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The dust hadn’t even settled after the last shot when something moved in Wolfwood’s peripheral vision. One of the bandits suddenly burst out from behind the corner of a ruined shed and swung at Vash with all his strength. The blow landed squarely on the back of his head.
Vash didn't even have time to react. The impact snapped his head to the side, his body swayed, his long legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. He fell onto his side, kicking up a small cloud of dust, and went completely still.
"Spikey!" Wolfwood shouted.
The bandit didn't even have time to turn around before the priest's fist slammed into his jaw with a sickening crunch. The bastard went out instantly and hit the dust like a sack of shit.
"Spikey?" Wolfwood's voice came out sharper than he meant it to. Panic rose from somewhere deep in his chest, tightening around his throat. "Vash, for fuck's sake, what the hell?!"
He took off, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides, and dropped to his knees beside him. Vash lay motionless, his eyes closed, long pale lashes fanned out over his white cheeks. A fresh scrape was visible on his cheekbone, blood seeping from it. His chest was rising and falling — he's breathing, thank God, he's breathing — but he was completely out cold.
"Fuck, fuck…" Wolfwood muttered, and his hands, usually so steady on a trigger, were traitorously shaking now.
What was he supposed to do? Damn it, what could he do?! He had never saved anyone in the middle of a fight before. People went down, and he just kept moving forward. That was part of the job, and it was fine. But now Vash was hurt, and Wolfwood realized that he had no idea how to help him.
His heart was pounding in his temples. His thoughts scattered chaotically — maybe shake him? No, idiot, you can't shake an unconscious person. Or can you? What if he's got a concussion? Shit, what if it's something serious?
"Come on, damn it, open your eyes," Wolfwood whispered, and there was something in his voice that had nothing to do with his usual rough confidence. Desperation, raw and naked. His hands moved on their own toward the red coat, unfasten it, give him air, yeah. That's right. His fingers fumbled with the clasps, pulled the coat open, exposing the tight black clothes underneath.
Artificial respiration. The thought surfaced from somewhere deep in his memory, someone had shown him how to do it once. Wolfwood had done it maybe twice in his life, both times in a rush, but right now it was the only thing that came to mind. The only thing he knew how to do for sure.
In a surge of panic, he completely forgot about common sense and shut his brain off, because this wasn't just anyone, it was Vash. His Vash. The same idiot next to whom Wolfwood usually felt at least a little smarter, because they shared one brain between the two of them, and his stupidity recognized stupidity in that blond, and together they somehow managed. But now Vash was silent, and Wolfwood was left alone with his half of their shared stupidity, which was catastrophically insufficient for thinking. His head was completely empty of anything useful.
"Okay, okay, hold on," he muttered, more to himself than anything, and leaned lower, crossing his hands over Vash's chest, where the heart was. He started pressing down, counting under his breath — one, two, three — pressed harder, felt the ribs spring beneath his palms. He could feel his heart beating. Beating fine. But Wolfwood wasn't thinking anymore, fear for this idiot had shut everything down except blind panic.
Thirty compressions. Or twenty? Shit, he couldn't remember exactly. Enough. Now he had to breathe for him.
Wolfwood leaned lower, and his heart stuttered strangely for a moment. Vash was so close, closer than he'd ever been. Pale hair was spread across the sand, lips slightly parted, breathing faint, quiet. And that small mole under his left eye, Wolfwood usually tried not to look at it, because it made Vash's face unbearably soft, almost defenseless.
The skin on his cheek was warm beneath the priest's fingers, and Wolfwood caught himself lingering there longer than necessary, his thumb almost tenderly tracing the edge of the scrape.
"This is to save him, asshole," he snapped at himself. "Not the time for your fucked-up thoughts."
But when he leaned even closer, when the distance between their faces shrank to just a few centimeters, something inside him clenched so painfully it stole his breath. Wolfwood squeezed his eyes shut for a second, bracing himself, and leaned all the way down.
Their lips met. They were soft, warm, impossibly gentle to the touch, nothing like the lips of someone who'd lived through so much pain. Wolfwood shut his eyes tight, trying to focus on the procedure instead of the way the contact sent a shiver through him. He froze for a split second, then slowly exhaled. Felt Vash's chest rise beneath his hand.
He pulled back, took a breath himself, and leaned down again. Pressed his lips there once more, trying to be careful, gentle. Another exhale, another touch, and Wolfwood realized his own heart was pounding so loudly it felt like it drowned out everything else.
