ARACHNOPHOBIA

DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THIS IS MINE. BLAME NIGHTOW FOR CREATING TRIGUN'S WONDERFUL WORLD.

WARNINGS: YAOI, TWINCEST and, in this chapter, also some sort of SEXUAL INTERCOURSE.

ARACHNOPHOBIA

pathological fear or loathing of spiders

Chapter 14: Consummation

--

The scent of old leather and rusting metal was repellent to his senses, but there was no avoiding it. In the shadowy, dust-coated control room of the Warrens City Western Plant, Vash the Stampede somewhat reluctantly laid his naked, shivering brother down onto a dirty couch and went to search for something that could be used as clothes. If anything, he didn't want Knives to be cold anymore.

As if possessed by some maniacal spirit, Vash frantically looked around, swiftly opening a few lockers that weren't even locked - and also some that were. He was making a complete mess of the place, which was saying something, since it wasnt very clean to begin with - but he found nothing for his brother to wear, no matter where he looked. Cursing, he stormed back and forth in the small room, trying to figure out what to do, with little to no success.

He soon realized he was only wasting time. Giving up his useless frolicking, he went to kneel beside Knives, pressing his heated lips to his twin's clammy forehead.

'Can you hear me, bro?'

Seconds ticked by in silence while Vash looked hopefully down at the closed eyelids. The eyes were restless behind them, but Knives didn't seem to be fully awake yet. But that didn't really matter. Vash could tell his brother was completely healed now. He could feel the electricity pulsing strong in Knives' nerves system, could feel the rising level of their mental connection despite Knives' sleep. That made him both happy and a little bit sad. Happy because he'd gotten his brother back - and sad because he wasn't sure if he would be able to keep him.

Knives was now a powerful, dangerous man again. Maybe even more powerful than Vash, considering he'd just received a full blast of fresh, divine plant energy from their sister. If Vash couldn't somehow restrain him, who knew what might happen. But how was he supposed to do that? How could he control his brother now, when he hadn't been able to do it before? There had to be a way, there had to be something he could do - and he'd better figure out what it was before those beautiful, cerulean eyes would open once again.

Vash covered his face with a tired hand. He thought about Knives' numerous crimes, both past and recent, and heaved a long sigh. Those vile, abominable acts had been absolutely inexcusable before - but now, Vash thought differently. Even if he couldnt entirely forget them, he still somehow considered them forgiven. Not even the image of Milly's bloodied face could make him hate his brother in this surreal moment in time; all that had happened was like a distant dream, a nightmare that plagued him but didn't have any real effect on him. It was like his mind was converting reality into a hallucination so he wouldnt have to believe it, even when he knew it was all true. It was real, it had happened, and Knives was responsible for it - but Vash still couldn't turn his mind, or his heart, against his brother.

Something had changed - something within him. Like magic, he had turned practically blind to his brother's faults and had begun to see his own, unforgivable ignorance more clearly instead. On a certain level he was afraid of this change - it made him feel that he had been the guilty party all along instead of his brother - but he still didn't want to do anything about it. It was just like their sister had predicted: he couldn't stop the tide. The whole world was changing - and he was changing with it.

'Make sure he knows that you loved him... because nobody else ever did.'

Vash returned his attention to Knives. He took in every change in his twin's demeanor, every calm and irregular breath he inhaled, every twitch of his eyebrows, every movement of the eyes under the closed lids. Yes, he loved his brother - he always had. Momentarily (if one could call 120 years momentarily) he had allowed his mind to be clouded with anger and hatred - feelings that had nearly made him forget this axiomatic fact - but now he was back to being honest again. Honest with himself.

He had never hated Knives.

Smiling a little, Vash reached out a gentle hand and brushed some platinum locks away from Knives' temples. Hatred... that feeling had never really existed, had it? Not in the way he had once believed. True, he had hated his brother's ideology, his actions, his choices, his way of life – but he hadn’t hated him. Through sadness, depression and anger, he had hated everything Knives had presented – but never, ever him.

If Knives had somehow died by some accident or by someone else's hand in the past, Vash knew he would have been completely devastated. Because Knives was his to kill, damn it, his to eradicate if he so chose. Knives was his to hate, his to own, his to love, his to forgive – his, and only his, down to the very last thread of energy in his beautiful, naked and shivering body. From the moment they had inhaled the same amniotic fluid in their mother-plant's womb, Vash had claimed his twin. Knives was his other half, his other embodiment, a natural extension of himself. Knives was a part of him. A part he had once lost and not immediately wanted back – but a part he hadn't been able to live without, after all.

As if hearing his thoughts, Knives let out a shuddering breath and frowned in his sleep. Vash perked up immediately and his face lit up with excitement. He took his brother's cold hand and pressed it against his chest.

"Knives?"

There was no response. Despite the anxious frown, it was clear Knives' mind was still in the land of its own. Vash sighed dejectedly and examined Knives' fingers, touching each fingertip in turn. The nails seemed to have a bluish tint to them. Hell, he needed to find him something to wear – and not only because he was cold. They didn't have much time, anyway. The sudden, complete black-out of the city would certainly gather masses of confused and curious people around the plant, which meant they would sooner or later have some company. And if his rabidly aracnophobic twin found himself butt naked in front of these spiders he so much abhorred...

Images of a bloody carnage flashed through Vash’s mind. Knives would feel totally defenseless, and then he would totally freak out. And since he happened to have millions of liquid, uncontrollable blades in his veins, the mess would be just terrible.

...but he is just afraid of them. Somewhere deep, deep down...

