Title: Can You Read My Mind?
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Vash/Wolfwood
Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, its characters, etc. All belong to its respective owners - Nightow, etc.
Warnings: m/m, fluffiness
Summary: "Maybe it's the alcohol that's giving me the balls to do it – whatever the case may be, I do it anyway." Wolfwood tries to clear Vash's mind.
A/N: Told from Wolfwood's POV. Taking a little break from my other Trigun fic. This plot bunny popped into my head last night, and I had to get on it! It's nice to write a little fluff now and then :D Expecting to do at least one more chapter for it, though I don't know how long it'll be til that happens. Rating will go up then. ;) Enjoy!
It's amazing. In a world that's so hot and barren, it's a completely different place when night comes. The stars and moons are so bright, and the vastness of the sky stretching out in all directions above you makes you feel so insignificant.
"Hey, you alright?"
Of course, he always has to remind me that I do have a purpose and there's no time to lose sight of that. Every time he talks. Every time I look at him. Constant reminders.
"I'm fine," I say truthfully, flicking my cigarette aside, and return to sit beside him near our little bonfire.
It's late. We should be sleeping.
He passes me what's left of the Wild Turkey, and I guzzle it down. Nothing like the good burn of alcohol.
He's been quiet for hours. It's unusual. Must be in one of his moods. I don't pay much mind to them when they happen, yet I worry about him all the same. But tonight seems different. As I steal glances at him, I can see he's deeply troubled by something. Again, he's typically always troubled by something, but it's different tonight.
"You afraid?" I finally ask.
He turns to look at me and smiles. "What makes you say that?"
"Call it a hunch. It's okay if you are. Frankly, I'd be a little on edge too if he were my brother."
His smile falters for just a second before it's back and he nods. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Not really a confession of yes or no, but there it is. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Spikey. You've been preparing for this fight for decades."
"Thanks, but I wouldn't be so sure. There's a lot on the line, Wolfwood. I don't want to fail. I can't fail."
There he goes again. Taking on the weight of everyone's lives onto his own shoulders. He's too good for the people he'd give his life for; they'll never know, never appreciate him like they should. I get fed up with his love and peace crap, but I still know without him, we'd all be dead.
"I know something that'll make you feel better."
He looks at me puzzled, and maybe it's the breathtaking scenery of the night that gave me the idea – maybe it's the alcohol that's giving me the balls to do it – whatever the case may be, I do it anyway. I lean forward and kiss him. He doesn't pull back right away, nor does he push me, which makes me linger probably longer than I should. The peck lasts a meager three seconds at most, and when I lean back and meet his gaze, his eyes are wide and alight with surprise and is that excitement I see?
It's half a minute before he swallows and asks, "What was that for?" His tone isn't angry or disgusted like I thought it might be; that's a good sign.
"You're not thinking about it anymore, are you?"
"No."
"There you go. I helped clear your mind. Now maybe you can enjoy the rest of the night."
We both stare at the fire, an awkward silence between us, and I can still sense his confusion. Hell, I feel a little of it myself. Are we friends? Sure, I'd call him that. But since when did I get an itch to test the boundaries of those friendship waters? I've always fancied the ladies myself, and whether or not he does too, I'm not sure, regardless of him playing the part of a womanizer most of the time. A life like ours – it gets lonely, and well, tonight he really looks like he needs someone. We don't get the luxury others do of being able to settle down with someone for, hopefully, as long as we both shall live. When we go to sleep, we don't have the blessing of holding someone in our arms to whisper "I love you's" or caress someone in ways only reserved for that special person you'd say those three words to.
It's us. Him and me. The priest and the sixty billion double-dollar outlaw. The one made to kill and the one taught to never take a life.
We're much more alike than we care to let on.
"Hey, uh, Wolfwood?" His voice is timid; it matches the shyness in his eyes as we turn to stare at each other.
"Yeah?"
"Can, um….Can you help clear my mind again?"
I can't tell for sure, but I'd swear that he's blushing. It's in these moments that he's like an entirely different person. He's innocent, pure, coy. Not the clumsy, charismatic buffoon everyone else sees him as or the monster that most view him to be. I almost feel honored to have him put his guard down with me like this. And I almost feel like some sort of predator as I answer, "Of course."
We inch closer, and I nearly pray to God to not damn me to hell before our lips connect. It starts as a curious, tentative kiss. It's nice. His mouth is warm and inviting – I suddenly want more, but I control myself. I'm a man of God, not an animal, right? though as he begins to grow more comfortable, I'm tempted to become one. It's been quite awhile since I had physical contact like this, and I'm already as hard as ever. When his hand comes to rest against my cheek, I can't help myself from moaning at the touch. Now, he's kissing me like a lover. Softly and hungrily all at once. Passionately.
It's beautiful. He's beautiful.
I grab the collar of his coat to ensure he doesn't pull away any time soon. Judging by his other hand running down my chest and the occasional sounds of pleasure he utters, I doubt he'll be stopping.
Whenever I draw back to take a short breather, he kisses along my jaw until I grab his face to return to business; I do the same to him whenever he breaks away too.
It's practically indescribable, the emotions exploding inside of me and the thrilling physical sensations he's giving me. I can safely say I've never experienced anything like it before. The few I've kissed or ever been with – they're nowhere near as incredible as how he feels at this moment. God forgive me for fooling around with a man like this.
Oh God, forgive me. He's rubbing me through my trousers, and I have a mind to just shove him down and finish the job properly. I can imagine it, can hear him shouting in ecstasy, the two of us blinded by pleasure….
No, I have to contain myself. It's only for tonight, this right now. We'll be back to bickering and joking with each other tomorrow. This is only for now.
Finally, we both reach a mutual, unspoken agreement to stop. I'm panting, heart's racing, and from what I can tell, he's the same way. It's not until his breathing is steady again that he glances away and murmurs, "I'm sorry. I didn't….I didn't mean it to…."
It's cute, the way he's fumbling for an explanation. I grin, put my hand on his shoulder, and say, "It's okay, Spikey. Nothing to apologize for."
He gives me a sweet smile. "Thanks."
Ten minutes later as we settle under his blanket that's luckily big enough to cover both of us, we exchange the usual "good night's" and settle in for another night out in the open desert. Gazing at the stars, I realize something. He's my purpose, more than anything else. It's my duty to protect him. Aid him. Do whatever it takes to get him to his brother and win. Defend him to the death. And him….He's significant to me. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, I'm starting to feel like that significance is more than what I'd like it to be.
It's more than any confessional would be able to handle.
Forgive me, Father, for I might sin even more with him….I hope you understand….
Performing the sign of the cross, I sigh, close my eyes, and eventually let myself fall asleep.