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Aside from the quiet whirrs of fluorescent lights and the muted taps of their shoes around them, Vash's amplified senses could only hear agitated heartbeats.
One that didn't belong to him, but that couldn't be his too, right?
He didn't have reasons to be, did he? Hadn't he done his job well; escorting Vash to his brother's clutches in one piece (or whatever piece left of him)? If anything, shouldn't he be delighted? Relieved that he could finally free the orphanage from Eye of Michael? He could come back to those kids and live a normal life as he should, no longer having to kill so one of them wouldn't have to touch a single gun in their life.
Vash always thought it'd be a waste for a man who had such gentle hands to shed blood just so whom he considered precious and priceless would never see theirs tainted with the same pungent crimson. He might've refuted Vash's claims most of the times, but Vash knew a kind heart when he saw one, and he saw it within those rough, beautiful irises of brown.
Vash couldn't help but smile.
He had always been so truthful, so loyal and so caring; at the same time ruthless, brash, and callused beyond forgiveness. Vash hated to be the reason why the world had to reshape countless of humans, including him, into breathing weapons in order to adhere to his brother's mission.
(Vash hated to be the reason why he considered himself undeserving of Vash, when Vash couldn't think of any other man he wanted to find salvation in from)
But it was okay now. He had finished his job, and he was going to come home to where he wouldn't have to lift his Punisher ever again.
Perhaps he could try to be a real priest this time; cross that undertaker title from his skin and let only prayers of joy and life colour his tongue. He could be a place where people received absolution from, a place where people sought guidance after traversing the wrong path, a place where people clasped their hands together and had his lips kiss them so they knew they had been forgiven.
(If he could give those and more to Vash, then he could do, too, for others, even if Vash never understood why he believed Vash had no need for any penance)
He finally got to be happy, and that was all Vash wanted him to be.
It was okay. Vash's own prayer didn't matter if he included himself in the picture.
Vash's own prayer only mattered when it was for him.
"Wolfwood."
He stopped, and threw a look over his shoulder. His maroon shades had slid lower over the bridge of his nose, allowing his eyes to bathe in artificial, soulless lighting. Vash resented it, for nothing suited him more than a new dawn to look after and cherish.
And yet, despite the promises of death haunting July's vivid shadows, despite the promises of worse haunting Vash's steps, he was still beautiful.
Another name sat heavy on his tongue; longing to be voiced, longing to take root beneath his ribcage, but Vash feared the eyes in the air, the ears on the walls. He didn't want to throw in doubts to the miniscule chances of his brother not letting him go. If he were to go, then he'd leave July with no strings attached.
None to Eye of Michael, none to NaーKnives, and especially none to Vash.
So it was up to him to cut the strings off.
(Even if it tore his heart all the same)
With a soft smile, Vash opened his mouth.
Nicholas met him halfway.
Vash's hands found purchase in his hair, tugging at dark strands matted by sands and gritting heat, almost scalding to his fingertips. They needed to take shower soon, but just this once, Vash wanted to taste selfishness he knew he'd also sip from Nicholas's mouth. Nicholas's hand was rough from where it wrapped his waist in a death grip, his strength admonishing but grounding in its sincerity, and to his embrace Vash willingly fell.
Nicholas's tongue nudged in for permission, and when given he was everything Vash's senses could comprehend. Nicholas bore no fear when he grazed Vash's fangs, nor he hesitated when he sucked on Vash's tongue and drew a soft whimper from him. His chest was warm from where he was pressed against Vash's front, upper rows unbuttoned and steady heartbeat speaking contentment. Nicholas had always run hot, his blood pumping in whimsical rush and his veins bulging during peak of ecstasy, and it was a heat Vash never minded to be doused in for the rest of his life.
Should Nicholas ever be granted eternity, Vash wanted them to share it together.
Punisher safely propped against the wall, Nicholas took a step forward, and Vash took a step back. Zeroed as he was on Nicholas's warmth, Vash let out a squeak when the back of his knees bumped the bed, fists balling Nicholas's blazer in instinct as they stumbled into a mess of long limbs and wandering hands on the mattress caked by something only God knows whatーthat was, if He decided to ever bat an eye to this place.
Vash sure didn't. His eyes trailed up, and he was greeted by Nicholas's rakish grin. Caught by moonlight, silver on tanned jaws and white against teeth, he looked every ounce of a predator his name suggested.
"Well hello there, angel."
His lips were pinkish and slick, wanton nips from Vash's fangs annulled the chapped pads into a treat sweeter than donuts despite the perpetual aftertaste of nicotine on him. Vash found that it wasn't the taste of Nicholas's lips that undid him, but simply the promises he breathed into Vash's lungs. He stayed, bringing with him his warmth and strength and mercy and gunpowder. Vash couldn't ask for a better messiah.
