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Having downtime was a luxury Wolfwood was not often afforded these days.
Perhaps he should have been prepared for that, having taken a job veritably babysitting humanity’s first localised natural disaster, but usually, being a hitman was a much less exciting job than one might expect. Sure, staring Death in the face and spitting blood at her feet was a feeling like no other, and he never felt more alive than when he pulled the trigger of the Punisher, but those moments were usually few and far between. His days used to mostly consist of waiting for orders, haunting the local pub of some town in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere for weeks on end until a new job popped up.
Wolfwood used to hate the waiting, spending all his time drowning himself in drink, restlessly counting down the hours and trying desperately not to think too hard about how his life had led him to that point. Travelling with Vash was a different story altogether. Since their introduction, Wolfwood had run more iles, been shot at with more bullets, and spent more time in one person’s company than he ever had in his entire life leading up to that point. There was never a dull moment, whether they were chatting over the roar of a motorbike or destroying another town.
And the thing was, Wolfwood was enjoying himself, far too much. Vash was like a breath of fresh air, or a sip of clean water after days of going without. Though things had been a bit rocky between them at points, it was never long before they slipped back into their easy companionship. In all honesty, the past few months of his life had been the best Wolfwood had ever experienced. Of course, he would rather put a bullet between his eyes than admit that out loud, but no one had ever accused him of being emotionally intelligent.
The room they ended up in this time around was nearly indistinguishable from the dozens of others the pair of them had shared over the past few months. It was constructed entirely out of dull sandstone, with ominous cracks running up the walls and along the ceiling. The window had no panes, only a stiff, creaky shutter that opened out onto an unlit side-street. Only one side of the curtain remained, which was a truly atrocious shade of yellow, and it fluttered lethargically in the faint breeze. The sounds of a bustling nightlife filtered in through the open window, likely from the nearby pub that they had snagged a bottle of viciously strong booze from earlier in the night.
The pair of them sat on two mismatched wooden chairs in front of the window with a wobbly little table between them. Wolfwood was nursing their bottle and finishing up a cigarette, watching Vash as he tinkered with an ancient, broken radio. The poor thing had been completely gutted, innards strewn across the tabletop as his companion tried to bring it back to life. Vash’s tongue was peeking out just a little out of the corner of his lips, and Wolfwood realised suddenly that he’d been staring at his mouth for what was probably an unacceptable amount of time. He glanced away quickly.
One double bed sat very obtrusively in the middle of the room, which was narrow enough that they had to shuffle sideways to pass between the foot of the bed and the wall. It was actually pretty comfy looking, compared to some of the monstrosities they had slept on in the past.
Perhaps the strangest thing about the thought of sharing the bed was how little it even crossed his mind now. Wolfwood had spent most of his life unable to sleep if anyone had even been in the room, let alone touching him. His hyper-vigilance had saved his life too many damn times for him to just be able to turn it off at the drop of a hat. As such, even sleeping in the same vicinity as Vash had taken some getting used to.
The bed splitting had begun out of necessity one night, a lack of available funds and a scam artist doubling as an innkeeper forcing them into a proximity neither of them were actually comfortable with. Vash had initially insisted on sleeping in his bedroll on the floor, but it was the first time in far too long that they had an actual bed to sleep in, so Wolfwood told him in no uncertain terms to grow the fuck up and share the bed. It was testament to Vash’s exhaustion (and how disgusting that floor had been) that he barely put up a fuss, and the pair of them had awkwardly positioned themselves back-to-back beneath the paper thin sheet, which of course had been too small to cover either of them comfortably. They had both been fully clothed, only shedding coats and shoes, and in spite of their best efforts it had been impossible to fit all eight of their excessively long limbs on the mattress without touching. Wolfwood hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep that night, overly aware of every point of contact between them. Judging by Vash’s yawning the morning after, neither had he.
