Wolfwood stood at the top of the stairs, silent, paused by the sight of the man standing on the other side of the rooftop, staring peacefully up at the two full moons that shone full and bright in the sky above them.
Vash the Stampede.
Wolfwood thought he could be scared of Vash, if he didn't know who he was. Scared of all the destruction, desolation, all the pain caused seemingly by his very presence.
And knowing him, Wolfwood could still hate him, if he thought Vash was nothing more than the ridiculous immaturity that he displayed, all the stupid words and foolish actions that made up his day to day life.
Wolfwood reached quietly into his jacket, fumbling for a cigarette. He thought he could even hate Vash for the person he saw beneath that, the rare, honest smile and the amazing naivety that the gunman somehow managed to hold on to.. those unshakeable ideals he clung to because he honestly believed them to be true. Like a fool.
Or maybe, Wolfwood could just hate him because he could be so much that Wolfwood might wish himself to be.
But looking at the man, standing there so serenly, Wolfwood couldn't hate him. Admire.. be constantly amazed by.. desire.. crave so much it almost hurt.. those he could do. But hate, for Vash, he could never feel.
Wolfwood found a cigarette, finally, and put the end between his lips. He dug in his pockets until he found a lighter, and with its soft click, his cigarette was lit and the familiar taste seared his lungs.
And with that same click, Vash finally acknowledged Wolfwood's presence; though Wolfwood was sure the man had been well aware he was there the whole time.
"Wolfwood! Have you come to watch the moons with me?" Vash turned to face him fully, leaning against the low stone wall that enclosed the roof, his hands resting on its surface. Blonde hair standing straight up, so crazily, his red coat swirling around his long legs, the smile that came so easily to him.. he looked nothing like the 'humanoid typhoon'.
"What, no mad Vash the Stampede action tonight?" Wolfwood crossed the roof and leaned against the wall next to him, glancing across at Vash with a quick smirk, then looking up at the sky above.
"As if you haven't seen enough of it already," Vash admonished. "Isn't it a nice change to see a little quiet around me?"
"Quiet can get boring, you know."
"Not to me." Vash was looking up at the moons again, but Wolfwood caught that fleeting wistfulness in his voice. He wondered, yet again, just how long Vash had been at this. How many years had it been since the destruction of July? Longer than he could remember. If Vash had been constantly on the run for that long, constantly at the centre of the crazy events that seemed to follow him wherever he went, then he supposed it would have to be a hell of a lot of quiet before Vash would get bored of it.
"You could always turn yourself in," Wolfwood suggested, amusement in his voice. "Nice quiet cell, three meals a day, all the solitude you could ask for. If you like quiet that much, it'll never get boring."
"And cheat someone out of their $$60,000,000,000?" Vash pouted, a frown creasing his forehead. "No-one would ever forgive me."
"I'll turn you in, then," Wolfwood took a drag on his cigarette, squinting a little through the smoke that curled up past his eyes. He kept his gaze on Vash, trying to look as serious as possible, but he knew he was failing. "Then you'll know it's going to a worthy cause. The orphans will thank you for your sacrifice."
"And how do I know you wouldn't spend it all on yourself?" Vash met his gaze, his expression all rueful disdain, but his eyes laughing. "I can just see you, running up tabs of cigarettes and booze, buying the favours of all the pretty girls in some nowhere town.."
"I'm a man of the cloth," Wolfwood objected, knowing his almost feral grin belied his words, but not caring; knowing Vash was taking this mock debate about as seriously as he did.. which wasn't very. And now Vash tilted his head up to look at him, almost coyly, his expression daring Wolfwood somehow.
"Oh really. And how do I know you're true to your profession?"
"Have you ever seen me so much as look at a woman?"
"Well, there was that one time.." Vash began, earnestly, and Wolfwood blinked in honest surprise. He didn't remember ever looking at women when Vash was around.. he was always too busy looking at Vash.
Then the gunman laughed.
