Disclaimer: Um ... not mine. Not entirely sure who owns them, but it sure ain't me. No money being made off this story.
Rating: NC-17 for men getting nekkid and ... well, I'm sure you can fill in the blank.
Continuity: Mild spoilers for most of 'Trigun' although this is once again set in the gap between Episode 18 and Episode 19.
Author's Note: Many thanks to Yamin M. for betaing this for me.
They've been on the bike all day, and it should feel pretty much like every other day. It doesn't. Vash hasn't even been wrapped around him, yet hour after hour Wolfwood has been growing more aware of the slight pressure of the other man's hands on his hips. Maybe it's the warmth of the sun finally driving him crazy, or dehydration making him lightheaded. Nick doesn't care. By the time they reach a town and find a cheap hotel, he's so far gone that when the girl behind the counter winks at him and asks if he wants her to charge them by the hour or the night, he just blinks. Vash smiles politely, picks up the key and looks innocent. As if he has no idea of the effect he's having and butter wouldn't melt on his naked skin. Wolfwood likes to see Vash smile, but right now all he wants to do is wipe that vapid grin off his face.
Once the door to their room is safely shut, though, he doesn't want to seem quite so desperate. He lets his travelling companion dump the gear on the bed - there's only one and from the ominous groan it makes it's neither stable nor comfortable. The carpet is stained and threadbare, the wallpaper is the same peeling rose-patterend stuff that infests all these places. Wolfwood takes a glance at the bathroom, to see if the shower is a possible venue for the evening's festivities, and decides to leave the mold in peace.
With the shower out and the bed looking unstable, Wolfwood wastes no time. He wanders over to where Vash is contemplating the uninspiring view, draws the musty curtains closed, takes him by one wrist and puts Vash's fingers in his mouth.
The gunman frowns, but Nick holds his gaze, daring him to take them away. He works them lazily with his tounge until he's got the right hand fingers good and wet, then does something far more risky: takes Vash's left arm, bends it gently upwards, and begins licking that hand. Vash blinks and twitches, but doesn't make a move to stop him.
In the two years they've been separated, Wolfwood knows that his own hands have developed new calluses, mostly from the modified cross punisher. Vash's hands are smooth as a lady's in some ancient fairy tale. On this planet, there are no ladies, and only blond gunmen have smooth, unmarked knuckles. Wolfwood knows that there are lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth now - smoke and harsh light are unkind to young skin. Vash is fair and imaculate where he hasn't been torn up by bullets, and there are no lines on him at all. He never tans, he never burns. It's as if the sun recognises perfection and strokes gently instead of scorching.
All these thoughts flicker like scattershot through his head in an attempt to block out another fundamental truth about Vash's skin: the texture of his left hand is the same as the texture of his right. Wolfwood knows how wrong that is, but he doesn't want to consider the implications. Instead of thinking, he stops working Vash's fingers and goes for his neck. It's only then that the other man reacts, wraps his arms around Wolfwood's back, makes a sweet little sighing sound.
After that, Nick has no trouble disengaging his brain for a while. There's just Vash and the taste of his sweat, which isn't remotely like anyone else's. He runs his tongue up over the gunman's face, licking him like a dog. He bites the mole under the eye that only underscores the otherwise perfect symmetry of his partner's face. Moves on to the earring, but doesn't spend long on that since the metalic flavour is unpleasant. Vash, who finally seems to be getting interested, starts unbuttoning Wolfwood's jacket and putting his oddly matched fingers to good use. Then he's pushing against Vash's leg, and then his tongue is in Vash's mouth, and it's all good ... and then Vash pushes him off, moves away.
Wolfwood be less pissed off if this hadn't happened before.
The first time, they were both staggering drunk and drapped all over each other. Somehow putting Vash to bed turned into getting into bed with Vash, which was just fine with Wolfwood. If the other guy wanted to kiss him, that was fine too. If they ended up with him on his back and Vash kneeling between his legs, that was very fine indeed.
Vash undid enough buttons and got far enough to leer (something he did surprisingly well) and comment that the size of Wolfwood's gun obviously wasn't compensating for the size of anything else. That bothered Nick just a little. The cross punisher was actually compensating for a whole lot of other shit, and he had a feeling Vash knew that. The only things that made him feel secure were having the biggest gun and Vash watching his back. Or, right now, kissing his way down his torso.
