#i know what. fly got me with toxic devoted millionsummers

[needle-noggins]

Gay little mass murderers cuddling like the most deadly kitty cats.

what have you done to me, Fly??

(CW for blood - and drinking it I guess?, millionsummers-typical manipulation, knives-typical genocidal tendencies and weirdness about Vash)

Utterly spent, Millions Knives collapses onto a bench. The smell of iron floods the town, the last of its inhabitants slain. His chest heaves. He's never exterminated a town so quickly, so furiously. A single, red-coated blade remains, protruding from the smooth, pale skin of his knuckles. Legato runs to his side and kneels at the feet of his master. "Lord Knives, you're exhausted. Please," he reaches up to take Knives' hands in his, "You''ll need your full strength if Vash is to appear." Knives tsks at him, peering down over half-lidded eyes. In disdain or pure fatigue, he can't be sure. Or maybe something deeper, he desperately wishes. Legato wants his devotion to be known, to be admired. He would break the world, he would annihilate thousands, if only for a sliver of hope that perhaps his master would see him too. "What you did was incredible," Legato breathes more than speaks, running his calloused thumb over Knives' slender fingers, just under the blade. "I have never seen so many people filled with terror in their last moments-" "It's not about fear," Knives cuts him off. "It's about extinction. I don't care for their silly little emotions." "No," Legato pulls the bladed hand to himself, "But it brings me great joy." He takes the blade and licks along the edge, acrid metallic blood stinging his taste buds and making his mouth water. He watches his master's face intently, searching for a hint of admiration or adoration, anything to let him know he's valued, even in just the slightest amount, and perhaps then Legato Bluesummers could die happy. Perhaps then his miserable little life would end knowing he was valued by the only being who didn't see him as a thing to be used and discarded. A smile ghosts across Knives' face, his eyes crinkling in the slightest, "You understand better than anyone else on this wretch of a planet," he says, wresting his hand out of Legato's grasp, "that our freedom cannot be achieved while our oppressors still live. We are the same in that way, you and I." He rests his palm against his servant's cheek, smudging dark red across his skin. "And perhaps," Legato's voice quivers with his very soul, "perhaps you could find a place for me by your side, once this is finished." Knives hums with amusement. "Perhaps." He turns his hand and strokes Legato's chin with the blade. "Or perhaps you will die for me. You'd like that too, wouldn't you? Knowing your final breaths were an act of devotion." He presses the sharp edge to Legato's throat, just enough to break the skin. Enough to wet the blade anew. He brings the knife to his own lips and laps at it, his eyes never leaving the golden gaze of his servant. Legato shudders. Knives smirks. He stands and walks around Legato still kneeling, but not before grasping the top of his head. Knives tangles his fingers in dark blue hair and twists, forcing Legato's gaze up and around. "Ever the faithful servant with an understanding for the plight of plants. Such a shame that Vash can't be more like you," Knives croons, releasing his servant's hair and patting it down smooth. He crouches over a nearby citizen, dips his blade into the pool of blood gathering underneath, and approaches the town square's centerpiece. He paints his name onto the rock. "Let us show him that we were here. That his efforts to save humanity is no match for us."