"But she was just a suffering lamb that needed help, or so you said."
"They usually are," Wolfwood agreed glibly. "And God's work is never done."
"So what sort of work does God think needs to be done about me?" Vash's question sounded half-serious, half-joking, and Wolfwood hesitated, taking another drag on his cigarette to cover his pause. He considered, for a moment, those pale, somehow gentle eyes waiting patiently for an answer, those still slightly pouted lips, threatening to break into a smile.
He wasn't sure what God thought, but he knew what he thought, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning closer, closing the short distance that seperated them, and pressing his own lips against Vash's.
Vash tasted salty, sandy, of the desert somehow. He tasted surprised, and unresponsive. But despite that, he tasted good, and Wolfwood ran his tongue slowly along Vash's lips, making sure he fully understood and would remember the taste, before he pulled away again.
Vash blinked at him several times, his expression unchanged, but now somehow unreadable as well. He raised a tentative hand to his own lips, as if to prove that what had happened had indeed just happened. Finally, he asked,
"Was that God's idea?"
And Wolfwood had to laugh.
"No, it was mine." He waited, still unsure of the response, and after a moment, Vash lowered his hand again.
"Good. I'd hate for you to be doing things like that at God's whim. Now, will you do it again so that I'm actually ready for it this time?"
Wolfwood found himself laughing again, and he saw the mischeivous grin that crossed Vash's lips in response. Then he did as he was told, and kissed the dangerous gunman again.
This time, Vash was responsive, his lips pressing hard against Wolfwood's, his tongue insistently parting Wolfwood's lips and slipping inside his mouth to take possession of the priest's tongue. One hand slid around Wolfwood's waist, pulling him closer.
Wolfwood closed his eyes; he felt a moan escape him, almost unheard, to be swallowed by Vash's forceful kiss. He hadn't expected the gunman to be quite this aggressive, and it was one hell of a turn on.
He tossed the rest of his cigarette aside, and wrapped both his arms around Vash, moulding the gunman's body against his; he focused on the strong mouth pressed so firmly against his, and with his tongue fought for control of the kiss, of the whole crazy situation.
But somehow Vash retained the upper hand, dominating him, and he gave in, letting the kiss have him, letting the gunman suck all the breath out of him and fill him with desire instead.
A gloved hand stole under his shirt, and he gasped at the sudden cold touch, breaking the contact of their lips. His lips felt hot and strange without Vash's against them, and he blinked several times at the gunman, trying to regain control.
"Your hands are cold," he said, shortly, and Vash's quick grin returned.
"It's freezing out here. Maybe we should go inside," Vash's eyes seemed darker than before, and he slipped out of Wolfwood's embrace. Then he caught at the priest's hand and tugged him in the direction of the stairs. "Let's go to your room. I don't think the insurance girls know so well which one it is."
Wolfwood could take a hint, and with that he was practically dragging Vash towards the stairs.
"And then I'm warming your hands," he said over his shoulder, and Vash laughed softly.
"Only if you can think of an interesting way to do it."
For once, they were lucky; neither Meryl or Milly was anywhere in sight, and they made it safely to Wolfwood's small room with no-one any the wiser. Wolfwood closed the door softly, and then locked it, just in case. Those insurance girls had the worst kind of timing and he didn't want it. Not tonight.
The two of them securely locked in, he turned around. Vash stood just out of reach, hands behind his back, watching him silently. Just the slightest of smirks graced his face, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Wolfwood took a step forward, and Vash matched it by taking a step back. Wolfwood tried it again, and again, Vash stepped back, still with that little smirk on his face.
"Tease," Wolfwood muttered, and took a leap at Vash, and suddenly the gunman was gone, and he was tripping forwards, about to fall. Then strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind, balancing him, and a hot mouth nipped at his ear.
"You know you like it." Vash moulded his body against Wolfwood's back, and gloved fingers tried to slide under his shirt again, but he caught at them.
