"OW! Christ, Vash, what the hell are you DOING?"

"This would be a lot easier if you'd hold still."

Nick tried, and valiantly, his sweat-damp hand slipping on the glass whiskey bottle he was clutching like a lifeline. It wasn't just that it hurt like hell for Vash to be digging around in his hip for a bullet, but one tiny droplet of blood was tickling down this thigh and it was about to drive him mad. He took a swig from the bottle that was getting disappointingly lower, and willed the hot burn of alcohol to hurry up and deaden his nerves already.

"Don't drink it all, I still need some antiseptic." Vash, to his credit, had damn steady hands and an unwavering eye; Nick had had bullets pulled out of him by surgeons more careless. Of course, that sure as hell didn't make it anything he wanted to go through again in the near or even distant future.

"You're lucky this is in the muscle," Vash said, reaching up to adjust the light with bloody fingers. Sweat trickled between his lowered eyebrows as he concentrated. He'd opened the window right after hauling Nick up the stairs to the room, but it was a stuffy thick night outside and the breeze was practically nonexistent.

"Oh yeah, just rolling in good karma." The liquid in the bottle sloshed as the priest tilted it back again, generously, looking forward to passing out the second Vash declared him done. "Tell me, do people often come into bars and... OWSHIT! Dammit, Vash!"

Vash winced, shifting his weight between Nick's legs. "Sorry. This is tricky."

"...And start shooting at EVERYBODY in a red coat?"

Vash made a satisfied little noise, and through the haze of pain Nick felt something slide free. "You were the one who wanted to try on my coat. Bad timing, is all. He didn't know you weren't Vash the Stampede. Even though I must say, you look awful in red."

"Unngh." Nick retorted, the most eloquence he could manage. The world was getting fuzzy at the edges.

"Got it." Vash held up his tweezers, the lead slug glinting dully between the tines, and Nick slumped back gratefully on the cot.

"Sweet Mother Mary." He ran his fingers through his hair, as Vash wiped a damp cloth over his hip, finally disposing of that one ticklish blood trail. He let Vash pry the bottle from his fingers, and even the sting of the whiskey on the bullethole was welcome, it meant the worst was over. The blinding overhead light Vash had been using was clicked off, letting moonlight filter in through the window.

"Hold on, will you?" Vash ran some water in the sink to rinse his fingers, and began rummaging in his pack. "I've got some clean bandages in here somewhere."

"Take your time." The world was full of a pleasant hum, and Nick was content to lie back and meditate on the feeling of alcohol evaporating off his skin. The booze would kick in ten minutes too late to do him much good.

His eyes slid half-closed as Vash moved back over him again, the rustle of his clothing seeming loud, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he wound clean gauze around Nick's thigh to hold the bandage on. His knuckles were impersonally intimate on bare skin as he worked around obvious impediments in the area, and Nicholas D. Wolfwood had enough brain left to realize he'd drunk far, far too much.

"Um, Vash?"

"mm?" Vash was busy sliding the gauze around Nick's pelvic bone, having obviously gone to the mummification school of bandaging. Nick was grateful to be doctored up by a guy who knew what parts to leave out of the wrap, the last time he'd been stuck with a young and over-enthusiastic nurse who'd made it exceedingly difficult to take a piss later that night. Vash's palm was warm on the curve of one hip as he lifted Nick's lower half off the bed to get underneath him.

"Thanks."

Vash beamed at him, waving a hand. "Oh, no problem! It was meant for me, anyway. How's it feel?"

Nick glanced at the white V-shape of bandage around his hips. An expert job, but his gaze kept wandering back to Vash. "Feels...good."

Vash nodded, satisfied, and tossed the bloodied rags in the sink basin. He slowly eased the blood and whiskey-damp towel out from under Nick and the priest sighed as his backside sank into cool sheets, Vash's amiable chattering a mild buzz in his ears. "It wasn't too bad, I hope. This town doesn't have much in the way of medics. Not that they would have helped if they did. Unfriendly, really. Can't understand it myself, but I guess they have their reasons. I mean, if somebody got gunned down in my bar I don't think I'd make them pay for the liquor to use as a sedative, but if they've had a bad experience in the past-"

"You've got nice hands."

Vash fell silent, blinking at Nick in a way that almost looked hurt. "What was that?"

"Your hands." Nick reached across to the chair, batting Vash's troublemaking red coat out of the way, and rummaged in his shirt pocket for cigarettes. "they're nice." He struck a match on the bedpost and sighed, savoring the mild rush of nicotine. "Most surgeons," Nick continued, around his cigarette, "treat humans like big slabs of meat. 'Least, in my experience." He exhaled smoke at the ceiling, watching as it caught in the fan. "You don't. Took it real easy. Sorry I was bitchy."

"Well, you were hurt." Vash smiled emptily, and Nick, inebriated or not, began to get suspicious. "So I try to be careful, you know, I didn't want to make it worse and-"

"Lemme see your hand."

