Aurora Borealis
Not Recommended
He probably ought to feel ashamed, now. After all, he's rather certain that it's not in the recommendation book to have sex with your male, engaged friend-turned-enemy less than twenty-four hours after your reunion. It's probably very dumb for a whole lot of reasons.
Then again, it's not as though Kira has ever read some stupid book about military guidelines concerning how to behave in seriously weird and angst-filled situations, and it's certainly not as though he regrets it. Actually, he feels better this… well, since the clock reads 1:05 PM it isn't exactly morning anymore, but it feels like it since he's still in bed… than he has for a long time, the last few hours excluded. Warm and comfortable he buries deeper into the bedclothes, snuggling more tightly against Athrun. The fact that the contact is skin-to-skin, being that they're both quite nude, hunts a blush over his face, filling him with embarrassment, joy and excitement.
Brushing blue hair out of his still sleep-tainted face, Athrun smiles at him. "Morning, again."
"You too," Kira purrs.
The other's arms firm their hold around him even as green eyes go distant and their owner speaks into the pillow. "Sorry. I probably shouldn't have."
"What shouldn't you have?" He's very grateful that the sleepy, loving warmth keeps most of the heavy cold in his stomach at bay – Athrun's voice is too serious, by far.
"Taken advantage of your situation."
Unable to decide whether to be hurt by the causal dismissal of his consent or touched by the care for him, he settles on mild seriousness. "You did nothing you shouldn't have. I love you in spite of the situation, not because of it." Though perhaps some of the eagerness to have Athrun 'take advantage of' him again is triggered by the invading thoughts of the Archangel – it's essential absolution to have something safe to cling to and be absorbed in while remembering the crying and retching and the fight and losing control and leaving his charges to what, for all his hopes, might be an unbearable fate. "Kiss me," he mumbles, inching his face closer to his… lover's, rather than friend's. The thought brings heat to his cheeks. "Kiss me," he says, and Athrun does.
He does, and it's gorgeous, it's everything it's supposed to be. "Love you," he whispers into Kira's mouth, into a slow, sweet, sultry kiss that's more of an affirmation than an invitation. Even so they might have quite possibly proceeded to spend this day as well in bed, had the Strike pilot's stomach not chosen that moment to growl.
Athrun laughs as he releases him, leaning over the edge of the bed to fish for his clothes. "I guess it was quite a while since you ate," he says. "I don't think you should try walking on that leg just yet, and with the holiday the place is practically deserted – mind waiting here while I get us some food?"
"I'll be fine." They share another kiss before the blunette leaves, semi-decent now in loose pants and unbuttoned shirt. In his wake Kira stretches slowly, inspecting the little room more thoroughly. The fact that's it's located in a hospital ward shines through the whiteness of the decor – white walls, white ceiling, white sheets. Even the floor is only a pale grey, and what little furniture there is also carries soft pastel hues or shining metal sparkles. The door Athrun exited through and left slightly ajar leads, from what Kira can see, into a non-descript hallway, and the only other door is probably the bathroom's. Very likely that too will be pale. What clothing his lover left on the floor constitue the only splotches of color – the pajama he himself woke up dressed in are as white as everything else. Speaking of that, he probably ought to take the opportunity to get dressed. He's somewhat reluctant to, though; it wouldn't be just putting on clothes, it would be to cover the skin Athrun has touched.
In the end he smiles at his own folly and reaches for the pajama. Fortunately it's no far away – if it were, he might have had some trouble reaching it since he can't exactly move freely. His broken leg doesn't precisely hurt, and the glue-like bandage surrounding it is a good deal suppler than the gigantic white caging Tolle had to endure when he broke his arm, but it's still a struggle to get into the pants.
Despite how long that takes him, how slow every one of his movements seems to be after ingesting that potion yesterday, it's a good while before Athrun returns. Just shy of thirty minutes is rather a long time to fetch breakfast, and it feels longer when you're sitting in a somewhat-hostile military ship waiting.
Upon finally arriving the blunette carries a tray containing the kind of treats Kira has longed for during his entire stay on the poorly stacked Archangel but that now appear completely irrelevant, isn't at all what he needs. Clearly sensing his agitation, Athrun hurries to put the meal down on the bedside table; Kira throws his arms around his waist as fast as he's close enough, shutting his eyes against the other's chest but unable to stop a few hot tears from slipping through. It isn't until after Athrun has twisted around to embrace him in return and is cuddling him and asking what's wrong that he stops to think about how pathetic a reaction this is.
