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neon genesis starfightergelion 1.0: you are (not) afraid
nc-17
25,000w
so take a step forward into terror
alternatively: cain really, really wants to pilot the giant robot. abel does not.
nge au where everything’s (almost) the same except they pilot evas and not starfighters. some minor knowledge about the tv show and/or rebuild movies would be helpful.
warnings: graphic depictions of pseudo robot on alien violence. phobos. cain's dirty, dirty mouth.
Commander Bering steeples all ten of his gloved fingers in front of his mouth from up high in his command center. He stares down at Abel through glared lenses and says, “give him Unit-01.” Then swivels his chair back toward the screen so he can watch Tethys destroy everything above Kepler-3.
Encke tugs Abel’s arm to get him moving, but his feet root themselves in place. He what?
Give him? An EVA?
No, this is some kind of mistake.
He can’t—
Pilot th-that?!
“Yes,” Encke answers rather coldly, shoving Abel’s heaving chest so that he trips into the entry plug. “Just try not to die out there. And good luck.” The hatch closes and then everything’s dark. Abel scrambles into the chair with two shaky hands and bites his tongue to keep from shrieking because he’s about three seconds away from complete mental instability.
A screen lights up and a man smiles at him. ”Hello!” he intones rather calmly for someone watching the beginnings of a seizure play out right in front of him, like a Saturday morning cartoon.
Abel swallows. “H-hello?”
“My name’s Keeler. I’ll be walking you through the synchronization process so we can get you out there as soon as possible!”
“W-wait!” Abel shouts, finding his voice. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake! I’m not a pilot! I’m an engineer! Please, just let me out and—“
Keeler’s megawatt smile flashes two rows of perfectly straight teeth. He crinkles his eyes and laughs, “oh, I don’t think so. Commander Bering is never wrong. Now, let’s get you synchronized, shall we?”
No.
This is a mistake.
Abel never signed up for this.
Well, he sort of did (saving humanity and all that), but in the non life-threatening sense!
He’s supposed to be working in a loading bay, fixing up old cars and generators, not piloting a robot!
Distant chatter in the background crackles through the speakers. Someone yells “insert the entry plug!” and then Abel’s falling, rocketing downwards toward the EVA unit waiting below. The plug inserts flawlessly, rotating into place. The hydro-transmission-whatever-that-is initiates, and when the chamber floods with breathable liquid, Abel suddenly realizes he’s not leaving this thing alive.
“Connecting main power now!” Every console, button, and screen flashes to life. Abel can finally see outside the window, but the view’s practically the same—dark and monotone.
That all changes when his A-10 nerves somehow come into play and then Abel’s experiencing a kaleidoscope of borrowed pictures, sounds, and smells inside his head. He’s simultaneously small and gargantuan, his body trapped inside the capsule but also taking up miles of tubing, and it’s when he twitches his fleshy fingers and feels his metallic ones do the same does Abel realize that he’s connected to the machine both physically and mentally.
“You’re doing a good job, Abel!” Keeler encourages. “How are you feeling?”
Abel screams.
“Great! Setting language to English!”
The psychological anguish translates into semi-coherent thought and Abel shakes his head back and forth to make it leave, leave, get out of my brain!
And then everything stops. Quiet. He’s alone. And crying.
“Synchronization Rate holding steady at 40%! Abel, are you with me?”
“I’m—”
“Good! Preparing for launch! T-minus 10…”
Oh shit.
“9”
“Wait, this isn’t—”
“8”
“Keeler, listen!”
“7”
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.
“6”
“Keeler, please, just let me explain!”
“5”
Abel’s heart leaps out of his throat—
“4”
—and flops D.O.A. onto the console in front of him.
“3”
Nausea. He’s gonna hurl.
“2”
Abel dry heaves into his lap.
“1”
ohshitohshitohshitohshitoh shit
“Launch!”
Keeler gives him a crash course (”Oh, I probably shouldn’t use that word, should I? Haha.”) on how to pilot this monstrosity, but Abel’s too busy emptying his lungs to hear a damn thing. By the time his vocal cords have finished snapping from thirty straight seconds of non-stop screaming, Abel’s on the surface, blinking away the sunshine, and whimpering at the sight of his very first Angel.
“You have to keep it busy until your partner shows up!” Keeler orders.
Abel wills away the urge to empty his bladder. “P-partner?”
“Just remember everything that I taught you and you’ll do fine.”
Abel remembers nothing.
“All right, good luck! Switching to radio.”
“Wait, don’t leave me!”
The screen flickers off and now Abel’s alone, even though he technically has been for the past ten minutes. Keeler’s bubbly personality handholding him through all of this kind of helped offset the horror.
Miles away, Abel watches the Angel dig through layers of dirt and concrete to reach Central Dogma below. It moves erratically, intermittently firing laser beams from two beady red eyes at the surrounding remains of what were once buildings. Tethys doesn’t seem to be paying all that much attention to him, thankfully, and Abel briefly wonders if he can make a break for it.
“Oh! By the way…” The sudden radio static gives Abel a mini heart attack. “Don’t even think about trying to run. Once you unplug you’ve only got five minutes of power before your EVA shuts down. Got it? We’re counting on you!”
Ixnay on the escape then.
Abel fidgets with the controls and steels himself for an untimely, gruesome death. Fighting a giant alien from space hell-bent on annihilating all of mankind is not exactly how he imagined going out. But there are worse—no, wait, this really is the worst way to die.
But he has no choice. There’s no way out.
So Abel takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and imagines himself walking.
Unit-01’s foot moves.
And the Angel looks up.
“Fuck!”
Tethys bounds across miles of deserted cityscape with long, gangly limbs, shrilly howling in delight at the sight of its new victim. Abel flubs the controls and clumsily extends the robot’s arms to brace himself for impact. When the Angel launches into the air, pushing off of its haunches with frog-like agility, Abel screams, and prays to whomever it may concern that he survive with 75% of his body parts intact.
Unit-01 lands flat on its back, Tethys on top of it as the Angel uses two twin lances projected from its forearms to piece the EVA’s torso over and over and over again, until it grows bored and switches to tearing and lacerating the robot’s limbs with bird-like talons. The pain transcends metal and wire, and Abel cries out as he feels every stab, punch, and slash. Tethys buries its claws into the EVA’s left wrist and snaps. Abel’s own limply flops in turn.
“Abel!” Keeler screams over the radio. “You have to get up! Come on, do it!”
Somehow, Abel grabs both triggers and pushes.
The EVA’s arms swing forward, knocking Tethys from its perch.
Abel maneuvers himself up and stumbles backwards a bit until he’s balanced, (not) ready for round two.
The second encounter plays out differently from the first, but the results are virtually the same.
Abel swings and misses, paying the price for his mistake with a punch to the face. He recoils against the chair, but grits his teeth through the pain, and tries again.
With a shout, he lurches forward and manages to wrap his fingers around the Angel’s left arm. Abel braces one hand against Tethys’ chest and pulls with the other until an audible crack mingles with the Angel’s cries. But his victory is short-lived. Tethys shoves Abel with all its might and Abel flies backwards, careening into several large trees. A semi-demolished building stops his momentum. Concrete and glass cascade down in waves, burying Unit-01 completely. All the bones in Abel’s body feel like they’ve snapped like toothpicks.
Keeler’s voice echoes through the cockpit. “Your Synch Rate is dropping! Just hold on! Unit-02 is on its way!”
Unit-02?
Abel can’t pick himself up fast enough. Tethys is on him in less than five seconds, hoisting Abel’s EVA high in the air with just one hand wrapped around its neck. The Angel squeezes and Abel chokes, invisible fingers constricting his throat as he struggles to breathe, oxygen starved from both his brain and lungs.
And Abel knows that this is the end.
It can’t be helped.
This is his—
“Hey, new guy! You gonna let this overgrown turkey kick your ass?”
Yes Abel answers the disembodied voice.
Wait. Who—?
With one eye cracked, Abel watches as a red Evangelion charges toward him at breakneck speed.
The pilot operates the giant robot with relative ease, a cat-like grace that puts Abel’s blundering to shame. Unit-02 leaps into the air, polished metal catching the sun’s glare, and pounces on top of Tethys with the force of a megaton bomb. Abel stumbles backwards into the rubble when he’s finally released and he gasps, sucking down lungfuls of much needed oxygen.
Keeler’s voice echoes inside the cockpit. “You did great, Abel!” If by “great” Keeler means “mentally scarred for the rest of his life”, then sure. Abel did fan-fucking-tastic. “Let Cain handle it from here, okay?”
Cain?
He must mean the red EVA currently pummeling the Angel’s face in.
Abel stands up with wobbly legs and observes from a comfortable distance.
Unit-02 fights with animalistic savagery, ripping and tearing its prey to shreds. Cain grips Tethys’ broken arm and snaps it clean off, blue blood gushing from the Angel’s body. But it’s not dead yet. Tethys launches Cain backwards and the Angel stumbles around in agony, crying out like a wounded animal not ready for the slaughter. Unit-02 lands on all fours, skidding through concrete and rock. And stops right near Abel.
Abel instinctively reaches down to try and help (which was a dumb idea in hindsight because what can he really do?), but Cain swats his hand away. “Don’t need it”, Cain radios with all the confidence in the world.
And then he’s scrambling back into the fray, ready to finish the job.
EVA-02 reaches for the shiny, red core in the middle of Tethys’ chest, but it blocks Cain’s efforts. So that must be its weak spot.
Unit-02 dodges a crucifix-like beam and grabs Tethys by the throat before it can activate its lances, whipping the Angel back and forth into any available surface: rocks, concrete, buildings, trees. With a final shout, Cain hoists the Angel high above his head and then slams its spine down onto Unit-02’s right knee, the loud snap audible all the way from where Abel’s still standing.
Cain chucks the Angel’s near-lifeless body miles away and then pounces on top, clawing at the core like a tiger ripping into fresh meat. He slams his fists down hard enough to crack and then it’s all over, Tethys screaming one final time as its body self-detonates in a fiery blaze. Cain jumps away at the last second to avoid most of the damage. Purple-blue blood rains down from the sky and a single glowing cross burns red through the haze. A rainbow blooms above them.
Abel swallows his heart back down into his chest.
He just—
That was—
Shock. He’s in absolute shock.
And Abel can’t stop shaking all over.
“Great job you two!,” Keeler says once everything’s gone silent. “Come back inside for maintenance.”
He remembers how the controls work just long enough to get himself standing on the platform leading back down to the base.
The descent takes mere minutes, but Abel feels like it’s been a lifetime by the time he and Cain are underground.
The mechanics unscrew Abel’s entry plug. He stumbles out and sees Keeler standing in front of him, ready to congratulate Abel on a job well done. Cain’s a few steps behind, one hand dug deep into his jacket as the other fishes for a lighter. He’s taller, tan, and his black hair sticks up in every which direction, like he couldn’t be bothered to find a brush this morning. A single earring hangs from his left lobe. The red plugsuit leaves very little to the imagination and Abel has to focus on Cain’s mouth where he’s got a cigarette poised between chapped lips to keep from gawking.
Keeler closes the distance between them and pats Abel’s shoulder reassuringly. He’s a lot thinner and paler than Abel imagined. Shorter, too. But not by much. The lab coat he’s wearing almost touches the floor and Abel can spot a few candies stuffed in his pockets. His white hair stays perfectly neat tied securely in a braid. “That was really impressive, Abel! I’ve never seen a synch rate so high from a first time pilot!”
Cain snorts as he lights up.
“You’ve got some real talent. How about staying on full time?”
Abel’s stomach lurches and Keeler mistakes his silence for a yes.
“Great!” Keeler beams brighter than the sun. “From now on, you’ll be paired with Cain. I hope you two develop a wonderful partnership!”
Cain chokes on the smoke he’s just sucked into his lungs. “What?!” he squawks. “Me? Paired with him?! Keeler, you gotta be shitting me. You can’t just let any idiot off the street be in charge of these things.” He gestures toward Unit-02 possessively.
“Bering thinks he’s capable. And, frankly, so do I,” Keeler counters defensively. “Deimos isn’t fit for combat any time soon, Cain. So it’s either him or nothing. Take your pick.”
Cain’s scowl intensifies as he stares down at Abel with disdain. He takes a long drag, exhales, and says, “don’t slow me down. Or I’ll leave you behind. You got that?”
Abel opens his mouth to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a wet gurgle.
And then he’s vomiting all over Cain’s feet.
“BLYAT!” Cain screams.
Keeler sighs as he radios for a mop.
And that’s how Abel came to be the pilot of Evangelion Unit-01.
After a few days in the hospital (and a few nights spent screaming from reliving the trauma), Bering deems him fit for duty.
The first thing Abel does is meet the other pilots he’ll be working with to help defend what’s left of humanity from certain death and destruction.
“This is Abel,” Keeler announces like he’s introducing a new transfer student late into the school year. “The new pilot of Unit-01. Please make him feel at home and try not to be too rough on him.” Keeler delicately shoves Abel into a chair and places his lunch on the table in front of him. Some kind of casserole with a side of rice pilaf.
The four other pilots pause mid-bite, Cain included, and stare back without saying a word.
“Training starts in an hour,” Keeler reminds. “See you then!” He turns around and sashays away, braid bouncing with each step he takes, and Abel wants to scream no, don’t leave me!, but he’s tongue-tied and too afraid he’ll upchuck his breakfast.
Cain keeps quiet even though they’re the most acquainted. He just shovels down what looks like stroganoff and minds his own business, still pissed if his pronounced scowl has any bearing on the current situation. The man opposite him near the back of the table, away from anyone else, looks almost as hostile. Abel pushes his pilaf around with minimal interest. Just thinking about eating might make him hurl.
Finally, a welcoming face emerges from the crowd. “Hi,” says the guy to Abel’s right through a bite of pastrami on rye. He swallows and then smiles. “I’m Helios. I pilot Unit-04.”
In another lifetime, Helios might have been an athlete, the star quarterback for a professional football team. He’s got just the right amount of boyish charm and muscle for prime time, and Abel can easily picture him on the cover of Sports Illustrated, flashing that all-American smile.
Helios wipes his crumby hand on his pants leg and then shoves it toward Abel, waiting for a shake. Abel returns the gesture. The person next to Helios glares.
“O-oh.” Helios flushes when he finally gets the hint. “This is Selene. He’s my partner.”
Abel doesn’t get the same trusting vibe from Helios’ co-pilot. Selene’s colder, a bit tidier (the tight pull of his ponytail a perfect contrast to Helios’ bedhead-over-undercut look), and very graceful. Abel’s intimidated, actually, and visibly shrinks in his seat. “I pilot Unit-03,” Selene says with his hand outstretched. He offers a gentle smile once Abel realizes he’s right where Selene wants him—uncomfortably aware of what is and isn’t his.
He returns the gesture. “Ah, the pink and green one?”
Keeler had given him a grand tour of the loading bay where all the EVAs were kept before coming to the mess hall. Unit-03 stood out because of its brilliant color scheme, a bright pink covering most of the hull with green accents decorating its shoulders and “eyes”. Almost similar to Abel’s own, except his EVA’s painted purple and not nearly as vibrant as Selene’s. Unit-04 looks plain by comparison, midnight blue and uncomplicated. But, Abel guesses, that fits Helios to a T.
“That’s the one. Pretty impressive, right?”
“Yeah, it is! I’m just amazed you guys can pilot something that huge. The most I’ve ever done is drive a motorcycle,” Abel jokes with nervous laughter.
Cain snorts from across the table. Abel shoots him a glare.
Helios’ eyes widen. “Oh, wow! That’s pretty cool, too, though! Don’t worry; you’ll be just as good once you settle in with your partner. It helps when you’ve got the right person watching your back.” The look Helios flashes Selene makes Abel squirm uncomfortably, like he’s watching two newlyweds explain the joys of marriage to their single friends. The not-so-subtle squeeze Selene gives to Helios’ knee under the table sort of seals the deal.
“Do you know who it is yet?” Selene asks.
Cain grunts and grabs his tray, storming away from their lunch table in disgust.
Abel shrinks until he’s microscopic.
“Woah, what’s Cain’s problem?” Helios says, dumbfounded.
The blonde in the back finally speaks up through a mouthful of salad. “He’s assigned to this half-wit, that’s his problem.”
Abel wishes he were invisible.
“Oh,” Helios whispers as if that’s a perfectly valid response.
“Oh,” Selene agrees.
And the sad part is, Abel gets why Cain hates every fiber of his being. He doesn’t have the natural aptitude to pilot, he’s not even supposed to be one, and yet here he is, responsible for operating one of the most powerful weapons on Earth. And he’s done nothing to earn it. Commander Bering must be insane if he actually thinks Abel’s qualified.