Vash contemplated his sister’s words and shook his head. He couldn’t help feeling a little contradicted by the idea of someone like Knives being actually afraid of, well, anything, really. He let go of Knives' hand, leaned back and let his eyes roam over brother’s body. There were no scars visible anywhere on the perfectly smooth skin. Nor had there ever been, if not counted the injuries Vash had personally inflicted on him a while ago, shooting holes through his shoulders and thighs. But even those marks had now faded, thanks to their sister's omnipotent care. It made Vash a little sad. He would have liked to leave his mark on Knives. He would have liked to make Knives always remember the outcome of their battle.

"We can co-exist with them, you know," he murmured, sliding his hand up and down Knives' thigh. "The spiders, I mean. Regardless of what... what happened in the past. Regardless of what happened on SEEDS."

Vash shuddered. SEEDS. It sounded like a curse word in his ears. There was probably nothing that could ever wipe out those memories from his and his brother's mind. They were engraved so deep in their nerves system that they had practically become a dominative gene controlling their individual behavior. That was exactly what made the difference of character between the twins today: the way they perceived their past. Where Vash remembered Rem and her teachings, Knives remembered Steve and his beatings. Where Vash remembered being loved by someone, Knives remembered being hated by everyone. It was sad, really, the way one of them cherished the good memories, and the other one couldn't get rid of the bad ones. And now... according to their traumatically constructed inherent characters, Vash the Stampede always wished for love and peace – and Millions Knives wished for the end of human kind.

'Oh, how he needed you... And you turned away his love.'

Vash wanted to protest against his sister's words, but couldn't. He really had abandoned Knives, hadn't he? At a time when Knives had needed him the most, he had turned his back on him. True, Knives had been totally mad back then - on the day he'd first introduced him to their Angel Arms - but it hadn't entirely been his own fault, had it? It wasn't Knives' fault he'd turned up as crazy as he had.

It was Vash's fault.

Vash's, and no-one else's.

Vash had always been the stronger one of them, the one with greater balance of mind. If only Vash had realized his brother's reclining mental condition sooner, if only he hadn't been so completely obsessed with Rem and pushed Knives away, if only he'd paid attention to what Knives was thinking and saying instead of letting him make all those insane conclusions about humans and spiders all alone...

If only he'd paid attention, none of these things might have happened. None of these horrible, horrible things of the past 120 years.

"I'm so sorry, Knives," hewhispered, gently sweeping a wild strand of silken hair out of his brother's eyes. "I'm sorry I neglected you."

As if hearing his apology, Knives let out an unconscious moan, making Vash wonder exactly how aware his brother was or wasn't. He tried the mental connection between them again, but found no response. It seemed like Knives was in some sort of semi-awakened state, being held back by some strange inner power that maybe wanted to prevent him from crashing back into reality too fast. Which was probably a very good thing.

With some difficulty, Vash stood up. His legs had begun to go numb while kneeling on the concrete floor and he cursed himself for spacing out for so long. He stretched his aching limbs and straightened his back. Then he saw Knives shivering again, and remembered his original concern - namely finding some clothes for his twin, and fast. An idea came to him as he looked around, taking support from the couch's backrest. He couldn't help an amused chuckle because the idea was probably even crazier than all of those people Knives had mind-fucked put together.

Walking around the couch, Vash smoothly released the knife hidden in his right boot and used it to peel a large slice of leather off the furniture's back. It was black and surprisingly soft, and relatively clean too, since it hadn't been exposed to any kind of usage during the long years it had been, well, just hanging there. With his moderate sewing skills, Vash shaped it into a snug leather kilt for Knives to wear, held together by some easily moldable pieces of copper wire he found lying around. Granted, it wouldn't give Knives much warmth; but at least it would give him cover and comfort in case they were seen by someone.

Feeling proud of himself, Vash went back to his twin and fastened the leather around Knives' narrow hips, blushing a little when his hands came in contact with the bare skin. He pulled back to admire his work - and instantly felt a weird throbbing sensation in his loins. He refused to think about what that meant, even though he already knew.

"Ah, um..." he cleared his throat, cheeks flushed despite his efforts to stay calm. "Listen, bro... I'm gonna check the situation outside. If it looks bad, we must leave as soon as we can. And I really don't wanna carry you again, so you'd better wake up sometime soon. You're damn heavy."

Adjusting his trousers with a small, wicked grin, Vash exited the control room. If he had needed some proof that he could love his brother also in the physical, more carnal sense of the word, he now knew there wasn't going to be any problem. Knives was damn attractive, especially now when his wounds had been healed and his skin was dimly shimmering like fresh snow with all that exorbitant power still charged inside of him. If everything went well, Vash would soon get to enjoy a completely new kind of relationship with this beautiful creature.

That is... if everything went well.

Nobody ever really knew when it came to Knives.

Leaving his brother’s side for a while, Vash skipped up a flight of stairs to a nearby balcony to see if there was any kind of commotion outside yet. To his relief, there wasn't. Everything was calm and quiet, except for some odd crickets chirping in the endless shadows. The night had finally fallen, velvety and considerably dark, which meant most of the citizens were already asleep - or too drunk to either notice or care that one of their three sources of electricity had suddenly just vanished, blackening out also the other two plants.

Vash shook his head. Looking up at the stars, he filled his lungs with the cool, refreshing air before going back inside to be with his brother. Even if Warrens City was alarmingly slow to wake up to a possible catastrophe, it didn't mean he and Knives had the entire night to idle away. This peaceful moment wouldn't last forever, and he needed to get Knives back to his senses before it would become too troublesome.

