Tsukishima/Yamaguchi, Pacific Rim AU
Yamaguchi is waiting on deck when Lunar Kozane eases back into her docking with a smooth hiss of hydraulics. He frowns; something sounds a little bit off. Something in the left leg, he thinks, there’s just the slightest hesitation of the joint and he can tell that it’s a mechanical issue, not a pilot issue, because the arms are moving in synchrony, just the way they’re supposed to. And the Tsukishimas are very good.
He has the time to take a look at it. The brothers have to debrief before they can do anything else, simple patrol mission or no, so he has a few minutes, at least, and Yamaguchi doesn’t waste any more of that time. He’s strapped into a harness and rappelling down from Lunar’s ilium joint before Sugawara has even noticed the problem. Yamaguchi has an instinct for the machines, he’s come to realize, and he’s good at it. It had taken him longer than he liked to admit to get over the disappointment of not being selected for pilot training, but he’s finally hit his stride with the mechanics and really, this is just as good. Just as important to support from behind the scenes. And in hindsight, he’s not sure that he’d like being the focus of all the danger and glory, anyway, not now that he’s seen Tsukki at it. No, being a mechanic suits him just fine.
And it also gets him access to all the inner workings and hidden crawlspaces in Lunar Kozane’s armour, all the secret little places that only the pilots and mechanics know about.
The knee’s an easy fix, and Yamaguchi climbs eagerly back through the access port in the joint, scales the giant leg, and when he tucks himself into the little alcove at the inside of the Jaeger’s thigh, Kei is already there, still in his circuitry suit. He knows what that does to Yamaguchi, all the tight black mesh and glinting, exposed mechanical nerves, and Yamaguchi doesn’t even bother with a greeting. He just presses himself up against Kei, flush from thigh to chest, and kisses the knowing smirk right off of his face.
“Tsukki,” he sighs into the kiss, and Kei’s hand tightens reflexively around his waist. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he quips, a grin dusting across his face.
“Mn,” Kei says in reply, nosing at the hair that curls across the back of Yamaguchi’s neck, behind his hair. Yamaguchi shivers and presses closer. “Do we?”
The little space isn’t really big enough for two people, and Yamaguchi can feel Lunar’s steel muscle cords against his back. Everything smells like motor oil and grease and sweat and Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi swears this must be the best place on Earth.
“No.” He kisses Kei again, and again.