“Well, I’m sure Abel’ll get better, Phobos.” Helios directs his comment to the shoulder-length blonde behind him. “It’s not like Cain’s always been—”
“—the best?” Phobos interrupts. “Try telling him that.” He swallows the last bit of lettuce on his plate before looking at Abel very seriously and adding, “you’re his third partner in three months. Don’t take it personally, but I doubt you’ll get through even one.”
Abel’s fist clenches. He knows Phobos is probably right, but the way he says it makes Abel’s skin crawl with rage. “And why’s that?”
Phobos smirks as he stands up, and he looks arrogantly smug, like what he’s about to say might be his comedic magnum opus. “Because,” he replies, tone eerily cheerful, “his first is six feet under and his second’s halfway there. Do you honestly believe you’re going to be any different?”
Abel stops breathing. Dead? The first one’s dead?! And his second—
“Phobos!” Helios slams his hand down on the table so hard it rattles their plates.
Selene frowns, unamused. “Deimos isn’t dead.”
“Yet,” Phobos corrects.
Helios yells at Phobos to fuck off while Selene smiles pitifully at Abel, as if it’s his job to apologize on Phobos’ behalf for being such an insensitive ass. “That was incredibly rude of him, sorry,” he comforts and Abel can tell that Selene’s being sincere. “Are you okay?”
Abel nods and forces one back even though he’s not. “Yeah. I’m fine. What’s with him?”
Helios pinches the bridge of his nose. “Phobos is...”
“Phobos is Phobos,” Selene finishes when Helios can’t find the words to. “He’s a complete asshole, but a really good pilot. And that’s all that matters to Commander Bering. He’s partnered with Deimos. Who, as you’ve heard, is in the hospital.”
Abel blanches. “Why? What happened to him?”
“Bad teamwork,” Helios answers. “Phobos was supposed to cover him, but there was some miscommunication, and then Deimos’ EVA wound up torn to pieces. They’re trying to rebuild it, but you can barely recognize the thing. His entry plug auto-ejected into a few buildings, too, which, Christ. We weren’t sure if he was gonna make it or not.”
Selene jabs Helios in the ribs with his elbow to get him to stop blabbering.
And now Abel’s nauseous. “He’s…he’s going to make it though, right?”
Selene nods, slowly. “Yeah. Barely.” It’s like Selene can read all of the grim, fatalistic thoughts blaring through Abel’s mind because he reaches out with one hand to encouragingly squeeze Abel’s arm. “Hey, look, I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’ve got Cain, and he’s the best pilot we’ve got.”
“His synch rate’s off the charts,” Helios chimes in, like he’s trying to sell Abel some door-to-door steak knives. Only $19.95, compatibility not included. Helios should stick to piloting. “He’s just, uh, a little difficult. At times.”
“Is that why he looked ready to toss his lunch when I sat down?” The more Abel thinks about it, the angrier he gets.
Selene sighs. “Yeah. You’re his third pilot, too, so he’s kind of on edge. He’s not really a people person.”
“What happened to the other two?” Maybe Abel shouldn’t have asked. He’s not sure if he wants to know.
“Well, you know what happened to Deimos. And his previous one, Athos, well…” Selene curls his fingers against the table. “He’s dead.”
Abel swallows, or tries to. His mouth’s completely dry. “What happened?”
A beat.
“Bad teamwork,” Helios echoes. Helios should really stick to piloting.
Silence fills the room.
Great, Abel thinks.
He’s not a pilot; he’s a due date, set to expire in the very immediate future.
“Hey, are you going to finish that?” Helios tentatively asks, licking his lips as he stares at Abel’s lunch. Abel hasn’t even touched his chicken and cheese casserole.
“Be my guest.” He shoves the metal tray towards Helios wordlessly. Helios immediately starts downing Abel’s lunch with big bites, filling the bottomless void that is his stomach. Each forkful of rice and cheese morphs into a different body part. First his head, then his arms, a leg, eyes. All down Helios’ hatch. Abel blinks and sees Tethys, not Helios, staring back at him for a fraction of a second. “What?” Helios mumbles with food still in his mouth. “Is there something on my face?” There is, in fact. Some spinach near his chin.
Abel groans and acquaints his forehead with the table.
Keeler forces them into domestic cohabitation to help “improve their compatibility”.
Their initial training session had been, for lack of a better word, pathetic. Abel could barely synch with Unit-01, let alone focus on coordinating with Cain, and then it had all gone to hell when Cain had forcibly ejected his plug and stormed out of the test room shouting: “this has got to be a fucking joke!”. Abel’s life feels like one. Except no one’s bothered to deliver the punchline.
So here they are, stuffed inside Cain’s two bedroom, one bath apartment halfway between the older and newer block of Kepler-3. All the apartment complexes here are run down and old, and Abel knows that Cain can afford a better one considering ALNC pays him a disgusting amount of money to climb inside a giant robot and not die. Abel could, too. If he had a choice in the matter.
When Abel steps inside for the first time, two suitcases shoved under both arms and a bag slung over his shoulder, he nearly drops everything.
On the table: Beer cans. Cigarette butts. Porn rags. Johnny Walker.
On the floor: Beer cans. Cigarette butts. Porn rags. Johnny Walker.
On the couch: Beer cans. Cigarette butts. Porn—
It’s piled everywhere, an infinite display of mankind’s vices all crammed into 450 square feet.
Abel’s jaw drops.
Cain finally emerges from the bathroom wearing just a towel that conceals even less than his plugsuit, a smaller one slung over his left shoulder to dry his hair.
Abel’s jaw fully dislocates and lands smack dab in between their two bodies, floundering like a dying fish on the carpet before he can pick it back up.
“What?” Cain snaps, licking the front of his teeth. An unconscious habit.
Abel blushes and tries not to stare. Cain’s a dick, but an attractive one. Unfortunately. Toned, but still lean. He’s got the physique of a diver without most of the bulk. And he’s tall. Taller than Abel realized. “N-nothing. It’s just…” This apartment’s a mess? There’s a dead rat in the corner? Are you sure you can’t just towel off the water that’s sliding down your chest and heading straight for your— “Nothing.”
Cain hmph’s and continues to glare.
Abel steps into the living room and looks around at Cain’s lack of…well…everything. Barely any furniture, no art, just a television and a radio to keep him company. No signs of life aside from the beer cans, cigarette butts, porn rags, Johnny Walker. No decent food, either, judging from the stack of empty Chinese take-out boxes piled up in the sink. A fly lands on top of Mt. Rolling Wok and crawls inside to presumably lay eggs. Abel shudders.
“Not up to your standards, princess?” Cain says rather defensively when he notices Abel’s worried expression.
The nickname bristles the hairs on the back of Abel’s neck. “My name’s Abel, not princess.”
Cain snorts. “Might as well be since you’re actin’ like such a high-maintenance bitch. You should be grateful I’m even letting you stay here.”
“And I am.” He practically forces the words out. He’d probably feel cleaner living in a back-alley trash bin. “But if you didn’t want me here, then maybe you shouldn’t have offered in the first place.”
“Wasn’t my choice,” Cain snaps.
Abel’s face falls. “Right.” Keeler’s out of his mind.
When Abel looks around again, he tries to spot the telltale signs of previous coexistence. But there’s not much to go on. He can’t figure out whether any of Cain’s prior partners lived with him in this apartment, or if he’s always been alone. With such a charming personality, who wouldn’t want to play housemate?
“Is that all your shit?” Cain asks, pointing to Abel’s bags on the floor.
“Uh. Most of it. There’s still some being shipped,” Abel replies, already moving to go pick them back up.
He’s got some clothes, a toothbrush, and toiletries to tide him over until the rest of his things get here. Keeler had arranged for it all to be sent from his university, or, well, the closest thing they have to a university. It’s really just a big building where high school grads learn important life skills Keper-3 needs. Abel’s an engineer. Or was.
“Just how much stuff do you have?” Cain towel-dries his damp hair. Abel tries not to stare at the way Cain’s biceps flex. “You better keep all that shit in your room. Speaking of.” Cain throws the hand towel on the couch and walks toward the closed door behind the living room. Abel gives up on being discreet and unashamedly stares at Cain’s ass. “This is all yours, princess. Welcome and enjoy your stay at Casa de Cain.”
It’s cramped. Just a bed and a nightstand; the big window on the left provides a bit of natural lighting. There’s a small closet near the door to the joined bathroom. He’s going to have to share with Cain. Great. Abel already plans on buying extra soap because he just knows Cain’s going to steal his.
“This is…” A roach scampers by. “Great.”
Cain frowns at Abel’s obvious sarcasm.
The clock on the wall ticks rhythmically.
“Let’s get a few things straight,” Cain announces after three awkward minutes pass. “This is my apartment. You’re only here because Keeler and Bering have gone completely batshit. So if you don’t like what you see, you better clean it your damn self, sweetheart. I’m not your fucking babysitter and I’m sure as hell not gonna hold your hand.” He takes a step closer and Abel can feel heat pooling in his cheeks and inconvenient places below. Their faces inch closer until they’re mere centimeters apart. “Unless of course you want me to.” Cain’s cocky grin holds the promise of something forbidden. He smells like cloves and cinnamon and old cigarette smoke.
Abel drops his bags and stumbles backwards toward the bathroom, or where he thinks the bathroom is because he’s still reeling and disoriented. “I-I’m…restroom. Excuse me.”
He can hear Cain’s cackle from behind the locked door and it only flusters him more. This is a game. This is some kind of sick, twisted game to Cain, and Abel’s not okay with the fact that his life’s in the hands of someone who’s run through two other co-pilots like used-up, dried batteries. Disposable. Replaceable. Never to be seen again. He’s even less trusting of someone whose sole source of nutrition stems from vat-loads of MSG and duck sauce.
Abel slumps down onto the toilet seat and puts his face in his hands, sighing. How in the hell did he find himself here? Abel knows the answer to this, obviously, but it still feels like a dream. Or a nightmare.
When he reaches for a tissue from the box on the counter, partially to wipe the sweat lining his palms, partially to cry into, he feels something warm and sticky, and looks up to inspect what he’s just touched.
His face pales at the realization.
Globs of semen (Cain’s semen) coat his fingers and Abel scrambles to grab some toilet paper so he can wipe it off. It’s fresh, too, judging by how hot it feels against Abel’s skin.
He feels embarrassed, strangely warm, and like the earth could open up at any moment and swallow him whole.
With some luck, it will.
Because Abel doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the next hour.
Correction.
Abel doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the rest of his life.
“Okay, Abel, great job! Just a little while longer!” Keeler’s voice booms through the small speaker hooked up inside Abel’s test chamber.
His lungs are about to burst.
For some reason, he’s being forcibly submerged underwater inside a small, glass tank, so they can time just how long he can hold his breath. While naked. In freezing cold temperatures. Keeler and Encke stare through a large window on the other side as Abel desperately uses his two hands to cover his not-so-private parts.
If only he hadn’t said yes to “some routine testing, that’s all!”. Keeler’s smile is incredibly deceptive. He’ll never trust it again.
“Keeler. He’s turning purple,” Encke announces through the intercom with the most deadpan tone Abel’s ever heard. Not that he’s ever heard anything different from their commanding officer. Encke usually speaks to them in the same voice he uses when he’s running the Command Center during a coordinated attack. Standing at just over six feet tall with a military buzz cut, less than 15% body fat, and intimidating, black eyes, Abel doesn’t know why he expected anything different. At least he knows Encke’s full title now. It’s hard to keep referring to someone as That-Guy-Who-Pushed-Me-Into-An-Entry-Plug on a daily basis.
“Oh, really?” Keeler squints, pushing his glasses up to inspect Encke’s assessment. “Interesting.” He jots the information down on his clipboard.
“You should drain the tank.”
Abel’s head nods furiously in agreement.
“Not yet,” Keeler mumbles and Abel makes a pitiful noise through the radio. “I need a bit more data.”
“Let me out!” Abel screams, or would if he could. It comes out more like glub glub glub, his words trapped inside the bubbles gushing from his mouth.
Encke frowns. “Chief Scientist Keeler,” he says rather emphatically. “I think you should drain the tank.” It’s not a suggestion anymore.
Keeler sighs in disappointment. “Fine, fine, Colonel. He did pretty well I guess.” He slams his fist on the giant red button and the water spirals down the drain.
Abel gasps for air.
Finally, he can breathe. He’s safe. It’s all over. Now he can go—
“How do you feel about treadmills?” Keeler probes while Abel’s changing from blue to red.
“H-huh?”
And then Keeler smiles.
Shit.
Ten minutes later and Abel’s hooked up to another machine, running as if his life depends on it, and near the brink of death.
“Your vitals look fantastic!” Keeler shouts over the loud, electronic hum.
His stomach turns. “I think I’m going to puke.” Abel moans pathetically as he continues to jog, legs long since turned to jelly.
“Try not to!” Keeler cups his hands around his mouth to be heard. “That’s expensive technology right there! Anything you damage is coming right out of your paycheck!”
Abel promptly swallows down his vomit.
Next up is weight lifting.
Then a game of chess.
Jump rope.
A math test.
And, lastly, a 200-piece puzzle. Which Abel collapses onto just as he finishes connecting the border pieces.
The only good thing to come from all of this is when Abel gets to try his newly crafted plugsuit for the first time. It’s blue and white with red details. The suit fits snugly without constricting his movement. He presses a button on his wrist and all the excess air expels out, the latex skintight now. Abel tries stretching a bit to make sure Keeler’s measurements are correct. If he didn’t know any better he’d have thought that they’d made it just for him. Which, now that he thinks about it, is probably what that “full-body scan” was for.
“Perfect, right?” Keeler looks proud of his handiwork.
Abel nods. “Yeah. It’s really comfortable, too. I almost don’t want to take it off.”
“Excellent! You’ll be wearing that when you pilot EVA-01 again. It helps with the synchronization. Oh, and this, too.” Keeler fishes around in his lab coat and pulls out a thin headband with two pods. “This is your interface headset. Make sure to take care of it properly!”
It looks a little comical, but if this is how you’re supposed to pilot an Evangelion then Abel guesses he doesn’t mind. It’s not like he has much of a choice in the matter, either.
“You know, it’s funny,” Keeler says as Abel tries the headset on for size. It fits perfectly, just like his plugsuit.
“What is?” Abel asks. He can’t tell what Keeler’s thinking behind that charming smile.
Keeler taps his finger against his chin. “You’re kind of the last person I’d put inside an EVA. You have zero experience, no training, and an almost laughable sense of combat. It’s strange. I’d never figure you for a pilot.”
Abel frowns, but doesn’t argue. He knows Keeler’s right.
“Ah, don’t take what I said the wrong way, though!” Keeler backtracks, waving his hands. “What I’m trying to say,” his tone shifts, more serious, “is that I’m glad you are. Commander Bering sees a lot of potential in you, Abel. And so do I. I’m proud of you for making it this far, okay? So don’t give up!”
Keeler’s words suck the air out of his lungs and Abel exhales a shaky breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Maybe he’s been holding it ever since he set foot in ALNC. Abel doesn’t believe what Keeler’s saying, not yet, but he’s close. He wants to. “I’ll try my best,” Abel replies, smiling. He’s happy, and that’s enough.
“I know you will. So,” Keeler wiggles closer, hands clasped tightly behind his back “how about a quick practice synch after I put today’s information into Mother?” He practically radiates sunshine.
Abel looks to Encke for help but all he can offer is an apologetic smile and half a shrug.
Abel sighs.
And mentally drafts his last will and testament.
He leaves ALNC HQ three hours later, exhausted and barely conscious. The train ride back to his—Cain’s—apartment is cathartic. Abel rests his head against the hard plastic seat and closes his eyes, letting the small bumps on the track lull him into a false sense of tranquility. He wishes he had his SDAT. When he opens them again, he’s arrived at his stop. Abel shuffles through the doors and navigates his way around the winding streets of Kepler-3. A woman is selling pork buns close to the subway entrance, and the sweet, meaty scent makes Abel’s mouth water. He almost considers buying one, but then stops himself when he thinks of all the Chinese takeout Cain’s stuffed in their fridge. Maybe he’ll make a salad instead.
He reaches their complex fifteen minutes later. Thankfully it’s not too far from the train, the only perk to their pathetic excuse for a home. Abel fumbles for his key, the one Keeler copied without Cain’s knowledge, and shoves open the door.
And then wishes he hadn’t.