"Come on, spikey," he begged silently, not pulling away from Vash's lips. "Wake up already. Please."
Right then, when their lips were still touching, when Wolfwood's breath was warming his skin, Vash's fingers twitched.
He was slowly coming back to himself. The first thing he felt wasn't the pain from the blow or the sand beneath his back, but an incredible warmth on his lips. A gentle, careful touch, and the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder, so familiar, so close to home. His eyelids fluttered, and blue eyes, still hazy but already trying to focus, opened.
Nicholas. So close that Vash could see nothing but his face. And he was… kissing him?
Vash's heart skipped a beat, then started racing, flooding his chest with a strange, dizzying warmth. He didn't think for even a second, he just responded to what felt like the most natural thing in the world. His lips moved slowly, uncertainly, pressing a little more firmly against the priest's, turning a one-sided contact into a real kiss.
Something impossibly soft surfaced in his blue eyes, tenderness mixed with surprise and quiet joy, as if he'd just received an unexpected but deeply wanted gift. His right hand lifted slowly and touched Wolfwood's cheek, then slid higher, threading into the black hair that was unbelievably soft to the touch. Carefully, almost shyly, he tugged the priest closer, deepening the kiss.
Wolfwood felt it instantly. Vash's lips, limp just moments ago, were now gently answering him, and he felt the brush of a tongue, light, barely there, but completely deliberate. His eyes flew open in shock, but his body reacted faster than his mind. For one insane second, maybe two, he just… gave in. His lips responded, softer, more yielding, and something inside him melted, turned into liquid warmth spreading through his veins. The hand on Vash's chest clenched involuntarily, fingers digging into the fabric, and he felt the fast, uneven beating of someone else's heart beneath his palm.
Wolfwood opened his eyes and met the gaze of huge, clear blue eyes radiating so much warmth it stole his breath. Vash was looking up at him, and there was a light, slightly sleepy smile playing on his lips.
Wolfwood's brain shut down for the second time that day. Just straight-up died on the spot. And yes, he would repent for this terrible sin before the Lord later, but damn it, it felt unbelievably good. So good that a fleeting thought crossed his mind: had the sun cooked his brain? Wolfwood drowned in that kiss like he'd been waiting his whole life for it, like the last idiot on earth.
And then reality slammed him over the head.
Wolfwood jerked back so abruptly he nearly fell on his ass. He sat there, breathing hard, staring at Vash in total shock, feeling his face burn like it had been dunked in boiling water. His heart was pounding wildly, his thoughts tangled and crashing into each other, and the only thing he could do was gape at Vash, who was still lying in the sand, looking at him with innocent surprise.
"Wh..." Wolfwood started, his voice cracking into a hoarse rasp. He cleared his throat, tried again, forcing himself to sound even remotely normal. "What the hell was that, spikey?!"
Vash slowly propped himself up on his elbows, his pale hair even more disheveled now, a light, slightly embarrassed smile on his face. He blinked, like he was only just fully waking up, and tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy.
"We were… kissing?" he said, with such genuine certainty that Wolfwood went speechless for a second. "Weren't we?"
"You thought…" Wolfwood swallowed, licked his lips automatically, and immediately regretted it, because the taste was still there, "you thought I was kissing you?"
"Well… yeah?" Vash scratched the back of his head with his free hand, looking incredibly flustered and at the same time indecently adorable. "Wasn't that…?" he trailed off, studying Wolfwood's face, and understanding slowly began to dawn in his eyes. "Wait. That wasn't…?"
Wolfwood covered his face with both hands and made a sound that could only be described as the groan of a man dying of embarrassment.
"No!" Wolfwood blurted, far too loud, far too desperate. He dragged a hand down his face, feeling humiliation curdle into a wild mix of shame and fury at himself. "I was giving you artificial respiration, you idiot! You were unconscious!"
Vash slowly sat up, brushing sand off his sleeves, and his expression was so innocently surprised that Wolfwood either wanted to punch him or kiss him again. He scooted decisively a little farther away, just in case.
"Artificial respiration?" Vash repeated, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. He touched his fingers to his lips, like he was checking the sensation, and amused sparks lit up his blue eyes. "But, Nicholas… I just got hit on the head. I fainted. Why artificial respiration?"
Wolfwood felt something inside him collapse. Mortifying. It was mortifying as hell. He sat there red as a lobster while Vash looked at him with that soft, gently teasing smile, and all he wanted was for the ground to swallow him whole.