No more maroon shades hindered Vash's eyes from seeing him; in their place was a tender gaze well-enveloped by moons and stars, a rich brown of molten chocolate and a deep desire from days spent too long to endure alone. Having Vash sprawled underneath him, pliant and breathless and cerise bright, didn't exactly ebb the fire, and Vash squirmed under the profound attention, lips pulled into an abashed grin.
"Hey there," Vash chirped back, and Nicholas chuckled, crow's feet by the corner of his eyes growing from mirth. His fingers traced the metal of Vash's glasses, asking a silent question, and after a nod he placed it away on the nightstand next to the bed. He came back not even a second long, lips on Vash's nose and hands on Vash's jaws, as if Vash was a star and he was a besotted planet following his orbit for eons to come.
"Can't believe I managed to snag myself a snack tonight. You cold, pretty thing? Need a heater to keep your feathers nice and warm?" Nicholas's fingers teased the skin under his turtleneck, coarse tips and blunt nails drawing invisible lines along valley of scars, and Vash squealed, wriggling under his touch as laughter shook him to the bones and filled their shabby room.
That was unfair! Nicholas knew how sensitive his skin could be! He had no rights to sweet talk Vash and do him dirty like this!
"Nick!" Vash wheezed as his prosthetic hand went to squeeze his bicep in a wordless, desperate plea. Nicholas was good with his hands, this Vash knew after nights experiencing them unravelling jumbled knots of his soul inside out, but Nicholas too, had always been a tease that knew how to play Vash's body like an instrument.
It should've scared him, having hands that recognized his imperfections as intimate as he himself did, yet Nicholas still put his hands on Vash as if he was blind to the faults and guilts marring his body. Vash wanted to tell him to open his eyes more, but couldn't find it in him to throw away Nicholas's attention and smiles whenever Vash allowed him of touch.
Still, if Nicholas continued, Vash would never make it to the bathroom to wash the week-long journey from his muscles. At this point, he didn't have the strength to resist Nicholas anymore, all puddle and bubbling guffaws on the bed.
"Nico! Please!" Vash tried again as his cheeks began to sore from laughing too much. Even through his glistening eyes, the affection in Nicholas's eyes were unmistakable; he might as well spot it from iles away and won't have it any other way.
Eventually Nicholas relented after Vash looked a hair's breadth short from tears, his smile widening and sharp as if he just did humanity the biggest favour while in reality he only granted other occupants on the floor mercy from Vash's obnoxious laughter. Slipping out from Vash's turtleneck, Nicholas's hands found another job to do by pushing his red jacket off his shoulders and popping the tiny button of the small strap connecting his prosthetic plate to the worn material, his motions slow and natural as if he was attuned to Vash's own inurement.
"I can do it by myself, you know," Vash said, voice still slightly airy. Even so, he made no further movements aside from stretching his arm or twisting his body so Nicholas could shimmy the jacket and prosthetic arm off his person easier.
"Once in a while, darlin', let someone do it for you, yeah?" Nicholas murmured as he fingered Vash's collar, eyes rising to meet his in another question wordlessly uttered.
Vash smiled and nodded his yes.
Thus the turtleneck was off, deposited in a temporal heap together with his jacket and prosthetic on the bed. Vash prevented Nicholas's eyes from roaming the fouled expanse of his chest by propping himself to a sit and repeating the same motions of shrugging Nicholas's blazer and shirt off, until they both were left to their pants. Reduced into one hand didn't discourage Vash from taking his sweet time to skim his flesh fingers on Nicholas's sinews, dusts of dark hair rigid under his cold touch, and Nicholas let out a soft exhale as he curled into Vash, wide shoulders and heaving chest and all, much like the black cat they encountered on their way upstairs.
"Come on, Nick, we need to have shower, unless you want sleep with sands on your body," Vash cooed, helpless to stop his already sore cheeks from being split apart by his smile. Donning the moniker Punisher and sinking his hands into pools of blood on daily basis didn't allow Nicholas the harmless touch of someone wanting to know him for whom he actually was under the veneer of smoke and cold retribution, and it was only under Vash's fingertips that Nicholas had a breath that was warm and not giving out.
If Vash had the time, he'd indulge Nicholas's dreams as many as the other wished him to. If it also satiated the festering longing inside him to feel another person's touch, then Vash would consider it an additional benefit.
"Don't wanna," Nicholas mouthed the words along the column of Vash's neck. His lips made contact with the healing wound of a stray bullet from several days ago, and Vash couldn't tell if it was intentional or not. Nicholas had always loved to gentle the ugly sight of Vash's scars with a touch of his lips, as if he'd love nothing more but to taste every tear, every cut, every tissue torn and remade anew so Vash wouldn't have to bear their story alone anymore.
"Sleepy much?"
"Hell yeah I am. How many times we've been running across towns this week? Your ass is too sexy, you got people hunting it every day."
