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"...It appears that the proportion of swallow statues found around the globe follows the general population coefficient of several, if not all, species in the Hirundinidae family regionally. This analysis was done through remote data collection on social media, so the precise number of sightings may be even higher than predicted, but I'm 10 billion percent certain that this shit is not a coincidence—"
At this point in the article, the scientist's concentration wavered for a moment. He blinked, muttered a laugh and ran a hand through his messy white hair.
“This kid,” he thought aloud, “he can't maintain proper academic language throughout the entire text.”
His voice was low and calm, a tone that conveyed a sense of inner peace that couldn't be further from the truth, for this man, Xeno Huston Wingfield, was, in fact, a typical mad scientist. In a way, it made sense that one such as him, known for creating increasingly lethal weapons, would be interested in the seemingly inexplicable phenomenon of swallow petrification; like his Japanese pupil, — author of the article he was reading —, he believed the “statues” to be actual birds. This must stem from some sort of anomaly, a new virus, for example, that could be used as a biological weapon. If he could get his hands on something like this, he could—
He was abruptly pulled from his musings by another voice, coming from under the table.
“Well, he’s a high school student after all, Xeno. Genius or not.”
The man speaking was well known to the scientist, and he was the only one in the world allowed to do what he was doing at the moment. He was lying under Xeno's lab bench, one arm casually under his head like a pillow and the other tucked into the hem of Xeno's pants, dutifully caressing his pale skin. This arrangement, with the chief scientist in the lab even when every other researcher was already at home, accompanied by his faithful Special Forces’ commander, who, even with all his work in the army, still found time to be with his beloved, was a very comfortable one for them.
Stanley Snyder, as always, had a cigarette in his mouth — but it was currently unlit. Not even he would be so foolish as to try to smoke inside a lab like this one, with cabinets full of volatile reagents lining the walls and expensive, ultra-sensitive scientific equipment on almost every bench, except the one Xeno used for reading and taking notes, right in the center of the room. He started to get up, emerging from under the table and consequently stopping to caress the scientist's ankle and calf, to which the he immediately grimaced and grumbled a complaint; until a few minutes ago, he had completely forgotten Stanley was even there, immersed as he was in his research, but now that he had lost the contact, he missed it.
"Still, if he wants to be taken seriously, he'll have to do better than that," Xeno said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. There was a recognizable note of bitterness and sarcasm in his voice as he continued. "After all, it doesn't matter how elegant and sophisticated your science is, you have to sell it. Because the world has been taken over by idiots, even within academia. It's hilarious, actually. You have to accept orders from intellectually inferior people, who decide at the end of the day which projects will be more or less profitable; oh, yes, a complete disgrace to the epitome of human rationality. The thrill of science is precisely the possibility of infinite discovery, to the very limits of the observable universe and beyond, but politics and ethics, with their halter, prevent the best scientists from advancing more than a few meager steps."
At the end of his monologue, Xeno finally looked to the side and up, finding amber eyes already fixed on his, black as the mesh of space. “Don’t you agree, my dearest?” He asked softly.
“Yeah, sure.” Was the answer. “Whatever you say. ‘M sure one day we’ll find a way to revolutionize the hell outta this shit, and you’ll be able to do whatever you want. ‘Till then, though…”
Stanley ditched the cigarette and leaned over the chair, gripping and turning it until his scientist was facing him, still staring with that cruel gleam in his eyes. He hadn't always been like this, so obsessed with his ideals of power, domination, and intrinsic superiority, but that changed when his projects began to be rejected one by one, moral, political, and economic obstacles being the only reasons, and Stanley...
Well, Stanley would follow him to the ends of the earth. Dictator or genocidal, it didn't matter, he would always be his right-hand man. This was a constant, one as evident as Feigenbaum's, which demonstrate the universality of the tendency toward chaos.
This is a somewhat apt comparison, as both seemed to have chaos and order within them in equal measure, thus explaining the reason for one to be so intensely drawn to the other. Their faith in each other was unshakable, unbreakable. They had been through so much together that it was impossible to define what they felt for each other if not as love, and one that arose suddenly, unprecedentedly, and unpredictably. Love was a somewhat despicable concept to Xeno at first, for despite continued efforts, it doesn't seem to be something science can measure or explain, not without overlooking some fundamental aspects of it. Yet, somehow, it was love that filled the space between them, that was reflected in their eyes, and that made their hearts beat in unison.
“You’ll be the one to figure it out.” Stanley stated, whispering. “The petrification. You’re the only one who can do it.”
“Hmm…” The white haired man reached up to the other’s face, caressing him there and then gently twirling a strand of soft blond hair around his slander, meticulous fingers. “And yet, I was not the one to find the correlation between the appearance of the statues and the regional population of swallows.”