Gods, I've fought battles and been moments from dying, and here I am, crying because I was left alone for half an hour?
Probably it has something to do with tensions easing, Athrun acting as his safety and making it all right to vent. I'm okay with struggles, I can handle mobile suits and commanders, if it's with him. But I can't be without him anymore.
"Don't let me go," he husks.
"I won't," Athrun assures him, "Not ever."
Kira tightens his grip around him. Me either. After that he feels better, sufficiently so that he'd probably have been embarrassed about the few teardrops still clinging to his cheeks were it now for the utter tenderness with which Athrun brushes them away.
"Are you all right? Good, then how about some breakfast? I don't know if you still like this, but…"
"I do," he smiles, accepting a bowl filled with cereal of a brand he loved when they attended prep. school together. "I can't believe you have all this stuff on the ship, though. That's why you took so long?"
On the Archangel they didn't even have water to spare, but apparently it's not too much trouble to find fruit and different kinds of bread on a ZAFT vessel.
"We don't normally," Athrun admits, "but we're currently in port and fortunately it seems the remaining staff went to shop for foodstuffs yesterday." His face grows serious. "I was delayed due to a call from the commander."
Kira pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "What did he want?" Must be something urgent, if he contacts Athrun about it after speaking to him just yesterday. Don't let it be the Archangel. Don't let it be fighting. If it is, he can't even help him, not with the potion incapacitating him. For the first time he genuinely hates the drug.
"About…" His lover hesitates. "You're standing isn't exactly simple. You know, we normally do question prisoners. Sometimes roughly. And you sided with the naturals and traveled with the legged ship. We're very lucky that Commander Le Klueze sees things the way he appears to."
"Explain," Kira tells him, a thick knot in his stomach. "Everything."
"For starters, Le Klueze has evidently decided that he values the possibility of your support more than any information he might get from you through hearings and what political points could be gained from punishing you as a traitor. Apparently he feels the best way to deal with the situation is to leave you with me and hope that the bond between us will draw you over to this side. Unfortunately the commander is subservient to the Supreme Council, so he can't contradict them if they should choose to take the matter into their own hands. However, he is on good terms with most of them, particularly my father, which is a very good thing, cause it was a long time since I even tried to play in politics, and I don't think I have a lot of influence over father, who will not take kindly to you. Considering your skill he might have been willing to overlook your association with the naturals, were it not for the fact that his carefully arranged engagement between me and Lacus Clyne will be called off. He… really won't be happy about that."
Remembering the tall, haughty man nodding approval at Athrun's grades, Kira asks, "What do you expect he'll do?"
"I'm not sure. He's been more aggressive since mother's death, and he's rising in power in the Council. He might not do anything at all. Or he could demote me, disown me, kick us both out of PLANT. I don't think he'd do that, but there's also the possibility he'd court martial you."
Kira's pretty sure he should have a reaction to that.
"The commander suggested I speak to the Clynes," Athrun continues, "which, however uncomfortable, I must admit is a good idea. Though he probably won't remain Chairman, mr Clyne is still very influential and has a considerably friendlier attitude towards people in general and naturals in particular than the majority of the Council. Given her popularity as a singer, Lacus too has a lot of say when she chooses to use it, and she spoke very kindly of you after she was returned from the Archangel. They'll probably be inclined to help you, but I'm not sure how much it's safe to disclose about, well, us. I have no idea how Lacus will feel about it, but it's not as if she likes me or anything. Her father will probably be disappointed, though."
Kira attempts a shaky laugh, but swallows it along with his next bite. "What are we going to do?"
A determined cast to his face, Athrun gives him and steady look and a reassuring smile. "You are going to finish your breakfast and concentrate on getting better. Things'll turn out all right. And anyway, with you having taken that potion, nobody can expect you to make any final decisions and it's physically impossible for you to provide any help. For now, we'll just make sure you're okay. I got the impression I'll remain relived of my normal duties for a while after the holiday too, so we'll stay together."
"There isn't a catch?" There has to be; just being with Athrun, potential consequences so far off that they can be ignored, that's too good to be true.
"Nothing worse than Nicol." And that can't be very bad at all, judging by the smile in his lover's voice. "Honestly, it's going to be all right."