Only then Vash got off Wolfwood and headed to the bathroom in way filled with purpose. All in all, Nick was glad that he hadn't been vomited on and not too worried about the absence of blowjobs. He did have some patience.
Neither of them said anything about it the next day, though, and Vash's walls were right back up. He didn't respond to Wolfwood's arm draped around his shoulders as naturally as he used to, and was careful not to get too drunk or too friendly. Nick cursed himself for screwing up somehow, and brooded. It wasn't until those awkward couple of weeks that Wolfwood realised just how much he'd wanted Vash for the last two years, and how perversely grateful he was to Knives for sending him. The thought made him feel dirty and miserable, so he got morose and drank all the booze Vash was avoiding.
Eventually, though, he'd managed to catch the other man without his shirt, straight out of the shower. Wolfwood had only gotten a distant look at a naked Vash before, and at the time he'd been a little distracted by the barking, not to mention all the loaded guns. Up close, though, the marks were horrific and intriguing. He didn't even try not to stare.
It was Vash who turned away, with a shake of his bowed head. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to look at me."
The guy obviously had no idea how fucking beautiful he was. The scars are still raw, like nothing on a human body should be, just highlighting the perfect skin between. They also made Wolfwood angry. He didn't know if he wanted to lock Vash in a box somewhere or beat some sense into him.
He couldn't actually say any of that. So he let his fingers do the talking. Up Vash's spine, and along his shoulders, light as feathers. "I like to look at you," he said, the huskiness in his voice meaning more than the words.
"Didn't you take a vow of celibacy or something?" Vash asked curiously.
Wolfwood grinned. "You keep asking me what kind of churchman I am. Well, I'm not that kind of churchman." He let the brushing become stroking, and his excuse seemed to be good enough for Vash, who started touching back.
Only then Wolfwood must have messed up again, felt the wrong place - somewhere low down on his back, he seemed to recall - and the gunman tensed up.
"Did he hurt you?" said Wolfwood, before he could think about it. Vash's eyes went hard and dark, and Nick realised that he'd made a bad mistake. He didn't wait for Vash to walk away - he left the room, left the hotel, and didn't come back until that night.
This time, though, there aren't any excuses.
Wolfwood has no doubt that Vash, with his hidden self-control, can play this game forever. Far longer than Nick. Under the irritation, Wolfwood feels sympathy - Vash is scared. He's not going to let anyone screw him, in any sense of the word. The priest can't fault him there.
Once upon a time, there was a boy called Nicholas. He promised that he would never, ever let another man have sex with him once he was old enough and dangerous enough to stop them. He was sure he'd never want to. But Wolfwood had found that, like morality, desire is largely circumstantial.
Now there is man called Wolfwood who makes the best decision in every split second available.
Decisively, he strips off his shoes and pants and underwear, and gets down on all fours, not meeting Vash's eyes. He's far too tense for this not to hurt but he can live with that. This is about trust, not pleasure.
"Wolfwood ..."
"C'mon, Tongari. Don't tell me you need an instruction manual." He raises his head, and if his grin is a little shaky who'd blame him at a time like this?
Vash looks more worried than Wolfwood feels. "I don't like hurting people."
"You could never hurt me." That's a lie, but not one that Nick feels bad about telling. "And I want you." That's a truth, and much harder to say.
Just when he's about to offer to suck Vash right now if it'll get them somewhere, he gunman moves again, round behind Wolfwood. That's more like it ... but he just stands there for a long while. Then he begins tracing lines on his partner's shoulders. They feel aimless at first, but eventually Wolfwood realises that he's finding all the scars.
"Cigarette burns," Vash says tonelessly. Nick is glad he can't see the other man's face. He's going red now, with embarrassment instead of lust. He hates people to know about those.
They're old and faded now; he's surprised that they're distinguishable from the more recent bullet marks. There's no way anyone should be able to see them in the dim light provided by the flickering bulb, but Vash specialises in the impossible.
"My guardian was a sick fuck, OK? He got off on the smell of my skin burning." He's never told anyone the last part before, but he owes Vash a little honesty. There's something in that minor revelation to explain his own chain-smoking, why he can't live without the smell of tobacco and the nicotine stains on his finger and teeth. He couldn't convey that to Vash even if he wanted to, though. "Now can we skip the heart-to-heart and get to the part where you fuck me?"
