Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ The Shower ❯ The Shower ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Cigarettes. That was the first thing Wolfwood smelled when the water from the shower hit his hair. The accumulated residue of the day's smoky sacrament was released somehow, pent up in his follicles, stored and protected. Evidence of his addiction. So here, in the one place in the world that he couldn't have a smoke, he had learned to relish these first few seconds. Someone needs to invent a waterproof cigarette.

Inhaling the lingering scent deeply, he tilted his head back as the water hit his neck, then turned around so his back faced the stream. The pressure was good, the pounding of the liquid a welcome assault. Even the temperature wasn't too bad. Lukewarm, which was pretty good for a cheap hotel outside of Delnashville. Each drop was a tiny pinprick in his skin, and Wolfwood relaxed into the hydro-massage. Wonder what she's doing now…

The big girl was outside the door. In his room. He wasn't really sure what she was doing there. She'd brought over dinner, made him some coffee. She'd been doing that since they'd started traveling together again. The spiky-headed fool, the short girl, and…Milly. How come it's hard to even think her name?

He knew why. Because using adjectives as monikers was easier than the closeness of a proper noun. Because he wasn't who she thought he was, and that was more than enough reason to keep a distance. The beating of the shower was louder in his ears as Wolfwood turned his neck from side to side, rubbing the stubble on his chin and reaching for the razor. After all, I've got company.

He started to scrape the rough skin, turning his jaw up towards the ceiling. There weren't any answers there. Guess Heaven's not in today.

A small clatter sounded from outside the door. Wolfwood's sharp hearing picked it up through the thrumming of the water's rhythm. She wasn't the most graceful girl, was she? But there was something about her. Milly Thompson. There, I even said her whole name.

As proof of the intimacy of his silent verbalization, Wolfwood shifted his weight uncomfortably under the water, suddenly experiencing a rather poorly timed urge. Just thinking her name had released something in him. It was more than just the familiarity of it. It was the girl's physical proximity at the moment. Setting down the razor, Wolfwood closed his eyes and put his hands against the wall. Head down, water spilling over his ears, neck, broad shoulders, running in small miscellaneous waterfalls off of his joints. She really is…something.

Something lovely, innocent, curvaceous, naïve, adorable, tender, open, and good. And tempting, dammit.

Shaking his dark hair like a wet dog, Wolfwood reached for the small bottle of shampoo. He'd already lost the sense of time he'd been in the shower. If he stayed in too long, she'd wonder. No she wouldn't; she doesn't think that way.

The slippery suds that resulted from the lather didn't do much to distract Wolfwood from his current licentious train of thought. It was all too easy to think of someone else's smooth, bare skin when your hands were sliding over wet flesh, even your own. Simple to think about soaping up someone else's naked muscles. Massaging someone else's scalp. Wolfwood's hands left his hair and he rinsed, grabbing for the bar of soap. It fell to the floor. Shit.

Instead of reaching for it, he reached for himself, letting out a sigh as the cascade beat against his chest. The soapy bubbles that had trickled down his shoulders and collarbone were eradicated. The water seemed hotter all of a sudden, and the stall steamier. I can't do this now…

But he was. The act was natural, the motion perhaps more practiced than it should have been, for a priest, but Wolfwood had never really agreed with that bit of doctrine anyway. His thighs tensed and he faced the fluid torrent pounding his neck as he supported his weight with one hand, leaning into the heat of the stream. Why did she stay?

His imagination gave him multiple choices to select from, each one more sinful than the last. God, she was right outside, probably making the damn bed or something. Wolfwood's fist moved faster, the water pulsing in time to his motions. She's got such amazing…

Breathing heavily now, Wolfwood gave himself completely to it. What was the point in fighting anyway? It wasn't like she was going to walk in on him. She was a good girl. But all the things he'd like to do to her were anything but good. I'm a real sonofabitch.

The acknowledgement did absolutely nothing to stop the crescendo building in his body. His hand was an automaton now, well-trained in its function. The shower immersed all involuntary sounds of pleasure and would wash away the evidence. Oh God…

The drops of water were striking him harder now, insistently battering his tanned skin. He felt the small rivulets coursing down his back acutely. The liquid's path was sensual, tracing meandering lines around old scars. And each tiny droplet jumped with sudden violence as he came.

Opening his eyes, Wolfwood looked at the wall, where his other hand had clenched. His muscles, all contracted as if part of the same erotic symphony, slowly released him back to reality. The bathroom seemed quieter than it had a minute ago. Did she hear anything?

No, he was just being paranoid. And he wasn't really loud at this type of thing anyway. Damn.

Wolfwood bent down, picking up the soap where it had drifted, half in and half out of the drain. This part would be quick. He'd already been in too long. Some soap got in his eyes and he rubbed them reflexively, not wanting to deal with the sting but only making it worse. Turning his face upwards, he let the water wash over him. Maybe not sanctified, but purified and absolved, right?

Clean, only feeling a mild sense of guilt, Wolfwood turned off the faucet and stepped out of the stall into the cool air of the bathroom. How the HELL did I forget to bring a towel in here?