Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ To Taste His Essence ❯ To Taste His Essence ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Trigun and all of its characters belong to the great, almighty Yasuhiro Nightow! I am simply borrowing two of his wonderful creations for a while. So, be not of the suing me please!

 

A/N: Well, I have another one-shot here, everyone! I know, I'm supposed to be working on my long fics (ARGH!), but I was challenged by a friend to write a story. And, the result was this!

 

So, this new work of mine takes place during Trigun Maximum Volume 8 and is from Legato Bluesummers's POV. And, since I'm a very twisted individual, I decided to write some one-sided Legato/Vash. Therefore, turn back now if that sort of thing offends you.

 

And now, ON TO THE FIC!

 

 

“You'll ask me why I rather choose to have

A weight of carrion flesh…

…I'll not answer that,

But say it is my humor.” - Shylock, from William Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice

 

 

To Taste His Essence

 

What shall I do with you, hmmm?

Certainly, He has left him in my care for the time being. I cannot even being to express the joy I felt when I heard this, pleasure bordering on ecstasy. My crippled form trembled with excitement as He dived gracefully off of the platform. The screams of protest that escaped from his lips then, ah, they were sweet. Naturally, my only reaction was to smile as I dragged him away, his thoughts brushing roughly against the edges of my consciousness.

How clearly I remember how he struggled, even though he had been stripped of his defenses, his marred form laid bare before all, the mechanical arm, his left, a weaponized replacement of flesh, blood, and bone, removed and disassembled. I had the pleasure of doing it myself amidst his gasps of pain.

You tried to put up a front of bravery, didn't you, Vash the Stampede? But that makes little different. I can see right through you.

Despite his best efforts, I flung him bodily into that imprisonment, his body slamming against the cold, metallic floor beneath him as the grate clanked over the top of his pit, sealing him inside. Of course, that alone wouldn't hold him. Certainly not. That is where I come in.

After that, the cycle began, one that seemed to never end. He, who is always trying to overcome my hold over him, fights, refusing to stay where I put him. It irritates me, yet it fascinates me at the same time. And even though it drains me, this constant battle of wills, I gain satisfaction in this. I will not say why, except that it is my humor.

Watching him day and night, without rest or repast, yes, that is indeed my function, one that I will carry out until either death takes me or He releases me. Those may be one and the same, but why should I fear my death? Hell awaits me, yes, but it was from there that I was spawned. Since that is the case, dying does not frighten me.

Ah, but listen to me reminisce. Why is it that you have that effect upon me, Vash the Stampede? There is something about you, something primal, something I cannot quite define. It intrigues me, as I'm sure you've noticed. Does that frighten you?

But of course it does. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me, how he refuses to obey his instinctive urgings to shrink away. I'm not surprised. After all, he is the same breed as Him, no matter how much he tries to deny it, which places him above the sniveling, repulsive race of which I am a part. To simply be within the presence of one such as himself, I am made more acutely aware of my first sin, the fact that I was even born. As long as I serve Him, though, I may find some redemption for my existence, some way to make my life worth something besides fodder.

Would I find the same with you? No, I suppose not. Your idealism, so contrary to the truth, would keep us apart. If only you knew how much it binds you, how much it holds you back.

But no matter. I will see him ere I die commit the very crime he condemns Him for. Oh yes, and I will have the immense pleasure of lifting my eyes in Hell, bathed in flames and his harmonious screams.

“Nnngh…”

My thoughts drift back towards the present, my golden eyes zeroing on him as he stirs slightly beneath me inside his cage, shivering within a rectangular box designed so he may lay there and try to get up, only to be knocked down. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath becomes a dull, swirling mist, is all so sluggish, yet hypnotic at the same time.

It is bone-chillingly cold down here, but not the “dank” sort of cold that one normally hears about. Rather, the sort of wintry atmosphere that cuts, that stabs. There is no defense against it, and even I can feel it through the coffin in which I now reside. For him, though, it must be even worse.

Shadows paint the barren walls, a stark contrast to him, so pale, so fair, perhaps unnaturally so since both of us have been here for what seems like an eternity. Time has no meaning here since neither of us can leave.

We should enjoy ourselves while we're here, don't you agree?

