Chapter Text
“Wolfwood, look! It’s got a little cat on it!” Vash slides Nicholas a bottle cap across the saloon table. “So cute!”
Nicholas scrutinizes the image of the winking black cat with trepidation.
“Oh, you finished your soup,” Vash realizes, “here, I’ll go get you a sandwich!”
With a sigh, Nicholas wonders, for the hundredth time, what the hell is going on.
At first, he thought Vash had done something stupid behind his back again. That he was trying to make up for some undisclosed blunder.
After some meticulous snooping, he's come to the conclusion that Vash has only been making stupid decisions in his presence.
Which is good, but the mystery persists.
Is this a test? Is he supposed to understand a secret message in this bottle cap? Did his other ‘gifts’ mean something else too?
Without taking his eyes off Vash, Nicholas adds the cap to the ever growing collection in his inner jacket pocket. It clinks next to a sand polished shard of green glass, a coin with a bullet hole right through the middle and a rock that Vash insists is in the shape of a cross. It isn’t.
I'll need something to carry these in if this keeps going.
Nicholas had already thrown one of them away. It was a pretty little button with a floral pattern. He'd flicked it into a dry well to test for any sound of water. The quiet hurt in Vash's face had ensured that he'd kept every single one from then on.
Vash bustles back to their table, placing a plated sandwich in front of Nicholas with all the energy of a dog bringing back a fetched toy.
This is another thing Nicholas is having trouble deciphering.
Vash keeps feeding him. A lot.
Usually they're fighting over food, dueling with utensils for the last scrap of a meal. Now, Vash willingly slides over his share and stares. As if nothing would bring him more joy than seeing Nicholas eat.
It's weird, is what it is.
Nicholas picks up one half of the sandwich and slides the rest over to Vash.
“You need to eat too, Spikey.”
“Thanks, but I'm fine,” Vash smiles, “I just had a…a um…”
“You had a slice of toast that I forced you to eat yesterday.”
“What? No!” Vash insists, “I've eaten since then…”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion, realizing that he, in fact, has not eaten today. The worry that's been itching at the back of Nicholas's mind the past week flares up again.
“Yer not getting sick, are you?”
“Stop asking me that! I'm fine! I feel great even!”
That seems true enough. Vash has been bursting with energy lately, almost to an annoying degree. Nicholas chews through his meal with frustration, watching closely as Vash takes reluctant bites out of his sandwich.
Nothing about his behavior ever makes sense. Why is he so hung up on it now?
A few patrons start to sway to the jukebox music near the bar. Vash eyes the growing crowd and glances at Nicholas hopefully, his leg bouncing under the table.
“Absolutely not.”
“Aww, come on Wolfwood!” Vash whines.
“We’ve been walking all day. I dunno about you, but my ass is staying in this chair while I finish my drink.”
“Fine, you're no fun,” Vash scoffs as he jumps up to join the dancers.
Nicholas raises his glass in a mock salute as he digs out his cigarettes.
While he smokes, he admires how fast Vash assimilates himself with the group of strangers. He's already hand in hand with some giggling young thing, twirling her around in some absurd parody of a waltz.
Is that really your brother, Millions Knives?
Vash laughs and says something to the bartender that makes him chuckle.
He’s nothing like you. Thank God for that.
Before his mind can start treading down the well-worn path of guilt about his assignment, someone sits in the chair next to him.
“Penny for your thoughts, handsome?”
Nicholas immediately clocks the stranger as an experienced Lady of The Night. She's a little worn around the edges, but still pretty in a cunning kind of way.
“I don't think I have enough pennies for you, darlin’,” he smirks.
She plucks at his sleeve playfully, leaning over to make sure he gets a good eyeful of her wares.
“Funny,” she scoffs, “I give you the penny, silly.”
“Is that right? Could’ve sworn it was the other way ‘round with ya'll.”
“Aw, don't be like that,” she giggles with a toss of her red hair.
“No offense, ma'am.”
“None taken, sugar."
Nicholas glaces back towards the bar and locks eyes with Vash. His blue eyes flick over to the woman as she puts a hand on his arm.