"Not until you warm up," he replied, and pushing back the sleeve on Vash's right arm, he peeled off the glove and tossed it to the floor. He looked down at the bare hand for a moment -- the scarred, pale skin, the long, slender fingers, the short, chipped nails -- and then he raised it slowly to his mouth, and took two of the fingers inside. He suckled them carefully, wrapping his tongue around them, coating them with saliva and warming them at the same time.
Vash's teeth nibbled on his earlobe, and then warm breath blew in his ear, teasingly, and his groin tingled in response. He smiled and then warmed the remaining cold fingers of Vash's hand. Then he let it fall.
Immediately it made its way under his shirt, still-damp fingers stroking across his flat stomach, running along his sensitive ribs, and he gasped in pleasure; it would've tickled if the touch wasn't so gentle.
He reached for the other, still-gloved hand, and Vash tensed slightly against his back.
"You can't warm that one. You'll have to put up with it being cold." The voice whispering in his ear was somewhat apologetic. Curious, he removed the glove and blinked in surprise at the full metal arm that was bared, shining softly in the lamplight.
He ran a tentative finger along its surface, twining his fingers with the metal ones, so real looking, yet so cold and unyielding. They tightened around his in response. He wondered what it would feel like to have that cold, hard hand pleasuring him, and his groin throbbed again at the thought.
Wolfwood pulled the metal hand down to his crotch, and Vash laughed softly.
"Oh, so you're that kind of priest, are you?" Metal fingers caressed Wolfwood through the thin cloth of his pants, stroking up and down his length, and he moaned at the strange touch, feeling himself hardening further against it.
Vash's tongue toyed with his ear again, and Wolfwood turned his head towards it, looking back at the gunman. Vash leaned forward, over his shoulder, and caught his lips again, an awkward, but no less intense kiss.
Wolfwood turned in the loose embrace, wanting more from the kiss, and wrapped his arms around Vash, pressing their bodies together, pushing his groin against Vash's, feeling the hardness that pushed against his in response. He thrust his tongue deep into Vash's mouth, capturing his tongue, playing with it, and Vash's teeth gently closed on Wolfwood's tongue and held it in place for a moment.
The gunman's hands were both under his shirt now, roaming free across his back, metal and skin scratching lightly along his spine and tracing lazy patterns over his shoulders and then down further.
Wolfwood's own hands met thick cloth along Vash's back, and found no entrance; frustrated, he broke the kiss, and leaned back in Vash's embrace, eyeing his many-buttoned coat.
Vash's half-lidded eyes slowly opened all the way, blinking curiously at him. The gunman's lips were dark red and wet, slightly swollen; his tongue darted out to run slowly along them, and Wolfwood sighed at the simple yet somehow erotic sight.
"You have an unfair advantage," he accused, gesturing to the red coat, and Vash glanced down. A wide grin crossed his face and he looked back up at Wolfwood, as innocently as a lost lamb.
"I know." His hands slid down to cup Wolfwood's buttocks, squeezing them just a little, and Wolfwood gasped again. Then he narrowed his eyes.
"That's cheating." He reached for the top button of the coat, determined to even the odds, and Vash's metal hand slipped lower still, between Wolfwood's legs, fingering against his hole through his clothes. The button skittered away from his fingers as his body twitched of its own accord.
He grabbed the button more firmly, trying to focus on the task directly in front of him. Vash's fingers pressed more firmly against his hole, one pulling cloth with it as it pushed in, just the tiniest bit, and wriggled inside him. Wolfwood groaned, feeling suddenly light-headed; his fingers began to shake, and he couldn't seem to find the buttonhole.
And he'd thought he'd be the one to seduce Vash, not the other way around. Well, the gunman had proved to be nothing but surprises already, so he almost should have expected it.
