Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction ❯ Gnosis ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Gnosis

 

Adam Kadmon

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Evangelion.

 

Warning: rated NC-17 for graphic sexuality and language… and yes, this is a Shinji/Kaworu fic. Don't like it? Don't read it. Now, set your yaoi rays on stunned!

 

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I want to die.

 

He wasn't sure when he came to the conclusion, but it now seemed he had always wished for it. For an end. Shinji never thought his life would be anything pleasant or meaningful, but the level of pain he had been introduced to recently was more than he ever imagined. It was beyond what exhausted coping mechanisms had sustained him for the last fourteen years. It was far past what he deemed pleasurable, or even tolerable. He was tired of feeling lost. He was tired of being sad. He was tired of living.

 

I'm tired. I'm so tired.

 

Somewhere along the way… after Touji, after he was inside Unit-01… after Asuka… and Ayanami… he was just so tired of it all. Of pretending not be sick of life. Sickened by his very existence, by the existence of everyone around him. The invisible bonds that formed human relationships filled him with revulsion. He was sick of the path mankind tread upon. He was sick of mankind's failings. He was sick of mankind.

 

The apartment no longer felt like a home. Any sense of belonging there had vanished a lifetime ago. He couldn't even pretend to be cheerful, or hopeful, or happy anymore. He had always been a kind of actor, existing between performances, but lately his mask was slipping out of place with every word he spoke, every breath he took. It was impossible to return. He didn't deserve it, even if he could.

 

Misato no longer came home. He didn't know where she was. Not that he could face her. The last time they had spoken, when she held his hand… it filled him with marvelous disgust. Physicality was a right for everyone but him. No one should ever have to touch him, to cover themselves with his taint. He deserved to be alone.

 

He was alone.

 

His friends had all moved away, moved past him, nothing more than memories of a less painful time. He couldn't bring himself to visit Asuka yet, her trauma induced coma too agonizing to bear.

 

And mother…

 

And Ayanami… he wished for the blissful ignorance of just a few days ago. Anything but the truth. Even now every time he shut his eyes the crumbling bodies of all those Reis rushed to meet him. A part of him could not truly accept what he had seen in that chamber. The same part that could not see Asuka in such a defeated state. The same part that didn't aide Misato when she was crying, or rescue Touji from the Angel, or his mother from the Evangelion. It was the part Shinji knew to be his truest self.

 

And he hated himself for it.

 

Living had become nothing but a sustained act of dying.

 

I want to die.

 

Last night he had held one of Misato's razors to his wrist for forty minutes. He held it tight, the blade leaving a pale indentation. He held it alone in the bathroom and he cried. Because he could not summon the strength of will to cut, to sever his thread to life.

 

A part of him wanted pain. He knew he deserved it. He wanted it, but the sympathy that went with it… that was the tricky part. People pitied him, and it filled him with disgust, but pride as well. He hated himself for enjoying other people's pity. He hated himself for wanting it. He took tragedy with a grain of salt, secretly elated at the empathy it would produce in others. But when everyone around him was chin deep in pain too, his relative suffering was forgotten, pushed to the side for individual agony. It was selfish, cowardly, and utterly weak. Shinji knew because it was what he always did.

 

He was a failure at living, and he was a failure at dying, too. What got him out of bed in the morning? What halted the blade at his wrist? What kept him in this coil of suffering with all the other pathetic entities called humans?

 

Suicide was above him. The act would be wasted on someone as low as he. He wasn't worth the effort. He deserved pain and living death. He deserved every terrible thing that ever happened to him. He was worthless. Spineless. Disgusting. Pathetic. But so was everyone else around him.

 

No one cared. No one cared about him. No one cared about his suffering, the eternal agony that every day became. No one cared that he was afraid to go to sleep and hated waking up. That his entire day was now spent waiting for it to end. No one cared.

 

So they could just go ahead and die.

 

But even then he wouldn't be happy. He wanted… he wanted to be free. Of the shackles of shared humanity, compassion, sympathy, violence, hate, love… he wanted to express himself without the coloring of shame or another person's perception.

 

But it was impossible. People judged each other without conscious effort. It was the repulsive fact of human nature. What was he supposed to do when every person around him was as selfish, filthy, weak, pathetic and worthless as he was? What was he supposed to do when no one could see past their own pain and suffering?

 

What was he supposed to do?

