Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Love is not a Flower you can Touch ❯ Love is not a Flower you can Touch ( One-Shot )

Love is not a Flower you can Touch.

By Cleodasia

Warnings: shonen ai…possible citrus…A/U…swearing…*thinks* find anything else, let me know…

Don't own em. If I did, they'd have a hella time getting off their leashes.

This is my first Trigun fic, my normal medium is Dragonball Z. You can find some of my fics on Forchan's site http://cookies.forchan.net/ (Dasia's Realm). If you'd like to drop me a line, or tell me to drop dead, you may do so at cleodasia@yahoo.com. Or sign the guestbook at my blog, http://dasia.blogspot.com . Much love, Dasia.

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He's so gorgeous.

I just can't believe how gorgeous he is.

I've never been this close to him, not really. Waving stupidly across the high school commons is one thing. Sitting here at my desk, watching him sleep…that's something entirely else.

I guess I didn't want to realize it before, didn't want to even consider what it would mean, that I admired this guy, that I was attracted to him, that I wanted him…desperately.

Desperate.

That's the first word that comes to mind when I think of him. Desperate grey eyes, dusky with despair. That's the writer in me, trying to put words to what can only be felt. He's sleeping, the forearm that rests on my bed cradles his dark head. He comes across as so cool, he must be the coolest guy I know. Unflappable, I think that's the word. He strides through the halls of our high school as if he's somewhere far away from all of us, never quite walking to the same tune that we must.

I envy him.

I wish I could be that cool. I wish I could live my life as if no one were looking at me, and even if they were, who the fuck cares?

But I can't.

No way in hell.

They're always looking at me, no matter what I do. When I was five years old, my parents died in a car accident…and my brother and I survived. I lost my left arm, and my brother lost his mind. He blames himself, I'm not sure why, but I haven't seen my twin in nearly ten years. Naifu…damn it…

I don't want to cry, not with him in the room, I think I'd die of embarrassment. The wounds from the accident have healed, and I even have a replacement prosthesis, although the phantom pains from my missing arm still wake me from time to time.

I want him to like me. I want him to love me. I want him to see past the scars, past my handicap, I want him to see me…Vash.

Yeah right.

Get it out of your mind, broom-head, I admonish myself, and go back to sketching. I'm grateful that I didn't lose my right hand…sometimes drawing is the only thing that keeps me sane. `Cause if one twin can go crazy, the other can't be far behind. We're one person…or we were, before nature, or Fate, or Kami-sama split us into two beings. I make notes as I sketch, adding a new character to my little play-world. I don't have a name for it yet, but I escape there from time to time. A place where I can be something more than a computer geek, an art freak, a nerd, a cripple…a place where I can be as cool as Nicholas.

I don't know how he got here.

I mean, I know, I asked him over, but damned if I can remember the rest of the walk home. He was sitting outside of my French class, smoking a cigarette (completely disregarding school rules), and looking dashing and sexy and so very irresistible. I couldn't see his eyes through his sunglasses, but imagined the mocking glance in them…I waited for the slur, the insult, the shot that would tear my heart from my chest.

It didn't come.

"Vash," he said, his rumbling tenor setting off something primal and bestial in me. He could have fucked me right there, in front of Kami and everybody, and I wouldn't have had a word to say.

As it was, I couldn't speak, but I finally managed to stammer out, "Ano…ano…did you want something, Nicholas?"

Oh fuck.

I said his name. Out loud. To his face. A deep crimson blush spread over my cheeks, I could feel my face heating up (along with various other parts of my traitorous anatomy).

His smirk was hardly comforting. He probably knew what I was thinking…and was severely disgusted.

Instead of telling me to go jack off, or to get out of his face, or any other of the myriad scenarios that whirred through my skull, the black leather-clad Wolfwood said only, "You got a minute?"

A minute. Did I have a minute…I would have given him the rest of my life. He just had to ask.

Somehow I managed to keep from humiliating myself, and nodded. He motioned for me to follow him, and I did, gratefully, hardly believing this turn of events. Hell, I couldn't write shit this good. As I walked, I drew up plans for the next chapter of my little self-insertion manga…Vash X Wolfwood.

Damn…the very thought made me want to meow piteously.