Vash's other hand slid between their bodies and one finger traced a slow path down Wolfwood's cock, leaving a throbbing trail in its wake. As the rest of his hand cupped Wolfwood firmly, the priest gave up all pretense at undoing the button and dropped his hands. His head fell back of its own accord, and he peered at Vash through eyes clouded with lust. The gunman was smiling at him, sweet and unassuming.
Then abruptly he found himself on his back on the bed, with Vash straddling him. He put up no resistance as first his jacket and then his shirt was removed; he could only lie there, moaning, eyes closed, as a warm tongue traced across his chest, leaving a damp trail as it taunted his nipples into erectness.
His fingers found themselves twined in Vash's hair of their own accord, making unruly waves of it, tightening momentarily each time Vash found a particularly sensitive spot. He gasped and cursed as sharp teeth left their mark on his neck, his shoulders, and he whimpered as they dug into the skin over his ribs.
Metal fingers found their way inside his pants, cold and unforgiving as they clasped his rigid cock, and squeezed it gently. Wolfwood's eyes flew open, his moan caught in his throat. Vash was leaning close over his face, watching him; those vivid green eyes were softened with desire, his mouth slightly open, the tip of his tongue visible, and now Wolfwood could hear his quiet panting.
"God.. Vash.. please.." he managed, all thought, all feeling, focused on the desperate need between his legs.
"Leave God out of this one," Vash grinned at him, and then leaned closer still, covering Wolfwood's mouth with his own, a hard, bruising kiss, and the metal hand that clasped him begun to pump, slowly, squeezing, rhythmic. His hips bucked, involuntarily, and he moaned against Vash's lips, as the gunman's tongue claimed his; all he could think of was Vash and the ecstasy that was was his fingers.
Vash's other hand removed Wolfwood's pants completely, and then returned to cup his balls, massaging them softly, and Wolfwood's already half-closed eyes fluttered completely shut. The cold, metal hand that encased him so completely, that pumped him so smoothly, was nothing short of divine, and he rocked in time with it, rising to meet its movements, lost in the feel of it; it began to speed up, and he moved his hips faster. His moans were lost to him, stolen by Vash's demanding mouth, as was his tongue, captured and tormented.
One of Vash's fingers slid down from his balls, probing his anus, slipping inside. It wriggled, deeper, and suddenly there were lights sparking all through Wolfwood's body, arcing up to behind his closed eyes, and back down through him, and he cried out, breaking the long kiss, as he came, forcefully, ramming desperately into Vash's hand. He felt the warmth of his cum splattering across his bare chest, and then he collapsed, panting as well now, against the bed.
Metal fingers scraped across his chest, and he opened his eyes, watching as Vash raised his hand to his lips, licking cum slowly off his fingers, one by one. The hand dipped down across his chest again, and then raised towards Vash's mouth once more, and Wolfwood caught it halfway, and brought it to his own mouth. The taste of his seed on metal was strangely alluring, and he licked the fingers clean.
Vash grinned down at him, and leaned over, tongue tracing across his chest where the fingers had just been, cleaning him carefully. He shivered at the damp trail left behind, and sat up, slowly, still tingling inside from the intensity of his orgasm. Vash sat back on his knees, and Wolfwood stared at him, still completely clothed, save for the removed gloves. He wondered what the gunman was hiding under all that cloth.
Well, if anyone was going to find out, it was him.
He reached out, catching Vash behind the neck, pulling him close for a kiss, this one soft and teasing. His other hand snaked around Vash's waist, and then he took advantage of the situation, and rolled the both of them over.
Now he was on top, the gunman sprawled beneath him, and he took a moment to admire him, all spiky hair and sparkling eyes and knowing smile. Then he reached determinedly for the top button of Vash's coat.
"No distracting me this time," he threatened, and Vash's smile widened.
"Wouldn't dream of it." The gunman spread his arms wide, as if to prove that he was innocent, and Wolfwood smirked as he unbuttoned the coat. There were a lot of buttons. But slowly, the coat parted beneath his fingers, revealing a bare chest, crisscrossed with scars. As he undid the final button the coat fell completely open, and he stopped to stare for a moment at the sheer number of scars covering Vash's body; at the mishmash of metal holding him together and ravaged, puckered skin where he'd been torn apart.