 

He stared into the setting sun, waiting, wishing, for it to swallow him whole. He still wasn't entirely sure what carried him to the beach created by Unit-00's destruction. It wasn't pity or remembrance. Ayanami was still alive… at least her body was. Whatever made her Rei, the Rei he knew, had vanished, turned to dust and wind along with the blue Evangelion. There was nothing left but a pale shell. Nothing he could call friend.

 

The sun was bright, all consuming and full. The sea and mountains drank it up like elixir, darkness crowding around its gilded edges. It was blinding, but it felt cold. Warmth of any kind was nothing but a fleeting memory. But memories were all he had left to chain him to this existence.

 

Shinji's eyes stared into the sun, melting into infinite orange fire. He had nearly achieved an unfiltered state of existence, of neither thinking nor acting, simply being, when he heard a soft lilting voice hum the most recognizable bars from Ode to Joy.

 

At first he was sure he was imagining things. Though why his subconscious decided on that song baffled him. He was more of a Bach man, himself.

 

But the song continued in a light tone, quietly amused, and Shinji jerked his foot out towards the lapping waves on the beach. He felt control leaving him, madness creeping right behind him, pushing him forward.

 

Did drowning hurt?

 

He shuffled his way to the edge of the beach, to where the waves left foamy blankets for his feet. The edges of his sneakers met the end of the beach's sand, the soles getting wet. Just a few more steps. Just a few more.

 

Just a few more…

 

“The song is good, yes?”

 

Shinji glanced up. There was a pale boy reclining on a gnarled tree trunk. He seemed to be feather light, just hovering over the rough wood like a halo.

 

Obviously, was Shinji's first thought. But apathy chained his tongue behind his teeth. He instead replied in the most intelligent manner he could regarding the stranger's intrusion into his suicidal ideation.

 

“What?”

 

The pale boy sitting atop the warped tree trunk graced Shinji with a smile.

 

“I believe that song is the height of the Lilin culture. Don't you agree, Ikari Shinji?”

 

“You know my name?”

 

He did know. He was the Fifth, he said. Shinji hoped he was the last. No one else deserved the torment the Evangelion brought. There were no more children left in this city.

 

But why was he here? Was he Asuka's replacement? That thought made him incredibly sad. Asuka, the pinnacle of strength and confidence, was broken, ruined. And like a coward all he had done was stand there and watch as it happened. She used to be everything he strived for in a pilot. But now…

 

If this boy was to be the Fifth, was to enter battle with him, the least he could do was spare a social courtesy and question where he came from. Why he was only found now, of all times.

 

“Um, Nagisa-kun…”

 

“Please, call me Kaworu, Ikari-kun.”

 

He colored.

 

“Oh, no, you can call me Shinji.”

 

It was the least he could do. Being referred to by his surname only dredged up old memories. Of father. Of mother. Of Ayanami. This boy was pale like her, too.

 

The boy laughed, a sound so alien to Shinji in these past months. It was soft, lilting, beautiful. It passed his lips without effort and made him want to laugh too. Despite the endless well of hate and sickness that defined his insides.

 

“Then I will,” Kaworu said.

 

He jumped down and reached the shore, deftly alighting from stone to stone until he stood before Shinji.

 

“We meet at last, Ikari Shinji.”

 

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They met, and they talked, and Shinji was amazed he did not recoil in fear, or disgust, or boredom. Everything he spoke the pale boy seemed to hang on, in an effortlessly relaxed way. Like every word was a small piece of a puzzle he was taking a lazy afternoon to assemble. It was as endearing as it was irritating.

 

Kaworu did not speak of himself. Shinji did not know who his parents were, if he had any siblings or extended family, or where he grew up. There was just a look in his red eyes, a look that told him not to ask, because he would not like the answer. So he didn't.

 

It was a guilty pleasure. He could say anything, and Kaworu would dutifully listen. For the first time in his life Shinji felt like he had control in dealing with another human being. The pale boy did not ask anything of him, did not judge, did not make fun. He did not require feats of insanity, or bravery. Company was enough. He could be himself free of other people's hang-ups and needs. He could interact on his own terms without worrying about his companion's thoughts and wants.

 

Shinji liked it.

 

Shinji liked him.

 

Shinji liked him, and at the same time he realized that, he hated Kaworu. He hated him for making him feel again. To regain hope, and a shred happiness. But the more he experienced, the more he wanted. Maybe… maybe things could get better. Maybe the human race was worth saving after all. Maybe he should keep fighting. Maybe he would postpone his death, just for a little while longer. If Kaworu could enter an Evangelion with a smile, perhaps he could too.

