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Vash sits at the edge of the rickety hotel bed, moping in silence as Wolfwood chews him out while caring for his wounds.
“This shit is gettin’ out of hand, Spikey. Do you really gotta go around and stick your thumb in everyone’s goddamn pie? The sheriff was doin his job and ya just had to swoop in and take a damn bullet for a wanted felon-“ he growls, swiftly winding bandages around Vash’s injuries a bit too tight. He winces with it, but says nothing as Wolfwood continues. “Ya need to get yer martyr complex under control. It’s really pissin’ me the fuck off, y’know. Just cause you’re a masochist don’t mean ya gotta throw yourself into gunfire the first chance ya get.“
Vash bristles slightly, defensive. “I’m not a masochist. I just don’t want blood to be recklessly spilled.”
“Reck—“ Wolfwood suddenly interrupts himself with a bark of mean laughter. “Oh, that’s just rich comin’ from you, Spikey. What if the guy shot and killed someone right then and there, huh? An innocent life lost cause ya felt the need to save some typical gunsmoke scum,” he hisses, roughly cleaning up a smaller gash with a bloodied cloth.
The blonde narrows his eyes, brows pinching. “But he didn’t. Stop getting mad over things that didn’t happen, Wolfwood. All lives should be treated equally,” he says, as if he hasn’t started excluding the other from that rule a while ago. This now puts a gaping hole in his entire argument, but Wolfwood doesn’t need to know that.
The priest scoffs. “So ya see an innocent little kid on the same level as a serial killer? If ya had to kill one would ya just flip a coin and shoot?”
“No!! Why do you always bring up the possible outcomes when in reality no one got hurt?” Vash shoots back, teeth bared. Wolfwood gives him a look of exasperation.
“Someone did get fuckin’ hurt, jackass! If no one got hurt I wouldn’t be patching your sorry ass up right now! No one gives a shit if ya think that you alone needs to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Just say ya have a god complex and move on,” he snaps.
“I don’t have a God complex.”
“Yes, ya do. Honestly, ya ain’t any better than your brother. Damn lucky it’s him going on his little world-tour tantrum and not you,” Wolfwood says it like a joke, but it causes a flare of anger within Vash that makes his jaw tick.
“Don’t say things like that,” he grits.
“Then stop fucking acting like him! Christ almighty, Spikey, since when do ya think about doin’ what you wanna do?“ Wolfwood snarls, jabbing Vash in the chest. He tries his best not to take the bait and clenches his fists at his side.
“I do! I want to help people, and it’s always been that way! Why are you just now throwing a fit over it? We’ve been over this time and time again—“
“Bullshit. We all wanna help people, so quit takin’ the easy way out and tell me what ya really want,” he says, his gaze boring into him in a way that’s suffocating.
“I want..” Vash chews at his lip, fixing his glare at the wall to avoid Wolfwood’s eyes. This is exactly what the problem is.
He wants.
He wants in a way that consumes him whole and he doesn’t know what to do with it, so he tamps it down. Seizes it at its core and shatters it only to end up cutting himself on the pieces. It terrifies him.
He wants. To love, to live, to have.
Vash slowly drags his gaze back to meet Wolfwood’s and God does he want. He might throw up with it.
Wolfwood makes a face at him, patching up a final wound before reaching for his cigarettes.
“Christ. Quit lookin’ at me like that and just answer the damn question,” he huffs, lighting one before taking a concerningly lengthy drag. A dramatic whine escapes Vash as he tries to stall, shifting uncomfortably under the other’s stare. He sweeps the room for possible escape routes in his knee-jerk reaction to run.
Wolfwood cages him in from the front, so his best bet is a backward maneuver to get to the window behind him. Only problem is that he’s wearing nothing but ratty sweatpants and doesn’t have a plan of action once he actually makes it out of the building. But forethought is not in the Humanoid Typhoon’s vocabulary, so he’ll figure it out when he gets there.
Sadly, when you’re forced to travel with someone for a good couple months, you can only pull the same stunt on them once or twice before they start to develop some sort of 6th sense for it. Wolfwood is on him before he even makes it off the bed, resulting in a brief yet rather violent scuffle.
Hair is pulled, arms are bit, and headlocks are executed, but it all ends with Vash sprawled belly-down in defeat. Wolfwood parks his ass on his back in order to ensure minimal blonde escapage. He takes another long pull of his cigarette before letting out a smoky sigh of exasperation.