Back in the control room, Knives was still lying on the couch, not yet cured from his comatose-like state. He was fidgeting and breathing calmly in turn, looking strangely agitated and stable at the same time. Wondering how everything would finally turn out for them, Vash pushed Knives' legs aside, sat down on the couch and leaned over his twin.

“Hey...” he muttered, and couldn’t help reaching out and touching Knives’ face. “It’s time for you to come back to me.”

There was a small disturbance in Knives' breathing, and Vash felt oddly encouraged. Slowly, but not entirely without hesitation, he ran his fingers down his brother's high cheek. Then he felt the sharp angle of his jaw, the hotness of his pulsating neck – and finally the hard collarbones underneath his soft skin. Bewitched by the fascinatingly beautiful sight, he leaned down and experimentally kissed the tender flesh right under the chin.

In response to this, Knives wailed out a soft whimper.

"Oh?” Vash smiled. “You like that, don't you?"

Knives didn’t actually reply, but his breathing had become more excited.

Somehow satisfied with this outcome, Vash continued his attentive ministrations. First, he gently nibbled Knives' upturned chin – and then he slowly made his way to kiss and lick his twin’s neck, his collar bones and also the very special, sensitive spot between them. This time Knives moaned, rather loudly even, and tilted his head back as if wanting some more.

Vash was a bit taken aback. Would it truly be this easy to please his brother? To love his brother? ...to control his brother? A lone tear-drop ran down Knives' cheek, and he smiled.

Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to keep his brother after all.

--

Inhaling needles, smoldering needles that charred his lungs and tore apart his insides, Millions Knives slowly opened his eyes and saw nothing but deep brightness. His eyes hurt watching it, the dance of pure white and brilliant silver, the colors of the place he'd sometimes heard spiders call Heaven.

Instantly disgusted with the idea, Knives decided he couldn't be anywhere near Heaven for two apparent reasons: first because he was a bad-ass serial killer with a personal problem with God, and secondly because the brightness really hurt like he'd been sent straight to Hell.

First, he figured he must have finally died – an interesting experience in itself – but then he felt something smooth and cold ghosting over his cheek. He jolted up in shock and surprise. It was as if he'd been kissed by a spirit – the touch had been so loving, so silky, like the feathers of his angel arm, and so very soothing – and also so very real.

Knives didn't believe in spirits. Nor did he believe in ghosts or phantoms. Whatever they even were.

With swiftness that surpassed the speed of any mortal creature, he moved to catch the source of that mystifying, teasing touch, only to find his fingers closing over hard, cold metal. His breath hitched, and the allegorical needles he was breathing charged straight into the core of his lungs and made him cough painfully. It felt like someone was rasping his throat with sandpaper.

'V-Vash...?'

His mouth opened and tried to form the words, but it was his mind that finally conveyed them. He realized he couldn't speak. Violently clearing his throat, Knives tried to pronounce his brother's name once again, but still couldn't. Fuck. And since he wasn't even able to see anything – anything except that annoyingly heavenly whiteness and light – he let out a frustrated growl. Only it wasn’t a growl, but hardly even a proper whimper.

A small amount of fear kicked in. Fingers shaking, he held on tight to what he thought - no, hoped - was his brother's cybernetic arm. Because, if this truly was his brother's arm, he would never let go of it. He would never let go of him. No. Never again. No matter how much Vash would hate him for it.

"Hey... calm down, bro. Just take a deep breath and calm down." The feathery touch on his cheek was back. "Everything's okay."

Knives let out a shallow breath, eyes unseeing yet wide with disbelief. Vash was really here, talking to him, touching him, reassuring him. It could not be real, but still... somehow, he was unwilling to believe it was just another pathetic dream of his. Swallowing in attempt to ease the pain in his throat, Knives reached out with his free hand – the other never letting go of the prosthetic arm – and felt the body that was leaning so close over him.

The scars were there. The grill on his chest, the bolts, the broken flesh. Knives stroked the marred skin, fingers adoring every single millimeter they touched. Vash was really here.

He halted his exploration when he felt a hand sliding up his thigh. Only now Knives realized he was wearing something strange, something that felt like a relatively short skirt, only heavier. Where was he? Why was he here? Why was he almost naked in front of his brother, feeling as if his body would melt any second? And why was Vash touching him so lovingly?

Knives closed his eyes. Everything hurt, everything, and he was so damn confused he wasn’t sure if he still had a functional brain in his head or not. If this was real, Vash would never be this unreserved with him. If this was real, Vash would never respond to his touch with one of his own. No. Not like this.

'Am I alive?' he finally asked, squeezing the metal beneath his fingers with growing agitation.

Vash’s travelling hand reached his hip and remained there, squeezed tight between the waist of his strange garment and his itching, over-sensitive skin. "Of course you are, idiot."

‘...well, I had to ask because I don't really feel like it.'

"I guess. But, you know, the pain just proves that you are. Alive, I mean.”

'...it does?'

“Knives... I would never have let you die."

‘Last time I checked, you wished me dead.'

"W-well..." Vash mumbled, sounding a bit awkward. "I changed my mind.”

‘Obviously.’

“I realized life's not half as interesting if you're not around."

Knives could only... well, not stare, since he was blind. But he remained motionless in a way that suggested he might have stared, if he had been able to. ‘Vash. There's no chance in hell you'd ever think of me as an interesting addition to your life.'

“Who knows?” His brother let out a nervous laugh, shifting on the couch. “I might."