 

But his carefree demeanor, it was maddening to Shinji. It was what he desperately longed for. Lusted after. He wanted the ability to smile and laugh and mean it. For once in his life. So he continued their interaction. He began to look forward to it. If just a small part of the pale boy rubbed off on him, perhaps he could learn what happiness was like.

 

For that vague, wispy hope, Shinji waited on the bench outside Central Dogma for Kaworu. The pale boy had been subjected to yet another round of tests, but he wasn't irritated in the least. It amazed Shinji. He remembered when his days as a pilot began, and the endless hours spent sitting in the plug, or simulation start ups, or basic motor coordination exercises. It wore him out, physically and mentally. But Kaworu's smile never faltered. It fascinated him.

 

So he continued to wait, only the powerful strains of Beethoven's ninth spilling from his SDAT to keep him company. Until that day on the beach the tape had lain forgotten at the bottom of his closet. Years had passed since he bought the symphony, but he never truly listened to it because of its reputation. Shinji was quietly pretentious about his tastes in music, and despised popularity. And Beethoven's ninth was used in everything from movies to television commercials. It was revolting. People thinking of the ninth only in connection to a toothpaste or car. How dare humans make a joke of it.

 

But listening to it, free of commercial allusions, Shinji truly appreciated its beauty. It was moving. For some time he had avoided all classical music simply because it stirred his emotions. He didn't want to feel, least of all any appreciation for auditory magnificence.

 

And in the world he lived in, the world of thinking computers, impossible constructions, unnatural monstrosities and giant living machines, Shinji wanted desperately to believe a piece of music was mankind's greatest achievement. Just as Kaworu said.

 

The shuttered gates of NERV's entrance retracted, and Shinji saw Kaworu standing beyond the opening, smiling as always. The Third Children was amazed at how chipper he seemed. Like nothing could make him frown. What was so amusing about the world they lived in?

 

“You weren't waiting here, just for me, were you?” Kaworu asked.

 

Shinji stuttered a response, feeling heat consume his face. He cursed himself. It was an entirely innocent question, but the unspoken understanding that Shinji was waiting, hoping, for contact mortified him. That he desired anything, even the simple company of another human being was humiliating. It was a stain all over that marked him for ridicule and shame. He didn't deserve even the barest of human comforts.

 

“What are you doing?” the pale boy went on, sensing Shinji wasn't going to respond to his query. Shinji told him after the tests he would take a shower and go home. But that he didn't wish to return home these days. Kaworu smiled. “The fact that you have a home to go to is a good thing. It will lead you to happiness.”

 

Bullshit, Shinji thought. What utter and complete bullshit. But Kaworu had spoken it like a fact of reality, like a sunrise or the number of seconds in a minute. It baffled him.

 

“You think so?” he asked.

 

Instead of answering, the conversation somehow turned to showers. Despite his nationality, Shinji had never publicly bathed with another person. He had shared a hot spring with two women before, but the separating wall prevented total disgrace and embarrassment. Sitting beside a naked fourteen year old was nerve wracking. Even if it was another boy.

 

But he went. He went because to do otherwise could be seen as an affront to his new friend. And Shinji was desperately aware of how alone he was without this boy.

 

They were the only people in the bath. Sometimes being a pilot had its benefits. For his uninterrupted privacy Shinji could almost forgive the egregious sins NERV had committed against him.

 

Kaworu was talking again, but his speech was too metaphysical, too ponderous to penetrate. About life and mankind. He spoke of humans almost as if they were a singular entity. It disturbed a very quiet part of Shinji's mind.

 

All men are fundamentally alone, Kaworu finished saying. Shinji had given up on philosophy long ago. It was a fruitless effort. Shit happened, end of story. Man was placed on a Godless landscape and made to writhe in agony until the void of death. Looking for a deeper meaning was for fools who frantically wanted to cling to the dressings of optimistic childhood. It was weak, even to Shinji.

 

But he held his tongue, like so many other times when with another human being, because the laws of courtesy and civility chained his mouth and shackled his mind. And then he felt his hand engulfed by warmth.

 

It was a warmth that made his skin crawl and blood run icy. It burned, it emptied his stomach, it tickled his entrails. All he could do was gasp. He felt stupid, like a toddler, amazed at the simplest of contacts. A light touch that wouldn't affect anyone or anything else. He alone was subject to wild imagination and physical reaction. He didn't even have the mental capacity to wonder why Kaworu was holding his hand. All he felt was impotent fury at his own failings.

