I fail at life
One of the reasons why I typically write oneshots is because epics take a certain kind of fortitude. I get distracted easily by shiny things. If I put something down, who know when I'll pick it back up. But I'm working on it.
Oh God, why oh why did I write a PWP? On top of that, a Trigun, Knives/Legato third person POV PWP. This one I don't think is any good.
Title: Heaven Touch Mortal.
Rating: NC-17!! Bad stuff!
Fandom/Pairing: Trigun, Knives/Legato.
Warnings: Short. Kinda odd. No really, I have no idea where this came from. Also, it may fall somewhere in canon-timeline, depending on which you use, but probably not. It's PWP. Oh yeah, very dark.
He rests on one knee, head bowed. Dark hair falls over his face, obscuring half-closed eyes. Surely one would first notice the skulls, the spears protruding from flesh, or the long immaculately white coat before thinking to take note of the eyes. Legato has frightening eyes.
He stays as still as possible as clicking across the tile floor announced an intruder to this barren place, but from the lack of presence the mind-manipulator can easily discern the identity. Not a human mind.
He’d been expecting Knives anyway. His brother, the blind idiot, was still wandering unfound. Knives had gone out to send a message to the other, and was expected to return at any time. Legato rests on one knee, head bowed, waiting.
A zipper, a swear, and the soft rustling as the bodysuit is shucked off. Legato is holding his breath.
Knives stands in front of him, looking down, and his foot clips the side of Legato’s head hard, whiplash on his neck, and he falls backward. His hands brace him but Knives straddles his awkward legs.
“Disgusting.” Knives sneers, pushing him flat to the ground.
There is a moment where his tongue tastes blood before the thought becomes certainty, Knives biting more than kissing at his lips.
His master has claws, raking against his scalp and pulling at clothing. Knives gnaws on his lips, his chin, breaking skin on his neck and mutilating his ear. Legato pants, moans, groans, writhes beneath the presence. The sounds are not forced out of him for the customer, but genuine noises wrung for his own use. Knives wouldn’t care either way. Sometimes, Legato wonders if Knives even notices.
“Dirty Humans, all of you. Despisable, selfish insects!”
A hand clenches tight in that soft dark hair, pulling it taught and bearing Legato’s throat to those sharp teeth. Here the god is, scraping nails down Legato’s chest and legs, pushing himself into Legato, a pain both sharp and familiar. Somehow, when Knives is the source, all pain suddenly has a meaning, and he is grateful to be of use.
Legato’s hands clench convulsively, wrists bound to the floor by shear force of will. He knows better than to try and touch, his cock aches and he’ll endure. Knives is above him, naked and perfect and angry. It hurts more than it feels good, being fucked by such a creature, but the pain is an honor so Legato screams his appreciation.
The body of a god wouldn’t work the same, and hot semen doesn’t fill him, but rather the vice-grip on his abdomen cues the end of things. Legato watches that pale head thrown back, notes the softened breathing and lowered pulse rate. Knives has his eyes closed, and he almost looks human. Legato dismisses the image.
Knives pulls out, wiping his dick on Legato’s once-pristine coat. There is no mess besides the blood and spit, no evidence of anything besides the bruises and tears. Legato’s own cock is still hard, and neither of them gives it any notice.
“Legato,” He says, pulling on the tight jumper. “Teach my brother a lesson. He’s so foolish.”
Naturally, when talking about his brother, his eyes take on a more raging look, and an inner light seems to take him one step closer to deification. This is the being for which Legato continues on in this worthless life, and Legato pries a hand up, running it down his abdomen to his genitals. His attention is on Knives.
Also when thinking of his brother, Knives brings his hand up to his mouth, stifling small pants, like giggling.
“Teach him a lesson about people and living. I trust you can do this, Legato.” Knives heel’s click as he continues through the hall out the main hall, laughing erratically.
Legato strokes himself, pushed over the edge by those words. The end of the world is near. At the feet of his master, Legato has the honor of watching it all.
