The Word 'Hurricane.'
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Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
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Category:
+S to Z › Trigun
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,759
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Trigun, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
what vash wants
A/N: Do not own Trigun. Nope. Do not. Thanks to evryone who has kindly reviewed. I appreciate it.
Warning: Graphic lemon. Language. OoC-ness. VashXKnives, which means Vash seme. Non-con-ish situation. Not really, but it might be taken that way.
A/N 2: Words in *** are Lyrics by the band AIR frhe she song "The Word 'Hurricane.'" Also, I'm not sure if this chapter works well or not. Let me know, ok? Anyway, enjoy!
"The Word 'Hurricane'" Chapter 3
------------------------------------------------ ----------------------------------------------
*** One mass is warm, while the other is cold.***
Knives stared at the letter. Several paragraphs looked expectantly up at him. So many words waiting for so many more. How many would it take to tell Vash the simple truth: it was over. Knives was finished.
He couldn’t remember exactly when it was that he had been broken. Was it the moment his brother shot him? Was it the moment he woke up? Was it the first time Vash slid painfully into him? Was it the most recent time that Vash slid slickly out of him?
Regardless of when the precise moment was, he knew that at some point he had ceased to live. Him. A being that would live forever (or at least long enough that forever seemed appropriate enough a term.)
The blue ink was still drying on the paper. His lips formed a slight “O” and he exhaled, blowing across the ink to dry it. It smudged so easily, after all.
Actually, he kind of WANTED to smudge it.
But he didn’t. This letter would be perfect. It was for his perfect brother.
--------- ----------------------- ------------------- -----------------------------------------
Several days ago.
The road through town was dusty, and the children running past were kicking up clouds all around them as they played. Coughing slightly, Knives squinted to keep grits of sand out of his eyes. Vash, beside him, whistled a familiar tune, pausing occasionally to smile at a child or hum a few notes instead.
An orange ball fell into their path as they made their way to the marketplace. Vash bent to retrieve it but stopped short.
Knives was already offering it to the little girl who came to claim it.
“Here you go.” He spoke, looking directly at Vash and ignoring the child he was handing the ball to. A hopeful smile upon his lips, he waited for his brother to comment.
“Let’s go.” Was the only statement the gunman offered.
His smile wavered and they began walking. Knives slid his slim hand into his brother’s, twining their fingers together.
With a twist and a jerk Vash snatched his hand back.
In a heated, muttered tone Vash asked “Just what do you think you’re doing?!”
“I WAS holding your hand.”
“Why?!”
“Because I love you. And I did something good. And you should love ME for it.”
“Well, that’s not how it works, Knives.”
“…”
“Let’s just get going so we can get back to the inn.”
“Why? So you can fuck me? Well I’m sorry to say it, but I haven’t done a single thing to offend your built-up sense of righteousness today, so our little bout of ‘Punish Knives for Being a Monster’ will probably have to be postponed. After all, you certainly would never be able to play that little game unless I’ve destroyed a life or kicked a puppy or something, right? Maybe if I made you use that angel arm of yours again right here, right now, you’d throw me down in the wreckage of the city and fuck me on a corpse!”
Vash’s mouth was hanging open. He was unable to speak or in any way stop the onslaught of bitter, disgusting remarks.
“I mean, you won’t touch me when I’ve done something ‘right’ according to your morals. Only when I’ve done something ‘wrong.’” Knives’ voice was barely above a whisper now. “You DO realize that you’ve killed FAR more than I have, right, Vash the Stampede? So perhaps I should be the one punishing YOU-“
“KNIVES!” A desperate look was creeping over Vash’s features, contorting them into some kind of expression torn between hatred and horror.
“No, I suppose you’re punishing yourself enough for the both of us…”
They stood in the middle of the road. Knives with a look of almost startled superiority (a distant but still recognizable cousin of his old facial expressions.) Vash with a completely blank face, having finally, though barely, gained control over his emotions.
All in all, it seemed very familiar.
They went back to their room (singular now.) Once the door was locked behind them, Vash pushed Knives face first into the wall and reached around to the button on his pants. He popped it open and pushed them halfway down, not bothering to let them get past muscled calves. Knives shivered at the sensation of the material bunched up around his legs.
