Notes: My first lemon.

 

Thanks to andmydog and Kanzeyori for betaing.

 

 

 

Heat

 

It was so hot that day- the heavy, silent heat that preceded a typhoon. They were laid up at a tiny inn, the kind run by the bus line in the middle of nowhere: no plant, rationed water, outhouses. Wolfwood was just glad to be indoors instead of out on the desert where the ground rippled, slippery and unstable under the merciless suns.

 

Even with the shades drawn, his closet-sized room had grown stifling by midmorning. Wolfwood had shed every last stitch of clothing as the day wore on. He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying on the low futon and he couldn't muster the energy to care. He hadn't moved since the last time he'd rolled into the cool spot. It was too hot even to smoke, which he figured had to be some kind of record.

 

His lips were dry. It took him three tries to answer the knock on his door.

 

"Go 'way."

 

He'd meant to yell it, but it had come out as more of a- well, certainly not a whine. Nicholas D. Wolfwood did not whine. Even if it was hot as Hades and his sheets were uncomfortably damp all over with sweat.

 

The door opened though he could have sworn he'd locked it. A sort of stunned silence followed in which Wolfwood realized he was naked and pointedly decided he was not going to be embarrassed. His back was to the door, so he glared half-heartedly at the wall and waited.

 

The door clicked shut again and Vash's weight made the futon creak as he settled onto it. It had to be Vash; either of the girls would have said something by now. His hand was cool on Wolfwood's hip, fingertips stroking just slightly, moving through the moisture beaded there.

 

"Wolfwood," Vash murmured, his voice gone thick and dark as the shadows in the room.

 

They've both known this was going to happen in spite of all the reasons it shouldn't. Wolfwood had known it since that first day on the bus, when their hand-shake lingered far longer than it should have. And then there were innumerable secret looks and comfortable silences and occasional stolen touches when they were both too drunk for it to go anywhere or mean anything. The only real surprise was Vash's timing. How the fuck could he be horny when it was so goddamn hot? It was inhuman.

 

Oh. Right.

 

He half-rolled onto his back and glared at Vash to remind him of who they were. The hand dragged upward across his stomach, fingers catching in the indents between each muscle, and paused with thumb light against right nipple. The blond looked back at him steadily, but the restless movement of his fingers against Wolfwood's chest belied his calm expression.

 

"Wolfwood," the plant said again. It was both a question and an answer.

 

Vash jingled slightly as he leaned closer. His leather-clad chest looked slippery, though it was actually dry and unyielding under Wolfwood's palm. He was going to let Vash fuck him, he thought, experimentally, and a spike of desire leapt through him. His breath hitched just slightly as he forced himself to inhale.

 

"There's hand cream in my bag," the priest said roughly, decisively. "And take off the damn leather."

 

Vash looked surprised for so brief a moment he almost missed it, then rose from the bed. The heat prickled in the wake of the plant's touch. Wolfwood watched him move purposefully about the dim room, a thrum of anticipation building at the pit of his stomach. If he'd wanted this some other way he could have had it already. He smirked and stretched teasingly, eyes following the soft sounds of zippers and snaps, the slap of leather hitting the floor.

 

Vash urged him gently back onto his side and fitted himself flush against his back. That hand returned to slide down his leg, then up, and stroke the thicker hairs near the vee of his thighs. Vash's mouth landed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, somehow even hotter and wetter than the skin there. Wolfwood leaned into the cool length of Vash's body, reached for the plant's hip, and explored the textures he found there. The metal of the grate was colder even than Vash's skin, as was his left arm. Wolfwood arched until he felt the chill of those prosthetic fingers against his fevered face, and Vash shifted his elbow forward, turning his palm to support Wolfwood's head. He found a particularly sensitive spot just under his jaw and Wolfwood ground his hips back against Vash's cock, which twitched against him, warm and alive and hard for him. God. Vash's moan vibrated against his skin as his right hand closed over Wolfwood's own aching cock.

