God's Promise/A Very Good Feeling

In celebration of Nightow-sensei's upcoming 40th birthday, I decided to write this, my first (albeit very overdue) Trigun fanfic! I hope you enjoy it. Please Read and Review, thankyou!

Pairings: (WolfwoodxVash) (MidvalleyxWolfwood) (implied KnivesxMidvalley) hoho, oh, you whores XD;;

Warning for language and suggestive scenes

All characters are © of Yasahiro Nightow

"You smoke too much."

"Wha…?"

With a finger and thumb Vash plucked the cigarette dangling from Wolfwood's mouth, and then threw it over his shoulder.

"Hey!"

Wolfwood swung round to see the remnants of it scattering over the tracks they had just made.

"If you're gonna ruin my one pleasure in life, at least wait 'til I finish half of it!"

Vash rolled his eyes dramatically. "Well sorr-y. Mr. Prickly. I'm just trying to spare you from an early grave."

Wolfwood irritably hitched his crucifix higher onto his back. "Don't. The earlier that grave comes, the better."

"You're being negative again."

"Cram it."

The pair walked on in aggravated silence. The sun was already high overhead, and it beat down unflinchingly on the two men. Wolfwood attempted to brush the moist black fringe out of his eyes, cursing under his breath. He glanced sideways at Vash, who was loping forward painfully, tongue lolling out of his mouth, gasping for air.

"Wolfwood, slow down…"

The priest growled.

"I said 'cram it', Spikey! Quit whinin', we're almost there."

Out of the dense swathes of dust, clusters of ramshackle roofs began to emerge and beckon. With a noise of eagerness, Vash broke into a trot, then a run, his travel sack clattering noisily, and his red tails flapping after him in the wind.

"Foo-oo-oo-ood! Waa-tt-ee-rr!"

Wolfwood lurched angrily after him, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Shit, Spikey, who'd ya tell t' slow down! Spikey!"

The town itself was almost as dusty and bare as the dunes they had just come from. The sides of the houses creaked and shuddered in the warm wind eking through the streets. Patrons of the local saloon snoozed in the shade, whilst others were draped over the boardwalks, obviously exhausted from their latest brawl.

Vash looked around with bright interest at the scene.

"Quiet, isn't it?"

"A freakin' dive, if you ask me." mumbled Wolfwood. "I thought you said this place was nice."

"Well, it is. I mean, there's a hotel just over there…" -the gunman motioned to a run-down establishment, rusted doors swinging from their hinges- "…and there's a saloon right across the street."-he gestured at a snoring drunk- " I thought you'd at least be happy with that."

Wolfwood took another disparaging look round, and sighed. "Yeah, I s'pose. I could do with a drink."

Vash grinned and patted the clergy on the back. "That's the spirit!"

The afternoon had now set in. The two men had taken up residence in the 'hotel with the doors' -as Wolfwood now referred to it- and had just unpacked. Wolfwood stepped out of the tiny bathroom that connected to their room after taking a welcome shower. He certainly felt calmer now, more than he had done traipsing through that goddamned desert.

Vash was sitting at the end of his bed, gazing out of the window. "Hey, Wolfwood."

The priest acknowledged him with a small 'nn', drawing out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Vash continued to stare out into the street below.

"Yo, Spike. Why're ya so glum? Lunch not go down too well?"

The blonde looked over his shoulder at him, and smiled distantly. "No. I'm alright."

Wolfwood grunted, patting around for his lighter. Vash went back to staring out the window. "Jeez, Spike, cheer up, for cryin' out loud. I'm the one ya had t' drag all the way out here."… maybe that's not a good thing to say t' this guy. I mean, he starts cryin' like a faucet if you provoke him.

"Look, if this is because I was shoutin' at ya earlier… I didn't mean it, okay?"

Vash chuckled. "You shouting at me? No, it's not that. I don't mind you doing that. After making you come all the way out here, I kinda deserve it."

"Spikey—"

"I was thinking. I just feel like…"

Wolfwood sat down beside him, turning his retrieved lighter in his fingers.

"I feel like… something's gonna …happen."

