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The rumble coming from the bike’s engine feels almost familiar, now, after hours of travelling. They left the last city hours before, and kept going ahead throught the desert, sharing one bottle of water that kind of reeked of alcohol still. Neither of them minded. After hours from the last wave of unforgivingly hot warmth coming from the suns in the sky, Wolfwood finally saw the outlines of a city in the distance, through the sand. He looks to his left, where Vash is nodding off in the sidecar. The other man has his eyes closed, his head resting gently on his closed fist. The wind messes up his hair, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“Oi, needle-noggin’” Wolfwood calls above the roar of the wind. Vash lazily opens his eyes, turning his gaze towards Wolfwood. He looks exhausted.
“Want to stop somewhere to get some sleep? I see a city right ahead”
“Oh my God, yeah. My legs are killing me, I need to stretch”
Wolfwood bites back his snarky remark about him being the one who had been driving for hours, settling with clicking his tongue, not really in the mood for banter.
When they stop outside of the first guest-house they could find, Wolfwood is pretty sure they are the only ones still awake. But the lights are on, and both of them are tired, even if neither would admit it, so they step in. Thankfully, an elder lady sits at the counter, sewing something as she listens to the radio. Soft music comes out of it, and it puts Wolfwood at ease.
The two of them walked up to her, and perhaps the way she was ignoring them should’ve been telling, but Wolfwood was nothing if not bold, so he knocked on the counter, leaning in a bit.
“Good evening, miss. Won’t you give a room to us two poor wanderers?” he asks, voice coated in honey, hoping it’ll make her more willing to give them shelter despite the late hour. The old lady looks them up and down. They must paint a rather odd scene, Wolfwood with Punisher stil strapped on his shoulder, and Vash behind him, face still holding the marks of the sun.
“You a priest, sonny?” the lady asks. Wolfwood smiles, toothy, and patted Punisher.
“Ya bet I am! Need assistance with something?”
Vash elbows him in the side, shooting him an agry glance. Ah! The fool’s pointless attempt to stop him from trying to get some easy money.
“Golly, not at all. But I can’t turn away a man of the cloth. Unfortunately, I only have a single room available right now. Is that alright with you two? I can give you a cot, if needed”
Wolfwood has every intention to just say yes, and get it over with. It was bound to happen, sooner or later. They would figure it out, sleep in a cot, whatever. But Vash pulls at his sleeve, blue eyes holding so much concerned he was about to frown. Heart squeezing, shamefully, Wolfwood turns to him.
“What’s the matter, needle-noggin’? Afraid you’re not gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself?” he jokes, hoping it will put his mind at ease, but Vash somehow looks even more nervous. Like it really is a problem, to share a room with Wolfwood. And why wouldn’t it be? They never did that before, it was taking a step too far. They could be called friends, but that didn’t mean shit. Wolfwood feels his face burn with shame, and for a second he’s glad Vash isn’t looking at him.
But then, as he looks at Vash up and down, he finds himself too tired to offer to keep going for the night. The thought of sleeping in the desert, with the cold and no shelter makes his eyes sting. The thought of a shower also is making him feel quite unsympathetic towards his friend’s nervousness. What is he being shy for? They’re both grown men, they could take one night sleeping in the same room. Couldn’t they?
Wolfwood pats Vash’s shoulder. He squeezes it, offering him a tight-lipped smile.
“It’s fine, miss, we’ll take it. May the Lord bless you!”
He doesn’t wait for Vash to say something. He focuses on Punisher’s weight on his back, and starts walking up the stairs. For a second, he worries about Vash not following him, but soon after hears his footsteps right behind him.
The room looks nice enough. There’s a big bed right in the middle of it, an embarrassing reminder of what he has agreed to. Wolfwood gently puts down Punisher, and tries his best not to sigh. This truly is hell. Why the fuck did he say yes for? The everlasting feeling of want settled so deep in his bones he had forgotten just how bad he longed for a chance to be next to Vash, but not like this. Not when the other man stands against the door, playing with his fingers and looking like a goddamn beaten child.
