Work Text:
There is not much to do for fun out here. Admittedly, Vash was in the vaguest stage of forming a plan when they first arrived. He still is. He thought: when Knives heals, I’ll figure out what to do next. We’ve got time.
But he’d been under the impression that manning a desolate homestead with his psychotic brother would be easier than this. Less boring than this, at least.
It's an early start today. He hasn't been sleeping well, and rises from the bed at the first pale light of dawn.
He begins with feeding the animals. They’ve got a modest number of them out back. Four chickens, a tomas, one skinny goat. A cat. Vash moves through the unlit house like a dead man walking, stifling yawns as he opens the cupboard for cat food.
The derelict, drafty house is miles out from a small town. The wind whistles through it. The floorboards creak. It had belonged to a kindly old man who– rest his soul– left it to Vash after a favor or five. Vash never thought he'd call in for it. When he first swung Knives' limp body over his shoulder, it came to him as if in a vision.
He couldn't return to any populated areas with Knives. Their ceasefire could really only exist in a vacuum. The conditions of the truce were awful, actually, and mostly forced onto one side. He guesses you couldn’t really call that a truce.
After sprinkling chicken feed around the pen, Vash collects the eggs. He doesn't mind this time of day. It's when the sticky heat hits, the dry wind blows, and the hours expand that he gets a little restless. He thinks today he might patch up a window later. He's never done it before– never had a home to maintain, not planetside. He'll figure it out. Something to do.
He cleans the pens. He milks the goat. He comes inside and makes scrambled eggs. Knives groans in the other room. Vash taps into their water supply for both of them, balancing glasses and plates like he's seen so many tavern girls do. He misses those girls.
"Wakey-wakey," Vash says from the doorway. His interactions with Knives have been brief and tense, but less so by the day. He's a defanged lion, resting on his haunches. Knives despises humiliation. If he could strike, he would. The house would crumble. Vash would have to do the whole song and dance over again.
"You made food for me again," Knives says without opening his eyes. His voice is sleep-soft. Vash shrugs, even if his brother can’t see it, and goes to open the off-white linen curtains.
“I do everything around here,” he declares, joking, though Knives has not been in a joking mood for over a century. No, sir, he has to kill and maim to get his kicks.
When Vash walks back past his bedside, his twin is looking at him with those cornflower eyes, arms over the sheets. Vash jabs a forkful of egg into his own mouth.
“How do you think it’d go if I force fed you?” he asks, chewing. Knives still has limited mobility from the last time Vash shot him. Six times, this time around.
Three times in the leg, one in his right arm, twice in his back. First time Vash had ever shot someone in the back. If Knives was human, he’d likely be paralyzed.
“I can do without it, but it’s… kind of you to be concerned,” Knives says with venom.
Vash pauses. He realizes he really isn’t that concerned. Concern puts a chokehold on Vash. Gets him going.
What he feels for Knives’ predicament drops his stomach but doesn’t pump his blood. Pity is the fitting word.
Ever since the Big Fall, there has been this sense of futility between them. It’s a high wall that must be chipped away at slowly. Day by day. Bullet by bullet.
So Vash picks his battles. When Knives wants to suffer on his own account, Vash lets him. It’s true he can go much longer without food. He’s still bulkier than Vash, so wide at the shoulders and chest.
“How long do you intend to keep this up?”
The question comes at him just as he’s placed himself in the rocking chair in the corner. He takes a swig of water, three long gulps. “I don’t know.”
Knives hums. “Is your plan to shoot me half-dead every time I heal?”
He sounds annoyingly rational about it. No raised voice, no panic. He’s used to it now. That gives Vash a headache.
At this distance, their connection is permanent background music. Always that indistinct psychic hum of pain, skewing sharper whenever Knives would turn and groan and wince in the middle of the night. Vash never really forgot about the attunement, but it’s still unnerving.
When Vash had asked if Knives had felt his pain, too, Knives gave him the driest look imaginable and said something about mankind treating his body like a warzone. Vash should have told him then: better than treating it like a weapon.
They’re now both beyond the point where mere pain could stop them. Vash has to employ other methods, he knows. He thinks about it real hard every morning.
