Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Bloody Hands ❯ What Dreams May Come ( Chapter 6 )

**Dear Constant Reader**
This may very well end up being one of the most controversial chapters in the whole series. Very gory at the end, so if you're squeamish or weak of stomach, I suggest skipping the last part. And for those of you who read it, I hope it gives you at least one sleepless night. ~_^

Arigatou, Constant Readers!!**

___________________________________________________________________________ ____________

Celena pushed open Van's door and peeked inside. He was hunched over those files again, ebony hair hanging in his eyes, hooded as they scanned the words. Celena wondered what good it did him to read those. Trying to learn more about the enemy so that he could predict their attacks? Ha. Sure, go ahead and try, Van. She knew the Dragonslayers. She knew how predictable they were.

'As predictable as I am,' she thought, then frowned. 'As HE was,' she corrected herself.

<he's gone, Dalet. He's gone>

It was odd thinking of them as enemies now. Celena sometimes tried to elicit all her emotions, but she just ended up a wreck when she thought about how she loved the Dragonslayers, and that powerful attraction to Van. How it hurt her to see him like he was, on the brink of insanity, fighting so hard to keep them away.

'I bet you would love to be in here now, ne Dilandau? I bet you would love to have your body back to see him like this,' she thought solemnly.

How odd you both are. You, once a sadistic general that hated him so that it was almost passion. And him, once the brave hero that would ride up and untie the maidens' hands, like the princes in the storybooks. And look at you now.

From somewhere deep inside, something that was not a memory nor an illusion, not real and not imagined, Dilandau laughed.

"Celena?"

Van had noticed her, and was now looking up questionably. His hair.... that careless tousled hair.... resting so softly against his dark skin.... Any other girl would have blushed, but Celena smiled at his handsomeness. It confused Van Fanel. He stared at her from across the room. There was still an air about her that reminded him of Dilandau. The way she carried herself, the way she always stood up so straight, with her shoulders back. The way she was never afraid to admit how she was feeling. Never afraid to be honest or blunt. She never seemed shy, and she never seemed dependant.

'Yes... that's it.'

Never shy. Never dependant.

(oh yes, you feisty adolescent, you. That's it indeed. Indeed...)

Never shy, never dependant. So unlike Hitomi. And even though he had to admit that her feminine innocence had been sweet, that those emerald eyes had been very appealing.... there was something about Celena. Something charismatic and original. Something about the way Van could easily imagine her standing up for herself, or holding a sword in those delicate fingers... something about the way she looked at him. Not with big, green, innocent eyes, but with clear, blue, honest directness. As if she were daring him to lie to her, demanding that emotions remained raw and blunt. Something that told him she would take anything he could dish out....

(my god, boy, what are you thinking?)

'Maybe that's why I couldn't tell Hitomi I loved her. Maybe I didn't. Maybe I just liked the way she looked. Yes, that's why I never told her. I never told her because it simply wasn't true.'

But Celena.... propped against the doorframe, nightshirt hanging off of her shoulder like that... and her not even noticing it at all, not making an effort to fix the problem she was oblivious to, not blushing, not ashamed, so honest in exposing that fair, smooth flesh, trailing so delicately up the seductive curve of her neck leading up to her slender cheek and those eyes, those blue eyes that could bore through the hardest heart, eyes that were bright without pleading, eyes that were welcoming, inviting, warm and honest, shaded so wonderfully under that soft pale blonde hair....

(my god, my god, my god, boy. Slow down, this is unbecoming of you.)

And then his eyes trailed down to her waist, where the loose nightshirt hung limp and ruffled. And her legs.... hugged by those tight black pants that Millerna had lent her... those long slender legs leading up to the thin thighs...

Van Fanel was suddenly bombarded with thoughts that amazed him. Thoughts that sizzled into the back of his head and grinned like little devils. Thoughts that all fifteen-year-old men think when they're standing at the doorstep of manhood, not old enough to do quite enough of the things he'd like to do, and too old to run back to some of the sanctuaries that had been so inviting when he was younger. Thoughts that he'd never thought before, thoughts that he'd never even thought about thinking, not even about Hitomi. Thoughts that her innocent little face had often conquered. But now, oh now.... Celena's face was so direct, so forward, so without that little-girlish quality. Thoughts that provoked him so that a soft red blush colored his cheeks.