Oh yes, this was going to be good.
He could hear his brother unzipping his own pants behind him and his eyes closed part-way, lips pulling back from his teeth in a grin. His face was pressed harder into the wall as Vash’s weight slammed into him. As Vash’s cock rammed its way home, in one tearing thrust. He could feel the heat of Vash inside him. He could feel the softness of cloth. He could feel the metal of a zipper.
And oh yes, he would want this forever.
Except…
Except his first thought earlier that afternoon with the girl had been to destroy her.
And instead he handed her a toy.
Because that’s what Vash would have done. Because that’s what Vash wanted him to do.
Only it seemed to Knives, that maybe Vash didn’t really KNOW what he wanted. Maybe Vash wanted…
------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
***The warmer air rises, and the cooler air falls.***
He could hear Vash breathing heavily behind him, exhaling in time with his pushes in, inhaling as he pulled out. His own breathing picked up pace as he rocked back into the man grinding and pounding into him. He maneuvered his hand carefully between his own erection and the wall. Thin win was slowly fading from his lips as he managed a single thought of “Vash, I think it’s time…”
And then all thoughts were wiped from his brain. He came in a hot, brilliant moment.
He heard his brother gasp as he did the same.
Vash leaned heavily against him, forcing him even closer against the wall, making his sticky hand and stomach press against the cold surface. He could feel the warm breath on his neck and the soft blonde hair against his skin as a head rested on his shoulder.
“Knives, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“…”
They didn’t talk the rest of the night.
The next morning Knives snuck out of their room before sunrise and bought a tasteful stationary set and a very expensive pen (spending enough money on it to paint a church.) On his way back he passed a home (or rather a store with an apartment above) with a small orange ball sitting innocently on the porch.
He picked it up delicately and rammed the tip of the fountain pen into the cheap plastic. The soft hiss of air escaping brought a smile to his lips. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the small victory. Yes, he loved his brother. And he knew his brother loved him.
He gave himself a moment to indulge in the asy asy of exactly WHAT glorious thing Vash would do to him if he had seen what had just transpired. He had tried it Vash’s way and it had not worked. Their relationship was becoming more fucked up by the second.
He wondered if he was making the right decision.
----------------
*END*
Warning: Graphic lemon. Language. OoC-ness. VashXKnives, which means Vash seme. Non-con-ish situation. Not really, but it might be taken that way.
A/N 2: Words in *** are Lyrics by the band AIR frhe she song "The Word 'Hurricane.'" Also, I'm not sure if this chapter works well or not. Let me know, ok? Anyway, enjoy!
"The Word 'Hurricane'" Chapter 3
------------------------------------------------ ----------------------------------------------
*** One mass is warm, while the other is cold.***
Knives stared at the letter. Several paragraphs looked expectantly up at him. So many words waiting for so many more. How many would it take to tell Vash the simple truth: it was over. Knives was finished.
He couldn’t remember exactly when it was that he had been broken. Was it the moment his brother shot him? Was it the moment he woke up? Was it the first time Vash slid painfully into him? Was it the most recent time that Vash slid slickly out of him?
Regardless of when the precise moment was, he knew that at some point he had ceased to live. Him. A being that would live forever (or at least long enough that forever seemed appropriate enough a term.)
The blue ink was still drying on the paper. His lips formed a slight “O” and he exhaled, blowing across the ink to dry it. It smudged so easily, after all.
Actually, he kind of WANTED to smudge it.
But he didn’t. This letter would be perfect. It was for his perfect brother.
--------- ----------------------- ------------------- -----------------------------------------
Several days ago.
The road through town was dusty, and the children running past were kicking up clouds all around them as they played. Coughing slightly, Knives squinted to keep grits of sand out of his eyes. Vash, beside him, whistled a familiar tune, pausing occasionally to smile at a child or hum a few notes instead.
An orange ball fell into their path as they made their way to the marketplace. Vash bent to retrieve it but stopped short.
Knives was already offering it to the little girl who came to claim it.
“Here you go.” He spoke, looking directly at Vash and ignoring the child he was handing the ball to. A hopeful smile upon his lips, he waited for his brother to comment.
“Let’s go.” Was the only statement the gunman offered.
