Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Red Sand ❯ On Display ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: SiriousB1 
Enter Sage...
Anime/Manga: Trigun Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Hentai / | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.21.2004 | Updated On: 12.21.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 503 | Status: Completed
Enter Sage...
Anime/Manga: Trigun Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Hentai / | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.21.2004 | Updated On: 12.21.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 503 | Status: Completed
Red Sand
Chapter One: On Display
Legato sat down on his bed and sighed. Another long day finished, yet he still hadn’t been able to catch Vash the Stampede. It made his left hand itch with frustration. It was as though the blonde haired plant was anticipating his every move. As soon as he got to the city where sightings of the Humanoid Typhoon were rumored, the pacifist was gone. Even Knives had been fooled by him!
He fell back onto the soft cushions and stared at the ceiling. What’s the point? Legato thought to himself. Every time I get close, he manages to slip through my fingers. I should just go off on my own and find him.
The idea made him shiver. Even though the thought of being on his own again was slightly appealing, he couldn’t leave his master. No, Millions Knives had raised him. It would be downright cruel to desert him, especially when he was so close to catching his brother.
And yet, Legato mused, why should I stay now when he’s got Sage?
He rolled off his bed and got to his feet, making his way to his private bathroom. As he walked, he casually removed his shirt and tossed it on a chair to join his white coat. He began fiddling with his belt buckle and slipped off his shoes. The buckle still wouldn’t unhook.
“Stupid piece of shit,” he muttered. “Why can’t you just… Oh fuck!” And so he realized that applying excessive amounts of pressure to a small metal object can create many new small metal objects.
It was when Legato bent down to gather the pieces of his broken buckle that he got the feeling that he was being watched. He straightened up and used his eyes to scan his room…and they stopped on the window. He thought he detected some movement outside. But how could that be? His bedroom was twelve stories off the ground!
Must be the wind, Legato thought, tossing the metal scraps into the garbage can halfway across the room. He smiled. I still got it.
He continued undressing, removing his socks and pants, as he entered the bathroom. He was taking off his skull-and-crossbones boxers as he closed the door. And then…
BANG!
“What the fuck!?” he yelled. He barely finished wrapping a white, fluffy towel around his waist when he exited the bathroom. Sleek drops of water slid over the curves of his feet, the only part of him that had managed to make it into the filled tub. Thankfully, he managed not to slip.
Nothing was astray in the room: the bookshelf was upright, the TV on the table, and his bed still standing. Since his room was in perfect condition, Legato considered the two things that could have made the noise. That is, someone in the hall, or someone outside.
He poked his head out of the door, being careful not to reveal too much skin, and looked up and down the corridor. “Nothing here,” he said. “So that leaves the window…”
Kicking the door shut as he adjusted his towel, Legato glared at the window as though it was a menacing foe. He took slow, careful steps to approach it; if someone was out there, he didn’t want to seem nervous or scared.
Not that I am, he assured himself.
Three more steps… “I’m coming!” he whispered.
Two more steps… “Just…look out!”
One more step… “I’m almost there!”
…
“Gotcha’!” he yelled, throwing open the window.
It took Legato several moments to realize just how absurd his predicament was. He had just been sorting out his own thoughts, ready to take a relaxing bath, when the noise had sounded. And now there he was: standing in nothing but a deformed toga with wet feet in front of an open window twelve stories above the ground and expecting someone to be outside of it.
Naturally there wasn’t.
“Must be my imagination,” he muttered, foolishly. He slammed the window shut and pulled the curtains over it, just in case. He whipped off his towel and scratched his ass in thought before returning to the bathroom to soak in a nice, hot bath.
Twelve stories below, Sage groaned and rubbed her head. The fall had been a nasty one; she would have stayed in the air, but her wings refused to support her after the disappointment of not being able to see Legato’s assets. She’d get over it though. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen them before.
This was the dragon-girl’s second year anniversary of living on Planet Gunsmoke. Not to mention her 18-month anniversary of spying on Legato Bluesummers in his bedroom.