The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow. "What, y'mean like, somethin' bad?"

Vash shook his head, smiling. "No. I don't know. I'm not sure."

He raised his head, turning his turquoise gaze towards his companion. Wolfwood observed with a pang of uncertainty that his eyes were glistening with tears. "It feels like… something…very, very… good."

It was Wolfwood's turn to chuckle. "Really, Spikey? Well, I look forward to it, whatever it is." He posted a fresh cigarette into his mouth. Vash tutted. The priest sighed loudly and took it out, slapping it into the blonde's lap. "There. Can't have it all, can I?" He made to get up, but stopped as something pressed to his mouth. His cigarette. Vash beamed, pushing it firmly in place. Wolfwood's stomach did a painful lurch as his friend's pale face came within inches of his own.

"You smoke too much... but you've earned it."

The clergy sat frozen for a minute, lighter lying forgotten in his palm.

"Uh… thanks."

Vash turned away, brushing down his shirt. "No problem."

Wolfwood stood abruptly, smoothing his dark hair with one hand.

"You alright, Wolfwood? You look a little flushed."

The man made a large reeling movement towards the door, trying his best to look anywhere but at Vash.

"Where are you going?"

Wolfwood's voice trailed out the door and down the hallway. "Look around. Hot. Fresh air. Yes. See ya later."

Wolfwood was now walking briskly down the main street, hardly noticing that he was bumping into people as they came out to socialize. Damn it. Damn damn damn it. First he's hasslin' me about this place, he drags me out here, he slips inta broodin' mode, and then he starts tryin' t'… tryin..t'… he loosened his collar, even though the air of the encroaching evening was distinctly cool. He turned a corner into a dank alley, weaving between unconscious partygoers and women in fishnets tittering amongst themselves as he passed.

That freakin' Vash's attitude made his insides squirm. That saccharine smile. That gentle and naïve face that looked all over him with not even a trace of guilty thoughts. Those eyes. That hair. That skin. Those fingers. Thinking about them made vipers writhe and spit in his belly. He'd take it all out on that damned punk someday, if only he could.

If only he could.

The man swung dazedly into the garishly lit bar at the end of the alleyway.

He needed a drink. Alcohol would set his brain straight for certain. Then he'd stumble back shit-faced to that stupid gunman and let him have it with all his strength. Whatever that 'it' was.

He entered into the main parlour, eying the tawdry décor with distaste. He sat down at the back of the room, and a scantily clad waitress tottered up to him, showing yellow teeth. "What'll it be, mister?"

"Make it a… vodka… I guess."

The barmaid noted his order with a flourish, and winked. "Comin' right up, darlin'."

As she teetered away on her stilettos, Wolfwood gazed warily around. A band had just finished its act on stage, and was stepping down to scattered applause from around the room. As the waitress plunked a large glass of vodka and lemon in front of him, a voice sounded in his ear.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Wolfwood turned abruptly, and nearly choked on a mouthful of drink.

"Midvalley?"

The musician smiled crookedly. "The one and only." He rounded the table slowly, leaning down next to the clergy's ear. "Drinking this early in the evening? Something's certainly snatched the wind from your sails, Chapel. You didn't even notice me on stage."

Wolfwood shifted uncomfortably in his chair, taking a large gulp of vodka. "Too bad ya didn't see me in the audience, jerk, I bet ya'd have already blown my head off with that damned sax of yours."

Midvalley gave a derisive snort. "If I was ever going to kill you, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, I'd kill you face to face. Some of us aren't cowards."

Wolfwood gaze remained fixed in front of him as he lit another cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply in agitation. "Tell me why you're here, Midvalley. Some of us've got some thinkin' to do."

"Trouble with that Vash boy, right? Thought he'd make you crazy at some point."

The priest ground his teeth. "What're you talkin' about?"

"You know as well as I do. I bet you're crazy for that guy." The musician leaned deliberately into the man's shoulder, his voice low. "Just like when you went crazy for me one time…" He smirked as he saw Wolfwood tense. He continued. "Oh, sorry, Chapel. I was just thinking what a wonderful coincidence it was to meet you here after so long."