 

The lights cut out. The bath soaked in darkness. Shinji knew he was blushing, and prayed to a silent God to cover his shame. Kaworu stood obediently when he told him it was time to go.

 

The pale boy began talking again, words flowing like silver honey from his lips. Words of understanding, of compassion, of truth. But it was nearly impossible to focus since he decided to deliver his speech standing up, only his shins and feet covered by water. His nudity did not appear to affect him in the least.

 

“You are delicate,” the pale boy stated. “Like glass. This is worth my empathy.”

 

Empathy. Declared understanding from another person. It terrified him. But he had to know. He had to know if this was…

 

“Empathy?”

 

Kaworu smiled gently.

 

“In other words, I love you.”

 

Shinji was proud he did not cry. But hearing those words, even from a near stranger and another boy did little to soften the emotional blow. Shinji literally felt like he had been punched.

 

He blinked many times, trying to regain his breath. He turned away, feeling cold. This was more than he wanted. More than he deserved. As soon as those words left his pale lips Shinji expected some kind of terrible death to descend and steal Kaworu away. People who expressed love for him died. His mother said it and died. It was a cemented fact in his mind.

 

How many had been hurt through mere association with him? Asuka lost her strength, Misato lost her pride, Ayanami lost her life, Ritsuko lost her mind, Touji lost his leg, Hikari and Kensuke lost their friend, father lost his humanity, mother, Unit-01, everything…

 

Don't! his mind screamed out. Don't say that! Take it back, hurry! You don't mean it! You can't die! Anyone who gets too close to me gets killed, or cloned, or ruined. I hurt anyone who gets close to me! I can't take another. You don't deserve to die!

 

Shinji stared at his hands beneath the water and damned himself.

 

Finally Kaworu sighed softly, nothing but a breath, and left. Wet feet smacked the tile floor. A towel dutifully dried pale skin. Clothes covered a body.

 

“I will wait for you outside,” the pale boy said in the dark. The door slid shut behind him.

 

In the dark, alone, Shinji wept.

 

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It was late when they found their way to Kaworu's quarters. He was living within the Geofront, ranking a private apartment outside the base. Shinji remembered being awed by the view from the living room window, of Tokyo-3's inverted cityscape above his head.

 

They ate together, in silence. Kaworu made a simple meal of rice and soup. He declined Shinji's offer to help.

 

They went to bed, again in silence. They lay together, in silence. Until Kaworu asked,

 

“You wanted me to listen to you, didn't you?”

 

He told him he hated his father. Something, anything as far from love as he could imagine. He wanted to forget the scene in the bath. He wanted to forget another human being loved him. He desired nothing but to sever this new tie. Love was unknown. Love was scary. Terrifying. Depression, confusion, hatred, those were familiar and comfortable. Even if they were horribly painful. Anything but the unknown.

 

Shinji turned, feeling the prickly sensation of someone looking at him. From his bed, Kaworu smiled down at him, taking a subtle delight in the color that rose in his cheeks.

 

“I think I was born just to meet you, Ikari Shinji.”

 

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Deception was part and parcel of his appearance in Tokyo-3, indeed it was the cornerstone of his entire existence, being trapped within this pale shell. But it was not something Kaworu indulged in maliciously.

 

He had not lied to Shinji. From his point of view, his entire life, the endless eternity within the shadows of the Lilin who called themselves soul, it was all formed to reach this end. Where the last viable Children would decide the realities of truth and will.

 

Shinji was a fount of knowledge to him. He was full of emotion, recrimination, regret, sadness, failings, despair, want, need… he was human. Perfectly imperfect. Kaworu loved him for it.

 

He wished he could hold his hand again. Touch was, for Kaworu, the least trained of his senses. His sight and hearing far surpassed any human. Even taste and smell were augmented to safeguard him against poisons and airborne toxins. But tactile sensation was never considered central to his mission, and was thus left to the wayside. He never regretted it until this day.

 

He wanted to experience physical contact again. Locked in isolation so long, it was something he discovered he was craving. It wasn't clouding his judgment, he thought, but he desired physical proximity to help soothe his nerves. He wondered if it made him strange. But it was something nearly ingrained within him now.