“Sorry, Vash” Wolfwood manages to blurt out. Vash looks up at him and offeres him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. They still look at him veiled in uncertainty and worry, and Wolfwood really isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. What did he want him to do?
A little voice at the back of his head laughs in his ear, whispering to him about his fears. Vash doesn’t have a problem with the room, or the situation, but with Wolfwood himself. His desire seeped through his skin like water through a sieve, and it left behind all the ugly parts of him. Every look meant too much, every touch was a step too far, and Wolfwood had indulged enough already. Vash knows, knows what he’s hiding. He has to, otherwise he wouldn’t act like that, would he?
“It’s fine, Wolfwood. We needed the place anyway. But- I should go ask for that clot, shouldn’t I? You can keep the bed”
Wolfwood scoffs, and stares at him with his arms crossed. “Sleeping on the floor would put a crick in your back”. Wolfwood tries and fails not to think about how desperate he sounds.
Vash pouts, scratching the back of his neck. “A crick? What do you take me for, an old man?”
Wolfwood would gladly tell him that even as an old man he would still offer him the bed and all of himself, but lets none of it come out. Instead, he laughs, and makes a beeline for the bathroom.
He locks the door behind him and leans against it, covering his face with his hands. His glasses get pushed at the top of his head, he lets out the sigh he has been holding since getting into the room. He strains his ears to catch even the smallest hint of movement in the other room, but it seems like Vash only sat on the bed, and didn’t move again. Did he fall asleep? Could Wolfwood make a run for it, now? Would that break Vash’s heart, and could Wolfwood take the consequences?
No, yes, no. The answers come to him almost immediately, and Wolfwood turns on the shower, hoping for a miraculous recovery from his hidden feelings. Not that hidden, the voice in his head reminds him, before getting drowned out by the water hitting the shower floor.
The cold water running down his back only serves to make him more aware of the way his heart is beating against his ribcage. A caged bird, begging to fly out of his mouth and into the hands of the man in the other room. He turns the water off, slamming his hand against the mixer faucet painfully. Now, he’s getting ridiculous, he thinks as he hisses at the pain. He grabs the sink and looks at his naked reflection, only partially worrying about how the cold air would affect his back the next morning.
“Get a fucking grip” his reflection barks at him, and with that he puts on some pants, and starts toweling his hair dry.
When he steps back into the room, Vash is lying on the bed, his eyes closed. For a second, Wolfwood thinks he’s asleep. He lets his eyes roam on the man clad in red, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way the shitty lamp on the ceiling casts shadows on his face. Even if they travelled for hours under the sun, now that he has been sheltered for a while his skin turned paler. Between a glance and another, Vash opens his eyes.
“Oh, you’re done” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. Wolfwood chest does something funny then, and he feels the urge to lean down and kiss his head. He stands stiffer than before and nods.
“Yeah, all yours. Kept the hot water for you”
Vash smiles at him, before disappearing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Wolfwood hears him suck air between his teeth at that, and tries his best to blame the violence of the act to the air flow coming from the window.
He needs a cigarette, he concludes.
By the time Vash comes out, Wolfwood managed to bribe the kind receptionist into giving him one of her cigarettes. He finished his hours before, and apparently throwing mindless blessings at people works wonders when said people don’t have anything else to cling to. He sits in front of the open window, and looks as Vash gets into bed. Neither of them says a thing, but that’s alright to Wolfwood. He could have expected that, and it is familiar. He watches the smoke go up swirling, clouding his sight.
He keeps smoking until he can’t even pretend to have something left, then closes the blinds and looks back at Vash. He seems awfully relaxed, and he almost feels guilty about having to get into bed with him. What if he wakes him up?