However, once you travel together with someone for an extended period of time, you start to notice some things. Wolfwood discovered pretty quickly that Vash couldn’t sit still for five seconds under threat of death, that he had a disgustingly sweet tooth, and that he didn’t snore but he did thrash around in his sleep. It took a bit longer to notice that he bit his lip with too-sharp fangs when he was trying to find the right words, that he always messed with his prosthetic when he was hiding something, and that his eyes crinkled at the edges when his smile was genuine. It took him far too long to realise that Vash ran as hot as a Goddamned furnace, but as soon as he did, Wolfwood stopped shivering his way through miserably cold nights camping out in the desert and instead crawled his way into Vash’s bedroll to leech off his inhuman warmth.
After that, there was no point in playing at modesty really. It didn’t make much of a difference whether they were curled up together on the dusty ground under the glittering night sky in the middle of the open desert or on top of a stained mattress in a shitty little hostel, aside from the occasional raised eyebrow from a receptionist who had somehow not been completely numbed by their merciless job. In any case, they had much better things to waste their money on than a second bed or, God forbid, a second room. Things like bullets, half-decent food, and terrible, terrible booze.
“Aha!”
It seemed Vash’s fiddling with the radio had finally yielded some results, and static burst forth from the ancient device. His face lit up like a thousand suns, and he turned the full force of his smile onto Wolfwood. Charmed and indulgent, as always, he clapped politely at Vash’s victory, who in turn gave a dramatic half bow, one arm pressed against his stomach and the other flung outward. Against his will, Wolfwood felt a dangerously fond smile creep across his face, curling his lips upward and creasing the corners of his eyes. With the buzz of the alcohol, however, the usual alarm bells that went off when Vash’s antics lit a fire in his chest to warm his body and soul was conspicuously absent, and he felt no urge to force his face into a scowl to overcompensate for his sentimentality.
With his own triumphant grin still in place, Vash slotted the back onto the radio and began messing with the knobs so white noise filled their little room, not quite drowning out the ambient sounds of the night but certainly making them more indistinguishable.
Wolfwood stubbed out the butt of his cigarette, and listened as the static resolved a smooth, soft voice.
“You’re just too good to be true,
can’t take my eyes off of you.”
He surprised himself by recognising the tune, as Vash began to hum along to the melody. He began to tap his fingers to be beat, prosthetic fingers making an odd, metallic noise as they hit against the wood. Before long he was swaying with the music and singing softly along. A thought seemed to strike him – Wolfwood could practically see the lightbulb appearing above his head - and he rose fluidly to his feet.
“Come on Nicholas,” he pleaded, and damn it all, Wolfwood was so weak to it, it wasn’t even funny.
Vash could mouth off like no one’s business, complaining about any little thing just to fill the silence; to piss Wolfwood off and pass the time. However, despite his whining he very rarely asked for something genuinely. Wolfwood knew that he didn’t even think he deserved the bare minimum required to survive, let alone indulge in something superfluous. He was a man who only knew how to give, and give, and give until there was nothing left.
Wolfwood sometimes wondered if that was inherent trait of his species, or if humanity was really as awful as Knives made them out to be. Wolfwood’s own experiences made him fairly confident it was the latter, and the thought of Vash curled up in one of those tiny tanks, wasting away as people consumed his very life-force, solidified that theory into certainty. In any case, when a man who often refused to eat out of pure self-loathing and guilt turned a pair of devastatingly effective puppy-dog eyes his way in front of a donut stand, how was Wolfwood supposed to say no.
Still mouthing along to the words, Vash grabbed onto his hands, tugging him up to stand with wide, imploring eyes. Wolfwood felt himself already on the verge of cracking, just from a look.
As the brassy pre-chorus kicked in, a truly stupid idea popped into his head. He took one last swig from the nearly empty bottle for courage and placed it roughly down on the table as the music swelled. Then, just before the first words of the chorus, he flung himself to his feet, nearly headbutting Vash in the process. As he recoiled, inhuman reflexes kicking in like clockwork, Wolfwood grabbed his wrists to reel him back in, pulling them chest to chest as he took a deep breath.
“I love you baby,” he sang, voice hushed but deafening between them.