 

Wolfwood's hips jerked again and he gasped. Vash's reply was a little humming sort of chuckle, as he concentrated on Wolfwood's neck. He'd have a mark there later, but he didn't care because Vash's hand was working him so slowly, figuring out exactly what he liked and refusing to give him enough of it. The edge of his impatience was dulled by the jumble of hots and colds assaulting his body; he allowed Vash to explore for some interminable number of minutes until he snaked his wet tongue into the priest's ear.

 

Vash," He said, warningly, turning his face from the cool fingers it was resting on.

 

He could feel the plant's lips turn upward against his skin, then the hand was gone. There was the sharp snick of a cap, and then it was back and tracing cool, slippery circles over his balls, and down behind them. Wolfwood shivered a little and pulled his knee forward.

 

"You're so relaxed."

 

Vash's long finger was inside him, wiggling and probing. Wolfwood pressed his hips down against it, wanting more.

 

"That's why I'm making you do all the work."

 

Vash laughed again and licked a long stripe up his spine. He withdrew his finger and then Wolfwood felt the blunt tip of his cock nudge at his opening. Vash's teeth scraped gently on his shoulder as he teased him, circling the slick head around but never quite where Wolfwood wanted it.

 

"I'm not going to beg you," he growled.

 

"Don't," Vash said into his neck, catching him under the knee and pulling his right leg up and out. And then he was there and sliding in in one long, slow thrust that pressed all the air out of Wolfwood's lungs in a surprised moan.

 

Vash paused a moment, their hips flush against each other. The room was very still, except for the fine tremors of Wolfwood's muscles, the ragged syncopation of their breath, and one bead of sweat, slipping ticklishly down his stomach. Vash felt much larger inside him than he'd anticipated, the ache combining with his arousal so that every twitch of his insides broadcast straight to his own cock. Vash's cock inside him. Christ.

 

"Do something," he demanded.

 

Vash shuddered against him as he pulled out just a little and pushed back in. Slowly, infinitely slowly, he built up a rhythm of long, deep thrusts and short, forceful grinds. Wolfwood untwisted his left arm from the sheets and braced it against the wall for leverage. He shifted his hips down, unthinkingly matching each of Vash's movements, until that cock was grinding right against his prostate. Perfect.

 

And Wolfwood hadn't expected it to be like this. If he'd been on top it would have been hard and fast and desperate, as much a physical confrontation as any of their fights. But Vash was fucking him so deliberately, tenderly, almost possessively that he thought that this couldn't really be them together. The heat must have stolen some part of them away and now they were like strangers.

 

Vash hissed sharply as Wolfwood convulsively dug his blunt nails into the hip still under his hand. The priest stroked the spot once in apology, before a particularly forceful, distracting thrust wrung a choked syllable from his throat. His errant hand fled to his neglected hardness, working it frantically. Vash locked his elbow under Wolfwood's knee, spreading him further, closed his slick hand around the priest's and squeezed. Wolfwood's head snapped back, colliding almost painfully with Vash's shoulder. The plant was breathing open mouthed against his jaw, his control finally starting to slip. And their hands around his cock were just too good, a thumb teasing the head on each upstroke and Wolfwood was coming, contracting around Vash, who was God, still nailing his prostate and fuck- that was- so-

 

 

Wolfwood returned to himself slowly, Vash still moving in him gently as his cock softened. The light leaking in around the blinds had the dim, grey look of an oncoming storm and outside the wind was beginning to whistle. Vash's hands rested on his torso, holding them together just a moment longer as their breath slowed. They both shuddered as Vash eased out of him and away. Wolfwood flopped over on his back, looking up at the plant. Vash wiped his hand and gently cleaned off Wolfwood's chest with something that had better not be his good shirt. The blond looked sated and tired and maybe just a little bit worried, his hair hanging limply in his eyes.

 

"I brought you some water," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the rickety table and yes that was worry, not regret. He could hear it quite clearly.

 

Wolfwood grabbed for a shoulder and pulled the gunman back down, kissed him full on the mouth. He took advantage of an indrawn breath to lick at the insides of his lips before he released him. Vash blinked at him and a rare, small smile crept across his face.

 

"Thanks," Wolfwood said. "Now, hand me my cigarettes."