"You sure do take a beating.." he murmured, running his hand across a particularly deep scar, and Vash's skin twitched in response to his caress.
"I never go down without a fight," Vash replied, softly, turning his head to one side; he looked up at Wolfwood through lowered eyelashes, and Wolfwood sighed, struck again by how beautiful he was.
"How very Vash the Stampede." He lowered his lips to Vash's chest, to the same scar he'd been touching, tracing the haphazard groove with his tongue, leaving a long trail of saliva, and Vash sighed, a small moan escaping him.
Wolfwood explored slowly, learning every scar, every cut, every sliver of metal that left a strange tang in his mouth, and Vash began to twitch and quiver under him, his moans becoming louder with every lick.
Wolfwood's hands explored as well, following the wet, sticky path left by his tongue, moving ever lower, until he met the tight-fitting band of Vash's pants. He paused, then sat up a little to inspect them. Soon enough, his fingers had them undone, and the straining bulge between the gunman's legs, now held only by his underwear, pressed forcefully against his hand. He stroked it gently, and Vash groaned, pressing up against his touch.
Wolfwood smirked a little. But first things first; to get all this confining clothing out of the way. He began to peel Vash's pants off, but was confounded by the gunman's heavily buckled boots.
"Let me," Vash said, with a grin, and sat up a little, letting his coat slide off his arms. His fingers quickly picked the buckles undone with practiced ease, and then he was discarding them and his pants on the floor. That done, he lay back down, and looked up at Wolfwood, a waiting expression on his face.
"You make everything look easy," Wolfwood growled, amused, and then he leaned down, pressing his body against Vash's, now almost naked, bare skin against bare skin, warm and delightful. He kissed those swollen lips, then moved down, nipping at the gunman's neck. Then further still, down his chest and stomach, across the ridges of his scars.
He ran his tongue along the edge of Vash's underwear, and Vash moaned loudly, crotch thrusting up towards Wolfwood's face. Wolfwood took the hint, and his fingers hooked under the material, sliding it down and out of the way. Vash's cock, freed at last, stood rigid and throbbing in front of his eyes; long and thick, its head damp with pre-cum.
Wolfwood ran his fingers around the head, catching up the fluid, and taut skin quivered under his touch. He followed it with his tongue, and Vash whimpered above him, hips rocking up again.
Finally, he took it into his mouth, filling himself with the taste and feel of Vash's flesh, tongue wrapping around it, tracing along the pulsing veins. Vash begin to moan, a long, continous sound, heady and sensual to his ears, and as the gunman began to thrust into his mouth, Wolfwood sucked harder, finding a rhythm to match.
Vash's fingers twined in his short hair, holding him in place, and long legs wrapped themselves around his shoulders. He was caught and bound, to suckle until Vash was sated, and somehow the idea turned him on; the familiar warmth pooling in his groin.
He sucked harder, hastening the rhythm a notch; one hand reached up to find the metal gridwork that hid Vash's left nipple, to tease the skin around it that had proved so sensitive earlier. Vash's long moan became louder, and as Wolfwood wrapped his other hand around the rest of the gunman's shaft, jerking in time to his sucking, the moan took on a frantic pitch.
The legs around him tightened, and he tightened his mouth's hold, sucking for all he was worth.
"Wolfwood!" His name was gasped, a sound full of delirious pleasure, as Vash came in his mouth, jerking and twitching, his seed filling Wolfwood and making him gag a little. It spilled from his mouth, coating his fingers, as Vash continued to pound into him for a moment.
Then all tenseness left Vash's body, his limbs dropping to the bed, freeing Wolfwood at last, and the priest raised his head and looked up. Vash's eyes were closed, his cheeks red, and the stunned look of sensuous delight on his face was enough to make Wolfwood moan himself; already turned on, he found himself hard again, and he reached out to touch that gorgeous face, to reassure himself it was real.
