I can smell him, smell him wanting sex, wanting me, wanting to have sex with me. It's not very complicated; I am his Master, and he is my servant. He would do anything for me, especially, above everything else, try to please me. So he wants to pleasure me. Fine. But on my own terms, naturally. I'll take him, and only when I'm good and ready. So when he comes in, I'll let him squirm a little, wait a moment before I deliver my "present." He thinks he deserves it, in some fashion, but really, he's thankful. After all, without me, he is nothing, and he's grateful. He's nothing more than a human, and he knows it. He knows he is nothing, but he revels in it, almost as much as he revels whenever I fill him. Complete him. Make him feel like he's actually someone.
I take him again, as usual, being as gentle as I ever am. He moans and shivers and screams until his lungs are about to burst and his body is about to break. I'll break him yet, but he's resilient. I suppose it's all for me, though. I'm almost flattered, but really, why shouldn't it be for me? Because he is nothing without me, so I am his God, his Master, and, I guess in that crude, unsavory way, his lover. Lover. And he knows I don't love him. Why, he is no more to me than the sand I walk beneath. He is less than that.
Yet he loves me. Oh, he loves me.
I always remind him that I hate him for what he is, a despicable creature, and that I only have the heart to love one person. No, not merely a person; a brother. My brother, my one and only. How can anyone compare to the perfection that shines in, of, and about him? Even if there were more of our kind, he would still be the brightest star among us. Yet, he chooses to live with them.
With my horrid servant's kind. Humans.
What a hideous lot they are! Always scavenging and hunting for food, killing each other for no reason, and using our kind! Vash, can't you see how they will only hurt you in the end? Please, come back to me. I care so much about you, my brother...
He mewls in the pain I give him, but he loves it. And I love inflicting pain upon him, so I give him more of those precious gems to think over. Over and over, again and again, until he can beg no more. Can't he see? That with each blow I deal him, physically, mentally, emotionally, I am elevating my brother so high that he is a saint compared to me? As he should be, of course. There is no one greater.
Legato, you fool; you are my tool, and yet you revel in it. Why? But I know why. I'm grateful for it. So I'll give you another present for your actions, for your service. Again and again, over and over. Until you can beg no more.
Is it sex you want? Then that is what you'll get. You want pain? Fine, have your pretty pain. Scream for me, Legato, and let me know that I am not doing a disservice to my dear brother. For him, you will my subject of torture. He is the saint, and I the villain. You are the tool.
Aren't you grateful?
Aren't I so kind to you, Legato? Don't you love me for it?