Vash could only splutter at the unexpected quip. "Does my ass really need a mention?!"
He felt more than saw Nicholas's lips curling on his neck. "It does, pretty. Though lucky me, they could never know the real treasure you have between your legs."
"Oh wow, never thought a tired Nick equals to a perverted Nick."
"Do excuse me, sugar, who's the one groping my chest minutes ago again?"
Vash slapped his back. Nicholas bit him on the neck in return. The minute pain startled him, but Vash was nothing if not accustomed. Plus, he knew Nicholas would never do something that brought him discomfort on purpose; he was as kind as that, even if he vehemently blinded himself on that regard.
It was okay. He'd always have Vash to witness his bone-deep kindness, one he wouldn't bare for the world out of fear it'd be ripped and stomped over.
"Fine, I'm guilty as charged." Vash huffed as he felt a pleasant tingle blossoming on his skin; no doubt it'd leave a mark tomorrow, a conspicuous bangle of reddish purple against porcelain, and Vash wanted it to. It was always nice to have something to remember by of their relationship, as scared as they were to label it.
(Because to label it meant acknowledging it in the open, and it wasn't a path they dared to take. Maybe in a kinder world, Vash could flaunt his conjoined hands with Nicholas's, but his brother had eyes everywhere the sky and sands touched.
Vash didn't want to risk Nicholas more than he already was)
Knowing a losing fight when he had one (a scoff awaited him sometime ahead for this statement), Vash let his muscles loosen until Nicholas's weight gave in on him, bringing them down on the mattress with Nicholas emitting a kind burn to Vash's frigid skin. His body had learnt to read the signs in the air since long; the change of temperatures and the shift of winds from myriad of years accumulating to No Man's Land's unsympathetic climate. His body had learnt to respond and adapt, but only with Nicholas that his body eased the rush in his veins in order to match his warmth.
Nicholas's skin was loved by the suns, so Vash had his own painted with the moons to compliment it.
"God, your body feels so cool. It's like heaven on this hell pit. Is this normal, darlin'?" Nicholas said with voice dripping heavy either from contentment or awe, arms sliding under his waist to wound firm around it.
"It is for me." Vash didn't explain further, and opted to toy with Nicholas's scalp; picking at dry strands of black and scratching his scalp. If it made Nicholas melt further both didn't comment on it. "Is this comfy enough for you, Nick? I know my body isn't the best pillow in the world..."
That earned him a humourless snort; somewhere along the lull of buzzing night Nicholas had maneuvered them to lay on their sides, chin on each other's shoulder. Broken, puzzle pieces that couldn't form a complete image, but it was the company that counted. "Sure it isn't. Got my nipple directly pressed to your metal cage and my nose to the bullet scar on your neck because you just had to try to talk the jackass out of it."
"... Sorry."
"You didn't hear me complaining, sweetheart, so don't."
Vash eventually settled with a small "okay" and nestled his face deeper to the slope of Nicholas's neck, scenting smoke and cheap whiskey and a hint of cloudless afternoons that called out to him; a reminder of their borrowed time, that no matter if how long they stretched their nights, dawn would still come, and closer to July they went.
But Vash still wanted to pretend. Have Nicholas's palms over his eyes to slide his eyelids shut, until all he could see was the dark of Nicholas's hair and the tinge of red of his lips searching his. Press their forehead together and kiss his nose, until all he could hear was the song of Nicholas's heart and the breeze in his breaths.
All play had their epilogue. This particular one, however, Vash prayed for it to last.
Quiet minutes yielded into an hour, and Vash began to feel the pinpricks of sands taking hold, almost like a colony of ants climbing his skin. He tried to not think of the worms as he softly nudged Nicholas.
"Nick."
"Mmmm..."
"We really need that shower."
Vash had to bit down the yelp threatening to escape him when Nicholas pinched his hip.
"Is this a ploy to shoo me away while you tend to another wound I haven't noticed?"
"Hey, I'm all clear right now!"
Nicholas shifted until they came face to face, his arched eyebrow fishing lies from Vash's pursued lip. "Are you, now?"
"A hundred percent!"
"Nah, doubt it. Let me check."
Vash completely missed the way Nicholas's lips curled into a smirk as he let the other roll atop of him, long, tawny limbs bracketing the amalgation of scars and defects that composed Vash the Stampede.
He only did when Nicholas explored his chest with his lips instead of his hands, damp and feverish and so gentle, and Vash thought a star collapsing into its core felt colder than his boiling cheeks right now.
"Nick?" Vash started, tentative, all dizzied as if a lit cord beneath his kisses.
"Relax, honey. Just wanna feel you," Nicholas said quietly; would've lost his voice to the night breeze if not for Vash's sharp hearing. His hands rested on the swell of Vash's hip bones, a weight that meant nothing more besides existing, and Vash slowly breathed out as he surrendered to his beloved.