Cain’s sitting on the couch, dick in hand, and moaning unashamedly in the living room as he jacks it at five in the afternoon. On the couch. The couch that they both sit on.
Abel’s bones liquefy and his knees turn to jelly. His hand’s still on the doorknob and he should slam the door shut, but he can’t. He’s gaping at the sight of Cain’s hand shoved down his pants as he rolls his head back and forth against the cushions. Cain’s hips jerk up after a particularly good pump. Abel’s dick starts to harden.
He makes the smallest squeak of a sound and Cain snaps his head left, catching Abel’s unintentional voyeuristic gaze.
This time he really does slam the door closed and scurries away, running down the stairs and out the building.
Pork buns. He needs pork buns. Right now. Immediately.
And a very, very cold shower.
“What do you mean we have to get naked?!”
“I told you! You can’t just come through this part of the facility without being sanitized. We’re going to try something different today. So stop whining and strip! I’m going to start the decontamination process in five minutes and you’d better be nude!”
Cain grumbles in obvious annoyance in the stall next to Abel’s
Keeler called them down to the Pribnow Box for some more testing, this time without their plugsuits to account for some new, compelling data (thanks to Abel no less) regarding how a pilot synchs with their EVA sans any outside influence. That means: no interface, no suit, no clothes. Just bare skin and a cold blast of disinfectant. Abel shucks his button down shirt and slacks, and folds them neatly on the small bench beside him. The AC kicks on and a chilly gust of air hits his bare skin. Abel breaks out in little goosebumps that start at his shoulders and end down his arms. This is the second time Keeler’s made him strip and Abel’s starting to wonder if their lead scientist actually requires complete nudity, or if he just gets a kick out of it.
“Well I guess we have Abel to thank for this little science experiment,” Phobos complains. “Truly, thank you. I can’t think of anything better that I could be doing on a Friday night.”
Abel rolls his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” He can feel Phobos’ scowl from three walls over.
“Is that sarcasm?”
“Oh, please,” Cain cuts in. “We all know you’d just be jerkin’ it alone at your place. Stop actin’ like you had a hot date lined up or something. No one wants your prissy ass.”
Phobos makes an undignified guffaw. Selene and Helios smother chuckles into their palms. Or their arms. Abel can’t see anything but the bright hallway in front of him. They could be laughing into their armpits for all he knows.
“It won’t be that bad,” Helios chimes in. “I mean, we’re just going to be sitting in a chair, synching with the dummies for a while. No big deal. Who cares if we’re naked?”
“Not all of us can have a six pack and pecs,” Selene counters.
Cain snorts. “Speak for yourself.”
“Okay, we’re going to decontaminate you now. Just hold still. Helios, take off your socks.”
Helios makes a soft noise of embarrassment.
Keeler presses a button from somewhere Abel can’t see and the small stall he’s in becomes even smaller. A glass door slides closed in front of him and now Abel’s standing in a large, rectangular box. The vents open and out comes a steady stream of some blue-ish grey mist that tingles Abel’s skin all over. He coughs and tries not to breathe too much of the stuff in because it burns his nostrils. He feels clean, though, like someone’s just scrubbed away all the invisible dirt and grime from his body. It only takes a few minutes until Keeler deems them sufficiently sterile.
“Just walk straight ahead and through those doors. You’ll see an entry plug in front of you. Get in it.”
“Kinky,” Cain sneers.
“Ruin your chair and I’ll have you scrubbing everyone else’s,” Keeler threatens through the speaker.
“You’re no fun.”
Abel’s grateful for the dividers separating their respective walkways because he definitely does not want anyone else catching a glimpse of his naked body. Keeler and Encke are more than enough. Cain saunters through first with his arms shrugged casually behind the back of his head, not even the least bit ashamed. Helios seems too excited to care and Selene pads his away across, more annoyed than anything. Phobos, on the other hand, cups his groin and tries to walk as fast as possible to get through the damn doors before anyone else can.
Just as Keeler said, there’s an entry plug waiting for him, and Abel steps inside, getting himself comfortable because he’s pretty sure they’re going to be here for a while.
“Okay, inserting the test plugs.”
The test plugs submerge into the water below to connect with the floating dummy EVAs, unarmored torsos with miles of cable twisting upwards toward the ceiling so that Mother can process the data they’ll be producing.
”Beginning synchronization!”
Abel feels strange synching with Zero-A, it’s familiar and yet very different, like coming home after a long day of work only to find all the furniture moved three centimeters to the right. Almost, but not quite. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the dummy is headless and only has one arm.
“I feel like an amputee every time I come in here,” Selene says after they’ve all established a connection. He flexes his EVA’s arm in the water.
Cain raises his next. Everything seems to be normal. “They kept the good arm. At least in my case.” Selene’s ugh echoes through their speakers.
“All right, we’ll be running this test for a few hours so get yourselves comfortable,” Keeler announces. “Abel, how do you feel? Better this time?”
The first time had been overwhelming. This time, though, Abel’s more comfortable with the synchronization process even if it feels like half his body’s been chopped off. His right arm twitches while the rest of him numbly fades away. “It’s not so bad. I can move the hand this time.” He twiddles the dummy’s fingers for emphasis. “And I feel cold. Am I supposed to feel cold?”
“You might, considering the environment. We keep the water slightly below room temperature to ensure a controlled environment..”
“Like a disappointing jacuzzi dip,” Phobos laments.
“Speaking of temperatures, we’ll be recording yours on the computer so that we can see what’s happening without actually having to use the video cameras. So don’t worry, your private parts are still…private.”
Abel frowns. Where was that option last week?
“Oh yeah?” Cain snaps. “Then I guess you can read how cold my balls are! They’re freezing in here, Keeler!”
“Next time, I’ll take your complaint into consideration.”
A beat. “You will?”
“Of course not! Now stop talking and relax or you’re going to be here even longer!”
“Just how long?” Abel inquires. Cain’s right. The seat is downright frigid.
“Three hours and forty-five minutes.”
“Four hours?!” Selene shouts.
“You can’t rush Mother,” Keeler sing-songs. A soft snore echoes through the speakers. “And don’t fall asleep! Helios, wake up!”
“W-what? I wasn’t—”
“We can’t get accurate readings if you’re unconscious. Just relax, get comfortable, and try not to close your eyes.”
The pilots collectively groan.
“So what were you saying about my Friday night, Cain?” Phobos drolls.
Cain clicks his tongue. “It’s perfect now that you’re just as miserable as I am.”
“Oh, you son of a—”
Keeler sighs. “Terminating radio communication from units Zero-B and Zero-E.”
Four hours later and the test plugs are ejected. Abel wobbles out with shaky legs—he’s still getting used to the feeling of having them again. They dress in silence, Phobos’ unintelligible grumbling providing some much needed background noise to offset the prickly atmosphere.
As they’re leaving headquarters, Cain slaps his hand on Abel’s shoulder. “You know,” he starts and Abel jumps “I’m pretty pissed we just wasted four hours doing absolutely nothing because of your stupid fucking discovery.”
Abel frowns, brows tightly drawn together. “Listen, it’s not like I asked Keeler to do this! And isn’t more research a good thing?” Christ, can’t Cain just cut him some slack?!
“You didn’t let me finish, sweetheart.” Cain leans down and his mouth hovers too close to Abel’s ear. “I was gonna say ‘but I’m pretty happy you managed to piss Phobos off’. Not bad, princess.”
It’s like a punch to the gut, unexpected, and Abel’s left winded. His eyes widen in confusion, but Cain’s being honest right now if his cocky grin means anything. “Um…you’re welcome?”
“If you wanna do me another favor, take the next train home.”
“What? Why?”
Cain starts for the giant escalator leading out of ALNC headquarters, but stops just before the yellow line. “Because I’m gonna beat one off as soon as I get back,” he answers a little too casually. Abel chokes. “What? You wanna participate this time?” Cain flashes a wolfish grin.
All the color drains from Abel’s face. “I-I, uh, no. No thanks. I’ll pass. Next train. Got it,” he sputters.
“Suit yourself, princess.” Cain gets on the first step and digs his hands deep in his pockets. And then, more like an afterthought, cups his hands around his mouth to yell, “don’t take too long. I’m cooking somethin’. If you’re late, I’m eatin’ it all! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
Abel almost cries.
Not because Cain’s being, well, normal. Or as normal as Cain can really be.
But because Abel won’t have to eat Rolling Wok for dinner tonight.
Or—fingers crossed—ever again.
Training.
Lots and lots and lots of training.
Enough to waste billions of the world’s economy on learning how to put one foot in front of the other, step, step, turn, and stop! Abel feels kind of bad about it. But at least he’s not tripping over his own two feet anymore. Just Cain’s. Which, in actuality, is way worse, because Cain’s not one to forgive and forget. If Abel fucks up, Cain’s right there to dish back whatever Abel’s dealt, usually ten times harder, and with an added bonus of pent up aggression.
Encke yells at them to stop damaging taxpayer merchandise, but it’s helpful in a way.
Abel’s learned how to run, jump, and dodge attacks with his EVA all thanks to their somewhat passive-aggressive relationship.
Which, oddly, improves the more they bicker and argue.
Like that time Abel had switched the radio station to something more relaxing while they’d both laid on the training room floor panting from Encke’s physical regimen.
Cain had slid on his sweat-soaked back toward his Walkman and flipped the station back to rock. Abel had frowned as the room filled with screeching guitar riffs and high-pitched wailing, and reached with wobbly arms to switch it back to the soothing sounds of violins and cellos. And then Cain had changed it back to rock. And Abel had followed suit, changing it right back to classical. Then rock. Then classical. Rock. Classical. ROCK. CLASSICAL.
Until the radio had just about had enough and sputtered its last, dying sounds—a hybrid jumble of violin meets high hat. Badum tss
Abel was sure he’d booked himself a one-way ticket to the hospital, but Cain had done something completely unexpected.
He’d rolled on top of Abel, leaning all of his weight onto his forearms and had just stared down, snarling ferally in Abel’s face, like he couldn’t decide whether he’d wanted to bite or kiss him. Abel had instinctively prepared for the latter, letting his eyes half-lid and his lips part in anticipation of Cain’s inching mouth. Cain had looked like he was seriously considering it, too, licking under his top row of teeth as he’d lowered his face close enough so that their noses bumped.
And then…
He’d backed away at the last second, releasing Abel’s pinned wrists. Cain’d pushed himself off the floor with a grunt to grumble about his busted radio and how Abel was going to buy him a new one.
That was a week ago.
And not much has changed.
They’re still at each other’s throats when it comes time to take out the trash, wash the dishes, or do anything involving the words “household” and “chore”.
At least Cain cooks now. Even though it’s all Russian. And salty. But Abel doesn’t complain. He can’t cook to save his life and Cain seems proud of the fact that he can. So they share a bowl or two of some traditional soup Cain’s grandmother passed down on half-wrinkled recipe cards almost nightly. Abel manages most of the cleaning. Which is fine by him. Cain’s organizational skills are laughable at best. Catastrophic at worst. Demonstrated by the time he’d semi-warped their top-secret government ID cards because Cain never bothers to check the pockets before he does laundry.
Right now, they’re attempting synchronization through the use of two Twister mats and 80’s big band pop.
“This…” grunt “is so…dumb!” Cain huffs as he plants his foot on C3. The machine hooked up to his mat dings in approval. “It’s 2015 and Keeler still listens to this crap?!”
Abel moves in time to the music. “Yeah,” he pants. “But it’s working!” His foot hits the wrong circle and the machine penalizes him with a small zap of electricity. The depressing beep only adds insult to injury. “Fuck!” he howls in pain. “Who the hell thought it was a good idea to incorporate shock therapy into our training!”
Cain smirks. “Probably Encke. That man’s secretly a sadist. This game’s 100% Keeler, though. He’s into this kooky shit.”
Keeler had sworn that this would do wonders for their coordination on the battlefield. And, like the idiot Abel is, he’d agreed to at least “try it out”. He regrets that promise immensely now. Cain does, too, because he never had a say in this to begin with. And here they are, dancing like morons at the request of their commanding officer to somehow fix their rocky relationship. Abel fleetingly wonders if ALNC is actually run by lunatics.
Another zap. “Jesus!” Abel wails.
“Stop fuckin’ up!” Cain shouts over the music.
“I’m trying!”
“Not hard enough!”
“Shut up!”
“Make me!”
They go through the routine again, this time with fewer slip-ups. But Abel’s still unwieldy on his feet, either hitting the mat too soon or too late, and Cain’s about ready to burst at Abel’s lack of coordination.
“Oh come on!” Cain snaps, jumping off of his mat and onto Abel’s so he can grab him by the front of his workout shirt. “You can synchronize our shits but you can’t put one fucking foot in front of the other!”
Their machines read 70% as the song ends.
Abel wriggles out of Cain’s grasp and shoves him back, furious. Now they’re both scowling. “Cut me some slack!” Abel shouts at the top of his lungs. “I’m not a pilot! I’m just a—”
“Spineless bitch,” Cain finishes. He smirks cruelly.
Abel fumes. He’s livid. “What the fuck is your problem?! I never asked for this! I’m not even supposed to be here!”
“Christ, would you shut the fuck up?!” Cain screams back. “All you do is bitch and moan! If you don’t wanna be here, then don’t be here! Go. Leave. Piss yourself in a bunker for all I care! You’re as good as dead anyway.”
The song starts up again and he doesn’t even care that every step he takes flashes ERROR on the screen behind him. Or that little jolts of electricity numb his bare toes. Abel lunges for Cain, forcing him against the living room wall with a snarl and a thud. Abel attempts to hold him in place so that he can deck him right in his smug mouth. Fuck, he’s so mad. Abel’s never wanted to rip out someone’s intestines and strangle them to death before. But there’s always a first time.
He winds up, throws his all into the punch—
—and meets Cain’s waiting palm.
Cain chuckles at the attempt. “That’s more like it!” he jeers, like he’s actually getting off on this. “Knew you had some fight in you.”
In five seconds flat their positions have reversed, and now Abel’s the one pinned to the wall, his hands twisted uncomfortably behind his spine as Cain pushes his face against the rough plaster. Cain’s grip on his wrists is excruciatingly tight and he’s not letting go no matter how much Abel struggles. He presses his front to Abel’s back and leans over, sadistic smile brushing against the shell of Abel’s ear.
“Get them all right, princess, and I’ll give you something even you’ll like,” Cain whispers and Abel hates how it makes his whole body shiver.
He finally lets go and shoves Abel onto the mat without another word.
And then Cain’s reaching for the stereo, pushing down on the back button.
The song starts up again and Abel doesn’t have time to think. He just acts.
Abel completely ignores Cain; he stares at the white wall in front of him and lets the music wash over every inch of his body until he can practically taste the beat pulsing on his tongue. He’s too pissed off to glance over and copy the pattern, anyway. The surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins helps Abel remember which circle comes next. He extends his foot to the back, then the front, right hand on C2, left hand by D3.
And…it’s working.
The machine dings rhythmically until the very end. Abel hasn’t been penalized once, and he feels strangely powerful.
The song finishes and Abel eagerly turns to look at their scores, panting hard as sweat drips down to the floor.
100%
His heart pounds feverishly inside his chest and Abel laughs in disbelief, giddy and lightheaded.
He…he did it!
“Look, we—”
Cain’s on top of him before he can even finish his sentence.
He grabs Abel’s face so that their mouths angle just right and then Cain’s leaning down, narrowing the space between them. The kiss takes Abel by complete surprise and his whole body tenses, eyes blown wide at the realization that this is actually happening. Cain’s kissing him. And it feels…good.
The way Cain licks into his mouth, prying Abel’s lips apart without any resistance, spins Abel’s head. Hands roaming everywhere, touching, squeezing, fingers pinching his nipples through the cotton of his shirt. Abel practically jumps when Cain cups the front of his shorts. There are probably a million good reasons why they should stop before whatever this is gets out of hand, but Abel can’t come up with a single one at the moment. And doesn’t try to.
“Told you you’d like it,” Cain mumbles before he moves his mouth lower, nipping along Abel’s neck.
He sucks on a particularly good spot and Abel squirms. Another sloppy kiss, Cain’s tongue stroking his, fingers pressing in, but not deep enough. Abel’s half-hard. Aching. He wants—no, needs to be touched or the fire in his belly might actually consume him.
