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Being inside Bravern's workshop is definitely an otaku's wet dream come to life — and not just because of the giant, alien mech, either. Posters he's somehow sourced are plastered on every wall, figurines which have no place in any military installation are small compared to Bravern but uncomfortably life-sized to Isami.
No wonder Smith had a whole… It's hard to describe exactly what overcame Smith when he'd first stuck his head inside the robot's workshop. No matter how cool Smith's initial impression, it turns out he's…
Truthfully, he should be the one piloting Bravern. An otaku who likes mechs too much and a mech who's way, way too into humans. They'd be the perfect pair; Isami could've avoided being interrogated for doing nothing more than defending his comrades and the damn planet.
Unfortunately Bravern has claimed some sort of odd, alien-robot monogamy and Isami's the unlucky bastard who's stuck with him. It's either Isami or the end of the world; not even Isami's stubborn enough to keep refusing forever. Admittedly, he does want to. Closing his eyes and covering his ears about this entire situation hasn't worked so far, but there's always a chance that next time he tries it, everyone will agree to leave him alone.
"Isami!" Bravern exclaims, turning in his gigantic chair as soon as he realises Isami's wandered past the threshold of his workshop. Isami's heard he's been using a 3D printer every moment of the day; Isami wishes he could pretend that much of that time hadn't been misused in the creation of Bravern's waifu-husbando collection. "So glad you could make it!"
Two huge, clanking steps that shake the floor and then Bravern has knelt down next to him with a flourish. Despite his size, his exuberance, his knee is extremely gentle as it taps against the floor. No rumble through the metal, no dent left behind. Such precision is only unexpected because of his bold personality; underneath all that, he has exactly the control a giant metal being would need, in order to be perpetually surrounded by small, squishable organics.
Extending one hand down to the floor, Bravern somehow manages to contort his metallic, quasi-humanoid face into something resembling puppy-dog eyes. Incredible. On principle, Isami wants to about face and go find something else to do. Smith's busy with that kid, sure, and the rest of his unit are preparing and repairing, but there's got to be someone who's free, or needs help.
Everyone knows that he's Bravern's chosen pilot, no anonymity to be had when the pair of them are carrying everyone's hopes. Better to be in here — suffering privately — than out there — suffering, still, but forced to endure the torment of basic manners and politeness and not telling people to fuck off all the way over the side of the ship. Just about every person wants to talk to him about Bravern for this or that reason and if Isami's going to have to think about that nuisance, he might as well make some headway.
Despite his reluctance — despite Bravern's irrepressible oddness — they do have to work together. Perfectly in sync, saving the world; if there's a better reason for putting aside personal distaste and finding some commonality, Isami doesn't know it.
Keeping his sigh trapped behind his teeth, Isami clambers up the edge of Bravern's hand until he's standing on his palm. It's both steady and not so, neither sensation quite explainable, so he just wraps an arm around one of Bravern's fingers. A tremor seems to run through the metal and Isami decides to put it down to some techno-organic thing he doesn't understand, rather than attribute it to Bravern's obvious… excitement… at having something so precious, cradled so wonderfully in his palm, oh Isami, would you hold me tighter —
It'd be easier to pretend, if Bravern wasn't muttering ridiculous things to himself.
They're most of the way back to the desk, a quick trip for Bravern, when a noise starts up. It's the work of a few seconds for Isami to identify it: the air hanger — 'Bravern's workshop' — is being shut off from the rest of the ship, the roller door beginning to trundle closed. Given how cavernous the room is, it barely feels like being trapped in a space with an unhinged alien, except for how it very much does.
Especially when Braverm places his hand atop the desk for Isami to alight upon and he gets first hand experience in exactly how far from the ground he is. A quick escape is no longer a possibility, unless he's interested in a more permanent type of escape. If this lackluster attempt to 'make nice' blows up in his face, needing Bravern to help him back to ground height is going to be so excruciating. What's the other option? To storm off and loiter in a shadowed corner of Bravern's desk, amongst the anime girls?
He'd rather dive headfirst off the desk.
"So…" At this point, Isami realises that he's got nothing to say. Mind entirely void of how to begin, or sustain, a conversation with a being like Bravern. It's not even that Bravern's a giant alien made of metal and hydraulic fluids; honestly, after everything that's happened over the past week, Isami thinks he could probably handle that.
It's the way Bravern is so obviously, unapologetically —
Isami's brain shies away from putting words to what Bravern is.
It is far easier, far less complex and overwhelming, to simply gesture to Bravern's alien appearance and pretend that's the root cause. Pretend that, were he to be somehow transformed into a human, he would be otherwise normal. Without knowing him for very long at all, Isami became convinced that such a thing could never be true. Put him in a skinsuit and Bravern would be court-martialed before the day was through for insubordination. If not that, then —
They'd transfer him, over and over again, until they could find an issue they could use to discharge him. It's not illegal, not like the Americans and their D.A.D.T policy was, but there's an expectation of silence. Not quite hidden, perhaps, but committed to some pantomime of normalcy. Make too many waves in this arena and suddenly your bright career starts to loose its shine. Doors close. Promotions evaporate. No matter the official party line, the truth here is the same as everywhere else in Japan.
