Fundamental Physics
By: Mints12
Special thanks to HidingFromRealLife from Tumblr for editing this and also editing all my other delusional fujoshi stuff! This was my submission for Drrr rarepair month, there were a bunch of other great submissions so please check out the drrrrarepairmonth tag or the Tumblr page.
Please enjoy!
Distance
During the few idle moments that Mikado can find in the chaos of the Dollars and the Blue Squares, he thinks about distance. How far is far enough from Kuronuma-kun? How close is too close to Aoba?
Too far is hiding joy. When the last threads of sanity are threatening to slip through Mikado's fingers, Aoba spins halcyon days of conquests and boyish adventures. He pours sweet honey of adrenaline on Mikado's hungry tongue, he drops stinging alcohol on Mikado's wounds, and he bleeds red on Mikado's behalf. In face of such generosity, how can Mikado keep away? How can he not show his appreciation with care, his attachment with familiarity, and his excitement with happiness? No, he cannot stay at a hierarchal distance from Aoba.
But too close is showing doubt. Kuronuma-kun is a shark, circling around Mikado as he sits on the ground like a throne, staring at his kingdom through a screen. And while fear can be strength, doubt is nothing but weakness, like a hint of blood in clear waters. Kuronuma-kun will swallow him whole. There is no question of how capable he is in taking over Mikado's judgement, leaving Mikado in the dark, lost and helpless. Or maybe he'll tear Mikado apart. Maybe he'll slowly remove anything that Mikado can even recognize as himself, deliberately and systematically until Mikado is but the bones of his person. If Mikado comes even a little too close, there will be no Mikado.
Yet too far is not meeting Aoba's eyes. It is denying a shark his ocean. Or is it denying the ocean his shark? When eyes search his own, swim so comfortably in them, how can Mikado tell what's natural from what's right? Is it right to let Aoba dive into the depth of his soul and find all the terror that lies within? Is it natural for Aoba to favor this terror so much? But above all, Mikado wonders if an ocean even matters, if there's nothing swimming in it. So he meets those brown eyes and bares his cold vast soul, unable to look away.
However, too close is that middle seat in the van. It is the length of the arm, the inaudible heavy breathing and the concealing shadows. For if Mikado can trace those cryptic lips, he will. If Kuronuma-kun could hear Mikado's breath, he'll know. If either of them could see the other clearly, they won't look away. To feel the body heat, the hint of skin contact; it's all too close. Too close for what? For comfort? For escape? For sanity? Nevertheless, Mikado will never sit in that middle seat.
In the end, Mikado is not too far but he won't come too close. He'll smile but he won't cry. He'll look, but he won't touch. And Aoba-kun will remain at that one distance.
Time
For Aoba, all that matters is time, for all he needs a little more of it.
Aoba needs just a lifetime more of Mikado's world, a vast ocean of possibilities, from the peaceful reefs of everyday chatter to the turbulent waters of underground chaos. Mikado's eyes hold a liquid vision; his legs carry him on this ever-changing conviction while his hands build a solid empire atop it. And as if this whole city is but Mikado's dream, Aoba's soul yearns to worship, appease, and please this haven's creator. Like a shark that cannot breathe above the water, Aoba wonders if he will cease to exist the moment the ground breaks beneath Mikado's Atlantis. And he ponders whether one life will be enough or if he'll have to pray for reincarnation to have enough time to explore the vision in Mikado's bright blue eyes.
But if he can't have that, he'll take one more genuine conversation with his leader. Whether Mikado is the only real human or an anomaly amongst the cattle of civilization, Aoba cares not, but it has been a while since he could honestly proclaim his hatred for the whole of humanity. After all, how could he claim to hate a man that was both so genuinely kind and so genuinely cruel? Marked eternally on his hand by this honesty, Aoba only wants this same sentiment etched upon his heart. If he were to be hated, he wants to die by those hating hands. If he were loved, he'd let that love kill him just the same. As long as he could be enveloped completely in Mikado's feelings, no matter what those were, he would let those feelings suffocate him. So just one more word, or conversation, or a hundred more; Aoba could delude himself into a far off point of satisfaction at which he could let go of Mikado's honesty.
Sometimes it feels like just another skipped heart beat should be enough time with Mikado. If Aoba could taste the mixture of terror, admiration, and excitement just one more time at the hands of his leader and feel a shiver run up his spine like a haphazard caress, then maybe he can let go before it all sinks to the bottom… No. Who was he kidding? When was he ever satisfied with so little time? If he were to measure his time with skipped heartbeats, then he'd want them all, on repeat, until he dies of bliss.
