(no subject)
Pairing: Vash / Wolfwood (Trigun - mangaverse)
Theme: #1 - Anonymous
Title: Anonymous
Author/Artist: andmydog
Disclaimer: Not mine. No harm, no foul.
Oops! And thanks to hibem for fic-saving beta action!
Wolfwood sighed as the bathroom door slid shut behind him. The food on this ship might not be all that great, but flush toilets and hot running water? He'd stayed in nice hotels before - really expensive ones - and the amenities of this place blew them all away.
The overly bright corridor in front of him swayed ever so slightly to the right, and Wolfwood squinted in annoyance. Of course, those fancy hotels on the surface tended to stay put, with floors that didn't ripple like mirages. And why the bathroom had to be all the way the fuck out here was anyone's guess. But Vash'd said this was the one to use, and Vash knew this ship best, so...
Now. Back to the celebration, and the booze and the pretty girls... if he could just remember which way he came. Was the party room straight and to the right, or right and then straight?
And why were all the hallways and doors the same? No art of any kind, no visible repairs, hell, no graffiti. No dirt. This place was one big sterile maze. What'd it be like to grow up in a place like this?
Vash'd grown up in a place like this, and while it sure didn't seem like his home, he certainly acted more at home here. That ridiculous fake smile didn't show up nearly as often, and he'd changed out of those tight leathers and... was probably more comfortable out of his hot, constricting bodysuit... and...
And...
The familiar bolt of heat shot down Wolfwood's spine and began to pool, but fizzled out before...
Damn. Guess he had had a bit too much to drink.
Not that it mattered anyway, not here on the ship. Now… take the right corridor, or the left?
The corridor lurched drunkenly to the right again, and Wolfwood used the momentum to turn the corner. Right it was. The corridor ended abruptly with a cookie-cutter large white door. Wolfwood reached out and flicked the entry switch.
The lights went out. All of them.
Fuck. Must've been the wrong switch. Hotels on the surface weren't this complicated, either. Knobs on the doors, switches for the lights, chairs to prop under those knobs so you could sleep... He reached out in the darkness and flicked the switch again.
The door made a disturbingly final click-thump. The lights stayed off. He couldn't see a god damn thing.
Fuck.
He reached out for the wall, planning to use it as a guide back, and scowled as his fingertips grazed lightly over innumerable buttons and switches and toggles.
Not good. He'd probably end up blowing the damn ship up just trying to get back to the celebration.
Leaning back against the door (hell, at least the door didn't have any buttons on it), he patted his pockets for a smoke. None there, none there, none... anywhere, because he'd left them in his jacket, so's not to set off those 'smoke detectors' again.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Fuck.
Fu...
The approaching footsteps interrupted what had promised to be a lengthy blaspheme.
Wolfwood listened carefully. Even tread, not trying to be stealthy at all. With his gun keeping his cigarettes company, if this was an assassin he was completely fucked.
" 'Lo? C'n you give me a hand with this door? Doesn't seem to like me very much." A soft chuckle from the darkness was his only answer.
"Laugh at me, fine, but it's not my fault. This damn ship's got too many buttons." The footsteps halted not a full feel in front of him, and Wolfwood peered into the black. Nothing. Dammit. "Think you could get this door to work?"
Soft cotton clothing rustled as the other person leaned forward. Wolfwood stood still, not wanting to get in his, her, whatever's way. The warm hand that splayed across his chest and pressed him firmly to the door then came as a bit of a surprise.
Wolfwood reached out, only to have the hand on his chest pull back. Both his hands were plucked from the air and held gently against the wall, then the other body moved in very close. He opened his mouth to speak, to object or question or…
"Shhh." Warm breath on his face, and the briefest touch of lips to his own, then the mouth was gone and the hands were trailing feather-light over his arms and across his shoulders and that sounded like kneeling and hands.
Hands at his belt.
Soft warm hands, pulling at his belt and plucking at his shirt and soft warm lips pressing against his too-hot skin and she, had to be a she, she was soft, all over so soft, hands and lips and Wolfwood wanted to give in. Wanted to lean into her touch, let this woman whose face he could only imagine do what it sure seemed like she wanted to do. Wanted to run his fingers though her hair, across her soft face, down to her soft...