I lean closer, the encasement in which I am confined grating slightly due to that small movement as blue locks of hair fall forward, obscuring my features. But through them, I can see him, his lanky form curling into a fetal position as he turns on his side. I lightly stroke the edges of his subconscious, sensing his meek attempt to contain some measure of warmth. A grin curls my lips upward.

How peacefully you sleep, Vash the Stampede, so much like a small, helpless child. And you are helpless, completely at my mercy. Is it not strange that this is so? Certainly, I find it flattering that He would entrust you to me when He knows how I feel about you, how the hatred, the yearning, and the morbid fascination I have for you twist themselves about my mind so I can hardly function when you are near.

But at the same time, He knows that I will not touch him. The last time I attempted something against him, He slammed my body to the ground, my bones shattering as my limbs wrenched out of place, like some sort of bizarre Picasso, minus the art. This crippled form is my punishment for my presumptuousness, but even this will not last forever.

He shivers slightly, as though he can sense what I am thinking now, even while he slumbers on. You can feel it, too, can't you? The connection we share, how inextricably our fates are tied together. Ah, but you will never admit to it, will you? Of course not. You're too caught up in the “savior of the human race” part that you have taken up on this stage. Even though it disgusts me, would I have met you if not for your folly? And, would I have gained the privilege of being your tormenter if not for your idealism?

Interesting questions, indeed, but I already know the answers to them. And, as I watch him sleep on below me, I smirk, an idea forming in the back of my mind. Reaching out with telepathy, I probe his mind, finding little of interest. Until…

Ah. Now this is worth looking into. Dreaming of the past, I see. That woman…Rem Saverem led you astray, didn't she? How would you feel, then, if she told you that she despised you? That you were worthless?

I grasp the dream then, securing it firmly in my clutches as I begin to twist it, changing it, the vivid green, the blue sky, and even the light breeze becoming darker, as though a shadow had been cast over them. He is sitting there in the grass beside a woman with long, black hair. Then, speaking through her mouth, I say…

`Vash…you've failed me!'

I grin, watching his sleeping form twitch, his face contorting. `Rem…I haven't…I'm trying to save him…'

Save Him? You can't even save yourself! `It's your fault, Vash…you should have stopped him…before he killed me! It's your fault I'm dead!'

I watch as he begins to thrash about, and in the midst of the chaos, I am quite sure that I can see tears. `No…no… I didn't know!'

`I hate you!' I scream at him in the voice of his beloved Rem.

He pauses, becoming completely motionless. Then, I hear his voice again, a low tenor that wavered slightly. `You…you're not Rem.'

My grin widens as he comes to this conclusion. `How perceptive of you to notice.'

He jerks awake, his aqua eyes narrowing at me upon seeing my lips curve upward into a lopsided grin. Watching me through narrowed eyes, he turns over on his back. I half expect him to leap at me like he did early today. But no, he simply lays there, his drawn, pale face encrusted with dried blood, a consequence of his defiance from a few hours ago. His cheeks are sunken in, and his body had taken on a borderline emaciated look. Of course, I probably look much the same. It has been almost seven months.

Vash simply looks at me, his expression hard. I smile once more, reveling in the look in his eyes, that look that said: “What? You can't leave me alone for just a few minutes?” My lips curl upwards. He never ceases to amuse me.

“Nothing to say?” I ask mockingly.

He doesn't answer, looking away. Still smiling, I lightly probe his surface thoughts.

`…been here too long with this psychopath…need to escape…'

My grin widens. `What's the matter, Vash the Stampede? Growing weary of my company already when we've barely gotten to know each other?'

His eyes widen slightly before narrowing them again. `Stop.'

`Stop what?' I ask innocently.

`That,' he insists, looking at me pointedly. `What you're doing.'

`You mean this?'

His eyes widen his body turns on his stomach of its own accord. Then, wrenching his arm violently across his back, I listen as he yells with pain, trying to squirm but unable to under my control. I watch, my golden eyes crinkling with pleasure, the pained sounds escaping his lips like music to my ears.

I savor a few minutes of this before releasing him. He pants loudly, turning over on his back, moving his arm around a little, wincing as he does so. I say nothing, merely observing his movements.

“What an odd creature you are, Vash the Stampede,” I say softly.

He looks at me, his expression wary. “Why are you doing this?”