 

Instincts were a necessary part of his life, his very existence. He learned at an early stage to listen to them, heeding them in accordance to situational context and varying degrees of magnitude. Usually his instinct acted as a guide, a gentle conductor that would lead him to dominance in any given circumstance. A large part of it was, without doubt, his ability to “read” people. Emotional states of those around him were plain to see. Kaworu disliked using such a simplistic term as aura, but he had to admit it did fit in certain instances.

 

In the bath, ever since he met him, Ikari Shinji gave off such an air of desolation and despair Kaworu couldn't help but be drawn to him. Granted, he was by no means the first human he crossed paths with that was filled with emptiness and misery, but Shinji was admittedly a unique case. He was the Third Children.

 

Where was he? Where was the vicious demon who tore apart his brethren? Where was the Beast who devoured Might whole? Surely, Water and Night were not felled by this meek, shy, small boy. Where was he? The soul of pain and fury that tore through the hosts of the Father and scattered the light of the soul of whoever dared oppose him. This small human was not its home. Could not be.

 

Puzzles, purposeful deceptions were always a source of irritation for Kaworu. The irony was not lost on him. But he saw truth in the world where others could not, and he desired it from those he interacted with. He found himself seeking it out in others, forcing it to the surface. Humans were a fascinating amalgamation of so many conflicting forces and desires. And this Ikari Shinji was no exception.

 

It became a mission. To understand this boy before him, before time ran out. He had to know.

 

Which was why he found himself touching Shinji again before he could register the act.

 

“Kaworu-kun?” Shinji breathed as pale fingers traced his jaw. His voice was not afraid, simply amazed, wondering.

 

“You are warm,” he stated with a grin.

 

Shinji's face heated even more and he bit his lower lip until it was red and swollen.

 

Watching the boy's lips move Kaworu's mind leisurely came across an idea he had just recently read about. Kissing. That a physical act could communicate emotions and feelings was a fascinating concept to him. It was, to be sure, a convenience. Even Kaworu was at a loss for words on occasion, and allowing a bodily sign of unspoken fondness to convey feeling was a godsend, so to speak.

 

And he wanted to show the Third how much he liked him. Shinji did seem to respond well to physical stimuli. Or rather, Kaworu enjoyed the reactions the other boy gave him. And coupled with the hint that kissing was supposed to be a pleasurable sensation only added to his growing resolve.

 

He knew affection was supposedly required, and he truly did feel a peculiar kinship with the shy boy. It was beyond the requirements of his mission, beyond the subtle association of being named Children. It was beyond the similarities of the forms their hearts chose for them. It was an intangible, unnamable reason. For the first time in his life Tabris felt a genuine connection with a Lilin, outside empathic readings, outside all taught logic.

 

But if there was one thing his masters warned him of, it was over thinking the situation. So he didn't. He deftly slid his body down until half of him was leaning over Shinji's futon, one long, slender arm planted by the brunette's head. The pale boy dipped his head down and kissed him.

 

It was a light kiss, nothing but a feather's touch, gentle pressure behind barely parted lips, a first try, a test. He did not use his tongue, or suck on his lip, or do anything but quietly press his mouth to his, because anything beyond that simple act never entered his mind. He kissed him and was content.

 

Kaworu had never truly stopped to relish how pleasing his senses could make him feel. Shinji's form was undeniably agreeable to his eye. He liked his size, his shape, his colors, the subtle curves and lines of his physical body. He liked how easily the red would swallow up his cheeks, though he did wish the deep blue of his eyes would meet him for more than a few disconnected seconds at a time.

 

His voice was melodic to the pale boy's ears. Even his continual stutters and fumblings were a kind of song. Almost as beautiful as Beethoven. In general he enjoyed hearing others speak. The differing inflections, accents, tones and patterns were all music to him. A symphony in every conversation. And those belonging to the boy beneath him were the most pleasing of all.

 

He inhaled as he ended the embrace, taking in Shinji's scent, still fresh and crisp from the baths.

 

He licked his lips.

 

And now he knew he tasted the same.

 

“Kaworu-kun,” Shinji breathed in a hiss.

 

Somewhere along the way of pressing his lips to him, to fingering his brown hair, Kaworu found himself lying completely on Shinji, enjoying the mutual warmth and fascinating physical sensation that was produced when either of them moved. As he let his slight weight fall on his companion he stopped and blinked.

 

“Ka-Kaworu-kun,” Shinji gasped, and his eyes were suddenly afraid.

 

The pale boy paused, subtly shifting his pelvis, and was again met with an unfamiliar hardness pressing into his stomach. He continued to make small, sliding movements to try and gain a better understanding of the protuberance, but he refrained from visually locating it. He wanted to keep his eyes on the peculiar look on Shinji's flushed face. He wanted to keep hearing the delicious mewling sounds the boy beneath him made.