There was a pause.

"Sit down and shut the hell up."

Midvalley obliged, sliding elegantly into the chair next to him.

"Now, I don't know why you're here." said the priest in a slow, deliberate voice. "But if you're goin' to pick a fight with me or somethin', let's get it over with, 'cause I got stuff I could be doin' right now."

The musician guffawed loudly. "Oh what, do you mean with Vash?"

"Shut the hell. Up!"

There was silence. Midvalley gave another snort, and amused himself with the keys on his saxophone.

CLACK CLACK CLACK.

Wolfwood glared at him morosely out of the corner of his eye.

CLACK CLACK.

Midvalley was looking good this evening.

CLACK CLACKACK CLACK.

His hair was oiled. It had a deep, dusky sheen, and contrasted beautifully against his shadow-bleached face. Wolfwood had always… liked that hair.

CLACK CLACK.

Wait, 'beautifully'?

CLACK.

"Midvalley."

"Yes?"

CLACK CLACK.

"I… that is…"

CLACK.

"Don't sweat it, Chapel."

CLACK.

"…for a little while. Got anywhere we can go?"

Midvalley's lip twitched at the corner. "The back room's free. It'll get it out of your system. I'll even throw in a free bottle of booze."

Slowly, Wolfwood stood up. He already felt addled from a whole glass of vodka.

Shit.

The door of the back room shut behind them, and a 'lock' sign clicked into view above the doorknob.

The priest laughed inwardly as teeth yanked at his shirt collar.

Don't worry, God. I'll give this bastard his worth in cheap entertainment.

The rowdy chatter of the bar's patrons seemed comfortingly distant, as the two men thrashed painfully on the hard wooden floor of the humid closet.

Maybe I'll drink your health when I'm done.

Vash sighed as he looked over at the clock above his bed. It was already 3 in the morning. "Where could he have got to?" He slowly took another bite from the donut he was eating.

CLUNK.

"Wolfwood?"

Vash looked around, listening.

CLUNK.

He could distinctly hear something outside of his window. As the scraping and thumping grew louder, the blonde slowly reached for the gun folded within his red coat. Suddenly, the window rattled sharply, and flew open with a loud crack.

"Wolfwood? It is you!"

The priest swung a leg shakily over the sill, and proceeded to climb in. Vash made his way over to help. As he took the crook of his arm, something clinked heavily against the wall.

"Have you been drinking again?"

Wolfwood said nothing. Vash began to pull him into the room by his belt strap.

"Why'd you have to scale the drainpipe to get in here? You know that if you'd knock nicely the landlady would have let you i—"

The gunman's words were cut off as Wolfwood heaved his body forward, so that both of them staggered backwards and onto the bed.

"Ow! Wolfwood! What in the wo—"

"Shut it, Spikey."

The priest's words cut loudly into the stillness of the room. Vash's mouth snapped closed. The man's breath reeked of alcohol.

Wolfwood studied the face that was just inches away from his with drink-clouded eyes. It was as pale and pure as he had left it, with once pensive eyes now wide and alive with a jumble of emotions.

"'Get it out of your system', my ass." He snarled, descending swiftly on his companion's waiting lips. Ignoring the frantic scrabbling of hands on his cheeks and shoulders, he reveled in sampling the taste of Vash's mouth, drinking it as deeply as the finest wine. Finally, he pulled away, feeling how damp and hot their faces had become in the process.

Vash drew in a shaking breath. "W-wolfwood, wha…" As the clergy made to kiss him again, he recoiled as far as possible, so that now only the priest's forehead was pressing down forcefully on his own.

"Oh, God, Vash…" murmured Wolfwood.

"No! Darn it, you're drunk! Let go off of—"

"Hold still!"

With all his might, Vash wrestled Wolfwood's hands away from under his shirt. They both rolled into the narrow space between the two beds. It was dark and dusty.

"Wolfwood!"

Ragged breaths echoed into the dull stillness.

"Stop…"

"…"

"Please… stop…"

There was no response.

