Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Duality ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Renet wanted the 'Need' sequel. Kaz wanted WxV. I wanted to write a fluffier sex scene after 'Facets'. This is what my brain spewed out.

'Need' was deliberately ambiguous as to universe. 'Facets' was more manga!Vash in the characterisation. Now I'm forced to add something approaching plot, and so I declare that we are officially in the mangaverse.

Thanks to Renet and Ms Anon for betas.

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Duality


Wolfwood wakes to the sound of the shower, and he knows it's happened again.

His gaze flicks automatically across the room to the wrapped shape of the Punisher, leaning against the wall where he left it. It's tempting then to let his eyelids slide closed again, to drift with the sound of the shower, almost like rain if he doesn't listen too hard, and rain would be real good, because it's been years.

Instead, he sits up and grabs his cigarettes from his jacket hanging over the back of the chair by the bed. Lights one and lies back, watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling, sucking it back into his body heavy and good and letting the nicotine kick him awake.

The first time it happened, when he'd missed it, he thought it had been Vash that had changed. But Vash had done nothing different that day, and there was nothing he'd seen that might have been a reason. The second time, when he'd woken earlier to find Vash wearing a blindfold and balancing his sunglasses on the end of the pistol as he swung from target to target around the room, then he'd realised.

Since then it's almost a regular thing. Vash gets up, goes through the whole crazy morning routine, and at some point Wolfwood will wake up, and it's slow and lazy and warm. Vash is moving around the room and Vash is openly *armed* as he plays with that custom revolver, and Wolfwood doesn't even wake up.

When he opens his eyes, unhurried and calm, and he sees that, it gets to him. Because some part of his brain has decided that Vash is safe. And while Vash is never gonna shoot him in the head, he's still a hell of a long way from safe. Not for anyone, and certainly not for Wolfwood.

If he's gonna have a shot at keeping his skin at the end of this, he's gonna need his instincts, but they've opted out on him on this one.

It pisses him off. So many things about Vash piss him off.

The patch of ceiling he's staring at is stained a grimy shade of yellow from all the years of smoke and why the hell does nobody paint the ceilings of these places any colour but white anyway?

The sound of the shower's stopped. He drags hard on his cigarette, inhales smoke, harsh and dry and good, and wonders why he likes so many things that are going to kill him.

The door from the bathroom opens, and Vash walks in, scrubbing at his hair with a towel. He looks over at Wolfwood, peering out from beneath the dangling edges of cloth, and smiles. "You slept late."

"Yeah."

The towel slips backwards, and Vash tugs it back and forth along his neck. Vash is all wet from the shower, hair hanging in damp straggles, and sometimes it's so much better not to think.

He squashes the cigarette into the ashtray. "Come back to bed." It doesn't come out sounding much like a question, but it's not like Vash has ever said no. Sometimes he wonders just how often Vash *would* want sex if there wasn't the whole thing with being shot at and Knives to keep them busy most days.

Vash ditches the towel and flops down over him on elbows and knees; he's still smiling and he's dripping water onto Wolfwood's chest from his hair. "Pushy today, aren't you?"

Wolfwood's hand is on Vash's arm, almost a compulsion to touch. "You don't look like you're complaining much."

Vash grins wider. "Can't think why I should." And he's leaning in and down to kiss him, and that's definitely one of the better things about Wolfwood's day so far, maybe even better than the cigarette, though it's tough to call. Vash's lips are open and still shower-damp, and his mouth is warm and friendly and moves slowly on his. Wolfwood reaches up to touch him more.

This is the only time Vash's skin is ever cool. Even in the freezing desert nights, he's always warm right down to his fingers, and so good to touch. And now's good too, with the heat from the suns already tainting the room, and Vash's legs pressed alongside his with a layer of clinging water trapped between them. Vash's hair falls forward to rest wet against Wolfwood's forehead and cheek as he angles the kiss. It's still steady and laid-back, just a little deeper. Wolfwood lets his hands roam over the familiar planes and ridges of Vash's body, no real purpose to it at this point beyond just touching. His fingers drift almost absently along the furrows of the various scars, spreading the droplets of water they find across more of his skin.

The first time he got Vash naked, there wasn't much thinking in it at all, or much foreplay, it had just been all *doing* and *fast* and *now*. By the time that changed, his hands already knew the feel of Vash's skin. Now it's just the way things are, and more normal than not, because it's not like regular sex with one person has ever been a feature in his life until now, and knowing the details of someone else's body only means Vash. He slides his hand over Vash's shoulder, and his fingers part round the bolts embedded there without real thought.