There are ways, still. For men like Bravern could be, to get what he wants; for men like Isami.
That old, subtle dance. Quiet cues, shared glances, an inconspicuous touch that could be nothing at all but, when felt, is almost obscenely suggestive. There is less caution than there used to be but Isami doesn't think there'll ever be none. It's been pressed into the marrow of their bones, their very souls, from the moment that nascent understanding of what they are blooms within them.
Even while maintaining the necessary level of discretion — especially, Isami would say — finding a partner for a few hours, a few nights, is not overly hard. The handshake, the eye contact, the bar they agree to meet at; even at international war games, there's a language shared between soldiers if you know where to look.
Isami knows where to look; if the world hadn't gone to shit, he's sure that he and Smith could have —
But what time is there for any of that, now? Now, when there is too much to prepare, too much to do.
When there's nothing to do, long hours between action the perfect time to find someone. But every glimpse of blond hair he catches isn't quite right. Smith could find him, if he wanted. If he still felt any inclination towards a stolen moment with Isami — but there's Lulu, now. Even if Smith's frantic babbling about the truth, or absence, of any relationship between them, the girl still needs constant supervision.
So despite all his misgivings, Isami is here. With Bravern. Here, with an alien who can barely seem to conceptualise discretion and vigilance in the heat of battle and eschews them entirely as soon as the dust settles.
Here, with an alien who speaks in painfully obvious double-entendres, rhapsodising loudly, publicly about Isami riding him. About, about —
Bravern claimed Isami as his soulmate.
That statement had been almost as terrifying as realising they were under attack and hopelessly outclassed. Life would be easier if that was some sort of translation error. Even from within the depths of the most stringent denial, Isami knows it's not. Does Bravern understand the concept of shame? Maybe whatever world he was created on has moved past that particular emotion, has forgotten all about the leaden weight that presses mercilessly on Isami's shoulders, compresses his heart and lungs and twists his gut.
For once, Bravern has not immediately filled the silence between them. As it lingers, as Isami stares up into Bravern's bizarrely humanoid face, he wonders if this will become the new normal between them. If Isami manages to get the idea of circumspection through Bravern's thick skull plating, will the chatter fade, replaced by quiet?
Such a thought, such a silence, is oddly… heavy.
Slowly, Bravern bends down in his seat, no longer looming over Isami. Instead he moves until his face is level with the desk, eyes roughly of a height with Isami's own. For long, uninterrupted moments, they stare at each other. What Bravern sees in him, Isami can't even begin to guess. What he sees in Bravern…
Bravern's lips are, distractingly, quite… lush. Were they made of flesh and not metal, Isami might even dare to say that there's something sensual about them. Perhaps it's only that he can still hear the way Bravern had named him as 'soulmate.' This close, Isami can see the way his green optics aren't quite uniform in colour.
Like this, he can almost forget all the bullshit that's happened, all the annoyance and trepidation and fear that's worn him down over these last days. Stripped of all that, Bravern's an undeniable wonder. It reminds Isami of the first time they met; Bravern his alien saviour, his salvation — the elation of their shared victory, however fleeting a feeling it'd been.
There's an undeniable majesty about him, a presence, and Isami doesn't think it's just because he's a gigantic metal alien. Outlandishly charismatic. Charming despite his eccentricities. Soldiers would line up to pilot with him if given half a chance, even without the deathdrives. With a single word, Bravern would have humans crawling all over him.
And out of every person in the world, he's chosen Isami.
When Bravern finally speaks, his voice is low. Barely more than a whisper, softer than Isami had known it could get. Can he feel the tension between them as well? Is he equally hesitant to speak, afraid of a misstep, worried about ruining this thing which is trying to take root?
"Isami," he confides, "I think we should explore each others bodies."
Without hesitation Isami turns around and makes for the edge of the desk. What had he been thinking? Expecting any sort of depth from such a fool is his mistake. The idea of simply throwing himself off the desk is no longer off limits. Surely there's some way to climb down - handholds, a series of ladders, some cord and a harness. Anything is better than staying here for more of Bravern's bullshit.
"Wait!" One huge hand descends, its palm facing Isami, completely blocking his way forward. "It's for science!"
Too many words crowd Isami's mouth to possibly get any of them out. For science, damn, does he really think Isami's an idiot? What's the difference between this and some cocky teen offering to help someone 'learn anatomy'? Even if he got posted at a base in the middle of nowhere without a single other person to spend time with, he still wouldn't take anyone up on such a dismal offer.
Turning to walk the other way, Isami glares as a second hand is hurriedly placed on the table. Expecting such a thing doesn't make it any less infuriating. Left and right now blocked off, with Bravern's face in front, the only place to go is back. …Back, where all the statue sized figurines are… Every moment he spends with Bravern gets worse and worse. Smith will never let him live it down if he finds out. Worse, Smith will probably ask to be personally introduced to the ultimate otaku collection.
