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Nai wakes slowly. He’s not often afforded the luxury of a relaxing morning in bed, so smiles to himself, happy to indulge. It’s still early: weak morning light is only just beginning to slip into the room from its unadorned window. The sturdy table in the center of the room is hardly more than a shadow still, covered with his holsters, his guns, his ammo cases, the coat he’d thrown haphazardly over the only chair. Sitting by the door is his satchel, easy to spot at a glance, still overfull from yesterday’s work.
It’s rare to find hotel rooms with working locks on the doors. Last night, he’d had just enough energy to test the lock before he’d collapsed into bed.
Nai stretches, his threadbare undershirt riding up. It’s warm, of course, this late in August, but it’s early enough still that the room doesn’t feel stifling. He kicks off the blanket, one hand pushing his shirt higher as it settles under his navel.
His body still aches from how hard he rode his horse last night, but in the tender, almost pleasant way of sore muscles. He stretches again to turn the pain in his back into something warmer, something nicer.
His hand drifts lower, to the dip in his hips, teasing lightly at his own morning wood through the silk of his drawers. He has time still, before he should head out again. Surely he has time for a little fun? A low rumble leaves his chest, slow, liquid pleasure as his fingers tease into the waistband and up the length of his hardness.
It’s drooling already, his toes curling in anticipation as he drags out the moment before wrapping his fingers around his length, just under the cockhead. His left hand slips under his shirt, careful of his bruised ribs from yesterday’s shootout, and traces delicately over his nipple.
A sharp pinch and a quick stroke make him hiss, hips tilting up into his grip. It’s too easy, in the mornings, to get himself worked up. Already his thighs are trembling, sweat pooling behind his knees as he holds himself still, waiting for the too-quick crescent of pleasure bank to embers. He doesn’t want to come too fast.
He has the time, after all.
In the small town outside of his hotel room, the livestock starts to wake. A rooster crows, far enough away that it’s almost sweet. Birdsong isn’t too rare this far West despite what people think, and he listens with half an ear to the chatter of birds outside his window as he plays with himself slowly. Gradually, light brings color back into the room. He spends the last few strokes staring up into the ceiling, watching the way dust sparkles through the golden light before he takes a shivering breath, arches his back, and comes all over his stomach.
After, he stretches again, letting himself float in the afterglow for a long moment. His aching muscles relax, the sweat cools slightly on his limbs, and the morning stretches, like honey-candy, syrup slow and sweet.
It’s only when he starts to hear movement downstairs—the other patrons of the hotel waking for breakfast—that he finally sighs and sits up, pulling off his sleep shirt and wiping the mess on his stomach off. He’ll have to wash the shirt properly later, but right now he can’t be bothered, opting instead for a quick, ice-cold shower.
It’s a good morning. Nai hasn’t had one of those in a long time.
It’s important for his image that his clothes gleam while he rides across the desert; it adds to his grift. His cowboy hat is a lightweight, delicate thing made of pale yellow straw, with silver concho fastenings and a smooth leather hatband. His rattlesnake skin boots are the only splash of color on him, the tan leather reaching up to his mid-calf, while the diamondback pattern scales glitter white-and-black in the high-noon sun.
Nai knows what he looks like, knows that the grey-blue of his eyes, the white-blonde of his hair, the soft fake-smile make him easy to trust. With his white horse, white hat, and carefully hidden pistols, he can easily befriend almost anyone for long enough to find out what they’re worth. The lie of it makes robbing them so much more fun.
Nai also knows what he looks like to your average bandit. His boots alone should have cost him as much as his horse (if he hadn’t killed their previous owner and meticulously polished off every drop of blood). Dressed all in white, too-starched, too unblemished to be anything but a rich boy pretending at the role of a rancher. Unarmed, as far as they know. Easy to corner.
The days where he’s surrounded by an incompetent gang of bandits are Nai’s favorites. They always carry so much money on their person. They always threaten first and always shoot last.
Carefully, he does up the mother-of-pearl buttons on his shirt, taking care to ensure it settles with as few wrinkles as possible. He smiles as he tugs on his boots and slips his sheathed knife into one, still feeling good after this morning’s fun.
As he settles his hat on his head, he hopes the rest of the day will be just as nice as the morning has been.
Castle, Nai's only longtime companion, is just as finicky as he is. At over sixteen hands, she's large even for a Lipizzan—and impatient to a fault, biting at any stablehands who try to brush her down. Nai understands; most stables only have cheap blankets and soiled straw. They both appreciate the finer things in life, after all.
Castle is sturdy, and has never let him down in the eight years he’s had her. Her grey coat is often mistaken for white for the way she shines in the dusty orange and brown desert.
They set off at a leisurely pace. Castle stops whenever she pleases, and today that means just before noon.
“Fine,” Nai mumbles when she starts stamping her feet in the way that precedes a tantrum. “Let’s find some shade, then.”
His horse huffs at him, but obligingly turns off the road.
Soon enough, they come across a small copse of greenery around a dried up puddle. It's not much—just scraggly chokecherry bushes and a patch of alfalfa barely wide enough for Castle. In a few months, it could even be a pitiful excuse for a watering hole, when the rains come.
Nai knows it’s coming before Castle even makes a sound.
“I know, I know,” he whispers, patting her neck before climbing off her back.
She nips at his hand as he slides the bridle off her face, but it’s not hard enough to break the skin, so he knows she’s not really mad at him. She shakes her head once, tousling her white-blonde mane into ruffled elegance, before she settles on the patch of alfalfa and daintily crosses her front hooves. Nai rolls his eyes at her and resigns himself to a boring afternoon.
