not to be
mistaken with an ordinary love bite; Agito’s fangs might actually leave a scar.
But Akira is prepared and does not allow his grip to slack. After a while,
Agito seems to grow used to the pressure, and he stops writhing.
When he seems ready for it, Akira flips Agito over onto his stomach. This means
loosening his grip on Agito’s wrists for just a moment, but the boy is too out-
of-breath to take advantage of it.
Akira doesn’t lose time. With his one free hand to guide him, he begins to
slide his cock toward the small opening in Agito’s ass. Agito, however, seems
to sense what is coming and whips his head up behind him, sharply impacting
Akira’s cheekbone. That is sure to leave a mark.
But by that time, Akira is already pushing his way inside, and none of Agito’s
squirming can stop him. Agito lets out a primal scream of pain and rage and
desire. Akira can tell from the way the boy is sucking him in that, deep
inside, he wants it too.
When he has finally penetrated Agito’s ass to the hilt, he strokes the boy’s
hair and whispers, “Relax. I’m inside you.”
The boy tries to struggle a little more, squirming with his torso as if that'll
affect anything at this point. Akira massages his back, gentle up-and-down
strokes, in an attempt to calm him, and it seems to help some; he starts to
move and is not met with protest, although Agito doesn't quite yield to him,
either. Theirs is a dance of subjugation and ultimately fruitless yet
nonetheless insistent and stubborn resistance.
When they manage to fall into a steady rhythm, Akira flips Agito onto his back,
wanting to see his face as once more, the two half-beasts are one and the same.
Agito's one eye is unfocused, his face beaded with sweat as he tries to fight
the overwhelming lust. But the desire to mate is as strongly a part of their
animal instinct for blood, and it's very nearly as impossible to resist. Akira
can see the conflict in the boy's face as he can't really even muster the will
to fight it, and he loves it, revels in it.
He leans forward to bring their mouths together, pushing hard enough to bruise
as he forces his tongue inside. Agito retaliates by biting into the warm flesh,
and Akira half-yelps, half-snarls, pulling his mouth away as blood fills his
mouth and drips down the side. This time it's Agito's turn to lean in, and he
laps at the blood with his tongue like a kitten drinking milk. Akira purrs and
lets Agito have his fill before pressing their lips together again, and this
time, Agito doesn't fight it. The taste of blood intermingling with their
saliva, the kiss is all the more erotic, delicious and irresistible, and Akira
can feel himself begin to twitch inside of Agito.
At the same time, Agito throws his head back, a half-crazed moan issuing forth
from his lips as he comes, but more valuable than that is the faint hint of a
smile that Akira detects on the boy's lips during the height of their climax.
It lasts for but a moment, and then Agito collapses in Akira's arms, shuddering
violently as passionate convulsions give way to the afterglow.
“Forgive me,” Akira murmurs as he cradles the boy's limp body and gently rocks
him back and forth. “Forgive me.”
 
IV. prelude;
A prelude is a preliminary to an action, event, condition, or work of broader
scope and higher importance.
A prelude is often interrupted abruptly at its dynamic and harmonic climax.
The object of a prelude is to give time life.
Sunlight seeps into the shed through a window he doesn't remember was there.
Minutes pass and he doesn't even realize he's awake, until a faint breeze and
the rustle of leaves outside prompt him to distinguish reverie from reality.
When he tries to move, he suddenly becomes aware of the chain around his wrist,
the other end of which has been attached to a metal hook in the wall. The floor
beside him, on which he'd made a bed of their discarded clothes, is—not
surprisingly—empty. Agito is nowhere to be seen. The only trace he's left
behind is a small piece of paper with few pencil scribbles.
“You can’t protect him,” the note reads.
Akira leans back against the wall, resting his head on cool concrete, a half-
smile playing on his lips as he tosses away the note, not bothering with the
handcuff just yet.
“This isn't the end, Agito,” he muses, staring at the closed door as though he
can see the world beyond it. “It never is.”
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