A single step back is all he gets before Bravern's sliding his hands across the desk with an annoying screech. Even without turning to look, Isami knows that Bravern has him entirely cornered, fingers touching and making a rather impenetrable wall. He might be able to slide into the gap where Bravern's pinkie fingers don't quite touch but he discards the idea immediately — what if he gets stuck?
Then he's pinned to the desk by Bravern, unable to move. At that point Bravern could… he could do whatever he wanted. There wouldn't be a thing Isami could do to stop him, he'd just have to take it. Feeling his body start to heat at the thought, Isami fixes his expression until he's sure the scowl is starting to etch itself into his skin.
"I'm leaving." A simple, powerful statement, leaving no room to negotiate. But there's no getting around the facts of the matter: Bravern is so many times bigger than him and all he has to do, in this instance, is nothing.
Keeping Isami trapped here is easy enough to be thoughtless, to the alien robot. Annoyingly, that thought feeds back into his earlier one and makes his pulse race. That sort of helplessness is not the type of dynamic that Isami's ever sought out before, he's never even fantasised about it — but he's never been so thoroughly outmatched, before.
"We must bond properly, Isami, otherwise we'll never truly prevail over the deathdrivers." If you only listened to the serious sound of Bravern's voice, you could almost be convinced he's not talking complete shit. Rubbing a hand across his hopefully not red face, Isami wonders how long he'll have to pretend to play along before he can scuttle off with his tail between his legs.
"And to 'bond' you want to…"
"We much know each other, inside and —"
"No."
Bravern clears his throat, a faux-delicate little manoeuver that emphatically does not work.
"Given that you've already been inside me —"
"Don't say it like that."
"— Can't I get to be inside of you?"
Isami bites back his temper, but only because he's giving Bravern a chance to realise how unhinged such a question is. …Okay, Isami bites back his temper for about a minute and then shouts,
"No!" His voice echoes off Bravern's cupped palms. "That's fucking stupid!"
Big, green optics curve into something distinctly sad. Hurt, maybe, if Isami wasn't one hundred percent sure the damn alien was trying to manipulate him into agreeing. Whatever emotions Bravern's feeling right now are one hundred percent being weaponsied against Isami and he will not have it! He won't stand for it, won't fall for it — but Bravern keeps digging. Of course he does.
"Though I much prefer to take than give, I assure you I can bring pleasure to an otherwise strictly platonic, scientific exploration."
Is Isami having a stroke? An aneurism? Has whatever translation software the big guy uses started to glitch out?
"Let me get this straight," ignoring the way Bravern's lips twitch at that takes most whatever shreds of patience he has left. What is the state of the galaxy, or universe, when such jokes are universal enough to be known to an alien. Those sorts of jokes aren't even universal on this planet!
"You want to, platonically, be inside of me. Scientifically."
Nodding frantically, Bravern rocks the table but still doesn't move his hands from where they've fenced Isami in.
"Humans have a saying, do they not? For science!"
"I'm not that type of human." Muttering, Isami rubs at the bridge of his nose, wondering if he can somehow pinch hard enough to render himself unconscious. If he breaks his own nose, Bravern will have no choice but to take him to medbay and then leave him the fuck alone. Maybe, on the way there, he'd rub one of those large fingers across Isami's body. Not enough to be truly indecent, not quite a violation, just…
Fuck, whatever. It's not like it'll ever happen. So what if Isami's been thinking about how easy it'd be for Bravern to touch him all over, cradle him in one palm and work him over with the other? Isami could wrap himself around one of Bravern's fingers and hump him like an animal and he's sure the only thing Bravern would do is praise him. The pilot space within Bravern is entirely private, Isami could do anything in there, and Bravern would just have to listen to him, desperately wishing he could reach in and touch — he probably would, too, wouldn't be able to help himself.
And now, after everything, Bravern's going to pretend like his interest has been nothing at all? Wouldn't it be something if this, all this turmoil Isami had been going through, was just a particularly egregious example of cultural miscommunication?
It's a sour thought, especially since he's spent so much time reassuring himself and everyone else that he hopes for exactly that.
"So all that crap about needing me inside of you, or whatever," Isami doesn't mention the soulmates thing; he doesn't think he can handle the answer. "That was just… platonic? Science related, absolutely platonic… piloting?"
"Oh, absolutely not!"
With a wide grin, Bravern gives him a thumbs up. Despite considering it, Isami does not take a header over the side of the damn desk. He considers leaning up against Bravern's palm and running his own hand across it. Seeing how advanced Bravern's tactile sensation and feedback is — would he be able to feel it, when Isami kisses his metal plating.
If. If, goddamn it.
"I am deeply invested in seeing to your pleasure." Some of Bravern's brazen cockiness has faded away again. All that remains is the sort of intensity that could burn a man alive if he's not careful. Considering his current life expectancy — considering the fate of the world if they fuck this up — Isami thinks that maybe, just this once, being too careful isn't that important.
Of course, then Bravern brings out a tray of 3D printed sex toys and Isami reconsiders making friends with the floor.