Spanish Fly

 

By Ann V.

 

Disclaimer: Really now, after all the times I’ve said it, don’t you think you’d realize I do not own Trigun? I don’t even own any stock that is even vaguely related to Trigun. I do, however, own the DVDs … but that’s all.

 

Warnings: The Morning After, Raunchyness, Bizarreness, Deflowering, Elendira and PMS, and Legato (because I think he needs his own warning sometimes…he’s special.)

 

 

Part Six: SCORE!!!

 

Knives woke up feeling really, really good. So good, in fact, that he was whistling. He didn’t know why he was whistling, but normally when people wake up and they want to whistle it means they are in a very good mood. Knives is not, in case you didn’t know, usually in this good of a mood; a whistling good mood that is. Well, anyways, he went on his merry way and was about to get dressed in whatever happened to be lying around. The first thing that appeared was a pair of jeans.

 

One leg in, and he got that feeling that you get when you step into a pair of jeans that isn’t yours, though it looks like it could be. You know, that ‘Why in bloody hell don’t these fit!?’ feeling. Well, these jeans were way too skinny – that might just be the dryer – but they were also too dang long … definitely not the dryer. He balled them up and threw them across the room. It was too early in the morning to deal with this. Instead of relying on the clothes handy, he decided that maybe it would just be worth it to go into his closet, though that was a greatly feared sort of thing.

 

Some moderately strange cussing, a couple of thrown socks, and a falling shoe to the forehead later, our favorite blonde psychopath emerged completely clad in black leather. Mmm … Knives in leather. Eheh … nevermind that. It was right then (after the closet-emerging but before my attack of drooly fangirl) that he noticed either there was someone in his bed or his blanket had become a breathing lumpy thing that kinda snored. He stalked over to his bed in a … a stalking fashion? That can’t be right.

 

He threw the blankets off the mysterious lump, really hoping that his blanket had not taken a life of its own and was procreating miniblankets in an effort to ruin his plans and take over the world. Instead, it was just Legato.

 

“Whew … it’s just Legato. Wait … LEGATO?!” was a nice approximation of his doubletake. It would have been very amusing to watch if anyone had seen it, but luckily (for Knives) no one had. Then, of course, he noticed that Legato was stark fucking naked. Not to mention the pinkish, bruised bite mark on his shoulder, the hickeys in really odd places, and the wonderfully flattering post-coital glow that would suggest Legato should get laid more often, as it makes him look even better. This would be the point at which Knives threw the blanket back over Legato and screamed bloody fucking murder.

 

It was also the point at which a very miffed Elendira woke up outside the door. You see, Elendira, every Trigun fan’s favorite Venus with a penis, had accidentally wandered past Knives’s room at some point between missionary and the part of the kama sutra that got censored out. First she thought she was just being kind of pervy and listening in on something. Then, she had realized the other someone she was listening in on was not something she really wanted to hear. Certain little defects were not supposed to be allowed sex lives, especially with the people she’d predestined as her own. After recovering from a mild coronary, she’d decided to camp out, plot revenge, and wonder how much she could sell the tapes from the cameras she’s planted in that room for on the satellite.

 

Anyways, upon waking she discovered her eyeliner had gone and made her raccoon-eyed and her mascara was smeared. She wanted a cup of coffee and her estrogen pills – now. She also wanted a pair of fresh undies, but I’m not going to get into that. All in all, this wasn’t how Elendira had planned on waking up this morning, but considering last night was not how she’d planned to spend her night, it really didn’t surprise her.

 

Anyhoo, within the chamber was a completely different story, because though Legato is a hard sleeper, and what it takes to raise the dead probably wouldn’t wake him, having a supernatural being scream like bats flying in the opposite direction of Hell woke him up. He was groggy and bleary-eyed and really fucking sore, but, for some reason, he felt really, really good. He pulled the blankets off his head and got what probably equaled six cups of caffeinated-beverage-of-choice worth of wakeup call.

 

“Wow. Um … Good morning, Master. How did you … uh … sleep?” It was at that very point, with a wide-eyed, smiling but-I’m-not-really-smiling-just-for-your-sanity, J.B.F. Legato Bluesummers in his bed, that Knives finally snapped. He just needed to sit down. The first attempt at that was an almost embarrassing failure, followed by a success upon sitting on his bedside table. This is where he proceeded to hyperventilate.

 

Just for your information, since this is a narration, this is Legato’s train of thought:

 

‘::yawn:: … Whoa, that actually happened. My shoulder hurts. Oh … yeah. Heh. This is a really good morning. I wonder if food would fall out of the ceiling. That’s probably all that would make it better. Maybe lime jello. Oooo, lime jello.’ I have to stop there, because after that point all his thoughts are rated higher than I’m allowed to write on FF.N.

 

This is half of Knives’s train o’ thought:

 

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!’

 

This is the other half:

 

‘AHHH—Wait. I can rationalize this. A) There was somehow food involved in this. I shall also now refer to this as The Incident. Capitol letters will make this more dramatic. This Incident is somehow linked to food. There is a certain probability of this happening again because I eat. This is somehow inherently bad. Fuck. Wait…no…bad choice of words. Argh. I will never get this out of my head. Yet, this is also my fault. But I would never do anything like this, so The Incident can’t be my fault. This is getting really confusing. I wonder what I did. Actually, I know what I did, but I really shouldn’t have a clue. I’m a virgin… Or not. Anymore. Shit. That means…’

 

That’s the point at which his thought process ends. Why? Just because. Dang, it was confusing.

 

“I did not just lose my virginity to you,” Knives muttered. Idiot. Legato perked up and gave him a really funny look. Then he started to smile. It wasn’t exactly something that happens often; in fact, I’m pretty sure the Blue Wind of Death’s new shit-eating grin was causing rains of frogs and Wes to rejoin Limp Bizkit and other creepy, impossible shiznat like that.

 

“Eh…Excuse me,” Legato mumbled. Not that he was heard or anything; Knives was busy being mortified. He slipped out of the room and at this point we are probably very happy (or sad, depending) that Knives was currently covering his face with his hands because there was still some OD lingering and Legato was nekkid. Mrowr. Eh…pardon.

 

A cry of “SCORE!!!!” rattled the walls and added to the shock of seeing a genuinely happy and startlingly nude Legato Bluesummers, causing Elendira and a few passing Gung-Ho Guns to just about die. Elendira looked a whole lot like a blonde hedgehog with a nosebleed, if you can picture that. It was then that Legato noticed Elendira. He tilted his head and, in a tone vaguely reminiscent of a 12-year-old girl after a boy-band concert, said: “Good morning, Elendira.”

 

A flock of birds nearby turned into a pod of blue whales and flew off into the horizon. Legato skipped (well, skipped as well as one could in his condition, but he sure as hell tried) away. Somewhere, Dominique woke up and her spider sense tingled. She sobbed and crept away to some obscure bar to drink herself into an idiotic stupor and dance on the tables.

 

Then Elendira regained her composure. It probably had something to do with the passing Midvalley, who took one look at her and laughed so hard he couldn’t stand. She struck a highly dramatic pose and shouted to the skies, “Damn you, Bluesummers!” Then she noticed the little vial of pink stuff that had fallen out of Middie’s pocket. She picked it up, sniffed it, and smiled like a wicked kitty in a canary aviary.

 

Dne Eht

 

Coming Next: “While We Weren’t Looking…”