 

“Kaworu-kun…”

 

He was not uneducated, merely inexperienced. Sex was never part of his purpose. It was outside the scope and range of his use. It never entered his mind.

 

But curiosity finally outweighed his fascination with Shinji's face and behavior, and Kaworu slid a slim hand between their bodies. His finger tips skimmed the light barrier of cloth and came to a halt when they fell against something unexpected and solid. Kaworu blinked again in wonder, then grinned innocently.

 

“What is that?”

 

Shinji was too terrified to answer.

 

Kaworu reluctantly sat up, his knees on either side of Shinji's waist. The pale boy scooted backwards, and without any hesitation slipped his friend's pants down. A resolution to the mystery was demanded, and modesty was a nearly foreign concept to him. He did what he thought was necessary.

 

His eyes widened in astonishment. He recognized Shinji's penis, but it was now far longer and thicker than it was when they were in the baths. Kaworu had never heard of such a growth spurt in so short a time. Shinji continued to amaze him.

 

The pale boy touched him in idle curiosity and Shinji sucked in a savage breath.

 

He marveled in how warm and hard Shinji's appendage had become. The almost silken quality of the stretched skin, the slightly rubbery texture of the now appearing head, the quickening pulse felt through raised veins, the soft tickling down of his pubic hair that formed a thin springy crown at the base. He slipped his other hand down the shaft, eliciting a throaty gasp from his friend. Kaworu thrilled. He curled his fingers and cupped his testes, wondering at how they retracted up close to the body. He liked the short hairs that brushed his palm, and seemingly infinite wrinkles that covered the twin balls. He was suddenly jealous he had no hair on his own body.

 

“Ah…”

 

His hand slid further and he found the perineum hard too, the shaft burrowing deep between Shinji's legs, which convulsively opened for his touch. A shiny tear of some kind of gel wept from the winking slit on Shinji's organ, sliding down the shaft at a slow crawl. Kaworu wrapped his slim fingers around him, taking care to avoid the lubrication, and smiled. He liked how hot it felt in his palm.

 

The pale boy was quietly elated. He felt electric. Like he had just discovered a latent skill. Simply by touching his friend he could make him sigh and moan and gasp and claw at his sheets. It felt oddly liberating.

 

He did not want to stop. Human interaction in general fascinated him, and the newly discovered physical aspect was intriguing. He wanted to know more, to do more, to be more. He wanted to fully explore the new connection of his new friend.

 

“A-ah…”

 

Shinji arched his back, and suddenly Kaworu was struck with a truth that had somehow escaped him until that moment.

 

This is making him feel good.

 

His brief education on human sexuality came crashing to the forefront of his mind. He suddenly felt considerable fear. Was this right? Was this permitted?

 

Kaworu paused, unexpectedly hesitant. But Shinji could no longer stop. He thrust his hips upward, using the still curled pale fingers to find release.

 

“I'm… I'm… I'm…” Shinji gritted his teeth and arched his back, desperate to increase the leisurely pace. His hands balled into fists at his sides, bunching up the cheap futon. “Oh, God.”

 

Kaworu watched with gentle amazement as five long streams of semen burst from the tip of Shinji's penis and collected in a small dull whitish puddle on the front of his shirt. The organ pulsed in his pale hand, then sagged, then deflated. Kaworu stared in wonder at the pool of ejaculate. He slowly extended his forefinger.

 

It was sticky and very warm. Like a thick oil. Kaworu drew his finger along its oozing sides. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled. It was not a pleasant odor, but it was not unpleasant either. It was a human scent, all yellows and browns and grays. Earthy. Musky. Human.

 

Shinji continued to gasp softly beneath him, his eyes screwed shut. He slowly brought a hand up to his sweaty face and ran it across his forehead and through his bangs. He gave a shuddering sigh.

 

Kaworu delighted at the sound.

 

“Shinji-kun,” he said with a smile, allowing his breath to tickle his friend. “I'm feeling… light.”

 

Giddy was the actual word he was searching for, but coherent thought was getting harder and harder. He wanted things. Strange, unspoken, unknown things. Urges and desires he had no name for or experience with welled up like a storm of prickly heat inside him. The sudden impulse to rub his body against his friend's struck him like a physical blow. He shuddered into a bow, the overwhelming alien force making Kaworu rub his cheek against the boy's.