Cain reaches down and squeezes Abel’s ass with two hands, kneading the pliant flesh for a bit. Their pelvises brush and that’s all the excuse they need to grind their erections together until they’re both full and leaking inside their shorts. Abel’s legs part instinctively and Cain slips his left one in between, using the new angle to hump Abel’s thigh. It’s clumsy and frantic, but Abel’s still clutching Cain’s shoulders all the same. He digs his nails into the back of Cain’s neck—mostly out of spite and because he wants to make Cain hurt—and the reaction he gets almost forces his orgasm right then and there. Cain growls, so deep it rumbles inside his chest, and stares down at Abel like he wants him to do it again. So Abel does. Again. And then drags hard enough to scratch, leaving angry red lines. Cain bucks desperately into Abel’s thigh.
The next logical step is to slide down to the carpet. From there, everything fastforwards.
They don’t have enough patience to get rid of every piece of clothing, so they settle for tossing their shirts away and bunching their shorts down just low enough so that their cocks spring free.
Cain is bigger and uncut. He didn’t get a good look at it last time, mostly due to shock, and Abel stares a little longer than he probably should. The way it bounces when Cain scoots closer has Abel practically drooling. He wants to taste it. He’s never sucked a guy off before, but he really, really wants to swallow every inch of Cain’s dick. It’s so full and hard and the thought of Cain coming inside his mouth makes Abel moan out loud. His own cock leaks even harder and his balls tighten with the need to come. He wants to touch himself. Badly. But he wants Cain to do it even more.
“Put your hand on my cock, baby,” Cain grunts as he reaches for Abel’s dick.
So Abel does with his knees spread wide on the carpet as he hovers over Cain’s thighs.
The song starts up again, bass pounding against the walls, but all Abel can hear is their loud moaning and the wet slide of skin on skin. He hasn’t jerked off in ages and every touch makes his whole body spasm and shiver because, fuck Cain’s good. So good.
Abel pushes himself into Cain’s lap and wraps an arm around Cain’s neck for balance so that they’re breathing the same air and close enough to kiss. And they do. Sloppily. Abel’s lips look puffy and sore after five minutes of making out because Cain likes to use more teeth than tongue and Abel…likes it. He groans into Cain’s mouth when Cain starts moving his hand faster, tighter, jerking Abel off like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor.
“Are you—ah—close?” Abel asks just as Cain thumbs his head, playing with the slit before sliding back down. Fuck, he’s about to go off. He wants to. So bad.
Cain bucks his hips into Abel’s tight fist. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Gonna come. Just—hah, like that. Fuck, Abel.” He buries his face in the crook of Abel’s neck and bites down hard enough to bruise.
That’s what sets him off. The bite and his name slipping from Cain’s mouth.
Abel finishes first, muffling a whine between tightly pressed lips as his cock shoots hot spurts of cum against Cain’s stomach.
Cain babbles something in Russian and then he’s blowing his load next.
There’s a disgusting amount of semen pooling between their bodies and the carpet, but that detail remains conspicuously low on the “Things that Need to be Taken Care of” list.
They both slump onto their backs, heaving for air, and boneless.
Abel closes his eyes. A million and one questions float by. “What the hell are you doing?” competes for first place along with “How soon can you get it up again?”, a convincing second.
Cain recoups a few minutes later and pulls Abel toward him possessively, winding his arm around Abel’s shoulders.
“Cain,” Abel whispers, not sure why. The name sounds different when it leaves his mouth. Abel figures it’s because he’s exhausted, from his orgasm and the workout.
“What?” Cain’s voice rasps against Abel’s throat.
Abel props himself up on his right elbow and stares down at Cain’s unusually vulnerable face, eyes droopy and lips shiny with spit. Abel really wants to kiss him. So he does, and the tenderness of it all contrasts nicely with the frantic rush from before. Cain can be civil when he wants to be.
Cain grips Abel’s face in one hand to hold him still. Abel freezes. He slides his canines along Abel’s top and bottom lip and then bites, hard enough to draw blood. Abel shoves Cain down and scrambles backwards, wiping his fingers along the fresh cut. When he pulls back there’s blood.
Or, per usual, he’s just unrepentantly sadistic.
“What the hell?!” Abel shouts.
Cain chuckles, like this was his intention from the start, and pushes Abel flat on his back so he can crawl on top and hover. He laps at the wound until it stops bleeding and Abel wants to shove him off, maybe kick him in the balls for being such a dick, but he doesn’t, and instead relaxes into the kiss even though every fiber of his being is screaming at him to run.
“If you can do it again, I’ll give you somethin’ even better,” Cain promises.
And despite the fact that he’s still pissed off, confused, and swimming in endorphins, Abel smirks and says, “you’re on.” He can’t say no to a challenge. Especially one he knows he can win. He’ll prove Cain wrong.
Cain chuckles. “That’s more like it.” He lightly traces Abel’s scar.
They attempt Keeler’s exercise once more.
Abel isn’t all that shocked when the screen flashes 100% for the second time in a row.
Cain gives him a knowing smile and Abel swallows thickly because he’s not exactly sure what he’s gotten himself into.
(But he wants to find out.)
Deimos wakes up three weeks after Abel joins ALNC. It takes him another five days before Doctor Vicks can officially dismiss him. Abel finds out about it when he shows up for more synch training and notices that Cain’s the only one missing. His locker is untouched.
“Don’t take it personally,” Selene comforts as he steps into his plugsuit. He pulls his long hair out of the way before it suctions into place; the thick material molds perfectly to his body. “They’re very close.”
Helios pats Abel’s shoulder affectionately. “Yeah, they are. I think they came here together, way before me and Selene did at least. And Phobos.” Abel feels slightly guilty now for even being at ALNC, like he’s trampled all over the delicate balance they’d had before. And then he snorts. “Delicate” might be the wrong adjective to use.
“You and Selene came together?” Abel asks.
“No,” Selene answers. “I transferred here a few years ago from Europe. We were partnered a few months after that.”
“How long did it take you two to become compatible?”
Selene zips the plugsuit. “Oh, I can’t remember exactly. A few days, I think?”
Abel sputters. “A f-few days?!” It’s taken him and Cain weeks and they’re still not up to Keeler’s impossibly high standards.
“Yeah!” Helios chirps. “We just kind of hit it off and, well, we’re good together!” He beams proudly. “Phobos and Deimos aren’t that bad either.”
Phobos pointedly ignores their comforting feel-good circlejerk and continues dressing in silence.
“How was Cain with Deimos? And…Athos?” Abel swallows dryly, not sure if he wants to know the answer to that.
“Oh, well…” Helios scratches his buzzed head. “Pretty good, too? I guess? I don’t know much about Athos. I never got to meet him.” The atmosphere sours. “But Deimos is great! I mean, him and Cain fought pretty well together, when they did.”
Selene snorts. “More like Cain did all the fighting and Deimos played second fiddle. Cain was always bossing him around. Not like Deimos minded all that much. I think he likes taking orders.” And then whispers under his breath, “from his new partner, not so much.”
Phobos scowls. “I heard that!”
“Yeah, well, he’s probably not going to be in combat for a while now,” Helios adds. “The only order he’s been given is to get some R&R.”
“I hope he’s feeling better.” Abel glances at Phobos whose face hasn’t changed one bit. “Aren’t you his partner?” he says after a while, a little annoyed that Phobos doesn’t seem to care all that much about Deimos’ well-being. Co-pilots are supposed to look out for each other. Ideally. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”
Phobos snorts, all too amused. “I could ask the same thing about Cain, couldn’t I?” he replies.
Abel scowls and balls his hands into fists.
Phobos smirks once he’s realized that he’s struck a rather sensitive nerve.
“They were partners. It’s only natural he’d want to check up on him,” Abel rationalizes. A part of him believes that.
“Temporary partners. Deimos is mine,” Phobos clarifies, though he sounds completely disinterested when discussing anyone but himself. “And from the looks of things—” his eyes linger on Abel’s scar “—it seems Cain’s found a new obsession already. So you can drop the jealous girlfriend act.”
His face flushes bright red.
“Don’t you have a Synch Rate to improve? 70% isn’t up to the Commander’s standards,” Selene snaps as he ties his bangs back into a small ponytail.
Phobos frowns. His plugsuit deflates, skin-tight against his body. “Like yours is any better.”
“It is, actually. By ten points.”
“Bullshit. You pulled that out of your ass.”
“Not really. You should consider pulling the stick out of yours, though.”
Abel takes note never to get on Selene’s bad side. He’s actually rather quick with the comebacks.
Helios grins sheepishly throughout the whole exchange as Phobos and Selene continue to squabble, like he knows better than to get in the middle of one of their fights.
The training progresses quite smoothly. Abel’s synch rate improves drastically even though he’s still considerably wet behind the ears. A whole fifteen percent increase from last time, putting him at an even sixty. Not bad, but not exactly great either. Still, Keeler applauds his efforts and Abel swells with pride.
The days he’d spent studying for his B.Eng. feel more like a distant memory now. Someone else’s dream slowly peeling away to reveal the true, fleshy purpose of his entire existence. When he’s inside Unit-01 Abel feels inexplicably at home and the warmth spreading from his fingers all the way down to his toes reminds him of lazy Sundays spent curled up in his mother’s lap. She used to read him fairytales and thread fingers through his hair. Sing him songs and whisper I’m proud of you Abel, don’t ever forget that. Before Second Impact. And if he closes his eyes Abel swears he can smell perfume. Floral and—
“Okay, we’re done for today!” Keeler announces through the radio.
Abel blinks, groggy. “Huh?”
“If you’re tired you should go take a nap, Abel. Inside an Evangelion is no place to be falling asleep!” Keeler chides, but there’s no bite behind his teasing.
“Ah, sorry about that!” he apologizes. “I just forgot where I was for a moment, I guess.” He rushes through the shut down procedure just as everyone’s already stumbling out of their EVAs.
“Go home and get some rest. You look like you need it.”
“No, I’m fine. Really!” Abel protests, but his yawn says otherwise.
Keeler laughs. “Are you always this stubborn? It’s fine, Abel. Really.”
Maybe Abel does need a break. He’s been pulling late nights and odd hours recently. Keeler calls him in for more tests and simulations, and Abel doesn’t mind because he actually feels useful when he’s practicing how to run, jump, and shoot. But the heaviness of it all weighs him down to a near catatonic state. He forgets to eat, sleep, even breathe sometimes. All because he can’t wait to climb back inside Unit-01 and synch. Which, if you’d asked him three weeks ago, he’d have vehemently denied. Just the thought of climbing inside that synthetic life-form gave him a mild stroke. But now, synching with EVA might be one of the few things Abel actually enjoys.
Fifteen minutes later, on his way out of ALNC HQ, Abel accidentally bumps into someone wandering the halls. He’s not paying all that much attention to begin with and the added bonus of sleep deprivation dulls Abel’s senses.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” Abel desperately explains. The man he’s bumped into looks completely unfazed.
Black hair. Sunken cheeks. Dark circles. Abel’s unintended victim looks like he’s been through hell and back. And he’s wearing…an orange plugsuit? A modified one by the looks of it. The sleeves are cut off.
“You’re…Deimos, right?” Abel asks, cautious. “I’m Abel. Nice to meet you.”
He proffers his hand, and then realizes how dumb an idea that is seconds later.
Deimos is covered in bandages. Three around his right arm, several wrapped tightly on his fingers, and one large strip of gauze encompassing his head. Giant, blotchy bruises trail up and down his biceps. His wounds look painful and Abel’s not even sure how he’s standing right now let alone walking. Is he heading to the training facility for a synch test? In this condition?
Deimos says nothing in response; just stares back at Abel without any discernable expression on his face, half of it covered by his hair.
“Um,” Abel mumbles to fill the awkward silence. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now. And I’m looking forward to working with you!”
Deimos blinks slowly.
Silence.
One minute passes.
Then two.
Abel’s fidgeting nervously by the third.
“All right, well it was nice meeting you! See you around.”
Deimos watches him leave.
When Abel rounds a corner, he stops to lean against the wall and hides his face in his hands. He’s mortified and redder than Unit-02’s paint job. No one mentioned that Deimos was mute?! Or maybe he’s deaf. Unless, Abel reasons, Deimos actually hates his guts and can’t even stomach the idea of talking to him. Either way, Abel’s pretty sure he’s made a complete fool of himself. He never wants to speak with Deimos. Again. Not like Deimos did all that much speaking to begin with.
He swipes his bent ID card at the gate and tries to leave his embarrassment behind.
On the train home, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Encke had given him a new one on his second day at headquarters. “A safety protocol” he’d said just before tossing Abel’s old one into the incinerator along with all of his pre-ALNC ties. It’s not like he’d used it all that much, anyways. Abel never had many friends. No one calls him, either. He doesn’t think about it too much.
He looks down at the screen and reads: 01 New Voice Message(s)
From an unknown number.
He carefully puts the phone to his ear. And presses play.
“Yeah, yeah, after the beep, I know! Hey, princess! I’ve been lookin’ all over for you! What? You went home early or something? Tch. Didn’t think you were that soft. Tomorrow you better not puss out! We’re gonna work on our synch rates until we both puke! How can you be okay with Helios and Selene beating us?! I told you, I don’t want you dragging me down! So I’m gonna drag your ass to practice! Oh, and one more thing. Where the fuck did you put my—”
END OF MESSAGE
Abel bursts into laughter and he has to cover his mouth to keep quiet. An old woman stares at him with mild irritation and a few school children point and tease.
He wipes the tears from his eyes and he looks back down at the screen.
DELETE?
YES or NO.
Abel’s thumb hovers between the two options until he ultimately settles on the one that makes him smile.
The second Angel, Iapetus, descends three days later and manages to burrow its way down to the GeoFront.
Commander Bering orders Unit-03 and Unit-04 to deal with the creature.
Abel sits in wait inside his EVA in case Helios or Selene needs backup. He observes the entire fight from the video feed on his window.
Unit-04 wrestles with Iapetus’ twin tentacles, serving as a distraction, while Unit-03 jumps straight for the core, plunging its progressive knife deep into the red orb right above its ten cockroach-like legs. He barely cracks the surface. Selene jumps away before Iapetus’ fangs can dig into his arm.
“Damnit, not enough,” Selene gripes. “This thing’s tougher than it looks.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Just try it again,” Helios encourages. “I’ve got plenty of bullets to waste.”
“Try not to,” Encke reprimands. “The U.N.’s already on our asses about how much we spend on these little outings.”
Selene regains his footing behind a blast shield. “Well maybe the U.N. should use their own damn toys to handle ‘these outings’ if they don’t like how I’m doing my job!”
Helios rushes toward a weapons crate and grabs a fresh clip, shoving it inside his giant rifle. “They’ve already tried that. That’s why we’re here.”
Selene sighs. “That was rhetorical, Helios!”
Abel watches with awe as Helios and Selene coordinate attacks, bounding across the blast shields in harmonious synchronization while they avoid the Angel’s fire.
“Activating A.T. Field!” Selene shouts over the radio. Unit-03 leaps through the air and forces its barrier inside Iapetus’, tearing through as if it were tissue paper. Selene claws away at each layer until he breaches the Angel’s face, preparing for another go. He grabs the progressive knife on his leg and rears back for a stab.
“Watch your six!”.
Iapetus grips Unit-03 with one of its tentacles, curling around the EVA’s torso, and flings it miles away. Selene’s unit crashes into five consecutive buildings, demolishing them, before rolling to a stop. The Umbilical Cord snaps off in the process and Selene’s timer counts down—he’s only got five minutes to finish this before he runs out of power.
Encke gets on the radio, voice desperate. “You have 280 seconds left and counting, Selene! Helios, I want you to protect Unit-03 at all costs!”
“Affirmative!” Helios answers. Obedient. Abel doubts Encke needed to issue the command in the first place.
Abel tenses in his chair. “Colonel! Do you need us to deploy?” He grips his controls anxiously and waits for the signal.
“Negative,” Encke answers. “Selene and Helios can handle the situation for the time being.”
Selene grabs his progressive knife and flips the blade vertically, tip pointed down. “Don’t worry, Abel. We’ve got this one in the bag.” The EVA gathers strength in its legs and then rushes forward, charging straight ahead.
Unit-03 makes quick work of Iapetus’ left tentacle. Selene grips the appendage between two hands and yanks hard enough to rip the whip out of the Angel’s socket. Unit-04 moves in for cover fire, squeezing off a few rounds to distract the massive creature while Selene builds up enough energy to leap high into the air, landing on the Angel’s head a second time to deliver the finishing blow.
Selene readies his knife one last time and thrusts down with a yell, The blade oscillates at high frequency, shattering the protective covering, and then cracks the core completely. Blood rains down from the sky as the Angel screams in agony, its guts and innards exploding everywhere. A red cross burns above them.
Abel’s glued to the screen, completely mesmerized, and the rush of hot blood pumping through his veins makes him anxious for combat. It’s almost scary how badly he wants to fight.