Knives snorted and firmly opened and closed his aching eyes for two or three times. He wanted scratch them out. They were stinging like nettle burns and leaking out some odd fluid. ‘Moron.’

A few moments passed by in silence, during which Knives tried to assess the situation. It appeared that he really was alive, despite his hurting body and his questionable mental condition. But, no... that wasn’t quite right. Actually he was more than alive; he felt every single cell of his body emitting strong, unadulterated energy that surpassed both life and death and he felt... immortal again. Immortal and invincible. And that was a good thing. Definitely. Probably. Maybe.

“Is it very bad?” Vash broke the reign of taciturnity. "The pain?"

Knives felt a warm hand on his shoulder, near the nape of his neck. Suddenly anxious again, he took in a ragged breath and held it. ‘...well, yeah.'

"I'm really sorry. But I promise you, it won’t last long. It's... It's just the after-effects of..."

‘Too much love.’ Knives let the air run out of his aching lungs. ‘I know, Vash. I know.’

Sighing, Vash began to play with Knives’ hair, his fingers looping some of the overgrown strands behind his ear. Fidgeting in growing unease, Knives tried to ignore the teasing touch, tried to ignore the warm breaths fondling his chin and neck, tried to gather his thoughts so he could become a bit more levelheaded again. He turned his face away, wanting to elude his brother’s presence for now.

Against common presumptions (and certainly against the results he might’ve gotten from a psychiatrist had he ever gone to see one) Millions Knives wasn't stupid. In fact, he was quite the opposite, even frighteningly intelligent. And that is why he knew exactly what was going on at the moment. It was glaringly obvious to him what Vash had done in order to save his life. He could feel it in his veins, the excessive energy running wild within him, seeping into his every cell, trying to find a way to get out; violent, rampant energy caressing him, making love to him, torturing him – arbitrarily repairing everything that had once been broken.

Well, almost everything. There was one particular, very special organ that would forever remain injured. There, the wounds were too deep ever to be healed.

'Why did you let her do this, Vash? Why did you let her sacrifice herself?' Knives asked, feeling somehow dejected.

Vash’s reply was calm and soft, somehow reassuring. 'Because I didn’t want to lose you.'

‘What kind of a reason is that?'

'A very good one. I think.'

'No, Vash. A bad one. A very bad one. Do you even understand the severity, the weight of what you've done?'

'Of course I do.'

‘No, you don’t. And, all things considered, neither did she. Fuck! This is by far the most idiotic thing you have ever done.’

Vash’s fingers continued to play with his hair. Knives was angry. This wasn’t what he had wanted. No, not this. Not all this pain and confusion. Not all these excruciating feelings of hopeless love, these torturous feelings he knew he could never get rid of, no matter how long or hard he tried. He had been ready to die, damn it, and Vash had ruined everything. Couldn’t his brother see that he didn’t want to be alive, not in this world where nothing had changed?

Frustration and fury growled in the pit of his stomach. He was just about to lash out and kick Vash off the couch, beat him to a bloody pulp for being so fucking stupid – when suddenly, completely without warning, he was pulled into a warm embrace – tight, rough, strong and almost disturbingly possessive.

Knives went instantly rigid; his insides twisted with the horror of this unexpected pleasure, this much-feared feeling of useless delight, and for a moment, his soul was naked, defenseless, totally without protection.

“You're wrong, Knives,” Vash began, speaking into his hair. “This wasn’t just a rash, idiotic decision. This was, and still is, the most sensible, most perfect decision I have ever done in my life.”

Knives swallowed, his unseeing eyes still looking away, as far away as they could. 'I beg to differ.'

“And why is that?”

‘...because, to this world, she was worth a hundred times more than I will ever be.'

“Well, yeah. Maybe." Vash slid his hand below Knives’ chin and lifted it lovingly. “But to me, and to her, you were worth a hundred times more than this world.”

...tha-dump.

Once again, silence conquered the small, dusty room as Knives could do nothing but remain still in his brother’s arms, completely shaken. The walls of his small, carefully protected world began to fall apart with an unprecedented speed, and he observed everything like an outsider, like the suns in the sky always observed the destruction below, unable to interfere. The blood in his veins felt cold, heavy and gluey, until its unhurried flow first slowed, then stilled to an almost unnoticeable crawl – and finally curdled completely.

Thadump. Thadump. Tha-dump.

Tha...dump.

And yet, even though his veins were practically frozen, his heart was trying to beat.

It hurt like hell.

"What I meant to say is...” Vash continued, sliding his both hands down along Knives' sides and back in a way that made it clear he was completely at ease with the situation. “I love you.”

Clenching his teeth, Knives managed to hold in a strangled cry that threatened to escape him. So simply, so plainly! Vash said it like it was the simplest, the plainest thing in the universe, like it was the most obvious, the most indubitable, what had always been and always would be. Love. And Knives wanted to yell at him, for being so fucking stupid again, but he couldn’t, he was too weak, he couldn’t get anything out of his mouth. Or even his mind.

"I wish you'd believe me, because I really do love you. And... I'm also so very sorry. For everything that I have done."

And he began to chafe Knives’ clammy skin, gently, with adoring hands, trying to make him warm up a little, trying to make him a bit more relaxed, a bit less rigid. He kissed Knives’ temples, and his lips were warm, hot, burning, scorching, and Knives was panting now, silently, and he wanted to meet those lips with his own, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, he wasn’t allowed to – and he suddenly wanted to die again.