Vash cautiously slipped his wrist out of the man's loosened grip.

"Are you… alright?"

Wolfwood's limp body slumped steadily onto his chest. Something dark had begun to seep into his shirt…

Coolness was washing over the priests' face. Wolfwood opened his eyes, instantly wincing at the effect of bright light boring into his brain.

"Ugh…"

"Wolfwood! Thank God!"

He was being pulled up onto his elbows, and now something soft and damp was pressing to his temple. As he opened his eyes, the room swayed dizzyingly, forcing him to squeeze them shut again, his stomach churning. "What the…?" he breathed hoarsely. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hotel. It's all right; I've got more cold water here. Hold still."

That wasn't Midvalley's voice. Much less sardonic.

"Uhm… Spikey?"

"I told you not to drink so much. You're in a terrible state."

He cracked his eye open slightly, so that he could focus on the blurry outline of Vash moving in front of him.

"Ow!" The side of Wolfwood's head stung dreadfully. "What the hell did I do t' myself?"

"W-well…" Vash blushed, fumbling with the bandages, "When you… came in last night… and you were drunk… and we…um…that is…on the bed…"-Wolfwood winced at this point-" and then you rolled off the bed… and kinda… smacked your head on the bedside cabinet. You've been out for about three hours."

The dark haired man covered his face with his hand. "Crap, no…"

Vash jumped embarrassedly. "B-but don't worry! I know you didn't mean what you…uh…did… you were sort of …inebriated, after all."

Wolfwood peeked hesitantly from under his hand.

"I didn't… uh… screw you… did I?"

"N…no…"

There was a long, awkward silence.

Vash stood hastily, trying in vain to shake off the deep pink staining his cheeks. "I-I'll go get you… a bowl…" he mumbled, as Wolfwood bent woozily over the side of the bed.

It was now much later. Wolfwood was sat in a chair by the window. Vash had spent much of the morning patting the clergy reassuringly on the arm, as he was violently ill into a large tin basin the landlady had had sent up. He was now sitting hunched, picking slowly at the band-aid on his forehead.

Frowning deeply, he attempted to piece together what had happened after he had left the bar. He could remember Midvalley, smirking at him languorously from the emergency exit, re-fastening his belt buckle. "Nice doing business with you."

That lousy bastard.

Walking down the alleyway, turning as the musician called; "If the transaction hasn't worked, I'll be here tomorrow!"

How can he spout that shit with a smile on his face?

His face. That was the one thing he could almost remember.

That raven hair, once oiled and sleek, clinging in snaking threads to his skin and the corners of his mouth. It had been all over Wolfwood's face too, damp and dark.

Pale, fathomless eyes stared down at him unflinchingly as they became tangled with their clothes and each other, as he shoved back noise with his tongue and his teeth.

The priest looked over at Vash, who was now trying to superglue parts of the window latch back together. Why did his face feel so sore, why were there long red streaks still burning madly on his skin?

"I… I'm sorry, Spikey…"

The blonde looked at him.

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry, but… is it alright if I, uh, hit the town this evening? I think I left somethin' in the, uh, bar… I was at."

Vash blinked. "Well, okay… you sure recovered fast."

Wolfwood registered the note of suspicion in his friend's voice.

"Don't worry, I'll be back before ya know it."

"But… you'll drink again."

The priest leaned over and said, as earnestly as he could, "I'll be back soon. 10 pm and not a minute later. Sober as can be. How does that sound? Good?"

Vash's face broke into a sunny smile. "S-sure!"

Sorry, Spikey.

Wolfwood stood in front of the cracked mirror above the sink, eying himself with an air of satisfaction. He was now clean-shaven, his once disheveled hair now a glossy jet black. To top it all off, his suit was as laundered and crisp as it had ever been. He looked great, considering that just this morning he had been half-conscious with a blinding hangover.

"Looking good, Mr. Prickly." Vash was leaning in the bathroom doorway with his arms folded. Wolfwood deftly put on his sunglasses and lit yet another cigarette.

"Thanks."

