Golden Recluse Chapter 7: Allettante, a trigun fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, obviously. Therefore, it's reasonable to assume that I don't own Vash the Stampede, Meryl Stryfe, Millie Thompson, the late Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Rem Seiburem (Saverem), Millions Knives, the deceased Legato Bluesummers, any of the Gung-ho-Guns, Planet Gunsmoke, Project S.E.E.D.S., any of the Seven Cities, "Sound Life", .45 Colt revolvers, or almost anything else that shows up in this morbid little story of mine!

Author's Note: Well, did everyone enjoy my little psycho Knives chapter? I'm very aware of the fact that it did not aid in telling exactly what became of him, nor did it reveal his location to the readers, but I assure you, it will become apparent eventually. I suppose the last chapter just provided an insight to Knives' philosophies on killing, which some people might be unfamiliar with, especially if they haven't seen much of the series. Then again, maybe I wrote it just because I have a thing for the crazy ones.

I send my thanks to keosis-chan, Flipkat, and saraki for their encouraging reviews! It's always great to hear what you guys think! A special thanks goes to keosis-chan, because she has left me a ton of reviews on this story, and they're always upbeat.

A warning for this chapter – like most of my writing, it's a bit on the odd side. This chapter I guess is why I put it under PG-13 – nothing serious, I promise. And if you have to take out your anger or frustration on someone, make it either Amaranta, or Eva, my muse. She made me write it, and trust me, don't think I haven't had thoughts of killing of Amaranta already. XP

Now, ladies and gents, it's time for you to read the next chapter of "Golden Recluse". Enjoy!

Chapter VII: Allettante

The hours had slowly ticked by, almost unbeknownst to Vash. True, he did register the fact that the suns were sinking below the horizon, and that the creatures of the night were beginning to rise from their catatonic states of sleep, but the realization was only lackadaisical. His mind was distanced from his body and the present state of reality; his cares had momentarily dissipated, and he was left with a rare moment of tranquility.

For the first time in what seemed to be his entire life, he didn't carry the burden of his mistakes upon his shoulders. The Typhoon, who had so long harbored the guilt of lives ended by his hand, felt no shame sitting upon his conscience. It was the strangest sensation, this calm composure. For once, his heart and mind weren't at war over his sins; had he any? If so, he wasn't aware of them.

Nor was he aware of how Amaranta's head had come to rest upon his breast. It was beyond Vash how she had ended up there, in his arms, when he knew little more than her name. Granted, he must have realized that if she was there, he had welcomed it; but then again, when had he ever been one to refuse a woman's affection? Hell, when had he ever been one to receive it?

All he knew was that with her warm body cradled gently against his chest, he could do no wrong. There wasn't any fear of rejection, or any pain clinging to his heart as a result of Rem's death. There was just contentment.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name."

The voice had come from the girl, who now preoccupied herself with tracing one of the many scars etched into the Stampede's skin. He found himself practically shivering at her touch, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Giving in to the infectious grin, he carefully took her hand in his, and massaged her palm lightly with his thumb.

"It's Vash," he mumbled softly, inadvertently drawing her closer to his bare-chested figure.

"Well, Vash," Amaranta began, withdrawing her hand from his and bringing her right palm to rest upon his left cheek, "I hope you don't think me too easily won."

Temptation.

"Too easily won?" the gunman questioned, a hint of amusement in his voice.

As the lean man spoke, the somewhat bristly stubble along his chiseled jaw-line brushed up against the tender skin of her wrist. Displaying a toothy grin, the girl of twenty-six slid her arm forward, wrapping it gingerly about his neck. Delicately on his shoulder she leaned her head, so that when she spoke, her lips brushed against the supple flesh of his neck.

"You know what I mean," she replied as she planted a few light kisses on the side of his neck.

Lure.

It was so long ago that his wounds bled in such a way; not any visible, physical wounds, but those of another kind. And this theoretical 'bleeding' was not the painful seeping of body fluids at all. Whereas when blood spills from a body, a desire to sleep becomes overwhelming, as though the conscious was pouring out of the body as well. His present desires could not be farther from slumber.

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Chapter Note: This is where I cut it off kiddies. See? I gave nothing more than suggestion. You can now pull your minds out of the gutter. While I'm not excruciatingly fond of this chapter in particular, it does have relevance to the plot. It's just about the bond forming between Amaranta and Vash. What will happen next though...?

Did you like it? Hate it? Do you currently wish to pelt me with tomatoes? Let me know what you think! Click that little 'Submit Review' button. I love hearing feedback. Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up soon, IF I get some nice reviews!