He considers, for a moment, the idea to ask to the cot, but he’s pretty sure the old lady will kick him if he comes down the stairs one more time, if she hasn’t gone to sleep already. He puts the chair back where he found it, playing for time, then swallows all of his thoughts and raises the blanket. Never in his life has he put so much attention into getting into bed without dipping it too far, or making the base creak. Yet here he is, resting his head on the pillow, all his muscles pulled taut. He throws a glance to the body next to his: if he just stretched his hand a bit, he notices, he could touch the short hair at the back of his neck. He swallows.
“You can move, you know” Vash suddenly says, and Wolfwood swears he can hear a hint of humour in his voice. The bastard has been awake all that time? He raises his fist to punch him in the head, and hears him giggle.
“Sorry! I would’ve said something earlier, but I kinda wanted to see if you could make it”
Wolfwood scoffs. “And what’s the verdict?”
Vash rolls over, resting his head on his forearm, and flashes him a smile. “Mh, I’d say you did pretty good”. The asshole even has the gall to look pensive about it! Wolfwood kicks him under the covers, and they both laugh, the earlier tension completely gone.
Silence falls, and Vash stretches. Wolfwood relaxes at that, and the screaming muscles of his back only scream at him a little, as payback.
For a while, neither of them says anything. Wolfwood, still lying on his back, keeps his head titled towards Vash, looking at the way the man’s eyes move as he looks at his face. He can almost see himself looking back, interrupted by Vash’s blinking. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks: Wolfwood is sure he’s never known want like he does now. Vash still has a hint of a smile on his face, and it doesn’t falter as he stretches his arm to move a lock of hair behind Wolfwood’s ear.
“You look nice” he mutters, before something akin to fear passes through his eyes. Wolfwood feels him jerk his hand back, but he grabs his wrist to keep him there. Vash’s skin is warm under his cold fingers, and he relaxes his grip.
“Feels good” he mumbles, praying to God his cheeks aren’t as flushed as he feels. He thinks this is rather insane. He’s not a kid anymore, isn’t blushing and all of that childish?
Seconds pass, feeling like grains of sand through an hourglass. Wolfwood feels each of them in his gut, and for a moment he’s sure Vash can hear his heartbeat. Would that drive him away for good, or has Wolfwood already overstepped?
He keeps his eyes low, clenching his hand to keep himself grounded, until he can feel Vash relax again.
“Is… is it really alright?” he asks, moving his finger ever so slightly against his scalp. If Wolfwood wasn’t afraid of his voice betraying him, he would’ve reassured him, but he settles with a long and satisfied hum.
After that, neither of them looks at the other, Wolfwood now fully on his side, and stares at the white shirt Vash put on earlier, watches the rise and fall of his chest. He wonders how it would feel to rest his head against him, to feel his heart close. The thought almost chokes him with its force, a desire so deeply buried within him it almost brings him to tears.
He wonders how it could be, if Vash wasn’t who he is, if he just lived a little more honestly, if they hadn’t met like they did. He wonders, and wonders, until he can’t take it anymore.
He looks up to see Vash with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. His hand is still at the back of Wolfwood’s head, and he’s so, so close. Wolfwood’s eyes roam on Vash’s face, fixing the picture into his mind: the way the streetlight cast an orange-y light on his features, the gentle scrunch of his nose and the absence of creases on his forehead. He looks peaceful. Wolfwood wants nothing but to make him feel like that always.
He doesn’t know when his brain disconnects enough to push push him towards the other’s face but, before he can catch himself, he feels his lips brushing against Vash’s. It’s the most innocent kiss he’s ever given to someone. A simple grazing of lips against lips. He could blame it on a quick movement, an accident. He doesn’t. His heart beats so fast in his chest he’s almost sure it’ll explode.
In the back of his mind, he goes over the feeling again and again, until he’s sure he won’t forget it. Vash’s arm falls, and he pulls it against his chest. Wolfwood looks at him one more time, before his brain catches up to him, and he’s left with a deep shame resonating through his chest.
He swallows a frustrated groan, rolls over and closes his eyes as he faces the wall. Sometime between his heart jumping at the memory and his mind feeding him images of Vash kissing back, Wolfwood manages to fall asleep.