"I... I didn't know what to do, okay?!" he snapped, turning away and pretending to find something unbelievably interesting on the horizon. "You got hit, I panicked! Thought something was wrong with you, so I..."
"Panicked?" Vash's voice was full of barely contained amusement, and Wolfwood clenched his fists. "You panicked because of me?"
"Shut up," Wolfwood muttered, but there was no real anger in it. Just embarrassment, thick and heavy like syrup.
Vash laughed, quiet, melodic, and so warm that something inside Wolfwood tightened painfully. He heard the rustle of fabric, felt movement beside him, and a second later Vash was sitting right next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Wolfwood stubbornly kept staring away.
"Seriously, Nicholas," Vash said, his voice softer now, touched with something gentle, "were you really scared for me?"
Wolfwood stayed silent for a second. Then he exhaled, still not looking at him.
"Hell if I know. You were lying there like a corpse. I thought…" he hesitated, then continued more quietly. "Thought maybe it was something serious. So I tried to help. However I could."
"With artificial respiration," Vash repeated, amusement slipping back into his voice. "On someone who was just fainted. And breathing on his own."
"Yeah, I know, damn it!" Wolfwood exploded, finally turning toward him. "You think I don't realize how stupid that looks?! I just… I wanted to help, and I didn't know how, and that was the only thing that came to mind!"
Vash looked at him, and his smile softened, warming. Sunlight danced in his blue eyes, and something in that look made Wolfwood fall silent.
"Thank you," Vash said quietly, and it sounded so sincere that Wolfwood felt his anger drain away, leaving only embarrassment and a strange warmth in his chest.
"For what, idiot?" he muttered, turning away again. "All I did was humiliate myself."
"For worrying about me," Vash replied simply. "For trying to help, even if you didn't know how. That… that means a lot, Nicholas."
Wolfwood snorted, but something warm spread through his chest. He glanced at Vash, who was sitting there fixing his red coat and brushing sand off his sleeves, and couldn't help himself.
"You realize what you just did, right? You fucking kissed me, spikey. On purpose."
Vash froze for a second, then slowly turned to him, a faint blush blooming on his cheeks. He bit his lip, clearly trying not to smile, and shrugged.
"Well… I woke up, felt your lips on mine, and thought we were kissing. Seemed natural to respond."
"Natural?" Wolfwood echoed, trying to process that. "It seemed natural to you to just start kissing me like that?"
"Yeah," Vash tilted his head, amusement sparkling in his eyes again. "What's so weird about it? You started it."
"I was giving you artificial respiration!" Wolfwood raised his voice, but now it carried more desperation than anger. "That's a medical procedure, damn it! That's not... this isn't what that was!"
"Oh, come on," Vash nudged him in the side with his elbow, and his smile was so infectious that Wolfwood felt the corners of his own mouth twitch despite himself. "Admit it. You liked it."
Wolfwood felt heat flood his face again. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Because damn it, he did. More than he should have. And they both knew it.
"You…" he stopped, turned away, and dug into his pocket for his crumpled pack of cigarettes. His fingers were still slightly unsteady as he pulled one out, stuck it between his lips, and lit it. He inhaled deeply, almost desperately, like the smoke might chase away this cursed embarrassment. "You're unbearable, spikey. Just completely unbearable."
"And you're funny when you blush," Vash said, his voice bright with amusement. "Don't see that very often. It's… cute, honestly."
"Shut up," the priest muttered without much heat, blowing a stream of smoke to the side. "I'm not blushing. I'm just still in shock."
"From what happened?"
"From the fact that you kissed me back!" Wolfwood snapped, turning to him. "Normal people wake up from a faint and say 'where am I' or 'what happened,' not start kissing the first person they see!"
"You're not the first person," Vash replied softly as he stood up. He brushed dust off his pants, ran a hand over his red coat, straightening the folds. Long fingers deftly fastened clasps, adjusted straps. "You're Nicholas. That's why it felt natural."
Wolfwood froze with the cigarette still between his fingers, staring at him. For a moment, silence hung between them, not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. Then the priest muttered a quiet curse and stood up too, brushing sand off his knees.
"Let's go," he grumbled, lifting his cross from the ground. "Before the sun finishes frying us."
Vash reached out, helping him shift the cross more comfortably, and their fingers brushed. The touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. Wolfwood felt something inside him flinch, tighten, but he didn't pull his hand away. He just stared at those long fingers resting over his own and couldn't bring himself to be the first to move.