I cock a brow, somewhat surprised by that question. After all, he has already asked me that exact same thing, except with slightly different wording. And, I have already explained my reasons for serving Him once. Must I do so again?

“Such a tedious question, Vash the Stampede,” I say, my tone mocking, “and one I have already answered for you.”

“That's not what I meant.”

My eyes widen slightly, and my interest piques some. “Is that so?” I ask. “Then, let us pretend (for a moment) that I am not psychic and able to read your mind.” I smirk lopsidedly before continuing. “So, clarify your earlier statement before I grow bored with waiting.”

He stares at me for a moment, his eyes wavering, as though he isn't sure that he really wants an answer to his question. I watch him hawkishly, waiting patiently, even though simply looking at him like this is like an itch I cannot reach. I do not simply want to torture him conventionally although there is something to be said for that. No, even my harsh methods thus far have not sufficiently satisfied my twisted infatuation with His brother. No, I must have more than this.

How you torment me, Vash the Stampede, I think darkly to myself. Your very existence seems to cause me undue irritation. Why is that? Why?

“Why...are you so determined…to make me suffer?” he asks, his voice lowering in volume so much that I nearly miss his question, one that I have never bothered to ask myself.

My brow furrows, my mind mulling over the topic at hand. I have known for a long time that it is more than simply an obsession that drives me to twist, to wrench, and to distort everything around him, everything that defines him as a person. Yes indeed, and I must say I have a skill for such things. Truly, he reacts with such poignancy, such feeling. It makes shivers of pleasure run down my spine. He makes it all too easy.

My gaze drifts back towards him, lazily tracing the curves of his marred body. Such smooth, pale skin, so fair, as though even the twin suns burning down upon this harsh, desert planet could not, even with all their might, change him. And yet…

The metal grates fused to his chest gleam coldly back at me in this meagerly lighted dungeon, a faux light that entices. Also, the scars he bears, jagged tears in his perfect skin, chunks of his flesh missing, some deeper then others. Such imperfection, it contrasts His perfection, the way such a being should be. And yet, he has allowed humans to defile him, rip away pieces of himself, emotionally and physically.

How could you allow them to do this, I wonder? What madness drives you to such lengths to protect those who have tainted you so? For what reason do you persist in protecting them, your tormenters? They regard you with fear and suspicion and always will. Why do you deny the glorious destiny that awaits? If you would only submit yourself to Him, He would accept you back again. And He would no longer need me, a poor substitute. Despite the fact that your flawlessness has been blemished, you will always be more pure than I, simply because I cannot change what I am.

He coughs violently, and I am jerked from my thoughts back into the present. Shivering slightly, he still lays within his prison, watching, his expression guarded. The way he looks at me, I wonder if he realizes what is going through my mind at this moment. Or, perhaps, if he really wants to.

After several more minutes of simply staring at each other, I finally speak. “So, do you really want to know why, Vash the Stampede?” I ask, my voice calm and smooth.

He eyes widen slightly, and from my viewpoint, it almost looks like he is trying to sink into the floor. Even if it were physically possible for him to melt through the bottom of his imprisonment, I would not allow that, even though I can feel that my powers have weakened since I first dragged him down into this nightmarish pit. My lips quirk upwards, a smirk etched across my face.

“When I ask a question, you will answer,” I say, my eyes narrowing.

As I speak, his eyes widen fear reflecting in them as I force him to nod his head, his limbs freezing up as I take control. He strikes back, his mind clashing with mine, our wills once more resuming a battle for supremacy. As the pressure on my skull increases, I shove him back forcefully, slamming him against the bottom of his cage. He gasps, the wind knocked out of him, his assault against me fading as he stares at me, his expression dazed.

I seize control of his limbs once more, shoving my face down towards him as far as my current predicament will allow. Narrowing my eyes, I glare down at him, the emotions I have since kept contained within myself for so long rising to the surface. And, as they swamp me, I revel in them, my long-nurtured fervor like liquid heat within my veins.

“You want to know…don't you?” I rasp, my voice low, a dangerous mix of uncontrolled hatred and passion. “You want to see…”

His eyes widen, and by the look on his face I can tell that he regrets ever bringing up this subject. Oh, but it is too late now. I will show him his grave error for attempting to toy with me. I am the one who manipulates, and even in this, I will remain true to that.