Stanley snorted, rather ungracefully. “You can’t possibly be seriously considering that brat you decided to adopt as a rival.”
“I did not- do such a thing.” Xeno said, frowning. “I merely mentored a promising student out of nostalgia. Senku is nothing more to me; he's not my adoptee, and he's definitely not a rival.”
“Wathever makes you sleep well at night, luv.”
“I just meant that there are scientific conclusions that only collaboration can lead us to. In any case, my hands are tied until CDC's analyses are completed, which should happen just in time tomorrow.” Xeno said, standing up. Stanley stepped back just enough for the scientist to do so. They were now face to face. “Until then, I believe we have almost equally interesting topics to address, Stan.”
“Almost equally interesting, you say?” Stanley smiled, reaching to cup the other man’s face and bring him even closer. “You’re never gonna admit I’m actually better than all the scientific bullshit, will you?” He murmured, his lips always colored a beautiful shade of purple brushing lightly against Xeno's thin lips.
“I concur that you’re quite elegant yourself, but science is—”
Before Xeno could continue with what Stanley considered a completely pointless speech, he kissed him. There was nothing gentle about the way the soldier, much more powerfully built than the lean scientist, positioned his hand possessively on Xeno's waist and invaded his mouth with his tongue, insistently exploring every inch of its inside in a tangle of teeth and muffled moans.
They broke apart several seconds later, gasping for air, returning to kiss after just one breath. One of Xeno's hands gripped his partner's broad shoulder tightly, while the other tangled in his soft blond hair, pulling and messing it up. Stanley, in turn, pressed their bodies as close as possible, his hand firmly on Xeno's slender waist and the other on the back of his neck.
It went on like this for a while until Stanley moved both hands to Xeno's hips, one of them trailing even lower, settling on the back of his thigh, right in the crease of his ass. Without much effort, he lifted the scientist and placed him on an empty part of the table, to which Xeno promptly helped him, sliding back a little and opening his legs to better accommodate the other between his thighs. They parted again, breathlessly.
“Are we really doing this here?” Asked the NASA scientist, maybe just a little bit worried about his job. “If we get caught…”
“Shush, who cares? I bet you always fantasized about this. Why else would you have disabled all the security cameras— well, never mind, I can think of plenty other reasons, knowing you. Still, it's convenient. Besides, the building is practically empty."
"Observant as always, Stan," he complimented, swallowing hard when he kissed his jawline in response, quickly working to undo the knot of his tie and expose the delicate skin of his neck. "However, I'll have to counter the claim that I ‘fantasized’ about anything. Scientists don't fantasize, they conjecture.”
Stanley laughed, and the sound reverberated through Xeno's skin just below his jaw, sending a shiver down his spine. Deft fingers quickly unbuttoned his lab coat, which the scientist gently let slide down his shoulders, revealing a button-down shirt that quickly suffered the same fate. Even in the frigid air of the air-conditioned room, Xeno didn't feel the cold at all; the heat Stanley emanated was enough to power a thermal generator, and the warmth his actions stirred in his genius husband's core wasn't far behind.
The sounds emanating from the lovers were only slightly muffled by the hum of the machinery, a strangely comforting background noise for Stanley, who had learned to associate such sounds with the comfort of home, a place to return to, porcelain skin turning a faint pink beneath his lips and eyes like the night sky: dark yet full of spark; infinite, stretching endlessly toward the future; beautiful, like something to be admired but never controlled , thirsting to uncover the secrets of the universe, destined for greatness.
He was certain that, were he a little more careless, he would end up getting lost in them. Not that it would be a problem; after all, he was the only one in the world with a map.
Xeno, on the other hand, burying his face in his lover's wheat-gold hair, breathed in his scent. It was the ocher smell of cigarettes, which, after all these years, had permeated the other man completely, making him retain it even on the rare occasions he wasn't smoking. Xeno never approved of his partner's harmful habit; he had always objected, ever since the beginning of this tragic vice trajectory, in their late teenage years. Still, his efforts have been futile. Soon, for one reason or another, Stanley was so completely addicted to the poison he insisted on breathing into his lungs that Xeno had no choice but to accept it.
Begrudgingly, that pungent smell gradually transfigured itself into something new, something completely different. It wasn't pleasant in itself, but over time, it became impossible not to associate that toxic fumes with his husband's flaming presence by his side. He would never admit it out loud to anyone, hell, he pretended not to remember it even to himself, but during particularly long and dangerous absences from his, — and, apparently, the government’s — ultimate knight, he himself had tried, in a desperate bid for comfort, to indulge in it. It goes without saying that it didn't work. Still, he tried, which only demonstrates how lonely and incomplete he was without his other half.
And a few days later the world as they knew it would be irrevocably destroyed, but what did it matter? For now and then, no matter the circumstances, they had each other.
Till death do them part
.