Disclaimers: Yeah, sure. I own Trigun. Yep. I also love Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, I’m dating Nick Carter from Backstreet Boys, and I wear my underwear on my head in my free time. Yeah, sure.
In case you can’t tell, none of that’s true. Except for maybe the underwear thing, when I’m feeling crazy. I doubt Hanes Her Way would sue me, though.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.
Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.
Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I’m vaguely aware of a movement underneath me, possibly the shuffling of someone carrying me. I guess that’s what’s happening. Not that I would really care right now. I feel like I’m going to be sick, and the fact that my ass is in the air and my head is towards the floor, I think, is really not aiding me in keeping down the alcohol. Nick always used to tell me that I couldn’t handle my drink. Too bad he was right. I’m a pathetic excuse for a lush.

Something suddenly squeaks behind me. It sounds like hinges, but I can’t really be too sure at the moment, considering that my eyes are closed against light that I’m sure is somewhere nearby, and I’m facing away from the squeak.

Of course, my suspicions are confirmed when I move through the doorway, sense the darkness, and open my eyes to see a door slamming shut behind me after Nicholai kicks it with his heel. Oh… that’s right. Nicholai’s carrying me. I keep forgetting that.

His hand finds its way up my leg, resting on my left buttock, and before I can even offer up a faint, more than likely unintelligible, protest, I’m sliding down his body flaccidly. When my feet hit the floor underneath, my knees buckle and I fall back, thankful that there is a soft, mushy mattress to fall back into. I am not thankful, however, when my head hits the wall next to the bed. Being tall is really not something I enjoy, most of the time. Sure, it gives you the advantage of being able to reach things on the top shelf, but it also means that beds tend to be too small, and definitely not wide enough when you fall back onto them from the side. “Ouchie,” I think to myself as I rub at the top of my head.

“You okay, Vash?” Nicholai’s voice comes from somewhere nearby, but I am unsure as to his exact location, seeing as how it’s dark, and my head is throbbing.

I nod, but knowing fully that he can’t exactly see the action in the darkness. The bed sinks in on the left of me, apparently due to Nicholai settling his weight down on it. I throw my arm right over my eyes and sigh, my stomach feeling like it’s tying itself into tight knots and then releasing them, tying, releasing…

“Sorry for letting you drink so much,” he whispers towards my general direction, and then leans back on the bed, lying down next to me, both of us staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. I have a feeling that he’s nearly as drunk as I am. There is the slightest hint of slurred speech that accompanies his words.

“You,” I say pointedly, throwing my arm from in front of my eyes and letting it fall onto the bed next to me, “didn’t let me do anything. I did it myself.” That’s halfway true, I suppose. I had hoped that I wouldn’t drink enough to actually get intoxicated. I had also hoped that Nicholai would help me to remain sober. Then again, remaining sober while in the presence of alcohol has never been one of my stronger attributes. I guess that’s why I’ve been staying away from it for so long. When I’m around it, it’s as if I can’t control myself anymore. I’m either totally smashed, or totally sober. There is no in between. It’s a bad habit of mine, going to extremes.

Then again, the idea that I go to extremes isn’t exactly a bad thing. When I love someone, I love them unconditionally, and to the point that I could care less about the rest of the world. That in mind, I turn on my side, facing Nicholai, and throw an arm over his chest, curling up to his side. He smells nice… Now that I think about it, even my extreme love can be a bad thing. Caring about nothing but that person would probably get annoying after a while, and I would also neglect the rest of the world. I don’t think I could ever do that, really, but I can’t be sure, because it’s never happened that the love was returned for me. I loved Nicholas, but he never loved me back, as far as I know. Maybe he did, but he didn’t show it. We never made a point to tell each other on a daily basis. In fact, we never told each other, period. We were too caught up in the times we lived in, trying our best to survive all the problems that we got ourselves into – correction: I got us into.

