Chapter Text
Nothing will ever come close to the feeling Wolfwood gets when he walks into the Plant room to find Vash standing with his face pressed to cold glass.
Nothing will ever compare to the electric shock that shoots up his spine when Vash turns around from the Plant, eyes wide and skin practically glowing . No one will ever know how Wolfwood feels when he watches Vash start to sway, the plant behind him reverting back to its closed-off form as shock grips him tight enough to hurt.
But along with the surprise is some sort of knowing, a kind of click that slots into his brain and makes everything make sense. Which is why, even though his brain still lags with the breathtaking knowledge that Vash is a plant, his body is still able to rush forward to catch the blonde’s falling form. He grunts under the weight, strangely heavy for someone of Vash’s stature, and slowly lowers them both to the ground. He hesitates for a moment, debating on whether to lay him on the ground or cradle him close, hold him tight so that nothing can ever hurt him again.
Instead, he chooses a somewhat medium of the two, allowing Vash’s head to rest in his lap while his body sprawls out across the cool metal floor. Fluffy blond hair spreads out like a halo on his thighs, and it takes all of Wolfwood’s restraint not to card his fingers through it. Vaguely, he wonders if Vash’s hair is softer than a human’s, but before he can do something foolish like reach down to touch his hair, Meryl finally gasps, and in that moment Wolfwood realizes two things.
One: he was not alone that entire time. Two, Vash is a fucking plant.
One of those things is slightly embarrassing, and the other is potentially catastrophic, or potentially life-saving for a planet of people. Wolfwood still can’t stop thinking about Vash’s hair.
“Vash-san!” Meryl calls out, running over to make sure Vash is okay, to make sure that this is real. Wolfwood feels a strange urge rise up in his chest, an ugly, possessive feeling that takes root in his heart. It takes an embarrassingly large amount of self-restraint to stop himself from snapping at the blue-haired journalist, who has now decided to crouch in front of Vash and is wringing her hands in an attempt to… fix things? Wake him up? Wolfwood doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care, either, staying as still as humanly possible while the little squirrel continues her mothering.
Roberto is still standing some yarz away, flask open and the contents currently being poured down his throat. Wolfwood isn’t one to judge, in fact, he can’t judge , considering the current state of his lungs, but he still finds himself strangely annoyed at the older man’s nonchalance. It feels almost… uncaring, in a way, and Vash deserves more than whatever this is. So much more.
But, unfortunately, none of them are in a place to give much, and Wolfwood can hear people running through the halls, cheering with adrenaline-laced elation. He knows it’s only a matter of time before someone comes to check the Plant room, and the thought of someone else finding Vash in this condition makes his stomach sour, chest growing tight at the thought of what they might do to him.
“Is he alright? Wolfwood? Is he okay? What does this mean? Is Vash-san a plant? How is that possible? What do we—“
“How about we all shut up for a minute and get our heads on straight,” Wolfwood growls at the journalist, her frenzied figure starting to infect him with an itch of worry. It works, the girl shuts up, but the muffled silence is almost worse than the questions, the voices running past the room leaving tendrils of panic wired under his skin.
None of them know what this means. None of them know how to handle it. But they have to do something, so Wolfwood takes a few subtle breaths and starts to speak once more.
“Okay. We can’t stay here, we have to—“
“Shit.” His voice gets cut off by Roberto’s, and his head jerks up just in time to notice people walking towards the room, voices growing louder with each banging step.
Wolfwood takes one look at Vash’s face, still covered in ethereal markings and glowing softly in the dim lighting, and takes a sharp breath.
“Okay then. Let’s go.”
That’s all he says before he slings Vash into his arms and abruptly stands up, startling Meryl as he tries to get the blond somewhat secure in his grip. Hastily, he runs over to where the Punisher is and slings it across his back in one familiar, controlled motion. It’s awkward, with Vash in his arms and a giant metal cross bearing down on his back, but there’s no time to think before the door is swinging open and someone is shouting orders to go in.
As soon as the first person starts to step in, Wolfwood takes off running, both of the reporters close behind. He doesn’t stop, not even when the people shout at him, not even when they start to block the door. He just keeps running, keeps pushing, until they’ve all made it into the halls. Even then, they all keep running, people chasing after them but not drawing weapons.
Wolfwood wonders if they just want to thank them for saving the ship, wonders if they should stop for a moment to see what happens. But he’s never been that stupid, especially since they also happened to cause this destruction in the first place, so he stays cautious and keeps running so fast he thinks his lungs will give out.