“Impressively sadistic, but not sustainable, Vash.”
Vash sighs, sprawls his limbs, slumps in the chair. “I know that, Nai.” He rubs at his forehead, shifting the skin, and rakes his hand back through his hair. “Well, how long do you intend to go on with your... plan?”
Knives smiles. “Until I do everything I can. Or die trying, I suppose.”
He makes Vash sick still. It is only barely that he doesn’t rise to his feet. His first instinct is to flee, his second, to fight. But Knives can do nothing to him except dredge up hard feelings, so Vash sits and rubs his own arms for a few moments.
“It’s all to make a place for us,” Knives says. As if that changes things.
“You’ve told me that before. Guess what?” Vash stands up, dusting off his work pants. His red coat hangs in one of the closets these days. “It’s still wrong. Should I change your bandages?”
Knives closes his eyes. It’s these tiny moments of surrender that carry them from one day to the next.
***
Vash counts the weeks. It actually hasn’t been that long since he won their duel, a high-adrenaline distant nightmare now. It feels like it’s been so much longer.
Knives watches him pace in the hallway. He’s silent, the morning light making his hair practically white. With all the house’s pillows behind him and a bit of Vash’s help, he can sit up. They went through the old man’s small book collection– precious, pricy things these days– and Knives had come around to reading them between his long bouts of sleep. Even as he expressed revulsion for their human authors, he flipped each page with silent focus.
Rem always praised his brains. It’s wonderful that you like to learn so much, Knives. You could really help us all out someday!
Rem loved Knives. Vash hopes he is doing her proud. In some ways, this is the hardest thing he’s ever done. Knives gets under his skin precisely like his namesake. There’s nobody else. It’s hauntingly lonely some nights.
Familiarity without friendship stings in the most untouched, awkward places. When one of them tries to make conversation, the other shuts it down. Vash is guilty of this, too, but only because Knives only ever wants to talk about suffering plants, eradicating humanity, and building paradise.
If he wants to build paradise for the two of them so badly, he could start by being better company.
It’s starting to feel like Knives got what he wanted and it really is only them in the world. Vash knows that’s not really the case; it’s just best for humans that they stay clear of the cities by leaps and bounds. But really. Out here, Vash only has Knives, the untameable cat, and a smattering of cute farm critters that are just not near as engaging as people.
Eh. His hand, too– he’d go crazy without it.
At first, Vash is very careful to only touch himself when Knives is sleeping. He remembers enough about their messy puberty. In their shared headspace, it was always one strong emotion rattling into another. Thank God the link faded as they each grew into their own and farther off.
It was faded, but is still very much present now. A few shuttered windows between them, ready to fly open at any sudden change in homeostasis.
And Vash has learned a lot since those dark days. Touching himself should be private . So he waits for Nai’s end of the connection to get fuzzy with sleep, passes by his room to hear his soft breaths, waits a minute, then hunkers down somewhere in the house with his cock out.
Even though Nai tends to sleep for extended periods of time, Vash rushes his relief. It’s something that must be done away from all eyes, only in the nooks and crannies of life. It’s shameful and embarrassing. It’s lonely.
He tries to imagine a beauty. He’s met so many of them on his travels, he can’t decide— or maybe it’s that they all seem to blend together in his mind, each face the same vagueness. His eyebrows draw in closer as he tries to focus. His imagination’s usually pretty sufficient. Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t even seen a pretty woman in weeks because of Knives —
He scares himself thinking that name while his hand’s pumping away. His mind goes haywire: is Knives awake? Does Knives touch himself? Has Knives even fucked anyone? Other than Vash—? All those years ago—
He knocks his head back against the bathroom wall, wincing. Sex with Nai had always felt like Nai was going to eat him and Vash would just let him. It was scary.
He’d been relieved when they stopped. Nai was too intense about it, like he was with everything. He’d touch Vash everywhere. He’d kiss him over and over until he couldn’t breathe. He’d milk him dry. Maybe it was because they were younger, but he was always so tight.
Vash bites down on his lip hard to stifle a whimper. His hips push up against his fist. Surely, he’s had tighter in the last hundred years at some point, and yet he can’t think of anything but how much he hated and loved fucking his brother beneath all the stars and moons.
