Titles: Affect(ion)
Fandom/Pairing: Trigun Maxiumum, Legato+Knives
Rating: PG, seriously. There is slight Plant on man cuddling and one cuss word.
Disclaimer: I'm going to Hell in a handbasket. And I'm not even doing it with characters I own! Apologies to Nightow and Young King Ours, who actually do own these characters. Also, do remember it's all fiction.
Warnings: RAW and SPOILERSSPOILERSPOILERS HOO BOY SPOILERS, and yeah, IMPLIED MIND CONTROL STYLE NONCON, and CHARACTER DEATH, and EARTH. And man cuddling, but whatever. And oh yeah, fluff. But whatever.
Word to the wise, never question how far is too far for people like Legato. You'll get answers that might disturb the crap out of you.
He still remembers the sound that little box made when it hit the sand and all the other things that roared around him, that sound somewhere between death and tears and the most tortured scream he'd ever heard. The sound of the other Earth ship breaking through the atmosphere. There was more than one infant crying somewhere and it was on whole a ridiculous cacophony.
But he still remembers that he could hear that little, little box hit the ground.
Now sometimes he takes Him to see the sisters that he had gathered. They are fond of Him and He of them. No one ever even sees them come in, Legato just turns their eyes away. These people here are softer, easier to manipulate; too used to the manipulation that pours in through every media outlet and 'educational' source. He's never even worried that some number cruncher will worry their little head over the checks he gets from corporations and conservative politicians that want to make this Earth like the shithole he came from.
Certainly humans here now learn in all their textbooks about a place called Gunsmoke and a Plant who was almost a man who saved the refugees you see so often on the direct news feeds. No one knows the name Legato Bluesummers, except one periodically loquacious man and handful of Plants who find it rather difficult to string together coherent sentences on most days. His name is something private again, between the two of them, something "beautiful, but strong" once again. No one knows the name Millions Knives, either, assuming that Gunsmoke simply imploded on itself. The people here are so fatalistic, they nearly destroyed their own planet once, they have no trouble at all believing that humans could come that close to destroying another planet lightyears away.
He prefers it that way. Maybe they all prefer it that way. Yes, it's probably better this way, for everyone. In retrospect, he never wanted this to happen. Not like this, if these are things that he might have wished for he certainly didn't wish for them like this.
But he heard them, they wanted to destroy Him, they were going quickly in for the other Plants. That one man was moaning over the loss of his savior or something, couldn't see that that man was no savior, too degraded even to be considered human at this point. Except of course for his power.
Legato's power is a million times greater, a trillion times greater even. As he's aged and lines have showed up under his eyes and his skin starts to show the damage that two suns and little atmosphere can do, he's only become more powerful.
He did the only thing he could think to do at the time and he refuses to regret it.
But he regretted it for those long years on that ship coming to this place. They fought every day it seems, but suicide didn't suit either of them. Or rather neither of them had that choice.
When they stepped off and Legato felt the different gravity and the way that asphalt gave slightly under his feet, no one on that ship but him remembered things like brothers and wars and satellites and armies.
He brushes out the long curling hair that he'll always remember as liking more, it made His beauty that much more striking. He remembers the feeling, the anger and the passion and the loyalty that he felt and he feels that it's better now without so much anger in it. He separates the one lock of black hair and twists it a little bit around his finger. Knives turns and looks up at him, his eyes are still so sharp and accusatory, but he's not afraid to look at them. They're tired almost, and always look a bit sad and confused these days.
"Stop that," he says. Legato let's go of the one dark lock and sets the hair brush down on the kitchen table. He reaches up for Legato's face and pulls him down by the neck. Their lips touch, softly, and Legato tucks his head into the curve of His neck, underneath all that long, soft hair and kisses Him again.
His back starts to ache from the awkward position. There's just some things he can't do these days, but he won't complain. There are strong arms tucked around his shoulders and where he rests his hands it is warm. This is everything he always wanted.
But honestly, he never wanted it to happen this way.
You have to understand, he thinks, I would have died. I would have been happy with that. But he has to admit, he's happier like this and if he hadn't cried enough already, he'd have to cry with happiness.
Again.