Celena grinned seductively at him, completely forgetting that she had intended to come into his room and announce that Dalet had left the In-Between. And if she had been a blushing sort of maiden, she would have blushed and hidden a smile behind her hand. But Celena Schezar was not now, nor would she ever be, the sort of woman who would blush and giggle at a man. Celena Schezar would never be the sort of woman who would proclaim false innocence (nor false anything else for that matter) to seem ladylike. Not after inhabiting the body and mind of a man once herself. Knowing the sorts of lusts that could beat in a man's heart, knowing the sorts of emotions and thoughts that paced impatiently through their minds like caged tigers. Knowing exactly what was coloring Van's cheeks right then, and knowing that she was not uncomfortable in the least. She sort of liked having him look at her like that, and no, she couldn't blush back at him. If the emotions were there, then the emotions were there and there was no point in being ashamed of it. If fate slapped the Moment right in your face, there was no point in slapping it right back. And there was no point in holding back for the sake of being graceful. Grace was a false thing. A mask that the ladylike ladies wore when they felt these sorts of things. And why in hell should Celena be false? What use did she have of masks when this emotion was so much better? What, in the name of the gods, was the use in denying herself of this? To be graceful?

'If I have to go back to my room to be graceful, then I suppose I can do without such a thing,' she thought, and almost said it out loud.

"Is there something you want, Celena?" Van asked with a gruff, distracted voice, and he blushed even more.

'Oh come on now,' Celena thought, 'stop sacrificing your emotions to be a gentleman.'

Van stirred uncomfortably, watching her watch him with that uncanny stare.

"Are you.... alright? Because if one of them tried to hurt you...," Van said.

Celena interrupted, easing away from the doorway and closing it shut behind her, softly and slowly so that it didn't make a sound.

"I'm fine, Van, I've never felt better," she declared smoothly.

Van rubbed the back of his neck.

"You look worried, Van," Celena said softly, making her way across the candlelit room to where he was sitting.

"I'm worried about Meruru... and about you... I worry that they'll try and hurt you to hurt me," Van told her.

"Do you think my Dragonslayers would do such a thing?"

Van's eyes slid to the floor.

"Look at me," Celena said gently, tilting his chin up. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, I didn't mean to insult you... I just... I just want to protect you, that's all. A samurai's life is meant to save others'.... that's what Allen once told me."

"And who's to protect the samurai?"

Van was awed by her. So awed that he hardly realized what he said.

"You," he answered quietly, "You..."

Celena leaned against his desk and grinned down at him.

"Me? I should be responsible for all the samurai of Gaia? Wouldn't that be a job!"

"You could do it," Van said seriously. "You could save anyone, Celena.... you could give anyone hope."

(don't say that... don't say that she's given you hope... don't take any hope, please...)

Celena reached toward his face and brushed one of the silky raven tresses away from his forehead, unveiling that beautiful, handsome, radiant visage, and those glittering garnet eyes, dancing so faintly in the yellow light.

"You really shouldn't hide that handsome face, Van," she said.

The king let his eyelids droop over his eyes, and leaned into her touch. His infamous little half-smile grace his lips, and Celena thought that he looked like the strong warrior she had known for the first time in a long time, eyeing her so lustfully. She placed a gentle forefinger over the lips that smirked that little smile, tracing the softness, and he kissed it delicately. He felt so brave about his emotions with Celena. The honesty of her face, the directness of her eyes... it all forced him to be open with her. Forced him to let himself touch her, forced him to let himself kiss that soft skin.

"Celena..."

The memory of the orchard didn't come back to confuse him into a brilliant fantasy. He was quite aware of where he was and who he was with, Celena's seductive touch made sure of that. And when she eased off of the desk, getting closer to him, leaning toward his face, he realized just how aware he was of her. Her face lingered so very close to his, teasing him, breathing gently so that her warmth tickled his sensitive lips. When he could stand it no more he stretched his neck a little and covered her mouth with his. The world seemed to shut off around him, and the taste of Celena's mouth surrounded him like the tall, green orchard grass once had. And once their lips touched, there was no stopping them. There was nothing left for Van to do except let his tongue slip past her teeth. She accepted it warmly, opening her mouth a little wider, enjoying the smell of him, the taste of him, wrapped up into one overpowering sense. Oh, that soft wet tang was too much. Oh god, it was far too much.

Van let out a gruff little grunt into her mouth and let his hands travel to her waist. He let his fingers twirl the loose nightshirt with one hand, and his other hand remembered that her soft flesh was exposed at her shoulder. It trekked up her arms, over the little hills of wrinkles in her shirt, and finally touched that smooth warm valley.

