Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Sabure no Kaze ❯ Chapter 1

The fire was still glowing, but had lost much of its earlier life. The desert chill was slowly creeping into the small camp circle, and her sleeping bag was getting less and less comfortable.

She lay awake, thinking of the strangeness of the situation and wishing for the third time that day that she had learned how to fix cars from her middle big brother. When the vehicle quit out in the middle of nowhere, not even Wolfwood-san’s tinkering had been able to resurrect the engine.

Meryl lay huddled next to her in her own sleeping bag, little more than a blanket wrapped around her small frame. The night was black--an absolute emptiness and stillness unlike anything she remembered or could have described. The only sound was the soft breeze, warm against her face, in odd contrast to the overall coldness of the air. The sand was soft, but something was keeping her awake. She pretended to herself she didn’t know the reason for her restlessness, but her subconscious fought against her denial until she sighed with frustration and admitted it to herself--she was thinking about the priest.

Once she had mentally voiced the confession, she felt a tightness around her chest (oh, come on, it’s your heart, quit fooling yourself) as she once again felt herself thrilled by his closeness. The four of them lay around the small fire she and Meryl had created to cook their meager dinner on, and although she knew it was for safety, heat, and convenience, she nonetheless couldn’t keep from dwelling on the fact that this was an intimate situation. Two men, two women, the middle of nowhere. If only Meryl would tell Vash how she felt about him, they probably would have gone off somewhere together and then she would be alone with him. Dammit.

Almost the instant she thought the words, she felt mortified at herself. Could she really honestly be thinking about Wolfwood-san that way? He was so kind, of course he flirted with her, but that was just part of a man’s manner with women. Sure, he didn’t treat Meryl the same, but that was probably because she had no sense of humour about such things. Growing up in a large family, you learn to take teasing and give it right back. That was probably why he had such an easy manner with her, why she felt so comfortable in his presence.

Even this afternoon, when Vash was off brooding about their mechanical problems, and Meryl blaming everyone in turn, Wolfwood-san was joking with her, laughing when she tried to help, but not making fun of her for trying. No wonder she was fond of him.

And that was all it was, right? Fond of him. Any girl would find him attractive--he was amazingly charismatic for a priest. For anyone. His lean muscles as he was grappling with the wrench, the way his legs moved when he stretched in the sun, those big eyes. She had thought they were dark, but this afternoon in the blazing sun they looked almost pale green. She sighed again. I’m surely going to need to use his portable confessional--only problem is I would never admit this sin to him. A well of frustration made her throat clench, and she squeezed her eyes tight against the longing she felt. I’ve got to get some sleep!

It was useless--too much had happened. Too many thoughts whirled in her head. The feel of his body next to her on the bus the first day they met. How he leaned into her, said she was “comfy” and then proceeded to nod off. She thought he was comfy too--but why hadn’t she said anything? Stupid question--he’s a priest! Of course, they had joked back and forth--having kids, being sweet on each other, but it was just fun and games. At first she thought maybe he was doing it to try to loosen up Vash and Meryl--get them to interact in a similar way. It was obvious to everyone but those two where that relationship was heading. But where did that leave her? Not with a priest for a boyfriend, she wasn’t that stupid.

Still, nothing wrong with enjoying the day, enjoying his company, and especially enjoying the nearness of him in this dark night when she could pretend, almost, that they were sharing the same room, maybe even the same bed. Not that anything would even happen--it’s just a stupid fantasy. But why not try to drift off to sleep thinking about him? He was keeping her awake, anyway, she thought indignantly.

Her technique almost worked--the soft rhythm of the wind had lulled her into that delicate realm between waking and dreams when a noise pulled her quickly to her senses.

Still as she could be, she strained harder to determine who had woken her. A small sigh came from one of her companions and she heard one of them stand up. She knew it wasn’t Meryl, since she was curled up next to her friend. Trying not to make a sound, she slowly and deliberately raised her head and looked over her shoulder. If only she hadn’t rolled over a few minutes before! But she didn’t need to wait long to find out the source--Wolfwood walked soundlessly by her a few seconds later, carrying his sleeping roll with him.

Stunned for a moment, she lay there unsure of what to do next. Should she follow him? Was something wrong? Wouldn’t Wolfwood-san get too cold sleeping away from the fire? Maybe she should wake up Meryl and ask advice? NO, that was a bad idea. Maybe Mr. Vash should find out what was going on. Maybe he just needed to leave for a minute? She thought of all the reasons he might have left, and realized she couldn’t hear a thing from any direction--whatever he was doing, it wasn’t making a noise. She didn’t even know how far he went. IF he was coming back!