There's something vaguely at the back of his mind despite the kissing and the general laziness of it all, and he thinks he gets it when he breathes a little deeper. He reclaims his tongue for a moment and sniffs cautiously at Vash's cheek.

Vash pulls his face a bit further away and he's looking at him oddly. "What?"

"You smell of that soap." The cheap purple stuff in the bathroom he remembers from last night.

Vash looks no less confused. "Well, yeah."

Wolfwood's never had the chance to get near a flower, but he'd be willing to bet they didn't smell like *that* or people wouldn't write poems about them. "I think I like it better when you just smell."

Vash grins. "I'll remember that the next time the bike breaks down and we spend five days walking."

"Maybe not that much better." His hands tighten on Vash's body, wanting him back, but Vash has put his real hand up to his face and is sniffing thoughtfully.

"It's not great close up," he admits finally. "But I'll solve that problem." And he shifts back along Wolfwood's body, smiling up at him until he dips his head and puts his mouth to work on Wolfwood's chest instead.

When Vash smiles like that he can win over whole towns, and people who've known him for a day will trust him with their kids. It's easy to think of Vash that way when they're like this, when it's about touching and laughing. Gets harder to remember that he's being licked by a man who can make those same people want to be a thousand iles away, just by looking a certain way.

It worries him that he forgets, because that buried violence is as much a part of Vash as the smiles he's starting to see more often now, as much a part of him as the scars and the guilt.

He's thinking again and he wants to stop. Just for now, just while he lets himself have this. Lets himself feel Vash sucking on his skin with amazingly soft lips, and warm tongue and the slightest hint of teeth that makes him shiver. The bed sheets are sweaty and wrinkled beneath him, the metal grate is cold against his stomach, and Vash's hands are damp and slow on his nipple and over his ribs. He's hard in that comfortable, 'something good's coming' kind of way, rather than in a way he really needs to do anything about just yet, and it's a pretty nice way to be.

Vash's hair trails wet across his collarbone as he wriggles and licks a little lower down his chest. There's a droplet of water running light and tickly round the side of his neck and down to the pillow, and somewhere between that and the sucking and the roughness of Vash's skin against his own, he's feeling like he actually wants to be a bit more awake now please.

The movement of his hands on Vash's body becomes firmer, more deliberate, and he decides he really wasn't done with Vash's mouth earlier, when the soap thing came up. He slides his fingers along Vash's face, tips his chin up slightly away from his body until Vash is looking at him curiously. "What?"

He can feel himself smiling. "C'mere." Just a hint of a tug on Vash's shoulder, and Vash is moving up over his body.

"Definitely pushy," he says, and then his lips are back on Wolfwood's, sliding together with easy familiarity, and the warmth in this is not just in the heat of Vash's mouth or the body resting against his cock.

There's more obvious intent now in the kissing, more pressure between their lips and pushing of tongues instead of just the tasting, but it's still nothing rushed, nothing of real haste or forcefulness. Wolfwood doesn't do that, not even when he's close and it's all so much more driven and wanting, because there's something inside him that doesn't like the reminder of what the sex used to be.

He circles fingers light and slow over Vash's ribs, pauses for a minute when the skin twitches beneath his hand. They're still kissing, in that odd combination of intensity and restraint, and he goes back to the gentle touching, stroking gradually up just under Vash's armpit until Vash jumps above him and sits back. "Argh, stop that!"

Wolfwood replaces his hand with a firmer pressure. "Sorry."

"You do it on purpose," Vash points out, and he's right, because something that almost tickles feels really good right up to the point where it does. But Wolfwood never was much good at resisting temptation - didn't often see the point – so, yeah, he pushes that bit too far more often than not.

Wolfwood grins up at him. "That's because you like it."

"No, I don't!" But he's looking more amused than irritated, and Wolfwood likes to watch Vash smile and laugh, and even pull those silly, exaggerated faces when he's not in a mood where they piss him off.

God, he looks so good when he's happy. "You're doing a lousy job of convincing me." He's back to stroking now, keeping the touch steady enough not to tickle, and Vash shifts his body further into it.

"Yeah, probably," Vash agrees, and kisses him again, one hand by Wolfwood's face and running his thumb along his cheekbone, sliding his tongue between Wolfwood's lips. Wolfwood still gets surprised by how much he likes this, just this, just the kissing, with Vash's tongue slick and eager against his own. Likes it sometimes even when it's not going anywhere, the wrong time or place, and it's just a brief thing that's good when not much else is. But when it's like this, when it's part of sex, it's so easy to let it happen and to let Vash control it, because it's about Vash *wanting* him. And the more Vash demands with tongue and lips, the harder Wolfwood gets.