Knives swallowed, and his spit tasted like iron, like a rusty iron pipe would taste if being licked. His mind was reeling, which wasn’t a new sensation, but unpleasant nonetheless for a man – a plant – who had always been in charge of his own self and could no longer be. Somehow he realized the soreness in his body was gradually subsiding, but the relief was only momentary for it was almost immediately overshadowed by a new kind of pain: the pain of futile hope.

Knives grasped Vash’s shirt with his hands, twined his fingers into the damp fabric, squeezed hard, tried to breathe. Those words... Why now? Those words of love and regret, words that once would've meant a world to him, words he would have given his life for, just to hear them once in the past! Why now? Why now, when Knives had lost his trust in them? Why now, when they no longer meant anything?

Why now, when they still meant so very much, too fucking much, everything?

Knives dropped his head on Vash’s shoulder and inhaled his brother’s unique, intoxicating scent. His eyes were stinging, something weird was once again leaking out of them.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Vash asked, speaking into his hair, softly, so softly.

‘Because...’ he began, but didn’t continue. Instead, he forced himself to straighten his back, to sit up more vigorously, more self-confidently, to appear more composed, more like that Millions Knives he knew he was, somewhere deep inside.

He turned away from Vash and coughed up some of that disgusting, iron-tasting phlegm, spitting it in what he assumed was the general direction of the floor. Then he tried his voice, the one that was physical, the one that was real. Predictably, it was hoarse – but at least he could finally use it.

"Because there's nothing to say,” he croaked. “It's too late now."

"No, it's not," Vash good-humoredly argued, sounding both amused and serious at the same time. Long fingers resumed to kneading Knives' lower back, strong fingers, commanding fingers – fingers that made all of Knives’ efforts slip through his own, shaking ones. "You're just being purposefully difficult. Not that there's anything new in that."

Knives felt like screaming in the inside. It was true - it wasn't too late. Hell, it would never be too late, not for Vash. Because Knives would love Vash always. Just as he had for the past 120 years. That kind of love just didn't disappear in one night.

Nor did it spark.

“I’m not being difficult,” he muttered, looking at nothing in particular, willing his eyes to see something other than the colors of moonlit snow for a change. Not that he’d ever seen moonlit snow before, not really, he just presumed. “I... I’m just feeling sick,” he quietly added, wishing Vash would leave it at that.

But no, of course that wasn’t how it was going to be.

"Still?” Worry, deep worry in the slightly frantic voice. Exploring hands all over his body, making him want to squirm, to slither away from the rousing touch, to moan like a street cat in heat. “How sick, exactly?"

Fuck. Knives just couldn’t take it anymore, no, not anymore. No more of that fake concern, no more of those forged feelings. No more futile hope. Vash was using his weakened condition to manipulate him into believing something he wanted to believe. But Knives knew better, he knew when to be doubtful.

“I’m sick because you’re making me listen to your fucking lies,” he spat, pushing Vash harshly away. “Now shut the fuck up and let me restore my health in peace.”

“Lies?” Vash sounded irritated, insulted, angry even, and pressed Knives hard against the couch cushions. “What lies? I just fucking told you I love you, and I was being completely honest!”

"Ha! Let me tell you something, genius. No-one can fall in love with someone they previously hated just overnight. Not even you."

"Yeah, well, it’s not like I even had to,” Vash growled out his reply, “because I never fell out of it in the first place!"

An electrifying chill ran through Knives' entire body, making him shiver almost uncontrollably, from head to toes. Something inside of him was activating, something he couldn't recognize, and he was afraid. Very afraid. It was as if he was no longer able to block those sharp lances of love Vash was so effortlessly shoving into his heart. Damn false hope. Whoever invented hope - either false or real - should be killed. If Knives now fell victim to Vash's tempting words and got his wings burned in the end, he would never recover from the pain again. Never again.

He covered his mouth as he was hit by a fit of coughing. "Whatever."

"What's with that half-assed attitude?" Vash snarled, losing his temper, shaking Knives' shoulders with unexpected force. "I. Fucking. Love. You."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do! And you would see it, if you weren't so fucking blind!"

"Well, fuck you! It’s hardly my fault I’m blind, is it?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it! Argh! Do I have to fucking slap you before you start acting like a grown-up again?”

“Yea,” Knives smirked, manically thrilled, arching his neck until his mouth touched the soft skin of Vash’s neck, ready lick, ready to bite, he couldn’t quite decide. “Slap me! I might even like it!”

“Mmm...” Vash hummed in reply, sounding irritatingly complacent, as if he didn't really care what Knives might or might not attempt to do. “I bet you would. Masochist.”

Fondly, tenderly, dotingly. Intensely. Fingers sliding in between his collarbones, teasing. Spiky hair falling against pale yet blushing cheekbones, tickling.

Knives had difficulties to breathe. Something wasn’t right. Vash was... not Vash. But still, sincerity as genuine, as pellucid as this... could not possibly be faked. There wasn’t a single bodily sign of indecision, not a single mental vibration sounding deceitful. His brother appeared to respond to his shameless advances keenly, without misgivings, without any kind of hesitation - as if he'd always welcomed Knives’ affections instead of shrinking away from them in disgust.

He tried his luck again, reached out with his tongue and licked his brother’s pulse point, waiting for a flinch, a jerk, anything that might have suggested Vash felt nauseated, queasy or uneasy. But Vash just leaned in closer, his breatihing getting heavier, and grunted in pelasure. Knives felt a massive panic attack approaching.

“W-what’s wrong with you?” he whispered, only now realizing his brother might have seriously gone mad after witnessing his so-called death.

