Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Need ❯ Chapter 1

Author's grovel: Grateful thanks to Sasha, for comments that made this a vastly better fic than it was the first time around!

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Need

The hotel owner looked up as he walked towards the desk, his boots clicking loudly on the wooden floor. She peered at him suspiciously through narrow glasses as he got closer. She would have seemed like anybody's favourite grandmother if it weren't for the look in her eyes. He gave her his best self-effacing grin, wide and toothy.

"I'd like a room for tonight, please," he said, letting his bag drop to the floor by his feet.

"Just tonight?" She didn't seem to be buying the harmless idiot routine, her tone sharp and high.

Vash shrugged, still smiling. "Well, we're not really sure. We may stay longer, depends how it goes."

Her eyes flickered briefly to Wolfwood a few feet away. "Twin room?"

He cast his eyes over Wolfwood, who was somehow standing slouched forward despite the weight of the cross at his back, sunglasses firmly in place, cigarette hanging from his lips, and taking no interest in the conversation. "Double," he said, looking back to the woman and ignoring her slight sniff.

"That'll be one-twenty-five. In advance."

Vash fished around in his pockets, exploring several before he'd dragged together the required amount of cash, and handed it over. She put the key on the desk. "Room eight, third floor," she said, turning away and already reaching for the book beside the desk lamp. "I'll need to know by noon if you're staying."

"We'll be sure to let you know." He kept the smile in his voice even though it had left his lips. He picked up his bag and headed for the stairs, the creak of floorboards and the faint sound of breath telling him just how closely Wolfwood followed him. His body was already tightening as he climbed. He was sure; as sure as he could be until they got into that room.

The key turned stiffly in the lock, with a creak that suggested it hadn't seen oil in a while. He pushed the door open, Wolfwood following him through with rapid steps. He flicked on the light, turned to close and lock the door, hearing the muffled thump of heavy weight and canvas behind him as the cross was propped against the wall. A few more footsteps, closer, and he was grabbed and turned, pushed back against the door as Wolfwood's lips came down on his, hard. He freed one arm from Wolfwood's grip, making a grab for the dark sunglasses that rubbed annoyingly against his nose and dropping them carelessly to the floor.

Yeah, he'd called it right when it came to the room. He hated screwing on a single bed.

He knew these moods of Wolfwood's. Not that they happened often; months would go by before something wound him tight enough that he would turn to Vash like this. In a way, that had to be a good thing, though Vash sometimes wondered if it would be easier on Wolfwood if he caved sooner.

This time around the girl was twelve years old. Lina's age. Found dead after years of bruises and `accidents'. Her father was in the jail at the sheriff's office now, but the whole damn town was guilty - all those people who'd seen it and known and done nothing.

Wolfwood had stayed quiet, and looked at the gossiping neighbours in a way that set Vash on edge.

So now Wolfwood's hands were right there at his throat, tugging at the collar of his coat, thick material rubbing along the back of his neck as the fastenings were worked loose. The occasional brush of calloused fingers on his skin fired along Vash's nerves like a deliberate tease, though it was certainly unintentional. There was no playfulness in Wolfwood at these times, every touch purposeful, essential. Wolfwood's eyes glittered at him, dark and driven, until his hands progressed far enough below Vash's chin to let Wolfwood take his mouth again.

His lips parted easily, giving access for Wolfwood's insistent tongue to sweep into his mouth, exploring his teeth and tongue and palate. Cigarettes and whisky overloaded his taste buds instantly, so thoroughly Wolfwood; Vash wondered how he'd taste without them, but it would be like kissing a stranger. He could do that any time, and it wasn't what he wanted.

He wriggled his hands between their bodies, unfastening the lower buttons and meeting Wolfwood's fingers in the middle as his coat was pulled fully open. He pushed away from the door, enough for his coat to be dragged from his shoulders and discarded. He let himself relax right back against the door, aware of the possibility of splinters in his newly-bared shoulders and already hard enough not to care, his body responding to the knowledge of where this was going as much as to the few, spare touches, the barely familiar kiss.

Wolfwood moved back with him, the man's hands tugging frantically at his gunbelt, Wolfwood's mouth on his own so damn hot and good. Stubble rasped over his skin, another part of the whole, part of sex with Wolfwood, and his cock's appreciation twisted the burn into something desirable. His tongue flicked and tangled with Wolfwood's, enjoying not pushing. He let Wolfwood control the pace and direct his body during these encounters.

It would be fast and hard. It always was.