“That’s what you get for smoking!” He can almost hear Vash say those words, and he scoffs slightly, more so a small huff of air than anything else as he keeps willing himself forward. Not if you get me killed first, needle-noggin, he thinks.
Eventually, they make it to the surface, breaching the lower levels and spilling out across the deck. Wolfwood revels in the (somewhat) fresh air, listening to his companions panting and gasping far worse than him as they accept a few brief moments of respite. As soon as someone points to them, though, he groans, body moving forward automatically.
Normally, he would fight, or at least give the fuckers a piece if his mind before jumping ship, but with an unconscious Vash in his arms and two civilians depending on him for survival, he really has no choice but to run like hell until they hopefully find somewhere safe to hide out.
—
They don’t.
Instead, Wolfwood finds himself backed up against the railing of the ship, the Punisher banging against the metal bar as they all find themselves cornered with no chance of escape.
So Wolfwood does the only natural thing anyone else in his situation would do: he shifts Vash to make sure he doesn’t slip out from his grip and climbs up onto the railing, face pointed towards the endless desert around them. Someone gasps, Meryl , he thinks vaguely, but Roberto seems to catch on and joins him, swinging his legs over the railing with a slight grunt. The newbie is staring at them, aghast, but seems to finally see what’s happening and climbs over the railing with a pale face.
The sand steamer isn’t moving, which is both good and bad. Good, because the impact won’t hurt as badly, and bad, because people will be able to chase after them. For another moment, Wolfwood contemplates just dropping Vash and whipping the Punisher out to blow these fuckers to pieces, but something about the thought of letting Vash go makes his heart twinge. Besides, the idiot would be upset if he killed them all for no reason, and Wolfwood has come to the surprising realization that he doesn’t want Vash to be upset by him. Not seriously, at least.
“ Three !” He shouts, glancing over his shoulder to see the crew start to pull guns from holsters.
“Two!” He continues, taking one last moment to make sure he won’t lose Vash or the Punisher in the fall. He takes a deep breath.
“One!” Wolfwood shouts, and then leans forward and lets go of the railing. He hears someone cry out as they fall, but he doesn’t know whether it’s the girl or the people on the ship. Hell, he might’ve even thought it was him if not for the fact that his lungs are empty, air rushing out of them as fast as he’s falling.
As he’s falling, blonde hair whips across his face. It stings. He loves it.
As he’s falling, someone makes another noise, but this time he knows exactly who it belongs to.
Wolfwood looks down to see Vash’s marked face, wide blue eyes staring up at him with golden hair weaving through the wind. His breath catches at the look, already empty lungs somehow ridding themselves of even more air, and he swears he can feel Vash purr before the ground rushes up to meet them. Panic shoots through his spine at the thought of Vash being crushed under him, under the Punisher, and he cannot let this happen. With one final move, Wolfwood manages to twist them around in the air before they can crash, leaving Vash on top of him, still cradled in his arms. Vash tries to say something, but his voice is lost in the wind as Wolfwood feels the Punisher, still on his back, hit the ground.
The last thing he sees before the world goes dark is those eyes, bright and blue and perfect , and Wolfwood thinks he could die happy like this, looking up at the sky and holding an angel in his arms.
—
He doesn’t die.
In fact, he doesn’t even pass out for long, a few seconds at the most. It almost pisses him off, the way the world is depriving him of doing at least one good thing in his life and killing himself. Instead of the soft, peaceful embrace of death, Wolfwood is brought back to the light with a rather harsh kick to his head, sending pinpricks of pain through his brain while he tries to open his eyes.
“Ow,” he mutters softly, reaching out to rub the sore spot on his head before remembering that there is a strangely heavy weight on his chest that doesn’t quite match the Punisher’s physique.
With a start, Wolfwood remembers where they are right now, remembers exactly who is laying upon his chest. He doesn’t look down. He can’t not if he ever wants to look back up again, so with a tremendous amount of self-restraint, he picks himself off the desert floor and tries not to wince at the sharp pain in his ribs. He even hears a small crack as he continues to pick himself up, which he dutifully ignores in favor of making sure that Vash is still alive and well in his hands.
Which he is, of course. Because Wolfwood had decided to be the self-sacrificing idiot for a moment, and now he’s got at least two broken ribs and people all around him shouting bloody murder. Some of them are Meryl and Roberto, urging him to get up and go, but most of them are fainter, echoing from atop the sand ship.