He was immature then. Unsure of his values. He let Knives push him around— it sickened him then, just as it sickens him now. He hates thinking about it.
On the other hand, it was the only time he ever had Knives on his back. When Vash did a good job, Knives wouldn’t be able to talk down to him. Wouldn’t talk at all, gasping with that faraway look in his eyes, bumped back and forth by Vash’s stuttering thrusts. Then when they were finished, he’d say good job, Vash , stroking his hair, and Vash would ask himself why he was such a coward, giving his all to cling to Rem’s murderer.
He thinks about something else. He goes at it until it’s no fun anymore. His thighs shake, exhausted far more than enthused, but he has to finish. He thumbs at the head, tiredly pretending that it’s a tongue with his eyes closed. Some anonymous, loving tongue. Some long, silky hair. Some round and fat breasts. It’s built up and up and when he does finally come, it’s good— stars in his head. He needed it. The disorientation afterwards is pretty close to peace of mind, however hazy it is.
From above he heard what could have been the cry of a bird passing overhead, or a muffled scream of his name into a pillow.
****
Vash arranged for a supply delivery every other week or so. It remains the best way to mark time. Not the rise and fall of the sun, but the arrival of meats, cheese, a few fruits, and water. He stocks up on food and other necessities this way, though Nai was right that it’s not sustainable.
Knives will eat fruit, a recent development. Vash enjoys them, too. He slices a mildly bruised apple and watches Knives consume, struck by the novelty of it. He eats, too.
Though, Vash would kill– okay, not kill, but he might shoot himself in the foot for a donut. Nai looks at him like he’s utterly deranged when he asks if he’s ever had one.
“I don’t get the point of pretending you don’t have tastebuds,” Vash laughs. Knives only has silence and derision for that, as usual.
Not for the first time, Vash wonders if Nai hates him. Or how much he hates him. The thought stings more than Vash expected, every time.
He looks down. Maybe he should apologize for shooting him. He is sorry, and he would do it again.
Every time he swears he’s actually taking chunks out of his own brain, losing something precious and indeterminable. It’s hard to say whether he is maintaining his sanity out here when the only other sentient motherfucker is Millions Knives.
“What’s the matter with you,” Knives asks. Vash is embarrassed that he let something slip between them, either telepathically or with his face. “You’re agitated. I haven’t even done anything.”
“That’s true, and I appreciate that,” Vash says. Knives droops where lays on the pillow, those cornflower eyes sliding away. He scoffs.
Vash cups his mug in both hands and turns towards the window. Out there, miles of dunes and cliffsides away, is the nearest village. He sometimes imagines its people. If they still whisper about Vash the Stampede, not knowing he’s already smack in self-imposed exile.
“I think I’m just pent up.”
“Of course,” Knives says, crossing his hands over the sheets. “Can’t keep a humanoid typhoon cooped up inside for too long. Surely you want to get out there again, into some little pointless adventure.”
Vash can’t read why he’s asking. He smiles through his confusion, feels more like his mouth has slipped awry into that shape.
“Out– of– the– question,” he answers. He misses the life of a wanderer, but they don’t have things settled. Nothing is settled. It’s just not an option. “It’s fine. I mean, I’m fine. It’s not that.”
“Not that,” Knives repeats. He depresses back into the pillows a bit, eyes fluttering closed. “Then, it must be that you miss getting your dick wet.”
Vash grips the mug tighter, conscious of dropping it. “Nai…”
He didn’t expect that. His mind flickers to the handful of nights spent touching himself, hazily aware of Nai’s consciousness nearby. It really wasn’t crazy to think he’d noticed. Of course he had. Vash had been naive in hoping he wouldn’t broach the subject, and here he was, laying it out prone on the table like a fresh kill.
“You’ve forgotten so easily,” Knives says, nonchalant. Only the curl of his lip betrays his annoyance. “We used to do those kinds of things when it was just us two wandering the desert.”
Back when I wanted to kill you with a rock?
Vash’s mouth twitches up, despairing. They’re so fucked up. By any standard, they are so fucked up. Vash can be normal enough on his own, but wherever Knives is involved, he can’t deny the ugliness of his own life.
