Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Difficult and Complicated ❯ Difficult and Complicated ( One-Shot )

A/N: I do not own Trigun. End of Story. And beginning of THIS story, which is based on that thing I do not own (see also: Trigun.)

Contains: implied VxW yaoi. Don't like yaoi? Sorry, wrong story for you then. Just a splash of citrus, really though. Mostly shonen ai, or "boy's love."

"Difficult and Complicated"

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"I love you, you know."

That was how it started.

He looked into blue-green eyes the color of rare stones, which may or may not have ever existed. However, seeing as how he'd never seen a rare stone of any kind, and also seeing as how he wasn't a man who often waxed poetic, the thought that actually ran through his head was "Damn. Pretty."

"Do you love me?"

It was a simple enough question. And Vash deserved an answer. But his mouth dried up, his heart sped furiously, and his brain disengaged from his body. The math was far too advanced for his mind with those eyes staring intense, intelligent, curious holes into him.

If y=(sin)x and Y= Himself and X= Vash... No wait. A^2+B^2=C^2 whereas A= Vash and B= Himself and C= True love... No wait.

He had always been terrible at math, although it had been his favorite subject during the moderate amount of private schooling he had received. He was making this far too difficult and complicated.

"Uhhnn..." Was the only thing he could manage before Vash's face suddenly went from "in-his-personal-space" close, to "everything's-blurry-because-he's-too-close" close.

Hot lips. Silky from the shower Vash had recently indulged in. Everything smelled like soap. And smoke. But that was probably his own breath being circulated right back at him.

Hot tongue. It brushed against his own lips (significantly more chapped than the gunman's, he was sure.) It entered his mouth and he stood stock-still. He let it rub against his own, delicately grazing the roof of his mouth, the ridge of his very white teeth. He did not reciprocate. But that did not mean that he did not appreciate.

Hot hands. Tumbling through his hair which was plastered against his forehead, skull, and neck in a sweaty, sandy mess. He had not had the luxury of the shower yet, unlike Vash. He had let Vash go first. Because he loved him. Wasn't it obvious?

Why in the world did he have to say it out loud? Wasn't it enough to kiss him sweetly in the night and go back to friendship in the sunlight?

No, it was not enough. He honestly never thought so himself, so he really couldn't expect Vash to believe it either. But up until now they had both pretended that stolen midnight touches and a warm body in the bed beside you would be enough forever. Or at least until fate kicked in and Vash's journey was over. Possibly the prospect of having to part ways at the end of the road (Vash might die in his fight with Knives. Or if he won, he would never be the same again. He, himself, would certainly not be able to bring the danger that accompanied the Humanoid Typhoon to the orphanage, where he planned on returning after this mess) had kept them from taking their trysts beyond light petting in the evenings and longing glances during the afternoons. And the occasional stolen kiss behind the backs of Meryl and Millie, of course.

The back of his knees hit the small bed that had (up until this moment) been sitting innocently enough on the far side of the room. He supposed he had been moving backwards. Reflex demanded that he sit and desire demanded that he lay back. He did both in precisely that sequence, resting his weight on the bed's edge, then falling backwards across it and pulling Vash along with him.

Leather encased hands worked the buttons on his coarse, black, priestly jacket. The fabric was harsh against skin, and occasionally the children at the orphanage had complained when hugging him goodbye whenever he had had to go away again.

But Vash didn't seem to notice, most likely because he was covered from neck to toe and couldn't feel the chaffing material. Vash's coat, in contrast, felt like silk against his own rough skin, though he knew it to be some more durable fabric.

Buttons came undone and he opened his eyes when they finally parted to draw shaking breaths. He saw that his hands were under Vash's jacket, though he couldn't remember the last few minutes well enough to determine when he had begun the unbuttoning process.

Heat, passion, and a sad sort of loving longing were the only things that had been running through his brain.

Tousled yellow hair, which always seemed golden in the sunlight, but was more of a tired pastel color in the shadows of the poorly lit hotel room looked even more washed out against the flushed color of Vash's cheeks and forehead. He had found that when he discovered this slight imperfection weeks ago, it seemed to have made Vash much more attractive, if that were possible. What to others might have been a less desirable trait actually made the gunman sexier in his eyes. It made him less an angel, more a person.

But he knew the truth- that no matter how imperfect his hair looked at night, or how many drinks he had had at dinner, Vash really was an angel. Plant. Human. Angel. All three in one kind, funny, sexy body.

"Vash-" he began, searching for the right words for the moment. But once again he was cut off with a heated kiss, a pink tongue licking the edge of his lips, parting them, then lips pressing into lips hard enough shut a man up. Hard enough that he had to wonder whether Vash was trying to avoid hearing the answer to his question.

But if avoiding a question that difficult and complicated meant kissing and touching the man on top of him, well, that was just fine for now.

He felt Vash pushing the jacket down his arms and he sat up just enough (which consequently pressed their bodies closer together. Yeah, that was good...) to let the gunman slip the jacket past his hands to pool beneath his body. Neither bothered pushing it to the floor.