This is getting him real hard right now.

Vash pulls away and stretches out on the bed beside him, lifting his arms high above the headboard and flexing out his wrists. Wolfwood watches him, not much liking the loss of contact. "Where are you going?"

Vash folds his arms in to rest on the pillow by his head. "I thought you wanted to screw me."

Well, yeah, but.... Wolfwood continues to stare at Vash. "How d'you know that?" He's pretty sure there's no pattern to what they do, it's just whatever happens.

Vash grins. "You're kind of obvious."

Wolfwood doesn't much like being obvious about anything. "What does that mean?"

"It means when you want to be screwed, you get this lazy 'fuck me' look."

"I do not!"

"You do. Your eyes go kind of slanty and drowsy and –"

"You're making this shit up!"

Vash doesn't seem bothered by his interruption. "And then you angle your hips just a bit and shift up against me. You've got this habit of licking your lips too, just once top and bottom, and that's a real give-away when you want to suck cock."

"You...." But Vash is twitching now, the skin above one eye flicking before he finally bursts out laughing, his head falling back into the pillow. "Bastard." He wants to be pissed off. It's not gonna work, though, he doesn't sound even close to meaning it, because Vash doesn't laugh often enough, not like this. So he shifts over and bends his head down instead and kisses Vash again, because that's just always a good thing to do.

Vash is instantly there with willing lips and tongue, but his mouth's still trying to curve out and up, and his body's got this hitching thing going on. Wolfwood just lowers himself closer, so their bodies rest together, and enjoys feeling Vash twitch against him, the way their cocks settle side by side, the way everything's so relaxed and easy like this.

He shifts one elbow up to the level of Vash's shoulder, lets his hand play with the ends of Vash's hair straggling across the pillow. His hair's still damp, but it's not dripping any more. Wolfwood likes the way it slips easily between his fingers, soft and clean and not glued together with sticky shit like it so often is. He hates that, but he figures Vash isn't too hot on him smoking either, and he doesn't bitch about it. Well, not much, anyway. And less often lately.

The heat of sunlight is all down his back and side, and he can feel himself starting to sweat already. Vash has dried off some now, warmer against him. There's a slow anticipation about this, with Vash languid and willing beneath him. Knowing he can fuck him any time he wants to makes it okay to wait a while, and he runs his hand up and down Vash's thigh, slow and light. Vash slides his leg up and out a little, pressing into his touch. Vash's hand is moving over his sun-warmed back and down to his ass, and Wolfwood can't remember feeling this good about anything in years.

Vash's fingers tug not quite gently at one of his ears and he lifts his head just enough so he can focus. "What?"

"This is nice," Vash says, grinning wickedly, "but we should move things up a gear before they stop serving breakfast."

Wolfwood glares back. "You'd rather have the food than the sex?"

"No." Vash's tone is very reasonable. "I'd rather have both."

Maybe there's something half-valid in that, but it's hardly the point. "You want to get the sex out the way so you can eat," Wolfwood accuses.

"You could just as easily read it that I'm damn horny and want the sex, but of course *you* have to take it the worst way possible." Vash's expression has shifted into that sort of pinched look, the one that reminds him of Aunt Melanie when the kids got lippy. It's annoying enough on its own, but Wolfwood really doesn't want Vash reminding him of Aunt Melanie when he's intent on fucking him.

"That's not how you said it!"

Something in Vash's eyes shifts, and he wraps his hand around the back of Wolfwood's neck and pulls hard, until their mouths come together a bit too roughly and he's kissing him again.

Vash has developed a habit of doing that to deflect an argument, and sometimes it's goddamn irritating, depending what the argument is, but right now he's willing to let it go because it's just way too early in the day. And Vash is warm and damp and hard against him, and real good with his tongue.

Wolfwood rolls his hips slightly, and yeah, Vash is definitely hard. Maybe there was something to the horny thing. And maybe there's something to the breakfast thing too, because somewhere under the whole 'want to fuck' thing, there's a vague awareness that he's kind of hungry now it's been mentioned.

Damn. He hates it when Vash is right.

He breaks off the kiss, but Vash still has that hand on his neck and isn't letting him go anywhere. "You're not gonna start bitching again?" Vash demands.

"Screw you," he says mildly, and that's obviously good enough for Vash, who slides his hand away.