“Wolfwood?” A softer, closer voice calls out, and he realizes that Vash is still awake in his arms, still staring at him with those electric eyes.
“Spikey,” he says gruffly, letting go of the unknowingly tight grip he had been holding Vash in.
Vash stumbles slightly as he’s freed from Wolfwood’s heavy grip, but quickly rights himself as he takes in the situation.
“Shit,” Roberto mutters, and Wolfwood glances over.
“What, you hurt?” He asks, but Roberto shakes his head.
“Car’s still on the ship, and we can’t do shit without it.”
Dammit. He’s right, but it’s not as if they can just get back on the ship and politely ask for their fuckin’ car back. He opens his mouth to say something, to offer to try and get it back, but Vash interrupts him before he can.
“I’ll get it,” he says as cheerily as one can be in this situation, and Wolfwood growls.
“You ain’t doing shit , Spikey, you’re all fucked up.” He protests, and Meryl joins in.
“Vash-san, you can’t go back there like this, they’ll—“
“I said, I’ll get it,” Vash interrupts, voice still cheery but bordering on something else, something darker. Wolfwood understands.
“Okay. You get the truck, spikey, and I’ll cover you.”
Vash looks at him, smiles, and then takes off towards the ship.
—
When Vash returns, there is gunfire.
It rains down upon them like fury from God, the car kicking up clouds of sand while bullets bounce off the metal shell.
“Get in, get in, get in!” Vash yells, swerving closer to them and then stopping the car.
Wolfwood curses under his breath before lunging forward, throwing the back door open and hurling himself inside. It hurts like hell, but his body was made for it, and in the commotion, he grabs a vial and breaks it between his teeth, breath trembling as the liquid pours down his throat. No one notices, not even as his body steams in an effort to rid himself of his injuries.
Vash tumbles into the back seat with him, both Meryl and Roberto having found their usual place in the front. Before Vash can even right himself, the car jerks forward, guns still shooting at them as they move forward once again.
No one follows them. Of this, Wolfwood is sure, because as soon as they’re out of the sand steamer’s sight, the bullets stop. Everything is quiet, save for the sound of sand and heavy, panting breaths.
Vash manages to pull himself upright, markings still prominent on his face as he settles into the seat. Wolfwood notices that he’s sweating, breath coming harder than normal. He rummages around, finds a half-full canteen.
“Water?” He offers, holding the container towards the blond. Vash just smiles weakly and shakes his head. Wolfwood frowns. “You need water, spikey, don’t be stupid.”
“I’m fine, Wolfwood, I’m okay,” Vash responds to his pushing, and he reluctantly puts the canteen back down.
They’re all tired.
Meryl looks close to falling asleep despite all the excitement, and when Roberto forces her into the passenger seat so that he can drive instead, her eyes shut almost immediately and her breathing evens out within minutes.
Everything is okay.
The orphanage is saved, they made it out of the sand steamer alive, and no one is hurt. Everything is fine.
Wolfwood looks over at Vash, watches as he stares out the window, the designs on his face reflected in the glass. He doesn’t look very well.
His face is pale, more so than normal, and Wolfwood has a sneaking suspicion it’s more than just because of who he is.
What he is.
Vash is a plant. Vash isn’t human. Wolfwood doesn’t care.
Everyone is alive, and everything is okay, and that is all that matters. He can deal with this shit later, deal with what this means as soon as he’s had a hot shower and some real food. This is fine.
Wolfwood doesn’t even want to think about what Knives is, if Vash is a Plant. So he doesn’t.
Instead he tears his eyes away from Vash, takes a swig of water from the canteen, and leans his head back against the seat. His eyes shut against his will, but he doesn’t fall asleep. Not now.
For now, he rests, dozing to the sound of the car engine.
—
His eyes start open when he hears a noise, not sure how long it’s been since he first closed them.
The reporter is awake now, and she and the old one are talking in hushed tones in the front seats. Wolfwood glances around, confused as to what could have made the sound, when his eyes land on the figure beside him.
Vash is slumped in his seat, face looking a little more human than before but still imprinted with those captivating lines. He isn’t pale anymore, instead appearing flushed as he squirms in his seat. Wolfwood frowns.
“You okay, needle-noggin?” Vash startles at the nickname, glancing over at Wolfwood like a deer in headlights.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he rambles, sounding somewhat breathless and painfully unconvincing.