“Can you please just be fucking normal for once?” He asks, looking down at Vash. “I’m sick and tired of having to work around all your..” he vaguely waves his hand, wafting a bit of smoke around “..Spikey-isms,” he finishes.
“Spikey-isms?” Vash tries to sound offended, currently occupied with attempting to wiggle out from under Wolfwood.
“Yeah, Spikey-isms,” Wolfwood says, digging his thumb into Vash’s side hard enough to make him yelp. “The weird shit that only you’re dumb enough to pull.”
The blonde rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks. Now would you get off me? For being so concerned about my well-being earlier you sure aren’t helping by sitting on the injured guy.” He looks back at him and pouts.
Wolfwood blows smoke in his face, finding joy in his disgusted expression. “It’s different when I do it ‘cause then you actually deserve it. Plus, we both know you could escape if ya really wanted.”
Vash groans. They aren’t fighting verbally anymore, but the tension still hangs in the air like the haze from Wolfwood’s cigarette. “Whatever. I’m still mad at you,” he grumbles. Wolfwood snorts.
“As am I. But,” he pauses as he leans over to stub his cigarette out on the ashtray left on the nightstand. Enough weight is lifted so Vash can shift around, his back now against the mattress when Wolfwood settles again. He’s seated on his lap, thighs splayed in a v with his knees planted on either side of Vash. Wolfwood looks down at him with a smirk before continuing. “Ya ain’t gonna do anything about it, are ya?”
Vash’s hands slowly trail up and settle at the priest's hips. “Says who?” He asks. He’s not unfamiliar with the cycle of fight, fuck, forget, as Wolfwood crassly puts it, and considering it’s the only time Vash is allowed to indulge in his selfish desires he’s not too upset about their unspoken arrangement.
“Says me. And your track record, I suppose. You’re too damn passive,” Wolfwood scoffs. Vash’s lips purse into a thin line and he can tell the expression delights the priest in some way. He’s trying not to show it, but Vash can see the way the corner of his mouth curls ever so slightly upward.
“I am not passive. I think the word you’re looking for is pacifist,” Vash says. Wolfwood groans.
“Don’t piss me off again.”
“Then don’t piss me off.”
“You’re always pissed off!”
Vash squirms and slips out from under Wolfwood before tackling him on the bed. They begin to tousle once more, the sound of threadbare sheets rustling against the mattress almost comical if it weren’t covered up by profanities and strained grunts. Wolfwood gets overpowered and makes a noise that errs on the side of pathetic, and Vash finally submits to the carnal desire to kiss him. It’s not an objectively ‘good’ kiss, the act a battle of dominance in its own, but it’s enough to blindside Wolfwood and finally pin him to the bed. Their hands lace together where Vash presses them above his head.
When their mouths disconnect they’re both mildly out of breath, but Vash can’t help but glare down at the man.
”I am not. Pissed off,” he says between pants. Wolfwood’s expression is flat as an unimpressed brow curves up into his hairline. His lips faintly sheen with spit and it’s the only thing Vash can think about so he kisses him again.
It’s a lot less violent this time, their tongues lazily sliding against each other with teeth only occasionally catching a bottom lip. Wolfwood sighs into it, unusually pliant, and subtly rocks his hips upward. Vash disconnects their hands so he can slide them downward and work at the buttons of Wolfwood’s dress shirt. His kisses trail downward as well, and he nuzzles against Wolfwood’s neck.
“I’m normal and well adjusted,” he claims as he starts to nip at Wolfwood’s skin. That gets a laugh out of the man, and he tilts his head to the side to allow Vash easier access to his neck.
“Sure ya are. Now quit yappin’ and use that smart mouth of yours for somethin’ better,” he says. Vash frowns against Wolfwood’s skin before biting down hard, causing him to wince. Wolfwood’s hand comes around to fist him by the hair and tug him away. Vash makes a strangled noise much like a disgruntled cat. “Are you seriously that petty?” Wolfwood growls. Vash whines.
“M’sooorrry… I didn’t mean it,” he says with a pout, even though he definitely did. His finger toys at the final button holding Wolfwood’s shirt closed. The priest sighs before releasing him.
“You’re ridiculous…” he mutters.
Vash keeps his sulky attitude as he pulls the last button free, sliding his hands up along Wolfwood’s torso to cup his pecs. There’s a faint sheen of scarring that curves underneath them, and a line bisects it from sternum to navel. A vivisection in the form of a cross. Vash gently runs his thumbs along the ‘arms’ of it before enveloping Wolfwood’s chest with his palms. There’s probably a metaphor he can grasp somewhere, one about psalms and the mark of Micheal, but Wolfwood’s chest is quite large and every time Vash brushes over his nipples the man starts to squirm. It’s almost incredible.
