miikka-xx: shockingly, there is a SAD LACK OF fics for a CANON pairing. Ah well, who are we kidding. Most AG fans, despite excessive panty shots, are yaoi fans. and yet, this is the one manga i appreciate the canon. god.

Title: heat strokes
Rating: M
Summary: He watches her through half lidded eyes. (There's too much of him and not little of her and they will never get enough.) agitoyayoilind. complete.
Disclaimer: man, if I owned AG, Kazu would NEVER have a shirt on.
Warning(s): minor spoilers for Inorganic Net. and it's not a triangle, ahaha, it's a threesome. bisexuality FTW. and lot's of nonexplicit sex.


heat strokes


Akito leans against the cool wall, feet spread apart with a dismantled AT between his legs. A mechanic's paradise surrounds him: screws, drivers, wrenches, vice grips, spanners, socket wrenches, pliers. The multitude of silver metal and rubber is like a sea trying to drown him as he tightens another screw on the AT.

He can still feel the warm sensation of Agito's skin, his chest, sliding down him, slowly. The heartbeat pounding in his ears and the whispers of his other half. Can you feel it? My heartbeat? My breath? Akito thinks this is why he likes Ikki – he is hot like furnace, his warmth a sensual fire. Heat pulls on Akito's nerves, makes him shake. Akito puts his hands against his eyes and stills his trembling body.

He has a Fang Regalia to build.


His body is too burned up – too injured – to fully appreciate his new tuner's skills. He thinks nothing, concentrating on the dull pain racking through his body. Her skin is like silk, a girl's touch. She shakes, stills, and goes on more confidently. It is hard to feel anything through the burns and scrapes, but he can sense her body warmth, the fire roaring from inside her. Passion, he thinks.

Finally, she pulls back and away from his body, requesting a screwdriver. That woman, the one with sea shell like hair – it's hard to think, but he recognizes her as the former Pledge Queen – tosses it over. Dimly, explosions and raining concrete is heard. So they're still fighting the Former Sleeping Forest, he thinks. The Regalia is still on his feet when she toys with it. He feels the changes, the hesitant touches on his ATs, before she finally tightens everything.

Fly, Agito, she whispers.


Human bodies respond positively to warmth. They can be easily stimulated through touch, tensing and relaxing with the slightest change of temperature. Their cells are made for heat, made for adrenaline rushes, made for anything to make them sweat, make them pant, gasp and induce them into a pleasure-filled haze. In short, humans are made for sex.


He watches her through half-lidded eyes. She has a sheet wrapped around her shoulders, her hair undone and spilling around her neck and face. He lies on the stiff hospital bed. They sit in a ward the Pledge Queen, Kururu, has provided them for his monthly tuning.

He is like the Rumble King, Nue; still suffering from growth spurts and changes in his body, severely affecting his bio-rhythm which then screwed up his synchronisation with his Regalia. This is the third or fourth time they have been here, he thinks idly, she should be used to the nakedness by now. In his mind's eyes, he sees Akito sleeping soundly with his back pressed against Lind. Lind is smirking, watching intently through Agito's eyes, at the girl.

She looks at his body for a few moments, dressed in nothing but boxers. Her dark eyes flit to his.

"How efficient do you need it to be?" she asks, like it's not a stupid question, like his answer isn't obvious.

"What the fuck?" he snarls. "At full fucking capacity." She cringes and gestures vaguely to his boxers.

"Right now, I can go to 88 percent," she says almost pleadingly. She's begging him not to take them off with her eyes, he realizes. Inside, he hears Lind laugh – she'll die from embarrassment. Agito raises his eyebrows. Slowly, he slides off the bed and takes them off. The girl has her eyes shut tight, her face a blazing red. He lies back down.

"Hurry up then," he tells her, "fuck," he adds as an afterthought.

She lets the sheet slip and straddles his knees. She does not wear an SC like the Tool Toul Too tuners and relies solely on her body. She does not let her gaze wander lower than his hipbones, the enticing diagonal lines that make her shiver. Lying down slowly, tentatively, her ear presses against his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

16... 17... 18...

He lays unmoving underneath her, every nerve in his body hypersensitive to her. Her body is a comfortable weight against him. She tunes her breathing to his, exhaling with him, inhaling with him. She shivers and slides upwards, burying her nose in his shoulder as their chests press together.

Her heartbeat is an echo of his. Beating in sync. Her hair is tickling his collarbone, spread over her shoulder, dropping onto his skin. His fucking hypersensitive skin. It smells of soap and lavender, both relatively mild scents that pleases him. Her breasts rub against him when she shifts. Her abdomen against his – the heat threatening to overwhelm him.

"Agito..." she murmurs, her mind in a haze of warmth and contentment. She has counted his heartbeat, heard his blood pulsing through his veins, timed his breathing. Everything is done for the first part. Her arm reaches down and picks up the sheet before pulling herself up. She straddles him, his hipbones covered by her thighs.

He props himself on his elbows, his eyes trailing over every curve on her naked body as she begins to put the sheet over herself. Woman skin, whispers Lind, soft like silk, beautiful when it bleeds. He wants to see. He feels it stir in his stomach, the desire. He feels the rough calloused hands of Lind slid up his arms, his hot breath on his cheek.

Humans are made for sex.