Either way, those days are over now. I need to learn to let them go, and realize that right in front of me is a man who is kind and understanding and funny, and he seems to like me, because he has yet to remove my arm from around his chest. Actually, I think I can feel his hand on my back, the fingers lingering slightly, combing themselves through my hair and tickling the skin underneath my clothes.

I rest quietly, curled up against his side, noticing, with an amused smirk on my face, that we’re breathing at the same rate. The only sound in the room is our breathing, the slightly heavy sigh of imminent sleep threatening to seep into the inhalations. The moment is calm and somber, and I feel more relaxed than I have for what seems like an eternity now. His hand resting against my back is the only thing I really care to feel right now, and I concentrate on the warmth that seeps through my clothing, letting it comfort me like no words ever could.

I sigh to myself, causing Nicholai to stir next to me. He slowly sits up, and my arm falls from his chest as he slides to the edge of the bed. When he removes himself from my grasp, taking with him the warmth of his touch and the saccharine feel of the moment, I sense the ambiance of being lost and alone, like I’m sitting unaided in an extreme, pervasive darkness. “You okay, Vash?” he whispers to me quietly, the shadows seeming to saturate into his words and make them fall even more gently upon my ears. He has such a sweet and soothing, yet husky and masculine voice. Quite a peculiar, yet erotic, mix of musk and honey.

I curl up tighter into myself, wrapping my right arm about my legs and dipping my head to my chest. Yet, despite the fact that I feel dejection, I nod slightly and emit a peculiar affirmative hum. “Why’d you have to move, like that?” I question him, sounding like a small, lost child. I shouldn’t have said that. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have said that. I’ll blame it on the alcohol in the morning.

He releases a short, restrained chuckle and stands from the bed. I hear his steps, his boots clumping hollowly against the floorboards that squeak under his weight. He stops somewhere in the darkness, and I sit up slightly to attempt to see what he’s doing. I doubt, even if there was a bit of light in here, that I could see what he’s doing. My vision’s pretty blurred right now, more than likely do the massive intake of the alcoholic beverage that is cheap tequila. There’s a bit of rustling, a faint fizzing sound, and then I see a light, a flame advance towards his face, lighting the cigarette that is now pinned between his lips. The radiance cast from the small match seems to glow against his features, and he seems even more yielding than he had before, his cheeks smooth and his eyes mellifluous. Then, the light is gone, and we’re left once more in a permeating darkness, the only light in the room, a small red dot, coming from the tip of his cigarette, and glowing a bit more when he inhales.

Silence ensues. A bland, dry feeling comes from my chest due to the fact that I have nothing to say anymore. Then, as if knowing that I do not enjoy silence, he begins to move once more, walking towards me. I see the tip of his cigarette move from his lips and settle somewhere low, then swing back and forth slightly as he advances. No, he’s not coming towards me… he’s going to the side of the room, to the wall. There is a faint metallic clicking sound, and I’m greeted by the moonlight, shining in, pale and dim and blue, through the window towards the foot of the bed. The drapes that had covered it must have been fairly thick to block out all of that light. He takes off his black coat, folding it and tossing it over a nearby chair, then turns to gaze out the window a moment.

My eyebrows knit together tightly as I stare at Nicholai in front of the window, bathed in the light that pours in like water. I’m reminded of, so long ago, when something very similar to this man was seen doing nearly the same thing, standing in the moonlight that melted down onto his face, positioned outside a small cave-like grotto as the insurance girls, Meryl and Millie, slept inside. I was nearly drunk, then, when we stumbled outside to look up at the stars and discuss where the future would lead our haphazard lives. Back then, I never would have guessed that Nick would die, and leave me all alone like he did. It never occurred to me that I would live so much longer, and have to face my haphazard life by myself. The fact that he was human never occurred to me, and I never thought it important. Then again, I also never expected to meet his reincarnation. I suppose that, in a way, I am given a second chance. It’s like we’ve met again, like we never left each other to begin with. It feels like the time in between was just a careless dream that really had no meaning, no purpose.