"You give the most obvious openings," Vash says, but he's grinning again through the failed attempt at a leer, and he looks so much better that way.

"Damn, and you call me pushy."

"Only because you are." There's some truth in that, Wolfwood has to admit, though he would still have qualified it any other time. But he has *plans* for Vash's body that don't just include hovering over him like this, feeling Vash's breath on his face and watching him smile, nice though that is.

Vash arches and stretches out his back and sighs as Wolfwood moves away down the bed and settles himself on his elbows between Vash's legs, wrapping his hands up around his hips. He licks at the insides of Vash's thighs, tasting shower water and a hint of salt sweat already. Vash has whole areas of skin here without damage, without scars, where he's pale and soft over tight muscle, and Wolfwood doesn't think about that much or he just gets angry, but the contrast with the skin that's moving under his hands is good. Lines and patterns of criss-crossing furrows and ridges that he traces softly with his fingers. Smoothness under his lips and tongue that's so tempting just to rub himself against, except he hasn't shaved in twenty-four hours, so he doesn't.

He licks and kisses and sucks along Vash's skin, slowly up his thigh and over onto his hip, feeling Vash alternately tense and relax, listening as his breathing picks up, a little faster, a little deeper. Vash brings his knees up higher, his legs spread wider, and Wolfwood trails his mouth across his belly, lapping at the skin towards his groin, the side of his face brushing against Vash's cock, but he keeps his tongue busy elsewhere.

"Wolfwood!" Vash's tone is demanding, and his fingers are in Wolfwood's hair, urging him gently sideways. And Vash is obviously expecting him to blow him, so he shifts his elbows and sinks lower and runs his tongue over his asshole instead.

He knows from experience that this feels damn good, and normally it's something he'd only do when they fuck in the shower, which is almost never because the hotel owners get pissed about wasting water and charge extra. But Vash right out of the shower is okay too.

Going by the reaction, Vash is more than okay with it. Wolfwood licks long and slow round his ass some more, wanting that shudder and that short, choked sound again, and getting it. Vash's thighs twitch either side of his cheeks. Wolfwood tilts his face closer, rolls up his tongue, pushes it out and into Vash.

Vash's body tenses beneath his hands, arching down onto him as he cries out, soft and long.

Vash is quiet during sex. Oh, his mouth's open, and there's panting that becomes almost a whistling sort of hiss sometimes, and all those breathy kind of noises that are pretty damn hot actually. But he doesn't talk much once things get ramped up, and he's not one for making noises. Except for this. For all the restraint when he fucks or gets fucked, sticking a tongue in Vash's ass seems to unhook something inside him.

He's still not loud, not even when Wolfwood starts using his tongue in earnest, fucking and licking, and it's all so wet and open. He's not loud, but the noises are there, the low moans and the choked-off grunts, and occasionally a sound that's almost a whine, and Wolfwood gets so fucking hard hearing it. Gets hot on this, because it's Vash, and Vash's whole life is about keeping control, and Wolfwood loves knowing he can tear through some of that.

He wants to see Vash right now, wants to know how he looks when he's like this. Can imagine him with parted lips that reveal the movements of his tongue as he pants and swallows hard. His half-dry hair will be sticking out in every direction across the pillow and over his eyes, the right side of his face and shoulder lit by that shaft of sunlight. He wants to know if his eyes are closed as he sinks into what he feels, or if they're open, dilated and lust-filled.

Instead, he has the touch of Vash's fingers in his hair, somewhere between gripping and combing, the tight curves of Vash's ass beneath his hands, and Vash's breathy cries as he wriggles to try and get more of Wolfwood's tongue. And it's so *good*, doing this to Vash, for Vash, doing anything for Vash, and damn, he's gonna do this more often. Because right now Vash smells of that godawful soap, even here, with his balls pushed up above Wolfwood's nose, and he can live with the soap or anything else if he gets to hear those sounds and feel his own cock so hard against the bed. He's shifting himself now, pressing down into the mattress and rubbing a little as he thrusts his tongue, the blanket rough and hairy against his skin and giving just enough friction against his cock to make him need to do it harder. But humping himself off on the bed would be a serious waste, under the circumstances, so he pushes himself back up, giving one long, slow trail of his tongue up the length of Vash's cock and making him gasp and twitch.