“Dammit!” she muttered, twitching one of her wings. It hung rather crookedly off to one side and looked something awful. She tried flapping it, but that did nothing except send a wave of pain through her body.
She groaned. Now she would need to pay around $$75 to have some half-assed doctor look at it and tell her it was broken and that she shouldn’t fly for a few weeks. What a joy.
She managed to stand without too much trouble, but as she walked she could feel her wing throb with no mercy. Knowing that the weeks to come would provide her with painful misfortune, she swung open the door to Knives’s 13-story home. It was a secret place, despite its size, and only the Gung-Ho Guns, Knives himself and she knew of its existence. The main floor was strictly a dining area with several television sets and two large computers stuffed carelessly in a corner. Next to the stairs that led to the upper floors of the house was a door that, when opened, revealed nothing but darkness.
This door was actually the most important door in the whole house. The darkness it contained covered a rickety wooden staircase that descended to the basement. Not only was the lower level a meeting place for everyone in the house in times that required fast action, but it was also where Knives kept his…toys.
Sage shivered. She had only been down there once, and she wasn’t too inclined to return. Her master’s toys not only consisted of weapons that only a child could dream up, but also a number of unpleasant drone-like creatures used to keep the house in order.
She quickly moved past the dreadful door and up the more-stable stairway to the seventh floor, which she shared, unfortunately, with Monev the Gale.
It wasn’t that Monev was a terrible guy; quite the opposite, actually. But every moment’s rest consisted of having to listen to heavy grunting and weights clanking through the walls. The constant sound of recordings saying, “Kill Vash, kill Vash, kill Vash…” over and over again didn’t help this problem. It was as though the man slept in his private weight room, subconsciously doing repetitions of 50 on his shoulder press or his pull-up machine.
Even as she walked passed his closed door she could hear the dedicated concentration of Monev…as well as the droplets of sweat dripping on the floor every twenty seconds. Such was a problem with enhanced hearing.
Sighing, Sage unlocked the heavy wooden door to her own quarters and looked around the room. Empty chip bags littered the ground, complimented by half-empty soda cans. The television, never shut off, played a DVD of Happy Tree Friends episodes, which, as sadistic as they were, couldn’t stop making her laugh every time she watched them. On her unmade bed sat several boxes of unopened Trojans, making the sets of handcuffs on her bedside table gleam all the more ominously in the dim light.
She searched the ground for a sealed Cheetos bag and a full can of Diet Coke before kicking the condoms off her bed in silent anger. Sage couldn’t understand why Legato was so mean to her, when she kept trying to be friendly to him.
Is it because I’m half-dragon? she thought. After placing a cheesy morsel in her mouth, her hand went automatically to her tail, which stuck out of a spot directly above her bottom. It wasn’t that odd; she could vaguely remember a lot of her old friends sporting them proudly.
Maybe it’s my ears…her mind continued. She wiggled them thoughtfully. Sure they were green, but so what? They spread out like a Japanese geisha’s fan, detecting sounds no normal person could ever pick up. They were quite handy in the desert; she could listen for trains and cargo or market cars to ambush, or the slow breathing of a victim hiding in the sand.
It can’t possibly be because of my wings! she concluded, flapping them slowly. Ouch! How easily she forgot that one of them was broken.
Remembering, she reached across her bed and dug through a drawer next to it for an ointment that might take the pain away. She found it and applied it gently to the lopsided structure, feeling the cold gel bring a shiver through her body.
Finishing her chip bag and crushing the aluminum can into a ball, she unbuttoned her shirt, being careful not to touch her wing too much as she removed it. Because of her wings, the only types of shirts she could wear were lace-up, button up or halter, which wasn’t all together a bad thing. Pants were easier to find, as anything low-rise stayed out her tail’s way.
She threw her cloths into a large hamper (the only form of slight organization in her room aside from a dresser) and slid stomach first down onto her bed. She now wore only a lacy bra (snapping in the back) and a pair of black panties, on which were printed the words “Member’s only.” After a long day of hunting and spying, laying down felt relaxing and eased the tension that had been building up in her back.