His mind goes fuzzy as he squishes them together to create more cleavage, giggling dumbly to himself as he ghosts the pads of his fingers over the already stiffening peaks. Wolfwood doesn’t gasp but his mouth falls open, his pride unfortunately keeping him from making noise. It still sends a burning heat southward, and Vash can’t help but shift his hips in small circles to alleviate some pressure. Wolfwood gives Vash an angry look but it’s easily ignored when his eyes focus in and out with pleasure. The spell is only broken when Vash gets a little too eager and pinches a nipple between his fingers.
Wolfwood makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a surprised moan and immediately grabs Vash’s wrist to get him to stop.
“Alright show’s over, you gonna fuck me tonight or what?” He grits, his cheeks a deep red. Vash groans and throws his head back like a child.
“You’re no fun! But fine, since the princess demands it.” He gets off Wolfwood and sits back on his knees which reveals the damp spot at his crotch. He pulls down his sweatpants, shimmying to get them all the way off and kicking them to the floor. His dick is about halfway formed, but it’s still enough to penetrate with. He gently wraps his right fist around himself so he can slick his hand up with the fluid dripping from his petals, and he gives a few pumps to help stiffen them into shape. He shutters at the sensation, a breathy moan escaping him when he brushes his thumb over the leaking tip. He moves his fist down again, gripping the base of the twining petals where they’re thickest, gasping and-
“I’m enjoyin’ the view, really, but I said tonight, Spikey,” Wolfwood deadpans. Vash stares at him, cock still in hand. The nerve of this lousy priest…
“You’re being difficult. Did you know that? If I knew any better I’d make you beg for it, but I won’t, since I’m so kind and loving and benevolent,” Vash says as he puts his synthetic hand on his chest.
“Seems a little redundant, dontcha think?” Wolfwood yawns as he starts to languidly unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants. It eventually finds home next to Vash’s sweatpants on the floor, his boxers soon following suit. “‘Sides, ya kinda got a mean streak goin’ on. Too bad I’m the only one in the world that knows it.”
The corner of Vash’s eye twitches. Wolfwood appears to delight in his suffering, but instead of continuing to push his buttons he remains on his back as he bends his legs and spreads them in a v. He’s slightly wet, and the sight of his swollen clit alone is enough for Vash to forgive him for all his sins. His gaze flicks from Wolfwood’s cunt to his face as he slowly starts to scoot closer.
“Can I…?”
“Oh for the love of Christ-- Yes. Ya can. In fact, if ya don’t, I’m gonna take my ass to the bar across the street and get me a lady that’ll treat me a little nicer. Your choice.” Wolfwood spreads his thighs a little wider for emphasis. Vash swallows. He’d scold him for being so impatient, but Vash has a feeling he wouldn’t be able to wind him up much longer without wanting to fuck him right then.
Though a little more prep wouldn’t hurt…
Vash shudders after he gives himself one last stroke before using his slicked hand to cup Wolfwood’s crotch. He gently massages his palm over Wolfwood’s dick, rubbing two fingers against his slit as well. Wolfwood’s head jerks back with the sudden stimulation.
He starts with only his middle finger, pushing it in with little resistance.
“Huh. You’re more riled up than I thought,” Vash says idly, pushing in a second finger before curling them inwards.
“Shut up,” Wolfwood wheezes. His eyes are squeezed shut as he braces his head against the pillow, inadvertently clenching around Vash’s fingers. He eventually exhales to try and relax, but Vash meanly presses into the spongy give of his g spot. Wolfwood goes rigid and visibly bites back a moan.
Vash briefly relents, sliding his fingers out so he can pump them back in at a steady rhythm. Tension slowly starts to melt away from the priest's body, though his eyes remain closed. Vash adds a third finger. It’s a little snug, but he still pushes them in and out to make the slide easier.
“Wolfwoood. Could you look at me?” Vash coos. Wolfwood cracks open an eye to glare at him. The blonde clicks his tongue and crooks his fingers to massage at the other’s sensitive spot once more, wet sounds filling the room with every movement. “Use both eyes, you lousy priest.”
Wolfwood cranes his neck to make eye contact with Vash, brows furrowed in irritation despite his mouth slack with pleasure. It’s dangerously cute.