Vash wakes up feeling warmer than usual. He also feels strangely at ease, his whole being pervaded by a sense of tranquility. He goes to stretch, and someone stirs next to him, making him remember.
He goes still, and he can find the humour in that, having teased Wolfwood just the night before. Vash stares at the ceiling for a while, lets the low voices coming from the street give him the illusion of having lived a normal life. Just a man, waking up next to the one he- Vash shuts his eyes, the word flashing behind his eyelids before he can stop it. The one he loves. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s enough to make him bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.
He turns towards Wolfwood, fast asleep and splayed out. Only then, Vash realises he’s left with the smallest part of the mattress. Somehow, he finds it endearing.
He manages to fully turn to face Wolfwood, trying not to fall off the bed. There’s still a little space left between him and Wolfwood, but he’s hesitant to fill it. He thinks about chapped lips against his, and suddenly he’s about to burst. He wants to feel them again, wants to press his own against them, and he knows Wolfwood would let him. Perhaps that’s what held him back for all this time, he thinks. He wishes Wolfwood would punch him instead, tell him to leave. That is familiar, and familiar is easy.
An admission of feelings is too kind for the both of them, and Vash can only hope they get to run after the other for as long as possible, a twisted show of care that allows them to be close and far from the other at the same time. Running after a memory of something they shared once, in secret, in a dusty and empty room in an unknown city. He thinks Wolfwood deserves more, but doesn’t allow himself to give it him. What fool would purposely offer something so precious as a sacrifice?
Vash gazes at Wolfwood’s face, commits to memory every stray hair falling on his forehead, the line of his mouth and the deeper breath he takes every so often. He brushes his thumb against his cheek, feeling the rough skin and the way his stubble scratches against his fingerpad. And somehow it falls just above Wolfwood’s lips. Later on, he would argue he did it on purpose, but right now he just touches them gently, nothing more than a slight brush, feather light. He thinks hard and tries to convince himself of the galactical bad idea that this is, and then he’s leaning down and kissing him.
It feels like breathing and choking up at the same time, it’s freeing and he feels trapped, and suddenly Wolfwood is wrapping his arms around his shoulders, pressing him closer, and he’s kissing back.
Wolfwood kisses like a starved man, like Vash is about to disappear if he stops touching him. Vash kisses back, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t engraved into each pressing of lips.
Wolfwood jerks back first. His cheeks are flushed, he looks sheepish, and sleepy.
“G’morning” he mumbles. Vash blinks a couple of times before throwing his head back and laughing.
“Good morning, Nicholas” he greets back. They both realise they’re still holding each other, but neither seems to care, in fact, Wolfwood pulls him down, making him rest his head against his chest. He’s a little cold, but it feels nice enough against Vash’s warm cheek.
“Have you been awake for long?” Wolfwood asks.
“Not really, just a couple of minutes longer than you”
“Damn, you must’ve really wanted to kiss me, huh- Ouch!”
Vash puts his paw back, pouting. “Says the one kissing back like it was a matter of life or death”
“Fair. I concede”
They lay in silence for a while, and it almost feels normal. No, rather, it feels familiar, like they’ve done this for all their lives. This only makes it hurt more when Wolfwood breaks the hug, sighing.
“Want some breakfast? I don’t think we’re gonna stay here for much longer”
Vash wishes they would stay there for all eternity, just the two of them and the dusty, almost empy room. He rolls over to let Wolfwood get up.
“Chocolate glazed donut, thank you!” he says instead, and he half expects a mean comeback, but he’s met with a kiss.
“I’ll be quick, promise”
When the door closes, Vash feels his chest tighten. Would Knives already know about this involvement of his? Should he have gone with him? He closes his eyes, wishing for a moment to be nothing more than a man waiting to be kissed again, only worrying about when he would be embraced again. He isn’t though, and all he can do is hope to find himself in another empty room with the man that kisses him like he’ gonna run away, unaware of just how much Vash is willing to stay.