That is, until a set of voices not too far south reach them, the sound carrying easily up the ridge. Nai stands, brushing dirt off his jeans.
Dominique the Cyclops, Midvalley the Hornfreak, and Rai-Dei the Blade all crest the top of the hill on horseback. He doesn’t think they’ve spotted him yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Nai’s eyes flicker to Castle, where his satchel with his last three hundred double dollars is still strapped to her saddle. Castle blinks, her dark eyes looking up at him as if in understanding.
“Sorry, Your Highness,” he tells her, even as she stands. “You remember our last encounter with the Gung-Ho Guns?”
Castle, of course, doesn’t reply. Nai carefully replaces her bridle with almost no complaint.
“It’s our lucky day, Dominique!” a greasy, whiny voice shouts loud enough that it was definitely meant to be overheard. “If it ain’t our twice-damned former Boss Man!”
“Millions Knives,” Rai-Dei rumbles.
“Right, let’s go,” Nai tells Castle.
The true love of his life, Castle snorts then explodes into a breakneck gallop, not needing to be told twice.
A gunshot shatters the afternoon silence, and Castle pivots from the sharp pull on the reins as the bullet grazes Nai’s shoulder.
Dominique, of course; she was always the Guns’ best shot.
The two men cheer her on, and soon enough, Nai can hear the thunder of their horses as the group give chase. Nai’s confident in Castle’s speed and endurance, but he’s also quite confident in Dominique’s aim. There was a reason Nai recruited her, once upon a time.
The chase doesn’t last long. Castle clears the shrubbery and is back on the trail in no time, but less than 300 meters later another shot rings out from the opposite direction of the Gung-Ho trio. Castle stutters to a stop, and Nai’s stomach sinks when he hears yet another set of familiar voices in the distance.
“Don’t kill them, Wolfwood!”
“Like hell I won’t, they were trying to kill us just eight days ago!”
Vash the Stampede, of course. Bounty hunter extraordinaire. The biggest thorn in Nai’s side back when he was running the infamous Gung-Ho Guns, and of course his idiot twin brother.
Nai growls, a snorting sound he must have picked up from Castle. His horse makes a rumbling sound in response, clearly in agreement.
“I don’t go by Millions Knives anymore, you know,” Nai calls over to his old companions. “I’ve reinvented myself.”
“Sure, boss,” Midvalley says. He grins, too-wide and smarmy. “Tell me you don’t carry any a’ them poisoned knives on your person then. It was a helluva trick, boss.. Inspired, one might say.”
Nai can’t deny it; his beloved rattler-poisoned Bowie Knife is sheathed carefully at his hip, eager to taste blood again.
“This shirt cost more than your sax, Midvalley. I hope you’re willing to pay for a replacement.”
“Sure, if you wear it to your funeral.”
Dominique says nothing. She reloads her pistol, but before she can aim it, a shot lands less than a meter from her horse, spooking it.
“The Stampede!” Rai-Dei grumbles. He doesn’t carry a gun: a hand at the hilt of his katana as he looks up into the middle distance.
Dominique frowns, pulling off her hat and letting her long braid topple down her back. She’s not wearing an eyepatch today, instead having donned a black bandana around her injured eye. Nai supposes it’s not his business anymore.
“We can take them,” Midvalley leers, licking his lips. “The Punisher owes me a fight.”
“We’re here for money, Midvalley,” Dominique snaps. “Or did you forget that The Stampede works for the Rangers now?”
Midvalley frowns. Rai-Dei has never cared about anything but the next fight, so it’s surprising that even he scowls and grabs at his reins, yanking his horse roughly in the opposite direction.
Nai watches the trio disappear, ignoring Vash and his sidekick's approach. He knows Vash has spotted him; Nai’s superior eyesight is hereditary, after all. Castle stomps her feet, and Nai agrees.
“We can try running, I suppose,” Nai tells her because he’d rather try his luck with the Gung-Ho Guns than his brother’s needling, goody-two-shoes attitude.
She understands him better than any human in this world, Nai thinks as she begins an easy canter. Not fast enough to outrun anyone in a proper chase, but just enough to hopefully send Vash the message not to follow.
Nai’s heart won’t slow, even as Vash disappears. He gets dizzy, and regrets finishing up their supply of water when they’d stopped to rest. Castle neighs at him, and Nai pats her neck distractedly. He wonders why it doesn’t hurt, then confuses himself about why he would think that. The fingers of his left hand don’t quite close around the reins correctly. His sleeve is stained red all the way to the wrist—only then does he remember he’d been shot.
“Ah, so that’s what Midvalley meant,” Nai says breathily. Castle huffs at him. In response, he wraps the reins securely around his good hand, so he won’t slip off when he passes out. “Find shelter, Castle.”
At which point Nai knows nothing at all.
He wakes all at once, the night sky flooding his vision. His left arm burns from Dominique’s surely poisoned bullet, and his stomach lurches unpleasantly.
“Careful, you’ll puke your guts out again,” an annoying voice tells him.
Nai wills for it all to be a bad dream as he closes his eyes again. When he opens them, he’s not so lucky. Wolfwood sits on a stump at his side, smoking the burnt end of a cigarette. A lanky silhouette tends to a fire up ahead: his brother, of course.
Betrayal of betrayals, Castle is sprawled out beside him, her head in his lap.
The day had started so promisingly. How has it come to this?
Castle makes an annoyed huffing sound, and Nai begrudgingly settles a hand on her mane. He closes his eyes again, and pretends he’s still in bed.