He slid his hand out of the warm pocket of air between Vash's jacket and Vash's chest, which, very unfortunately, was still concealed beneath the leather of his bodysuit. He gently ran his palm up, up Vash's neck, up past his chin, up past his cheek, and finally rested it in the shower-damp hair. Tan fingers stood out in stark contrast as they intertwined with it.

He briefly thought about explaining his feelings before they went any further. In the split second before he made his next move, he pondered telling Vash that he loved him. More than he had ever loved any person in his entire life. He loved him even after he had thought love for another person in this intimate kind of way was possible. He loved his stupid haircut and his ugly red coat and his unachievable goals. He loved the ridiculous tie that somehow managed to end up laced around his forehead when he was drunk, even though he knew that Vash was rarely, if ever, totally smashed (despite what he'd have you believe) and that Vash didn't even own a tie. He loved the contrasting feeling of his left arm and his right. Of flesh and of metal. And the knowledge that Vash could easily be one of the scariest men he had ever known (and he had known quite a few.) But more than that, he loved that Vash never made his frightening side visible. It was always hidden away, giving a less observant person the impression of complete safety and normality. He loved that. He loved Vash.

But now was not the time. Now, with the blonde pressing so very enticingly into him, was not the appropriate moment. Later. Later he would tell him. After they made love, but before the suns could come up to steal his courage.

And so, instead of saying the three little words that he meant from his heart, he spoke the three little words that he meant straight from his painfully rigid erection.

"Clothes. Off. Now."

They made love on the squeaky bed in the balmy night on top of the pile of his clothes, which neither man had spared the time to throw to the floor. In fact, they made love twice, but only spoke of love the once.

/I love you, you know. Do you love me?/

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He opened his eyes to pale sunlight drifting in lazily through the window. Vash's warm body was draped partially across his own, hands held, and limbs tangled. He knew they'd have to get up soon, and he dreaded waking the sleeping man up.

He looked so peaceful.

Love and peace, right? He thought the gunman deserved a little of both, so he made no moves to get up just then. But the longer he stayed sprawled in the bed, Vash's heavy form moving only with the intake and exhale of breath, the more uncomfortable he got.

He had been too close to saying the wrong things last night. Too close.

They'd be parting ways soon, the battle with Knives would see to that regardless of whether Vash won or lost. If he lost he'd be dead (his chest gave a painful twist at the thought, which he chose to ignore) and if he won, he'd probably be an emotional wreck or worse.

Not to mention his own responsibilities with the children of December. He couldn't very well go flouncing off all of a sudden with some man. He had obligations. Obligations which were very important to him. It was difficult and complicated and it would probably be for the best if he completely forgot that Vash had mistakenly vocalized something that they both felt.

So when Vash finally awoke on his own accord, he blinked beautiful turquoise eyes up at him expectantly, and got the answer to his question only in the loving way that blue-grey eyes gazed affectionately back at him.

No words were spoken, and for now that would have to be enough. It would just have to be.

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And then there was the incident with the child. Of course he only shot the kid to save Vash's life, which was far more precious to him than Vash's respect, approval, or even love.

And then there was the incident where Vash hit him. He suspected it ran far deeper than the dead child.

And then there was the incident with the deserted town. And with Caine the Longshot.

And then there was the incident with the Apple.

The problem with that particular forbidden fruit was that it could never be as good as he had imagined, and so he feigned a deep appreciation for the mild taste because he thought that's what was expected. That he should be satisfied.

But he wasn't satisfied, and he realized suddenly that he knew the taste of something much sweeter, much more satisfying. Something that would taste good forever and would not just be a fleeting victory. Something he loved so much more than the Apple in his hand that he had craved for so very long.

But the bullet bit into his flesh.

Red Blood.

Red Coat.

Red Geraniums.

In the language of the flower, red geraniums symbolize courage and determination.

That was how it ended.

"I love you, you know." The words fell from his lips as he stumbled away, because he knew it would be selfish to wait and say them to Vash face to face. Now that there was so much lost. Now that there was no future at all for the two of them. It would ultimately cause far more heartache for the blonde gunman.

And so he said it, quietly and to himself.

And it wasn't difficult or complicated at all.

---End.

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A/N: I'm not sure where this story came from. It started as fluff and began to morph into smut, but I decided lemon-land was not where I wanted to head with this story. So it's more of a citrus-y sad/fluff thing, I think.

I'm not sure if anyone noticed, but I never once used Wolfwood's name because I sort of wanted an "in his head" feel. As if you were kind of experiencing his thoughts, but without making it a Wolfwood narrative.

Oh well, I don't know if that was successful or not, it was just an experiment really. I honestly don't think this story is up to par with the rest, I just really was messing around with the POV/not using his name thing.

Also, please kindly remember that if you enjoyed this story: leave feedback! Leave a review! Or if you hated it: leave a review! Or if you found grammatical errors either small or glaringly large: please, please, leave a review!

I can't know what people like if they don't tell me. I can't fix mistakes I don't know are there. And most importantly, good reviews make a girl all tingly, and make her otherwise sucky week a little better.