The Last Song
*~*
Dawn was still hours away, and yet Vash the Stampede was perched on the edge of the sheer cliff, staring at the far horizon as if, by his own willpower, he could make union of sky and earth shimmer into faint light. Desert winds whipped around him, echoing the silence of the endless desert he surveyed with faded aquamarine eyes. One leg dangled carelessly over the edge; his arms hugged the other leg to his long body, letting his knee prop up his chin. He had slipped out of his red leather trenchcoat, wearing it instead draped over his shoulders like a cape. Sandy blond hair, hair which normally stood tall and spiky upon his brow, was instread fallen softly about his face, giving him a vaguely childlike appearance.
He slowly drew a battered pack of cigarrettes from a pocket of his trenchcoat; not taking his eyes off the silent ballet of stars above him, he slipped one out and put it between his lips. It felt so strange there, what with the shape and the unaccustomed taste of paper and tobacco... but it also felt so *right*, because it felt like Wolfwood, tasted like his most hesitant kisses. Fishing out a silver lighter inscribed with a cross, he lit the cigarette and inhaled slowly. The urge to cough passed quickly as he took in another drag.
Watching the light of the cigarette's burning end flicker off and on, he turned back to his pondering of the starlit sky above him. It hadn't been that long ago that they laid here together under the stars, his head resing on Wolfwood's broad chest as the sometime pastor lit up a cigarette from his seemingly endless supply. They rarely spoke after making love; why would they have to, when the act itself spoke so much more than mere words could say? The endless balance of domination and submission, of giving and taking... they could unconsciously adapt to the others needs and still have their own sexual yearnings fulfilled. They talked to each other during the day- usually with several small spats interspersed with the 'normal' conversation- but it was at night that the words began to take on true meaning. Soft words between them as they sat alone, fingers brushing against the other's hand, teasing whispers spoken through stolen kisses- those were their conversations, their means of communication.
A tear slipped from one closed eye and shimmered in the moonlight as it trickled its way down his cheek. He took the spent cigarette butt from his lips and, without opening his eyes, flicked it over the edge of the cliff. For a moment, he imagined himself falling behind it like a cherry blossom, then put the thought out of his mind a second later. "No," he whispered in a voice roughened by dust and heartbreak.. He had to confront *him*, the one ultimately responsible for all the suffering and pain that had dogged his steps all his life. He wouldn't give up until they had met face to face- and if he didn't walk away from that final confrontation, then so be it. At least then, he would have the chance of seeing his lover again in the afterlife.
Faint tinges of pink began to shade the far horizon. He slowly began to rise to his feet; his joints creaked and began aching from having been locked in one position the whole night. Picking up his trademark red trenchcoat, he stroked Wolfwood's silver lighter lovingly once before returning it to his coat pocket and slipping it on. Hands ran through his hair, returning it to its customary spikes. He pulled on a pair of soft leather gloves and smoothed them out over his slender fingers. Finally, wire-rimmed sunglasses, the lenses of which were tinted a dark orange, were pushed up into position on his face. Vash the Stampede turned around and took up his lover's cloth-wrapped cross, carrying it reverently on his back as he faded off into the morning dawn, walking alone to find his final destiny.
*~*
Dawn was still hours away, and yet Vash the Stampede was perched on the edge of the sheer cliff, staring at the far horizon as if, by his own willpower, he could make union of sky and earth shimmer into faint light. Desert winds whipped around him, echoing the silence of the endless desert he surveyed with faded aquamarine eyes. One leg dangled carelessly over the edge; his arms hugged the other leg to his long body, letting his knee prop up his chin. He had slipped out of his red leather trenchcoat, wearing it instead draped over his shoulders like a cape. Sandy blond hair, hair which normally stood tall and spiky upon his brow, was instread fallen softly about his face, giving him a vaguely childlike appearance.
He slowly drew a battered pack of cigarrettes from a pocket of his trenchcoat; not taking his eyes off the silent ballet of stars above him, he slipped one out and put it between his lips. It felt so strange there, what with the shape and the unaccustomed taste of paper and tobacco... but it also felt so *right*, because it felt like Wolfwood, tasted like his most hesitant kisses. Fishing out a silver lighter inscribed with a cross, he lit the cigarette and inhaled slowly. The urge to cough passed quickly as he took in another drag.
Watching the light of the cigarette's burning end flicker off and on, he turned back to his pondering of the starlit sky above him. It hadn't been that long ago that they laid here together under the stars, his head resing on Wolfwood's broad chest as the sometime pastor lit up a cigarette from his seemingly endless supply. They rarely spoke after making love; why would they have to, when the act itself spoke so much more than mere words could say? The endless balance of domination and submission, of giving and taking... they could unconsciously adapt to the others needs and still have their own sexual yearnings fulfilled. They talked to each other during the day- usually with several small spats interspersed with the 'normal' conversation- but it was at night that the words began to take on true meaning. Soft words between them as they sat alone, fingers brushing against the other's hand, teasing whispers spoken through stolen kisses- those were their conversations, their means of communication.
A tear slipped from one closed eye and shimmered in the moonlight as it trickled its way down his cheek. He took the spent cigarette butt from his lips and, without opening his eyes, flicked it over the edge of the cliff. For a moment, he imagined himself falling behind it like a cherry blossom, then put the thought out of his mind a second later. "No," he whispered in a voice roughened by dust and heartbreak.. He had to confront *him*, the one ultimately responsible for all the suffering and pain that had dogged his steps all his life. He wouldn't give up until they had met face to face- and if he didn't walk away from that final confrontation, then so be it. At least then, he would have the chance of seeing his lover again in the afterlife.
Faint tinges of pink began to shade the far horizon. He slowly began to rise to his feet; his joints creaked and began aching from having been locked in one position the whole night. Picking up his trademark red trenchcoat, he stroked Wolfwood's silver lighter lovingly once before returning it to his coat pocket and slipping it on. Hands ran through his hair, returning it to its customary spikes. He pulled on a pair of soft leather gloves and smoothed them out over his slender fingers. Finally, wire-rimmed sunglasses, the lenses of which were tinted a dark orange, were pushed up into position on his face. Vash the Stampede turned around and took up his lover's cloth-wrapped cross, carrying it reverently on his back as he faded off into the morning dawn, walking alone to find his final destiny.
