From Your Lips

By Seishuku Skuld (skuldchan [a] gmail com)

Series: Trigun

Pairing: Knives/Legato

Warnings: yaoi, NC-17 smut

Date: September 2006

*~*~*~*~*

Legato dared not to close his eyes as Knives reached a gloved hand forward, brushing aside the lapels of his coat with a natural smoothness and efficiency. With deft flicks of his fingers, the rivets that held Legato's coat in place at the arm unsnapped, and the last of it was pushed from his shoulders. Legato tried not to show that he was getting short of breath; that no matter how his chest heaved he never seemed to have enough air to breathe.  He tried to control himself, but he seemed to be leaning into Knives’ caress more and more, his cheek and chest seeking contact with the white fabric that tightly covered Knives' hand.

It would not do for him to be so eager, or at least to show it. Some nights Knives liked him submissive, his pale face flushed red with desire, his body willing and ready. Some nights Knives like him stoic, strong and resistant to his advances with naught but a few cracks in his cold exterior. Sometimes Knives liked it when Legato answered to the name Vash, and other times Knives liked to toy with his blue hair, twisting it in his fingers while whispering "Bluesummers" over and over into his ear. Which would Knives prefer tonight? Legato's stomach fluttered, partly at the hand which pulled his shirt out from waist of his pants, partly at the pain that would befall him if he guessed erroneously.

Legato let out a silent sigh of relief when Knives smiled a him, a quirk of his thin lips as he drew Legato close, one hand gripping his waist solidly enough to leave bruises while the other pulled back the patch of hair that hid his left eye.

"You are ready."

It was a command, not a question nor a casual remark.

"Yes, Master," Legato replied as Knives' hand slipped from his waist. Legato took a step backwards, kicking his clothes out of the way as he let Knives back him into a wall, one hand holding both his wrists above his head as Knives’ other hand roamed his front, the knuckles of his fingers rubbing against the front of Legato's pants. Legato whimpered, his lips parting to let a warm breath of air that Knives quickly swallowed.

Legato would have fallen to his knees had not the wall been at his back and Knives not been before him. Legato knew no other lips than that of his master—no other touch, no other caress. He knew not the taste of his own species; only that of his master, the bittersweet taste of Plant. Legato himself had touched no other, his hands unsullied by human taint. Legato did not even touch himself save when Knives demanded it of him; his body found his own caresses falling far short of the embrace of his master. Legato loved no other. Legato devoted his body, his mind, his life and his death to no other.

Legato moaned when Knives parted from him, breaking off their connection for a moment to lift his shirt roughly from him. Legato, whose arms were already raised above his head in abandon, put forth no resistance as he was stripped of his clothing. He leaned his head against the back of the wall as Knives pushed his chin up, a hand moving to roam his chest as Knives settled at his neck, biting roughly at the soft skin and tendon.  Knives was unusually gentle as his mouth closed about Legato, teeth barely penetrating the surface of his flesh, leaving but small drops of blood when he pulled away. 

Legato’s head turned to the side as he moaned—a deep throaty sigh.  “Master,” he said quietly, closing his eyes for it had been a long time since Knives had last handled him with such tenderness.  Knives’ fingers climbed up Legato’s naked torso, sliding past his nipples to stop at his neck, soaking up the droplets of blood that had formed at opening of his small wounds. 

The tips of Knives’ gloved fingers turned a deep crimson as he brushed the last beads of blood from where he had bitten into his servant’s flesh.  Knives brushed his thumb across Legato’s lower lip in slow strokes, back and forth, the pad of his finger tracing the full curve of where Legato’s bottom lip.  The blue-haired man trembled, fighting the instincts in his body that told him his lips should part and take Knives’ thumb into his mouth.  This was another one of his master’s tests, another one of the trials Knives put him through to see if he was worthy of the gift of his left arm, if he was capable of rising above the human filth he’d been born as.  Legato sagged against the wall, his will only letting faint breaths escape him as Knives tempted and caressed him.

“Open,” Knives commanded after many long moments, seemingly satisfied with Legato’s restraint. 