Or maybe it was the black cat whose tail I stepped on…"MAOWWW" it wailed, as I tumbled stupidly over it. Time seemed to stop, and I knew I was gonna bite it. My face anyway, because there was no way in hell I was going to risk damaging my right arm. I depended on that one limb far too much. I tried to turn into the fall, hoping the brunt of the impact would be on my prosthetic arm. It would kill my shoulder, but…

Suddenly, a large hand grabbed me around my waist, halting my fall. I couldn't believe it. He was so fast. And so…fucking…handsome. "Arigato," I breathed, my heart thudding in my chest so hard, I could hear it pounding in my ears. Only a part of it was from the fall.

I was used to falling by now, even my Aunt Rem called me the Human Typhoon. I was a klutz, had been since before the accident even…but I had never been caught by such a lovely bishounen.

"Be careful, tongari," he said, and my heart came to a dead stop.

He…called…me…NEEDLE-NOGGIN?!?!?!

Okay, fine, I admit my hairstyle is a little strange, but that's a bit much, ne? It wasn't my idea, well, yeah, I guess it was…I just wanted to look different from my brother. I hate it when people say, "You look so much like Naifu…" and then look at each other with abject pity on their faces. Pity for ME. Because it's SOO much better to be locked up in the nut farm than to be disfigured.

Shaking myself, I realized that Nicholas was still holding me, inches above the ground, smiling a delectable smile that made me want to lick it right off of his face. And he had called me needle-noggin…like a pet-name or something. I shivered, and he helped me stand. "I try. To be careful, I mean. Just not very good at it, I suppose." My grin was self-effacing, most of my smiles are. He frowned a little bit, and I'm not sure why.

We walked out to the soccer field without further incident, though I had to struggle to keep my mind on walking. He pulled another cigarette out of his pocket, offering me one. I shook my head, not wanting to offend, but I could never stomach cigarettes. Or beer. Or pot. Or anything else that might have made reality a little less bleak. Shrugging, he lit up, and for a moment, we just watched the pretty boys kicking the ball around, falling over themselves trying to impress the fangirls who were squealing in the bleachers.

I wish I was a girl.

No, not really, but I think my life might have been a little easier if I had been. I could drool over Nicholas, and no one would think twice about it. I could probably even get away with asking him out. But as it stands…I don't particularly care to be beaten to death with pointy objects, thanks. Somehow, I just can't see Nicholas as being gay. Maybe bi, but that's just wishful thinking, y'know?

Glancing over surreptitiously, I tried to imprint his face on my brain. I'd never be this close to him, ever again. His hair was pitch black, so black it was almost blue, and his eyes…damn…I was getting hard just thinking about it. He had touched me. He had actually touched me. No fucking way…

His voice, when it came, startled me. I don't know how long we had stood there in silence, but it was not an uncomfortable one. He said, "I need your help."

I had died.

I mean, obviously, I had to be dead. There was no other explanation for this. I fell over that damn cat (everyone knows black cats are bad luck) and I busted my skull open, and my brains were now leaking onto the concrete. Had to be. Because otherwise, this day had just gone from being a normal shit day at school to being the greatest day of my entire freaking life.

"What can I do?" Simple, yet efficient. I doubt I could have gotten out anything more coherent.

"I'm failing. Everything. Even fucking P.E., you believe that? I have to pull up my grades, or I can't graduate. And if I don't graduate…"

He didn't finish, but I understood. If he didn't graduate, he couldn't get out. No one was sure where Nicholas lived, but I knew his parents were dead, too. The school counselor had pointed him out to me on my first day freshman year, hoping to get the orphans together, probably so he wouldn't have to deal with us anymore. It had pissed me off royally, and I had told the counselor that he could lose his job for handing out private information…and that if he ever told anyone about me, I'd pull his teeth out and spit down his neck. Not my exact words, but you get the idea. I swear, it was like I had been possessed or something. Ended up spending the next week in after school detention, but it was worth it. I had been in love with Nicholas ever since.

I never called it that. Not before this moment, watching his chest rising and falling with every snoring breath. I wondered how he could feel so comfortable, propped against the edge of my bed…I wondered how long it had been since he had slept so peacefully. I think Nicholas has a hard life. I think Nicholas is alone. I think I need to stop thinking about Nicholas before I come all over the carpet.