Vash withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly. A faint smile played on his face, not teasing, but surprisingly warm.
"So what about the kiss?" Vash suddenly asked, his tone light, as if they were talking about the weather instead of what had just happened.
Wolfwood froze. Slowly turned to him, squinting.
"What about the kiss?"
"Well," Vash shrugged, an impish smile on his lips, "it wasn't bad. Even if you insist it was artificial respiration."
"Spikey," Wolfwood took a step toward him, his voice dropping into that familiar husky register that always came out when he was serious, "are you actually messing with me right now? After all this?"
"Messing with you," Vash agreed, his eyes laughing. "Why not? You did start with artificial respiration on someone who'd fainted. That's way funnier."
"I was trying to save your life!"
"A life that wasn't in danger."
"How the hell was I supposed to know?!"
They stood facing each other, Wolfwood flushed and disheveled, a cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth, Vash calm and smiling with that soft, warm look of his. And then Vash laughed, quietly, sincerely, and the sound was so… so happy that Wolfwood felt his anger finally melt away.
"You're an idiot," he muttered, but there was no anger left in his voice. Just a warm, exasperated fondness.
"Maybe," Vash agreed easily. He stepped closer, leaving barely any space between them. Adjusted his yellow glasses, ruffled his own pale hair — it stuck out even worse after the fall. "But you know what? I don't regret it. Even if it was a mistake on my part… it was nice."
"Nice," Wolfwood repeated in the tone of a man who no longer knew whether to laugh or give up. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled, and shook his head. "Lord, give me patience. Fine. Let's get out of here before someone else decides to kill us. And by the way, spikey, you owe me now."
"Owe you?" Vash raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For emotional damages," Wolfwood grumbled. "Dinner. And beer. Lots of beer. After that kind of stress, I need to get blackout drunk."
"From the stress of having to give me artificial respiration," Vash teased, mischief dancing in his eyes, "or from me kissing you back?"
Wolfwood groaned, covering his face with his free hand.
"You're really not going to shut up about this, are you? I'm going to hear about it for the rest of my life."
"Most likely," Vash promised cheerfully. He touched the priest's elbow with a light, almost absent gesture, barely there, but it sent goosebumps racing over Wolfwood's skin. "Come on, Nicholas. The nearest town's still a long walk, and the sun isn't merciful."
They set off down the road, two figures against the endless desert. Wolfwood walked a little ahead, the cross swaying on his shoulder, cigarette smoke trailing behind him in a thin ribbon. Vash followed alongside, his red coat fluttering in the wind, and from time to time he stole glances at the priest, quick, sideways looks, but filled with so much warmth that even the scorching desert air seemed cool by comparison.
"And still," Vash said suddenly, breaking the silence, sounding thoughtful, "if it had been a real kiss, not artificial respiration… would you have minded?"
Wolfwood stumbled on perfectly flat ground. Cursed under his breath, adjusted the cross on his shoulder, and stared stubbornly into the distance, refusing to look at the blond.
"Are we still talking about this?" he asked hoarsely.
"Why not?" Vash's voice held genuine curiosity, without a trace of teasing. "We're friends. Best friends. We can talk about anything, right?"
"Friends don't usually discuss what it's like to kiss each other," Wolfwood muttered, feeling his ears burn.
"Why not?" Vash tilted his head, and out of the corner of his eye Wolfwood caught the gesture, so characteristically puppy-like in its curiosity. "If it felt good, why not just admit it? We're adults."
"Because…" Wolfwood trailed off, taking a deep drag. The smoke burned his lungs, but it was a good pain, distracting. He exhaled slowly, watching it dissipate into the air. "Because if we start talking about it seriously, spikey, we'll have to admit something else. And I'm not sure I'm ready for that conversation."
Vash slowed. Looked at him, really looked at him, blue eyes open and attentive.
"And what if I say I am?" he asked quietly. "That I'm not scared to talk about it?"
Wolfwood stopped too. Turned to face him fully, his expression a mix of embarrassment, anxiety, something warm and vulnerable he usually hid behind being an asshole.
They stood there, staring at each other. Wind pushed sand across the ground, a bird cried somewhere in the distance, the sun beat down on the back of Wolfwood's neck. Something dense and charged hung between them, like the air before a storm.