Vash’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening almost comically in his shock. It was an expression Wolfwood only saw rarely, one of his genuine ones, and something in him preened at the fact that it was him that caused it, as it always did when he managed to pull back the cheerful façade that Vash put up to hide himself from the world. Another part of him, one that was screaming louder and louder as the milliseconds passed, was deeply embarrassed. He could feel the tips of his ears warming, and his heart accelerating like he had just entered a gunfight. But Wolfwood was not a man who did anything by half measures, so even as Vash froze in front of him, he continued.
“-and if it's quite alright,
I need you baby,
to warm the lonely night.”
And then something truly miraculous happened. Vash’s face opened, blooming like a flower after a once-in-a-lifetime shower of rain. His smile crept across his face as if he couldn’t help it, and his eyes crinkled, closing halfway with the force of his delight. They shone brighter than the stars in the sky, more radiant than any celestial phenomenon. Fond didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face.
Wolfwood felt his breath catch in his throat, and his next words came out strained. Luckily for him, Vash was there to pick up his slack as always. He joined in smoothly, voice as bright as his smile.
“Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray-“
As they sang together, they began to dance. It was an awkward, uncoordinated mess, the pair of them too distracted with each other to really pay attention to what they were doing. They bumped up against each other, the table, the chairs. Wolfwood was fairly certain he stepped on Vash’s toes hard enough to bruise, and Vash lost his footing momentarily, accidentally pushing Wolfwood into the table with a wince. But as they continued, they found their rhythm around each other, as they always did, and while their dancing smoothed out, their voices grew more confident, encouraged by each other’s accompaniment.
Wolfwood stopped fighting to keep the smile off his face. If he was going to commit to his bad decisions, then the least he could do was indulge himself and enjoy them to their fullest, right? And God, did Vash make it easy to make bad decisions. His voice was sweet and gentle, skilled enough to be pleasant but amateur enough to be endearing, and he was looking at Wolfwood like he’d just hung the moons and the stars.
As the song eased into the next verse, Wolfwood pulled Vash close against him, slotting his hands around his narrow waist. In return, Vash grabbed the lapel of his open shirt in one hand and slid the other up onto his shoulder. As they began to sway, Wolfwood practically crooned low in his throat.
“You’re just too good to be true-”
Their sudden proximity seemed to have quieted Vash for a moment. A blush was beginning to dust along his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and his smile had turned just a bit bashful. It was exactly the reaction Wolfwood had been aiming for, and he ate up the sight like a starving man. Even pressed so close together, their heads tipped towards each other as if they were gravitationally bound, destined to collide and consume each other. Their noses brushed once, twice, and each split second of contact struck Wolfwood harder than a punch to the face.
Vash drew in a shaky breath, his eyes half-lidded and the blush now lighting up his face and stretching down his neck. Wolfwood wanted desperately to kiss him, to feel the burning heat of him against his lips, but his mouth was occupied with the music for the time being. Still, he was very tempted to ruin the moment altogether, until Vash pressed their foreheads together, satiating his immediate need for contact. His partner closed his eyes for a second, and Wolfwood had seen that look on his face before, the rare time they indulged in food they couldn’t afford. He looked like he was savouring the taste of this precious moment, committing every detail to memory.
As the verse ended and the music picked back up, Vash reopened his eyes, and the shyness had been suddenly replaced by pure mischief. The mood shift had Wolfwood reeling for a second, brows furrowing in confusion. Vash just grinned his little shit-eating grin, tapping their foreheads together, and did not elaborate. Just in the nick of time, Wolfwood realised what was going on, what Vash was planning to do. How he did so was lost even to him, but if there was one thing he was good at, it was getting in Vash’s head.
(Well, there were plenty of other things he was good at, but not many he was more proud of. Vash was an enigma in too many ways to keep track of, and Wolfwood had long since given up on understanding him. But he knew him, intuited how Vash ticked through barely-there micro-expressions, the little titbits of information about himself Vash drip-fed to him, and far too much time spent solely in each other’s company. He knew him better than any other person on this Godforsaken planet - estranged twins included, thank you very much - and it was probably more tragic than romantic, but it still made something in him too pleased when he read Vash like an open book.)