Legato knew well the taste of his own blood.  He had tasted it many times from his master’s lips and tongue, and often enough from his own skin when Knives was displeased.  He was no stranger to the coppery spice that pressed itself into his mouth as he parted his lips obediently. 

He sucked on the finger, teeth biting gently to keep it in place as he ran his tongue along the underside of the digit, playing as if Knives had inserted something else instead.  Legato’s tongue played in circles, drinking up the blood and biting the cloth that covered his fingers.  Secretly Legato hated those gloves and how much they concealed.  He secretly despised how time after time he had yet to taste his master’s hand, despite knowing the taste of his other parts, even the taste of his precious twin brother.  It was a hatred buried deep inside Legato, a hatred he was too frightened to let escape for fear of what wrath might betide him if Knives ever discovered that he harbored such sentiments.  So he kept them hidden beneath layers of devotion and lust.  Legato was thankful already for his master’s trust and his master’s love and could not bring himself to ask for more.

Knives withdrew his fingers in good time, the tip still red despite Legato’s ministrations.  He held Legato’s chin in his hand looked deep into his golden eyes with such fervor that Legato knew his master was trying to imagine them a brilliant shade of green.

Suddenly a grin spread itself across Knives’ face, something predatory and feral that a cat might give a mouse before striking the final killing blow. 

“Take them off,” Knives ordered, releasing Legato’s wrists and letting his arms drop to his sides.

“Y-yes, master,” Legato acquiesced, undoing the cuffs at his wrists which held his fingerless gloves in place.  He slipped them from his hands and let them fall to the floor along with the rest of the clothing that he had discarded. 

“You’ve been good today,” Knives remarked, an eyebrow raised in amusement. He was very obviously taken with whatever idea he had in his mind.  “How shall I reward you then, my faithful Legato?”

“However my master wishes,” Legato answered. 

Knives appeared to be thinking for a moment, appraising Legato’s willingness, and his naked chest—pale, smooth, hairless and flawless.  Flawless save for…

“Half of your reward will wait,” Knives said finally, “but I’ll give you the other half of it now.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“On your knees.”

Legato needed no second bidding to obey as Knives pushed him to the floor, one hand tightly gripping his blue hair.  He needed no further urging, having been in this position enough times in the past; he knew what to do.  Legato reached out as Knives undid the catch in his suit.  Legato gently peeled back the tight suit and took Knives’ shaft in his hands, touching it gingerly before bringing it to his mouth.

Knives was already fully hard by the time Legato had his tongue around the head of his master’s length, his left hand wrapped about the base and caressing softly as he sucked.  Like all things, Knives had trained him in this as well, and Legato knew all the sensitive spots of his master and exactly how to stimulate them.

Legato let his tongue caress the ridge of the head before swirling his tongue around it, one hand stroking the base as he licked the underside of Knives’ arousal along its entire length.  He moaned as he took all of Knives inside his mouth, swallowing as he felt his master hit the back of his throat.  He paused there as Knives often liked him to do and moaned, his chest shuddering with the effort as Knives gripped his hair and dug fingers into his scalp.  Then he breathed and came up again, withdrawing, still sucking, letting his teeth rake Knives’ skin lightly before taking it all in again.  Knives started moving with him, short, brusque thrusts of his hips into Legato’s mouth. 

It was mostly a silent affair; all that permeated the air was Legato’s gasping and the occasional moan which was sometimes accompanied by a grunt from Knives.  Legato’s lips worked the head and his tongue the underside as another of Knives’ thrusts met his mouth and he swallowed again, his time with a groan that started somewhere deep in his chest.  It reverberated and its echoes reached Knives, Legato watching his master close his eyes and hold him close, fingers twisting in ecstasy.

“Stop,” Knives said when Legato pulled away again.  Legato tried not to let his momentary disappointment show on his face.

“Now, the other half of your reward.”

Legato tensed, wondering if it was going to be pain or pleasure.

“Take the rest of your clothes off.”

Legato let out a mental sigh of relief, thankful that Knives had decided on the latter. 

“Yes, master,” he murmured.  He stripped obediently, shedding his pants and his underwear and standing before his master, uncomfortably hard.

Knives seemed to approve and stepped forward to grant Legato a kiss, murmuring words against the line of his jaw as he captured Legato’s—no, Vash’s—left hand and twined their fingers.  “Up against the wall.”