He fucks her on the bed, feeling her blood pool around him onto the white sheets. She digs her nails (woman nails, says Lind, sharp deadly things that hurt so good) into his shoulder blades. She gasps, moans and tightens, murmuring names under her breath. He leans against her face, trying to hear her, his canines biting into the skin under her ear.

She arches and calls their names. Agito, please, oh, Lind, LindLindLindAgito. Lind can't fuck him, he knows, but he can still feel him. Not as real as her around him, rocking against him, (woman touch, Lind presses, never changing heat that can control a man) but, like he can feel the presence of Akito when he was his tuner, he can feel the hot touches Lind presses against his back.

He knows she can feel Lind too. Feel his warm breath against her lips when he presses his mouth to hers. Can feel the wandering hands down her breasts until they reach him bucking inside of her. He can feel Lind grinding against his abdomen, feel him grin against his mouth, biting his lips roughly, trying to make him bleed.

Agito, ah, yes, Agito. L-Lind, please, LindAgitoAgitoAgitoLind.

When she returns an hour later, dressed impeccably, with his Regalia sitting in her hands, he knows he is untouchable now. He slips them on and opens the window. They're on the sixth floor, the drop is inviting. He feels too satisfied to destroy a few windows and crouches on the ledge, rocking back and forth until he thinks he'll tip over.

She stands unobtrusively behind him, the wind bringing her scent to him. Soap, lavender, sweat, sex, him. He grins and pulls her towards him. She stumbles, comes forward and is then roughly pushed out the window.

Her breath leaves her before she can even utter a sound. She can still feel his fingers tracing patterns down her stomach, feel Lind's mouth pressed against her mouth, her breasts. Each touch like a brush, painting a picture on her body, a painting of sweat and heat and blood. The sensations abruptly leave her and she hears the wind whistling past her, logic timing her impending death to four seconds.

3... 2...

The familiar sound of scratching concrete envelops her and he's there, arm under her legs and back, flipping effortlessly in the air, grinning wide with canines glinting in the sun.

"You thought I was gonna let you die?" he asks her, "fuck." She didn't even scream, that stupid woman, he thinks. She trusts him like he trusts Akito. Unfailingly. His arms tighten possessively, making her tense then relax immediately. Mine, he thinks to himself. Cold wind screams past him, almost making him miss the heated press of Lind's lips against his.

Ours, says Lind, an arm curling around her waist as he put his ethereal body between him and her. She shivers and her lips curve into a small smile.

"Lind," she says. Lind laughs and disappears back into his mind. He hits pavement, cracking it, and shoots forward, his Regalia easily adapting to his movements. She had done good this time. In his mind's eyes, he sees Akito shifting his head.

Nakayama-san doesn't mind sharing, remarks the boy.

Stupid woman, fuck, he snarls back. He hates the fact that Lind makes curls of desire appear in his stomach, makes him want to feel heated skin sliding against him, makes him want to claim this girl again so he can come back. He also hates this girl. She makes him want to kill not with blood lust, but anger, makes him want to tear Lind apart for pressing his mouth to her, makes him want to constantly feel her heat against him.


They paint a picture on her body; tips of fingers trailing down her soft woman-skin, teeth biting, tongue sliding, breath making her gasp. She's a landscape of how they fuck: hickeys, scrapes, scratches, scars litter her pretty silk skin. The artist uses paint, they think, but they use heat, unalderrated lust to press this image of sex and sweat into her body. Paint strokes replaced by heat strokes. They leave no empty spaces.


Whenever they fuck, Lind appears without fail, begging to let him take her this time. Give me the body, he says, let me feel her around me, let her see me for what I am. He denies him and snarls, all he is but a spirit that needs to go the fuck back from where he came. Lind never leaves until she's asleep, body curled around herself and never touching his. He hates people touching him and she knows it.

Sometimes, if her sleep is deep, she will place an arm tentatively against his, as if in her slumber, she knows he dislikes touch. He wakes up with a snarl in his throat but lets her rest her arm there. He hates that he will cave in to whatever she does, and Lind will laugh and appear, pressing against him to quiet him down.

Whenever she comes, she says his name and Lind's, making him angry but wanting to fuck her again. Lind ghosts over them constantly,pleasuring her chest, grinding against him. He wants to fuck Lind, sometimes, to see if he would arch and moan like she does. She implies that she wants to see him being fucked by Lind at one time and he takes her ruthlessly from behind with the desire that overtakes him at the thought, making her scream and beg.


The mornings after are always quiet. A rustle of sheets meant she was awake. She would slip away, wearing a tank top and his boxers, to the kitchen in the apartment he found. He would rouse to the scent of coffee and tea and her humming quietly under her breath, with her hair spilling around her shoulders and a gentle smile playing on her lips.

"Good morning, Agito," she always says then turns her head as if looking behind him, "Lind." He hates her, he tells himself, he hates Lind and this woman and these mornings where he doesn't feel blood lust. He hates how he doesn't understand.

So he will continue bringing her back to his bed, night after night, until he does.

This is not love, they know, this is sex and heat and adrenaline and satisfaction and control.

But they will never stop.


a/n: uh, I don't know what made me write this. I honestly do NOT know. It's pretty much nonexplicit PWP. but i can't see agito go all, "oh, yayoi, i'm madly in love with you! let's make love!" and lind makes me squeal like a little girl. so, of course, they belong together. and i love me some agitolind. yum.

edit: august 3, 2010. inserted breaks, fixed typos. please feel free to point out any mistakes i missed.