White and Green

A/N: I felt like challenging myself. This is the result. God, this is either terrible or wonderful. I have no idea.

Warnings: contains EXPLICIT yaoi. Boys sexing boys. Contains foul language. During boy sex. Contains bizarre OoC-ness, I guess. Knives is bottom here. “What?!” you say. “Knives would NEVER be bottom.” Well, this is my little AU, so get over it.


Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun. Damn.


“White and Green”
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The hot, hard cock buried inside him split him wide open to a world he knew existed just beyond his sight. Like a moth in his peripheral vision.

It pushed, buried, and slammed its way as deep into him as was physically possible. It hurt, yes, but it wasn’t about pleasure. It was about truth.

Which isn’t to say it didn’t feel amazing; it very much did. But beyond the pain, beyond the pleasure, a grain of the real world (a molecule of the true dimension- what should have been, what could have been) glistened, waiting to be found.

Wolfwood grunted as he fucked. Knives gasped and cried out and shook with fine tremors underneath him, his muscles straining and overexerting from tension and the task of holding the bulk of their combined weight. Wolfwood, out of breath from years of smoking, was hunched over Knives’ back as he worked him from behind. He couldn’t see the priest’s face (they almost always did it this way, Knives on all fours, his knees digging into carpet or tile or mattress, palms chaffing against material or linoleum) but he could tell that he was working hard, rocking both their bodies fast and aggressively.

Grunt, pound, Sigh, slap, Moan, fuck.

And the long tan fingers grasping Knives’ own cock were showing him the way to the true world. The one that he preferred to live in, while he wasn’t busy trying to fix the world he actually existed in. Trying, but hardly succeeding.

And suddenly, in a blinding spark of ecstasy, it became much clearer. No longer a grain of sand or a half-seen dimension, the planes of this alternate realm were tangible and real. Stopped brainwaves and halted gasps brought him nearer: he could see Vash and himself as children, playing in a garden, in a different time, on a different day. No, this had never happened. There was no Rem, no ships. Just he and Vash talking in the sunlight, the breeze running cool fingers through their long hair.

Smiles upon their lips, he thought. There were definitely smiles upon their lips. No, this had never happened.

Knives grinned maniacally, almost a harsh baring of teeth, his molars grinding together as Wolfwood forced himself deeper than was comfortable or pleasurable inside him, fingers squeezing desperately tighter around the blonde’s erection before ceasing his strokes.

That would certainly not be acceptable. He bowed his head lower and he spread his legs farther, opening himself deeper, his arms shaking harder. Wolfwood was grinding him nearly to the ground, his stomach only inches away from the colorless grain of the white carpeting.

Half of him wanted to take over his own pleasuring, since it was obvious from the desperate and erratic quality of thrusts that Wolfwood was close to coming. He didn’t so much as lift a pale finger, though. Not only were his hands busy holding the weight of two adult men, but touching himself would very likely sever the connection to his new universe. That’s what had happened the first time he had asked the priest to fuck him. It was a mistake he had not made twice.

Other partners worked as catalysts too. Occasionally, with Legato, he could hear what Vash was saying clearly, every word that was uttered and every thought that ran through his head. Or with Midvalley, he could see the golden rays of the sun, each and every one, and every blade of grass reflecting its warm color. And on rare occasions he could see the sparkling turquoise of Vash’s eyes and the acceptance and agreement that lay within them. But only Wolfwood seemed to bring him to the void outside reality, where he helped pull the fabrics of time and space together to build the TRUE world. The one where he and Vash were now talking animatedly about butterflies. And agreeing on the topic, though the exact details of the conversation were lost, or more accurately, had not yet been found.

The priest seemed to come to his senses a little, and he resumed stroking Knives' agonizingly rigid and neglected erection in time with his own frenzied movements. Knives’ oxygen intake slowed. The scene behind his eyelids changed. Now he and Vash were sitting under a tall tree, creamy white flower petals floating down occasionally like an angel’s feathers. He could almost hear the words that they were speaking. He could almost read their lips as their mouths moved, pink skin forming almost-silent sentences. Kind looks were plain on their faces and an obvious understanding and unwavering connection was hovering between them.

It was knitting itself into reality. The sounds of insects humming made itself out of the thrumming of the blood in his veins. The slap of Wolfwood’s flesh against his own gave birth to a lake in the distance whose water was lapping gently at the edge of the shore. The sweat on their bodies transfigured into the heat of a glowing sun. The moist breath on his back was a gentle whisper in his ear.

Grunt, grind, thrust, strangled cry.

[Fucking.]

Breeze, touch, glance, honest smile.

[Loving.]

White carpet under his hands. Green grass under his feet.

“Ungh! Knives!”

/Knives./

There, he could hear him. Vash was calling his name. They were kids, they were adults. It didn’t matter. His heart was pounding. Pending orgasm or joyous reunion, it was all the same. It was how it should have been. How it could have been.

“Vash.” The blonde breathed, the name tumbling gently from his lips, inaudible to the man behind him.

“Hnnnn, Oh God. Oh yeah!……………...Yes! KNIVES!” Wolfwood gasped hoarsely ascamecame, seed shooting forcefully into the insides of the man beneath him.

/Yes, Knives?/

And it was over in an instant, an orgasm, a shattering of the world. Wolfwood pulled out and collapsed, twisting onto his back while Knives lowered himself to the floor, sticky stomach pressing into an equally sticky carpet. He didn’t bother rolling over.

He closed his blue eyes and buried his face in his hands. He wondered what he would have said to that open, kind, and questioning acknowledgement. “/Yes, Knives?/ “

If only…

He idly wondered how long it would be until he wasn’t too sore to fuck again, and if Wolfwood would keep agreeing to do it (he could threaten him of course, but he knew scared sex was not the same as whatever kind of sex it was they were having at this point.) The more they did it, the longer, the harder… the closer he got. He wondered if he could will himself into existing in that other realm. He knew it wasn’t real, but it waoughough.

Just Vash and himself and no one else.

And that was all the two of them would ever need.

He sighed sadly and considered re-carpeting. Green was a nice color, he thought with a tired smirk.

---End.

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A/N: I have no idea where that came from. I’m not even sure how I feel about it. I was basically challenging myself by writing an alternative pairing. Pretty alternative, if you ask me. I wanted to have Knives and Wolfwood,h seh seme Wolfwood, without it just being “seme Wolfwood, uke Knives for no reason smut.” I guess I wanted some sort of rationalization. I don’t know. ::shrug:: Whatever, I guess it was a learning experience. Yet another work in my collection of Trigun fics exploring different styles/plots/general ideas. Thanks for bearing with me there. Oh, and kindly review. Love it? Hate it? Review. Feedback lets me know what’s going on. And also, it makes me a happy writer-monkey, thus allowing me to write MORE.