The instant his hands left the wall, hers left his waist. She pressed him flat against the door with no more sound than an exhalation of annoyance, holding her hands over his.
"Okay, okay, hands off it is." Why was that such a...
She didn't want him to know who she was?
Oh, fuck but that thought hurt. This was someone's girlfriend, then, or, God forbid, wife.
His belt loosened, deft fingers working at the buttons on his fly.
Adultery had to be one of the most ridiculous sins, but still. He was a monster, a gunpowdered killer from the surface. She, whoever she was, shouldn't be…
Hands stroked down his hips, pulling his trousers past his knees, carefully gliding over the tender new flesh.
But wasn't he a hero now? Not a real hero, not even one of the Good Guys, but a monster who used his strength for good? Hadn't he helped stop the Guns from destroying the entire ship?
Fingers danced back up his thighs, resting on his hips.
And if this woman, whoever she was, wanted this, who was he to stop her?
The darkness in the hallway wasn't so stifling anymore.
Her hands kneaded at his hips and belly, scratching lightly over muscle and scar alike, and then she leaned forward and
fuckfuckFUCK
Guess he wasn't as drunk as he'd thought, and she wasn't all soft and warm. Maybe she was…
Hell, who was he to stop himself? She thought he was someone he wasn't, fine. She could be someone else, too, couldn't she?
Her left hand, still slightly cold from resting on the wall, was his mechanical one. Her hot wicked mouth was his. Wolfwood kept his hands pressed tightly against the wall, imagining spiked blond hair bobbing at his waist, imagining leather creaking with every motion, imagining the smirk in those sharp green eyes he'd see if he would only look down.
The slightly cooler gunarm rested against his stomach, fingers tensing and stretching like a separate creature. His right hand slipped down between Wolfwood's thighs and cradled his balls, rhythmically squeezing ever so gently.
His sweet tongue flickered here and there, teasing and licking and circling, kissing and sucking and pulling and fuck but where'd he learn to swallow like that? The hand on his belly pressed harder, holding him still as a single fingertip from the other, hotter hand rubbed at the delicate skin just behind his captive sac.
Wolfwood could barely breathe. The fingertip crept further, circling and pressing and rubbing and that fucking beautiful mouth began to work in earnest and if this was his reward he'd kill big fucking midget-driven robots every goddamn day of the week. The frigid metal beneath his palms burned, and Wolfwood held his shoulders rigid against the door, head bowed, panting. He could almost feel stiff blond spikes tickling his hipbone as his fantasy Vash tormented his aching cock, drawing him farther on, harder, almost almost almost then not quite, pulling back, and forward again, tongue strokes mirrored by an insistent curious finger and now the other hand found a nipple and pinched it hard as the ring of muscle gave way just so far and a brush of teeth beneath lips that never chapped and he was lost.
His head slammed back against the door as the orgasm took him, clawing helplessly at nothing. The lights that burst behind his lids strained to resolve into red and blond and bright bright green, and Wolfwood gritted his teeth and forced the name back, trembling and gasping through the final firey waves. Wouldn't do to call out his name after her attentions, no matter what fantasy he'd constructed.
And oh God he'd needed that and oh God his head hurt. Without thinking, he reached down, only to find...
No one. He pulled up his pants, wondering. Where'd she go, and how the hell was he getting out of here, and who was she, really, and why the hell didn't he have any cigarettes?
He'd just buckled his belt when the wall some thirty feel distant slid aside, and a very drunk Insurance girl stuck her head out. A puff of confetti drifted out at her feet into the hall.
"Priest-san? Where've you been? It's dark in there! Come have a drink in here, where you can see!"
Wolfwood blinked owlishly, then laughed. "Good plan." Another drink, and a whole pack of smokes, whatever Luida had to say about it, and damn but he'd have pleasant dreams for a few days. "Whaddya say, Big Girl? You need another?"
"Yeah!"
"Millie, no... Priest-san, help me with her... Millie!"
Luida smiled at the antics of the visitors, not failing to notice the priest's flush. And when Vash slipped back into the room, looking well and truly kissed, she offered him a drink and a knowing glance, and kept her mouth shut.