"Nothing."

"Then why..." Knives took in a calming breath and pushed Vash away. His hand received a tingling, electric shock when it blindly fell on his brother's face, and he quickly pulled it away, surprised.

"Why what?"

"Uh..." Knives gathered his thoughts. "Why the fuck do you act so strange?"

Vash chuckled. "And why do you act so paranoid?"

"Paranoid?" Knives gaped. "Paranoid?"

"That's what I said."

"If anyone here's paranoid, it's you," Knives hissed in his wild, blind irritation. "What are you, afraid of something? Do you think there's some kind of an unforeseeable force that might come and punish you if you don't treat me nicely for a change?"

"I think we both know there're no unforeseeable forces in this world - not besides ourselves, anyway. And I already know what it's like being punished by you."

"You don't know half the shit I could do to you. And I'm not some pathetic cripple any longer, thanks to your own fucking stupidity, so you just watch and I'll show you."

"Oh, yeah?" Vash was suddenly very close again, too close, and Knives could feel his strong, erratic breaths on his face. "Well, bring it on."

However, before Knives could react, Vash had locked his arms above his head with a swift movement and pinned him even harder down on the cushions. Knives could feel his brother's hip-bones digging painfully into his own. And, most disconcertingly, it wasn't justhis hipbones he could feel.

"What are you doing?" he squeaked - yes, squeaked, be damned his still somewhat unstable voice - and blushed quite prominently.

"Hm? What, me?" Vash teased, rocking his hips in the process. "Nothing. I thought you were gonna show me something interesting and just got prepared for it."

"A-ah..." Knives shivered, but no longer from the cold. He was back in his full powers, damn it - so why the hell was he still so weak? Maybe it wasn't Vash who was acting weird, here. Maybe it was...

"Knives?"

"Nnnh?"

"You really seem to like my touch."

"...I don't!"

"Hah! Come on, razorblade, spread your legs," Vash laughed gently, his lips brushing against the side of Knives' mouth as he spoke. "You know you want it."

"Wha- wait! Wait!" Knives seized his brother's hair and tried to fight him off as he began to yank off what was covering his privates. "You can't jus- - mffft!"

And then, just like that, Vash could. He grabbed Knives' knees and elbowed them harshly apart, settling himself more comfortably between them. Then he interrupted Knives with a deep, passionate kiss, crushing his defenses with a few, maddening strokes of his tongue, taking his breath away completely.

He ate him hungrily, and Knives let him.

There was no way Knives wouldn't have let him.

Something painful yet liberating exploded in Knives' chest as he succumbed to his twin's relentless willpower. The excessive energy that had been churning inside of him now found an escape route through the kiss they were sharing, turning it electric and powerful, almost frightening in its intensity. The air seemed to crackle between them, and Vash seemed to absorb every ounce of energy Knives was leaking as if wanting to absorb him completely, down to his very soul.

"Can you feel how much I want you?" Vash panted, pulling Knives' lower lip between his not-so-gentle teeth before shoving his tongue in his mouth again. "Can you feel," he shamelessly groped Knives' bare ass, "how much I fucking love you?"

Knives could only reply with an incoherent moan, his voice sounding strange to his ears. Infuriated with himself, he admitted he should have been more on his guard from the very first moment he regained his consciousness. He should have known something like this might happen – he should have known Vash would try to conquer him - but that was too late, now. Vash had been too quick, too clever for him this time. And besides: how could he have known he’d find himself alive in the first place? He had counted on being dead, after all.

Vash swiftly realigned their bodies, and Knives could now feel his brother’s huge erection poking against his lower abdomen. When had Vash released it from the confines of his trousers? Knives had absolutely no idea – but, frankly speaking, he didn't even care. It was now skin against skin, and it was a feeling so terrifyingly wonderful he thought he might actually die of it. And, before he could help it, he was completely soaked by the whirlpool of rampant energy, losing control of his body and mind.

Knives felt his forehead instantly dampen with cold sweat, felt his veins carry particles of ice among the blood. It was dangerous for him, to lose control of his mind. His mind was a very, very worrisome thing, and if even Knives was unable to command it...

The world was suddenly black instead of sparkling white. The ghosts of his insecurities began to resurface; the anger caused by rejection raised its head from the depths of his mind. They were whispering frightening things to Knives; vicious things, foul things, things he didn't want to hear, things he didn't want roaming in his fragile mind, not now, not tomorrow, not ever again. But the ghosts were pitiless. They held him in a tight, suffocating grasp and wouldn’t let him escape. They gnawed at his frantically beating heart, clawed at the insides of his messed-up head until his brains were bleeding, and Knives realized he couldn’t breathe anymore.

He screamed in agony, but no sound came out. The whispers intruded his entire consciousness, made him sick, made him distressed, made him terrified. They were saying Knives shouldn't trust the reality because he was crazy, mad, insane. As easily as a dream could become real, the reality could become a dream. And even if this wasn't a dream, it might still not be real. Because even reality depended on the point of view. And there usually was no point in Knives' view. Things that were now happening might not really be happening after all. Even if it now seemed that Vash loved him, there was no guarantee Vash in love with him. And that simply meant Vash might not love him at all. Not for real.

Again, and again, a whisper after another – and Knives could no longer feel the sweetness of his brother’s kisses, couldn’t feel the warmth of his touches, couldn’t smell the scent of his skin. Vash was no longer real. Not the loving Vash, at least. No... This Vash was cruel. This Vash was just taking advantage of his vulnerability. This Vash was doing all these things just because he wanted to gain control over him; using him by confusing him. Stealing his heart just to confine it atrociously in a tight iron maiden afterwards; an iron maiden that was actually his cold, cybernetic fist, capable of crushing him utterly and completely.