There's something about his expression, or rather the lack of one, that makes the hairs on Nicholas’s neck raise in alarm.
“We can talk more about who-gives-what in my room if you like...”
“Listen,” Nicholas huffs, “I’m flattered, really, but I'm not—”
He’s interrupted by Vash slamming a glass of beer down onto the table.
“Here you go!” he says with fake cheer.
The woman blinks in confusion, glancing at Nicholas. He shrugs unhelpfully.
She quickly recovers, smiling and looking up at her new target with scrutiny.
“Well, hey there,” she croons, “you must be a friend of—”
“Sorry, this seat’s taken.”
Vash's hand jerks the chair underneath her with a sharp sound against the floor. It’s a small movement, but the speed and strength of it makes the woman brace herself on the table with a little cry of surprise.
Heads turn their way.
Vash’s smile is a terrible, forced thing.
Nicholas glaces between them in utter bewilderment. He has never seen Vash treat someone like this. Let alone a beautiful woman.
“Spikey!” he admonishes.
She eyes both of them for a moment, then grins knowingly.
“So sorry gentlemen,” she says, rising from the chair. “My mistake.”
Vash quickly reclaims his chair and begins drinking from his own glass. Nicholas watches the woman saunter over to a more sympathetic face, his mouth open in shock.
“What the hell was that?!” Nicholas demands in a hushed tone.
“What was what?”
“That lady!” Nicholas jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Why’d ya have to be so damn rude?”
“I wasn’t rude! ”
“You nearly tossed her outta that chair! What are you, five?!”
“I was just—I didn’t…” Vash’s defensive face suddenly falls. “Oh my God. Why did I do that?!”
“I dunno, dipshit! You're the one that did it!”
Vash looks at his hands in mortified confusion.
“Somethin’s up with you,” Nicholas grumbles, poking at Vash’s shoulder. “Are you sure yer not—?”
“I’m not sick," Vash insists, flinching as the back of Nicholas's hand brushes against his forehead.
“Jesus, Blondie,” he exclaims, his tone quickly shifting from annoyed to concerned, “yer burning up.”
Suddenly, a strange scent catches Nicholas's attention. A perfume? It's kind of nice, but also...weird. Nothing like he's ever smelled before.
Eh. What do I know? Must've been something that poor woman was wearing.
Vash swats at his hand, leaning away from his touch.
“Yer not tellin' me something…”
“Nothing’s wrong!”
“Anyone ever told you yer a terrible liar?”
“Look, it’s...it’s nothing you need to worry about, okay? It’ll pass in a few days. It always does…”
His cheeks almost match the red of his coat and Nicholas’s curiosity increases tenfold.
He almost teases him, wanting to fluster him even more, but Vash’s face is so despondent that he retrains the impulse.
Must be one of those plant things. Whatever it is, Vash is clearly ashamed of it.
Give the man some privacy, asshole. He’s been through enough.
He sighs and lights another cigarette.
“Fine, I ain’t gonna pry,” he relents, “But you gotta start eating more than toast, okay?”
Vash stares at him in surprise, then smiles gratefully.
“I can try.”
“You do that.”
The atmosphere between them shifts back into something like normalcy as Nicholas smokes and Vash sips at his beer. They both watch the Lady of The Night work her charms on a group of besotted plant engineers.
“Ah man, I feel bad,” Vash frowns. “She’s really pretty. I didn’t mean to, you know, interrupt anything…”
Nicholas chuckles.
“I was turning her down when you butted in.”
“Oh! I thought—”
“Well, ya thought wrong. She ain’t my type and I’m broke as hell.”
Vash hums a sort of pleased sound and downs the rest of his drink. Nicholas eyes him questioningly but is grateful that he doesn’t ask what his type actually is.
He doesn’t feel like admitting he prefers tall blondes.
“I was so rude though,” Vash laments, slightly tipsy. “Maybe I should buy her a drink to apol—!”
He suddenly grabs at his stomach with a grimace.
“Alright?” Nicholas asks, brows furrowed.