Theme: #1 - Anonymous
Title: Anonymous
Author/Artist: andmydog
Disclaimer: Not mine. No harm, no foul.
Oops! And thanks to hibem for fic-saving beta action!
Wolfwood sighed as the bathroom door slid shut behind him. The food on this ship might not be all that great, but flush toilets and hot running water? He'd stayed in nice hotels before - really expensive ones - and the amenities of this place blew them all away.
The overly bright corridor in front of him swayed ever so slightly to the right, and Wolfwood squinted in annoyance. Of course, those fancy hotels on the surface tended to stay put, with floors that didn't ripple like mirages. And why the bathroom had to be all the way the fuck out here was anyone's guess. But Vash'd said this was the one to use, and Vash knew this ship best, so...
Now. Back to the celebration, and the booze and the pretty girls... if he could just remember which way he came. Was the party room straight and to the right, or right and then straight?
And why were all the hallways and doors the same? No art of any kind, no visible repairs, hell, no graffiti. No dirt. This place was one big sterile maze. What'd it be like to grow up in a place like this?
Vash'd grown up in a place like this, and while it sure didn't seem like his home, he certainly acted more at home here. That ridiculous fake smile didn't show up nearly as often, and he'd changed out of those tight leathers and... was probably more comfortable out of his hot, constricting bodysuit... and...
And...
The familiar bolt of heat shot down Wolfwood's spine and began to pool, but fizzled out before...
Damn. Guess he had had a bit too much to drink.
Not that it mattered anyway, not here on the ship. Now… take the right corridor, or the left?
The corridor lurched drunkenly to the right again, and Wolfwood used the momentum to turn the corner. Right it was. The corridor ended abruptly with a cookie-cutter large white door. Wolfwood reached out and flicked the entry switch.
The lights went out. All of them.
Fuck. Must've been the wrong switch. Hotels on the surface weren't this complicated, either. Knobs on the doors, switches for the lights, chairs to prop under those knobs so you could sleep... He reached out in the darkness and flicked the switch again.
The door made a disturbingly final click-thump. The lights stayed off. He couldn't see a god damn thing.
Fuck.
He reached out for the wall, planning to use it as a guide back, and scowled as his fingertips grazed lightly over innumerable buttons and switches and toggles.
Not good. He'd probably end up blowing the damn ship up just trying to get back to the celebration.
Leaning back against the door (hell, at least the door didn't have any buttons on it), he patted his pockets for a smoke. None there, none there, none... anywhere, because he'd left them in his jacket, so's not to set off those 'smoke detectors' again.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Fuck.
Fu...
The approaching footsteps interrupted what had promised to be a lengthy blaspheme.
Wolfwood listened carefully. Even tread, not trying to be stealthy at all. With his gun keeping his cigarettes company, if this was an assassin he was completely fucked.
" 'Lo? C'n you give me a hand with this door? Doesn't seem to like me very much." A soft chuckle from the darkness was his only answer.
"Laugh at me, fine, but it's not my fault. This damn ship's got too many buttons." The footsteps halted not a full feel in front of him, and Wolfwood peered into the black. Nothing. Dammit. "Think you could get this door to work?"
Soft cotton clothing rustled as the other person leaned forward. Wolfwood stood still, not wanting to get in his, her, whatever's way. The warm hand that splayed across his chest and pressed him firmly to the door then came as a bit of a surprise.
Wolfwood reached out, only to have the hand on his chest pull back. Both his hands were plucked from the air and held gently against the wall, then the other body moved in very close. He opened his mouth to speak, to object or question or…
"Shhh." Warm breath on his face, and the briefest touch of lips to his own, then the mouth was gone and the hands were trailing feather-light over his arms and across his shoulders and that sounded like kneeling and hands.
Hands at his belt.
Soft warm hands, pulling at his belt and plucking at his shirt and soft warm lips pressing against his too-hot skin and she, had to be a she, she was soft, all over so soft, hands and lips and Wolfwood wanted to give in. Wanted to lean into her touch, let this woman whose face he could only imagine do what it sure seemed like she wanted to do. Wanted to run his fingers though her hair, across her soft face, down to her soft...
