Archive of Our Own

Wolfwood isn’t sure if he believes in a god. The only thing he can be certain of is the precision of his finger on the trigger, on his ability to break glass and swallow it whole. It’s a simple fact, one that he’s long since accepted to be unavoidable and incomparable; there is nothing, no one, that could fracture any part of him.

No one, that is, until Vash.

Wolfwood won’t admit it and he’d hardly ever give anyone the satisfaction of suspecting it. He plays his part well. The wall around him, the cage that encases him, is as strong as the day he’d realized it was necessary. Of course, he’s lying, he's nothing more than a delusional fool because th at cage is splintering by the day, by the night, by the hour and the minute.

He watches Vash from his spot by the fire, his eyes drifting to him again and again from where he perches on the hood of the car. He’s climbed atop it, stretching out and groaning occasionally when he reaches his hands far above his head to strain his muscles. It makes Wolfwood want to copy him, the ache in his own body rampant but kept in check by his need to avoid being caught. He leans against his gun, smoke rising from his cigarette.

Vash is staring, as he usually does, at the stars. He’s taken his glasses from his face and his eyes roam, never seeming to grow bored of looking at the same old constellations. Wind picks up gently, sand hissing as it brushes against the metal of the car, against the logs of the fire.

Nights like this, Wolfwood supposes, aren’t so bad. It’s even better when everyone else is asleep nearby and it’s just the two of them, though Vash surely isn’t aware that Wolfwood’s attention is trained on him instead of the dunes.

Wolfwood’s eyes trail along the length of Vash’s body. He’s practically memorized the lithe stature, the dip of his hips, the glint of his prosthetic arm and the way his fingers curl to tug and play with a strand of his blonde hair. It’s habitual, Wolfwood has noted. Vash doesn’t even think about it.

The cigarette burns low before Wolfwood has the mind to put it out. Instantly, he burns another, flipping his lighter with his own old habit.

The noise draws Vash’s attention and Wolfwood hurries to glance down at the glowing tip. Smoke stings his eyes but he doesn’t glance back up until he figures Vash’s attention has left him. Only then will he relax again, intent on pushing his back against his gun and lowering his shoulders. This is how it usually goes. This is the routine.

Only, this time, his returning gaze is met head-on.

Vash blinks at him, head tilted on the arm folded beneath his head.

Wolfwood rips his eyes away, tsking. “Got somethin’ to say?”

“No.” Vash replies immediately. “Just looking.”

“Well, knock it off. It’s weird.”

Vash’s laugh is subtle but Wolfwood hears it as if he were sitting very close. “Why? You do it all the time.”

Something flips in Wolfwood’s stomach. It tightens.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t surprise me if you managed to somehow roll off the car and break your damn neck.”

“So you're prepared to catch me?”

Wolfwood scowls and takes the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out a cloud of gray smoke. Vash is moving but he refuses to look, hoping he’s just rolling onto his stomach like he usually does to bury his face in his arms.

The moment he slides from the hood of the car and his boots hit the sand, Wolfwood is on edge. High-alert. He tenses further, making a point to keep his attention on the horizon. He picks a single low hanging star and he stares at it, hardly blinking. A poof of air pushes against him when Vash plops down beside him. He’s forgone his long coat, which makes this so, so much worse. Without it, Wolfwood has a tendency to trail his gaze on the black turtleneck instead, enjoying how it sits rather snug against his body.

He expects Vash to say something. Anything, really, to fill the silence. But his voice never comes and that only nips at Wolfwood’s resolve. Curiosity is the killer. He turns to Vash, opening his mouth to ask why he’d felt the need to sit so damn close, before slamming it back shut immediately.

Vash is looking at him in that long, strange way of his. Wolfwood would say he hates it when he does it, but that wouldn’t be true. On the contrary, it makes the damned flipping of his stomach turn into an obnoxious flutter.

He brings his cigarette back to his mouth if only to give himself something to do. His fingers twitch with a familiar tug, an insistent pull toward him. He brings his hand to himself, curling it into a fist, flexing it.

Vash’s eyes glance down at the movement, lips lifting. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Wolfwood scoffs, “Don’t we walk enough?”

“Yeah, but it feels better at night.” Vash rises and dusts the sand off of his pants. “C’mon.”

He reaches down and Wolfwood feigns reluctance when he grabs his hand, grunting as he gets to his feet. He slides his hand away before stretching his arms above his head, nodding for Vash to start walking. He lets his attention roam all over him as he heads in a seemingly random direction, glad that he can do it without the chance of getting caught. Still, he does feel a bit creepy, so he diverts his gaze to the imprints of his boots in the sand instead. P ushing his hands into the pockets of his pants, he hunches and follows like a loyal dog. Vash is even whistling a soft tune, the sound carrying in the wind.