In any case, it meant Wolfwood was prepared, and when the chorus came back in, they leaned back away from each other and tipped their heads up to the ceiling in sync.
“I LOVE YOU BABY-“ they half-sang, half-screamed, loud enough that they could probably be heard from the next town over.
Wolfwood let go of Vash’s waist, and quickly grabbed at his arms as he tipped backwards, suddenly unbalanced. After some mild flailing and some very squeaky noises from the blond gunman, they recovered their equilibrium. Without skipping a beat or missing a note, Wolfwood tugged them both back vertical with enough force that their heads jerked forward and nearly collided. Not stopping to give Vash – still reeling from two near-miss counts of head trauma in as many seconds – any time to recover, Wolfwood took the lead in another dance. This one involved much more movement, stepping back and forth and sideways and around their very limited space. Wolfwood twirled his poor overwhelmed partner around so much he must have been dizzy, because he had dissolved into giggly mess.
Loud, light-hearted laughter spilled almost helplessly from Vash’s lips, and his shoulders were shaking from the force of his mirth. Tears were just beginning to form at the corner of his eyes, making them shine even more dazzlingly than before. They always closed just a little when he was smiling genuinely, but now he was squinting like he was looking at the sun instead of a fraudulent, bloodstained priest. His smile split his face open, wider than Wolfwood had ever seen it before, and it was him who had done that, who had put that smile there. He was practically glowing with happiness, ethereally stunning as they spun around a tiny hostel room. Wolfwood had to sing louder to drown out the wave of affection threatening to burst out of him.
As the music faded out, Wolfwood at long last allowed himself to kiss him. He brushed his lips gently over Vash’s cheeks, his nose, his chin, all the flushed little spots that made him want to squish his face between his hands, to wrap him up in blankets and hide him away from the horrors of the world, to hold him down and wreck him.
There was a word for the feeling consuming him - four little letters and the weight of the world.
Vash still hadn’t quite managed to stop laughing, and Wolfwood wasn’t quite prepared to stop hearing it either. He started peppering kisses all across his face, tiny little pecks practically too quick to feel, except Vash was very sensitive and very ticklish, so his giggling started back up in earnest. He tried in vain tried to escape the assault, pushing weakly at Wolfwood’s chest and stepping backwards to get away from him. Unfortunately for him, Wolfwood was a man on a mission, and he gave chase mercilessly, refusing to give even an inch of ground.
The back of Vash’s legs hit the bed, and Wolfwood shoved him gently, so he landed on the mattress with a wheeze. He leaned down over his partner, tucking himself easily between his legs and bracing his forearms either side of his head. The abrupt change in position let his own laughter - which he had caught off of Vash, more contagious than any virus - burst out. He did his best to muffle it in Vash’s neck, but he wasn’t very successful, judging by the picking up of his companion’s previously easing laughter. They were caught in a giggling feedback loop, each of them feeding the flame of the other’s amusement. It grew louder and more hysterical as time went on, and tears started streaming down their faces. Vash’s laugh was becoming more and more wheezy as he ran out of air, and Wolfwood was pretty sure he let out a few very unflattering snorts.
Eventually, they managed to calm themselves down. Vash’s chest was heaving under him, more breathless than if he had been running for an hour straight away from a pack of determined bounty hunters. Wolfwood pressed his lips a few more times against his jaw, his nose, the corner of his mouth, before he finally, finally, slotted their lips together.
It felt like coming home. Wolfwood hadn’t had a home in roughly twenty years, but he had never forgotten the feeling, like he was right where he was meant to be. The world narrowed to just the gentle contact between them. Vash’s lips were soft and full, slightly chapped from the dry desert air, and he tasted like cheap whiskey. It was heavenly.
Eventually, the need for oxygen got the better of them, and they pulled apart. They laid together like that for a quiet, tranquil moment, catching their breaths. It was more comfortable than it had any right to be, considering their frankly awkward position. Vash was the one to break the silence with a question.