The instant his hands left the wall, hers left his waist. She pressed him flat against the door with no more sound than an exhalation of annoyance, holding her hands over his.
"Okay, okay, hands off it is." Why was that such a...
She didn't want him to know who she was?
Oh, fuck but that thought hurt. This was someone's girlfriend, then, or, God forbid, wife.
His belt loosened, deft fingers working at the buttons on his fly.
Adultery had to be one of the most ridiculous sins, but still. He was a monster, a gunpowdered killer from the surface. She, whoever she was, shouldn't be…
Hands stroked down his hips, pulling his trousers past his knees, carefully gliding over the tender new flesh.
But wasn't he a hero now? Not a real hero, not even one of the Good Guys, but a monster who used his strength for good? Hadn't he helped stop the Guns from destroying the entire ship?
Fingers danced back up his thighs, resting on his hips.
And if this woman, whoever she was, wanted this, who was he to stop her?
The darkness in the hallway wasn't so stifling anymore.
Her hands kneaded at his hips and belly, scratching lightly over muscle and scar alike, and then she leaned forward and
fuckfuckFUCK
Guess he wasn't as drunk as he'd thought, and she wasn't all soft and warm. Maybe she was…
Hell, who was he to stop himself? She thought he was someone he wasn't, fine. She could be someone else, too, couldn't she?
Her left hand, still slightly cold from resting on the wall, was his mechanical one. Her hot wicked mouth was his. Wolfwood kept his hands pressed tightly against the wall, imagining spiked blond hair bobbing at his waist, imagining leather creaking with every motion, imagining the smirk in those sharp green eyes he'd see if he would only look down.
The slightly cooler gunarm rested against his stomach, fingers tensing and stretching like a separate creature. His right hand slipped down between Wolfwood's thighs and cradled his balls, rhythmically squeezing ever so gently.
His sweet tongue flickered here and there, teasing and licking and circling, kissing and sucking and pulling and fuck but where'd he learn to swallow like that? The hand on his belly pressed harder, holding him still as a single fingertip from the other, hotter hand rubbed at the delicate skin just behind his captive sac.
Wolfwood could barely breathe. The fingertip crept further, circling and pressing and rubbing and that fucking beautiful mouth began to work in earnest and if this was his reward he'd kill big fucking midget-driven robots every goddamn day of the week. The frigid metal beneath his palms burned, and Wolfwood held his shoulders rigid against the door, head bowed, panting. He could almost feel stiff blond spikes tickling his hipbone as his fantasy Vash tormented his aching cock, drawing him farther on, harder, almost almost almost then not quite, pulling back, and forward again, tongue strokes mirrored by an insistent curious finger and now the other hand found a nipple and pinched it hard as the ring of muscle gave way just so far and a brush of teeth beneath lips that never chapped and he was lost.
His head slammed back against the door as the orgasm took him, clawing helplessly at nothing. The lights that burst behind his lids strained to resolve into red and blond and bright bright green, and Wolfwood gritted his teeth and forced the name back, trembling and gasping through the final firey waves. Wouldn't do to call out his name after her attentions, no matter what fantasy he'd constructed.
And oh God he'd needed that and oh God his head hurt. Without thinking, he reached down, only to find...
No one. He pulled up his pants, wondering. Where'd she go, and how the hell was he getting out of here, and who was she, really, and why the hell didn't he have any cigarettes?
He'd just buckled his belt when the wall some thirty feel distant slid aside, and a very drunk Insurance girl stuck her head out. A puff of confetti drifted out at her feet into the hall.
"Priest-san? Where've you been? It's dark in there! Come have a drink in here, where you can see!"
Wolfwood blinked owlishly, then laughed. "Good plan." Another drink, and a whole pack of smokes, whatever Luida had to say about it, and damn but he'd have pleasant dreams for a few days. "Whaddya say, Big Girl? You need another?"
"Yeah!"
"Millie, no... Priest-san, help me with her... Millie!"
Luida smiled at the antics of the visitors, not failing to notice the priest's flush. And when Vash slipped back into the room, looking well and truly kissed, she offered him a drink and a knowing glance, and kept her mouth shut.