“That was then, this is now,” he replies. It’s a firm tone. Knives smiles in the same mirthless way he does, nasty. There’s a small storm of input from his brother’s side of their telepathic link, but Vash sips his hot chocolate and tries to ignore it. Like radio static– irritation, disdain, yearning–
Vash mostly feels sick.
He remembers that one night, Nai’s legs parted, touching at his own folds after Vash had messed them all up with friction and cum. Nai’s fingers had dipped inside. He frowned. “Vash, we shouldn’t do it this way anymore. I’m almost at reproductive maturity.”
It took a second for Vash to recognize what that meant.
It hit him all at once, and he’d teared up.
“What are you crying for?” Nai had grumbled. “I just don’t want to reproduce until we’re safer.”
Safer. Knowing what Nai considered safe turned Vash’s blood to ice. It stirred up memories he hated living with. A still night, fiery falling stars. It sunk in then, perhaps more than before, that there would be more mass tragedies to come in his future– or at least a long, hard fight to put them off. Vash had shook his head, trying to keep his nausea at bay.
“There is no way I would do that with you ever,” he’d spat out at length.
Nai had stared at him from his sleeping bag. Then he’d laughed. His hand had swept down between his thighs again, stealing Vash’s breath away. “I’ll wait,” Nai had said, so very quietly. “Give it time.”
They hadn’t messed around again after that. It was a rare mutual agreement, perhaps for different reasons. Unspoken.
Vash had started thinking that there was an entire borrowed planet of creatures other than Nai, men and women who smiled at them in passing before Nai demanded his attention. At the time, those possibilities felt daunting. It was much later that Vash realized Nai was actually the one too different from him to reconcile.
Every day now he swallows that pill. All those pretty, friendly men and women are miles away and better for it.
** **
The thing is, it works both ways.
Vash cannot hide from Knives, and so too, Knives cannot hide from Vash. There’s that wavering signal of desire from him, strained so as to be kept in line. It’s remarkably annoying how Nai deals judgment on Vash for being so frustrated, now that his own frustration is seeping through their connection, their snappish interactions, even through mere looks. It’s provocative. Absurdly, from time to time, Vash imagines he might wake up to Nai on top of him, taking what he pleases by force. Absurd, but it feels like only a matter of time.
When he indulges that line of thinking, he can’t help but feel lost.
The frustration increases, now that this tension lives in the ratchety old house with them like an unwanted guest. Vash can hardly look at his bedridden brother for days, the taste of their half-finished conversation and recurring reminiscences bitter in his mouth.
It comes to a head over something as silly as laundry.
Weeks and weeks out from the beginning of this necessary isolation, Vash goes to bring his brother a freshly laundered change of clothes. They did away with his space suit, the ancient thing, and though Knives bristles about it, he shares loose, light clothes with Vash. They look off on him. But it’s worse, somehow, when he’s nude.
Knives is sleeping. This is not unusual; as part of his healing process, Knives sleeps much more. It’s a small mercy. He’s harmless asleep. He resembles the boy of Vash’s youth more than ever.
Putting the laundry basket down at the bedside, Vash peeks.
Knives is shirtless. He sleeps with his hands on either side of his head, chest bare, prominent where the bedsheets have slipped away from him. It’s a bright, winding afternoon– just a trick of the light that makes his brother’s skin look so warm and inviting.
“You didn’t have these when we were kids,” Vash mutters. The rise and fall of them is mesmerizing.
He has changed Knives’ bandages multiple times. Helped him dress and undress, paying attention to the lines of his injured arms and the effectiveness of each gauzy wrap, never really looking his chest in the eye. Knives had become muscly over the last century and a half, high on his self-imposed battle for survival. He’d assumed his chest was as firm as his biceps.
His mouth waters as he sees that’s not the case. By now it’s strange to think of anything of Nai’s as not being posed towards destruction, not imminently sharp enough to kill.
But he’s got two rosy nipples, each centered on those big soft, sloping breasts. Desire thrums under Vash’s skin.
Conscious not to release the insensible giggle rising through him, he rests his hand on Nai’s tit. His nipple prods Vash’s sweaty palm. He is warm and soft. There’s so much give. Vash shudders, struck dumb, as Nai mumbles something unintelligible and turns his cheek to the pillow.
