Yasuhiro Nightow owns Trigun, and I'm glad. I love these guys, but he does a much better job with them then I ever could.
What's up with the message board? I don't have a problem with it, but I think fanfic might…
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The moment defied time, defied the concept of time as a linear progression of experience. As it unfolded, Kiley could have sworn that she could feel each separate molecule of air as the breeze brushed past her cheek. She could hear the passage of individual cells of blood as they traveled by her eardrums, the soft ticking swelling and fading with the glacial pumping of her heart. She fancied that she could feel the light as it hit her skin, the wave caressing her with its energy. The world pressed in upon her, filling her entire being with light and energy. Everything seemed possible, even flight did she so desire. Scents assailed her; bits and pieces of the world being drawn into her with every breath, depositing a fraction within her and becoming one with her. The dry flavor of the sand, hot and baked daily by the suns, but still retaining a portion of the frigid desert nights. The strong scent of stone that stood tall in the face of the elements, reflecting back everything that moved against it. The softer scent of the man before her, smelling sweetly of feathers and slightly of spice. She tried to inhale more of this last scent, but what came to her was beyond her control. The world worked its way through her without any chance for her to respond.
She could read the secrets of the skies, the silent presence of atmosphere held nothing back from her. She could discern the faint patterns of disturbance created by the suns, and even by the energy radiated from the faraway stars. The day hid nothing of the night from her; she could sense the pulsating wonders of the universe with a clarity unmatched in even the darkest of nights. It was the shadow that defined the light, the black relief on which life was painted. Even here, on this desert planet, she could feel the slow pulse of life, the silent strength that was spread across the universe. The fragility of life is legendary, but even so it carves a place for itself everywhere possible. She felt tapped into the same stubborn determination that held life in places that could hardly support it. It tingled across her skin, lingering in her pores, tantalizing her with the promise of more. She could see the slow trickle of sand as it was carried in the breeze, slowly tumbling before the passage of the currents in the air. The pattern that they painted seemed to tell her the secrets of the universe, did she only care to pay attention.
She did not. For all that her senses were collecting a surfeit of information, her mind concentrated solely on the man before her. Her eyes were locked into his, searching for something she could not see. Hesitation. Slowly, slowly they drew nearer each other, each looking intently for the slightest hint of balking, of a chance to pull away, to pretend that nothing was about to happen. But neither did. And as time stretched onward, and more and more sensations assailed her, trying to distract her with promises of understanding and forgetfulness, her eyes did not waver from his. Ironically, she was reminded of the paradox of space, and how one can move halfway towards a destination forever and never reach it, but be infinitely halving the distance. She could see the space stretching before her, never to be fully traversed, always to be traveled.
A far off part of her scoffed at what was happening. He wasn't going to stand to kiss her, not a man like him. He didn't even like her; he wanted to kill her. He wished to use her and use her up. Racist, sexist, elitist, her mind held on to these definitions like a life line that would save her from him. The possibility of his lips touching hers was infinitesimal, incalculable, unfathomable. The only reason she even persisted in this course of action was to deny him the pleasure of seeing her back down. She wasn't going to quail from the thought of kissing him. A kiss is just a kiss, right? Even did the impossible happen, nothing would change, aside from both of them acknowledging that they had made a silly mistake.
Torn between the sublime and the surreal, her mind still focused on the eyes before her. Surely, he must be ready to give up now. Any moment now…
Then their lips touched.
If she had thought that her senses were overloaded before, it was nothing to what she experienced now. The same part of her that had been connected to the universe suddenly focused on Knives. The scent of him filled her and made her light headed. It was soft, and incredibly sweet, but harsh as well. Her mind kept trying to liken it to down, but she denied it the easy classification. It was more, much more, stronger not in concentration, but in compilation, layers and layers of pieces that she ached to classify.
The press of his lips against hers was soft, incredibly smooth and firm. Like thick silk pressed against her skin, she luxuriated in the sensation. It was like nothing she had felt before, like the meeting of their lips closed a circuit that allowed energy to begin to flow. She began to warm to the sensation, opening her mouth a little and sending her tongue out to caress his lower lip.
The taste of him exploded in her mouth, spicy and wonderful. The electricity grew exponentially as she attempted to absorb more of the flavor. Nothing in her life had tasted this good. Instantly she craved more, a craving that began in her stomach and moved through her in waves timed with her pulse. Her knees grew weak, making her glad that she was already on the ground, but her spine straightened and the hesitant meeting of lips was supported by her entire body. She clenched the hand of the arm he still held, then twisted her wrist until she grabbed his hand.
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Worth the wait? If it was or wasn't, this is only the first part. Oh, and be nice. This is actually the first time I've ever tried to write something romantic. So if it sucks, no flames.