Vash hesitated, and for a second Nick thought he might refuse, but he sank down on the thin mattress and held out his left hand, something dangerously like challenge in his eyes. Nick cradled Vash's hand in his own, leaning close to peer at it in the dim light.

"Thought so," Nick said, through the filter. "Real nice synth, there. Fully sensitive?" He ran a finger across the palm, and felt Vash's hand tense a little in his own. Vash nodded, and Nick and knew better than to pry further, letting it go. "You're tough, Mr. The Stampede."

It worked, Vash's grin was a little more genuine. "Actually, my middle name is Theodore. 'The' for short. Vash Theodore Stampedimus the third-" Vash broke off as he found Nick had shifted just a little closer, one hand cradling the side of Vash's face.

"You ever shut up?" Nick ran his thumb over Vash's lip, silently awed. Christ, but the man had a perfect face.

Vash beamed. "Not very oft-"

Nick's mouth cut him off short, kissing him firmly and effectively silencing him. Kissing wasn't something that Nicholas D. Wolfwood bothered with very often, but Vash seemed to have lips just made for it, and the way they startled apart and let him into a warm sweet mouth made it very much worth the effort. When Vash's fingers came up to the sides of Nick's face he thought they were there to shove him back, but instead they lingered, easing back into Nick's hair and Vash was responding, his tongue sliding against Nick's with astonishing innocence.

Crazy, Nick thought, resting one hand on Vash's hip, the other dangling out the window to let ash drip forgotten into the alley below. It's like he's never been kissed before. He pulled back and Vash lingered, slowly letting Nick's lower lip escape his. Nick opened his eyes to a pair of surprised irises the color of water he'd only heard about, and if they hadn't quite possibly been the prettiest thing he had seen in a while on this rock of a planet, he might have laughed at the sheer shock in them.

"Why?" Vash asked, and Nick was struck with a strong impression of the children at his orphanage, when they first realized there were reasons things happened and sometimes adults, meaning Nick, knew what they were.

Nick shrugged and ditched his cigarette, which was burnt to the filter. "I wanted to."

Vash considered this, and then lifted Nick's chin. Those pale eyes were no longer innocent so much as penetrating, and Nick wished he hadn't given up his smoke so quickly. Hells, he felt lightheaded enough as it was, without Vash the Stampede staring him down with a gaze that had gone from mythic Caribbean blue to even rarer ice.

"What?" Nick was uneasy, that focused glare could wreak havoc on a sober man's nerves, and he was far from that. "Was it something I said?"

But Vash seemed to have reached his own conclusion, and his eyes warmed again as they slipped shut, his mouth open against Nick's, inviting and unhesitating. It was probably the single longest kiss of Nick's life; for a man who didn't much bother with the formalities, spending fifteen minutes in a slow lip-lock was something of a novelty. To say nothing of the slowly building intensity of the kiss, Vash's fingers greedily kneading his thighs. Enjoyable as it was, there were other avenues to explore before Vash went to Nick's head faster than most of a bottle of Wild Turkey. Nick's hands found Vash's hips and he leaned forward to roll the gunman underneath him-

"Nggh!"

--forgetting completely that he'd just had a large chunk of lead dug out of his flesh in the last half hour.

Vash hissed a little under his breath, pushing Nick back onto the pillow. "Shit, you don't need that opening up again, lie down."

Nick would like to think he was breathless from the pain, and not from the careful touch of Vash's fingers examining his bandages for fresh blood. "I don't need to be left hanging, either."

Vash blinked up at him, crouched again between Nick's sprawled legs like he had been for the better part of an hour, working a stubborn bullet out. His eyes didn't waver from Nick's slate-gray ones, but his fingertips eased a little to the left, and Nick let all his air out through his teeth as Vash's hand wrapped around him.

"Can you keep your hips still?" Vash asked, as seriously as if they were holed up and surrounded with only two clips left between them. "I don't want the muscle to tear. Can you hold still?" He squeezed, carefully, and Nick ran a hand through his damp hair, to get his bangs out of his eyes, his breath catching.

"Y-yeah. I'll do my best."

The determination was back on Vash's features, and he braced Nick's narrow hips between his palms. For a moment Nick thought there was enough strength in those hands to crush his bones, but they simply held him perfectly immobile as Vash lowered his head and let Nick slide into his mouth. He pulled back only long enough to murmur that Nick still tasted like whiskey before drawing Nick back inside of him.

He could swear that somewhere, a choir sang Hallelujah. Nick might not have bothered much with the kissing end of things, but this was a fine art and for all of Vash's innocent kisses he sure as hell knew what he was doing. It was harder than Nick thought not to twitch his hips, but Vash had found some hidden pressure point with his thumbs as he held Nick down, and he couldn't have moved even if he wanted to.

"Damnation." Nick let himself fall back on the sheets, his eyes sliding shut, something he didn't often do. Hells, if Vash wanted to kill him, there had been plenty of opportunity before this. Nick fumbled his fingers free of the sheets, reaching down to touch the soft spikes of Vash's hair. "You're good at that."