 

Shinji did not dare to speak. If he did it would cement in the factual world what just happened. What was happening right now. His hand, possessed of some demon, slowly rose to touch a pale cheek.

 

God, Shinji thought. His skin is so… soft.

 

It was amazingly soft. And warm. He wondered how he had lived without it for so long. His entire life to this point felt cold and lonely. He wanted more of it. Regardless of the fact it was another boy who brought the desire out. No one had ever taught him otherwise. His hand drifted to his neck, long and slender. Then to his shoulder, bony and smooth. Shinji had trouble catching his breath.

 

Kaworu felt an intense discomfort in his crotch. The skin stretched and stretched, like nothing he had ever felt before. Any contact was almost painful. It was sensitive, fiery and hot. It felt like his penis would burst apart. Like an expanding balloon filled with molten lead. It weighed him down, body and mind. He knew something needed to be done to it, but he had no clue as to what.

 

He looked down at Shinji, his eyes searching, questioning, begging for instruction. He did not have the luxury of invention, of gradual discovery, of human inference. He had amazing and staggering knowledge, but almost no practical applications. For the first time in his life he became a student.

 

“Shinji-kun….”

 

There was no quid pro quo here. No verbal or otherwise commands. Just a nameless current.

 

Shinji gently removed his hands from Kaworu's body and slipped his finger tips under the edge of the pale boy's pants. He drew them down, and his erection popped out as it was freed from its confines.

 

It was the first time Shinji had ever seen an organ other than his own. He marveled at Kaworu's shape. He was perfectly formed, like a picture from an anatomy text. Everything about him looked elegant and flawless. He was shorter than Shinji, but Kaworu had a beauty to him that he could never hope to match. There were no bumps or moles, no irregular shape, no hair, no random blemishing coloration. Even the slight weight of the balls as they hung free from the body was bewitching. He was perfect. Shinji felt repulsive next to his purity.

 

He glanced up to Kaworu's face with a struggle. Shinji found he could look at him for days without tiring of it. The pale boy's red eyes were staring at his penis as well, spellbound with the transformation. He looked like he was seeing it for the first time. He began breathing through his mouth.

 

Shinji reached down and felt a frigid chill run along his spine as his fingers slowly wrapped around another boy's genitals. It was astonishingly warm. He'd never truly noticed that before. He expected it stiff, but the heat was almost too much. Like it would burn his palm. Kaworu groaned softly above him, and he froze in a panic.

 

This is not happening. This is not happening. This is just a dream, and when it's over I'll wake up just like all the other times with a lap full of goop. It's nothing unusual. I've dreamt of guys before. It's nothing unusual. This is not happening.

 

He started stroking it slowly, gently sliding up and down the shaft, freely allowing his fingers to curl over the head. He gave a silent, sacred thanks to whatever biological function had kept Kaworu's tip dry so far.

 

“Sh-Shinji-kun…”

 

The dark haired boy never once realistically entertained the notion he would ever be physically intimate with another human being. It was the cruel kind of idea he confined to wet dreams or the rare instance when he had five minutes alone in the apartment. It was never to be hoped for, anticipated or even desired. It was a reality far removed from his rational mind, and he firmly understood he would die a virgin. Sex never provided him with the maddening frustration it did his peers. He knew for him it was as feasible as flight.

 

It was with a detached kind of surrealism he watched his hand pleasure another human being, albeit a strange, too friendly one. He sped up his pace, unconsciously mimicking the rate he preferred. His grasp tightened, gripping the shaft and tugging the skin in his fingers. He felt the staggering pulse of blood thump remorselessly in his palm.

 

Up and down, back and forth, again and again. It made a wet, hollow sound, like naked feet slapping a rainy sidewalk. He didn't want to hear it. It burned in his ears. But the only other sound to distract himself with was Kaworu's ragged breath, a high pitched chalkboard pulse. He groaned intermittently, and his entire body would shake as he did. He acted like he never beat himself off before. Like he never came.

 

Shinji increased his pace. Alone with only the sensation in his palm, the rate felt savage and brutal. But Kaworu made no plea for lessening the severity, so he continued, his only command the pale boy's soft pants and groans. It was slightly awkward, touching him the way they were situated, but Kaworu gave no sign of discomfort or unease. He looked as elegant as he did the first time Shinji laid eyes on him. He possessed a beauty even in the throes of pleasure.