Wolfwood's hands on his skin already, at last, pushing at the jumpsuit, sliding over his chest and shoulders as they peeled away the last of his layers. His flesh goose-pimpled at the touch of chill air, the cheap hotel room poorly heated as always. Wolfwood pushed closer, the buttons of his shirt pressing into Vash's chest, one knee moving against Vash's legs. Vash let his feet slide further apart, further from the door, more pressure from the wood at his back as his weight shifted. Wolfwood closer still, leg sliding between Vash's, hip hard and delicious against Vash's cock. Wolfwood's hands tight on his ass, Wolfwood's tongue slick in his mouth, body hot against his own through the single layer of cloth, his shivers nothing to do with the air now.

It still surprised him how fast he reacted to this. How much he wanted it like this.

He sucked eagerly on Wolfwood's tongue, tugging at the man's shirt to free it from the trousers, his hands sliding now across smooth, unmarked skin, so delicious to touch. Minutely aware of how muscles flexed towards his fingers as they traced alongside Wolfwood's spine, the body beneath his hands tight with tension and lust. Light tickle of fabric over his hips as Wolfwood pushed at the last of his clothing, warm breath and lips ghosting down his neck and shoulders. Soft scrape of teeth at his throat followed by harder suction, Vash arching into it and into more contact with the length of Wolfwood's body.

And yeah, he'd have a mark there tomorrow, more than one by the time this was done, and he didn't give a damn; he wore his collars high anyway.

He tipped his head, Wolfwood's mouth a hot, tingling pressure at his neck, strands of dark hair swaying past his chin with the movement of his own fast breaths. He inhaled deep, the herbal shampoo aroma almost drowned in tobacco, two of the many familiar scents that were part of Wolfwood. He lived with their constant presence, these rare, up close experiences heightening his awareness of them, his reactions to them. His fingers travelled to Wolfwood's belt over skin now edged with a hint of sweat, a flushed contrast to the air, each new evidence of Wolfwood's desire coiling his own tighter. Wolfwood stepped back, still for a moment, air hissing through parted lips, his gaze fixed on Vash, obsessive and hungry. The single bare bulb that lit the room set a contrast of harsh light and deep shadow across his figure. The cool air was suddenly sharp against Vash's skin in place of that heated body. And then Wolfwood moved, stripping his own clothing from below his waist efficiently, rapidly, taking a tube from his pocket and throwing it in the direction of the bed. Vash bent to remove his own boots, pulling the jumpsuit from his ankles. Moved across the room to stand naked by the bed in invitation, Wolfwood's eyes on him all the way.

Wolfwood took three long strides forward, still wearing his shirt, and pushed at Vash's shoulders.

Vash let himself flop back onto the double bed, arms and legs spread wide across the rough thomas hair blankets, revelling in the feeling of space for just a moment; and then Wolfwood was on him and space was the last thing he wanted.

Vash stretched out his perceptions further, reaching for the details, the speed of their actions no barrier to his ability to separate and appreciate each individual sensation. Skin moving against skin as their tangled limbs shifted, the slight roughness of the hairs that curled along the length of Wolfwood's legs. Two hard cocks pressed between them, rubbing together up against his belly, erratic and teasing, nowhere near enough. His own fingers at the smooth plastic of shirt buttons, peeling back the cloth to run over bare chest, skin flawless and perfect and shiveringly alive beneath his caresses. Wolfwood's hands dry and calloused, pressing on the skin behind his knees, flexing his legs up and back. His muscles and joints sliding easily into position, the slight pull of his skin against the edges of inelastic scar tissue the only resistance. The sudden cold shock of two fingers slick with lube pushing into him, familiar stretch and a faint burn.

Wolfwood never hurt him. It was a narrow line sometimes, one that Vash could almost *see*, stretched taut and thin by tension, by redirected violence. But he never crossed it, and Vash had never thought he would.

He wriggled down onto the fingers, encouraging, the cold of the lubricant quickly vanishing in the heat of sensation. His cock oozed stickiness onto his belly as Wolfwood systematically finger-fucked him, stretching and readying; the air rasped through his throat as he sought more oxygen, more touching, his hips pushing towards Wolfwood crouched over him, needing contact for his erection.

Wolfwood's eyes fixed on his reactions, black with arousal and shadow, swapping fingers for cock as soon as he could take it.

One long, steady push in, more stretch and burn, but never too much, not enough to make him want to stop. His cock twitched and wept with the next slow slide, the burn fading and dying with each controlled thrust, until Wolfwood inhaled sharply and began fucking him in earnest.

Every movement went straight to his cock, every push drove the response of his hips. Strands of damp hair clinging tightly to his forehead; Wolfwood panting over him, the flex of hard muscle rippling all down his body; every second wound him higher and tighter, and *needier*, his hands clenching into the loose-woven blankets beneath him, coarse fibres against flesh and sensitised synthetic.