“Well that was a fucking waste of time,” Cain moans over the radio. He lets out a loud yawn and doesn’t even try to disguise his disappointment and boredom.
Encke sighs. “You should be thankful we didn’t have to send you out at all.”
“Well I’m not! What’s the point of being in one of these things if you can’t even kill something with it?! Right, myshonok?”
Silence.
“See, he agrees with me.”
Phobos groans in disgust. “Deimos didn’t even say anything.”
“Then you weren’t listening hard enough,” Cain argues, tone petulant, like a child bickering with his brother over who’s to blame for the spilled milk.
“There wasn’t anything to listen to!”
“Of course there was! Right, myshonok?”
More silence.
Encke calls for Units 03 and 04 to head back down for repairs so Cain and Phobos can stop wasting precious time playing What’s Deimos Thinking over the airwaves.
When Selene and Helios emerge from their plugs they’ve got bright smiles on their faces. Selene’s hands look slightly burned, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing Helios by the hair and pressing their foreheads together, overwhelmed and relieved that they’d both made it back alive. They’re wound up with adrenaline and Abel watches with envy as they whisper soft praises in each other’s ears, words hushed to keep the moment as private as possible.
Cain bumps into Abel’s arm to let him know he’s close by. He looks just as disappointed as Abel feels. They watch the scene play out below, together.
“Next time,” Cain starts and then pauses when Helios runs his thumb affectionately across Selene’s scratched cheek. “Next time we’ll be the ones out there.” And the quiet tone of his voice makes it sound more like a promise.
Abel’s cheeks flush and his palms dampen. “Yeah,” he whispers in agreement, leaning against the railing. His heart clenches anxiously. He knows it’s just because Cain lives for that post-fight high, but Abel still aches all the same. And wishes he didn’t. Still, he felt exhilarated watching Helios and Selene tag-team that Angel. A selfish part of him wishes one of them had been subbed out.
Helios playfully yanks Selene’s ponytail and Selene half-shoves him away. Laughing. Encke meets them a few minutes later to offer words of praise. Helios nervously salutes him and Selene snickers adoringly.
Next time, Abel thinks.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and another Angel’ll show up.” Cain’s hand falls on the top of Abel’s head and he musses his blonde hair. Abel glares and tries to push him away. “Stop lookin’ so glum, princess. We’ll get our chance to shine. You comin’ to change or what?” Cain grins slyly. “Not that you should rush or anything. That sweet ass of yours looks even better in a plugsuit.”
“How can you want something like that, Cain?!” Abel chastises. He throws Cain’s hand off of his head and takes a step back, annoyed. “Innocent people get hurt during these attacks! We’re supposed to be protecting them, not wishing for more destruction!”
Cain quirks a brow. “Says the guy who was ready to suck the Colonel’s dick just to get deployed.”
Abel’s face burns. “I wasn’t—”
“Listen, princess. I don’t care if you’ve got a savior complex or what, but don’t bullshit me. You wanted to go out there just as bad as I did. I can see it in your eyes.” Cain steps closer for emphasis, eliminating the space between them. Abel tries to back away, but ends up cornered by the railing, spine colliding against the metal with a soft thud. Cain grips the beams to cut off his escape. “Don’t even think for a second that you’re better than me because you hide behind some pussified excuse to get your kicks. At least I’m honest about what I want.”
Abel grits his teeth. Cain’s…wrong. Cain’s absolutely wrong. That’s not why he fights. Abel fights because…
Because…
“See?” Cain scoffs. “You can’t even deny it. Maybe you’re more like me than you thought, sweetheart.” Cain grips Abel’s chin between his fingers, leans down until they’re practically breathing the same air, and smirks. Abel’s pulse races, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s still pissed at Cain or himself. “Hear that?”
“Hear what?” Abel snaps.
“Your heartbeat,” Cain answers. “It’s practically racing.” If it pounds any faster, his heart might beat right out of his chest. “Because you know I’m right. Just accept it. These are your true, honest to God feelings, princess.”
Abel bites his lip and tries to come up with something, anything, but draws a blank. Cain’s wrong. And yet… “You’re an asshole, Cain.”
“An asshole you still need to practice with. Come on. Our mats await, princess.” Cain pushes off the railing and starts for the locker room, but stops when he’s about ten feet away. He turns back around to look at Abel, still rooted in place, and says, “You know, Abel, just because I’m right doesn’t mean you aren’t, too.” He then climbs down the ladder and disappears below.
Abel exhales a shaky breath and closes his eyes. He hates being wrong.
Encke rounds them up for some mid-morning exercise once Helios and Selene have fully recovered.
The filtered sunrise fools Abel long enough until he forgets how truly terrible the real world looks post Second Impact. Red seas, miles of empty nothingness, and too few signs of life. Not much of what once was remains. He doesn’t remember a whole lot from before, though. Just that the skies looked bluer and food tasted sweeter. And that his mother made the best peanut butter and fudge cookies in the whole damn neighborhood. As they jog along the road, he spots a few buildings under repair, most likely due to the last Angel attack, and Abel feels mildly guilty considering they’re responsible for some of the damage.
They make a turn and Abel catches the giant ALNC pyramid glittering in the sunlight, the focal point of the GeoFront. Being underground affords them a bit of temporary security against Angel attacks compared to the rest of the citizens—himself included—who live on the surface of Kepler-3, but that’s not always the case, as was demonstrated by Iapetus a few days ago. And just like above, the GeoFront has manmade roads, trees, an artificial lake, and even natural sunlight reflected by mirrors lining the top-most part of the dome. Abel never thought he’d actually get to see what was down here, but now that he has, it’s nothing at all like he’d imagined. The grass actually looks, even smells more real.
“All right ladies. Take a breather,” Encke huffs before they reach the tunnel. He moves out of earshot when his phone starts to ring. Probably Keeler. Calling about some oh-so-important breakthrough he’s made.
Abel’s wiped and he chugs the water in his sports bottle down with greedy gulps.
Cain stops near him. He rests his arm on top of Abel’s left shoulder and motions for a turn after. Cain’s panting pretty hard and completely drenched in sweat.
They’ve been jogging for a good hour now and there’s still the lap back to base to look forward to. Helios is the only one who seems genuinely excited for it, though. He’s brimming with energy and stretching to keep his muscles warm. If he’s feeling particularly masochistic, he’ll end up challenging Cain to another race to HQ.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Cain says with a smirk before snatching the bottle away to suck down the very last drops.
The nickname doesn’t bother him as much as it used to and he groans at the realization, trying not to think too hard about it. A pair of eyes bore holes into his back. Abel glances over his shoulder and notices Deimos staring at them, but his face is unreadable, like always. He’s still bandaged, but the worst ones are gone.
“Well aren’t you two just sickeningly gross,” Phobos taunts as he towels off his sweat.
“Can it, Phobos!”
“Can it, Phobos!”
Wait. Did they just—
Cain and Abel quickly glance at each other, and then simultaneously sigh.
It’s not the first time they’ve accidentally synched up outside of training. And it definitely won’t be the last.
Just the other day they’d been going over a few reports with Keeler and halfway into the conversation Abel had unintentionally started finishing Cain’s sentences. And then coming home later that afternoon, they’d both attempted to squeeze through the exact same subway doors at the exact same time. Which had prompted a slightly out-of-hand argument about who’d really entered first. Involving security. And some choice words Abel can’t repeat.
Little things, too, like reaching for the same spoon in the morning, or stabbing the same piece of barbecued meat have become common occurrences. Simultaneous teeth brushing. Perfectly synched bites. Even coordinated shoelace tying! Abel can’t count how many times he’s ended up scratching behind his left ear because a bee stung Cain last week and the unconscious urge to itch is driving him insane.
Phobos groans in disgust. “Great. Your verbal periods have synched.”
“Just shut up, Phobos!”
“Just shut up, Phobos!”
Cain looks about ready to chuck Phobos over the safety barrier and down the hill. He’s almost angry enough to go through with it, too, until Abel grabs his arm and pleads no with his eyes. Cain gives him a why the fuck not?! look, but ultimately gives in when he realizes that Abel’s probably right. Phobos isn’t worth a trip to solitary confinement.
“Are you guys…okay?” Selene prods. “You’re just staring at each other.”
It takes Abel a full thirty seconds to realize that neither of them has spoken a single word during their entire “conversation”.
“What, are you both telepathic now, too?” Phobos mocks.
Selene bursts into laughter.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s not funny!”
“Maybe Cain’s just rubbing off on Abel,” Helios speculates mid-stretch.
Abel almost chokes on his spit while Cain howls with laughter. Helios’ phrasing couldn’t possibly be any worse. He seems innocently oblivious to the whole thing, though. Which only makes Cain laugh harder.
“I guess you could say that,” Cain finally says once he’s calmed down. He slings an arm around Abel’s shoulders and the musky scent of his sweat mingles with his deodorant. Abel’s cock throbs because it’s overwhelmingly masculine and just so Cain. They haven’t had time to fuck around in days. And Abel doesn’t want to admit that he misses it. “I’ve got a lot of great qualities people could squeeze out of me.”
“Cain, it’s too early for double entendres about your dick,” Selene complains with an exasperated sigh. He leans against the barrier and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. The sunlight gleams against skin.
Cain gives a frustrated sigh. “Oh, come on! That was a good one! Right, Deimos?”
“Da.”
Abel’s head snaps left. What…? Did Deimos just speak?!
Cain frowns. “What’s with the face?” And then puts two and two together. “Wait, you thought he couldn’t talk?” He snorts in amusement.
Now would be a good time for that whole earth-opening-up-underneath-him thing to happen. “He didn’t say anything when we met the other day!” Abel frantically explains.
“You two met?” Cain poses the question to Deimos, who simply nods in response.
“Pozavcherá.”*
So he can speak. Selectively.
And now they’re both chatting in rapid-fire Russian. Cain talks too loud and dominates the conversation, but Deimos still answers him with quiet little responses that could have easily been missed if Abel wasn’t paying such close attention. They must do this often because Helios and Selene seem completely unfazed. Abel wishes he could comprehend what they’re talking about, but doesn’t know why.
Phobos shifts from mild annoyance to full blown frustration. “Da this! Da that! We get it. Now could you please speak a language we all understand?!”
Cain stops mid-sentence. Now he’s the one under Phobos’ skin. “Maybe you should learn Russian. Might even help you be a better pilot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phobos snarls.
“Nothing,” Cain replies with a smirk. “Just that you need all the help you can get to reach my level.” To add insult to injury, Cain pull his lower eyelid down and sticks out his tongue, demonstrating his superior maturity.
If the visible rage on Phobos’ face is anything to go by, then they’re both going to end up triple handcuffed in solitary.
Helios throws himself into the line of fire before Phobos and Cain start Third Impact all by themselves. “Okay, let’s just calm down. Or Encke’s going to get mad and kick both your asses.” And then turns to look at Cain. “Again.”
Cain makes a face that is decidedly not tough. “That was luck,” he mumbles under his breath.
Abel’s still curious, though. About the language thing, not the ass kicking. “Why would learning Russian help you be a better pilot?”
“It wouldn’t,” Phobos replies before Cain gets a chance to. “This knucklehead just thinks in Russian so that’s what his EVA uses to process commands.”
“She likes it when I talk dirty to her.” Cain makes a lewd expression. Everyone gags.
“It isn’t a she Cain. It is 12,000 plates of pure metal and organic tissue,” Selene deadpans before he chugs some more water. The sun’s really starting to beat down now.
“Scarlet would be heartbroken if she heard you say that.”
Selene groans. “You named your Evangelion?”
“What?” Cain squawks, shoulders shrugged with his hands raised, defensive. “You guys haven’t?”
“No,” chorus Phobos, Abel, and Selene. Deimos shakes his head.
Helios clears his throat and steps forward. “I…did.” And now all eyes are on him. “Tina. After my sister. When I’m inside it, it just…reminds me of her. For some reason.” The profound sadness that washes over Helios when he mentions his sister twists Abel’s gut in all-too-familiar knots.
Cain snorts. “So you like being inside your sister?”
Cue more exasperated groaning followed by intermittent, grumbled Cain’s.
Their conversation gets cut short when Encke comes back with a less than ecstatic expression on his face—not that he’s ever really happy to begin with. “We need to go back. Immediately.”
The atmosphere shifts from lighthearted to heavy in an instant.
The answer is painfully obvious, but Abel asks “why” anyway, and steels himself for the worst.
Encke opens his mouth and—
A loud explosion booms in the distance. Smoke and fire block out the sun. Four spindly legs, taller than any skyscraper in Kepler-3, stretch outward and skitter above the dome, trying to worm their way through the cracks in the GeoFront. A siren blares and all of the buildings begin to retract underground.
It’s an Angel.
“ATTENTION: A SPECIAL STATE OF EMERGENCY HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR THE INHABITANTS OF BLOCK D. PLEASE EVACUATE TO THE NEAREST SHELTER. ALL PERSONNEL PLEASE REPORT TO YOUR STATIONS.”
“That’s why,” Encke says, gesturing toward the giant alien, just as two ALNC cars pull up beside them. The only perk to being under 24/7 surveillance.
Encke shoves them inside while he takes another call, frantically yelling into the phone that they’ll be there soon.
The car skids against the asphalt. Abel’s heart beats wildly inside his chest. He can hear screams and the solid crunch of metal through the cracks in the door. Cain is squeezed into the seat next to his. Quiet. Another loud boom and Abel’s drawn toward the window again. The view outside terrifies him. Almost as much as the smile on Cain’s face.
N2 bombs do nothing against Rhea. Its A.T. Field is too strong for conventional weapons of mass destruction to penetrate.
“Why the fuck do they even bother? Don’t they know they’re completely useless?” Cain scoffs. He leaps over a tall building with ease. Unit-02’s feet slam against the earth when it lands, small tremors rippling outwards. A chorus of car alarms echoes behind him.
Bering had ordered that EVA-01, EVA-02, EVA-05, and EVA-06 would engage the Angel from four equally distant directions. One Evangelion per leg.
Abel rushes toward Rhea from the northeast, clutching a giant rifle between his two hands.
The plan goes like this: Deimos and Phobos will take down the Angel when Cain and Abel have successfully penetrated its A.T. Field. According to Central Command’s calculations, they’re going to need the strength of two EVAs to successfully breach the barrier. Unit-05 sustained too much damage from the previous battle and cannot engage in close combat, so it’s up to Unit-06, Phobos, to land the decisive blow.
“I want this fight over and done with in less than ten,” Encke orders. “Phobos, I’m counting on you.”
Unit-06 grabs a spare rifle off the rack and slings it over its back. “Yeah, yeah. Poke the giant red self-destruct button. I’ve got it.”
Abel pitches Unit-01 forward through empty streets and highways until he’s close to the Angel’s back most legs. “Engaging target!” he shouts and then draws his weapon. He aims, the way Keeler and Encke taught him to, and shoots. A spray of bullets collides against Rhea’s A.T. Field. But it’s no use. They can’t break through. Empty shells clang to the ground. And all Abel’s managed to do is piss it off further.
“Bullets are ineffective. Its A.T. Field is too strong,” Abel says. He chucks the empty rifle away and then dodges a stab from one of Rhea’s pointy feet.
“Of course they are,” Cain laughs sarcastically. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you princess?”
Rhea fires a beam Abel’s way. “It would be—” Duck. Jump. “—a nice change—” Block. Kick. “—of pace!” He gets careless and meets the full force of Rhea’s swing. Abel flies backwards into a building and grunts in pain. “Cain!” he shouts. “I need you! Hurry up!”
Through his window, Abel watches Unit-02 sprint at near Mach speed. “I’m almost there. Hold on, sweetheart,” he says, Cain’s typical, egotistic chest-pounding absent. His voice shakes near the end.
Unit-02 makes it to the scene second, followed closely by Phobos and Deimos who keep the Angel distracted by running circles around it.
“You get the front, I’ll get its back,” Cain orders.
“Got it,” Abel replies.
It’s not as easy as it sounds. Rhea moves unpredictably, never staying in one position for long. It’s too skittish to stay still, using its superior agility to consistently outmaneuver the Evangelions. Cain manages to get his A.T. Field up and running after a few near-death experiences. He pries with two hands and pulls, stretching the Angel’s protective shielding apart. Abel mirrors Cain’s movements opposite him, near the front. They’re both grunting and screaming, using every ounce of strength they have to rip the damn thing open.
“Deimos, fire!” Abel grits through clenched teeth. He’s the closest one to the breach. Phobos is too busy dancing with Rhea’s legs to engage.