He slowly moves back to the bed, settling down next to my still whorled form, and placing an arm behind my back to settle on the bed, as well. I stare at him, and it’s all I can do to try and breathe. It’s all I can do to contain the smile that wants to fall upon my features. He does smile at me, a sideways smirk, pulling only on the left side of his mouth. The near fog coming from his cigarette wraps itself around me, like his arm. It envelops my form, curling around my body and then wrapping around his face. God, I’m drunk.

He lowers his face to mine, slowly, timidly. His eyes searching mine for any type of resistance, I do the same, waiting for any sign of hesitation to show through. Suddenly, I find myself moving forward, my face coming closer to his. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, I see the thick lashes that frame his eyes lowering, closing, and he moves closer. I can hear his breathing, nearly chaotic, more than likely from being nervous, and my heart is pounding against my chest so fully, thickly, that I can hear it as well, in my ears. For a moment, I worry that perhaps he can hear it, himself.

Then, gently, his lips meet mine, and I feel a sudden rush surge through my body, like a tidal wave. I close my eyes, nearly shivering at the force of the inertial kiss, his lips suddenly pressing more fully onto mine, his hand rising from the bed to place itself flatly against my back. I force my lips so inflexibly onto his that I think I can feel his heartbeat through them, though it may just be my own.

His mouth opens slightly, the moist lips separating, and I find myself kissing his teeth. In order to counter him, I open mine as well, pulling back slightly, so that we are now sitting with our mouths open, our lips still feathering against one another, like kissing fish, neither of us daring to do more. Our breathes mingle each other for one quick moment, both fast paced and filled with what can only be described as passion, and then, I feel his tongue brush itself lightly against my bottom lip. It feels like a firework has just gone off in my dazed, alcohol-misted mind, like sparks may very well shoot from the top of my head. I lift up my right arm to wrap it around his neck, and miss, instead grabbing onto the top of his head. His tongue finally slides into my mouth, touching my own, and I’m greeted with a strange taste melding somewhere between tequila, smoke, musk, and ash, strangely comforting, yet none too pleasant. He leans forward more, and I reflexively lean back, until I’m flat against the bed, and he’s lying next to me, more than likely straining his neck to reach my mouth. He pulls away for one moment to move further up the bed, closer to me, and I open my eyes. He smiles down at me, places one hand on my forehead to flow down to rest at the top of my head, and then lowers his mouth once more onto mine.

His tongue, once more, seeks acceptance into my mouth, and I unreservedly allow it, tasting the odd mixture once more as I close my eyes. His chest rests against mine as I move my left arm out from under his body, and I feel his heart beating rapid and strong against my own. My right hand grabs at his shoulder, wanting to pull him as close to my body as possible, wanting, more than anything, to stay like this forever. I finally remember to breath, inhaling through my nose and never pulling away from the taste of him. Our breathing becomes erratic, our tongues twining and twisting about each other. We make strange, sloppy noises in the dark, and a small bit of drool, how attractive, flows down my cheek. I could care less right now, though. My hand grips tighter on his shoulder and I pull on his shirt, fumbling to remove it from his body. It finally pulls free from his pants, and I move my hand down to his waistline, feeling his warm flesh against my own. His mouth continues to press against mine, and he elicits a small, barely audible sigh. My fingers dance along the planes of his lower back, tickling the exposed skin tenderly. The muscles tighten despite themselves, and he wriggles around under my touch. I smile as his tongue delves into my mouth further, licking along the inside of my bottom lip. He then nibbles and pulls on it, worrying the tender flesh between his own lips and getting even more saliva on my on my chin.

I hear a light sizzling sound, and my eyes fly open, my hands and mouth coming to an abrupt stop. The distinct scent of burning hair greets me, and I sit up rapidly, pushing Nicholai away from me and grabbing at my head. He stares at me a moment, then sits up rapidly and shakes his hand, mumbling a curse that can only be described as vulgar. I see a minute red speck go flying across the room and land on the floor. “You,” I shriek, my voice sounding a bit unstable and weak, “still had the cigarette in your hand?”