Vash swallows. He looks around the room, as if there is anything more interesting than his twin’s voluptuous, fully matured rack to be seen.
Vash had his own budding breasts removed young. Seeing this, he’s glad that he did. Likewise, he’s glad that Nai didn’t–probably too averse to pain to go under the knife. Vash cups his breasts with both hands, and watches them slosh and jiggle when he lets his hold loose. He does that a few times.
Nai is sleeping. But the overflow of satisfaction that Vash feels can’t just be his own. He indulges himself in a squeeze, first on the left, then the right, watching how his fingertips dig into his brother’s fat tits. The sleepy sound he makes is the cherry on top, springing a boner inside Vash’s pants.
He feels his cheeks burn as he pushes Nai’s tits up towards his face, wondering if he could suck his own nipples– Vash had seen a girl do that once. He weighs them a little, patting the fleshy mounds from below. They bounce a bit. Nai’s arms shift. He moans sleepily. Vash smiles despite himself, on the more wicked side of sincere.
It feels only fair. The sudden, single-minded hunger in his veins justifies it– besides, he isn’t doing anything to hurt Knives. He was the one who’d broached the subject of how they messed around as lonely kids. Well. Being in that same place again is a bit disheartening. He has to believe things have changed.
Well, Knives has tits now. Like human women. Rem.
And whereas Vash always tried to behave for human women, he feels no such obligations towards Nai. He squeezes again. Milky flesh fills his hands. He moves them around. He holds them together and presses his face to Nai’s cleavage, surprised at the comfort of his scent. The softest parts of his brother’s body are heavenly warm against his cheeks and nose and mouth. He could sleep on them, maybe after taking care of his hardening cock. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier?
Vash rubs them some more against his face. It’s so good. “Nai,” he mumbles, heart in his throat. He huffs a gentle sigh into the inner side of his cleavage, breathes him in.
“What are you doing.”
When Nai speaks, Vash can follow the vibration of air beneath his ribs. Feeling crazy, he shakes his head against his floppy breasts until Nai slaps the back of his skull, hard. “ Vash .”
It’s not as forceful as it could’ve been. Whether that’s hesitation or a side effect of being shot in the arm a month ago, he can’t say.
For some reason, being hit just makes Vash want more. He sits up again, wiping some saliva off the side of his lips with his wrist. When his eyes drop, they glaze over Nai’s near-identical, flushed face and go right to his pale, disheveled chest. There’s a little wet shine where he’d drooled.
“What are you doing?” Nai demands, enunciating each word. Still, he’s groggy from sleep, fighting for alertness. Vash can’t even really feel anger through their connection– not any more than Nai’s usual, base level of discontent and rage– the stiffness of his voice seems to overcompensate.
Vash thumbs at the mark of spit, enamored. “It’s your fault for having boobs.”
He says it to be silly, but once he’s said it aloud, it hits some previously unknown target in his mind, bulls-eye.
Nai makes another sound, hoarse with displeasure. It approaches something like what, but dies a pitiful death on his tongue as Vash paws at his breasts again.
“You’ve got titties.” He pokes them from either side. Slaps them. The left, then the right. Nai stiffens, expression fierce and disbelieving.
Vash doesn’t believe it, either. Nai caused the Big Fall and his chest is so juicy that it jiggles. Vash laughs, a bit frayed at the edges. He mashes Nai’s tits together again, admiring two pebbled, pink nipples beneath his fingers. Pleasure washes through him. Not just his own, he’s sure of it.
Though Nai looks as if he has choked on something. His better arm flies up. One strong hand catches Vash by the throat. It’s all harsh pressure against Vash’s voice box, clenching down on his airways and tightening by the second.
“Vash,” he seethes. Again he makes the most melodramatic expressions of rage, face wrinkled at the brow and mouth. This once struck fear into Vash, but at the moment all he can think to do is wriggle his fingers over Nai and catch a nipple between his knuckles, hard. Nai’s face goes slack. Anything he was about to say morphs into an unceremoniously slutty gasp. Vash quickly pinches his other nipple, pulls, and Nai tries to twist his body away, making a high-pitched sound. He bites down on his lip to quell it. It’s so lewd.