Unit-05 pulls an oversized sniper rifle off of its back and aims carefully. They can’t afford to miss.
He’s about to take the shot, but stops when the Angel’s torso vibrates intensely. It spits something orange and slimy over Abel’s head, aiming straight for Deimos.
Unit-06 rolls out of the way, leaving Unit-05 to fend for itself.
“Deimos, move!”
But the EVA can’t, not while it’s charging the rifle. So Abel does what Phobos should have and sprints backwards, letting go of the field to put himself between the Angel’s attack and EVA-05. And when the orange substance meets Abel’s spine, he screams. It burns. All over. Rips through his flesh and erodes the metal. Abel’s fingers claw at the wound, picking away at the corrosion like an infected scab. Unit-01 howls in agony. And Abel wants to die.
“Abel!” Cain’s guttural scream cuts through Abel’s own.
“EVA-01’s neural connection is spiking.!”
“Abel!” It’s Keeler. He sounds panicked. Justifiably so. “Your harmonics are rising! If your synch rate goes any higher you’ll physically be in danger! Fall back and let the others finish this.”
Abel grips his shoulders and slams his eyes shut, shaking all over. Synching too high can put your life in jeopardy. He knows that. He never expected it to happen, but here he is with second-degree burns because Unit-01 responds to him and him alone. Like they were perfectly made in the shape of each other. Keeler’s probably right. It’s too dangerous to keep going when there’s the very real possibility of death. But he knew that already, even before he’d stepped inside the Evangelion. He can’t give up. Not now. “I’m—” a deep breath “—fine. Cain,” he calls. “Let’s take down that A.T. Field.”
A long pause.
Abel’s heart pounds inside his ribcage.
And then…
“Fuck yeah. Let’s do this.”
He smiles despite the pain. “I think we’ll have a better chance if we focus on one specific area. Then Phobos can finish it off,” he wheezes through clenched teeth. Abel reaches for the controls and forces Unit-01 to move. Christ it hurts. “We’ll take it by surprise. Cain, stay on my nine.”
“Got it.”
Unit-01 and Unit-02 rush head first toward the Angel, charging from two different directions. Rhea rears back and lunges for EVA-02. Cain weaves left and slashes the Angel’s leg with the blade of his knife; red liquid splatters against the ground. Deimos provides cover fire from behind, shooting whenever Rhea gets too close to either EVA. They finally reach the Angel’s backside together and simultaneously activate their A.T. Fields. Abel grips one half while Cain pulls the other, spreading the barrier wide apart with everything they’ve got.
“Phobos!” Abel shouts. “Now would be a good time to kill it!” He’s losing ground. The dirt can’t hold his feet for much longer. The pain in his shoulder won’t give up, either.
Phobos growls through the speaker. “Shut up! I know that!”
Unit-06 sprints forward and leaps through the EVA-sized hole Cain and Abel have created. Once inside, he whips out his rifle, aims for the Angel’s beady, green eye, and fires. Phobos pierces straight through to the core. The Angel quivers wildly and then explodes red blood, the only trace of Rhea’s existence splattered against their armor. A cross burns above them.
Abel drops to one knee, exhausted. His skin crawls and he’s too afraid to look under the collar of his plugsuit to see if there’s any physical damage. In all likelihood, there is.
Cain’s unexpected hand on his shoulder shakes him from thought. “Come on,” he urges with a tug. “Get up.”
And Abel does. Slowly. With Cain’s arm supporting his waist as they hobble back towards their respective platforms. Suddenly, he doesn’t care about the phantom burns eating away at his flesh. Or the slight wobble in his left leg. Actually, it hurts less.
The radio crackles softly. Unit-05, the source reads. Deimos is—
“Thank you,” whispers a voice so soft the heavy thud of their feet nearly drowns out the words.
Abel stills. And then smiles. “You’re welcome,” he replies with a laugh, and then a groan. He really shouldn’t do that. His back still aches.
Cain snorts over the radio. “Told you he talked.”
“Pilot of Unit-01.” Abel freezes in place. He hasn’t heard Commander Bering’s voice since the first day he’d joined. Or was forced to join, rather. “Excellent work. You’ve improved.”
It’s short. Too brief to be considered praise, but Abel still smiles all the same. He’s proud. Overflowing with joy and amazed. “Thank you sir!” he replies, voice giddy. It’s silly how much the words mean to him, but Abel feels useful, like he’s needed for once. He wants to keep piloting for as long as he can. He wants to protect everyone in Kepler-3. Hell, the whole world. Maybe he was meant to be an Evangelion pilot after all.
He comes to the hangar sometimes. To watch the mechanics repair Unit-01.
They have to ship in parts from somewhere near Sleipnir because of the extent of the damage. Too much corrosion, an engineer had explained when Abel’d asked. Right now he’s sitting with his legs hanging off the scaffolding and his hands resting on the railing above. A technician yells for someone to “check the damn readings” as a factory-fresh spinal plate welds into place. EVA-01’s almost at 100%, but not quite. They still need to paint the new pieces purple.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
Abel snaps his head right, startled.
It’s Cain. And he’s standing right next to Abel with his hands dug deep in his pockets. When did he get here? Abel should’ve heard his footsteps shake the rickety walkway. Maybe he really should go back to the hospital.
“I checked myself out,” Abel replies. “I’m feeling a lot better now. Really.” He does, honest to God.
The skin graft worked and Abel can’t even tell which parts of him were burned beyond all recognition. He can’t figure out which parts of his back are actually him, either. Which is probably a good thing. ALNC’s medical technology surpasses anything Abel’s ever seen on the surface.
Cain huffs, unconvinced. “Yeah, well, don’t push yourself too hard.” He plops himself down next to Abel and scoots closer until their thighs brush. “Can’t have my partner keeling over during combat.”
That’s the closest Cain’s come to sounding concerned. And that’s probably the closest he ever will. It’s…endearing. In a weird sort of way. Abel cracks a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” He hopes. “I managed on my own just fine.”
Cain reaches for his pack of smokes and a light. “Good. Cuz next time I’m not carrying you. And don’t get used to it, either,” he says mid-smack. The box stubbornly refuses to give up a cigarette no matter how many times he hits the damn thing. “Hate new fuckin’ packs. Christ. There we go. Jesus.” A single stick pops out. Cain pinches it between two fingers and pulls. With practiced ease he places the cigarette between his lips and flicks the lighter once, twice, until he’s got a flame going and the end of his smoke lit. Cain takes a long drag, holds the tobacco deep in his lungs, and then exhales slowly, savoring the taste and nicotine high. His shoulders slump, relaxed.
Abel coughs when the smoke floats too close to his nose.
“What?” Cain whispers, voice thick. Abel’s pulse quickens. “Never smoked one?” He gestures toward the cigarette resting between his ring and middle finger.
“Not really,” Abel confesses. “I’ve never really wanted to. I’m afraid I’d get, uh, you know. Addicted. Or something.” His fingers drum nervously against his slacks.
Cain chuckles. “Wanna try?” he asks, but it comes out sounding more like a command. He proffers the cigarette and waits for Abel to wrap his lips around the filter.
He probably shouldn’t. Keeler would yell at him if he found out, but… “Okay,” Abel whispers, barely above a breath. He wants to.
Abel leans in close enough to smell the heady aftershave Cain’s wearing and it mingles with the thick smoke wafting between them. He opens his mouth, looks up at Cain for reassurance, and sucks, tasting tobacco on his tongue.
Cain smirks. “That’s it, princess. Good. Now hold it right there for a minute.”
It burns. And tastes awful. But he holds the smoke in his chest as tears start to well at the corners of his eyes. He bangs his hand against the scaffolding repeatedly in an effort to nonverbally tell Cain I can’t hold on any longer; just let me breathe, damnit!.
“All right, all right. Let it out,” Cain laughs.
Abel bursts open his mouth and gags, then chokes. “That was terrible,” he complains through a particularly loud cough. “How do you even stand that stuff?”
Cain just shrugs and takes another drag, showing Abel how it’s done. “You get used to it. Like most things. At least you didn’t throw up. I did, my first time.” The cigarette burns all the way down to the filter. Cain stubs it out and then flicks the butt down below. He’s already reaching for a second. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, sweetheart. Looks like you’re addicted to something else.”
Abel tenses and his chest tightens. “Cain, what—”
“You come here a lot, don’t you? Keeler said you’d be here.”
Oh. He means—oh. “How does Keeler know that?”
Cain juts his chin toward the row of cameras above. “They’re everywhere. Inside and out. Wherever you go, Bering’s got his eye on you.” He casually flips off the one right above them for good measure.
Is he speaking from experience? Now Abel’s curious, but not enough to ask. “I wanted to see how the repairs were going,” Abel says after a beat. “Unit-01 got pretty torn up during that last battle and I wanted to check on it. They should be done by next week at the rate they’re going.”
“Heh. Yeah. These guys don’t fuck around. Encke’s got them by the balls.”
A crane lifts another part of EVA-01’s armor plating high in the air. They’re going to patch the gap near its waist.
They fall into companionable silence. Cain smokes while Abel rests his forehead against the railing, quiet, listening to the hum of the machines and Cain’s cigarette burning.
“Cain. You…” Abel says after a while, swallowing nervously. “You really love piloting EVA don’t you? You’re not afraid at all.” It’s stupidly amazing in its own way. And Abel would be impressed if he wasn’t so horrified by Cain’s complete lack of foresight. He’s always the first one to charge in or throw himself in danger, like this is all just a game. And he plays to win. “You go out there and fight like you’re not worried about dying. Just…how? Why?”
Cain stops sucking down his next drag and stares at Abel for a moment, like he’s not even sure how he’s supposed to answer that. Like he shouldn’t even have to. “What a stupid question,” Cain finally says, rolling his eyes.
Abel frowns and shoots him a glare. “How—”
“Look at it. Really look at it, princess.”
So Abel does.
The Evangelion stands tall, proud almost. Restraints keep the creature in check, but Abel knows—hell, he’s seen—just what lurks beneath 12,000 plates of metal. He used to think the armor helped protect him from whatever might want to get in, but Abel knows now it’s really meant to keep the beast inside from getting out. They’re…alive. In a way. All base thought and instinct, feral, animalistic. Savage. And when he climbs inside the plug, breathes in fresh LCL, and synchs, Abel feels powerful, like the whole world couldn’t stop him from devouring it in one bite. It chills him down to the bone. Terrifies him. And Abel realizes why he comes here in the first place.
“Now you answer me,” Cain says just as Abel looks back. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I pilot it?” A wolfish grin settles on his face when Abel slowly understands. “See? You get it.”
“I…” Abel does. But he’s still afraid. “Yeah. Kind of.”
“I pilot EVA for myself,” Cain continues, almost lost in thought. “Because I can. Because I want to.” Another cigarette butt flicks down to the floor. “Because it’s the only thing I’m good at in this fucked up world.”
Abel watches the stub land right near the loader. “You haven’t always been a pilot though, right? Before ALNC scouted you, you must’ve done something before all this.” He gestures toward the EVAs surrounding them.
Cain snorts. “Yeah. Stealing. Drinking. Fighting.” He lists them all on his fingers. “The only other things I’m a pro at.” And then Cain leans closer, pressing his lips to the shell of Abel’s ear. His breath reeks of tobacco and it puffs hotly against Abel’s cheek. Abel wants to grab him by the front of his jacket and press their mouths together. “And fucking,” he whispers so low Abel almost doesn’t hear it. “I’m really good at that. Maybe you’ll find out one of these days.” Cain’s teeth scrape Abel’s earlobe.
All of the blood in Abel’s body rushes straight to his cock. A moan dies halfway in his throat and he bites his lip hard enough to hurt. “Maybe I will,” he challenges because Cain always gets him so worked up and he can’t fucking help himself. Like there’s some magnetic attraction pulling them toward each other and Abel can’t, for the life of him, manage to break free. It’s the same feeling he gets when he pilots EVA-01.
Cain’s lips quirk into a smile. He reaches for the pack again to light his third cigarette of the night. At the rate Cain’s smoking, he’ll be out in an hour. “Just remember what I told you, princess.” An orange flame flickers between them. “If you can keep up, I’ll show you something nice.”
And when Abel surges forward to grab Cain by his shirt, catching him off guard and kissing him like he’s been dying to for the past fifteen minutes, Abel forgets that he’s probably the third person Cain’s fed that exact same line.
And he doesn’t care.
“Six days,” Commander Bering says, hands tented in front of his mouth. “That’s how long we have until the next Angel attack, according to our calculations. I want you two to take it out. Any objections?”
Abel stares at Cain just as he turns to do the same.
Vice Command Cook called them in for a briefing mere minutes ago. They’re in Bering’s office in Central Dogma. Abel’s never been here before and notes the lack of knick-knacks or personal items. Except for the frame sitting squarely on Bering’s desk. He can’t see the picture from this angle, but Abel figures it’s of Bering’s family or friends. It’s the only thing that breathes life into an otherwise dull room.
Encke leans against the elevator door behind where Cain and Abel stand, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He observes with impassive scrutiny.
The answer is obvious. And Abel doesn’t need to ask whether Cain wants to or not. He just knows.
“None,” they both reply in unison.
Bering puts his hands flat on the desk and smirks. A bright glare cuts through his lenses. Abel feels queasy staring for too long. “Excellent. Colonel Encke, please inform Keeler that the pilots of EVA-01 and EVA-02 will be arriving at the training facility for more practice.”
Encke nods and shuffles Cain and Abel out of the room and into the lift. He doesn’t join them, though. There’s something Bering wants to discuss with him before Encke leaves.
The elevator ride to Sigma Unit is silent except for the blood pounding in Abel’s ears. Six days. And the Commander wants him on this mission. Not Selene. Not Helios. Not even Phobos. Or Deimos. Abel leans against the wall and tries to even his breathing. Deep inhales, short exhales. In. Out. Relax. There’s a lot riding on this, on him.
Abel’s stomach lurches when the lift bumps unexpectedly.
“Abel.”
His vision blurs as he takes in the sight of Cain staring at him. When did he close his eyes?
“You gonna puke on my shoes again?” Cain teases, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his voice. He’s never going to let Abel live that down.
“No,” Abel grounds out. He’s not. He thinks. “Just nervous.”
Cain frowns. “Why?”
Abel chews on his lip and then says, “Bering’s expecting a lot from me.” God, the pressure is actually making him nauseous. What if he fucks up and Encke pulls him out? “I just don’t want to mess this up. There’s a lot at stake and I don’t want to let anyone down. The whole city’s depending on me to—”
And then Cain laughs. Loud and obnoxious. He’s actually shaking from the force of it.
Abel’s face turns bright red and he glares at his partner. “Why the hell is that funny?!”
“For someone with a degree you’re actually pretty dumb,” Cain crows. Jesus, Cain’s such an asshole sometimes. “Who the fuck said this was all on you? You forget I was standin’ there, too, or what?” And then sometimes, he’s not. “Just relax, princess.” Cain folds his arms behind the back of his head and shifts closer until Abel’s smelling the clean scent of his deodorant. Until Cain’s forcing his way into Abel’s space. Until they’re practically overlapping and close enough to kiss. “We’ll take it down. Together.”
The lazy grin spreading across Cain’s face settles Abel’s stomach.
The blush burning his cheeks, however, does not.
“And if we don’t,” Cain adds a few seconds later, “we’ll just die a slow, painful death as the world burns.” He sounds wistfully romantic. Or like he doesn’t care at all.
“How comforting,” Abel deadpans.
“But that’s not gonna happen.”
Abel quirks a brow. “And why’s that?”
“Because we’re the best,” Cain replies, so matter-of-factly that Abel doesn’t question how Cain’s come to the conclusion that, yeah, they’re good together. The best. They synch almost perfectly, act in near unison, and fundamentally understand each other on the battlefield even if they flip-flop between (almost) friends and enemies. With something a bit deeper than that thrown in between.
Abel crosses his arms over his chest to try and calm the thump-thump of his heart. “Yeah, we are,” he agrees with a grin. Cain’s own seems to grow. “But…” the thump-thumping gets louder “don’t expect me to carry you or anything. If you get your ass kicked, I’m not coming to save you.” Abel cocks his head arrogantly, trying his best to imitate Cain, but he can’t quite copy the gesture. It’s like he’s amateurishly tracing and not doodling with authenticity. He feels ridiculous and a little embarrassed, but Cain still flashes teeth, anyway. Amused.
Cain wets his lips and responds, “won’t need you to, princess. I never lose.” His eyes fix on Abel’s, pupils dilated. “And never will.”
“A-10 nerve connection normal.”
