I can't stop them
Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun. Lyrics taken from "Fading Listening" by Shiny Toy Guns.
A/N: I take all the credit and none of the blame for this. Seriously, the music made me do it. Hence, I apologize in advance. (Also, for the ultimate angst experience, listen to the song while reading the story)
A/N: Beta read my Celesma. All remaining mistakes are my own.
And I can't stop you from leavin'
I can't stop you from believin'
This is a stupid idea.
Wolfwood stares defiantly at you from where he's lying – tense, but pliant – underneath you.
There something daring, almost threatening in his black eyes, but underneath you can sense that certain exasperated fondness he sometimes shows towards you.
He wants this, and perhaps more than you know, but –
"This is it," he hisses. "One time and then never again. I hope I made myself clear. You even look at me wrong and I will no longer care."
You stare down at him and nod mutely, the meaning of this moment another crushing weight on your back.
His gaze softens and you can see the regret shining through.
God, it hasn't even happened yet and he already regrets it.
You should, too. And you will, in the morning.
But you push the thought away. In fact, you push everything away. Everything but this moment.
Softly, hesitantly, you take his face in your hands. He's trembling, though trying not to, and how have you not noticed that before?
You can't tell if it's because he's trying to control himself, to hold back – or because he's forcing himself to stay instead of bolting for the door, hiding in the night.
Knowing him, it's probably a mixture of both. So fierce, so reckless – and yet, there's sometimes this strange undercurrent of vulnerability, of uncertainty, floating to the surface for brief moments. It puzzles you as much as it draws you to him.
When your lips meet, you can't help but close your eyes and sigh softly.
Wolfwood lets out a deep breath and shudders underneath you, once, with his whole body – you feel it even through two layers of clothing. The hands that fist themselves in your hair are just as sand-roughened as the lips that press against yours, but you get this, you get that this is not about strength but desperation.
It's all there in the way you moan when his mouth opens up for you, your hands clenching in the bedsheets while he presses you closer to him.
One hand in your hair, the other stroking your cheekbone, the both of you exchanging slow, open-mouthed kisses and you want to cry, because –
Because this – this sweetness and how long you've been longing to be close to someone and be understood by someone on such a deep level – this, right now, is all you'll ever get of it, this is it, and never again.
As if he's heard your very thoughts – or maybe it was the way you shoved your hand in his hair, clung to him, please don't let this end, forget about them please, make me forget – he breaks the kiss and backs away, removes his hands from you.
"Vash," he whispers, just that, and you know what he means.
It's over.
You want to argue, a thousand excuses at war in your head, but you voice none of them. You can't and you will not say anything and it's not like Wolfwood would listen. He would just leave and you don't want that.
So, you bite your lip, close your eyes and lay your head on his chest, pretending. Pretending you're just resting, just dreaming and that you can – you will – do this again, kiss him again, when you wake up, right, why shouldn't you? Nothing's stopping you, nothing, right?
The both of you lie there, just being close to each other, breathing, for what seems like hours.
Finally, just as you're about to drift off to sleep, Wolfwood softly pushes out from under you, stands and leaves without so much as a backwards glance.
This night, he's rent his own room. It's as much a testimony to the fact that he doesn't trust himself around you any more than you do around him, as it's an emphasis, an underlining of the fact that he will never touch, never look at you like this again.
You don't follow him. You don't even watch him leave.
Instead, you turn and stare at the stars outside, trying and failing to find peace in their soft, eternal, and eternally indifferent light. All you find though, is anger, anger that has no place to go, and regret, because this will never happen again and you will never be able to forget it.
This night, you sleep on the floor, hoping against better knowledge that pain and coldness and hard edges will be all you'll remember in the morning.