I agreed to help him, of course. School is no problem for me. I don't study, there's no need to. I have a photographic memory, I remember everything I see in great detail. I have to see it more than once, but usually the class room is the only place I have to look at my notes. It's a blessing and a curse, really. If I had to study, maybe I wouldn't have so much time on my hands.

My pencil flies furiously over the impromptu sketch. I didn't realize I was adding Nicholas to my universe, until I was already halfway finished with the drawing. I didn't have to change much, just made him a little older, a little scruffier…and made him a traveling priest. I wonder what he'd think about that…not like I'll ever tell him. Way too embarrassing. I wish I could, though. I bet he'd like Vash the Stampede. I do. He's a goofball, and an outlaw…and he's dedicated to love and peace. What more could you ask for?

My stomach rumbles, and I scramble around for some food. I know I've got something in here…my aunt worries so much about me, she says I'm too skinny, I don't eat enough, I don't take care of myself…so she stashes doughnuts in my room. Every afternoon, there's a new box, filled with every kind of doughnut you can think of. Sometimes, I don't eat anything else for days. Too much work. Aunt Rem says that it's a form of suicide, that I'm trying to starve myself. I don't think so. Wouldn't you know if you wanted to die? I don't want to die, never have, not even when I realized that my parents were dead, not even when they tore my brother out of my one-armed embrace, not even when I had to move to Tokyo, half a world away from my home in America. I like living too much to die. I want to see how it ends.

"You wanna come over to my place? We can figure out what you need to study the most, and what you already know. I'm sure you've picked up a lot, maybe you just don't know how to use it yet," I said, not stuttering once. I was amazed at myself.

So was Nicholas. It was probably the most he'd ever heard from me. I didn't talk much in school, just answered when I was called on. I didn't have any real friends, and only a few people I would speak to. I did my work, and spent the rest of my time day-dreaming. About Nicholas, and about my brother…and that's how the idea for my universe first came to me. One day I began doodling, bored to death with hearing the same lesson for the third time that week…I started with my face, then added my hair, my ears, even what my mother had called my "beauty mark." As I drew, I thought, how cool would it be to have a cybernetic arm? One that I could trade out if I needed to…one that could transform into a firearm…talk about a concealed weapon…it was an awesome idea, and the plans for different metal prosthetics kept me busy through the next two class periods.

Then clothes…something to hide the unsightly arm, and the scars that would undoubtedly mar his body, just like the scars that covered my own. However, as much as he looked like me, this Vash was not me. I eventually settled on a red trench coat, all-concealing, and cool as all hell. Red seemed like a good color, red for determination, red for love.

It had been three months since I had first started working on my manga, slowly piecing together a story as I drew. It was as if the man were telling me his story, as if he spoke to me through my own eyes staring back at me from my notebook. I filled four sketch pads and three notebooks in that space of time, and I continued to add to it every single day. I had something to live for, now. I had a responsibility now, to make sure that this man's story was told. I couldn't resist the pull of his eyes, of my eyes.

Just as I couldn't resist the pull of Nicholas' eyes. "You're a good kid. Sure you want to fuck up your reputation, talking to me?"

I laughed, a tiny note of bitterness creeping in, "I'll ask you the same question. You're the only one here with a reputation to fuck up."

His look was puzzled, and he laid a hand gently on my shoulder…on my left shoulder, the side that no one touched…because they were scared, or because they thought it would offend me, or because they wanted to pretend that I wasn't broken…"I came to you, Vash-kun. I need your help. I've never said that to anyone before."

It was a compliment. Not a direct one, but I think he meant well. He could trust me, that's what his eyes said, he could trust me not to tell anyone, not to humiliate him…because I understood him. At least, it seemed that way at the time. Now, I wasn't so sure. I'm insecure, I know it, but I wish I could hear him say it again…and again…again.

I didn't answer, I wasn't sure how to. I turned and started walking away, and he followed me. The walk home was mostly silent, I guess neither one of us is exactly talkative. I didn't ask where his motorcycle was, I figured Aunt Rem would pull my eyeballs out if I came home riding behind some guy on a motorcycle. She's not that old, in her mid-thirties, but sometimes she's worse than any grandmother. It's because I'm all that she has left. I try not to worry her too much, not if I can help it.

