The trees sway in the early evening breeze, dipping and then righting themselves once again as the pressure ebbs. In a way, it's rather like watching the tide come in and then fall away as the ocean breathes it back into itself. Nature's breath. It's peaceful almost, the sun falling behind the veil of the mountains, darkness settling in. Crimson seeps into blue and then black as the time elapses.
Eerie calm settles over the forest. Nothing within it is moving, nothing dares to. Every creature senses the imminent destruction that waits under the canopy of finely manicured trees. Two men stand, facing one another, their gazes locked, their minds flitting from one action to the next. And yet, neither moves, they almost do not so much as breathe.
The faint whisper of a soft rain begins to fall as the sky slips further into blackness. The trees drip with the moisture; each glistening drop falling with little regard, dotting the black of the two men's uniforms, sliding down across the red and white of symbols of an era long since passed. Nature has no need for the material.
Deep brown eyes flash with defiance, the slightest curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of the red-head's lips. He knows what will come. His only reason for standing here is for what will befall him at the hands of the other.
The other, Kirito, licks his painted lips, his demeanor hard and his eyes angry. "Die." The dual meaning of the word doesn't escape either of them. He makes the first move, drawing his gun as he launches himself at the red-head. His fingers tangle in that long hair - pulling, twisting until they're both on the ground. Leaves cling to them, fallen debris from their leafy haven, coating the two sinners in its midst.
Seconds tick by, nature's breath held as the excitement of the moment rises. Kirito's gun slips down along the side of Die's temple, the cool barrel caressing skin until it has made its way to the red-head's lips. He opens willingly, allowing the length of it to slide almost sensually into his wet cavern. His tongue flicks along it, as if it were something more than a gun, his eyes wild, his breathing fast.
Kirito's smile is cruel as he moves to unfasten Die's pants, his hand briefly cupping the stiffened flesh of the other's arousal before displaying him to the silence of the trees. The gun slides from Die's mouth, trailing along his body, over his aching arousal and then presses against his puckered opening. He tenses, the sensation so great that he needs it. A single flick of Kirito's wrist and Die's scream echoes from their wooded refuge.
An almost violent session ensues, panting breath mingled with sweaty bodies. Metal glistening with rain, brilliantly flashing. The click of the hammer falling back and then the feral sound of release. White droplets mingle with crystal, dotting black fabric. Harsh breath... and then silence.