Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Enough ❯ " I am sinking in this silence.." ( Chapter 1 )

Note: Don't own the Trigun, Vash or Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

I sure as heck wish I did though ;.;

Ahh well, atleast I can pretend, huh..? XD Hehe

Uhm, I guess this would be rated PG-13. Nothing bad..

Just implied V/W-ness and angst abounding ;D

Enjoy children ^.^

Heaven bend to take my hand and lead me through the fire
Be the long awaited answer
To a long and painful fight...

***

The cigarette smoke curled lazily, weaving its way to the ceiling where it gathered and lingered, like a great, gray blanket. Through the window moonlight shone from a tripled source -- all of which lay in orbit around the planet Gunsmoke. It, paired with the noxious smoke cloud, gave the room an almost eerie atmosphere. And the tension that lay like a trip wire--thick and heavy--did not help to improve upon the situation.

Vash knew, that Wolfwood knew, that he was awake. It was a game they had been playing and were still playing.



"Nicholas, kiss me..?"

They had been drunk, Vash more so than his priest companion.

"Mmmn.." Wolfwood had grunted, then complied -- a bruisingly sweet exchange being his response. The girls were asleep on the floor, the room just another nondescript place serving as "home". But in that moment it had been good, so good, and in the next... nothing. Just a place to sleep.

"I--I'm sorry, I--" Sputtering, Wolfwood had broken away. And when Vash had extended a hand to touch his companion, dopey-eyed and confused, he had been met with a vicious snarl.

"Don't. J-just--Just don't!" Then he was gone, having disappeared through the open door to the adjoining room.


That had been days ago, and they'd not uttered a word about the incident since. Just business as usual, smiles and comical antics with Meryl and Millie being none the wiser. It wasn't something that they needed to know.

Maybe he doesn't remember..?

No. If that had been the case, then why the pensive looks when they were alone? Why the horrendous chainsmoking...? Wolfwood could be just as false as Vash himself at times, his smiles just as empty. But those smiles were generally reserved for the two insurance ladies. For it was only when in their company that either of them put up their well practiced facades.

But Vash was afraid. This silence between them, this game, he was afraid of what outcome it would bring should he chance to cross that line. A minute sigh escaped Vash's lips, an unincriminating sound customary to the sleeping. The wall was beginning to wear, where his eyes had been boring into it.

Risking a glimpse over his shoulder, Vash turned toward Wolfood hovering in the window. His breath caught in his throat, stinging the corners of his eyes with prickly, unshed tears. Nicholas D. Wolfwood was absolutely stunning. Against the backdrop of silver light and smoke, Vash traced the silhouette of the priest's face with his eyes. From the troubled indent at the brow and down along the curve of that hawkish nose, then finally to the glowing stub a cigarette clamped between pursed lips.

Something flip-flopped in Vash's tummy, the fluttering sensation tickling just beneath his breast bone. Whatever may of happened between them--whatever masks the priest had been wearing during the course of the day--was gone now, leaving the priest vulnerable and defenseless.

Turning away, Vash clutched his blankets to his chest. Whatever it was that was hurting Wolfwood, was hurting him as well. But there was nothing Vash could do. Nothing that he could say that wouldn't give the game away. Their's was a silent understanding, and to act, was to bring out into the open something better left unsaid. Something too dangerous to speak of.

Vash wanted; with all his heart, he wanted to simply say something, anything to break pregnant quietude in the pretense of being asleep. But he simply could not bolster enough courage to do so. And it hurt, just as it had hurt to look at the priest knowing he too felt the same stinging pain.

"Nick..."

Clamping down on his lower lip, Vash curled further into himself, bedding clutched in balled fists to his chest. This was all he could do, this was the very best he could do. It hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt. He wanted, he wanted...

The creak of bedsprings behind him brought Vash back to himself, and belatedly he realized that he must've been too obvious, too transparent. Panicked, he lay still, praying for something to happen. For nothing to happen. For Wolfwood to stay, and for him to leave. There was a tug on the blankets as they were whisked upwards, and in the next moment there was a body huddled up against Vash's back with toned arms wound tightly about his midsection. Warm breath ghosted out along the nape of his neck, and Vash found himself shuddering in response. The limbs that held him tightened, and all at once Vash felt a ticklish lump forming in his throat.

But words were not exchanged, Vash could not find them, and he knew Wolfwood did not have any. The dampness of the cheek pressed against his shoulder told Vash all he needed to know: Nicholas D. Wolfwood would be gone come morning...

And whether or not it was just from his bed, Vash did not know.


Vash knew, that Wolfwood knew, that he was awake.

And perhaps for now, that was enough.