He nods mutely and stares at me as my peripatetic fingers begin to feel the slightest bit of dry, burned hair on the top of my head. It’s not much, but it certainly did stink. “You… burned my hair.” I stare blankly.

“I… burned my hand.”

Something passes between us, then; a small, shared smile that forms upon both of our features suddenly. Then, we laugh. We laugh like I didn’t just have my head catch on fire, and he doesn’t have a burn on his hand that will probably blister tomorrow, and he reaches forward, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me back to lie next to him. His face melds into the crook of my neck, breath tickling my ear softly. “I’m sorry, Vash.”

The weight of his words catches me, and I know immediately that he’s not talking about my crispy hair. He’s talking about the kiss, about the fact that he did something like this the first day he met me, about the fact that he did this to me while I was drunk, about the fact that he’s started something that he’s unsure he can finish; anything but the burned hair. I turn to him then, sitting on my side and resting my face against my hand. My right arm goes to his waist, falling lightly in the curvature between chest and hip. I give him a certain, definite smile, knowing that my next words can either reassure or destroy. I calmly, steadily say, “Don’t be sorry,” and lean forward, meeting my lips to his once more in a chaste, persuasive kiss as my eyes close. I think I can feel him smiling.

Apparently reassured by my words, his arms wrap around me all over again, and his body finds its way on top of mine, his legs on either side of my hips. My hands to his back again, pulling at his shirt, I still want it off. I’m nervous, and my fingers are probably shaking as much as my breathing. He sits up, taking his lips away from mine, and pulls his shirt off over his head. I gaze at him, my eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted. He looks down at me, mirroring my expression, and my hand lifts slowly to rest against the middle of his chest. His heart beats firm and rapid. I swallow nervously, and it’s so loud in my ears that I’m sure he heard it. My eyebrows tighten and my lip twitches slightly as I raise my other hand to his chest, shaking slightly. His skin is warm and soft and much darker than my own. His muscles are toned and tight under the supple flesh, and I know then that he has not led an uneventful life. There are the slightest remnants of scars marring his flesh, and I pointedly ignore them, concentrating more on the feel of my hands against his heart. I move them further away from each other, rubbing over his pectoral muscles and grazing my thumbs lightly against the slightly darker areolas positioned in the center of them. My hand shakes as it wraps around his ribs to his back, feeling the bones that protrude slightly and the muscles that cover them.

Never in my life have I touched another man like this. Never in my life have I touched anyone like this. I don’t care that I met him only today. I don’t care that I’m drunk and I feel so nervous that I could vomit right now. I trust him. I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. I trust him with my heart and soul and mind and body. God, please don’t let him hurt me…

He lowers his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks gently and, as if somehow reading my thoughts, places another kiss against my lips, the underlying details of his tongue against my own telling me that he would never hurt me, that he will never betray my trust. My own hands again find themselves dancing over the now fully exposed flesh of his back. His body is fire and ice all at once, the flesh heated and warm, yet shivering as his hands lower themselves down my chest, the fingers drawing lazy circles against my skin through the fabric of my shirt. I feel them lower to my waist, a few of the long, thin fingers finding their way underneath the line of my pants as the rest of them fumble with the button until it finally comes free. And then, my ears lightly catch on to the sound, the metallic jingle that fills the air as the zipper of my pants lowers, the teeth parting gently and easily in the dark. I mumble incoherently into the air, not bothering to attempt to make sense of what I’m saying as I feel his body press against my own, his heart beating rapidly. And then, an arm reaches behind him, and he holds my wrist, directing my hand forward, to the front of his body, gently guiding my hands against the warmth that greets me on his thigh, roaming over the fabric, bundled and bunched around the joint between hip and leg. My other hand lowers itself, as well, sliding smoothly over his skin and down to the fabric of his slacks, and slowly each of them comes to the front, grasping on the button, small and round, as his mouth trespasses upon the flesh of my neck, intermittently sucking and nipping, biting and licking. “Go ahead,” he murmurs lightly against my ear, before darting out his tongue to taste my earlobe and his mouth proceeds to lay waist to the last bit of reservation that had remained in my body. I pull gently against the fabric until the button is free, and then find the key to his zipper, pulling slowly, timidly, hearing the sound of the metal teeth separating, one at a time, as mine had done not so long ago. Time seems to stop for one slow moment as I’m faced with the longest unzipping of my life, feeling my body tighten and tense under his touch, and wanting so badly to quickly do more than we have done.