 

Kaworu groaned again. His breath was sticky and hot, and his body reacted without his mind's consent. He felt the world spinning out of his control, slipping like sand between his fingers. He could not think to fathom if he wanted to recapture it.

 

Shinji's slim fingers, wrapped around him, viciously pumping, heat spreading like an inferno across his body in ripples and tides. It far exceeded what he thought his body capable of. It surpassed his expectations, his hopes, his secret dreams. This was the penultimate truth of man.

 

This was beyond comprehension, beyond logic and reason and design.

 

This was an unknown and unanticipated power. This was control and obedience. Anything for it to continue.

 

This was a downward spiral into human carnality and sin.

 

This was a downward spiral into humanity.

 

The calmly calculating, detached portion of his mind noted the irony of the situation. Where so many of his brethren had fallen to the bloody hand of that dark clone of Adam, here too the great Tabris falls at the hand of Ikari Shinji. The Beast had consumed him as well.

 

“Shinji-kun…”

 

The pace, the insanely blistering speed of contact was simply too much. He needed to tell him stop, but his entire body felt numb and weak, and hot and powerful. It was too much to stop, it was too much to continue. Kaworu's entire being was focused on the stiff slip of flesh in Ikari Shinji's hand.

 

A burning itch, impossibly hot, flooding outwards in great waves, connecting every inch of his body into a single, sustained entity, pulsing and flowing like a rapid tide.

 

Breath that could not be caught. Ragged, sweet, vengeful, heavy, slick, wet, hard.

 

Flying without wings.

 

Touching Heaven.

 

“Ah!!”

 

Orgasm was such a pathetic word to signify the actual physical experience. Despite his loquaciousness Kaworu could not possibly hope to ever match the sensation his friend's hand gave him with mere words.

 

His entire body ached at once, every muscle tensing with bursting fire, until he was sure it would kill him. And in a way, a part of him did die. At that moment Instrumentality, SEELE, NERV and the Father were second in his thoughts. All that mattered was the boy beneath him who deigned present him with such a wondrous gift. There were so many emotions and desires in that one instant of screamed breath he could not catch a fraction of them.

 

Every nerve ending came alive and was crushed together, pushed through the inadequate end of his penis to explode out in the greatest possible collapse of vulnerability and empathy imaginable. For the first time in his existence he felt human.

 

Kaworu groaned loudly, his voice unfamiliar with lost control, and he rocked his hips in an instinctual struggle he was not fully aware of. Finally, finally the endless sensation ended and he felt all strength abandon him. He pitched forward to lock his arms in order to avoid crushing Shinji, and panted openly.

 

“Oh, oh… oh…”

 

Oh, God.

 

Shinji stared at his hand as if it rebelled against him. He tipped the palm he had used to block his emission and Kaworu's semen sluiced down onto his stomach, mixing with his own. He vaguely noticed that his was transparent and clear in some places creating a kind of milky swirl, while Kaworu's was solid white, nearly opaque. It made his stomach lurch.

 

Shinji stared at his hand.

 

I just jerked another guy off.

 

“Oh… oh, Shinji-kun…”

 

He looked up at the sound of his name. Kaworu was still above him, supported on hands and knees, but his entire body was shaking. He was barely able to keep himself up. His mouth was open in a small oval, and silent, ragged gasps blew down into Shinji's face. He had never noticed it before but his breath smelled a little like blood.

 

“Shinji-kun,” Kaworu breathed.

 

He was smiling, looking impossibly pleased.

 

“I was born just to meet you,” he said, mostly to himself.

 

He pitched sideways and collapsed beside Shinji, not caring where his arms and legs fell, not caring for where the fabulous mess on his stomach ended up. The pale boy's cheek rested on his friend's shoulder and he smiled.

 

Kaworu began to softly hum Ode to Joy.

 

-----------

 

End

 

Author notes: obviously, I'm a fan of Tabris-chan, and while I do get a giddy thrill from reading fics where he's an aggressive, confident stud actively pursuing Shinji, I started wondering if his infamous confession in the baths really was nothing more than a platonic and/or spiritual declaration. I'm sure that's what the anti-yaoi brigade wants, but I decided to try and explore that concept in a very yaoi kind of way. I doubt I'll continue this.

 

Meh. I kind of feel like the sex scene was tacked on. Along with the shifting narrative I guess it was a bit jarring. But I wanted to try my hand at this pairing.

 

Next up on my to-do list: some sort of shoujo-ai and/or yuri fic. I have way too much free time.