But he can't go without one more quiet night looking at Mikado's eyes; those large orbs so uniquely blue that only the vast cold ocean can ever compare in beauty and magnificence. They hold both terror and wonder at their depth and threaten to drown any man that dare dive in. And yet they are so very tempting, especially when the sun shines with no clouds in sight and a man would willingly die just to remain in those blues. But if Aoba's honest, he wants the whole of Mikado. He wants that witty tongue with thin lips that sometimes curve in a cryptic smile. He wants that lithe figure and pale unmarked skin that rarely peeks from under his clothes. And he does not even want to imagine what he would do if he ever got what he wanted. He would never dream of how soft but slightly chapped those lips would be or how smooth that skin would feel at his fingertips. Most of all, he would never dare picture himself marking the untainted flesh of his leader. For if he had the time to imagine, it would be best to spend that time savoring the view in front of him before it slips between his fingers.
Alas, no amount of time ever seems to be enough to admire, fear, lust, or worship. Aoba is faced with the reality that time waits for no one and theirs was coming to an end.
Mass
When Mikado found that they were about to become too far apart and Aoba recognized their time coming to an end, Mikado closed in, Aoba forgot time and their focus shifted to mass.
A slight pressure on his lips was what started it all for Aoba as he sat on a couch in their hideout, that and added weight on his shoulders in the form of shaky hands. The pressure was unbearable, too light and over too quickly. Aoba pulled at the retreating hands, bringing a pair of lips back to his own. Their tongues met like crashing waves: chaotic, passionate, and unrelenting. Those same shaky hands caressed the back of Aoba's neck; he could feel a shiver run up his spine. It all seemed like a dream, but how could any illusion recreate the exact weight of his leader straddling him?
Mikado was done staring at Aoba's lips or imagining touching them; now he was kissing them fervently. And forget hearing Mikado's nervous breathing, Aoba could hear his heart beat right out of his rib cage with how close they were. Aoba pushed them both down into the couch and Mikado finally knew what it felt like to carry the full weight of his subordinate, although not as a leader. No, there was definitely nothing hierarchal about their position right now. There were hands in his hair and then under his shirt and then his shirt was gone. Mikado could feel the scar on Aoba's right hand travel up and down the side of his torso. But the lips on his lips remained, until they too decided to explore elsewhere.
Finally getting that tempting pale skin of the collarbone exposed and within his reach, Aoba wasted no time marking it. The bone was hard on his teeth, yet the skin was so supple. His teeth continued to explore, particularly liking the teeth imprint he left at the junction between Mikado's neck and left shoulder. Too bad he couldn't leave one of those on Mikado's ear, the cartilage and skin refusing to bruise, but perhaps the red flush of his whole face was a mark on its own. Deciding to paint more red on Mikado's skin, Aoba set out on a quest to leave hickeys on a path around Mikado's chest.
Mikado was being devoured. A set of strong teeth sank into his flesh time and time again and indeed, Mikado felt like he was losing himself bite after bite. Yet he was not afraid. If anything, he only wished to lose himself even more in this moment. So he moaned to tempt his predator and offered himself with an arched back. His hands pulled his predator closer, pushing his head to the flesh he wanted to offer next. He surrendered his all to Aoba, feeling the bliss of being the prey.
When Mikado felt a faint push at his entrance, he did not hesitate to open up. Come what may, Mikado was in no state of mind to stop Aoba from exploring his depth. So he let fingers and a tongue explore for however long Aoba wished and felt at a strange loss when the tongue couldn't go deeper and the fingers couldn't stretch wider. He needed more; he begged for more, pushing and pulling on Aoba's hair like an ocean tide.
Aoba was surprised at the warmth that enveloped him the moment he entered Mikado. It was tight and hot, nothing like the ocean he once imagined, yet it was no less enticing. Aoba took a couple moments just relishing the feeling of being right where he was supposed to be until he heard Mikado whine. Slowly, he thrust deep into Mikado, again and again, feeling his mind slowly slip away. Overwhelmed with pleasure, shortness of breath, and burning muscles, Aoba could only remember the moment his body collapsed in the aftermath, the weak push of Mikado's chest against his own and the pull of gravity keeping them skin to skin.
Not long after, they really did run out of time. Whether by Mikado's will or by the nature of their relationship, the distance between them was too great to ever again cross. But they never forgot that moment when all that mattered was the heat of their skin and the mass of their bodies, when Aoba was just close enough and time with Mikado seemed infinite.