My mouth finds its way to his once more, the lips, slightly swollen and sensitive, tasting the flavors of his mouth, the spice and scent of passion thick in my mind. His hands place themselves firmly against my hips, resting there for one slow moment, and then grasp the fabric tightly, pulling down and away, and I feel my pants slowly slide lower against my legs, the sound of leisurely rustling permeating the haze of my mind for a time until I’m finally free from them. My left leg lifts itself, rubbing my inner thigh against the slack fabric still covering his body, the motion pulling down his own pants slightly. I pant against his lips, feeling my body heat up despite the chill of the night air in the room, my eyes closed tightly as I continue to pull against whatever I can reach, his shoulders, his arms, his face. I slide my hand up the back of his neck, feeling the hair flow through my fingers as I reach the top of his head, twining my fingers in the silken tresses and rubbing his scalp. His body lowers even closer to mine suddenly, the loose pants that remain, covering him still, doing nothing to assist the pressure building between my legs as they slide lightly against a very sensitive area of flesh that no one has ever trespassed upon before this night. I am unable to decipher the inane things I begin uttering then, suddenly fired from the inside out due to that light, fleeting touch.

My syllables soon melted into moans, nearly inaudible against the sound of my own heart in my ears and the gasps coming forth from his mouth as my hands found purchase against his pants, pulling down, freeing his body from them. My countenance spins, my sense of self flying away from who I am as his body once more presses against my own, pulling up my right leg to place it around his waist as a hand travels once more down my stomach, leading from my neck. My shirt feels rough against my chest compared to what his skin feels like, whispering over my exposed legs and shifting to my inner thigh, where it travels upward, leering closer to its destination far too slowly. It finally reaches, the supple, elegant hand wrapping into a fist tightly around the center of my lust and slowly moving up and down, up and down, as the other hand slides underneath me, one finger tracing a line through the crevice between my legs until it finds my opening and slowly slides inside.

I gasp, slightly uncomfortable at the intrusion, the slight burning sensation that gathers there, but he lowers his mouth to his hand, licking and sucking my organ, making it feel as if pure silk has encompassed me, and another finger slides inside, nearly unnoticed. His hand moves more, along with his mouth, his tongue lapping at the tip as my body shivers intensely. Another finger slides inside, stretching me uncomfortably, painfully. I gasp and pant incoherently, sputtering more inane syllables that lay no claim to precise meaning in my own mind. His mouth slows and pulls away, along with both of his hands, and he leans forward over me, licking my parted lips and trailing his tongue down to my neck, nibbling even more against it. He pulls my legs up, guiding them to wrap once more around his waist as I continue to mumble and moan, grasping futilely for something solid to hold onto and regain my mental stability. One of his hands finds it way to his mouth, where he licks his own fingers, coating them with saliva, and then lowers them, slathering his member with the wetness, dampening the flesh there before returning to grasp onto the side of my leg, holding firmly against the fleshy muscular mounds underneath them. My legs instinctively lock together at the ankle, pulling him closer, unsure of what he’s going to do, exactly, but wanting it, all the same. And, suddenly, his stomach slides against my erection, and I’m greeted with pleasure for one fleeting moment before a sharp pain overtakes me, feeling almost as if I’m falling apart from the inside out. I bite my own tongue to keep from crying out too loudly, but do so, nonetheless; whimpering and panting as if I can’t get enough, despite the pain. My body reacts differently than my mind, sliding towards the pain, the fire the envelops me, thrusting upwards with animalistic instinct. I grip onto his shoulders once more, my hands slick against the sweat that lightly coats his body. The muscles there, taught and tense, shift a bit as he slides lower, then thrusts once more into me, sending the burning sensation to greater distances from its source, and I grunt in pain. He lowers his mouth to mine, despite the fact that it causes my legs to nearly cramp up, having to stretch so far to keep themselves wrapped tightly, and murmurs something inaudible against my lips before leaning back.