He brushed past Vash on his way out, and then stopped. "Thanks fer worryin' about me." The blonde looked down, cursing himself for letting the heat rise into his cheeks. "Like I said before. No problem."

No worries, Spikey. I just got some… 'business'… to attend to.

The priest smartly rested an elbow beside Vash's head, his face just centimeters away from his companion's. The gunman gave an audible squeak. They were so close, even their breath was intermingling with one another's.

"See ya t'night."

With that, Wolfwood turned, straightening his jacket. The door closed with a small click. Vash was still stood motionless in the doorway. He nodded vigorously at the place where Wolfwood had been standing.

"Okay! No problem! No problem at all! See you tonight… then…"

Wolfwood sauntered into the garish bar. As he sat down, the floozy waitress from the previous evening came and hovered beside his chair, smiling toothily. "Fancy seein' you here again mister!" she cooed, producing a pen and notebook. "What'll it be, honey? Vodka? A cocktail? Or…" She surreptitiously adjusted her miniskirt- "Somethin' a little sweeter?"

"Nothin' for me, thanks." intoned Wolfwood flatly.

The waitress opened her mouth in indignation, but a white hand posted it's way in between her and the empty seat beside her. "Excuse me, m'am."

It was Midvalley. Slipping gracefully between her and the wall, he placed his slender fingers on Wolfwood's shoulder.

The priest took a lengthy drag on his cigarette. "Surprised t' see me?"

"Not particularly."

As the waitress turned haughtily on her heel and stalked back to the bar, the musician laughed softly. "Glad to see you're staying faithful to me, Chapel."

"Not likely, you arrogant sonavva bitch." hissed Wolfwood.

Midvalley made a face of mock resentment. "Oh, dear. And here I was thinking that you'd come here for renewed, ah, 'transaction'."

Wolfwood spoke in muted tones, but with every syllable emphasized. "Look here, Midvalley. It's off, all right? You and me, in the past, off. I'm not some rent-boy you can keep abusin' over and over. Not anymore, anyway." The clergy exhaled a long plume of smoke. It felt good to get that off his chest.

The saxophonist's face darkened. "We're partners, Chapel."

"I said: not anymore. I'm over that sleazy Gung Ho Guns shit."

Wolfwood was pleased with himself. Midvalley was now looking genuinely put out. His voice shook dangerously. "An ex-member you may be, but in everyone else's eyes we're still allies."

The priest ground his cigarette into an ashtray with an air of finality. "Too bad, partner. Go find some other loser to toy around with. I'm outta here."

The band on stage struck up a long, wavering chord to sounds of dispassionate applause. Gently sung words drifted across the room through the chatter.

Wolfwood made his way through the crowd towards the entrance. He felt light headed, but was thankful that it wasn't drink. Good riddance to that Midvalley, most likely still sitting there, gaping stupidly after—

Something wrenched sharply on his collar, dragging him into that back room hole that he had been in just the previous night…

Wolfwood's back hit the wall of the closet with a dull thud. Everything was dimly lit by a single light bulb, the tiny space warm and stale and stinking of tobacco. The priest heard the lock click in the door, and a stifling weight pressed down on him before he had time to move.

"Damn you, Chapel." hissed the familiar voice.

Wolfwood strained hopelessly against the iron grip Midvalley had on his forearms. The intoxicating smell of his skin and hair and clothes threatened to drown the priest in senseless lust.

So come and get me,

Let me get in that sinking feeling,

That says my heart is on an all time low…

The sound of the band was so faint Wolfwood could barely hear it. Again he pulled against the vice-like grip on his arms, trying to focus on the indistinct din from the world outside. Trying to ignore the slick tongue lapping against his neck, his chin, his parted lips.

His whole body gave an involuntary shudder. "Ugh, Jesus!"

Thank you God.

Uncontrollable exclamations were striving to thrust their way past his gritted teeth.

I thought you hated liars. I thought you hated sinners. So why don't you get this sinner off of me now? Or do ya enjoy watching me gettin' violated over and over?

Thank you, God. So much.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

That wasn't Midvalley's voice.