“What is that you’re always humming and whistling?” Wolfwood asks.

Vash glances over his shoulder, shrugging. His face is stoic but there’s a small crease between his brows, a secret settled there. “Just something I heard a long time ago.”

Wolfwood hums, catching up to Vash only because he’d slowed his pace. They walk shoulder to shoulder now, footsteps kicking up sand behind them. They’re trekking on an incline and it’s not until Vash reaches out to wrap his fingers around his wrist, tugging him to a stop, that Wolfwood realizes they’re on the top of a steep dune.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

Wolfwood tears his eyes away from Vash, sweeping them over the empty land. He drops his cigarette and stomps it out, watching the snuff of the heat and the disappearance of the smoke. When he looks back at Vash, it is with a deeper frown.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that already.”

“Don’t want to.” Vash smiles but it isn’t a hollow one. It’s the rare one, the kind that always makes Wolfwood pause. “And I don’t tell you to stop, do I?”

“Dunno’ what you’re talkin’ about.”

Vash chuckles and bumps their shoulders together, “Yeah you do.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, even if Wolfwood takes a moment before lowering himself to sit beside him. Vash leans back on his palms, his attention returning to the sky.

“Why do you like the stars so much?” Wolfwood asks.

Vash bites his cheek, thinking. “Reminds me of home.”

He doesn’t go into detail and Wolfwood doesn’t pry. He simply nods and reaches for another cigarette. The drag he takes is long, the smoke filling his mouth before he pushes it out of his nose. The smell hovers between them and only when he’s tossing it into the sand does Vash speak again, his voice much softer.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“No problem.”

He shifts closer, scooting his butt across the sand until his thigh is pressing against Wolfwood’s. It makes his body go all electric, live-wire sparking. Yet, he doesn’t move away. He’s learning, albeit slowly, how to accept soft touch. Particularly when those touches come from Vash.

Vash tilts his head, blonde hair brushing Wolfwood's shoulder. He’s dangerously close to pressing his cheek there. “This desert isn’t so bad at night, right? Even better now that you’re with me, it's not as...lonely.”

Wolfwood feels the flush travel up his neck. It spreads like wildfire, his skin tingling with the influx of blood. “It’s alright.”

“Just alright?” Vash scoffs a laugh. “Didn’t know you were so hard to please.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah?” Vash straightens before turning his entire body to look at him, crossing his long legs. “What’s the best way to please you, then?”

Wolfwood almost chokes on the air. He blinks once, twice, all prey stuck in the headlights. “The hell are you gettin’ at?”

“What could possibly be done to make you enjoy tonight more?”

There’s one thing, one blaring, blistering thing; Wolfwood’s eyes flit to Vash’s lips. He can’t even help it, nor can he stop the way he allows their coming together. It’s gravity, it’s a tree root extending deep into the planet in search of water. Wolfwood thinks that Vash is like this glowing golden light in the sandy sea and he has become nothing more than a moth. It's like he wants all of Vash's light to consume him.

God, who’d have thought he’d ever wax shitty poetic over someone like this? 

Even more unbelievable, however, is the way Vash doesn’t pull away like he assumed that he would. If anything, he speeds it all up, the noise that leaves his throat when their lips touch soft and guttural enough to twist Wolfwood into knots. For being in the desert for hours upon hours upon hours, Vash’s lips are surprisingly soft. Wolfwood brushes his tongue against them, tasting remnants of the alcohol they’d sipped on hours earlier around the fire.

Vash falls back very suddenly and Wolfwood follows, sighing into his mouth, reveling in the slide of his metal hand against his ribs. When he leans back he stares down at Vash, burning the image of him like this into his memory. He’s pressed into the sand, glasses slightly foggy, lips so wet-

“Fuck.” Wolfwood gulps and goes to get off of him.

Only, Vash wraps his fingers into his clothes, his legs raising to allow Wolfwood even closer. And in a flash Wolfwood is flipped, his breath whooshing out of him as Vash presses his hands into the sand on either side of his head.

“If I knew it was so easy to get this side outta’ you, I would’ve tried this way sooner.”

Wolfwood knocks his hand against the side of his head, gentle but firm. “Shut it, needle noggin’.”

Vash lets out a true laugh, his lips spreading, eyes crinkling. He is shrouded by the cosmos, hair lifting a tad in the wind and yeah, Wolfwood isn’t sure he believes in god.

But he figures worship wouldn’t be so bad if it was for someone like him.