It wasn't the first time Nicholas put Vash's body on a pedestal and worship him with touches far too telling what his heart dreaded to give voice to. And yet, it wouldn't be the last time Vash had his blood racing again, skin flushing, and lips trembling from the sheer feeling of being treated like someone barren of sins, like someone worthy of the reverent prayers from Nicholas's worn book.
Nicholas's lips bloomed small, unfurling warmth on his skin like flower petals. In every inhale, every exhale, they scattered sunrise over old scars that didn't know how to feel anymore. Vash still felt them making abode in his bones, nevertheless. Nicholas's lips skimmed stitches that stood out in pale white against the metal plate caging his pectoral, as if thinking he could sew Vash better than any wires could, and Vash wanted to say that he did; a dip of Nicholas's lips on him was enough to soothe every dead nerves and sunken tissues.
He didn't dare to say it aloud. Some desires were best left unspoken. But should Nicholas do something about it, Vash couldn't for the life of him object his wants.
He himself was a smitten hypocrite, you see.
Nicholas's kisses were silent and deep. Chaste in their benevolence, lingering in their evanescence. He mapped the slightly dark rings of exiting bullets, the angry red swatches, the tiny bolts digging into and keeping skin, the closed lips of stab wounds with so much care that if he didn't stop soon, Vash might also see the hallucination consuming Nicholas's eyes; that there was nothing wrong with his body, and it was just a nightmare imprinted vivid and loud.
Sometimes it was too much. Sometimes Vash felt too much from wandering kisses bearing no pity nor disgust and had to convince himself that it was just Nicholas. It was fine. He was fine.
Vash wasn't.
"Angel," Nicholas mouthed over the spot where a belly button supposed to take place, nails bending into his hip when Vash wriggled away from himーor at least tried to. If Nicholas could grip the Punisher for hours without dropping her, he'd have no trouble of locking Vash in. "Did I hurt you? Did I kiss a scar that still hurts? Tell me."
Vash couldn't. If he did, then Nicholas would've to tear the metal cage on his chest, break his ribcage open, and kiss his bleeding heart amidst its thunderous beats. And still he was tempted, however twisted the imagery might be; like gazing at the man above him and hoping to be able to name his love. Who knows, perhaps it'd be the ablution he needed so he could confidently side with Nicholas as a human cleansed anew.
Vash didn't. He hated that he was so many things but perfect for Nicholas.
Yet Nicholas read him so easily as if he was an unblemished piece of mirror, his emotions all out in the open to reflect in those dark irises. His face and smile softened, more than Vash thought to be possible, and he returned to his task of making each scar feel loved, even if they were never made of one.
"Vash," he began, and Vash could count on one hand of how often Nicholas uttered his name, and every instance always trembled him to the core. "If you want to hide, then go on. Not everyone will appreciate your body, this I know, but I also know that I definitely will. And for God's sake, love, give yourself some credit because your body is a solid proof that you manage to survive all of these shits. Yeah, these might say what kind of idiot you are, but you're the idiot who keeps believing in what you see right for countless of years, and I believe in you, angel."
Nicholas carefully carded a hand in Vash's tousled hair, sliding to cup his nape, and he soundlessly leant forward to meet Vash's agape lips, giving him a taste of heat, of salt, of comfort and love.
Vash only realized where the saltiness came from when Nicholas drew back with a telltale sign of moonlight stroking crystal tracks on his cheeks. Nicholas thumbed his tears, lips set into a determined pull, and how could Vash fight him, when he sounded so sincere and so assured of himself, like the world had to end first just to prove him wrong?
With a choked sob, Vash opened his mouth.
"Thank you, for everything."
Wolfwood's eyes went wide the slightest of friction at that, his blink drawn from pain mingled with bewilderment; nothing an ordinary human could ever catch. Vash pretended he was one in the moment, just so he wouldn't have to explore the implications beneath and make this harder for both of them.
Nicholas D. Wolfwood's involvement with Vash the Stampede was merely a shepherd directing his lamb into the slaughterhouse.
It was best for them to part this way.
No longer he was Nicholas. No longer he was his Angel. All sweet lullabies and feather-light kisses tossed aside to leave a husk of love Vash forcefully engraved to his face and brought out to the world.
The smile tugging his lips must've been the most faked one he had ever put before Wolfwoodーor before anyone else, really. It was a testament that the undertaker understood him, as always, when he didn't call him out on it.
He understood that Vash was tearing the metal cage on his chest, breaking his ribcage open, and laying his bleeding heart and its thunderous beats over his feet. It sort of placated Vash, that without having the need to be spoken, Wolfwood complied to his final wish to, once again, be pretenders.
Without so much of a farewell, Vash closed his mouth, and walked to where he knew his brother would be.
He didn't spare any glance backwards.