On The Raggedy Edge

Not my first attempt at Forgotten Realms fanfiction, but the only one I've liked well enough to post. This was inspired by a line from the Firefly movie. That and the song "I Hate Everything About You" by Three Days Grace. That song is THE song for DrizztXEntreri. Listen to it once, and you'll agree. Hence why I had it on repeat the entire time I was writing this. It's just too good. Anyways... Reviews make my day merry and bright. Flames do too, when they're all nice and crispy in my fireplace. I don't own them, and don't wanna, because then I'd have nothing to do in my spare time. Oh, and as for you inevitable people who shall review me saying "Taht is wrng, thyr totly not gay!!"... WHAT THE F ARE YOU READING THIS FOR?!?!?

With love, Jiia

They were tottering. Flailing, really. Grasping at one another in a vain attempt to keep themselves from plunging into the abyss.

And yet, he realized, they were already falling.

They fought it every step of the way, of course. They fought it with every scrap of rage and passion that had built up within their closed-off souls. They fought it with harsh harmonies of steel on steel and the sharp impact of scimitar against sword. They fought it with everything they had, but all their efforts were as useless as the desperate scrambling of men plummeting down to the earth. There was no way to avoid their fate. No way to stop the hard rock from coming up to meet them.

But they could try. They could ignore the inevitable. They could deny what was about to happen, what they were about to do, right up until they finally hit bottom.

In some ways… They had no other choice.

The glittering red blade of Charon's Claw crashed down upon the smooth curve of Icingdeath, only to slide of the back end of the slippery blade. It's wielder's momentum carried him forward, sending him stumbling right past the drow. They stood back to back, shoulder to shoulder, two pairs of lungs heaving in black Underdark air and sounding like one.

A dark line of crimson opened up along the assassin's cheek, a single hot drop sliding over the sun dark skin and falling almost silently to the cool floor below.

Slowly, like the moon rising above the horizon, the warrior's lips began to curl. Not down, not along the all-to-familiar path of an angry scowl, or along the equally well-trodden road to a smirk. Slowly, ever so slowly, Artemis Entreri began to smile.

The laugh startled him. He'd heard Artemis laugh before, a cold, heartless sound, more like the ring of a whetstone across polished steel than any human noise. It had hurt, that laugh. Physically hurt, deep in his chest. It was a dead man's laugh, even though it came from a living throat.

The laugh that echoed through the tiny cavern wasn't like that. It made him hurt, but in a different way. It hurt him like the sunrise hurt him. It was a good kind of hurt. One that, for reasons he couldn't begin to explain, made him want to laugh too.

So he did.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed quite like that. He'd chuckled, chortled, even let loose the occasional giggle, but to feel his lungs just open and the laughter come bubbling out like water from a fountain, pouring over everything and just making it shine

It felt so good.

He turned and looked over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot at the oddly mirthful man behind him. Entreri returned the gesture, a perfect mirror image of the drow.

Their eyes met…

And then the ground came up and hit them so hard neither one of them could breath.

They stood, frozen like statues, staring at one another even as the glowing grins faded away. Twinkle hit the floor, strangely silent. Charon's Claw soon followed, and then all four weapons lay forgotten upon the cold rock.

And then, the statues began to move. Not by much, at first. They didn't even really turn, just shifted, and then they weren't quite back to back anymore.

And then it didn't matter, because Entreri's arms were around his neck and his own were cupping the assassin's moonshine face and their lips were being crushed together, and there was no more denying it.

It wasn't about revenge. It wasn't about redemption. It wasn't even about boredom.

It was about something much more complicated and so much simpler than such trivial things.

It was about love.

They tried to fight it. They fought it with every scrap of rage and passion that had built up within their closed-off souls. They fought it with the deep resonance of heartfelt moans, strangled cries of agony and ecstasy winding together until one was indistinguishable from the other. They fought it with vicious bites and raking claws, animal lust hiding the swirling undercurrents of gentle touches and the tender brush of lips when neither was really looking. They fought it with everything they had, but all their efforts were as useless as the desperate scrambling of men plummeting down to the earth. There was no way to avoid their fate. No way to deny the truth thrumming through their veins.

Afterwards, whilst they still floated in the shimmering aftermath, they forgot to fight. They forgot to scramble and clutch and just lay there, Entreri's strong arms wrapped around the drow's lithe form. They lay upon the body-hot stone, black on white on black, and felt at peace for the first time in many, many long years. They lay together, and they fell down and down into the vast strange wonderland of the other's soul, and, for a little while, at least, they forgot why that was bad.

And then the moment faded, and they remembered who they were and why they needed to fight so desperately to stop their headlong descent. They slid into their roles like they slid into their scattered clothing. They clambered back up the steep walls of the rift the world had put between them, and they stood on opposite sides, both secretly wishing they could cross that deep valley and be together once more.

But it was not to be. The rift was too wide, and the only way to cross it was to fall, and that would never do.

And so they turned and went their separate ways, returning to their lives of scowls and smirks and hollow laughter, men walking one step short of the raggedy edge of death. Memories began to fade, and they managed to convince themselves that one shining moment had never occurred. They made themselves believe that they had never stood back to back and laughed. That they had never laid in the other's arms and felt peace.

But when a man walks along the edge of a cliff for too long, he is bound to slip up eventually.

And then they would grab for one another once more, and begin to fall.