Grabbing the remote off the ground in front of her, she stopped the DVD and began flipping through the cable channels Knives had provided her with. She passed cartoons: Dexter’s Lab, Family Guy, and The Animaniacs. She yawned through sitcoms: Friends, Seinfeld, and Everybody Loves Raymond. She rolled her eyes at crappy shows that made her want to cut her eyes out: Lizzie McGuire, The Newlyweds and Tom Skilling’s Weather Report.
Sage brightened up a bit as she got to the movie channels; between the cable’s AMC, TNT and FX, and the extra HBO, Showtime and TCM, she knew she could find something to watch. And at last she did.
She crawled over to her pillow and leaned on it, half sitting, and half lying down as Bride of Chucky played before her. It was one of her favorites: Jennifer Tilly’s character lusted after the doll Chucky, her ex-boyfriend, only to find that he never really intended on proposing to her. The love-hate relationship reminded her strongly of Legato and herself, and before she knew it, the image of him posing seductively on her bed, wearing only his fluffy white bath towel danced before her eyes.
She dropped the remote and felt her hand move sensually down her stomach and to her waist. She moaned slightly as she brushed aside a curly piece of pubic hair and began to stroke herself fondly. Before long, her fingers were playing in and out of her vagina, making her tail jump excitedly. Ever once and awhile, one of her sharp nails would brush the muscular wall inside her, sending a mixed wave of pleasure and pain down her spine.
Soon her other hand was fiddling with her bra straps, yanking them off her shoulders to expose C-cup breasts. She rubbed her nipples quickly and roughly, feeling them harden and soften again. The mix of playing with her crotch and boobs made her legs turn to jelly and all previous pain in her wing vanished.
“Awake!” blared the television as Chucky finished uttering the spell to make Tiffany’s soul transfer to the ugly bridal doll. “Awake!”
With the second awake, the pleasure overwhelmed Sage as a deep, loud moan escaped her throat, growing louder and louder with each passing second. She felt her sticky hands become even warmer and stickier as she cummed all over them, soon switching her hands and licking her digits affectionately.
As the orgasm ended, she heard a voice before slipping into a dream-filled sleep: “What a crock!”
Chapter One: On Display
Legato sat down on his bed and sighed. Another long day finished, yet he still hadn’t been able to catch Vash the Stampede. It made his left hand itch with frustration. It was as though the blonde haired plant was anticipating his every move. As soon as he got to the city where sightings of the Humanoid Typhoon were rumored, the pacifist was gone. Even Knives had been fooled by him!
He fell back onto the soft cushions and stared at the ceiling. What’s the point? Legato thought to himself. Every time I get close, he manages to slip through my fingers. I should just go off on my own and find him.
The idea made him shiver. Even though the thought of being on his own again was slightly appealing, he couldn’t leave his master. No, Millions Knives had raised him. It would be downright cruel to desert him, especially when he was so close to catching his brother.
And yet, Legato mused, why should I stay now when he’s got Sage?
He rolled off his bed and got to his feet, making his way to his private bathroom. As he walked, he casually removed his shirt and tossed it on a chair to join his white coat. He began fiddling with his belt buckle and slipped off his shoes. The buckle still wouldn’t unhook.
“Stupid piece of shit,” he muttered. “Why can’t you just… Oh fuck!” And so he realized that applying excessive amounts of pressure to a small metal object can create many new small metal objects.
It was when Legato bent down to gather the pieces of his broken buckle that he got the feeling that he was being watched. He straightened up and used his eyes to scan his room…and they stopped on the window. He thought he detected some movement outside. But how could that be? His bedroom was twelve stories off the ground!
Must be the wind, Legato thought, tossing the metal scraps into the garbage can halfway across the room. He smiled. I still got it.
He continued undressing, removing his socks and pants, as he entered the bathroom. He was taking off his skull-and-crossbones boxers as he closed the door. And then…
BANG!
