![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freosanA weird little shippy thing. Caution: rated PG-13 for sexual situations, OT3s, angst and religious imagery.
Zero/Kiros/Seijirou, 434 words.
They didn’t set out to be lovers, and really, they’re not. They don’t use the term; probably don’t understand what it means. Probably couldn’t apply it to themselves if they did.
Lovers are a human thing, after all. They gave it to the humans; it wasn’t their intention to experience it themselves, but they don’t complain.
It’s after a fight or some great struggle that they come together. Zero collapses, the weight of the world on her wings. Kiros catches her, and Seijirou folds his wings over them both. They heal the wounded and sometimes the dead, and then they go somewhere no one else has a key to. They’re not supposed to; it should be impossible.
They heal their own wounds and clean the blood from their feathers, weapons and skin. At some point, they carefully strip each other out of their clothing. They find themselves wrapped around each other – Zero on Kiros’ lap, Kiros kissing Seijirou, Seijirou holding Zero. They find that their limbs tangle and their breath comes faster, until suddenly they are still.
They’re good at what they do, no matter what it is. Eternity is a long time to practice, and they know each other’s bodies the way they know how to fight demons, or guard souls, or create worlds. It’s always good. Sometimes, it’s even satisfying. Every once in a while it’s like Heaven again.
Afterwards, Zero makes sarcastic remarks, stretched out on the bed between them. Seijirou makes jokes about cigarettes and runs his fingers along her spine. Kiros, who may or may not have switched to being female by now, spreads his golden hair over all three of them. They're all open, smiling. It’s the only time the tension ever goes out of Zero’s hands or Kiros’ eyes. It’s the only time Seijirou lets his hair out of its tail – there are all sorts of ways to carry stress.
No one else asks, and if they did the response would be deeply unsatisfying. There is no replacement for Zero clad only in her feathered white wings, or Kiros’s clever hands, or the words Seijirou whispers. There is no response that could describe the sun turning everything to glowing, brilliant copper fire, or the wind coming in to drift around them like the clouds of Heaven.
They try not to hope for more, to think of how it was. They all know that there is no way to go back, no matter how much they pray.
They let the golden sun wash over them, and the silver moon, and forget – for now – that they’re not what they used to be.
Zero/Kiros/Seijirou, 434 words.
They didn’t set out to be lovers, and really, they’re not. They don’t use the term; probably don’t understand what it means. Probably couldn’t apply it to themselves if they did.
Lovers are a human thing, after all. They gave it to the humans; it wasn’t their intention to experience it themselves, but they don’t complain.
It’s after a fight or some great struggle that they come together. Zero collapses, the weight of the world on her wings. Kiros catches her, and Seijirou folds his wings over them both. They heal the wounded and sometimes the dead, and then they go somewhere no one else has a key to. They’re not supposed to; it should be impossible.
They heal their own wounds and clean the blood from their feathers, weapons and skin. At some point, they carefully strip each other out of their clothing. They find themselves wrapped around each other – Zero on Kiros’ lap, Kiros kissing Seijirou, Seijirou holding Zero. They find that their limbs tangle and their breath comes faster, until suddenly they are still.
They’re good at what they do, no matter what it is. Eternity is a long time to practice, and they know each other’s bodies the way they know how to fight demons, or guard souls, or create worlds. It’s always good. Sometimes, it’s even satisfying. Every once in a while it’s like Heaven again.
Afterwards, Zero makes sarcastic remarks, stretched out on the bed between them. Seijirou makes jokes about cigarettes and runs his fingers along her spine. Kiros, who may or may not have switched to being female by now, spreads his golden hair over all three of them. They're all open, smiling. It’s the only time the tension ever goes out of Zero’s hands or Kiros’ eyes. It’s the only time Seijirou lets his hair out of its tail – there are all sorts of ways to carry stress.
No one else asks, and if they did the response would be deeply unsatisfying. There is no replacement for Zero clad only in her feathered white wings, or Kiros’s clever hands, or the words Seijirou whispers. There is no response that could describe the sun turning everything to glowing, brilliant copper fire, or the wind coming in to drift around them like the clouds of Heaven.
They try not to hope for more, to think of how it was. They all know that there is no way to go back, no matter how much they pray.
They let the golden sun wash over them, and the silver moon, and forget – for now – that they’re not what they used to be.