Wolfwood notices he’s still breathing fast, maybe even faster than before. He frowns, reaching over to press a hand to Vash’s head. He’s burning up. It reminds him of the orphanage, of when fevers would render everyone ill and useless, of when he helped the caretaker by putting cool towels on their foreheads.
Vash gasps lightly when Wolfwood’s hand makes contact with his head, and Wolfwood curses.
“Everything okay?” Meryl asks, looking over her shoulder to see what’s wrong.
Vash is leaning into his touch, and Wolfwood reluctantly pulls away, trying not to put it back when Vash makes a tiny noise.
“He’s got a fucking fever,” Wolfwood growls, and Meryl hums worriedly.
“What do we do?” She asks, but Vash makes a noise of protest.
“Not a fever,” he mutters, and Wolfwood looks at him incredulously.
“The hell do you mean ‘it’s not a fever’? You’re sick, spikey, we gotta cool you down.”
“I’m not sick!” Vash insists, and Wolfwood scoffs.
“Bullshit—”
“I’m not !” He practically yells in an uncharacteristic show of passion. Wolfwood blinks, surprised, before responding with fire of his own.
“Then what’s wrong with you?” He says harshly, watching as Vash squirms away from his piercing glare. The blond mumbles something under his breath, and Wolfwood sighs.
“Gonna have to speak up, idiot.”
“It’s just… a thing. That I have. Because of what I am. I’m okay though, really.” Vash rambles, uncomfortable with the attention.
Wolfwood takes one long look at Vash. His hair is starting to stick to his skin, and the flush across his face travels down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his ridiculous jacket. He can’t seem to stop fidgeting, and Wolfwood notices that he seems to move towards him unconsciously. He looks like he’s in pain.
“We’re stopping here for the night,” Wolfwood says, and shuts Vash down as soon as he tries to disagree. “I don’t wanna hear it, needle-noggin, we all need some sleep and you look like you’ve come up from hell.”
That’s a lie. Vash, as ill as he looks, still shines brighter than anyone he’s ever seen. He’s fucking beautiful.
Roberto, having been listening to the entire conversation, pulls over to a sand dune and stops the car, shutting the engine off.
The sky is starting to darken already, the suns disappearing behind the horizon as they set up camp. Wolfwood does most of it, setting up the tents and unrolling his and Vash’s sleeping bags.
They only have two tents, one for Roberto and one for him and Vash to share. Meryl sleeps in the truck, because she’s the only one small enough to fit comfortably and because she’s the only lady. Wolfwood is never one to deny the female persuasion comforts, after all. Vash helps set up, too, but he’s starting to look much worse than before, so Wolfwood forces him to drink some water (despite Vash’s protests) and shoves him in the tent to cool off.
After everything has been taken care of, Wolfwood climbs atop the sand dune near their camp and pulls a beaten cigarette from his pack. It’s the last one. He’s been saving it, trying to hold off on smoking it, but after the day he’s had, he deserves this shit. He takes his lighter out, tossing and spinning it in the air before sparking the end of his cigarette. It feels like salvation, the smoke hitting his lungs.
It feels safe, like home.
As he exhales, he watches the tendrils of smoke curl into the air before dissipating. The stars are visible, bright and spattered across the sky like paint, like tiny pinpricks of hope. Wolfwood sits on the sand and stares up at them, wondering if there really is a God up there. He shivers in the cold, keeping his eyes trained on the sky before the cigarette is smoked down to the filter, before finally tearing his gaze away. He tosses the stub away, unworried of a fire sparking (there’s nothing to carry it), and stumbles down the hill of sand back to their tent.
It’s placed somewhat far away from the rest of the camp, partly due to him and Vash’s inclination to bicker late into the night, and also because Roberto happens to snore, though he denies it vehemently.
When he finally reaches the entrance, ducking down and pushing the fabric aside so he can get in, he notices Vash, curled up in his corner on top of the bag looking absolutely miserable. His arms are wrapped around his knees, and Wolfwood can see his chest rising and falling abnormally fast.
“Spikey? You good?” He asks softly, watching as Vash’s gaze jerks over to meet his, eyes hazy and glazed.
“Y-yeah,” Vash stutters, somehow still able to manage a smile. “I’m okay, Wolfwood.” The lie burns, so ashy and bitter even Wolfwood can feel it as soon as it leaves Vash’s mouth.