“Plug depth within acceptable parameters.”
“Synchronization rates locked at 85% and 90.3%.”
“Abel, Cain, prepare for launch.”
“Roger.”
“Got it.”
“On my mark. 3…2…1…mark!”
Abel grips the controls tightly as the platform rockets up toward the surface. The Evangelion vibrates with excitement against its restraints.
Crius, the fourth Angel, has landed.
Bering’s calculations were correct after all.
“”Hey, Abel, you ready to kick this thing’s ass or what?” Cain radios. He’s itching for a fight. Unit-02’s red armor catches the sun’s rays.
Abel smirks because he is too. “You bet. Just don’t slow me down, okay?” He squeezes the triggers and Unit-01’s fingers twitch. The amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins could power the whole damn machine if it didn’t run on LCL and brain power.
Cain snorts loudly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”
When they make it to the top, Crius is already demolishing a few of the older buildings in the eastern block. The Angel looks more humanoid than its predecessors. Two arms, two legs, and a face near the upper edge of its torso. The core shines red in the center. It’s larger than either one of them and grey all over, glistening in the light. Abel ducks behind a raised blast shield to avoid getting grabbed as he rushes by and positions himself close to the target. Cain does the same, near the south. They’ll be attacking from opposite directions to maximize their chances.
“Cain!” Abel shouts. “On the count of three, we’ll rush it.”
“You take the front, I’ll get the back. Just like last time.”
Whether Cain starts or Abel does seems inconsequential when they both finish with a resounding “three!” that cuts through Central Command’s radio chatter. Abel pushes off his haunches, kicking dirt and concrete into the air as he sprints forward, charging the Angel with everything he’s got. Unit-02 does the same, growling lowly. Five seconds till contact.
They simultaneously throw their weight into a synchronized kick.
And miss.
Crius splits itself in two just before the soles of their feet collide, peeling in half to form identical twins of its previous form. One red. One blue.
“The fuck?!” Cain barks.
The newly formed Angels immediately latch themselves to Unit-01’s and Unit-02’s arms and swing wildly, hurling the EVAs in opposite directions. Cain skids up the side of a hill nearby, leaving a trail of upended grass and mud behind him. Abel slams into the back of a blast shield and rolls over a few cars along the way. They groan in unison.
“It’s divided itself into two perfect copies! And I’m picking up…wait…no, it can’t—”
“It’s got two cores!” Encke patches through. “Cain, Abel, you need to eliminate them both before it can make any more copies!”
Unit-02 scrambles to stand up, plucking downed trees off of its body. “Heh. An even playing field, huh? One on one. Fine by me. Hey, Abel.”
Abel cranes his head. “Yeah?”
“I got dibs on the red one.”
“It’s all yours,” Abel grunts, shuffling on his feet. He’ll just focus on the blue Angel in front of him.
Crius is quick, faster in its second form than it was in its first, and Abel has a hard time keeping up. No matter how many times Abel dodges, the Angel instinctively knows where to attack next, and Abel’s losing ground. Unit-01 blocks another kick, barely crossing its arms in time. Abel lunges for the core, but Rhea grips him tightly by the wrist and twists so hard Abel’s own wrings in response, skin and bone squeezing together painfully. He reaches for his knife and slashes, but only nets air. The Angel backflips away to avoid the attack. Abel pants in his chair.
The red clone ducks just as Cain throws a punch and Cain misses, hitting nothing. He’s having about as much luck as Abel is. “Hold still, goddamnit!” Abel can feel Cain’s frustration a mile away. He can’t land a single hit, either.
A hail of missiles takes Crius’ halves by surprise, but does little to stop it.
Abel regroups with Cain behind a tall building, panting against his chair, and he wipes the sweat beading against his forehead. Cain’s labored breaths echoing over the radio means he’s in a rough spot, too. At this rate they’ll be burnt out in ten minutes.
“The copies function independently, but it looks like they’re still governed by one brain. You two are going to have to fight the same way if you actually want to win this,” Keeler radios. “Just remember your training and you’ll do fine. Think about those mats I gave you!”
Cain snarls. “Are you trying to piss me off, Keeler?”
“I’m being serious right now! Listen, both of you. Stop relying on yourselves and start relying on each other. That’s an order. Unless you want me to send in Unit-05 and Unit-06 to take care of this?”
“Fuck no! Cain shouts. He’s still grumbling, but Cain'd rather die than get subbed out.
Abel takes a deep breath, mentally loops Keeler’s outdated music, and says, “we’ll handle this.” He’s not sure if it’ll work, but they have to try.
“You got an idea?” Cain asks. He’s on edge, at the end of his rope, and not sure what Abel’s pulling. But he’s desperate and willing to trust whatever Abel comes up with.
“Just follow my lead.” Abel trembles with unbridled confidence. He doesn’t know where it came from. Maybe from Keeler’s words. Maybe from Cain. He just knows that he’s not afraid. Abel looks at Cain through the window. EVA-02’s armor carries dings and scratches, some of the paint flecking off. Cain’s still panting inside his entry plug, probably bruised and on the verge of exhaustion. And he can’t stand the sight of it.
“Heavy rain coming your way,” Encke patches through. Another wave of missiles launch from a nearby building to buy them some time.
Cain sucks in a breath and groans through the speaker. He doesn’t say anything for a while, long enough to make Abel fidget in his seat, but then Cain’s radioing him, voice choppy, mumbling: “All right, Abel. Your move.”
And that’s all Abel needs to hear.
The missile barrage ends. And that’s when they strike.
It feels as natural as breathing, and they’re doing that in time, too. When Abel jumps, Cain jumps. When Abel fires, Cain fires. When Abel kicks, Cain rears back and thrusts his leg forward with the same velocity, strength, and force as Abel’s own, a perfect, synchronized copy. Abel envisions himself back in Cain’s apartment, stepping on all the right circles, the machine cathartically dinging its praise, Cain’s beaming face when they’ve both completed another flawless run. It’s like that, but better. Like slipping into a shared dream you never want to wake from.
Keeler’s hailing them on the radio, something about synch rates, but Abel can’t hear a single word he’s saying. The only sound Abel focuses on is Cain’s breathing, matching his own so that they’re both inhaling and exhaling the same stuttered breaths. It’s exhilarating. Abel’s on the edge of his seat reading every move Cain makes. Blood pounds in his ears and he feels alive. Indestructible. Is this what he’s been missing his whole life?
Crius can’t match their coordination. The red and blue clones look sluggish by comparison, barely keeping up with EVA-01 and EVA-02. Abel bounds left while Cain ducks right, catching the Angel by surprise with how in synch they are. Crius desperately attempts to rejoin, but can’t. Because Cain and Abel won’t let it.
Cain grabs his target by the arm just as Abel does and now they’re both rushing toward the finish, racing, climbing, the red curtain draws near. This is it, the final act of their pas de deux.
With a shout, they sprint up the hill, meet at its apex, and forcibly join the two halves, putting the Angel back together in the crater-sized dent they’ve created. They thrust their arms forward, palms crushing the Angel’s red core, and crack. Red blood geysers between them. Crius explodes into guts and body parts. A cross looms above them.
When it’s over, Abel breathes, deep and controlled. He’s never felt so alive in his entire life. He leans back against his chair and tries to calm down, but can’t.
“Abel.” It’s Cain. The little screen flashing VOICE ONLY tells him so.
“Yeah?” Abel croaks, speech slurred. He wipes the sweat out of his eyes.
“That’s my color.”
“Huh?”
Cain points toward the mess splattered all over Abel’s EVA. He’s drenched from head to toe. Red.
And then he laughs, full-bodied and warm. Abel leans back in his seat and clutches his sides, rolling back and forth with his knees drawn close. Fatigue eats away at him, piece by piece, but he can still laugh, even when the joke’s not that funny. And Cain laughs, too, breathy and light, like he’s just finished a smoke and the tar’s sticky on his lungs. They’re giddy and invincible. Inhuman and untouchable.
“Cain! Abel!” Ah. Keeler. Abel remembers that they’re not alone. “Are you two okay? Your synch rates skyrocketed near the end! Are you hurt? Is everything—”
“How high?” Cain cuts off.
“—all right? What?”
“How high were our synch rates?”
Keeler pauses. “100%,” he answers, voice thin.
Cain starts to laugh again, the noise bubbling from his chest until it grows in volume and floods Abel’s plug, the only sound he can hear. And this time, Abel doesn’t feel like joining in. He’s too stunned to.
When they’re back at HQ, the first thing Abel does after getting out of his plug is head straight for Unit-02. Cain jumps out of his impatiently and practically rushes to meet Abel on the ground. They’re both dizzy and high-strung, thrumming with nervous energy. Cain pulls Abel in for a hug, wrapping his arms around Abel’s sweaty neck. He buries his nose in Abel’s hair and laughs loudly. “Told you we were the best,” he whispers so warmly it sounds more like a confession. Abel just nods because he doesn’t trust himself to speak right now. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. Not when they’re like this. Cain pulls back slightly and runs his thumb affectionately against Abel’s scar, tracing the mark with uncharacteristic tenderness. His eyes glaze over and…he’s smiling. And Abel smiles back because he’s suddenly realized why he pilots EVA after all.
Keeler’s the first one to greet them, effectively ruining the moment. Cain clicks his tongue and separates instantaneously, but doesn’t stray too far from Abel’s side. Keeler grabs Abel by the shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. Abel’s hands hover against Keeler’s back, but settle comfortably a few seconds later.
“You did great!” Keeler encourages, voice soft yet proud. “I knew you could do it!” He pats the top of Abel’s head affectionately. “What did I tell you about those mats, huh? Pretty great, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, just incredible,” Cain replies sarcastically. He nearly jolts out of his skin when Keeler gives him the same treatment, hugging Cain so tight Abel forgets just how frail Keeler is. Abel laughs when Cain starts pushing away like a kid trying to get out of kissing their overly affectionate aunt.
Encke comes down to the hangar soon after to exchange handshakes, obviously pleased with the results. And so is Commander Bering, who’s too busy to join them. “Nice work.” He’s trying not to let sentimentality get in the way, unlike certain other personnel who haven’t stopped ruffling the pilots’ hair.
“Thank you.” Abel’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
A different hand claps Abel on the back. It’s Helios, all smiles and gusto. Selene’s trailing behind him, just as enthused. “That was amazing, Abel! Really, nice job out there! The way you guys fought like wham!” He mock punches Abel in the arm a little too hard and he winces, but Abel doesn’t mind “Almost gave Selene and me a run for our money!”
Cain frowns. “Are you kidding me?!” His long arm drapes across Abel’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “We blew your synch rates out of the water!” Cain cocks his head arrogantly. “Didn’t you hear the scores?”
“Is that all you care about?” Selene sighs, hands resting on his hips. “Your damn synch rate?”
“Why?” Cain huffs. And then his eyes flicker toward Abel’s, fleeting, a microsecond of contact. “What else should I care about?”
Selene groans. “I don’t know. Maybe your lives?”
Phobos’ snort echoes toward them as he strides over. He’s still wearing his plugsuit. If Abel and Cain hadn’t taken out the Angel, Encke probably would have sent Phobos and Deimos out to deal with it. Phobos seems slightly disappointed by the turn of events. “Obviously Cain’s not worried. He’d rather die than come back with his tail tucked between his legs. That’s just the kind of dog he is.”
“Yeah?” Cain sneers. “Well at least I’m not a bitch!”
“Must you be such an insufferable—”
“Gentlemen!” Encke shouts. “Save the argument for after hours. This is not the time or the place for your childish bickering! That’s an order.”
Phobos flushes red all over, tips of his ears included, as he grumbles something scandalous under his breath. Cain rolls his eyes.
A hot puff of air tickles the back of Abel’s neck and he jumps. He whirls his head around, panicked. Deimos is behind him, smirking. “Congratulations,” he whispers before walking away.
Abel blinks. “Thank you?”
The celebratory back-patting goes on a bit longer. Abel’s exhausted, but he can’t help feeling giddy and proud. All eyes are on him and Cain, and this time he doesn’t shy away from the attention. He likes hearing Keeler praise him on a job well done. He likes it when Encke smiles, not frowns, because he’s finally lived up to his potential. He likes it when Selene and Helios congratulate him for being a great pilot. He likes it when Deimos, hell even Phobos recognizes his talent. And he likes it even more when Cain stares at him—and only him—as if Abel were the only person in the hangar. Cain can’t pulls his eyes away for long and he’s fidgeting anxiously next to Abel, pent up and agitated. He’ll possessively inch closer when someone else gets too near, like he’s afraid of letting anyone else in Abel’s space. Abel’s never seen this side of him before; defenseless, restless, and so full of want that it makes Abel’s whole body tremble. It takes all of his willpower not to kiss him right then and there.
“All right, I’ve had enough of this feel-good bullshit!” Cain announces, breaking eye contact. “I’m heading to the showers. My balls are sweating in this thing.” He tugs at the collar of his red plugsuit and starts for the baths. And then stops, glancing over his shoulder. “You comin’ or what?”
Abel perks up. “You mean me?” He looks around just to be sure.
“No, I’m talking to Scarlet,” Cain deadpans. “Of course I’m talking to you! Who the hell else smells like a musty old sock?!”
“You,” Phobos says.
Cain seethes. “You wanna go?!” Encke shoots him a glare.
“Yes,” Phobos drolls. “Preferably home.”
While Keeler attempts to diffuse the situation, Helios slaps Abel on the back. “I guess we’ll see you later then, right? Hey, let’s get drinks tomorrow! I’ll buy the first round!”
Encke raises a brow. “It better be after work,” he threatens in that voice that makes Helios shake harder than a Chihuahua.
Helios stiffens and flubs his salute, trying to be professional. “O-of course, Colonel.”
Selene chuckles, shaking his head. “Idiot.”
Encke hums approvingly. “All right. But I expect you to show up the day after, ready to pilot. I don’t want to hear any bellyaching about hangovers and tequila shots. Understood?”
“P-perfectly!”
“I hope that invitation’s extended to your superior officers as well!!” Keeler jumps in, brushing up against Helios with a charming smile.
Helios flushes even redder.
Phobos rubs his temples and groans. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Cain sighs dramatically to grab Abel’s wandering attention. He’s still waiting. “You comin’ or what?!” he snaps, fingers gripping his biceps tightly, impatient. He taps his foot anxiously on the tile. “Now who’s the one being slow?!”
Abel detangles himself from Keeler’s grip and catches up with Cain. “Drinks, definitely!” he shouts over his shoulder, waving goodbye with the world’s biggest grin plastered all over his face.
“What’s got you smiling?” Cain teases when they’re out of earshot. He’s walking barely two inches apart from Abel, offering no breathing room. Abel’s fingers twitch nervously. He wants to touch him, push Cain against a wall and lick into his mouth. But not now. Someone might see.
“Nothing,” Abel lies, being facetious. It’s a pointless question to ask. Cain already knows what he’s thinking and he doesn’t need a stupid Twister mat and bad music to prove it.
He should’ve seen it coming.
The surprise blowjob in the shower had preluded to what’s happening now, but Abel hadn’t made the connection. Even after Cain’d pinned him against the tiled walls, sucked his face, and then his cock, swallowing down every last drop of cum. Still, it hadn’t hit him fully until they’d stumbled through Cain’s apartment door thirty-five minutes later, half-dressed and attached by the lips, their erections brushing together as Cain’d walked them backwards toward his bed. They’d wrestled out of their clothes, Abel’s shirt landing continents away from Cain’s pants, and clambered onto the mattress. And that’s how Abel finds himself here: one leg slung over Cain’s shoulder with the other bent in half as Cain slowly pushes in a second finger.
Abel gasps. The lube isn’t warm yet.
“Fuck,” Cain exhales. “If I knew how much you’d love my fingers I would’ve done this from the start.” He wiggles a bit and then spreads them apart, getting Abel used to the feeling. Abel’s not exactly a virgin to this, he’s fingered himself before, but this time it feels different. Cain feels different. His fingers reach farther and stretch wider than Abel’s ever managed to and if he keeps pressing against his prostate, Abel’s going to come embarrassingly fast.
“There,” Abel whispers, voice caught in his throat. “Right there!” He angles his hips higher and ruts weakly, trying to get Cain deeper, closer to that spot he’d just found. His chest heaves and he’s blushing from nose to navel. A thin sheen of sweat sticks to his skin.
Cain leans all his weight forward, bending Abel in half. “You mean here?” he teases. His fingers press down and Abel keens. Cain chuckles. “Guess so.” He does it again, rubbing the tips of his fingers against Abel’s prostate until Abel’s writhing and trembling on the comforter.