His smile wavered and they began walking. Knives slid his slim hand into his brother’s, twining their fingers together.
With a twist and a jerk Vash snatched his hand back.
In a heated, muttered tone Vash asked “Just what do you think you’re doing?!”
“I WAS holding your hand.”
“Why?!”
“Because I love you. And I did something good. And you should love ME for it.”
“Well, that’s not how it works, Knives.”
“…”
“Let’s just get going so we can get back to the inn.”
“Why? So you can fuck me? Well I’m sorry to say it, but I haven’t done a single thing to offend your built-up sense of righteousness today, so our little bout of ‘Punish Knives for Being a Monster’ will probably have to be postponed. After all, you certainly would never be able to play that little game unless I’ve destroyed a life or kicked a puppy or something, right? Maybe if I made you use that angel arm of yours again right here, right now, you’d throw me down in the wreckage of the city and fuck me on a corpse!”
Vash’s mouth was hanging open. He was unable to speak or in any way stop the onslaught of bitter, disgusting remarks.
“I mean, you won’t touch me when I’ve done something ‘right’ according to your morals. Only when I’ve done something ‘wrong.’” Knives’ voice was barely above a whisper now. “You DO realize that you’ve killed FAR more than I have, right, Vash the Stampede? So perhaps I should be the one punishing YOU-“
“KNIVES!” A desperate look was creeping over Vash’s features, contorting them into some kind of expression torn between hatred and horror.
“No, I suppose you’re punishing yourself enough for the both of us…”
They stood in the middle of the road. Knives with a look of almost startled superiority (a distant but still recognizable cousin of his old facial expressions.) Vash with a completely blank face, having finally, though barely, gained control over his emotions.
All in all, it seemed very familiar.
They went back to their room (singular now.) Once the door was locked behind them, Vash pushed Knives face first into the wall and reached around to the button on his pants. He popped it open and pushed them halfway down, not bothering to let them get past muscled calves. Knives shivered at the sensation of the material bunched up around his legs.
Oh yes, this was going to be good.
He could hear his brother unzipping his own pants behind him and his eyes closed part-way, lips pulling back from his teeth in a grin. His face was pressed harder into the wall as Vash’s weight slammed into him. As Vash’s cock rammed its way home, in one tearing thrust. He could feel the heat of Vash inside him. He could feel the softness of cloth. He could feel the metal of a zipper.
And oh yes, he would want this forever.
Except…
Except his first thought earlier that afternoon with the girl had been to destroy her.
And instead he handed her a toy.
Because that’s what Vash would have done. Because that’s what Vash wanted him to do.
Only it seemed to Knives, that maybe Vash didn’t really KNOW what he wanted. Maybe Vash wanted…
------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
***The warmer air rises, and the cooler air falls.***
He could hear Vash breathing heavily behind him, exhaling in time with his pushes in, inhaling as he pulled out. His own breathing picked up pace as he rocked back into the man grinding and pounding into him. He maneuvered his hand carefully between his own erection and the wall. Thin win was slowly fading from his lips as he managed a single thought of “Vash, I think it’s time…”
And then all thoughts were wiped from his brain. He came in a hot, brilliant moment.
He heard his brother gasp as he did the same.
Vash leaned heavily against him, forcing him even closer against the wall, making his sticky hand and stomach press against the cold surface. He could feel the warm breath on his neck and the soft blonde hair against his skin as a head rested on his shoulder.
“Knives, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“…”
They didn’t talk the rest of the night.
The next morning Knives snuck out of their room before sunrise and bought a tasteful stationary set and a very expensive pen (spending enough money on it to paint a church.) On his way back he passed a home (or rather a store with an apartment above) with a small orange ball sitting innocently on the porch.
He picked it up delicately and rammed the tip of the fountain pen into the cheap plastic. The soft hiss of air escaping brought a smile to his lips. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the small victory. Yes, he loved his brother. And he knew his brother loved him.
He gave himself a moment to indulge in the asy asy of exactly WHAT glorious thing Vash would do to him if he had seen what had just transpired. He had tried it Vash’s way and it had not worked. Their relationship was becoming more fucked up by the second.
He wondered if he was making the right decision.
----------------
*END*