Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.

Warnings: implied sexual acts. Between males.

AN: There's a whole lot of words for nothing to happen I guess. But I like the idea of exploring the human part, the real common human in them beyond the genius and the magical powers and the alien intelligence. And you get to see brief glances here and there and maybe they are not all that normal or basic but if you take them off their field I like to think that they still eat and drink like Sayu and Matsuda and everyone else. This is basically to get them off their high horse.

When they first have sex there is no danger to their act.

It was just sex, no drum rolls, no fireworks, no actors repeating lines they do not understand.

There's nothing special about that night, no shift in the air and no blood on the moon.

When they first have sex, there no ground breaking revelation, no definition of character, there's nothing special about it, no words to waste about, it was just sex. Plain unmemorable sex. Between two men not quiet friends and not full enemies.

There were no open mouthed moans, no gasp ghosting on slick skin, no sloppy kisses that were more teeth than tongue. Their legs didn't tangle and the bed left no tell-tale scratches on the floor, the room didn't warm up to them. The elements barely recognized the participants.

Maybe they're too tired to play games (not true, you both run better at exhaustion, incarceration and crippling insomnia has taught you both that).

Two people that had more to share outside a bedroom and little to nothing to say inside one.

Lust, desire, fear, were not things either were accustomed, but surely and steady had been building up and sliding off of them, collapsing with each other into this, this feast of flesh lying next to flesh.

They held no wits between them, no knowledge, no words, no magic. They are stripped down to their basics to be just two people, in some regards strikingly similar as much as worlds apart in their differences.

It wasn't bad nor awkward and nothing to describe. They expect it to happen again, and maybe it will take some shape.

In the end they didn't learn anything from each other. It wasn't placer and it wasn't useful, but they wanted to indulge over and over again.

They didn't become intimate as they stood facing each other naked and lone with and absent crave.

A different kind of self awareness washed over them, stripped them off of made up titles and intelligence. They were just having sex, just kids with nowhere to run, no hormones to blame. Two kids who in the end shit and fuck and can break just like the rest. So terrifying. Such bone curling disgust. Such a cramping feeling. Liberated of humanity to meet with something much more simple.

No eyes on this heatless room, no witness left to stand.

The door is closed and the air is not yet humid and it's already vanishing, whatever happened beneath this sheet will remain only there, reabsorbed to leave no trace behind.

You hand each other your clothing but the gesture falls hollow, dissected too many times to hold any real meaning. You've both told too many lies to recognize a truth.

Make a brief attempt at holding eye contact and the whole thing is too underwhelming to pave connections in an impossible road.

And when they are all done and soiled, no word will pass their lips, forgotten as soon as they slide inside their clothing again, unwrinkled and ignorant. They will stand, pick up pieces along their way, equals for the night, mirrored in every action and running paralleled.

Intimate with each other, themselves and earthly beings.

Space and time had muted for them and nothing here they own, swept off their combat field to make them see; arms and legs and two sets of eyes and you should use them some time, one day they will be all you have.

There's a silent agreement, dual if not connected, that it is best to leave with the flood, no one in the lead. This would not affect them, not tonight. But what about tomorrow?

I am here to share and learn.