Vash eats him up with his eyes. “Feels good, right?”
“I don’t want this,” Knives edges out, eyes to the wall. Vash frowns. He palms at Nai’s boobs again, bouncing the mounds together. His brother’s arm seems twitchy with the desire for violence, beaten, probably, by the desire to be touched. It’s almost sweet. Vash knows he’s hot for it. He feels it. He checks.
He slaps Nai across the tits and feels that pain-addled pleasure shudder through him like it’s his own.
Nai throws a thick arm protectively over his abused flesh. “Vash,” he starts, but even he doesn’t seem to know what to say, pink in the face and glassy-eyed with his mouth open. Vash kisses him.
Falls against him open-mouthed, really, smacking their lips together until Nai relaxes enough under his attention. Vash licks his mouth, savoring. It feels so good after so long without.
He straightens up again. Knives watches him like a threat. It really only became that way recently. After their battle, those wary looks had made Vash somewhat sad, but at the moment it only charges his excitement. As if magnetized, his right hand returns to the top of Nai’s breast. He fondles it, painless enough.
“When did we decide to become boys?” he asks, relishing the softness. His groping inches closer to mindless mauling. He tilts his head. “You could’ve been my sister, heheh.”
“Don’t start with the asinine human gender roles,” Nai grits out. There’s an underlying whine to his voice that renders the words themselves totally irrelevant to Vash’s mind, as he toys roughly with his brother’s hangers. “Tch–”
“Yeah,” Vash says. Gender really wasn’t all that important, he supposes, except that girls are so cute . Nai is far more tolerable like this, huge tits warm and welcoming. His cock throbs. “I’m just… really pent up.”
Tight-jawed, Nai glares at him. “You’ve done an excellent job keeping that your problem ,” he says.
“And you were mad about it,” Vash replies, the realization dawning on him as he says it. Of course Nai was bitter about Vash’s alone time, even as he acts ice-cold whenever they occupy the same room. Worse, it’s contagious. “You’re mad about everything. Excuse my language, but you really can be such a bitch.”
“Get your perverse, human-loving hands off of me,” Nai growls. He makes to grab his wrist, but Vash only maneuvers to pin his good arm instead. Nai struggles in vain. Injury and constant bedrest have dulled him. Vash tucks his brotherly sense of compassion away. Nai’s huffing and puffing fall on deaf ears. Knives would violate him as a plant, and so Vash would violate him in a human way. This once. “ Idiot –”
“Yeah, I’m an idiot. Just let me have this,” Vash says, wetting the side of his mouth, embarrassed at himself even as he says it. He sits on the edge of the bed, waist turned, and lowers himself until Nai’s tantalizing bare breasts lay right before his face again. Nai cries out in frustration.
“I haven’t even done anything,” Vash teases him, hand around one tit. It reminds him of milking cows. After flashing one more smile, he sucks on him, latching onto the peak just like those amazing human babies do. Immediately all the tension in his own body ebbs away, and all he can think of is how soft Nai feels on his lips and tongue. Even the taste is sexy. Salt and skin, like any human. He switches to the other nipple, flicking his tongue on it as Nai begins to thrash under his weight. It feels so good. Reminds him why messing around with Nai was so addictive to begin with. His brother is sensitive; they both reap the benefits.
He suckles at his nipples and loses time. Nai is panting now, devolved into little senseless, angry moans that don’t sound too bad to Vash. “You’re acting– like–” he gasps, arching, feeding his body into Vash’s mouth even with all that indignation behind his voice, “a pathetic– human child.”
Vash bites. Nai practically sobs. “ Vash –”
Vash nibbles at the stiff peaks of his breasts, torturing them brighter, redder. He flattens his tongue and licks. He bites down on the underside of Nai’s tits and sucks a hickey there, cognizant of how much girls love and hate those. Nai’s no different. His voice shivers through it in unmistakable pleasure, his body seizing everywhere Vash holds it down.