Ordinarily I wouldn't have worried about it, but I was kinda hoping that Nicholas wouldn't notice how horribly small our apartment was. It was just the two of us, her husband had died when I was eight. He was a great guy, and we both missed him a lot. He had been a good father to me, just as my Aunt Rem had been a great mom. I had been lucky, I might have been put in an orphanage…or in the padded cell next to my brother.

Nicholas hadn't said a word, although he did bow respectfully when my Aunt answered the door. I could tell she was surprised and happy that I had brought a friend home. Kami, I wonder what she'd say, if she found out my feelings for Nicholas were more than just friendly? She'd probably be open-minded, and tolerant, and all that other good stuff…but I don't want to try my luck just now.

She offered us food, of course, she offers everyone food. Aunt Rem is just that kind of person. I think it comes from being a social worker, she just has to make sure that kids are eating. Neither of us was hungry, but after leaving our shoes at the door, we did get some drinks and wandered down the small hall to my room. Thankfully, I don't keep anything too stupid on my walls, nothing at all really, except a picture of my family before the accident, a picture of my aunt and uncle, and some of my still-life sketches. My room has a twin sized bed, a computer desk, some bookcases, and that's about it. It's not that we're poor or anything, but a lot of my parents' money is held up keeping Naifu in the sanitarium, and in a trust fund for me to go to college. We get a check from their estate, and my aunt makes some at her job, and I get a check from the U.S. government…presumably from the guy who killed my parents, working off his debt to society by pounding out license plates. .

Nicholas pulled off his glasses and threw himself down on the floor. His long legs stretched across the entire room (not that it's very big), sock feet crossed at the ankles. Popping open the can, he swallowed it down quickly, and I followed suit. After a day at school, it takes me at least two cans of Coke to get my caffeine levels back to normal. As he finished the first, I threw him another, pitching my bookbag into the corner. Ordinarily I would have gotten undressed, but I decided I could live with my stupid school uniform a little while longer. I wish like hell I could get out of wearing it…how Nicholas gets away with black leather, I'll never know. I guess the teachers must be too scared to say anything. How cool is that?

I really should take this jacket off, I think I'm about to sweat to death. You'd think they could find a material for our uniforms that didn't cling to your skin. Shrugging out of the heavy navy jacket, I'm kinda thankful I wore something underneath it. Just a white T-shirt, thankfully with sleeves. It's not that I'm ashamed…hell, maybe it is. I don't want to scare him away, not yet. I want to have him around just a little while longer. I like having someone I can be quiet with.

My glasses start their familiar trip down my nose, and I quickly push them back into place. My aunt says I should get contacts, that I have such pretty eyes I shouldn't hide them behind glasses. I like glasses, though, they're comforting in a way. As much as I lose them, I doubt I'd be able to keep up with contact lenses any better. Grabbing some colored pencils from my desk drawer, I settle down to find the exact color of Nicholas D. Wolfwood's eyes. I'd give my right arm to know what the "D" stands for. I really would.

Casting my mind back, I find a moment where I was staring directly into his eyes. It felt like an eternity, but it lasted only a fraction of a second. The memory was there, however, and I begin trying to recreate the dusky blue of his eyes. I doubt I'll get it exactly right, however, but I want to try.

"I don't think I can do this," he said, and for a moment, I saw the vulnerability that hid in his twilight eyes. He was eyeing his English book with something akin to absolute horror. Without thinking, I touched his arm briefly, pulling away as soon as I realized what I had done. He didn't look angry, but I tried to cover up by saying, "It's okay. You know more than you think. Besides, who better to learn from than an American, ne?"

His eyes searched mine for something, I wish I knew what. Whatever it is, I'll give it to him. "You're serious about this, Vash-kun? You really want to help me?" His voice broke a little, and my insides fell into my toes. He sounded so…insecure. He sounded the way I felt, as if he couldn't believe someone would ever want to help him, or could stand to be around him.

I beamed at him, my only answer a stupid grin plastered across my stupid face. But he understood, I'm sure of it, because he grinned back at me. I was stunned. I had been watching him for nearly three and a half years now, and I had never seen him smile like that for anyone.

He smiled for me.

I was sure of it.

