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Cigarette smoke plumed into the air, dancing with the breeze until being wafted away, unseen.
Nicholas felt much the same.
Nighttime in a desert town can get awfully cold, and yet Nicholas allowed his bare chest to see the stars, caring not for the strange stares of drunk men unlike him passing by. He sat on a wooden porch, taking long drags from his cigarette and then blowing them into the cold night wind.
He awaited the arrival of someone who wouldn’t stare too long at his torso, who wouldn’t look disgruntled and offended at the mere existence of Nicholas’s body. A man in a red coat, with round sunglasses.
A man with multitudes of scars hidden under the striking fabric that only Nicholas was allowed to kiss.
And, merely an ile outside of town, that man walked.
Vash and Nicholas had a very thought-out relationship. They would spend as much time together as they could, and then split up for a few weeks to do their own thing. It worked for them, for their turbulent lifestyles that wanted them away from each other one moment, and connected at the hip the next.
Whenever Vash came to visit, it was bound to end with at least one of them having found a newfound confidence, or have received red marks all over their neck, no in-between.
Nicholas stood up when he finally saw the red fabric of Vash’s coat whipping in the late-night wind as he trudged along. He stepped down from the porch stairs, standing out in the middle of the street, one hand in his pocket and the other holding onto his cigarette, which was nothing but a flickering bud now.
Vash stared as he approached the other man, his hair flying wildly in the wind, as it always did. His eyes flicked over Nicholas for a moment, lingering on his chest for a blink, before moving back to his face.
“Fantastic tits as always, Wolfwood.”
Nicholas blinked, seeming flabbergasted, “...Is that seriously the first thing you’re going to say to me after two weeks?”
Vash blinked back, seeming confused, “Was it a bad thing to say?”
“No… I suppose not.” Nicholas hummed, wrapping his arm around Vash’s and pulling him towards the porch, “I just didn’t expect it.”
Vash followed Nicholas’s lead, placing his bag down once they’d made it inside the tiny house Nicholas had decided to squat in while he was in town. The townspeople didn’t care, and neither did he.
“Why were you sitting out in the cold with your whole chest out? It couldn’t have been comfortable.” Vash mused, taking off his coat and hanging it up on a hook. Nicholas looked over, admiring his shoulders from afar.
“I wanted to free the boys tonight. I knew you were going to be here to warm me up anyway.” Nicholas shrugged, stepping towards Vash to help him out of his black turtleneck-tank top combo. Nicholas was never sure exactly what it’s called, but Vash liked calling it a turtle-top, so Nicholas adopted the name too.
Once Vash was free from his turtle-top, Nicholas wrapped his arms around Vash’s waist, unabashedly staring at his pale chest, and the scars just underneath his pectoral area.
“Still though, you could get a cold!” Vash pouted, placing his right hand onto Nicholas’s hip, leaving his robotic arm at rest.
“Ehhh, whatever.” Nicholas sighed, resting the side of his cold face on Vash’s collarbone, “I’ll live.” Nicholas’s hands explored Vash’s back, his cold fingers trailing along thin scars on Vash’s back, pressing into muscle that felt tense. Vash melted against him, bringing his head down to rest his forehead on Nicholas’s shoulder.
Here, Nicholas felt at home, the warmth of the blond in front of him radiating through his veins. Contrast to the cold outside, though it still blew against his tanned shoulder blades from a draft in the rickety wooden door.
He nearly wanted Vash to stay forever.
Nearly.