I doubt I would have understood, even if I could have heard him. My brain, hazed over with alcohol and lust and pain, doesn’t seem to process information clearly as he slides back and thrusts into me a bit faster, a bit deeper. His hand reaches down once more, grasping my member between our heated bodies and sliding the skin that covers it up and down yet again, his thumb worrying itself around the tip, teasingly. I bite my bottom lip, nearly causing more pain, as my body reacts despite itself, thrusting upwards into the hand and inviting him to delve even deeper into my body. A ripping, burning, tightening feeling covers the underside of my body as a tensing, burning, tightening feeling covers my front; so similar, yet fairly different, pain and pleasure mixing and melting against one another, gathering up the heat of lust and enjoying anything and everything that flows through my body as he thrusts into me again, slowly speeding up his rate of movement to something a bit more rhythmic, a bit more similar to a pace.

Then, he slows down once more, the motion of his hand against me subsiding as well, making me want more. He seems to speed up again, soon after, pumping his body back and forth between the two speeds, fast, then slow, erotic then nearly painful. I ride along the tidal wave of passion and lust, a warm sensation building itself slowly in my lower stomach, craving some sort of unsure release as my mouth continues to cry out in spastic tones, going from a high-pitched shriek to practically a whisper as my mind twists itself precariously against a sinuous train of thought that includes nothing more than the fine line of pleasure and pain. His face drips sweat onto the front of my shirt, still buttoned loosely about my body, his eyebrows knitting themselves close together as he thrusts faster into me. My mind wraps itself about the tones coming from our mouths, confusing and loud, and my body grasps onto a heat, deep within, nearly spilling forth, but refusing to allow it, enjoying too much the winding road that my mind is walking down, pain, pleasure, passion, lust, love, hate, want, need; all of the feelings colliding in the great kaleidoscope that my mind has become.

In spite of our lusts and desires, I find myself delving deeper into the inarticulate hums and tones of yearning, my mouth working non-stop against the feelings building inside me, wanting to forever contain it, teetering on the windy precipice between release and pained restraint. Something unknown causes the desire to continue gripping onto the burning felt in my being, possibly fueled by the sounds of his voice, husky and sonorous as he thrusts deeper into my body and continues to move his hand against my flesh, until finally, I release an odd sort of grunt, and feel my body quiver and tremble against him as something indescribable washes over my mind, darkening out my vision and ceasing my thoughts completely as small sparks of light flash on my tightly closed eyelids. His hand slows down against me, his thrusting speeds up for but a moment, finally releasing inside of me, and we lay, him on top of me, both of our bodies shivering against each other as we try desperately to grasp onto something solid and steady ourselves. I find myself reaching for him, pulling his chest onto mine and burying my face onto his, my lips continuing to shake and shudder against the sweat on his cheek. He breathes deeply, then, a light sigh escaping his mouth as he attempts to regain control of his rapid heartbeat and erratic, shallow breathing.

I hold him close, the only stable substance I can grasp at the moment, my hands slipping against the soaked, soft flesh and my lips traveling to his neck, where I taste and smell, salty and bitter, the exposed skin that greets me. And then, sighing in a restrained manner, I lower my face back to the pillow, where I stare into his soft eyes that seem to be smiling at me, before closing my own and slipping into the cool, tepid darkness that is the shroud of sleep.