“‘S not so bad. Let me have this,” Vash repeats, nuzzling his face into Nai’s plush pillows again. All the friction has made them extra warm and tender. “Y’know, you’ve got better tits than most girls I’ve been with…”
Red-hot anger snaps at him from Nai’s side of the link. Vash might have been cowed somewhat if he wasn’t so satisfied and distracted.
Nai’s voice is so sharp he can almost feel the sting of his teeth. “Humans have truly corrupted you inside and out.”
“It was supposed to be a compliment.” He reaches up, pinches Nai’s nipple again, rolls it between thumb and forefinger. It’s wet from his spit, hard as can be. With a stringy, condemning moan, Nai’s resistance perishes hard once more. “See, you get mad about everything.”
“This is pointless ,” Nai croaks out, eyes clenched shut, as Vash teases his nipples with precise, playful hands. He tugs them up. When Nai shakes, his breasts bounce. His voice goes shrill. “Vash, stop –”
“Aw, embarrassed?” Vash jabs his index fingers into Nai’s cute, perky nipples. His gaze flicks up. Abruptly, anger returns to him. “You realize you deserve much worse than this, right?”
“I don’t realize that, actually,” Nai bites out, eyes flashing. “You think you deserve to punish me? I haven’t adapted to your idiotic worldview at all, and once I– f-fucking get out of here, I–I– Vash !”
That shout almost shakes the rafters.
Instead of rolling his eyes, Vash took the liberty of sloping across the bed– which now seemed smaller than ever– and teething at Nai’s chest again. He licks and sucks and squeezes, gratified by the furious, blessed silence that follows. Nai is gnawing down on the side of his finger to prevent any more sounds.
He doesn’t even seem to notice when Vash stops to stare at him, still rubbing idly over the tops of his tits. They’re nearly face to face. He’s panting hard himself. Release weighs heavily on his mind.
“I bet you’re so wet right now,” Vash breathes, darting a glance towards the other end of Nai’s body. “Well, me too, Mr. Millions Knives.” The heat in his groin is growing inconvenient. He sighs, sits back up, pausing to spread his legs and palm at his own cock, slips his fingers lower to tease his pussy. He hums, undoing the button of his pants, shimmying his layers down over his hips and erection.
Nai waits with held breath as Vash slings his pants and underwear off his ankles. He strokes himself, using the slick from his cunt to lube up his cock. He wonders how different they look down there, now. He really has no guess.
He spots the razor-sharp disappointment in his brother’s eyes when he stands up but ignores what would be Nai’s obvious need under the sheets. Instead, Vash straddles his brother’s chest, breath caught in his throat. This angle strikes him somewhere crazed. He can only hear his own animal breathing as he taps the underside of his cock over Nai’s soft tits.
“Fuck,” he says, eyes wide with thrill. There’s no question over it being wrong or right or overstepping or inconvenient.
“Get off,” Nai barks at him. Sweat makes his hair plaster in silvery-blond wisps to his forehead. It’s incredible. “You’re sick. Don’t– damn it– Vash –”
The snarling objections might as well be background music. Perhaps seeing this, Nai lays himself back with a painfully resigned, bitter frown. It makes Vash almost laugh. They could have avoided this at so many junctures. Nai was first to never listen to him. First to touch him, first to drive him insane.
“Relax,” Vash soothes, hesitating only a moment before he spits into his hand. Knives is predictably disgusted, though that expression lets up as soon as Vash starts stroking his own cock. Holding it over his twin like this is sick, more so intoxicating. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he’ll feel different after cumming– he honestly has no idea. It only spurs him on. “You can– hah– touch yourself, too.”
“How– kind . No. You’re going to do that,” Nai tells him. Vash bites the inside of his mouth to put off arguing with him. He snorts. Maybe it’s even a good thing that Knives can sound oh-so-regal while Vash jacks himself off over his breasts.
“Alright,” he agrees, stroking himself firm and slow. “So settle down. Be good, Nai.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his twin so red in the face.
He can only find it adorable as he sits over Nai’s body and slots his dick between two overheated tits. His mouth waters. He brings Nai’s chest together with his hands. He feels like he could drown in that warmth engulfing him, weighty and soft. He moans and shivers, eyes rolling to the ceiling, and humps forward. His pussy drags against Nai’s skin, wetting him more. Vash admires the colored marks and bruises on Nai as he gropes him to his heart's content. He starts working his hips into a rhythm, sly little ah-ah-ah’s falling off his open lips.