Vash hummed a little something in response, and Nick bit his lip, straining with instinctive uselessness against Vash's hands. The outlaw lifted his head, his lips wet and amused. "Stay. Down," he chastised, and Nick nodded.

"Right. Sorry." He grinned. "Couldn't help it."

"Hmph." Vash flashed him a wink and Nick groaned in his throat, the heavy aching weight of his sex drawn slowly back into Vash's mouth. Blond bangs trailed against Nick's stomach, and he sat up to brush them out of the way, wanting to watch Vash's face. Bright eyes half shut, face serene as blue sky as he rocked his entire body into the motion, fingers tracing over the delicate ridge of Nick's hipbone. Christ, but he was beautiful. Nick tried to wiggle, just a little, and Vash's eyes flashed open to catch him watching. Nick smiled sheepishly, and Vash echoed it back, only in his eyes, and began to move faster, shoulders tensing with determination.

"Mmmph." The bed felt cool and soft on Nick's back as he collapsed onto it and Vash had wound both arms around his hips, mindful of his injury, resting his weight on Nick's thighs. Not that Nick remembered being shot, with Vash's mouth roaming knowingly over his sex, the stroking motions of his tongue the same as his kisses. The heat and sweetness of him was enough to make a grown man weep, as Nick might have done, was he not busy getting the best sucking of his life. Vash had been right; there was no need for Nick to move, the blond gunman made up for the motion himself, knowing eerily well when to speed up and slow down, completing Nick's requests for more or lower or faster before the priest had even sorted the words out in his mind, much less gotten them out of his mouth.

"Vash." Nick breathed, turning his face into his pillow, as the arms wound almost lovingly around him tightened, Vash's fingers gentle on his spine. "Vash, I-"

He was never exactly sure what it was that Vash did at that precise moment. No matter how often Vash would obligingly repeat the technique in later days, Nick never got the hang of just how his tongue moved like that, or how his mouth suddenly got so hot, or exactly what Vash did to purr down in his throat until Nick's vision swum with bright stars behind his shut eyelids. All he knew was that sensation exploded from between his legs upwards, as if Vash had somehow connected nerve endings Nick never knew he had, pleasure kicking back with more force than his cross. He was saying something that might have been Vash's name, Gloria, or incoherent syllables, but the first option was more likely, as it was what he was still saying when the waves of ecstasy finally slowed, his body going slack in Vash's arms.

"...Vash...Christ, Vash." He was shaking. Sweet God, Nick hadn't shaken so hard from coming in his life.

"Just Vash is fine." He had finished the last gentle motions, letting Nick slide out as easily as he'd drawn him in, pausing to rest his cheek against Nick's non-injured hipbone, catching his breath. "Good?"

"Jesus." Nick struggled to his elbows. "How'd you do that?"

Vash smiled lazily, terribly sexy with the flush still on his cheeks and his lips wet and parted, breathing heavily. "With my mouth."

Nick made a high pitched noise of disbelief, and crumpled onto the bed. He thought, as Vash pushed himself up and noticeably cooler air struck the damp skin where he had been, that Vash had gotten up to rinse his mouth or maybe go right to bed. Nick turned his head to see the outlaw digging in Nick's shirt pocket, pulling out a cigarette and slipping it between his lips.

Nick blinked. Vash looked as odd with a cigarette as Nick probably had in the red coat. "You don't smoke."

"I know," Vash's words were blurred around the cigarette, as Nick's so often were. He struck a match on the box and cradled it up around his face, lighting it with a slow curl of smoke and a faint cough. "Don't know how you do it." He shook the flame out of the match and held the lit cigarette between two fingers, sitting down beside Nick on the bed and pressing the filter to Nick's mouth. "Here."

Nick inhaled deeply, reaching up to keep Vash's hand where it was, damp and shaking just a little against his lips. "Mmm. Thank you."

Vash lifted the cigarette away and bent down to kiss Nick, slow and coaxing and Nick could feel himself falling asleep, blood loss and alcohol and sex having a dangerous combined effect.

"Go to sleep, Nick."

He could swear Vash said it, even though his eyes were half open on Vash's face and his lips never moved, smiling in the rare serene way that Nick knew was genuine. He started to tell Vash just how nice it looked on him, but the world was going obligingly dark. Nick let himself go. He'd tell Vash later.

"Ow!"

Plink.

"Ow!"

Plink.

"Y'know, it's a good thing I didn't get shot in the ass or this would be really humiliating."

"Quit wriggling." Nick gave Vash a swat on the uninjured part of his backside, and dropped a small pellet in to the chipped saucer that already held quite a few. "Don't you know not to moon anybody with shotguns?"

"I was a good distraction, right?" Vash said weakly. "The kids got away, right? That's what's important, right?"

"Uh-huh." Plink. "Ya fruitcake. Now hold still."