“Oh, fuck, Cain! Ah—p-please, don’t stop!” Abel begs, words gushing from his lips in one rushed breath. He slams his hand over his mouth to keep from getting any louder. Their walls are paper-thin.
“Let’s see if you can take three.” Cain slips in another and Abel’s spine bows off the bed. His lips part, but no sound comes out, just a choked hiccup as Cain concentrates on spreading him wider, loosening his muscles so that his cock can slide right in. “Fuck, look at you, Abel,” Cain growls. He grinds the head of his erection against Abel’s thigh; it’s just as wet as Abel’s own. “Wanted to fuck you so bad in the shower. And after—shit” pre-cum drips down Abel’s leg; Cain’s getting off on the friction “after we won, too. Jesus, Abel. I swear I was hard the whole time. Watching you take charge like that. How you matched me so perfectly. Almost came in my fucking suit.”
Abel’s entire face burns and his cock twitches against his stomach. “Guess we should thank Keeler then, huh?” he teases. Cain rubs and suddenly Abel’s not smirking anymore.
“Like hell we will. Asshole wouldn’t shut up after we got back.” He thrusts his fingers a bit faster. Abel bites down on his fist to keep quiet. “Was gonna fuck you in the plug but then everyone came over. Killed my damn boner.”
“Seems okay now.” Abel coyly rubs his thigh against Cain’s dick. Cain hisses.
He falls forward and brackets one elbow on the left side of Abel’s head, grinning down at him. “You sayin’ you want my cock?” Those fingers of his twist just right and Abel moans so loud he’s pretty sure Mrs. Baxter next door won’t be able to look at him the same way ever again. Which is a shame. He really liked her tea sandwiches.
“I’m saying you should hurry up and fuck me or I’ll finish what you started,” Abel pants. He barely recognizes the words coming from his mouth. It’s something Cain would say if their positions were reversed. Maybe Helios was right. Maybe Cain is rubbing off on him. In the non-literal sense.
Cain laughs against Abel’s throat and scrapes his canines dangerously against Abel’s pulse point. “I’d like to see you try.”
His fingers withdraw and Abel whines at the loss, feeling empty and drenched from the waist down. His cock leaks steadily against his stomach and a mix of lube and pre-cum smeared between his legs drips down to the sheets. Thank God it’s Cain’s week for laundry. When he starts to push in, Abel tenses and digs his nails into Cain’s shoulders. He’s so much thicker than his fingers and a dull ache blooms at the base of Abel’s spine.
Cain pants wetly in his ear. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Abel hitches his legs higher on Cain’s back, giving him more room. He’s so stuffed he can barely breathe.
“Cain, please, move,” Abel whines. It’s not enough. He needs friction.
“Yeah. Fuck, okay.” Cain’s whole body trembles. He’s just as gone as Abel is.
When he pulls almost all the way out and then thrusts back in, Cain bites down on Abel’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. And Abel screams.
Cain’s hips start off slow; deep, measured thrusts that drag Abel further up the bed until he’s bracing one hand against the mattress and the other around Cain’s neck. Cain grunts softly in his ear, mumbling a mixture of nonsense and Russian, a few whispered fuck’s scattered in between each confession. Abel buries his face against the pillow. When he’d get off alone, he’d always try to keep quiet. Muffle his gasps in his palm or bed. But Cain rips out every embarrassing sound from deep within him until Abel’s moans compete with the rhythmic slap of the headboard banging against the wall.
Abel’s hands slide down to cup Cain’s ass, nails digging in. “Cain, please. M-more—ah. Harder!”
“Yeah?” Cain snarls. He snaps brutally and Abel’s bones rattle from the force of it.
“Like that!” Abel gasps, air knocked out of his lungs.
Cain’s balls deep, but Abel wants—needs—him deeper.
Abel surges forward, shoving his tongue inside Cain’s mouth to distract him while he pushes against Cain’s chest, coaxing him back. Cain pulls away, confused, and then snarls. He can’t read what Abel’s thinking, but doesn’t fight what’s happening, either. Abel shoves Cain flat on his back and repositions himself to straddle Cain’s thighs. Now he’s the one in control.
“Fuck, Abel.” Cain licks his lips and watches as Abel slowly sinks himself down, working through every inch until he’s fully seated, feet planted flat on the mattress with his legs spread wide. Abel grips Cain’s thighs tight enough to hurt. But Cain seems to get off on the pain.
Abel’s head lolls forward and he exhales a shaky laugh, quivering. The reverberation goes straight to Cain’s cock and he bucks up instinctively. It’s not that Abel didn’t enjoy Cain plowing him, because he did. A lot more than he’d imagined. It’s just that Abel’d wanted to see what would happen if he set the pace this time. If he could be the one to make Cain scream his name. Cain’s always the one pushing and prodding, teasing Abel to the point of spontaneous combustion. For once, Abel wants to know what it’s like to be the one in control. Just like before, when they were drenched in blood and high off adrenaline.
Abel lifts up and drops back down. Cain’s hands fly to Abel’s hips, not forcing him to go faster, just holding, gripping. Like he’s trying to stay grounded. Like he’s been the one playing catch-up all along.
When Abel opens his eyes, Cain’s staring at him, eyes fixed on every inch of his face, watching the expressions he makes while bouncing up and down. Abel leans forward a bit, steadying his hands on Cain’s chest now, and starts to move faster. Cain’s so deep, hitting every inch of his insides, and he’ll probably be sore for days, but Abel doesn’t care. Not when it feels this good. Not when he’s the one making Cain gasp and moan and writhe beneath him. Cain’s cockhead brushes his prostate and Abel shouts, whole body shuddering. He’s close. So, so close. And Cain hasn’t even touched him.
Cain seems to be getting off on his sudden bossiness because his eyes glaze over when Abel meets his gaze. He’s flushed, whole face burning, and Cain stares at him longingly, like Abel’s just out of reach. Far, far away.
“Gonna c-come,” Abel huffs through a strangled moan. Just a bit more. Almost there. He focuses on hitting his prostate with each downstroke.
Cain bends his knees, spreading them wide for leverage, and starts ramming into Abel so hard the springs creak. “Touch yourself,” he growls.
Abel reaches down with a shaky hand to grasp his erection. He’s so wet. Soaked and leaking all over Cain’s stomach. The second he touches his dick, pumping from base to tip, Abel comes, splashing hot spurts of cum all over Cain’s abs, even up to his chin. He doesn’t even try to hide his voice, letting the long, drawn-out moan shake the walls of Cain’s bedroom. A fist pounds near Cain’s dresser, jostling the lamp. Abel’d be mortified if he weren’t so delirious.
“Ah, fuck.” Cain shoots his load ten seconds later, thrusting up twice more until he stills, holding Abel in place as he empties himself completely. Semen drips out of Abel’s ass and onto the sheets below. Once again, Abel is grateful he’s not the one in charge of laundry.
When Abel stops shuddering he pulls off of Cain’s cock and flops onto the mattress, boneless. His ass throbs, but it’s a good kind of ache. Tomorrow, not so much.
Cain rolls onto his side and drags Abel into his arms. Abel doesn’t fight it. “Jesus Christ, Abel. Thought you were supposed to be a virgin. Who the fuck taught you to ride cock like that?”
Abel blushes. “I-I am! I mean, I’m not—I didn’t—”
“Relax, princess,” Cain chuckles. “I’m just fuckin’ with you. It was pretty obvious that was your first rodeo. The way you kept screamin’ when I shoved my cock in you kind of gave it away.”
“I didn’t scream!” Abel counters.
“You yelled so loud the old hag next door started beating the wall.”
Oh. He did. Abel blushes even harder.
Cain laughs so loud he shakes the bed. His chest brushes against Abel’s and he suddenly realizes that they’re both covered in sticky, wet fluids.
“Cain, you’re getting me dirty!” Abel protests, trying to shove him back. He never pegged Cain as a cuddler, but sometimes he clings after they’ve gotten each other off. Abel always pretends like he hates it before relaxing into his embrace.
“You’re already dirty.” Cain clumsily shoves two fingers inside Abel’s ass and Abel gasps, writhing from over stimulation. “You’ve got cum leaking out of you.” He spreads his fingers apart to watch the white liquid seep out.
“Well whose fault is that!” Abel reaches back to grab Cain’s wrist, dragging his hand away. Cain rubs his dirty fingers against the sheets.
“You should clean it out before it dries. Unless you’re into that.”
Abel groans in disgust. He probably should. “I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, crawling off the bed with unsteady legs. When he stands up, his whole lower half burns. Just walking seems impossible.
Cain sits up, somewhat nervous. “Did my cock break you or something?” he teases, but his smile fades when Abel starts to limp. Now he looks curiously concerned.
“It’s fine!” Abel waves off. Really, it’s not that bad. He’s just a little sore. He can manage on his own. Probably.
“Want me to join you?” Cain lewdly shouts from the bedroom.
Abel leans against the counter and groans. He reaches for a few tissues. “No!” he answers back. Christ, he really is leaking.
“Want me to suck your cock in the shower?” A pause. “Again?”
Abel’s whole body flushes red. “No!” he shouts even louder.
Mrs. Baxter bangs against the wall for the second time that night.
“Just do the laundry!” Abel yells as he turns on the faucet. The water warms in his palm. Abel steps inside the tub and lets the spray wash off every bit of sweat and semen still clinging to his body.
“Yeah, yeah,” Cain grumbles.
All of his worries seem to swirl down the drain as Abel lathers soap on the loofah and feels the steady stream beat down against his back. If you’re ever in a pinch, just go soak! Bathe away the troubles of the day! his mother used to say. Abel closes his eyes and breathes deeply, letting the steam lull him into a state of complete relaxation. He starts scrubbing, but notices that something’s off. The soap doesn’t smell right. Abel looks at the bottle he’d just grabbed and reads the label. It’s some off-brand, cheap knock-off from the corner convenience store. Woodsy. Definitely not “Lavender Spring Blossom.” And then it hits him, just as the pressure spikes.
This is Cain’s.
He laughs and shoves the bottle inconspicuously behind the shampoo.
When he’s done, Abel throws on some sweats and a t-shirt. He pads over to Cain’s bedroom and, oh, he really did do the laundry. There’s a fresh set sitting on top of the mattress. The fitted sheet extends from one corner to the other, crumbled and bunched all over, not quite on all the way. Cain must’ve given up in frustration. So Abel does the rest while Cain washes off.
He’s halfway finished with the pillowcases when a loud knock bangs against the front door.
Abel pales. It’s probably Mrs. Baxter. Ready to talk his ear off about sex out of wedlock.
He shuffles to the front door and mentally prepares the most sincere apology he can come up with in under ten seconds. But when he unlocks the latch and turns the knob, it’s not Mrs. Baxter at all. It’s a deliveryman. DHL. And he’s holding a box. “One package for, uh, an Abel?” he says around the pen cap in his mouth.
“Ah. That’s me,” Abel answers, a little shocked. He didn’t order anything. Or maybe this is—
“Sign here please.” The DHL man shoves the clipboard into Abel’s hands and passes him the pen. The end is gnawed. Abel avoids touching that part.
Abel scribbles his signature on the bottom line and trades the clipboard for his package. “Thank you!” he says. The DHL guy just nods and goes back to chewing his pen.
He shuts the front door and places the mysterious box on the dining table. He thinks he knows what’s in it, but can’t be sure. Not until he rips through the tape and finds out for himself.
The shower pressure cuts off just as Abel slices through the package label. Cain walks into the living room with a towel tied around his waist, another slung over his shoulder. “What’s in the box?” he asks nosily.
Abel shrugs. “I think it’s the rest of my stuff that got lost in the mail,” he answers. “Some of my personal things.” He tries to keep his hands steady. If it is, then…
“You mean your dildo?” Cain sneers.
Abel shoots him a glare. “No,” he sighs. “Photographs. Awards. And—” Abel reaches inside the box, rummaging through the packaging peanuts and finds what he’s missed the most at the very bottom “—my SDAT.” He pulls out the black cassette player along with his earbuds. The batteries are still there and the tape seems untouched. He turns the device on and the digital numbers come alive. Track 13 the machine reads. His favorite.
“This thing’s ancient,” Cain comments. He watches curiously as Abel puts in his earbuds and presses play.
“It was my mother’s. She gave it to me. Before, uh.” He swallows. “You know.”
Cain tenses. “Yeah.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot, anxious. “Still works?”
Abel nods. “Yeah! Thankfully. I thought I’d lost it for good. I’m glad it found its way back—” He stops on the last word. He’s not sure if he should say it, but the way his heart beats in time to the music and Cain’s rising chest gives him the courage to finish “—home.”
Cain snorts, but doesn’t correct him. He’s got a lopsided grin on his face and wet hair in his eyes. He seems…happy. “Lemme hear.” Cain extends his hand and motions for an earbud. Abel hands him the left one. Cain pops it in, closes his eyes, and listens along. They stand in comfortable silence, their feet tapping in time. After the song ends, Cain looks at Abel and says, “that sucked. Seriously? That’s the kind of music you like?”
Abel frowns. “I’ll go listen to it myself, then.” He reaches for the earbud in Cain’s ear, but Cain stops him mid-grab, swatting Abel’s hand away.
“Hey, hey,” Cain protests. “I didn’t say take it out. Maybe your taste gets better or something. Keep playing the damn tape.”
They end up back in Cain’s bedroom, passed out on top of the sheets with the comforter kicked down to their ankles, Abel’s earbuds still dangling from their ears. The SDAT finishes on track 26 and then rewinds, looping back to the beginning, playing the whole thing over again.
“You were right sir,” Vice Commander Cook says as he stares out of Bering’s office window, watching the mechanics repair Unit-01. He clasps his hands tightly behind his back. “The pilot shows remarkable talent. He trusts easily. But will it be enough?”
Bering sits at his desk, steepled fingers covering his mouth. EVA-01 stares back at him through the glass. “It will,” he replies confidently. “Happiness is fleeting.”
“You know PNEUMA won’t stand for this. If they find out what you’re doing, they’ll end us all.”
The picture on his desk catches the light from the hangar, the woman’s face obscured by the glare, headless. “Then we’ll need to move quickly. After all,” he adjusts his glasses “this is the true purpose of ALNC.”
Yes // No
On the Next Episode: The pilots of EVA-01 and EVA-02 continue to walk their fated paths. Coeus descends from above! ALNC headquarters is in ruins! Cain and Abel battle the 5th Angel before all is lost! What? No, Encke, stop. I’m not giving anything away. This is my chance to shine, damnit! Ahem. But what’s this? Beast mode?! And Unit-01’s gone berserk?! Where will this story of people fighting to survive lead? Next time, on Neon Genesis Starfightergelion – Episode 02: Don’t Go a-Knock-Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door Just Yet! And there’ll be plenty of fanservice, too! See you then!
notes:
* day before yesterday
-since starfighter uses a lot of greek mythos, i decided to use titans’ names in place of the actual angels’ names from the show. tethys = sachiel, iapetus = shamshel, rhea = matarael, crius = israfel.
-alnc = nerv. pronounced alliance. i just wanted the same number of letters.
-mother = magi, the super computers
-pneuma= seele, greek word for soul
-everything else i've left in tact because i am not that smart/creative. evas are evas, central dogma is central dogma, etc. etc.
-abel = shinji, cain = asuka, selene = mari (kind of), deimos = rei (personality wise), bering = gendo, cook = fuyutsuki, keeler = ritsuko with the personality of misato, encke = misato with the personality of ritsuko, and everyone else are themselves because? because. encke and keeler are in their early to mid thirties.OH THE PARALLELS. some of these can’t be good…
-kepler and sleipnir are fictional locations on earth for the purposes of this fic
-i played up the whole partner thing because in the comic that’s one of the big themes and communication is another one in nge, so is the dissolution and reclamation of “home”
-any mistakes are my own, i'm trash, sorry
-take a guess who’s reading the end card
this is it. i've lost my mind. this started off as a parody or something? and spiraled out of control. if you’ve made it this far then, um, congratulations? this is probably the most self-indulgent thing ever. but i really wanted starfighter boys in plugsuits and this is what happened. a shoujo romcom/slice of life evangelion meets gay space boys thing with a little plot sprinkled on top. so there you go. this is probably the happiest this “show” will ever be. this is nge after all. i'm sure everything will turn out all right for ikari abel-kun. probably. comments are nice but not necessary. um, i hope you enjoyed it? see you next robot time.
hit me up on twitter or tumblr if you have any questions/want to follow/cry about gay cartoon boys. or just want to be friends and talk about fic! i have no starfighter friends :(
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