“What the fuck!?” he yelled. He barely finished wrapping a white, fluffy towel around his waist when he exited the bathroom. Sleek drops of water slid over the curves of his feet, the only part of him that had managed to make it into the filled tub. Thankfully, he managed not to slip.
Nothing was astray in the room: the bookshelf was upright, the TV on the table, and his bed still standing. Since his room was in perfect condition, Legato considered the two things that could have made the noise. That is, someone in the hall, or someone outside.
He poked his head out of the door, being careful not to reveal too much skin, and looked up and down the corridor. “Nothing here,” he said. “So that leaves the window…”
Kicking the door shut as he adjusted his towel, Legato glared at the window as though it was a menacing foe. He took slow, careful steps to approach it; if someone was out there, he didn’t want to seem nervous or scared.
Not that I am, he assured himself.
Three more steps… “I’m coming!” he whispered.
Two more steps… “Just…look out!”
One more step… “I’m almost there!”
…
“Gotcha’!” he yelled, throwing open the window.
It took Legato several moments to realize just how absurd his predicament was. He had just been sorting out his own thoughts, ready to take a relaxing bath, when the noise had sounded. And now there he was: standing in nothing but a deformed toga with wet feet in front of an open window twelve stories above the ground and expecting someone to be outside of it.
Naturally there wasn’t.
“Must be my imagination,” he muttered, foolishly. He slammed the window shut and pulled the curtains over it, just in case. He whipped off his towel and scratched his ass in thought before returning to the bathroom to soak in a nice, hot bath.
Twelve stories below, Sage groaned and rubbed her head. The fall had been a nasty one; she would have stayed in the air, but her wings refused to support her after the disappointment of not being able to see Legato’s assets. She’d get over it though. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen them before.
This was the dragon-girl’s second year anniversary of living on Planet Gunsmoke. Not to mention her 18-month anniversary of spying on Legato Bluesummers in his bedroom.
“Dammit!” she muttered, twitching one of her wings. It hung rather crookedly off to one side and looked something awful. She tried flapping it, but that did nothing except send a wave of pain through her body.
She groaned. Now she would need to pay around $$75 to have some half-assed doctor look at it and tell her it was broken and that she shouldn’t fly for a few weeks. What a joy.
She managed to stand without too much trouble, but as she walked she could feel her wing throb with no mercy. Knowing that the weeks to come would provide her with painful misfortune, she swung open the door to Knives’s 13-story home. It was a secret place, despite its size, and only the Gung-Ho Guns, Knives himself and she knew of its existence. The main floor was strictly a dining area with several television sets and two large computers stuffed carelessly in a corner. Next to the stairs that led to the upper floors of the house was a door that, when opened, revealed nothing but darkness.
This door was actually the most important door in the whole house. The darkness it contained covered a rickety wooden staircase that descended to the basement. Not only was the lower level a meeting place for everyone in the house in times that required fast action, but it was also where Knives kept his…toys.
Sage shivered. She had only been down there once, and she wasn’t too inclined to return. Her master’s toys not only consisted of weapons that only a child could dream up, but also a number of unpleasant drone-like creatures used to keep the house in order.
She quickly moved past the dreadful door and up the more-stable stairway to the seventh floor, which she shared, unfortunately, with Monev the Gale.
It wasn’t that Monev was a terrible guy; quite the opposite, actually. But every moment’s rest consisted of having to listen to heavy grunting and weights clanking through the walls. The constant sound of recordings saying, “Kill Vash, kill Vash, kill Vash…” over and over again didn’t help this problem. It was as though the man slept in his private weight room, subconsciously doing repetitions of 50 on his shoulder press or his pull-up machine.
Even as she walked passed his closed door she could hear the dedicated concentration of Monev…as well as the droplets of sweat dripping on the floor every twenty seconds. Such was a problem with enhanced hearing.
Sighing, Sage unlocked the heavy wooden door to her own quarters and looked around the room. Empty chip bags littered the ground, complimented by half-empty soda cans. The television, never shut off, played a DVD of Happy Tree Friends episodes, which, as sadistic as they were, couldn’t stop making her laugh every time she watched them. On her unmade bed sat several boxes of unopened Trojans, making the sets of handcuffs on her bedside table gleam all the more ominously in the dim light.