The very idea gave me shivers up and down my spine. I had never dreamed that the day would come…or if I did, I certainly wasn't fool enough to think it'd come true. Glancing up at the clock, I realize that it's nearly midnight. He's been asleep almost an hour, I think. I'm not sure, one moment I was writing out a set of notes for him to study, the next I realized that the silence was not due to our innate reticence, but to the fact that one of the parties was sound asleep.

He's so cute when I sleeps. I might die from it. Is it possible to die from watching someone else sleep? I think my heart might melt right out of my chest, my eyes wanting to stay glued on the sleeping form of the man I've wanted since the first day I saw him.

His knees are pulled inward, almost in a fetal position, and I think that must be how he sleeps. I throw off all the covers and lie haphazardly on my back, no one would sleep with me as a kid, except my brother, it was too dangerous. I kick in my sleep, and punch, and sometimes, I even bite. One time I bit my brother's neck, and he woke up screaming that there was a vampire trying to suck his blood. My mother had thrown a fit, even though it was obvious I hadn't done it on purpose.

Yawning, I turn around, shutting down my computer, barely able to keep my eyes open. I'm exhausted, but I don't want this day to end. I'll wake up, I'll go to school, and Nicholas D. Wolfwood will saunter past me in the halls as if he's never seen me in his entire life. I know it. I wish it wasn't that way, but people are people, even people like Nicholas. Face it, who wants to be seen with me? Even with my left arm, I doubt I would have been considered a prize catch. I'm just too gaijin, too clumsy, too dorky, too Vash.

I start putting away my books, straightening up my desk, even though it's not that messy. Aunt Rem is a straightener, and has no compunction about coming in my room to clean things up, if she feels it's too cluttered. It's not that I mind her coming in, I don't have anything that I mind her seeing…well, the yaoi doujinshi underneath my bed might give her a nosebleed, but it's not like I'm hiding them.

I grab my sketchbook and prepare to finish my drawing. I won't have him as a model, but at least I'll have something. Sketching in the fine lines that are etched beside his mouth, I wonder what could have happened to him that would cause those lines to be there. I wish I could know him, even if it wasn't in a romantic way. He's an interesting sort of guy. Glancing up to make sure I have his nose right, I gasp as I realize that his eyes are open, and that he is watching me. Watching me draw him. I think I'd like to die now, please.

He holds his arm out, and I quietly place the sketchbook into his hand. I don't have any defense. I've been caught in the act, trying desperately to hold onto his likeness, just so I can have something of him to hold onto.

I can't breathe.

I'm serious. I've stopped breathing. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was dead. What the hell was I thinking? How am I to explain this? I mean, rationally explain this, in a way that doesn't make me look like an idiot, or a stalker, or worse. Kami, I wonder if he likes it? And if he does like it, is he pissed anyway because I drew him without his permission? And if he doesn't like it, and he's pissed, then I've just ruined my only chance to be with him.

As if I ever had a chance.

He's still studying it, his smoky eyes smoldering underneath his ebony bangs. Goddammit, how could I have done this? My heart is still beating, it's about to pound it's way right out of my chest. I wish he'd say something, anything, just so I'd know…something.

Say something.

I'm begging you, Nicholas.

Kick my ass, beat my face in, pound me into the ground. I only ask that you say something. I can't live without knowing what you're thinking, how you're feeling. I didn't mean to offend you. I didn't mean to overstep. I only wanted to keep a part of you with me. I only wanted us to be together, somewhere, even if it's only in my mind.

He clears his throat, and I cringe, waiting for whatever is coming. I'll take it like a man, no matter what he hands out. I know that I was wrong.

Or do I?

Am I really sorry?

Or am I only sorry that I got caught?

Shameless.

Even now, I can't be really sorry. I refuse to be sorry. I'll apologize, but only to assuage his feelings. I'm not sorry. I've waited too long, been patient too long, wished and hoped and prayed too damn long.

Before he can say anything, I whisper, "Gomen. Gomen, Nicholas." I'm a liar. I'm not sorry at all.

His voice, when it finally comes, is as velvety and soft as his hair, "Don't be sorry. I hope that you aren't. This is damned good, Vash-kun." He stops a moment, wanting to say something else.

I breathe a grateful, "Arigato." Not much else I can say, considering that my brain seems to have short-circuited. Again I wait, hoping he'll say more. He likes it? For real? I feel like jumping up and down and bouncing all over the house, but decide against it. Nicholas has never seen me in what my aunt calls my "chibi" mode.