As his fingers caressed one damp cheek, Vash's bright eyes opened, smiling up at him, and long legs hooked themselves around him again.
"Don't tell me you want more?" the gunman teased, and Wolfwood grinned.
"I want you."
"Then take me." Vash's tongue darted out to lick the tips of Wolfwood's fingers, and he sighed, his cock hardening further. He slipped his fingers inside the gunman's mouth, and a tongue wrapped around them, as Vash's eyes half-lidded, his gaze turning wanton, silently begging him to get on with it.
Wolfwood's other hand was still sticky from Vash's orgasm, and he slid it down between Vash's legs, seeking his opening. One finger slid inside, slick and wet, and Vash shuddered under him. He slid another finger in, coating the entrance with cum, when abruptly a hand caught him around the wrist.
"Just do it already," Vash commanded, his voice muffled around Wolfwood's fingers, and he nipped them gently with his teeth. Wolfwood removed his fingers from Vash's mouth, and then gave up on the lubricating; instead, he shuffled forward on his knees, until the tip of his cock was pressed against Vash's hole.
He paused, looking up at the gunman, and Vash rolled his eyes, his legs tightening their grip around Wolfwood's waist, tugging him insistently forward.
Wolfwood smiled, and pushed himself into Vash; the gunman was so tight it was almost too much for him, forcing a groaning sigh from him even as he held where he was, trapped and caught completely inside Vash's warmth.
"Yow!" Vash's voice was more whine than anything, his expression pained, his body quivering under Wolfwood, and the priest grabbed him around the waist, holding him still; the extra movement only excited him more.
"I told you," he began, and then Vash stilled in his grasp, and grinned up at him.
"Aren't your lambs meant to suffer? So make me suffer."
Wolfwood gaped at him for a moment, and then Vash ground down, impaling himself further on Wolfwood, and the priest moaned, his cock throbbing and desperate for more. Almost unaware, he slid out and then back in again, and Vash arched a little under him, eyes starting to close, a soft sigh escaping his ravaged mouth.
Wolfwood began to pump into Vash, slowly at first, savouring just how tight and hot the gunman was around him; but that, combined with the sight of Vash's pale, scarred body writhing beneath him, blonde hair damp with sweat, green eyes dark and distant with desire, red lips open and sticky, was almost too much for him.
His pace quickened, pounding into the lean body, and he hooked his arms around Vash's shoulders, lifting the gunman towards him, leaning forward to kiss him hard, desperately. Vash panted into his mouth, their kiss breaking and meeting again as their bodies rocked together.
Vash's cock, hardening again, bobbed against Wolfwood's stomach in time with their movements, and Wolfwood reached down to catch it, tugging it in a rhythm to match. Vash's urgent lips sought his neck, haphazard kisses raining down on the sensitive skin, and then suddenly teeth bit into him, sharp and painful.
It was the final straw, the thing that sent him over the edge, and he cried out, thudding forcefully into Vash as pleasure flooded through him in waves, washing over and over him; he was dizzy with it. He felt his hot seed spurting up into Vash, filling him, and then the gunman cried out, softly, wordlessly, and Wolfwood distantly felt the cock between his fingers convulsing.
Vash whimpered a little, clinging to him, and Wolfwood lay them both down on the bed, wrapping his arms around the gunman, unwilling to let him go either, after something so intense.
He closed his eyes for a moment, revelling in the last remnants of his orgasm, and in the simple pleasure of being so close to the man he'd desired since setting eyes on him. Then he opened them again, and looked at Vash; soft green eyes were focused on him, a small smile playing at the corners of Vash's mouth, a satisfied expression on his face.
"If that's your idea of quiet, then make sure you let me know when you want to make some real noise," Wolfwood said, and Vash laughed softly, his breath warm and soothing against Wolfwood's skin.