"Look," Wolfwood finally exhaled, his voice rough, "if… if you decided to kiss me again… just like that. Not because I'm giving you artificial respiration or some other bullshit, but because you want to…" he swallowed, looked away. "I wouldn't be against it. Got it?"
Vash's smile softened, warmed. Something gentle lit up in his blue eyes, and Wolfwood's breath caught.
"Thank you, Nicholas," Vash said quietly. "For being honest."
The pause stretched. Wolfwood felt his heart hammering up in his throat, his palms slick with sweat. He took a drag, trying to calm down, and then Vash stepped closer.
"And what if I want to right now?" the blond asked softly, his voice carrying something new, caution mixed with hope.
Wolfwood froze. The cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers.
"What?"
"To kiss you," Vash repeated, cheeks faintly flushed. "Right now. Can I?"
Wolfwood froze, staring at Vash like he'd just heard the dumbest joke in the world. The cigarette between his fingers trembled, ash spilling onto the sand.
"What the hell are you thinking?" he finally forced out, his voice coming out hoarse. "You hit your head and completely lost your damn mind?"
Vash smiled, softly, but with that mischievous glint in his blue eyes that made something in Wolfwood's stomach twist unpleasantly.
"Maybe it did," the blond agreed lightly, taking another step closer. Now there was less than a meter between them. "Or maybe I just want to. And you literally just said you wouldn't be against it."
"I said theoretically!" Wolfwood shot back, feeling his ears burn. "Like, if someday, maybe, in the future, you suddenly wanted to, I wouldn't, y'know, make a big deal out of it, got it?"
"What's the difference?" Vash tilted his head, pale hair falling into his eyes. He adjusted his yellow glasses, and for some reason that simple gesture felt unbearably attractive to Wolfwood. "The future or right now. I want to right now."
"Spikey," Wolfwood took another drag, trying to steady his nerves, though his hands were still shaking, "are you being serious right now? In the middle of the desert, surrounded by a bunch of corpses, right after you got hit in the head?"
"And what's wrong with that?" Vash shrugged, his smile not mocking, but strangely sincere. "The corpses aren't going anywhere. The desert's staying put too. And my head doesn't hurt anymore, for the record. You did a great job with the artificial respiration."
"I was trying to save your life, you idiot!"
"And you did," Vash agreed. "Even though it didn't need saving. Still nice, though. Means you worry about me."
"Of course I worry, you're my..." Wolfwood cut himself off, realizing he was about to say too much. He turned away, pretending the horizon was suddenly fascinating. "Whatever. I worry. You're an idiot, you'd be lost without me."
"Yours," Vash repeated quietly. "You almost said it. Yours what?"
"Drop it already," the priest muttered, but there was no anger there. Just embarrassment he was desperately trying to hide behind irritation.
Vash laughed, quiet, melodic, and the sound made something in Wolfwood's chest tighten painfully. Then he reached out, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of scaring him off, and tried to touch Wolfwood's cheek with his fingertips.
Wolfwood jerked aside, dodging the touch so sharply he nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Hey!" he snapped, panic mixing with surprise. "What the hell are you doing?"
But Vash didn't back off. Instead, he stepped forward, and before Wolfwood could react, long fingers settled on his shoulders. Strong, but not pressing. Not holding him by force, more like keeping him from running away from the conversation.
"Nicholas," Vash said softly, and the name on his lips sounded different. Blue eyes looked straight into his, serious and warm at the same time. "Stay still for one minute. Don't run."
"I'm not running," Wolfwood snapped, but it didn't sound convincing even to his own ears. "I just... what the hell are you even doing?"
"Trying to touch you," Vash answered with a faint smile. "You dodged. Even though you didn't mind before."
"Before you weren't trying to kiss me on purpose!"
"And now I am," the blond agreed, his thumbs slowly beginning to stroke Wolfwood's shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. "And I'm asking permission. I really want to. If you're not against it. Just… just to try. For real this time, not like before."
Wolfwood looked at him, a whole storm of conflicting feelings raging inside. His heart was pounding so loudly it felt like the whole town could hear it. His fingers clenched around the cigarette so hard that tobacco spilled through the paper.
"Uh, spikey…" he started, his voice tight. "Maybe we don't need all this, huh? We kissed by accident, shit happens, let's forget it and move on like nothing ever happened."
"Do you really want to forget?" Vash asked quietly, tilting his head. Pale hair fell into his eyes, but his gaze never left Wolfwood's face. "Or are you just scared that if we do it again, we won't be able to pretend nothing happened anymore?"