Legato rose and Knives twisted his arm behind him, pinning it against his lower back.  Legato steadied himself with his other hand, sliding down the cool metal bulkhead until he was bent over, his ass offered to his master.

He heard Knives chuckle and that was the only preamble to the rough insertion.  Legato cringed and bit his lip to keep from crying out.  He forced himself to relax, to ignore the pain as Knives impaled him in one startling, smooth motion. 

“Good,” Knives whispered, a voice at his back.  Legato felt his master’s hands at his sides, gripping him firmly.  “My beautiful Legato…”

The voice made Legato shiver and the blue-haired man whimpered as Knives drew out of him and thrust in again, so hard he almost slammed into the wall.  Soon he felt Knives press up against him, closer, hands leaving his waist, one to caress the front of his chest, thin fingers traveling up to wind their way around his neck, and the other to grip Vash’s arm as he pulled Legato toward him and mouthed sweet nothings in his ear.

Legato dared not speak a word, dared not accept the promises his master made him for the words were not for him to hear, and it was not his place to speak.  He bit back every sound he could but still some escaped, ragged gasps when Knives’ hand moved from his neck, sliding down clean torso to grasp his erection, smooth cloth slipping over skin.  It was rare that Knives granted him these gifts, these wonderful pieces of paradise devoid of any pain or punishment, just filled with the lust and the joining of human and Plant. 

“Ah, Legato,” Knives murmured in time with his thrusts, each shaking Legato to the core, so hard that he had no idea how it was that he still stood, how he was still bracing himself against the wall.  Knives’ words wrapped around him—a sinuous hush more intoxicating than any liquor, sweeter than any honey.  “Bluesummers…Bluesummers…” Knives whispered, and Legato could almost have come from his name alone, which long ago had been given to him by Knives, and the sound of which, when uttered from the lips of his master could still bring tears to his eyes.

Legato watched the hazy forms in the reflective surface of the metal wall, the dim echo of his blue hair and the shine of Knives’ lighter skin, melting together with each impetus, each drive of Knives inside Legato.  The pain had long faded way and what lingered was only ecstasy, the joy of Knives’ pressure inside him and the teeth which bit into Vash’s scarred left shoulder, not belonging to him but which he could still feel, every stretch of skin twice as sensitive as his own.

Legato came with a silent cry, his entire body trembling with the force of his coupling with Knives.  He splashed the wall with his cum, arching his back as Knives bit into the arm again, still thrusting.  Finally Knives came too, with an orgasm so hard that he pushed Legato into the wall, and the blue-haired man closed his eyes at feeling his master so close against him, his back to Knives’ chest.  Knives stilled and then he withdrew, leaving Legato to slump against the wall. 

Knives was smiling with satisfaction, Legato had a tired smile that was but a shadow of his ecstasy.  He gazed at his master with terrible adoration. 

“Hmmm,” Knives murmured, and pulled Legato onto his feet to kiss his disciple full on the mouth, nipping at the edge of Legato’s lips and playing with his tongue.  The kiss lasted too short before Knives pulled away, his fingers lingering along the line of Legato’s jaw, a touch that drew such ardor from his servant that it seemed that with the kiss Knives had drawn every bit of Legato’s strength.  Knives planted his hand on Legato’s chest and gave him a push that sent him falling onto his bed, a naked tangle of sweat and limbs, drained and exhausted. 

“Thank you, Master,” Legato whispered weakly as grateful tears slipped their way from his golden eyes. 

Knives did not reply as closed the clasps to his suit, gave his servant a final, unreadable look, and left the room.

Legato rolled onto his back, buried his face in the pillows of his bed and feebly drew a bedsheet around his naked form.  It did not take him long to drop into a deep sleep. 

When Legato dreamed he dreamed only of he and Knives, and even in his slumber Legato relinquished his all for his master, and even in his dreams when they parted from a kiss, Knives would draw away all his strength and his love, and leave him with nothing.  And after those dreams Legato would awaken, stare up at the ceiling of his quarters on that lonely ship fallen to a lonely, dusty planet, and wish that today was the day that he’d give his death to his master.