Looking up into my eyes, he asks, "You drew this in this short amount of time?"

"Hai."

"I'm impressed. That's fucking amazing. I don't think anyone else would be able to capture my eyes like that, and my nose…damn…"

Again he trails off, and I feel like I've been handed the moon, and sun, and the stars, and a couple of planets. He's impressed? By something I've done? Dear sweet, beautiful Kami, what did I do to deserve this?

"May I?" he says, and I'm lost for a moment. "May I look at the rest?" he queries again, and I nod in affirmation. He has every right to see, especially since his essence has been added to the mix.

I think a part of me wanted him to see my sketches the whole time. I want to bare my soul to this man, along with my mind and my body.

I'm yours, Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

Such as I am.

And if you don't want me, it won't kill me. I'll just wish for death quietly. What is it about you that makes me want to hand you my everything?

"What is it about you," he begins, and I blink at the echoing of our thoughts. He doesn't finish the sentence before getting up on his knees. Handing me the sketchbook, he crawls over, kneeling in front of me.

That damn cat was the death of me.

No doubt about it. I can't be living, things like this DO NOT happen to me. Completely and totally out of the question…

For one shining, infinite moment, all of my thoughts are halted, as his long-fingered hand brushes against my face. I don't even pretend not to be moved by it, instinct causing me to close my eyes and press my cheek against his palm. His other hand cradles my head, fingers caressing my nape, and I begin to shiver uncontrollably. "Wha…?" I try to ask him, but a feathery kiss on my jawline stops any further speech.

He's kissing me.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood is kissing me.

Why the hell aren't I kissing back?

My right hand finally moves, and for the first time in many years, I curse the fact that I don't have my left. I want to hug him, hold him tight against my body, but I can only do it halfway. His tongue teases the corner of my mouth, and I forget all about everything else but him.

I circle his waist with my hand, moaning a little as his tongue finally gains entrance. My fingers betray me, sliding underneath his shirt to explore the silken expanse of his back.

I've never been kissed before.

Certainly not like this.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

His hands are wandering, one smoothing over my damaged left shoulder, the other gently teasing my nipple. I've lost control of my voice, whimpering and groaning at every touch, at every stroke of his tongue, at every whispered word. I don't know what he's saying, but it sounds pretty fucking good. I let my hand go where it wishes, which happens to be his firm backside. I've watched his ass long enough. I want to touch it, feel it. Our kissing is becoming ever more feverish, and I'm beginning to see bright lights behind my eyes. Either that, or this is the light at the end of the tunnel.

I knew I had to be dead.

This can't be happening.

I'm brought back to reality by a tug at my earlobe, nipping teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. "Oh, you bastard," I exhale, and his rumbling chuckle nearly sends me over the precipice. It's like I'm standing, ready to jump, and the only thing holding me back is his strong embrace.

"Don't leave me, tongari," he whispers, and I don't know if he means my side-trip into heaven, or if he means it literally. I struggle to ask him, to clarify that statement, but all thought leaves me once again as he lovingly caresses my inner thigh.

I yelp, but he swallows the sound with his warm, wet mouth. "Gomen nasai, Vash-kun," he murmurs, and I shake my head.

I can't take anymore of this.

I'm a virgin, for fuck's sake. If he's gonna screw me, he needs to do it now, or I'm not responsible for the consequences. I try to get that thought across to him, but it comes out sounding a lot like, "Fuck me. Now. Right now. Just fuck me, please."

He's not laughing, but he doesn't stop his damned teasing either. I give up trying to be rational, arching under his fingers that are now stroking my painful erection. "Goddammit, Nick," I growl, and he licks my throat playfully..

I should have known I was an uke.

Wonder why it never occurred to me before now? I knew I wanted Nicholas to fuck me, I guess I never thought about it in too great detail. This feels so fucking good, I almost feel sorry for him. What is he getting out of this?

"You," he answers. I can't believe I said that aloud. I really can't believe his answer. What is so special about me? I'll tell you what, absolutely nothing.

"Not so, you're very special," Nicholas breathes, his mouth still wreaking havoc over my fevered skin. I'm basically hanging on for dear life, my hand fisted in his hair, relishing the feel of it. I don't remember speaking, and I wonder if he's reading my mind.