He frowns, but doesn’t push, not saying anything and instead just crawling forward into his sleeping bag. It’s starting to get cold now that the suns have gone down, and Wolfwood revels in the warmth of his cocoon. Vash keeps fidgeting next to him, but he’s so tired that it doesn’t stop him from falling asleep, drifting off to the sound of Vash seemingly settling down.
—
When Wolfwood wakes up, it’s still dark.
At first, he’s not even sure why he’s awake, but then Vash makes a sound next to him and suddenly he’s wide awake. He sits up, squinting his eyes in the darkness to look next to them.
He doesn’t have to squint much, because there’s light in the tent, there’s light on Vash, and Wolfwood is a dead mean because what the fuck.
Vash is glowing, the markings on his face faded but still present, and it provides a perfect view for Wolfwood to watch as Vash squirms, still sitting on top of his bag with his hair flat and now completely slicked with sweat.
“Vash?” He asks, and his breath catches as Vash whines, a breathy sound that seems to echo in his mind over and over again.
“Wolfwood,” Vash breathes out, and god is he going to hell for the heat starting to coil in his gut. “It’s hot, I’m so hot.”
Wolfwood freezes for a moment, because what the hell is supposed to do in the situation dear lord, but thankfully, his body seems to be able to function without his brain, because he manages to reach across the ground for the canteen and hands it to Vash.
The blond looks hesitant to accept it, but Wolfwood isn’t having any of his self-sacrificial bullshit, not tonight. Not right now.
“Drink,” he says firmly, heart jumping as Vash listens to him, practically tearing the cap off and guzzling the contents.
When it’s empty, Vash pulls it away from his face, the last remaining water running down his chin and dripping onto his lap. His already wet lap. Vash gasps, and his eyes jerk up.
“It’s so hot, Wolfwood,” he whispers, but all Wolfwood can do is watch as a few stray droplets of water spill down Vash’s face, mixing with the tears gathering at the corners of his mouth.
“Are you crying?” He asks dumbly, as if he can’t see the tears falling down Vash’s cheeks. Vash hiccups in response, shifting around on the sleeping bag. Holy shit. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he continues, moving forward to place a comforting hand on Vash’s shoulder.
As soon as his hand makes contact with Vash’s clothed shoulder, though, the blond gasps and jerks back, pushing against the corner of the tent.
“Don’t– you can’t touch me,” Vash pleads, and now Wolfwood is really confused.
“Okay,” he says, backing away and putting his arms in the air placatingly. “What can I do, then?” He asks, watching as Vash keeps crying.
God, he hates those tears.
“N-nothing. I’m fine, I just need some s-sleep,” Vash argues, but Wolfwood cuts him off.
“Don’t give me that shit, Vash, just tell me what you need,” he says, and maybe it’s the way he says it, or the fact that Vash can’t take much more of this, or that Wolfwood said his name, but Vash cracks, staring at ground and starting to rant.
“It was stupid, I shouldn’t have done it, but I did and now I’m all fucked up and I’m so sorry, and—”
“Vash,” Wolfwood says calmly. Vash looks up, tears sticking to his cheeks and clinging to his lashes. “It’s okay, I want to help you.” The blond looks conflicted, but Wolfwood doesn’t stop persisting. “Do you need space? Water? Should I get Roberto or Meryl?”
Vash shakes his head violently.
“No, don’t wake them up, I just— I need—”
“Can I touch you? Would that help?”
Vash freezes, but nods reluctantly, and Wolfwood grins a tiny, little smile.
“Words, spikey.”
“Y-yes,” Vash answers, and Wolfwood moves forward once more, this time skipping the brief hand-to-shoulder touch, instead embracing Vash in a full-body hug. Vash freezes as Wolfwood wraps his arms behind the blond’s back, pulling him so close that he’s practically sitting on his lap.
Vash breathes softly, still fast but somewhat quieter as his stiff figure slowly melts in his arms. Wolfwood squeezes him softly, one of his hands moving against his will to touch Vash’s hair. Even slick with sweat and woven with sand, it’s still one of the softest things he’s ever touched. As the hand keeps moving, starting to card through silky hair, Vash calms down even more, letting out tiny little breaths as Wolfwood lightly scratches his scalp. He even starts humming a meaningless little tune, feeling Vash’s heartbeat starting to slow down. They stay like that for a bit, still and peaceful, and Wolfwood doesn’t want this to end.