I tighten my control over him, the effort of holding him causing a strain on me, and the pressure begins to build within my skull once more. And yet I persist, forcing him to lift the iron grate that contains him within his small cell. He gasps, his muscles nearly tearing with the effort, his pain a dull buzz within my mind.

The grate falls to the ground with a loud clank, and he slumps forward, on his knees before me now, his eyes level with mine. I look down my nose at him, completely at my mercy. Once more, I marvel at this, how his tainted perfection bows before me, the most disgusting species that crawls on this dry, heartless world.

My gaze wanders once more, and again I find myself staring at his smooth, pearl-white flesh. And even though it has been corrupted in so many areas, it still remains something I am not. It almost glows, and I feel a strong, longing desire rise within my chest, an achingly beautiful feeling as I lean forward. His warm, damp breath tickles my cheeks as I move towards him, sweat beading on his forehead as I move closer, his eyes darting about recklessly, still unable to move.

Enraptured, the close proximity to my prisoner sending shivers down my spine, I think, I want more than to torture you. The hatred, the resentment I feel towards you ensnares my senses and distorts them, and it makes me want to cause you so much pain until you scream in agony. And yet, because you are what I can never be, like Him, I want to watch you, hear you, touch you, and know you. But, most of all…to taste your essence.

My mouth opens, and my tongue snaking out as I continue to bend forward, until finally, we make contact. I close my eyes, savoring the different sensations, preferring to feel instead of seeing.

My mind races as the taste of filth and the bitter salt of perspiration swirl together, a bizarre blend heightened by the fragrant stench of his unwashed body assaulting my nostrils. I breathe in deeply, saliva gathering in my maw, dribbling down my tongue as I continue to caress his flesh, exploring the jagged crevices, cold steel, and smooth, warm unblemished skin, cooled by the liquid sliding off my tongue.

Traveling slowly upward, hard, I can feel corded muscle tense, his frantic thoughts hammering frenetically against my own. Instead of shutting them out, I welcome them, drinking in his helplessness, his disgust, and most of all, his paralyzing terror over what else I will do to him now.

The texture changes, soft fuzz tickling my tongue as another, more coppery flavor, dry and brittle, sears my senses. Opening my eyes lazily, my gaze is met by a pair of aqua, large and round, a torrent of emotions reflected there, there and gone in a second, only to return again a moment later. Sweat beads on his forehead, gradually dripping down the side of his face. Smiling widely, I lick them slowly away, relishing the bitterness of it before running my tongue over the dried blood on his forehead.

Finally, when his face is clean, I lean backwards slightly, grinning from ear to ear, watching his eyes dart back and forth, his immobile body tense. I smirk, leaning forward once more, my harsh breathing rasping in his ears.

“Exquisite…”

Then, I blink, startled, causing my concentration to waver for a moment. He jerks away from me, falling backwards into his cell, the grate slamming closed above him. It takes every ounce of self-control for me to not seize control of him once more and finish what I have started.

But no. I have overstepped my bounds, I realize, and touched the Forbidden Fruit. Sinking back into my coffin, my eyes narrow into slits as I watch him once more, still fascinated, still wanting more.

`But you truly are off-limits to me, aren't you, Vash the Stampede. It makes me despise you, and yet crave your bitter-sweet taste all the more. So much yourself, so much something I want to possess. But, I cannot. And that is why I torment you. Are you answered?'

He does not answer, which irritates me even more. My lips curl back into a snarl, and I pin him mentally against the floor, anger flaring in my eyes. Grinding him further down, he winces, sucking in his breath, the sound a low hiss.

`You disgust me,' I snap. `You're such a fool…'

Suddenly, the sound of an explosion rocks the ship, and I jerk forward, nearly falling against the grate, the metal claw supporting me jolted, causing me to fall back some. Beneath me, I can feel him beginning to fight my hold on him. Gritting my teeth, I tighten my grip on him, the sound of racing footsteps echoing down the hallway towards us, outside of our own, private Hell.

 

 

“So can I give no reason, nor I will not,

More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing

I bear…that I follow thus

A losing suit against him. Are you answered?” - Shylock, from William Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice

 

 

-pushes review button towards the reader-