“How’d you even learn the lyrics to that song anyway? It’s older than me!”
Wolfwood tipped his head forward and grumbled into his collar. Vash’s hands came up to his hair, gently running his hands through his curls and scratching softly at his scalp. If Wolfwood were a Plant, he’d probably have started purring at the sensation. Why any species needed a biological reflex so adorable, he’d never understand. It was enough to distract him from the topic, until Vash went on cheekily.
“I knew you were secretly a sap!“
Refusing to let that baseless slander continue even a second further, Wolfwood cut him off.
“It was cuz of the orphanage. We had a vinyl, must’ve been from the spacefaring age it was so old. The thing was scratched to hell and back, so that was pretty much the only song on it worth listening to.”
Vash had stilled at the first mention of his childhood, holding a breath for a second as Wolfwood started talking. He restarted his ministrations after a moment, but he was obviously paying attention, focused entirely on the words coming out of Wolfwood’s mouth. It still surprised him sometimes, how much Vash cared about him, genuinely and wholeheartedly. It ached as much as it soothed.
“Do you know how many damn times I listened to that song on that damn record player?” he growled out. “An unbearable amount. That song might be nice for the first hundred listens, but the next thousand make you wanna tear your hair out.”
Vash huffed out a tiny laugh at that, more air than sound. He pushed a bit at Wolfwood’s head, tucking it further into his collar.
“Hmm, I dunno,” he teased. “You seemed to be enjoying it, you were definitely singing loud enough. I’ll be surprised if we don’t get noise complaints tomorrow. “
“Like I was the one making the most noise! I’m pretty sure your stupid cackle could be heard all the way in December,” Wolfwood scoffed, and Vash huffed under him, offended. Only then did Wolfwood truly clock the compromising position they were in, and he smirked at the realisation.
“Anyway,” he leered. “If we’ve already gotten the noise complaint, we can be as loud as we want tonight. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that.”
He punctuated his words with a wet, open mouthed kiss to Vash’s jaw.
“Nicholas!” he gasped, jerking with shock at the sudden change of pace. His reaction did nothing to dissuade Wolfwood, who nipped at him teasingly before pulling back to look at him properly.
“Look at you! You’re blushing!” he cooed like an asshole, poking at his pink cheeks with as much condescension he could muster, which was a considerable amount.
“You’re the worst,” Vash groaned, covering his face with his hands.
The words were very obviously joking, a childish insult thrown out in retaliation to Wolfwood’s teasing, but they still gave him pause. For a second, the sickly sweet atmosphere fell away, and he felt like he’d dunked his head in cold water. It just hit a little close to home, too similar to the words Wolfwood spat at himself on his worst nights, filled with venom and vitriol. The thought of Vash being the one to say them instead made him feel like he’d been gutted – a feeling he was regrettably familiar with. The worst part of all was that it would be entirely justified.
“I know”
Something about his tone of voice must have revealed something to Vash because he uncovered his face immediately. Wolfwood didn’t know what expression was on his own face, but Vash frowned in response, concerned.
“Never mind, I take it back. You’re the best.”
He was practically tripping over himself trying to backtrack. Wolfwood just huffed in response and rolled his eyes, mildly embarrassed that he’d unintentionally made big deal out of nothing but an offhand comment made in response to his own provocation.
“I know you didn’t mean it like that Spikey,” he reassured, though it did nothing to take the troubled look off Vash’s face. “Besides, it’s not like you’re wrong.”
It was not the right thing to say. Vash’s face slackened momentarily, an expression so heartbroken on his face it made Wolfwood’s chest ache. It was as if the words had caused him actual physical pain, except he had seen Vash with his guts hanging out before, and had not look half as agonised as he did right this moment. Suddenly, his brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. Determined, he cupped Wolfwood’s face in his hands and sat up, forcing them both upright.
“Nicholas,” he said seriously, staring into his eyes with a piercing look he usually reserved for gunfights. All trace of the silly persona he layered on like armour was stripped away and left in its wake was Vash the Stampede, the man who could flatten a city if the desire ever stuck him. For an instant, Wolfwood couldn’t believe he was anything less than divine. “You’re the best partner I could ever ask for.”