Vash nods, but grips the table with a little too much force as he hisses in pain.
Nicholas places a concerned hand on his shoulder, only for Vash to jerk away.
Huh. There's that perfume again...
“Ah, ha, um…” Vash grimaces, “lack of food must be catching up with me!”
Before Nicholas can comment on Vash’s non-existent self preservation, he jolts up from his seat.
“Well I’m beat!” he announces, “Time to hit the hay! G’night Wolfwood, see you in the morning!”
And then he’s sprinting across the street to the hotel.
Nicholas sighs and decides that he's earned the right to get nice and drunk tonight.
The night moves slow and smokey inside the saloon. Groups of friends and drinking buddies stagger out one by one until it's just Nicholas and a few sleepy patrons.
He's nursing his third glass of whiskey (or is it his sixth?) at the bar counter, contemplating the enigma that is his traveling companion.
What is this 'thing' he’s clearly suffering through? He’s been tasked to keep Vash alive, so should he be concerned?
It’s not my business, he repeatedly reminds himself.
It’s not my place to worry.
But he does.
There’s a locked vault in his heart that knows why too. Although, lately, it hasn’t been so secure. Try as he might to keep it shut, one smile or soft look from Vash tends to fling it wide open again.
It’s becoming a problem.
The recent attention from Vash hasn’t been helping either. If Nicholas didn’t know any better, he would have called it ‘courting’. And God, he hates that the thought makes his heart flutter.
It's just natural, he supposes, to enjoy being cared for…
Someone sits a few stools down from him with a groan, breaking through his gray haze of smoke and embarrassing notions.
“Alright Cherry?” asks the bartender.
Nicholas turns. Cherry, it turns out, is the redheaded Lady of The Night.
“Hey Paul,” she sighs, “Ugh, my ass is pinched to hell and back!”
“A good night then?” Paul chuckles, sliding her a glass of water.
“My rent's getting paid,” she smirks.
She turns and notices Nicholas.
“Evenin’,” he greets, tilting his glass.
“Well, well, well. We meet again, handsome!”
“Indeed we do…” he replies warily.
“Don't worry sugar, I'm off the clock now. Wouldn't mind someone to chat with though.”
Nicholas chuckles.
“Well, least I can do is offer a listening ear after earlier.”
“I've had worse,” she shrugs.
“Didn't mean you deserved it. Let me buy you a drink? To make up for it?”
“I've had enough free drinks tonight,” she says good-naturedly, “But, I could use a smoke if you’re sharing.”
“Ask and ye shall receive.”
She takes his offered cigarette with an exaggerated show of appreciation.
“My friend’s sorry about what he did, by the way,” he says while lighting it for her, “I don't think he was in his right mind at the time. He's actually a nice guy.”
“Don't worry about it.” She flaps her hand, exhaling smoke with a sigh. “Honestly, I thought it was kind of sweet.”
“Sweet?”
“He’s real possessive of you, ain’t he?”
She gives him that same knowing smile again.
“You two make a cute couple.”
Nicholas scoffs.
“He’s a pain in my ass, is what he is.”
She hums sympathetically and Nicholas raises his glass to knock back the rest of his drink. Halfway through, he realizes that he didn't even think about correcting her.
He eyes his whiskey and puts it back down.
Nicholas steers the conversation away from Vash, asking Cherry about her own life. He listens, nodding at the right places, as promised.
Every now and then, she'll compare a past relationship with Nicholas's non-existent one.
He still can't bring himself to tell her the truth. Why?
Because it sounds nice, doesn't it?
Nicholas thinks it sounds terrifying, actually. But his tired, tipsy mind continues to supply… possibilities.
What if he and Vash had met under different, kinder circumstances? Maybe they would have struck up a conversation at a bar just like this one. Maybe they would have hit it off. Nicholas can easily imagine himself gravitating to Vash’s smile, his kind heart.
Maybe he would have followed Vash back to his hotel room…
“You look tired,” Cherry says, interrupting his thoughts.
“Little bit,” he admits, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry if I wandered off there.”