Wolfwood hissed abruptly and shuddered hard as he thrust, cock jumping and twitching inside Vash's body. His head drooped forward, elbows bending and his body sagging towards Vash's, hot panting breath directed down onto Vash's chest. And *shit*, the man's timing was so goddamn awful, frustration making him moan and buck against Wolfwood.

"Hang on," Wolfwood gritted out between desperate inhales. "Just…." A few more intensely long, starved moments and he raised his head, eyes opening to stare directly at Vash. Locked one elbow and reached his other hand around to Vash's cock.

*Finally*, the contact his erection was screaming for, fingers on him tight and skilful; no teasing, just fast and smooth and everything his body wanted, a few strokes driving him into shivering, pulsing, blinding orgasm, Wolfwood's cock still half-hard inside him and Wolfwood's hand pumping him through it.

His head sank back into the pillow, hands releasing the blankets, Wolfwood easing out and away even as he experienced the final shudders.

He always broke the contact the instant they'd both gotten off; he'd go clean up, then return to the other bed. It was like he couldn't get away fast enough. The sex was a convenience, and Vash enjoyed it all the same, but he didn't like being treated like some stranger Wolfwood had picked up in a bar.

This time, there was no other bed for Wolfwood to retreat to. Vash opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiling.

Wolfwood lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, hair tousled and straggling down over his eyes. The shirt settled in folds along his sides, shifting with every breath, sharp white contrast against the expanse of tanned skin that clung to his ribcage and rippled with the muscle beneath.

He looked fantastic.

Dark eyes swivelled sideways to watch Vash, intense and guarded beneath the harsh stripes of shadow cast by his hair. "Why do you let me do this?"

Vash grinned. "Because you let me return the favour." Because sometimes he needed Wolfwood; needed to push him down and undress him, to touch and taste and take him, until he no longer wanted to cry. Because sometimes it felt like the only thing stopping him from falling apart.

He could almost like it better this way around. When he fucked Wolfwood, there was too much of his own pain involved; it gave him a measure of relief, not real pleasure. Except that this way around, Wolfwood was the one who suffered.

It could be different. It could be about the desire, not the pain, for both of them.

Maybe.

Wolfwood was missing even that mild degree of easing now, no sarcastic reply to Vash's attempt to lighten the mood. His gaze remained distant, muscles taut with the strain of keeping something locked inside that wanted out.

Wolfwood rolled away and up, feet hitting the floor, reaching for his discarded jacket.

Vash sat up behind him, the burn in his ass reawakening and shifting like a living thing, but not unwelcome. He placed a hand on Wolfwood's arm, resting his chest against his back, against the sweat-damp shirt. He kept the contact light, wary of pressing sharp, unyielding metal into flesh. "And because it feels good," he said softly.

The muscle shifted beneath his hand as a match flared and Wolfwood raised it to the cigarette at his lips. Smoke curled up in front of him, the tobacco stink seeming to fill the room with Wolfwood's very first exhale. The man twisted sideways, wriggling out of Vash's loose hold to look back over his shoulder at him. "You got a double bed," he finally commented.

Vash made a face. "Single beds *really* weren't designed for sex. There always seems to be part of me hanging off somewhere. And then I start feeling like I'm gonna fall off if I move too much. It's distracting."

Wolfwood took another drag from his cigarette, flicked ash vaguely towards the ashtray by the bedhead, and missed. "Okay," he said, voice neutral.

Vash cautiously interpreted that as a win, since he wasn't yelling and cursing. "Good," he said, his voice far more cheerful than he actually felt. "Now put out the damn cigarette, lose the shirt and we can get some sleep."

"Yeah." Wolfwood's easy agreement was… odd. But he smoked the cigarette down to the butt before he finally crushed it into the ashtray. Vash claimed the other side of the bed and established himself under the sheets, tugging the blankets up to his chin.

Wolfwood peeled the shirt away from his body, rolled it into a ball and hurled it towards the corner of the room. No hesitation as he pulled back the bedclothes and joined Vash, no obvious weirdness at sharing a bed. But no contact either, a layer of cool air and cool sheets between them as Wolfwood settled, facing away from Vash.

Vash shifted and sighed, wriggling a little closer, reaching out. He rested his hand lightly on Wolfwood's hip, flesh tensing instantly under his touch. But Wolfwood neither moved nor spoke, eventually just breathing out a soft sigh, the muscles beneath his fingers losing some definition as they relaxed.

The skin he touched was damp and cool with sweat. The blankets over him shifted ever so slightly with each regular movement of Wolfwood's ribs. Through the wall, he could hear the distorted flat burble of a radio. It didn't cover the low sounds of Wolfwood's breath, slowing, deepening, gradually evening out into sleep.

The last of the tension finally left his own body as he let his head drop forwards, forehead resting against soft hair at the back of Wolfwood's neck.

Yeah. He hated screwing on a single bed.

This was better.