"Vash no baka."

He undoes my zipper carefully, and I don't mind in the least. I'm his, that's all there is to it. I tell him so, and he answers, "You've got it all wrong. I'm yours, tongari-ai." My dick is in total agreement with the both of us, springing forward from my boxers, eagerly awaiting Nick's obvious talents.

A lick and a nibble, and it's all over for Vash. Nick continues his gentle strokes as I come violently into his mouth. Dammit, I did not mean for that to happen, but I no longer control anything. He's swallowing it down like it's nothing, and for a moment, I feel a vague curiosity as to my taste. I don't have to wonder for long, as he pulls my mouth downward into a kiss. Not what I was expecting, but not all that bad, either. I want to taste him. I tell him so, unabashed. He grins, his tongue swiping at the corners of his mouth, and tells me, "Soon enough."

I can live with that.

I fall into his lap, and he cradles me against him, touching my face and shoulder periodically, kissing my cheek. I don't know how the hell this happened. I only know that I want more. Lots more. Everything more.

"If you want more, I'll give it to you, honey," he says, and I shiver happily. I have so many questions that I want to ask, but now isn't the time. I bask in the moment, in his arms around me, in the feelings that begin to wind around my heart, pulling tighter every second.

It's nearly two o'clock when we finally come around enough to talk. We don't say much, mostly endearments that I'm not sure he means. I hope he does, it would kill me if he had just been playing me. It's a possibility I have to face.

My heart tells me that's not the case. For now, I want to believe in my heart.

I help him straighten his clothing, and he helps me…something I would never allow from anyone else. He doesn't hesitate at all from touching my prosthetic arm, and I adore him for it. We kiss for a bit longer, but eventually he asks me to walk him outside.

My aunt's door is shut completely, her television set still turned on. I wonder if she could hear us. I'm beyond caring, with Nicholas' hand enclosing mine. We stop a few times on the way outside, kissing and fondling, one time nearly falling over in a heap. By the time we get outside, the birds are already chirruping their morning songs. At best, I'll have three hours of sleep, but I doubt I'll be able to sleep, not with the smell of sex in the air. I owe him, he never got the release that I did, and his eyes are still fever-bright with lust. At least, I think it's lust, I've never actually seen it before. No one has ever looked at me like that. Ever.

Gently, he pushes me against the single tree that stands in front of our apartment building. His tongue plunders my mouth, and we start again our dance of tasting, of feeling, of touching…my shirt is almost over my head before he stops himself.

"You…school…tomorrow…" he pants, and I nod reluctantly.

"You, too."

"I'll see you then?" he asks, sounding so unsure that I have to kiss him again and again.

"You'll see me. Besides, you're coming over tomorrow, aren't you?" I ask innocently, which he quickly matches with a most devilish, devious grin.

"Hai."

He kisses me a few more times, and when he moves to leave, I pull him back. I wish he could stay, or that I could go with him, but it's too soon for all of that. I'm still not exactly sure what our relationship is, or if he even wants one. Finally, I push him away, holding his hand for half a second longer. He grins as he walks into the distance, turning around every second or so to look at me.

"Aishiteru," I whisper, and imagine that he hears me. I hope so. I should have told him. I know better than anyone that love, albeit a strong emotion, is powerless against Fate. If something should happen to him…he'd never know how I felt.

There's no greater sorrow than that.

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The lone man laid his face against the cold stone monument that had been erected over the grave of his lover. It was soothing in its own way, a testament to the man that had been his greatest friend. He sat there for the longest time, his eyes stinging and burning from the pain of his loss . The sand that swirled over the desert drove into his skin, but he did not feel it. His mind was wandering, through time, through all the parallel lives that exist for every man. Vash the Stampede sifted through each universe, each incarnation of himself, until he found what he was looking for.

Happiness.

Love.

Peace.

The young couple had found it. Somehow, out of all the people they might have ended up with, they had ended up with one another. It was enough to make an outlaw wail. Which he did, sobbing his heart out under the scarred crimson moon. When the tears finally abated, he found his smile again. "I wish them good luck," was all he said, turning his face to the stars.

And he thought for a moment that he heard Nicholas' voice, answering in turn, "They don't need luck, baka…they've got me."

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