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Tango by Solaas
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A man walks with carefully measured steps, and his sandaled feet makes soft whispers in the grass. The man answers to Sanzou for a title and Sanzou for a name and he is a priest. A very holy priest. The pale robe, the chakra on his forehead and the sutra worn around his shoulders are all tell-tale signs of his heightened state of being. The smoke from his gun, the cigarette in his mouth and the deadly-cold purple eyes tell a contradictory story; one of worldly cynicism and a jaded soul. His face is like an alabaster mask closed to the world, but it does him no good. For now, all his will is bent on this one confrontation as he and his enemy circle each other like cats.

Measuring his partner in this deadly dance, a man with mismatched eyes of blue and gold considers his next move. Homura, the renegade Prince of War, stands proudly with his hands linked together by a long chain and his cloak moving like impatient waves in the breeze. The pattern of dark flames around its edges takes on an eerie life as they envelop this man, an impure god drenched in blood. Three quick steps and a slight turn, and the Warprince has placed himself in the optimal position to keep the priest under his control.

The willowy opponent is not one who will allow himself to be controlled, however. He barely acknowledges the other gods as it is, and only grudgingly follows their orders. It is a job to him, nothing more. Eyes narrowed in concentration, Sanzou turns a little to the left and takes two steps sideways and one forward. One hand rests down along his side, deceptively relaxed like a viper snoozing in the sun. The other hand clutches a small revolver even if he knows it won't do him any good against this adversary. But the steel feels so heavy and comforting in his hand.

Homura takes one - two - three - four steps closer, bringing him within a few inches from the priest. A wickedly sensuous smile graces his lips and highlights his eyes. I know something you don't, the smile says. And I'll share it if you play nice.

Sanzou never plays nice, and with a sneer and four haughty steps he stalks away from the seductive godling. His sneer says, I couldn't care less about what you know. I will never bow to you, and you will never lay hand on me. His stance conveys the challenge. Try me, just try me.

In a whirl of cloaked promises, Homura disappears and reappears right behind Sanzou's back. Not quite laying a hand on the priest, but close enough to literally breathe down his neck. Heat radiates off him as if he were a glowing piece of coal, ready to singe and burn unwary hands. Hot breath caresses blond locks and strokes a white earlobe, as it carries a whisper for Sanzou's ears only. Will you not unload your burden on me, you who resent it so much?

The other man whirls away, as if his back has caught fire. He brings his foot down hard to steady himself, and faces off with the dark flame of Heaven again. One simple humble word shines in his eyes, curls around his lips, carves itself in big letters on the sheer wall of ice that is Sanzou. No.

It takes but a few determined paces to bring the god back into Sanzou's space again, this time shoulder to shoulder. He stands facing the opposite direction of the priest, but turns his head to smile at his quarry -- because this dance is all about the hunt and all about the battle of the wills which will bend for no one and no thing. They are fire and ice; one dark on the outside and so painfully bright on the inside it will consume the world. The other is fair on the outside and so black on the inside that only the purest, most unadulterated innocence can see the one star hidden behind blue eyes.

Sanzou too turns his head, because he will not show weakness and he will not look away from the one who thinks himself his better. His eyes lock with Homura's, and the battle rages as they slowly, carefully move in a circle. Shoulder to shoulder in perfect pace they walk, churning lava and relentless glacier, side by side in perfect union.

They stop. They square off. There is no physical distance between them.

And Homura lifts his arms and reaches out his hands to touch the cool, pale face of his enemy.

And Sanzou lifts his one arm in deadly grace, pressing the mouth of his revolver to the god's forehead chakra.

And the other man half-closes his eyes, as if the sensation of cold steel against his skin is a pleasant one.

And his hands connect with the priest's face and his hands stroke across the priest's cheeks and his hands grab the priest's head and they pull.

And the priest's other hand grabs the string of beads around Homura's neck, and it pulls.

And as their lips meet, the tango moves on to the next stage.


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