And for the first time since the explosions in Heliopolis – no, for the first time since the whirling cherry blossom petals and the loneliness only slightly eased by the green faux-bird in his hands, Kira allows himself to believe that.
xxxxx
Nicol has a habit of being a tad shy at odd occasions; he's not natural or comfortable about showering with strangers, or walking into their rooms. He can certainly deal with it, but considers himself fortunate that he hasn't yet had a roommate. Dearka and Yzak are an obvious match, and regardless of any additional sentiments Nicol knows he would have had to suffer through hell if he'd been paired with either of them. When Rusty died he anticipated sharing with Athrun, but that will probably not happen now, at least not the way he envisioned.
However, shyness notwithstanding, though he would definitely knock before entering someone else's room, a hospital is a somewhat different matter. Furthermore, he's here on the Commander's instruction, and he's been told that Athrun knows he's coming, and the door isn't properly closed or anything, so he just nudges it open.
Immediately upon taking in the scene he wishes he hadn't, that his often cursed shyness had prevented him from entering without making his presence known. At least I can probably back away without them noticing I was here and approach anew with proper discretion. There's no explanation as to why he doesn't, instead remaining frozen in the doorway and staring at the two people on the bed. Who are… what to call it? Nicol isn't one to speak less than courteously and with a touch of formality, and so feels utterly foreign with the phrases presenting themselves.
Snogging sounds crude and casual, completely at odds with the fine, tender movements. Frenching just makes him associate to the horrid French porno movie he walked in on once. What he's left with to describe it is kissing, and while it's certainly true the word doesn't cover it.
Making out, he thinks suddenly, illogical relief flooding him upon finding the proper terminology. They're making out.
One of them, he can't tell whom, gives a soft, whining sound, and he realizes he ought to either leave or let them know he's here. The first option seems vastly easier, but something akin to anger hinders him from giving into temptation. Instead he swallows and knocks on the doorframe.
Athrun whips around to face him, tension easing only minutely upon recognizing the visitor. Nicol feels empty, detached. He registers the presentation (Kira, this is Nicol Amarfi, remember I told you about him? Le Klueze apparently sent him to chaperone us so I won't tell you any big secrets, sorry you have to waste your holiday on us Nicol, my comrade, plays piano, sure you'll get along, Nicol this is Kira Yamato, know each other since prep. school, blah, blah, blah, can I trust you to let me tell people about…well? pretty sure Le Klueze knows, of course I don't mean you should lie to him in either case but kinda delicate situation) the way he used to sit through certain lessons – hearing, noting, but not emotionally digesting.
Even as he manages the correct answers (it's no problem, and anyway it's Le Klueze's orders, nothing you can help, hope you're feeling better Yamato-san, all right, Kira, just Nicol is fine too, of course it's up to you what to tell whom (I do trust and care for you) Athrun) he's ignoring his comrade and examining the stranger.
Supposedly, in an abstract way, he can see why one might find Kira Yamato cute. His thin, girlishly sweet face, however, is the least part of it; the true appeal lies in his tender, needy, anguished clinging. Now he releases his hold on Athrun, though, and sits up straight and proud to offer Nicol a small bow. Strong too, then, despite how much like a natural he looks. Not that Nicol believes that all non-Coordinators are completely inferior creatures; they have the right to live, certainly, but it is undeniable fact that they are less qualified in almost every regard. They need to be protected, kept unable to hurt themselves or others. Well, that really only applies to the EA, at least the last part; he's well aware that theoretically it makes no difference to one's moral whether one's genes have been manipulated.
This bandaged boy across the room definitely looks like he needs someone to care for him, and his natural coloring, so unlike his own green or Athrun's blue hair, only reinforces the impression. And yet, the Blitz' pilot reminds himself grimly, this untrained, natural-raised person had the strength to fend off not only Nicol himself but also other elite pilots.
He closes his eyes as Athrun smiles his thanks at the discretion he has promised and leans forward to kiss Kira again, and wishes intensely that he didn't feel as weak and pathetic as Dearka and Yzak say he is, the former in words and the other with his lack of same.
The absolutely worst part is when he helps Athrun deposit his lover in a wheelchair, when Kira's small nod of gratitude tells him he ought really to like the injured boy. Biting his lip, he decides that he is going to go with that feeling, remain as honest to himself as he can – decides that he won't let his weaknesses prevail. He is to be strong, so much so as to not let them guess what an effort it costs him.
xxxxx