She searched the ground for a sealed Cheetos bag and a full can of Diet Coke before kicking the condoms off her bed in silent anger. Sage couldn’t understand why Legato was so mean to her, when she kept trying to be friendly to him.
Is it because I’m half-dragon? she thought. After placing a cheesy morsel in her mouth, her hand went automatically to her tail, which stuck out of a spot directly above her bottom. It wasn’t that odd; she could vaguely remember a lot of her old friends sporting them proudly.
Maybe it’s my ears…her mind continued. She wiggled them thoughtfully. Sure they were green, but so what? They spread out like a Japanese geisha’s fan, detecting sounds no normal person could ever pick up. They were quite handy in the desert; she could listen for trains and cargo or market cars to ambush, or the slow breathing of a victim hiding in the sand.
It can’t possibly be because of my wings! she concluded, flapping them slowly. Ouch! How easily she forgot that one of them was broken.
Remembering, she reached across her bed and dug through a drawer next to it for an ointment that might take the pain away. She found it and applied it gently to the lopsided structure, feeling the cold gel bring a shiver through her body.
Finishing her chip bag and crushing the aluminum can into a ball, she unbuttoned her shirt, being careful not to touch her wing too much as she removed it. Because of her wings, the only types of shirts she could wear were lace-up, button up or halter, which wasn’t all together a bad thing. Pants were easier to find, as anything low-rise stayed out her tail’s way.
She threw her cloths into a large hamper (the only form of slight organization in her room aside from a dresser) and slid stomach first down onto her bed. She now wore only a lacy bra (snapping in the back) and a pair of black panties, on which were printed the words “Member’s only.” After a long day of hunting and spying, laying down felt relaxing and eased the tension that had been building up in her back.
Grabbing the remote off the ground in front of her, she stopped the DVD and began flipping through the cable channels Knives had provided her with. She passed cartoons: Dexter’s Lab, Family Guy, and The Animaniacs. She yawned through sitcoms: Friends, Seinfeld, and Everybody Loves Raymond. She rolled her eyes at crappy shows that made her want to cut her eyes out: Lizzie McGuire, The Newlyweds and Tom Skilling’s Weather Report.
Sage brightened up a bit as she got to the movie channels; between the cable’s AMC, TNT and FX, and the extra HBO, Showtime and TCM, she knew she could find something to watch. And at last she did.
She crawled over to her pillow and leaned on it, half sitting, and half lying down as Bride of Chucky played before her. It was one of her favorites: Jennifer Tilly’s character lusted after the doll Chucky, her ex-boyfriend, only to find that he never really intended on proposing to her. The love-hate relationship reminded her strongly of Legato and herself, and before she knew it, the image of him posing seductively on her bed, wearing only his fluffy white bath towel danced before her eyes.
She dropped the remote and felt her hand move sensually down her stomach and to her waist. She moaned slightly as she brushed aside a curly piece of pubic hair and began to stroke herself fondly. Before long, her fingers were playing in and out of her vagina, making her tail jump excitedly. Ever once and awhile, one of her sharp nails would brush the muscular wall inside her, sending a mixed wave of pleasure and pain down her spine.
Soon her other hand was fiddling with her bra straps, yanking them off her shoulders to expose C-cup breasts. She rubbed her nipples quickly and roughly, feeling them harden and soften again. The mix of playing with her crotch and boobs made her legs turn to jelly and all previous pain in her wing vanished.
“Awake!” blared the television as Chucky finished uttering the spell to make Tiffany’s soul transfer to the ugly bridal doll. “Awake!”
With the second awake, the pleasure overwhelmed Sage as a deep, loud moan escaped her throat, growing louder and louder with each passing second. She felt her sticky hands become even warmer and stickier as she cummed all over them, soon switching her hands and licking her digits affectionately.
As the orgasm ended, she heard a voice before slipping into a dream-filled sleep: “What a crock!”