Celena took the edge of his red vest in her fingers and pulled. Van stood up willingly, letting Celena lift him out of the chair. He pressed his palms against her sides, and curved his fingers around her waist. Van realized that the baggy nightshirt was bunched up in his hands. He moved his fingers a little, and let them slide up under the material.

"Auh!" Celena let out a sudden, delicate little gasp into his mouth. Van immediately drew his hands away and removed his lips from hers.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

"No," she said gently, "no, no, no, Van. It's just... your hands are cold," she smiled.

"Oh..."

"Here." Celena reached for his hands, took each of them in her own, and led him toward the bed. She sat down on the rumpled white sheets, and rubbed each of his hands separately in hers. His palms were a bit callused from all the training and battle, but she didn't mind in the least. When she'd massaged his hands until they were as warm as hers, Celena placed them on her cheeks and smiled up at Van.

"That better?" he asked with that feeble little half-smile.

"Much," Celena answered, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her face against his abdomen, the tail of the red vest resting lightly on her head. Van closed his eyes and let out a soft moan when she opened her mouth and kissed his stomach. That delicate flesh on his lower stomach.... oh god.... it had always been so sensitive.

'Oh... oh this is good...'

(....this is so good....)

"Celena..."

She pulled away again, and backed onto the bed, grinning devilishly. Looking like... looking like...

Van pushed that out of his mind and decided that the grin looked better on Celena. Not demonic or sadistic... just... mischevious. A grin that Hitomi would have never been able to pull off. Good god, he never thought he'd be comparing Hitomi to anyone. He never thought he'd ever be deciding that there was something missing from that girl from the Mystic Moon. He never thought he'd actually wonder why he ever wanted her in the first place. Celena's knees spread apart until one leg was resting on the bed and one was drawn up to her chest.

"Come here, Van," she whispered, taking one of his hands in hers and pulling him toward the bed. He followed, crawling over the sheets to where she was sitting. He nestled himself between her legs, and she laid down on the softness of the unmade sheets, sliding one bare foot up his ankle, under his pants, and over his leg. She slid the red vest down his broad shoulders and he shrugged it off. He lowered himself, pressing his body against her, drinking in the warmth. He was breathing hard and heavy, and Celena let him nuzzle her neck. The feather-soft ebony hair fell on her cheek, and she reached up to run her hands through it. He arched his back, and Celena felt the erected member under his pants. She pressed her free hand against the small of his back and pushed him closer against her body.

"Van... oh.... oh, Van..."

***

Van collapsed beside Celena, heart beating like nothing he'd ever felt before, body shaking, breath heavy and hot.

"Oh, Celena... my god, Celena..."

She giggled, and nibbled at his ear, pushing back some of the black hair that was now a little moist with sweat.

"How did you...," Van breathed, "How did you... you were so good, you... knew exactly... everything..."

Celena stroked the little tuft of hair at the bottom of his neck.

"I spent fifteen years in Dilandau's body. I know what a man likes, I suppose."

"Yes," Van sighed, "Oh... oh god, yes..."

He wrapped an arm around her, and she cuddled into his embrace.

"Are you tired now, Van?" she asked, hoping he'd finally have a good night's sleep.

"Yes...," he laid his head on her forehead.

***

It was not the morning light that woke Van up. No, he was far too tired. It took the sudden cold wetness of liquid dripping on his nose to awaken him. He grimaced, and reached up to wipe it away when another thick wet drop plopped on his hand.

He opened his eyes irritably, and went pale.

Gatti was hovering above him as if invisible strings were tied around his wrists and ankles, hanging him from the ceiling. His mouth was covered in the dark maroon blood; his chest and stomach were barely visible through the thick wetness that dripped from him. And his stomach...

oh god oh god oh god

... was slit open, and the things from inside his body were exposed. Half of his intestines were hanging from the wound, hovering just above Van's chin, dripping down on his face. His eyes were wide open, and completely white, without irises or pupils.

Van felt his own stomach crawl up into his throat, and he could do nothing but stare in a paralyzed fear. His whole body burst into goose pimples, and he started shaking violently. He slammed his fist against the bed and gripped the sheet in his hand. And then he could stand it no longer. He rolled over on his side and vomited all over the floor under his bed. It splattered with sickening little splashes all over the hardwood. Van squeezed his watery eyes shut and saline water leaked out of the corners, slipping down his cheek.

"Van?"

Van choked on a sob, and his own foul-tasting vomit.

"Van?!" Celena called out beside him.

"Celena...," he whispered, voice raspy and hoarse, "Celena... save me... Oh god, Celena. Oh god, oh god, oh fuck... oh fuck... oh my god..."

Gatti laughed deliriously.