"Knives! Hey, hey... Knives! Are you alright? Look at me, love. Looke at me!"

Like from a magic touch, Knives gasped for some air, feelig dizzy. Vash was shaking him. No... It wasn't that. Knives was shaking by himself, nearly uncontrollably, and Vash was trying to calm him down, smoothing his cold yet sweaty forehead, hugging him close. Knives' heart was beating so fast he was sure it would start to rip at the metaphorical seams.

"Shh. Everything's alright. Everything's just alright."

"D-don't fool me, Vash. You don't really want me. You don't really love me. Stop manipulating me when I'm sick and weak. Fuck! Stop saying those things to me! I don't want to hear them, I don't..."

"Knives... hey, Knives..."

Knives felt his wrists being held down in a tight grip. Maybe that was because he'd tried to scratch his own face off.

"You don't even know what you're doing. You don't really... you don't..." Knives' voice died down. He realized he was fighting tears.

"But I do," Vash said, his voice thick with feeling. "How can I not want you, how can I not love you, having you lying here in my arms like this, butt naked and so totally pissed off? You really have no idea how insanely much I'm drawn to you, do you?"

Trying his best to collect himself, Knives just stubbornly ignored his brother and looked away. He had already lost his pride once, confessing his feelings to Vash. He didn't have to make the same mistake again.

"Knives...?" Vash turned his face back, holding a gentle thumb below his chin. "Look at me."

"What for? I can't see you, anyway."

"Just look at me."

Reluctantly, but too tired to resist, Knives opened his eyes – and to his surprise, the strange miasma that had been blinding him was no longer black or white, but marred with colors. He could faintly distinguish the lines of his brother's face, the blue of his brother's eyes. He realized there was some kind of a strange connection existing between them; Vash was continuously soaking up his energy, relieving Knives from the overdose of power he'd gotten from their sister. The threads of electricity were almost visible, even to his restricted eyesight, transmitting through skin contact, and the ends of their blond locks were coiling together like tendrils of fast-growing poison ivy. Vash was taking care of him, making him feel better, and Knives hadn't even been aware of it until now.

A hand snuck around his right hip, strong and cold cybernetic fingers carefully smoothing his skin.

'I know you don't trust my words, but there is no reason why you shouldn't trust what is in my mind. You can see everything if only you wish to. So, please... invade my brain to see the truth. I won't block you. Not this time.'

Like hypnotized, Knives stared at the constantly clarifying, magnetic blue of his brother's irises, unable to look away. His vision was rapidly becoming clear and he could already see their expression. And somehow, just somehow, he knew Vash was being serious. Never mind what the ghosts had been whispering, Vash was being honest. Truthful. Sincere. Vash really wasn't trying to fool him.

'No,' he finally decided, scratching the sticky leather of the couch with his nails when determinedly closing his fists. 'I don't want to do that to you.'

Vash smiled and nuzzled his nose gently against Knives' cheek. “Then you must be willing to believe me otherwise.”

Knives swallowed, tasting something bitter. He didn't really know what he should say.

“Knives..." Vash sighed, slowly trailing kisses along his jaw. “I want us to stop fighting.”

Knives craned his neck - unknowingly - to give his brother better access, but didn’t say anything.

“I really think we could come to an understanding if we tried.” Vash brought his mouth slowly lower and lower and Knives nearly shrieked - just nearly - when he felt sharp teeth close teasingly around his left nipple. “What do you think?”

"A-ah, um..." Knives panted. His whole attention was on the tongue that was swirling around one of his most sensitive spots. It was very distracting. Very distracting. "I, ah... I guess..."

"Hmm? Then how about, for starters..." Vash slid his hands down Knives' tickly sides and gave the unfortunate - or lucky - nipple a small bite. "You quit destroying the human race?"

"Amffhh... “

“Will you?”

“I don’t know,” he grunted, feeling this was a very odd way to carry on a serious conversation. “I seriously hate spiders."

"I know. And that's why you're gonna have to try real hard to restrain yourself." Vash cupped Knives' ass cheeks, one of his hands warm and the other one cold. "I mean, if I ever see you killing spiders again, I'll get crazy mad. And that's not what you want, is it?"

"Ahnnm." Knives replied noncommittally and closed his eyes. The ghosts were now gone, and his brother was making his whole body feverishly sensitive with his touch, making him aroused. More aroused than he'd ever been before.

"Repeat after me: I promise won't kill any more spiders."

"I... I..." Knives bit his lower lip. "I promise I won't... kill... if they keep their fucking distance!"

"That wasn’t very convincing, was it?"

Without warning, Vash moved lower, trailing his greedy, wet tongue down along Knives' firm abdominal muscles. Then he found his twin's tiny navel and began to press the strong muscle in and out of the sensitive cleft, practically fucking it. This wasn't what Knives had been expecting. This wasn't what he had been prepared for. Not at all.

"Hukkk...! Vash, d-don't...!" Desperately, he tried to get up and escape, but was forced to remain put by his brother’s weight. "You shouldn't... really shouldn't do th-that..."

"Oh, yeah?" Vash smirked against Knives' stomach, un-hesitantly crooking his fingers and spreading his brother's buttocks wide. "Well, I guess you're right. Instead of your navel, I might as well be fucking your ass. How would you like that?"