“Oh hush, you’ve been good company,” she smiles, “Now go on, get back to your man!”
Nicholas huffs out a laugh.
“G’night Cherry,” he sighs, “go with God and all that…”
“No promises,” she giggles. “Night, handsome.”
Nicholas staggers back to his hotel room, mind buzzing with impossible fantasies.
As he takes out his keys, he glances over at Vash's door. Their rooms are side-by-side.
A terribly drunk and vulnerable part of him wants to barge in. He wants to grab Vash by his shoulders and say that he thinks, maybe, he’s in love with him? He’s never been in love before, but he has a nagging suspicion that is the cause of his torment.
Maybe confessing it, completely airing out that damned vault, would be a relief. Even if Vash didn’t feel the same way, maybe admitting it would help with the dull ache of keeping it in.
Jesus, how much did I drink?
He forces his attention away from Vash’s door and opens his own.
Despite his exhaustion, Nicholas goes through the motions of checking his room for booby traps, surveillance devices and escape routes. It's a habit he’s never been able to shake after years of training with the Eye.
He smiles as he observes all of the strategically placed mirrors on the walls and ceiling. In the bedside table drawer, there’s complementary ‘massage oil’ next to the usual bible.
This hotel clearly caters to Cherry’s line of work.
As he lights his before-bed cigarette, his eyes lazily skim over the suggestive artwork and decor. Just above the bed, he notices a playing card pinned to the wall. It feels ever so slightly out of place, so he crawls over the mattress to get a better look.
It’s a yellowed queen of hearts with a red lipstick kiss accenting one corner. He flicks at it and it moves easily to the side on its pin.
There’s a bullet hole hiding behind it.
Based on the small amount of light shining through, it looks like it goes straight through to the other side of the wall.
Thought so, Nicholas chuckles, a damn peep hole.
Then he remembers that Vash's room is on the other side of that wall.
The metaphorical devil on his shoulder urges him on.
Just go for it, what Vash doesn't know won't hurt him.
The angel on his other shoulder chimes in too.
Well, he was in pain earlier. You should probably check on him.
Nicholas frowns at that last suggestion. Shouldn't he be respecting Vash’s privacy? How would he feel if someone was spying on him?
A loud, strained groan catches his attention.
Shit, what if he was hiding an injury? He better not be performing solo surgery again!
He looks through the bullet hole.
With relief, he can clearly see that Vash is uninjured. And with embarrassment, he knows this because Vash is mostly naked.
There’s not much light to see by, but the glow of the moons streaming through the window illuminate enough for Nicholas to get a clear view.
Vash is doing one-handed push ups in his underwear, his prosthetic arm tucked behind him in the small of his back.
Based on his labored breathing and the amount of sweat glistening on his body, he’s been at it for a while. Nicholas notices the rumpled bed sheets and can clearly imagine Vash tossing and turning with too much energy. Did he finally give up and decide to blow off some steam?
Nicholas should really put the playing card back down.
He should.
Maybe it’s because he’s been drinking too much, maybe it’s just curiosity, but he can’t look away. His eyes run over Vash’s rippling back muscles, his scars crisscrossing his limbs, his open, panting mouth—
Nicholas hisses in pain as his cigarette burns down to his fingers.
He flinches away from the peep hole, the playing card wavering back and forth mockingly as he flicks the butt into an ashtray.
Snap out of it and take a cold shower, you idiot.
With a grimace of embarrassment, he starts to move away when he hears a dull thud. It’s the sound of a body hitting the floor. Something he is, unfortunately, very familiar with.
Worry shoots through him like a nasty electric shock. He has no qualms looking through the peephole this time.
Vash is hunched over on his knees, holding his stomach with one hand. His eyes are squeezed shut in pain and Nicholas can hear his labored breaths through the wall. His face is so full of anguish that Nicholas braces himself to move and knock down Vash’s door if he has too.
Slowly, Vash sits up and exhales a deep sigh of relief as whatever was causing his pain seemingly passes.
Nicholas’s shoulders untense minutely.
Vash stares at nothing while he catches his breath, his cheeks and neck flushed pink.
