darklight [trigun, vash/wolfwood, PG]
Nov. 14th, 2008 08:18 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle - darklight
Author -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
timmesque
Prompt - trigun, vash/wolfwood: smell of gun oil, all goes up in flames
Word Count - 272
nothing smells the same after your nostrils are burned with the scent of gunpowder. everything smells of it, tastes of it, hell the air of this godforsaken planet stinks of it to high heaven. people live with it, as they live with sand between their ears and the tinge of alcohol in their eyes. godforsaken.
they always have a room in the corner. a corner in hell? a corner in the inn? it was a corner of all corners as vash plowed ahead, searching for an end to a conflict and wolfwood searched for an end, period. it was their corner anyway, a tiny room dimly lit with a candle on the table and the window opened just a hint, the night stinking air slipping in, cold and bitter and sandy.
but there is no ice, no coldness in their breaths, a fire, a burning that sinks into the blankets, as wolfwood presses his palms against vash's scarred, scrapped, marred back, his fingers digging up old wounds like a coffin maker would dig up graves. vash never shudders, never so much as sighs, his back a quiet dark place in the night. and they stink of gun and oil and fire and death and wolfwood was so sick of the stench that he pushes vash away from him and turns around.
vash was going to kill him; this he knew. and as vash drapes on him, wolfwood knows that he was ready to wring the man's neck or step up to the noose. either way, the charred smell of flesh and fire won't leave him tonight. or in many nights to come.
Author -
timmesque Prompt - trigun, vash/wolfwood: smell of gun oil, all goes up in flames
Word Count - 272
nothing smells the same after your nostrils are burned with the scent of gunpowder. everything smells of it, tastes of it, hell the air of this godforsaken planet stinks of it to high heaven. people live with it, as they live with sand between their ears and the tinge of alcohol in their eyes. godforsaken.
they always have a room in the corner. a corner in hell? a corner in the inn? it was a corner of all corners as vash plowed ahead, searching for an end to a conflict and wolfwood searched for an end, period. it was their corner anyway, a tiny room dimly lit with a candle on the table and the window opened just a hint, the night stinking air slipping in, cold and bitter and sandy.
but there is no ice, no coldness in their breaths, a fire, a burning that sinks into the blankets, as wolfwood presses his palms against vash's scarred, scrapped, marred back, his fingers digging up old wounds like a coffin maker would dig up graves. vash never shudders, never so much as sighs, his back a quiet dark place in the night. and they stink of gun and oil and fire and death and wolfwood was so sick of the stench that he pushes vash away from him and turns around.
vash was going to kill him; this he knew. and as vash drapes on him, wolfwood knows that he was ready to wring the man's neck or step up to the noose. either way, the charred smell of flesh and fire won't leave him tonight. or in many nights to come.
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no subject
Date: 2008-11-14 07:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-15 01:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-15 04:44 am (UTC)Beautiful, oh very beautiful. To repeat: I love the imagery.
(This was my prompt, and vash/wolfwood are one of my otps, and this is so very them, in their own way.)
no subject
Date: 2008-11-15 04:47 am (UTC)