Vash's eyes are fixed on him, darkened and burning, and *he's* definitely the one with the 'fuck me' look, and he wants to, God, he wants to, so fucking much he wants to, and it's almost hard to reach for the lube and snap it open. It's not like he even really needs it, spit and precome work just fine, but he likes the lube because that bit less friction lets the sex last longer, lets him hang on that bit more. The lube's cold on the head of his cock, and that's probably a good thing or the touch of his own fingers would be *too* good, and then he's there and sliding into Vash, and Vash's calves tighten over his shoulders as he arches up to meet him, and for a moment just being *in* is good enough to take the edge off, to let him pause and breathe.

Vash is so hot and right, both the body tight round his cock and the man flushed and lust-driven beneath him - the hands gripping his ribs, one warm and soft, one cool and smooth, the ankles pressing on his shoulder blades, the white of Vash's teeth behind his lips and the crazy sprawl of blond hair that reaches almost half way down his nose, and he's staring and staring, because he can.

Vash's hand is stroking over his ribs now instead of gripping. "Wolfwood?"

Vash is smiling.

"Yeah?"

"Get on with it." The words should sound impatient, but the smile and the softness takes the edge off them, makes it teasing and so very Vash.

"Yeah." He tightens the muscles in his back, and pulls out, sliding into Vash again slow and long. Shifts his weight so he can reach between them and takes Vash's cock in his hand and finds the same steady rhythm, stroking down to the base as he pushes into the heat, and it's so good, so *very* good, like it is every single time. It takes a little adjustment to get it quite right, changing the angle of his hips with each thrust until the jump of Vash's cock in his grip tells him he's got it. *There*. Vash is clutching him tighter now, breathing deep and short, pushing down on his shoulders to curl himself up into the thrusts, and watching Vash like this, watching him trusting and enjoying being with him, is a pain entirely of its own.

The ache of it is so familiar that his movement doesn't falter, and Vash is too intent on what he feels to notice anyway, and he keeps everything steady and smooth until Vash shudders and moans and tightens around him, and Vash's come spatters between them. He pumps Vash's cock a few more times, gently, until the tremors stop.

He watches Vash's eyes reopen, unfocussed and green, and he always likes that more than he should. Because this is just Vash, and none of that shining 'other'. Just Vash, and the sex is because he wants to.

And he wants too, oh, God, he wants, and he takes those last few thrusts, a little faster and harder, that he needs to let himself have it, let himself have the shaking joy of it that obliterates the ache. And when it's done, there's Vash wrapped around him and smiling and reaching out a hand to stroke the hair away from his eyes.

*God.*

He pulls away from Vash, easing his legs down off his shoulders, and flops down on his back on the bed beside him.

That was definitely better than the cigarette.

Vash stretches out his legs and back, sighing. "Mmmm, that was good."

Wolfwood wriggles around until he's lying on his side, his head resting on one palm, watching Vash. "Yeah, it was." It was. It always is. And maybe it shouldn't be, but it is. His hand is resting on Vash's hip and Vash turns his head to look at him. Briefly touches the hand on his hip and then rolls away, leaving Wolfwood with rumpled, sweaty sheet under his fingers.

He likes morning sex, likes the way it's slow and lazy and nice, and it's as good a way as any he's found to wake up. He hates that he has to get up afterwards and he hates that he has to let it go.

He hates that letting go matters.

Vash is already out of bed and up on his feet, and Wolfwood checks him over speculatively, eyeing the new layer of sweat shining on skin that had almost dried. "Now you need another shower."

Vash looks out the window at the twin suns hovering above the houses across the street and scrunches up his face. "I'll stink in an hour anyway."

He goes back to the bathroom to clean up and Wolfwood lights another cigarette. Leans back against the headboard and listens to the muffled splash of water. Vash is back when the cigarette's barely half-smoked, reaching for his bag and fishing through for underwear.

Watching Vash dress is almost as good as watching him undress. It's all about the play of muscle, natural and unselfconscious; the way the curve of his ass tightens as he bends to tug the clothes up past his knees, the way his body stretches and flexes so easily, twisting and balancing without a hint of strain or effort. Wolfwood can appreciate all this right now without getting particularly horny, and it's good just to sit and smoke and look.

Sometimes he likes watching Vash, and it's not about the sex, and it's not about how he's different and what he can do. Sometimes he watches and it's just about Vash.

Out of all of it, that pisses him off the most.

Lying here has kind of lost its appeal, and he crushes out the cigarette, steps up behind Vash. Runs his fingers under the hair to do up the fastenings at the collar of the suit. With Vash's hair down like this, the black doesn't really show at all, and Wolfwood wonders why he keeps on spiking it up. It's a weakness, it's showing Knives that he won that round, and what the hell can he gain from putting it on display?