What the hell is going on with you, Spikey?
He’s weighing the pros and cons of going over to check on him, just to make sure he’s not dying, when Vash suddenly turns to look at the wall.
Nicholas holds his breath. Shit.
Vash staggers to his feet and begins shuffling over, watching the wall intently.
Nicholas doesn’t dare move.
How is he supposed to explain himself? Would Vash forgive him? Laugh it off?
Thankfully, Vash does not confront Nicholas’s one-eyed, perverted gaze. Instead, he begins rustling around in something leaning against the wall. With a silent sigh of relief, he realizes that Vash was looking at his duffel bag, not the bullet hole.
As he sorts through his items, Nicholas finds himself face-to-face with Vash’s waist.
The moonlight glistens off the sweat dripping down his stomach. His mouth waters as he watches it trail down, catching in the dark blonde trail of hair peeking out above Vash's tight underwear.
If the thin wall wasn’t between them, all he would have to do is lean just a little closer…
Something white blocks his view and he mentally curses.
It shifts and Nicholas realizes that Vash is holding a shirt with both hands.
Wait a minute…
His mind goes back to a few days ago, when they were sorting through laundry.
“Goddammit,” he’d grunted, “must’ve forgot to pack a shirt or somethin’. I thought I had an extra one…”
“Oh shoot,” Vash had replied sympathetically.
Son of a bitch!
Vash walks away from his bag and, blessedly, away from the bullet hole to sit on the bed.
Nicholas’s mind churns back and forth between anger and confusion. Why the hell would Vash steal his clothes?
Then, with a kind of numb shock, he watches as Vash holds the shirt to his face with both hands and inhales deeply.
His exhale is a shaky moan that ghosts down Nicholas’s spine.
Oh.
With a hard swallow, he watches as Vash’s thighs open wide. With one hand keeping the stolen shirt pressed to his face, he reaches down with the other to palm himself.
Oh sweet Christ.
Vash’s body trembles as he continues to touch himself over his underwear. Nicholas’s cock twitches with interest in his own boxers.
He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead onto the wall.
This isn’t right.
This is now a full invasion of Vash’s privacy, his most intimate moments. Nicholas should feel guilty.
But then he remembers the shirt.
If Nicholas is being a pervert, then what does that make Vash? Is the ‘perverted playing field’ equal here?
No, he berates his lust-addled brain, that’s not how it works.
A sharp gasp reaches his ears through the wall. Nicholas gropes at his hardening cock, trying to relieve some of the warm ache that’s pooling steadily between his hips.
But it is a little unfair, isn’t it? That Vash gets to use Nicholas’s things to get off and he can’t even watch?
Maybe he can look just a little longer.
Vash is leaning back onto the bed now, propped up on one elbow, his boxers pulled down to his knees. Nicholas has a full view of his prosthetic hand between his legs, rubbing against…
Oh. That’s not a cock.
It’s not something Nicholas is familiar with at all.
With curiosity and wonder, he watches as Vash spreads himself apart with two fingers and blooms. Delicate, slightly luminescent petals unfurl under his touch. Strings of slick break as they stretch out, fully exposing Vash’s inner core.
Nicholas presses harder into his hand, rutting into it. Some part of him fully recognizes that this is weird. That, maybe, he should be more scared than aroused.
The other part of him has never been more turned on in his life.
Vash slips two leather clad fingers into himself while he tugs one leg out of his underwear. He lays back onto the bed, legs spread as he releases a muffled groan into the shirt.
Nicholas’s breathing has gone ragged, the air around him growing hot and humid as he pants against the wall. He thumbs open the button of his pants and reaches down to take hold of himself.
The rapidly fading voice of his conscience warns him that there’s no going back from this now. Nicholas grits his teeth and tugs at his shaft, fully accepting that he’s never been God’s strongest soldier. Not by a long shot.
Vash rolls his hips up into his fingers, his whole body undulating and glowing under the moonlight.
Nicholas wants so badly to be in that room, to be on top of him, to be the one pleasuring him. Vash wouldn’t need some dirty shirt with his lingering scent. He could have all of him.