Wolfwood opened his mouth to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Because damn it, Vash had hit the mark. That was exactly what he was afraid of, that if they crossed that line knowingly, there would be no going back.
"No, I think you're talking bullshit right now," Wolfwood snapped, but he didn't try to pull away from the hands on his shoulders. On the contrary, he found himself relaxing slightly under the warm touch. "And I should probably smack you upside the head again to knock some sense back into you."
"Go ahead," Vash smiled, sparks of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But answer the question first. Are you actually against it? Or are you just being stubborn?"
Wolfwood opened his mouth, ready to fire back something sharp, but the words wouldn't come. He looked into those blue eyes, saw so much tenderness there, so much hope, and realized he couldn't lie.
"I'm being stubborn," he finally admitted, his voice quieter than he wanted. "It's just… this is all so sudden, spikey. I didn't mentally prepare for this kind of turn, got it? Thought I'd be saving you, and then, this."
"Then prepare now," Vash suggested, his smile softening. "You've got about thirty seconds."
"Thirty seconds?" Wolfwood echoed, feeling a grin tug at his lips despite himself. "What, you timing me now? Damn romantic."
"Always have been," Vash took a step forward, slow, unhurried, clearly giving Wolfwood time to pull away if he wanted to. Sand crunched softly under his boots. Another step, and the distance between them shrank to just a few centimeters. Vash stopped so close that Wolfwood could make out every pale lash, every tiny spark in his blue eyes. Heat radiated from his body in waves, seeping through the fabric of his shirt. The hand on his shoulder slid higher, the palm settling at the back of his head, careful, but sure. "So? Twenty-five seconds."
"Smartass," Wolfwood muttered, but his voice held nothing but tenderness now. He took one last drag, dropped the cigarette into the sand, crushed it under his boot, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. Dark eyes held something warm and almost resigned. "And what am I supposed to do with that time, huh?"
"You can run," Vash offered, his smile gentler now, softer, though a flicker of sadness crossed his eyes, as if he really feared Wolfwood might leave. "Fifteen seconds is still enough to change your mind."
Wolfwood snorted, shaking his head, and chuckled, no resistance left now, almost fond. He knew exactly where this was going. And, apparently, he was done pretending otherwise.
"You really think I could walk away when you're standing this close?"
Vash looked at him, at that smile, at the darkened eyes, at how Wolfwood had finally stopped fighting and was openly flirting back, and felt something warm spread through his chest. God, it was hard to hold back when all he wanted was to close those pathetic centimeters between them.
"I don't know," Vash whispered, his thumb slowly brushing along the priest's cheekbone, barely touching. "Can you?"
"No," Wolfwood admitted, and the smile slipped from his face, giving way to something more vulnerable and honest. Dark eyes met blue. "I can't. Vash, I..."
He didn't get to finish, because Vash leaned in and kissed him.
The kiss was soft, almost weightless, like Vash was afraid of scaring something fragile away. Just lips against lips, warm and careful. Wolfwood froze, even stopped breathing for a second. His hands didn't lift, hung halfway up, like he'd forgotten what to do with them. He didn't move, just breathed unevenly, and Vash felt every shaky exhale against his mouth.
Then Vash slowly deepened the kiss. His lips moved unhurriedly, exploring, memorizing shape, warmth, the taste of smoke and something sharp. His thumb still rested on Wolfwood's cheekbone, stroking the skin with light motions, while his other hand slid higher, fingers tangling in the unruly black hair at the back of his head.
Wolfwood finally snapped out of it, his hands lifted and settled uncertainly on Vash's shoulders, fingers curling as if searching for support. He kissed back slowly, almost shyly, and it felt so strange, to see him like this, to feel that hesitation in every movement. Wolfwood, who was always brazen, cocky, who never shied away from what he wanted, was kissing like it was his first time and he was afraid of doing something wrong.
Vash guided the kiss gently but confidently, his lips moved with an easy rhythm, unhurried. His fingers slowly stroked the back of Wolfwood's head, combing through black hair, and the priest let out a quiet breath into the kiss, finally relaxing under those touches.
When they finally pulled apart, Vash didn't move far, their foreheads nearly touched, lips just a breath apart. Wolfwood looked at him through a haze, dark blue eyes nearly black, pupils blown wide.