Knives whimpered at the mental image caused by this strange, dirty talk. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, desperately trying to regain at least a little of his composure. "N-no, you can't do that. You really can't."

"Hm?" Vash swept his tongue over Knives' navel again."You think so?"

"Ah...!" Knives gasped. “I know so!”

"Well. I don’t see why I shouldn’t, so..."

Vash spat in his hand, spreading the saliva over his fingers. Knives' eyes widened as he saw those same fingers getting closer and finally starting to probe his hole. He tried to protest, but Vash was too fast for him; he had pushed two fingers half an inch inside before Knives could utter a syllable.

"O-oy!" Knives instinctively slapped his brother in the head. "That’s –"

"Millions Knives, if you really didn’t want this, I’d already know. Now shut the fuck up and try to enjoy it a little. I know what I’m doing."

Vash kissed him fiercely and demandingly, and Knives yielded. His brother, his sweet cry-baby brother, was taking control – and he could do nothing about it. Absolutely nothing. Even though he knew in his head that he shouldn't fall so easily, both his body and his heart forced him to succumb.

Vash probably sensed the change, the submission in Knives, because he didn't waste time in pushing those two fingers all the way inside. Gasping with both pain and odd pleasure, Knives brought up his arm to cover his burning face in shame. With his other hand, he frenetically clawed at the couch's leather upholstery as Vash began to move the fingers, sending jolts of high voltage soaring through his body. Knives bit his forearm so he wouldn't moan out loud.

Where had Vash learned to do all this? Knives would have liked to feel jealous, but somehow couldn’t muster up the willpower to do that. One did learn a lot of things in 120 years, after all.

"You okay?" Vash hoarsely asked, lips brushing Knives' cheek. "’Cause I don't think I can hold back much longer."

Knives gave his twin a long, albeit half-delirious look from below his arm. He had never seen Vash look so covetous of anything, so completely crazy. Vash's eyes were burning, he was breathing fast and erratic, and he had droplets of sparkling, electric sweat running down his temples. And not only this, but he was also completely surrounded by some blinding, otherworldly light.

Touching Vash's lips with his fingertips, Knives narrowed his eyes against the glow and recognized it as their inner electricity merging in the air. It seemed like the pulsating currents had taken form of two brightly shining, continuously regenerating wings behind his brother's back, sparkling feathers falling down around them like giant snowflakes, disappearing into thin air with a crackle before they could touch the ground.

Vash was not a human being anymore. He was something more. He was a plant, just like Knives. And Knives had never in his life seen anything or anyone so divinely beautiful.

Knives draped his arms around Vash's waist, holding on as tight as he could. He dug his nails deep into his brother's heated skin, sunk his teeth firmly on Vash's shoulder and prepared himself for what he knew was about to follow. He couldn't escape this. Not anymore. He had lost the war, and he knew it.

In the very next nothing, Vash entered him with raw force, spreading him painfully open and wide. The feeling was so agonizingly intense he was forced to take fast, deep breaths just to stay conscious. Electricity crackled between them once again, and the only thing Knives could see for a moment was a swirling mixture of bright and black, the colors of their respective Angel Arms.

This was not making love in the same sense humans perceived it; this was more primitive, more violent, more possessive and much, much more meaningful. This was one taking control over another. This was the stronger one laying claim to the weaker one. This was a fight of dominance between two strong plants, the victorious one shackling the one who had lost. This wasn't even a conscious act, not entirely; their inner senses were taking a hold of them, guiding them along this dangerous path of no return - and yet, they both were more than well aware of what was happening.

This meant Vash was practically enslaving Knives, and Knives was willingly accepting his new position below his brother.

"You belong to me now, Knives," Vash growled, holding still and letting Knives adjust to his width and length. "Do you understand? This can’t be undone."

Knives felt like a pinned butterfly, totally powerless in his twin's virile grasp. He hoped Vash wouldn't move too roughly just yet. "Yes," he panted, his wide-spread sphincter constricting against the intrusion. "I understand."

"Good. And now you will promise me never to kill spiders anymore."

"I... ah..." Knives swallowed. "I can't promise you that. You know I can't."

Vash stared down at Knives with a deadly expression. Knives gulped, feeling his brother's anger rising through the electrical threads between them.

"W-well... I... I'll try, okay? I'll try not to kill spiders anymore."

Vash was silent, and Knives felt the dark shadows rising in his heart again. He felt bile in his throat when he thought about what he just might have lost with his stubborn, stupidly proud attitude. Yet he knew he could never have replied any other way. That would have been lying, and he didn't lie.

Knives waited. He was starting to believe Vash would now abandon him once and for all, break his dainty butterfly wings and mercilessly throw him in the webs of the spiders. And since Knives was now possessed... he could not rise again.

However, to his surprise, Vash did no such thing. Instead, he broke into a bright smile and hugged him close. Pressing their foreheads together, he lovingly gazed down at Knives, who was completely stunned. "I guess that's the best promise I can ever get out of you," he smirked, giving a little laugh. "Trying is good. Trying is very good. At least it's an effort."

Knives lowered his eyes – only now realizing he was crying like a small human child – and kissed his twin's scarred shoulder, feeling broken flesh where his teeth had left deep marks only moments earlier. He tasted blood - and it tasted the same as his own.

Vash had been right from the start: everything would be okay. Everything would be just okay.

Knives let his head fall back onto the soft cushion and closed his eyes in bliss as Vash began to make love to him.

So... On the seventh night, a weightless ship races to the sky.

Sound life...

Sound life...

TBC