Wolfwood looked numbly over the musician's shoulder. A stout, ruddy man in a waistcoat was stood in the doorway, a ring of keys jangling from one hand. Behind him was the floozy waitress, tapping her toe petulantly.

"Mr. Midvalley, may I remind you that the back room is for storage only?"

The dark haired man froze for a moment, and then began to resignedly re-button his trousers.

"My apologies, Mr.Delware."

"Remember, I pay you to play your sax here, not to screw the customers. Got it?"

The saxophonist flinched at the crass observation. "…Yes, Mr.Delware."

Without looking back at Wolfwood, Midvalley slowly retrieved his jacket from behind an old crate, and made his way back out into the bar.

The stout man began to address Wolfwood.

"And you! If you try it on again in here, I'll throw you out by that pointy collar o' yours. Besides, there's plenty of other places you could—"

The priest had already disappeared past him and through the entrance doors, into the cool night air.

He could have kissed that fat little man, but, y'know…

Wolfwood grinned up at the tiny stars glimmering in the inky blue above.

I owe you one, Lord. Pays to keep yer promises, right?

As he came to a fork in the street, his eyes fell on the clock of the nearby church tower. It was already five to one in the morning.

"Aw, shit!"

Midvalley leaned languidly against the wall next to the window in the loft space above the bar, watching the cold blue moon rise above the sand dunes in the distance. He ran a finger absent-mindedly over his saxophone, slender fingers straying over the keys.

CLACK CLACK.

He'd never forgive that insolent dog Chapel for as long as he lived.

CLACK.

His game was a matter of pride.

CLACK. CLACK.

A matter of dominance and supremacy.

CLACK. CLACK.

And yet that cocky bastard could take the winning hand without even lifting a finger.

CLACK.

"Midvalley."

CLACKACK CLACK.

"Knives."

"Face it, Hornfreak. Dealing in desire is a game people like you just can't win,"

A cold, leather clad hand ghosted over the line of his jaw.

CLAK—

Midvalley's eyes lingered for a moment on his saxophone.

"Maybe it is."

Wolfwood reached the hotel, thoroughly out of breath, and stood with his hands on his knees, grumpily studying the doors that had been propped up and barricaded shut for the night.

Reluctant to stub out his second smoke of the journey, he placed it resolutely between his two fore fingers. "Here we go again."

Planting a foot firmly against the crumbling brick wall at the side of the building, he began to slowly climb up the drainpipe to the small window on the second floor. He slipped several times, swearing loudly when he did. On reaching the windowsill, Wolfwood pulled a small jackknife from his back pocket, rattling it hard into the lock.

Suddenly, without warning, the window came open, and the priest unbalanced, falling head first into the room.

"Owch!"

He stood up immediately, brushing himself down, expecting to see a tearful Vash staring down at him. But there wasn't. A loud snore emitted from the bed hidden by shadows. Wolfwood bent over and turned on a lamp.

"Spikey?"

The gunman was sprawled on the bed, still fully clothed, a half empty bottle of Wolfwood's private stash of gin in one hand. The priest blinked.

Vash opened one eye blearily.

"Wolfwood…?"

The priest felt a characteristic wave of annoyance wash over him.

"Dammit! Don't give me any o' that innocent, doe eyed crap of yours! Gimme that bottle!"

The blonde relinquished the gin from a limp hand. "I jus' figured… 'cuz… you were always sayin'… about all your…pleashursh in life… an' I…. decided to take yer advice…." He hiccupped dejectedly. "Plush… plush I were waitn' fer you… hic… t' come back… an' you didn'. So I needed… summat t' do… hic."

Wolfwood sighed as he placed the gin on the bedside table. "I'm sorry, Spikey. Look, I'll help you up. C'mon."

"Aw, don't do that…" slurred Vash, with a rather uncharacteristic leer. "It's more comfortable down here, Wolfwood. Come on, I'll show you…"

With a giggle, the inebriated gunman took a hold of his companion's wrist, and for what seemed the umpteenth time in the last 48 hours, the clergy was being pulled inexorably into soft, stifling heat.

"God damn, Spikey! Snap out of it!"