"Thanks," Vash says as he finishes, moving away to grab the coat and shrug himself into it, doing up buttons and clasps with the casual speed of long habit. The gloves are lying on the table right by him, and Wolfwood scoops them up. Reaches for the gun arm because it's nearer, and tugs the glove into place over smooth and flawless fingers. Vash simply lets him and watches, something like mild curiosity going on in his eyes as he continues doing up buttons one-handed.

Wolfwood takes a step forward to catch that other hand and slides the second glove on, the leather stretching soft and clinging over his skin up to his wrist, covering the last of the scars. Vash the Stampede created once again from the guy who dribbles on his pillow and whispers his mother's name sometimes in the night, and gets laid by his own personal Judas.

Wolfwood releases the gloved hand, and Vash tugs at his arm before he can pull away. Kisses him, soft and easy, no big deal, just lips, and Wolfwood leans into him a little more before he breaks it off.

Vash strips the gloves off and tosses them back onto the table. "Hair gel," he explains, and Wolfwood deliberately rolls his eyes before he turns and heads for the bathroom. By the time he gets done in there, Vash might just have finished pissing about with his hair. Over a year of dragging around after Vash, and he still can't figure out how the hell Vash makes time to do that every day, because Wolfwood can barely find the time to shave.

The shower's still wet, but there's not much steam – Vash always takes his showers more lukewarm than hot, even when it's night and real cold. He turns on the flow of water. In here, it's enclosed and echoey, with an overwhelming quality of splatter on plastic, and it sounds nothing like rain.

The water's good on his skin, just warm enough not to be a shock as it rinses off the worst of the cooling sweat. The other consequences of what he's doing he can't get rid of so easily.

He's fucking up everything here, breaking too many of the rules that are keeping him alive. Not that there *is* a rule about not sleeping with the target – there pretty much never needed to be, since normally the target would be dead without much in the way of foreplay going on first.

He'd told himself it would be a one time thing. And then it was just gonna be sex when they needed it. And while he knows roughly when it slid into being normal, into a different kind of good, those are decisions he sure as hell can't remember making.

He really thinks he should know better than he does just when and how he got so completely screwed.

But then he goes over all this shit every day, and nothing changes.

He closes his eyes, sticks his head right under the water and lets it soak through his hair. Such a simple thing, to feel so good. Like smoking, and sex with Vash.

The water flows over him and he rubs his hands all through his hair. When it's wet right down to the roots, he switches off the water.

He looks in vague disgust at the lurid 'lavender' soap, but it's not like he has much choice. He wonders whether Vash thinks it smells better or worse than the cigarettes. Either way, if Wolfwood has to live with it, he figures Vash can too.

He reaches for the soap.


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Legato drew back into himself, until he was once again aware only of being enclosed in the metal of his vehicle, on the outskirts of a medium-sized town. He felt a particular need to bathe as soon as possible himself.

It was a great pity that he was unable to access the information he needed more directly. He disliked spending such prolonged periods of time inside the cramped, untidy minds of humans. Unfortunately Vash the Stampede would be aware he was there the moment he touched him, and so he was forced to make use of Chapel.

Chapel's rantings were of no interest in themselves. The man was obviously compromised, but that was of little consequence beyond a certain mild amusement value. He was going to die anyway, along with the rest of the human trash. His behaviour would merely determine whether he was among the last to die or the first.

Master Knives' interest at this time was in his brother's state of mind, and on that front Legato could wish that the evidence was a little more conclusive. The nature of the interactions between the Plant and his human keeper had certainly altered, but sexual relations between strangers could be openly friendly in nature and it meant nothing.

It was slightly more disturbing that, despite his obvious conflicts, Chapel felt these changes were not of his doing. Nor was Vash's general behaviour progressing as predicted. By now, he should be obviously easier to manipulate, to trigger, quicker to lose himself to his innate nature and release his power in bitter fury.

It was happening. He'd seen it. But it was happening too slowly, and Master Knives' schedule contained only limited flexibility.

Legato wondered just what it would take for Master Knives to let him finally destroy Vash, and smiled at the images the thought brought to him. It would be so very easy, so thoroughly satisfying, to get rid of that idiot who distracted Master Knives from his purpose.

He opened up his consciousness once again and reached, feeling for the tendril of energy that connected him to the mental blaze that was his master, his reason.

He was going to have to report a possible complication with Vash the Stampede and the human toy Master Knives had provided for him.