Vash would have hit him more gently if he had punched Wolfwood in the face with his metal arm. It knocked the wind out of him, how Vash meant every single word. His sincerity was unquestionable, especially to Wolfwood who could read every emotion flitting across his face, every feeling flickering through his eyes. Vash could have his pick of every person in the world, anyone he’d met and lived with and loved in his painfully long life, and he’d still choose Wolfwood to stand by his side every time. It was overwhelming, impossible, unthinkable - but Wolfwood knew better than anyone how Vash spit in the face of possibility.
Maybe it was just Vash’s lack of self-preservation kicking in again, latching onto what he thought he deserved instead of what was actually best for him, but Wolfwood couldn’t help the way it affected him, no matter how hard he tried. Vash wanted him. Vash loved him, somehow against all odds. His eyes were burning, his throat closing around an emotion so powerful it hurt. He drew in a shuddering breath, and stuttered out an exhale, trying desperately to compose himself.
“You can’t just say that shit with a straight face Spikey,” he managed to get out, choking on his own tongue. Vash’s eyes flitted between his own, and he must have found something he was looking for because his face softened, lost the uncharacteristic intensity that made Wolfwood’s heart stop in his chest. He almost regretted its departure when it was followed by a thoroughly smug grin.
“Now who’s the one blushing!”
Wolfwood spluttered, and much to his embarrassment he could feel his already warm cheeks heating even more under Vash’s hands like they were responding to the attention. Vash - only slightly less of an asshole than Wolfwood himself - began to laugh.
“Why you little-“
Wolfwood growled and tackled Vash back onto the bed, where an impromptu wrestling match began. All the way through, Vash continued to laugh, until Wolfwood found a much better use for his mouth.
Later on in the night, when even the sounds of revelry outside had quieted, they laid in bed together, sweat drying on skin still heated from exertion. Wolfwood was half propped up against the headboard, nearing the end of his last cigarette of the night. Vash was pressed against his side, limbs curled around him like he still couldn’t get close enough, even after all that had happened that night. Wolfwood’s free hand was petting slowly at his soft hair. The hazy post-sex contentment only intensified the warm, syrupy feeling filling his chest.
As he looked down at his partner, it felt like the problems that dogged at their heels – xenophobic twin brothers, deranged child-snatching cults, a betrayal of biblical proportions - were a million iles away. He could almost imagine that they were just two men basking in each other’s welcome company, sharing a brief respite before they let their wanderlust claim them again in the morning, pulling them in the direction of a destination that didn’t matter so long as they were together. Just for a moment, he could see them spending the rest of their days together like this, with this easy companionship and warm contentment that made even this shabby hostel feel like heaven on earth.
“Spikey.”
Vash hummed, inquisitive and sleepy, and it reverberated through his chest like a ringing bell. Wolfwood felt like he was about to combust with affection. Love burned like fire in his veins, and self-immolation had never felt so good.
“Next time, pick a better song.”
Wolfwood could feel the way Vash’s lips curled into a smile against his ribs. It was a dangerous game he was playing, he knew. They both knew. The future had nothing but heartbreak in store for the both of them, and entertaining a more pleasant alternative even for a moment just meant that when the penny finally dropped, it was going to be even more painful. It was pure masochism, plain and simple.
Maybe it suited the pair of them, two gluttons for punishment – an angel with a death wish, and a hitman who’d fallen in love with his Goddamned mark. A match made in heaven.
But perhaps it meant something that two men who hated themselves with such vitriol could put it aside for the sake of each other, if even for a time. That even the two most miserable bastards on Gunsmoke could spend a night smiling and laughing and singing, carefree as a train barrelled towards where they were tied to the tracks together, a sight so appalling it was impossible to look away.
Maybe the love wouldn’t change anything about this tragedy in the making. It wouldn’t save either of them, wouldn’t prevent the agony, wouldn’t make it all worth it. But the love was there, and Wolfwood was sure that meant something important. That mattered.
“Next time.”