"After that, you want me?" Vash has moved again, and is in front of him. In a few seconds, Nick is going to snap and tear the other guy's clothes off. He manages to tilt his head up to look at his pale, wounded angel without making any sudden movements.
"I want you." It's not much of sentence when you get right down to it, but it's all that's in Wolfwood's head just now. "There's lube in the front pocket of my bag, if you're looking." He's been carrying it around hopefully far too long.
Vash sighs and shakes his head. "For the record, I think this is a bad idea," he says with a smile.
Wolfwood smiles back. "Since when has that ever stopped us doing anything?"
His impatience doesn't diminish as Vash starts running his hands over his back again - he's never had much patience with foreplay and he's ready damn it. But then Vash speaks again.
"Relax," he said, and it seems to Wolfwood that the word goes through his spine, his skull, all his bones and nerves. His head lowers itself towards the floor without any conscious instruction from his brain, his breathing slows down, and all his muscles unclench. The only thing still hard is his cock, and even that seems less urgent than it did a second ago.
"Please," he gasps, "no more messing around. Just do it."
For once, Vash manages to follow a simple order. There's a moment with the sound of the lubricant being opened and spread, a shock of uncomfortably cool fingers inside of him, and then fingers are replaced by cock. Vash is fucking him. Wolfwood doesn't even try to hide a groan. He's been waiting for this for an eternity.
There is no pain at all, which would have been a shock to Wolfwood if he'd been in the mood for being shocked. He accepts the weird phenomenon along with Vash's ability to dodge bullets. Why analyse it at a time like this?
"You OK?" Vash asks, voice choked.
"Yes, already, stop asking me ..." says Nick in a tumble of barely coherent syllables. Finally, Vash is moving, filling him, striking the correct angle in the same uncanny way he makes a bullet ricochet just the right way. They fall into rhythm just like they do in a fight, Vash forward and Wolfwood back, moans and gasps blending together until Nick isn't sure who it is that keeps saying 'please' over and over. He's pretty sure it's Vash, who is just as noisy now as he is doing everything else.
If he uses a hand to touch himself, this will be over too fast, so Wolfwood spreads his palms on the hotel floor and hopes he won't get carpet burns. Vash's fingers are resting on his hips just as lightly as they were on the bike all day, and the feather touch is still driving him mad. He grinds back against the length inside him, which is anything but soft. The pleasure from this isn't like anything else; it spreads through more of him in a way that feels open, with no hard edges. Nick realises that he'll be glad he did this for reasons more complex than the hope that Vash will be where he is now some day.
Wolfwood decides that he's definitely losing it when he starts to hear voices, an angelic chorus in the back of his brain babbling about need and lust and he thinks there's probably love in there too, which is a thought too big to be contained in a moment like this. It's too much like the slow-motion instants when they're being shot at and he just knows how to move his feet and where to point his gun, and Vash grunts and jerks and cries out, and without sufficient warning Wolfwood's coming too. Things go quiet.
It's not long before Wolfwood realises that being on all fours on a hard floor is actually kind of uncomfortable when you're not distracted and he manages to make it as far as the bed without actually standing up. Vash, looking dazed, tumbles in beside him. Next time, they'll remember to get onto the mattress before they screw. It's easier on the knees.
Vash, as he'd surmised during many a lurid fantasy, is a snuggler - he curls up around Wolfwood and settles in. On another occasion, Nick might complain - for mysterious reasons, Vash is heavier than his light frame suggests to a casual observer - but for now he's content. At least he won't be cold during the night, with the gunman against him warm as a furnace. Under the dim hotel light, he almost seems to glow as well.
"Thank you," Vash says sleepily after a while.
"My pleasure. I've been waiting for that a long time."
Vash smiles, the genuine one that always makes Wolfwood humiliatingly warm and fuzzy. "Did you spend all that time hunting me down because you wanted to screw me?"
That's an uncomfortable question. "I'm here to protect you. To guide you." A lie hidden in a half truth. Trust Vash to make him feel like a sinner at a moment like this.
"I always feel safe with you," his lover murmurs.
And isn't that the best part of all? No matter how Wolfwood looked at it, this story ended with Vash getting hurt. He could only stay alive if someone broke him, broke his ideals. Wolfwood can't let him die, not now, not when he ... but that's too big a word for the dry and dangerous life of a wandering gun-toting priest. He settles for kissing Vash on the forehead. "You're safe now," he says.
It's only half a lie, and one of those compromises mortal men have to make.
The End