The sensation is what’s doing it for him. Nai’s teats, the feel of them in his hand as he squeezes to make pressure. Even when fucking his brother’s breasts, he’s a little afraid to look at his face– but he knows Nai is some kind of content through their vague, shaky mindmeld. Nai has his eyes clenched shut as if he’s in pain, pale eyebrows angled with pleasure. He's flushed to his ears. It is a sight to behold. Vash fucks into his cleavage harder.
“You’re actually kinda cute,” he says, shutting his eyes tight himself. “Ah–”
“Agh– Vash –” A moan meant to be a warning.
“ Nai ,” Vash returns, savoring it. He teases Nai’s nipples to reward him, flicks at them while most of his tits bounce with Vash’s thrusts. It’s good. He leans over and spits over his cock– Nai glares at him something fierce. “Sorry…” But he tightens his thighs and chases his release with a few more loosely-lubed pushes into Nai, gripping at his shoulder, panting. He’d never fucked tits before. Only ever wanted to. “ Nai– Good, really good –”
“Vash,” Nai repeats, more urgently. It’s strangely absent of the flat-affect hatred Vash had been so certain of. It’s a bit panicked, even. “Inside.”
“Huh?” He’s a little too busy to interpret.
“Inside me,” Nai repeats, more impatient. “Fuck me.”
It scrambles Vash’s brain a little. The next thrust is particularly good, his groan particularly shameless, loud and sudden like a sneeze. His blood boils in the best way. He always feels so alive tangled up with another person.
And here’s Nai inviting him– inside, he says. His breasts are great, total lookers, plush and full and well-proportioned. Vash has been pressing and pressing on them.
Nai’s pussy had always been tight. It would probably feel less like hot-headed masturbation. There’s a reason why he shouldn’t. He knows. The injuries, perhaps. Though, he would know– simple human logic: feeling good is a reliable counter against feeling bad, while it lasts.
“Vash, fuck me,” Nai wheedles him again. Vash slows his hips, dizzy. He looks down at his brother in a way he hadn’t looked at him for over a century. He knows they can make it last.
Nai smiles at him. That nasty, sharp smile, those vicious eyes. Only Vash could ever parse sweetness out of it, and that’s just from the itch of familiarity, he’s sure. Seeing what he desperately wants to see, maybe.
But what can Nai do now? Vash imagines he’s almost domesticated. This is the most like begging his unreasonable commands have ever sounded. When Vash feels himself bending, it feels like love and peace.
Nai is sultry with his tits covered in hickies. “Vash…”
“Alright. You don’t have to say it again,” Vash tells him, swallowing, unconscionably fond. No– close– fondness is a far warmer shade of emotion.
Pity is the word.
Soft, turbulent pity, and whatever it is that keeps drawing them back together, witless with cravings. There’s no word for that Vash knows of.
Vash laughs under his breath, bundled up tight with feelings that scream for release.
****
When Vash returns with a washcloth hours later, thorough sleepiness in his eyes, Knives is still naked on the bed save for a few bandages. Vash winces. He can’t believe he shot his brother and fucked him within two months of each other. For plants, that’s like a blink of an eye. He isn’t even sure what to say.
He is sorry for groping Nai in his sleep, and he would do it again. It was natural, in the same way Nai’s sick reaction was natural, in the same way that opening his legs to Vash was natural. Maybe they’ll just do anything to each other for as long as they live without any closure, without any human sense, with only tatters of their hearts.
Still, that is his brother. Vash stands half-dumb near the doorway, watching Knives curve his hand down past his spent cock to press into his well-fucked cunt. It’s puffy and pink, shiny with their shared wetness.
Vash’s thoughts become radio static as he watches Knives push his cum inside, plugging it with his fingers. Nai’s body is lax with self-satisfaction, only stiff in the injured areas. The usual pride Vash would feel at a job well done is nowhere to be found.
When Knives looks up and notices him, he smiles.
A little moan escapes Vash’s mouth as he falls back against the door jamb. They are so fucked up.