This last thought caused panic in her mind. What if Wolfwood-san had decided to strike out on his own, walking while the suns were down and he wouldn’t have to put up with the desert heat? What if he was leaving them (leaving her, her brain amended)?

Paralyzed by this thought, she lay for at least a quarter of an hour, breathing shallowly and conflicted inside.

Finally, she reasoned, it was completely logical that she should find out if he was OK. He couldn’t be upset if she just went to check on him. No one could blame her. And anyway, why was she worried? He was her friend, they had an easy relationship, he had never mocked her or made her feel stupid. That was just one of the things she loved about him. Liked, liked, liked, she thought quickly, mentally slapping herself.

She quietly slipped out of her sleeping bag and headed off in the direction she had seen him disappear in. The dim light from the fire quickly disappeared just a few yarz from the campsite, and everything was swallowed up by the darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the night, she realized there was a little light from the two moons in the west, and concentrated on using that to follow the soft imprints of his feet in the sand.

If she had been walking fast, she would have literally stumbled over him, lying alongside a rocky outcropping in the parched valley. He was asleep, she registered immediately. Whatever had kept him awake lying among them had not followed him to his new bed. Faint disappointment fluttered in her chest, but, she reasoned, at least he doesn’t know how silly I am for following him. And at least he isn’t leaving us.

She stood there for a short while, not sure if she was willing him awake or just watching the rise and fall of his breath. He lay hunched against the rock, his head pulled down towards his chest, his legs as one shapeless line in the blanket. Finally, realizing the pointlessness of her presence and feeling vaguely unsettled, as if she had been spying on him or intruding on a private moment, she turned around and began heading back towards the small glow in the distance.

A small cry stopped her in her tracks, after she had gone less than ten yarz. She spun around and listened with all her might. Another sound, obviously coming from Wolfwood, and clearly in pain, split the silence as loud as a thunderclap in her ears. She didn’t creep this time, but strode quickly back towards him.

He was still asleep, but in the throes of a nightmare. His chest was heaving, his eyes squeezed shut. As if his whole body ached, he tensed and then moaned. She realized he might have moved away from camp to keep from waking them with his night demons. But what bad dreams could a priest have, she thought naively, and then instantly chastised herself for such a stupid thought. Everyone has bad dreams, and with the recent events, it was no wonder they all weren’t suffering from them.

As she stood, indecisive and unsure just how she should react to the situation, he cried out again and held out his hands, as if he could see them in his sleep. She noticed his .45 on the ground beside him and quickly moved it away from him. Guns are so dangerous--how could anyone be so careless as to sleep with one?

As she moved it, she made a quick decision. She would wake him up. She could always say she heard him crying from the camp and came to see if she could help--to see what was the matter. Ready with her story, she knelt down at his side and said, “Please, wake up.” Nothing. “Mr. Priest, please. You’re having a bad dream.”

He turned away and she thought for a minute her voice had settled his sleep, but as she leaned in to make sure he was OK, he snapped to the right again, and she put her hands on his shoulders automatically.

Immediately he was sitting up, looking confused and his face a mask of sadness. Instinctively, she put her arms around him and said, “It was a dream, a bad dream.” Instead of reassuring him, this seemed to distress him more and he leaned heavily into her, but seemed unable to speak. She felt his forehead against her shoulder, and raised her right hand to stroke his hair, trying to give comfort but unable to decide what the best course of action would be.

Just as she was thinking his silence meant he was OK, a violent sob racked his body and she felt hot tears through her thin nightshirt. She held him tighter, and said nothing.

He did not return the embrace, but began to speak, only it didn’t make sense. “I was right, wasn’t I, to help the children….not murder, it’s not murder, oh God, there’s so much blood, I can’t touch them, I have so much blood…” he lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her without seeing her.

“Are you OK Wolfwood-san?” she asked in a trembling voice, using his name as she never had before. He looked straight into her eyes and lifted his hands so she could see them in the moonlight.

“Look at my hands…they have so much blood on them. I can’t touch anything sacred, I am everything he tries not to be.” She looked, but his hands were unstained. He continued to hold them up.

She took them and turned the palms toward him. “Look at them, it was a dream…” her voice trailed off as the intimacy of the moment made an almost electric tingle in her hands as they held his.

She looked into his eyes, unwillingly, because she knew the longing she felt would be there, and surely he was man enough to see it. As his eyes focused on her, she felt as if she had just stepped off an impossible precipice and was beyond caring about what lay below. He squinted for a minute, and then slowly wove his fingers between hers, surprising her because in the moment she had forgotten she was holding his hands. He held her gaze and said nothing.