His cock drips at the thought of storming in there, kneeling in supplication at the edge of the bed. He’d pull Vash’s fingers out and replace them with his tongue, kiss over each petal—
With a choked cry, Vash removes the shirt from his face to reach between his thighs. He strokes at a small bud just under his top petal with a desperate urgency, loudly moaning.
Nicholas finds himself memorizing each caress and press of Vash’s fingers.
If I ever got the chance, if you ever let me…
Vash tenses with a whine and Nicholas, completely mesmerized, watches as the little bud begins to grow. With a rush of astonished arousal, he realizes that it’s the tip of a cock.
It fully slides out of Vash’s folds, thick and coated with a glistening wetness. Nicholas’s knees feel weak.
His strokes speed up as his fantasies shift, new possibilities flowing into his feverish mind. Fantasies of climbing on top of Vash, letting him stretch him open with those wet fingers so he can sit on that perfect cock.
Vash turns his head into his pillow, nuzzling into Nicholas’s shirt. He takes his unsheathed cock in hand and pumps at it with a desperate speed while he continues to finger himself with his prosthetic hand.
Nicholas stares at his open mouth, ears straining to hear every little cry and whimper. He’s mouthing something, his head tilting back more and more.
Vash adjusts his hand, his fingers reaching deeper inside him. He twitches against the mattress hard enough to make it creak. Nicholas can hear him perfectly this time when he cries out.
“A-Ah…Wolfwood! Oh God—!”
Does Vash realize how loud he is? Oh Jesus, is he hoping that Nicholas can hear him?
Oh my God. Oh fuck—
Nicholas is close, teetering on the edge of something terrifying, but inevitable.
He wants to be with him, pressed against him, whispering filthy encouragements into Vash’s ear until he finally, finally—
Vash suddenly jerks his body sideways, biting hard into his pillow. Nicholas can just make out a muted glow emitting from his lower abdomen, growing brighter and brighter with each muffled sob. The light travels down, spreading in fine blue lines up the tips of his petals and head of his cock.
Nicholas covers his mouth to hold back the groan building up in his throat.
Then, with a final, muted cry, Vash’s release spills over both of his hands. Enraptured, Nicholas watches as he rides through his orgasm with desperate gasps, drool glistening on his wet lips as he comes up for air.
He slowly slips his fingers out of himself with a whimper, giving Nicholas a full view of his twitching petals. Glowing slick is still pulsing out of his core, coating his inner thighs and staining the sheets.
With a hard, ragged gasp, Nicholas’s own orgasm shoots through him with a force he hasn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever.
After his soul is able to relocate his body, Nicholas grimaces at his bad aim. That stain will probably never come out of the wallpaper.
A heartfelt groan from beyond the wall catches his attention.
Vash is covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow, frowning with a look of utter defeat. After a moment, he sits up and looks down at Nicholas’s crumpled shirt. His face contorts in shame and Nicholas feels the same guilt echo through him.
It’s official, he thinks, I’m a sick, perverted bastard.
Vash sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. With a shaky sigh, he eyes the stolen shirt one more time before rising and making his way into the bathroom.
Nicholas moves the playing card back over the bullet hole and glares at the gently smiling face of the queen of hearts.
Later, after he’s cleaned any evidence of his shame, Nicholas wonders how the hell he's supposed to look Vash in the eye tomorrow. He tries to sleep, but gives up after hours of tossing and turning.
He chain smokes through the rest of his cigarettes and places Vash’s gifts on the bedside table. Laid out in a neat line, they shine prettily under the lamp’s glow, but offer no solutions.
Does this change anything? Does this change ‘us’?
Nicholas sighs deeply, thinking about his own gifts that he will eventually have to give Vash. Two half coins, sewn into his jacket lining, acting as a constant reminder of what he is.
And that settles it for Nicholas.
This changes nothing.
He eyes the playing card ruefully before turning out the light.
Tonight was a mistake. Forget it. Move on.
He rolls over and tries not to think of a great many things. He is unsuccessful.