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Wolfwood always knew when Vash was asleep, based on the movements of his arm alone. Not his right one, which always lay dead-still and relaxed within gun-grabbing range. It was the other one, the constructed one, that would clench and twitch of its own accord, joints responding to some phantom pain that would never be allowed purchase in hours of consciousness.
The first time Vash grabbed him with it, Wolfwood was ready for a gunfight. The grip was urgent and powerful on his arm, startling in its sudden, silent movement. But the rest of Vash was sound asleep, drooling a little into his pillow. Once the adrenaline died down, Wolfwood tried to rouse him enough for a reason. But Vash only muttered something about croissants and rolled over before snoring again.
Now, after traveling by his side for weeks, Wolfwood was almost used to it. He liked to think of himself as a light sleeper--it sounded more dangerous and canny than admitting to his insomnia. Most of the time, Vash slept right through his wakeful hours with enviable ease. But Wolfwood's usual three a.m. cigarette was almost always underscored by the soft hiss of artificial joints moving in the blankets without apparent cause. Haunted by dreams, or severed nerves, or some arcane lost science, who knew? Only Vash's fingers could tell, forever grasping for something he could never manage to hold and would never reach for in daylight.
"What're you dreaming about?" Wolfwood asked in a whisper, the same as he might to a dog asleep on the rug with all four paws in motion. "What happened to you?"
Vash's face, still and serene, gave no answer. His left hand clenched into a fist and then fell slack and open on the bed.
Wolfwood looked at it, deliberating. It was a different apparatus than the one he'd had before Fifth Moon, but he knew it was full of secrets, and not all those secrets were bullets. Before he'd quite made up his mind to do so, he reached out and touched one uncurled fingertip. It was warm, and Wolfwood felt an answering heat rise up in his face. He took his hand away and smoked furiously for a minute, hoping it would slow down the clamor of his pulse.
He'd touched it before. Hell, he'd had it in his mouth before. Vash had done things to him with it that would make a seasoned harlot drop into a dead faint. But it had been different, then. Vash had been awake, and it had just been his hand. But like this, Wolfwood felt like he was stealing something, or nosing through the man's underwear drawer. He'd have an easier conscience putting his hand down Vash's pants in the middle of the night.
For a minute he thought about doing just that, if only to give himself a better reason for feeling so flustered. Vash was likely to wake up enough to respond in kind, or at least to let Wolfwood get him off before falling back asleep his arms. There was a difference, however, in making out after midnight and prying into another man's secrets. It wasn't about the arm itself, Wolfwood knew. It was about the things Vash had not told him, and the things Wolfwood left unsaid.
Did he do that to you? Or was it just one of your dumb maneuvers to save some shitsack who didn't deserve it?
Wolfwood wasn't sure which idea made him angrier. And he wasn't sure why, either. For one thing, Vash's arm was the opposite of a handicap. The thing was loaded for bear, stronger than flesh and bone, and had a grip like a vise. It was a beautiful piece of technology. But Wolfwood was furious that he had to have it. Against his will his gaze flicked to the wrapped cross resting serenely against the wall. Yeah, he thought. Just like you.
With vindictive clarity, his brain summoned up the image of a reversed scenario. What would it be like if Wolfwood was the one asleep with his secrets, and it was Vash's hand sliding over the Punisher's wrappings, stealthily slipping under the fabric to touch cold metal and the memory of murder?
Wolfwood's blood made a rush for his face and his groin and left him quivering and chilled in the middle, torn between rage at the thought of such invasiveness and the undeniable spike of arousal it caused. I would let you, but only you. Let you touch it and kiss it like that, let you find the switches and open up the case, let you reach inside it and--
"Wolfwood?"
The sound Wolfwood made was neither dignified nor deniable, though he did his best to apply both retroactively. "Hey. Tongari." He coughed. "Didn't know you were awake."
"You were thinking so hard," Vash said sleepily, blinking up at him under a disheveled mess of blond hair. "I could smell the smoke in my sleep."
"Very funny," Wolfwood said, and remembered his cigarette. It had gone out. He took a minute to re-light it and then froze, lighter still burning, as the object of his evening's scrutiny fell over his thigh in a graceful caress.
"You ok?" Vash asked, with a little squeeze for emphasis.
It was the most they would ever ask of each other, especially in the middle of the night. They could come upon one another crying or raging or sitting in a stunned and blood-soaked silence, and two words would be all, and enough.
"Yeah," Wolfwood said, and closed the lid on the flame. He tossed his lighter on the bedside table, and with ridiculous ease gathered Vash's left hand in his own, brought it to his mouth, and kissed the perfectly-engineered knuckles. Taste of metal and leather, and the echo of the slightly-sweet lubricant he used to keep the dust from getting into the joints and gears. "Just awake."
"You should get some sleep," Vash said, and pulled himself alongside Wolfwood's legs, pressing his face into his hip.
"Eh. I'll sleep when I'm dead."
"No you won't," Vash yawned. "Three a.m. will hit and you'll crawl out of your grave for a smoke."
Wolfwood chuckled into his cigarette. "You'll have to come tell me to go back to bed."
"Pal, If you think I'm gonna get out of my own grave for that, you haven't met me..." Vash said, his voice trailing off. "I'm gonna be....too comfy... to..." He was asleep again before the sentence was finished, his scarred ribs rising into one deep sigh, and then another.
Wolfwood watched his face, smiling, forgetting the hand he held. Until it shuddered in his, the fingers quivering and clutching as they always did as Vash feel asleep. Only this time, there was something for them to hold. Wolfwood finished his cigarette, lay down, and eventually slept, all with Vash's hand still in his.
It did not move again until morning came.
~o~