My idea of 'shiny things' is severely warped.
Oh God, why oh why did I write a PWP? On top of that, a Trigun, Knives/Legato third person POV PWP. This one I don't think is any good.
Title: Heaven Touch Mortal.
Rating: NC-17!! Bad stuff!
Fandom/Pairing: Trigun, Knives/Legato.
Warnings: Short. Kinda odd. No really, I have no idea where this came from. Also, it may fall somewhere in canon-timeline, depending on which you use, but probably not. It's PWP. Oh yeah, very dark.
He rests on one knee, head bowed. Dark hair falls over his face, obscuring half-closed eyes. Surely one would first notice the skulls, the spears protruding from flesh, or the long immaculately white coat before thinking to take note of the eyes. Legato has frightening eyes.
He stays as still as possible as clicking across the tile floor announced an intruder to this barren place, but from the lack of presence the mind-manipulator can easily discern the identity. Not a human mind.
He’d been expecting Knives anyway. His brother, the blind idiot, was still wandering unfound. Knives had gone out to send a message to the other, and was expected to return at any time. Legato rests on one knee, head bowed, waiting.
A zipper, a swear, and the soft rustling as the bodysuit is shucked off. Legato is holding his breath.
Knives stands in front of him, looking down, and his foot clips the side of Legato’s head hard, whiplash on his neck, and he falls backward. His hands brace him but Knives straddles his awkward legs.
“Disgusting.” Knives sneers, pushing him flat to the ground.
There is a moment where his tongue tastes blood before the thought becomes certainty, Knives biting more than kissing at his lips.
His master has claws, raking against his scalp and pulling at clothing. Knives gnaws on his lips, his chin, breaking skin on his neck and mutilating his ear. Legato pants, moans, groans, writhes beneath the presence. The sounds are not forced out of him for the customer, but genuine noises wrung for his own use. Knives wouldn’t care either way. Sometimes, Legato wonders if Knives even notices.
“Dirty Humans, all of you. Despisable, selfish insects!”
A hand clenches tight in that soft dark hair, pulling it taught and bearing Legato’s throat to those sharp teeth. Here the god is, scraping nails down Legato’s chest and legs, pushing himself into Legato, a pain both sharp and familiar. Somehow, when Knives is the source, all pain suddenly has a meaning, and he is grateful to be of use.
Legato’s hands clench convulsively, wrists bound to the floor by shear force of will. He knows better than to try and touch, his cock aches and he’ll endure. Knives is above him, naked and perfect and angry. It hurts more than it feels good, being fucked by such a creature, but the pain is an honor so Legato screams his appreciation.
The body of a god wouldn’t work the same, and hot semen doesn’t fill him, but rather the vice-grip on his abdomen cues the end of things. Legato watches that pale head thrown back, notes the softened breathing and lowered pulse rate. Knives has his eyes closed, and he almost looks human. Legato dismisses the image.
Knives pulls out, wiping his dick on Legato’s once-pristine coat. There is no mess besides the blood and spit, no evidence of anything besides the bruises and tears. Legato’s own cock is still hard, and neither of them gives it any notice.
“Legato,” He says, pulling on the tight jumper. “Teach my brother a lesson. He’s so foolish.”
Naturally, when talking about his brother, his eyes take on a more raging look, and an inner light seems to take him one step closer to deification. This is the being for which Legato continues on in this worthless life, and Legato pries a hand up, running it down his abdomen to his genitals. His attention is on Knives.
Also when thinking of his brother, Knives brings his hand up to his mouth, stifling small pants, like giggling.
“Teach him a lesson about people and living. I trust you can do this, Legato.” Knives heel’s click as he continues through the hall out the main hall, laughing erratically.
Legato strokes himself, pushed over the edge by those words. The end of the world is near. At the feet of his master, Legato has the honor of watching it all.
My idea of 'shiny things' is severely warped.