"Jesus Christ," Wolfwood breathed hoarsely, awe and something like reverence tangled in his voice. "Spikey, you… you actually just kissed me."
"You noticed?" Vash smirked, his thumb tracing Wolfwood's cheek again, sliding down toward the corner of his mouth. "I thought you were too stunned to realize what was happening."
"Shut up," Wolfwood grumbled, without any real heat. His hands tightened on Vash's shoulders, pulling him a little closer. "My brain just stopped working."
"It wasn't working that great before," Vash teased gently, his voice so warm, so familiar, that Wolfwood nearly groaned at the sound of it.
"You're messing with me, asshole," Wolfwood shook his head, smiling wide. "At a time like this."
"Can't help myself," Vash leaned in again, their noses brushing. "You're too easy a target when you're this flustered."
"Go to hell," Wolfwood exhaled, and immediately leaned in again, kissing him once more.
The second kiss wasn't nearly as careful, Wolfwood kissed him with hunger, like he was trying to make up for all the time they'd wasted circling each other. His hands slid from Vash's shoulders up to his neck, fingers burying themselves in pale hair, pulling him closer until there wasn't a millimeter of space left between them.
Vash answered with the same intensity, but kept the tenderness, his arms wrapped around Wolfwood carefully, one hand at the back of his head, the other settling at his lower back, pressing him close. He kissed slowly, thoroughly, learning every curve of Wolfwood's mouth, and Wolfwood melted under that gentleness, all his usual stubbornness dissolving into warmth.
"Damn," Wolfwood breathed in a brief pause, pressed against Vash, breathing hard. "Are you even normal? You're completely wrecking my head."
"Couple bottles of whiskey never wreck your head, but one kiss does?" Vash smirked, his breath scorching Wolfwood's skin. "Turns out you're kind of weak, priest."
"Shut up," Wolfwood shot back, but there was only playfulness in his voice. His fingers stroked the back of Vash's head, sifting through pale strands. "You're just way too good at this. Unfair advantage."
Vash laughed quietly, the sound vibrating between them, echoing in Wolfwood's chest. He kissed him again, slow and deep, and Wolfwood groaned into his mouth without any attempt to hide the sound. His arms slid lower, wrapping firmly around Vash's back.
"Making some pretty indecent noises there, Nicholas," Vash murmured between kisses, his voice lower now. "Not embarrassed anymore?"
"Should I be?" Wolfwood smirked, the tone almost challenging. "If you don't like it, I can shut up."
"Don't you dare," Vash replied immediately, and his lips covered Wolfwood's again.
They kissed for a long time, unhurried, savoring every second. Wolfwood pressed in with his whole body, his solid frame almost enclosing Vash, and the blond felt every muscle, every line beneath his hands. The smell of tobacco and gunpowder surrounded him, familiar, grounding, and Vash let himself sink into it, into the warmth, the closeness, into finally being able to just be together.
They stood there, wrapped around each other in the middle of the desert, and Wolfwood thought that this was probably the stupidest and, at the same time, the most right situation of his life. Corpses all around, the sun blazing, sand everywhere, and they were kissing like complete idiots and smiling at each other.
"Alright," the priest finally breathed, pulling back with obvious reluctance. "Enough standing around. Let's get to town before we're completely fried. And you still owe me for emotional damages."
"What emotional damages?" Vash raised an eyebrow. "I kissed you, Nicholas. That's a gift, not damages."
"A gift, huh?" Wolfwood grinned, swinging the cross onto his shoulder. "Then next time it's my turn to give. And I'll be a lot more generous."
Vash laughed, and they started down the road, shoulder to shoulder, occasionally bumping elbows. Wolfwood stole glances at the blond's profile, the way the sun played in pale hair, how the flush still hadn't left his cheeks, how his lips were stretched in a satisfied smile. And he thought that maybe artificial respiration had been the best idea of his life. Even if it had been completely idiotic from a medical standpoint.
"And by the way," Vash added suddenly, "you're a good kisser. Just so you know."
"I know," Wolfwood grumbled, hiding his smile. "You're not the first one to say that."
"Really?" There was something like jealousy in Vash's voice, and Wolfwood felt a small, petty satisfaction.
"Not really, idiot," he admitted, bumping Vash's shoulder. "You're the first. And probably the only one I'll let."
Vash smiled so warmly, so genuinely happy, that Wolfwood's heart clenched. And he thought, yeah, he was screwed. Completely. Head over heels, and not even interested in getting out.