With one hand he managed to pull wandering fingers off his shirt buttons, and with the other slung off the arm that had crept round his neck.

"Geez! Ya put out just fer a little fun and look were it gets ya!"

The blonde hung on to him doggedly.

"'Ah love yoo, Wolfy honey!' Tee hee hee! How long have you been waiting f'r me to shay that, pardner?"

"Huh?"

Wolfwood watched as his friend rolled over in a fit of giggles, tears streaming from his eyes.

"Quit pissin' me off, moron! Why does it have t' be that one of us is drunk fer somethin' to happen?"

Wrestling himself away, Wolfwood collapsed exhaustedly back onto his own bed. Everything had gone quiet. He gazed up at the uneven ceiling. His whole face felt hot and prickly.

"I… I guess I'm not meant to receive any real love from anyone, huh?"

"…"

"Spikey?"

"…"

"…Vash?"

The gunman had fallen asleep again, his chest rising and falling gently. His gold hair was falling lightly around his porcelain-white face. He looked so… innocent.

Wolfwood gave a faint chuckle.

"Maybe that's a…good thing."

"Ugh, Wolfwooooddd… I don't feel too good…"

The sun's heat had risen punctually as the two men set out from the town. Their feet sunk frequently in the soft, slippery sand, making the effort of walking almost unbearable.

"Wolfwoooood…"

"I'm never leaving you alone again, ever!"

"…huh?"

Wolfwood turned round at his companion, puffing angrily on his cigarette.

"Good riddance for your damned curiosity! That'll teach ya t' stop believin' everything I tell ya!"

Vash made a small groan, but managed to speed up enough to walk alongside the priest. "What d'ya mean I believe everything? When you told me that building shelters was for losers, did I take your advice?"

"Yes! … and then I had to carry you the rest of the way when you…fainted from the heat…"

"Oh. But, but… what about when you said that sandworms were vegetarians?"

"You left out your weeks rations to see if a hungry sandworm would come, and then the bastard ate all of it, including the meat… and your old knapsack!"

"Oh… yeah…"

Wolfwood gave an exasperated sigh. "Y'see Spikey? Don't go around believin' everything I tell ya. Because it's all bullshit."

"But…"

"If I was never around to set my stupid mistake right again, you'd probably end up dead or somethin'."

The walked on, the only sound coming from the faint whine of wind blowing through the hills of sand on either side.

"So… when you said yesterday that…you weren't meant to receive love from anyone… was that 'bullshit' too?"

Wolfwood grunted resentfully. "You heard me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well… you better believe that's the truth."

They slowed down as they approached a grey, cracked asphalt track, next to which a 'bus stop' sign stuck purposefully at a tilt in the sand.

Wolfwood flicked away his cigarette butt and drew another from his back pocket. "Damn! Whatever jerk decided to put the stop way out here is a prize ass-h…"

Something soft and warm was pressed heavily to his mouth, hushing his last expletive. The priest's smoke-blue eyes widened considerably as he felt something in his stomach that he had never felt with Midvalley-butterflies.

Vash's pale pink lips were pressed with an earnest tenacity to his friends, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. As they broke apart, he smiled kindly. "I love the way you get so worked up at things. And I love the way you're always looking out for me."

Wolfwood dazedly opened his lighter. "Do you love the way I smoke? 'Cause I'm dyin' for a cigarette."

Vash laughed, patting Wolfwood on the arm. "I love the way you smoke too. It's… kinda sexy."

The priest's mouth gaped open. Vash pressed his temple tenderly to Wolfwood's chest. "But it's you as a whole… as Nicholas. D. Wolfwood… that's what I love the most."

Wolfwood let his bag and crucifix fall into the sand with a thud. Grinning, he flicked his cigarette away, lifting the blonde's chin so that their faces were almost touching.

"Best thing I've heard all week."

"That's good."

"Very good…"

-Owari-

Geezum crow, that was long. I hope that wan't too disgustingly bad with the OOC-ness and the excuses to put sex in and minimal plot XD Thankz for readingz! Please review, too!

xxbii-kunxx