She was afraid to speak, but the intensity she saw in his face told her his silence held a completely different meaning. She couldn’t look away and was terrified of what would happen next.

He squeezed her hands, still holding them, and said, “I’m sorry…” She wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for--for the nightmare? For holding her hands? For being unable to give her what she wanted because he was a priest? Then as if he had heard the uncertainty in her thoughts, he said, “My demons caught up with me tonight. I’m glad you were here…” a small tear still glistened on his rough cheek and she surprised herself by saying, “I came to find you…I don’t know why.”

He hugged her to him, impulsively and suddenly, with a roughness and violence that caught her off guard and took her breath away. He held her close, and slowly his arms relaxed around her. She wrapped her arms around him and they sat there in the warm breeze by the cold rock. His mouth was by her ear and she was painfully attuned to his every exhale. Betrayed by her own desire, her breathing had become ragged and short. She desperately tried to calm herself, but any consideration of the situation only intensified the physical immediacy of his presence.

Finally, uncaring, she clutched him tighter, and he slowly lay down on his back with her in his arms. She lifted her head and looked at him. Before she could even begin to try to analyze the look in his eyes, he was kissing her.

His lips were soft and gentle. He did no more than press them to her own, and a shock wave flooded her. All her fears dissipated in a fraction of an instant and she responded with a passion that left no doubt as to what she had been wanting for weeks.

He continued kissing her as he gently rolled them on their sides, opening her mouth with his tongue, searching with his kisses. She could taste the smokiness of his breath and the salt on his lips from his earlier tears. Her only thought was that she adored this man, loved this man, and wanted to let him know she would follow him to the ends of the earth if that is what he wanted. She trusted him completely, and as he broke the kiss and looked at her, he saw the trust in her eyes.

Without a word, he removed his shirt and tossed it to the sand. Then with the same casual motion, he lifted her flimsy nightshirt over her head and fell on her neck, tracing the line from her ear to her shoulder with kisses. He moved on top of her and she gasped as she felt the hardness in his pants against her stomach. She lifted against him and pulled him to her. He continued his trail of kisses to her breasts before returning to her lips.

Bold now, she rolled from underneath him and straddled his waist, kissing his eyes, his nose, his ears, tracing his lips with her finger and covering his skin with her mouth. Holding his gaze, she reached down and tugged at his belt. His eyes glinted with a hint of his mischievous nature as he simply slid his pants off his hips as if to say, “here you go.” She giggled. He laughed out loud and all of sudden she was beneath him again as he moved against her.

She sighed for what must have been the 100th time that night, only this time it was contentment and happiness. She could tell by the natural way they moved together that this was meant to be. She was not concerned with right and wrong, the past or the future, for the moment it was enough to just be with him, and she felt as if that was always going to be enough.

As she realized this, he kissed her mouth again, hard, deep, and with an intensity that made her forget her own body until she felt him enter her. The sheer closeness of him, the heat of him inside her consumed her completely. She pushed against him, trying to take him deeper and deeper into herself, so they would never be completely alone again. He responded with powerful thrusts that penetrated every hidden place she kept. Every secret she had ever had was revealed, every desire fulfilled, and every shame was forgotten in the force of his possession of her.

Their bodies moved as one, with every inch of his skin touching every inch of hers. Her legs wrapped his strong torso and his arms kept her chest crushed to his own. He knew her wants and needs as if they were his own. He was sensual and sweet, kind and rough, forceful and slow. She felt delirious and uncontrollable as his body moved within her while his hands and lips worshipped her skin. He touched her, caressed her, massaged her, and held her until the weeks of her pent-up desire exploded in a combustion of release. Before her body had descended from the heights he had taken her to, she felt his own release, warm and deep inside her.

Overcome, she lay back and held his unshaven face in her hands. She took in the firm lines of his lips in the moonlight and traced them with a fingertip. He grinned and then kissed her again, neither of them willing to endanger the moment with a word.

They lay together, still joined, for a moment. She kissed his neck, this time tasting the salt of his sweat where not long ago there were tears. She combed her hands through his hair as he rolled onto his side, running his hands down the length of her body before pulling her tightly to him again. She fit perfectly into his arms, and curled up along his side with her head pillowed on his chest. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Good night, my honey.”

“Good night, Mr. Priest,” she said reflexively, and his soft laughter and a gentle kiss in her hair sent her off to sleep.