“M’not lousy, jus… blasphemous,” he slurs, starting to rock his hips in time with Vash’s fingers. It seems as if his bravado is finally starting to slip.
Vash takes that as a good sign Wolfwood is prepped and ready, so he suddenly pulls his fingers out so he can scoot closer and replace them with his cock. He uses one hand to hold Wolfwood’s thigh and the other to line up with his entrance, and they both groan in unison when he easily sinks inside.
“You’re so- you’re so-“ Vash tries to find an adjective to describe how so Wolfwood is, but all words in his brain get lost in enveloping heat. He has to brace his hands on either side of Wolfwood’s head so as not to double over and blow his load immediately.
“I’m so, I’m so- the only thing m’ ‘so’ is so SICK an’ TIRED of havin’ to wait for ya t’actually fu-aahkk-“ Wolfwood’s sentence gets cut off with a moan when Vash pulls out and slams back in again. His arms wrap around the blonde’s shoulders for purchase as Vash does it again, and again, and again until he’s set an eager rhythm.
His wounds from earlier throb with every thrust, but they’re only an echo of what happened earlier today. It’s a scenario that’s probably going to happen a million times in his lifetime, and probably a million more after that, but Nicholas D. Wolfwood is currently underneath him drooling and moaning his name so it all can’t be bad.
“Jesus Mary Joseph, fuck, I am a lousy priest, fuck-“ he babbles, arching his back and trying to meet every thrust. His arm snakes around to fist in Vash’s hair, firm but not tugging painfully. The blonde still yelps like a dog.
“Wolfwooood, that, that huurts,” he whines, slowing his hips as he looks down at the other with watery eyes.
Wolfwood looks back at him, a little doubtful, a lot debauched, but still sound enough to tell him to ‘shut the fuck up’ and yank him down for a kiss.
Their teeth click on initial contact and it’s more tongue than lip, but Vash enjoys it all the same. His thrusts pick back up again and he swallows any noises Wolfwood makes, even if he emits a few embarrassing sounds of his own.
Between the feeling of pounding into Wolfwood and the man shoving his tongue down his throat, Vash is starting to feel like he’s very, very, close. When he breaks away to inform the other as such it seems like he’s going to beat him to it.
Wolfwood’s profanities grow more and more creative until they suddenly stop, his mouth hanging open as he suddenly clenches around Vash’s cock. The blonde fucks him through it until he releases, mewling when he feels the other pulse around him. It was the final push he needed to go over the edge, and soon enough he’s pressing as deep into the priest as he can and emptying his spend.
Wolfwood squeaks. Genuinely squeaks. It’s a meek noise from the back of the throat that almost gets lost in the static buzzing in Vash’s ears. The fact only registers after Wolfwood’s hole has been sufficiently filled and he’s coming down from the high of a mind-numbing orgasm. The realization almost makes him come again right then and there, because then he would be able to hear Wolfwood do it again. Vash collapses onto the man’s chest in a daze, and if he didn’t know any better he’d think it was due to all the blood in his head rushing to his dick again.
He turns his head to press his ear against Wolfwood’s ribcage to hear his jackrabbiting heartbeat, alive, fucked, and well. Vash lets out a long exhale. Wolfwood’s hand comes up to card his fingers through his hair.
“That good, huh?”
Vash rolls his eyes. “I should be the one asking you that. I swear I heard you-“
He gets a palm to the face as Wolfwood pushes him away. “Aaannd that’s enough. You’re gonna pull outta me so I can dress your wounds, again, clean up, again, then go to bed.”
“Ugh.” This lousy priest. Always so bossy, telling him what to do, getting him mad on purpose to get him to fuck him the way he likes, getting mad when he doesn’t fuck him fast enough…
“You’re speakin’ aloud, just so ya know.”
Interrupting his thoughts, shoving him away when he just wants to sleep…
“Hey, are ya even listenin’ to me?!”
Yelling. Being annoying even if it’s cute. Ignoring that his eyelids are. Growing. Heavy…
“Spikey. Spikey. You cannot be serious right now. Spikey. Needle noggin. Tongari. Vash.”
…
…
Disturbing him when he’s sleeping…
“Oh, fuck you.”
Well, Vash already did that, so he feels like that’s a dumb thing to say. He drops his head back onto Wolfwood’s chest and shifts around a little to get comfortable, letting a content rumble kickstart in his chest.
And Wolfwood, with the humanoid typhoon keeping him unable to move up from the bed, unfortunately must slip into a dreamless doze with his heart begrudgingly full and mind pleasantly fuzzy.