He thinks it’s working, that Vash will be able to settle down and fall asleep like this, but the position they’re in is uncomfortable for him, knees bent awkwardly and pressed against their packs, so he starts to shift, trying to pull himself into a more comfortable stance. As soon as he does, though, his knee brushes up against Vash’s crotch, and the resulting reaction has Wolfwood’s breath stuck and his dick twitching in interest.
Vash moans, hips thrusting down involuntarily, but he stops as soon as he starts, pulling back and covering his face. It doesn’t stop the persistent glow, though, and Wolfwood gets an absolutely delicious view of Vash blushing in embarrassment and something else, something that has him wanting more.
So much more.
“Spikey—”
“No!” Vash yelps. “It’s fine, I can sleep it off.” Wolfwood growls. He leans forward, staring deep into Vash’s eyes, feeling the soft glow reflected on his face.
“ Vash. I want to help. It’s okay, just let me,” he says roughly, yet strangely gentle as Vash gasps, pink lips parting to blow warm air against his face. Damn, even his breath smells good. “What do you need?”
Vash doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares, watching Wolfwood’s face with an intensity the priest rarely sees. After a heart-stoppingly long moment, Vash seems to find what he’s looking for, and pushes forward without warning, pressing their lips together. The impact knocks them both down, leaving Vash laying on Wolfwood against the rough fabric of his sleeping bag.
And this, this, is something Wolfwood wasn’t expecting.
Vash’s lips are soft, so fucking soft, and he tastes like everything Wolfwood wants and more. He tastes like sweet fruit and sugar, tangy citrus and soft flowers, and fuck he is so screwed. Vash’s mouth is electric, and Wolfwood presses back, licking the entrance to his mouth and reveling in the contented sigh Vash presses against his lips. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into the blond’s mouth, tongue exploring every crevice of the addicting heat placed in front of him.
After around half a minute, he’s forced to pull away, panting in sync with Vash as they try to catch their breaths. Vash looks so needy, and Wolfwood wants nothing more than to take that pained look off his face.
“What do you need, angel?” He questions against Vash’s lips, and smiles at the whine he lets out.
Vash doesn’t answer, not with words, at least. Instead, he presses down on Wolfwood’s crotch, sending a spike of pleasure through his abdomen. Wolfwood is breathless at the admission, but his lips still manage to twist into a smirk as his hands travel up and down Vash’s figure, stopping at the hem of his pants.
“You sure, spikey?” He asks, just to make sure.
“Yes! Please Wolfwood, I need you, I need you, I need you.”
And that’s answer enough. Like a dying man, he helps Vash struggle out of his pants in their awkward position, moving Vash so that he’s sitting up on Wolfwood’s lap. When his pants are off, Wolfwood stares at the slick that gushes from Vash’s cunt, because Vash is strange and beautiful and inhuman and lord he is not getting out of this alive. It’s so pretty, with petals that open whenever Wolfwood does something the blond likes, and ever-present slick at the entrance that has his mouth watering. He has a clit, too, and this really is the end of him, isn’t it? Vash notices him looking and squeaks, starting to mutter apologies.
“Sorry! It’s ugly, I’m sorry, please don’t stop, please don’t hate me–”
“Hate you?” Wolfwood cuts in, watching as the petals on Vash’s cunt clench and unclench, each movement sending slick trailing down his skin. “I could never hate you,” he breathes reverently, moving one finger forward to press against Vash’s entrance.
Vash whines, warm liquid coating Wolfwood’s finger as the petals unfurl to let him in, and he pushes the finger in, breath hitching at the wet heat.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he whispers, and Vash moans, louder than before and loud enough to wake someone up. Wolfwood shushes him with a kiss, sinking his finger all the way into Vash’s cunt and pressing against slick walls. He smirks. “You like when I call you pretty, angel?”
Vash moans, softer this time, and Wolfwood starts working his finger in and out of Vash, hyper-aware of every movement the blond makes.
Wolfwood fucks him on one finger a while, listening to Vash’s tiny whines and breathy moans and pressing his other hand onto Vash’s clit, swirling his fingers against the appendage before the stimulation isn’t enough for him anymore. Then, he adds another finger, groaning at the warmth of Vash’s cunt. He starts to move them faster, urged on by the sounds Vash makes, desperate to bring him to the edge, to make him feel good.
“W-Wolfwood,” Vash gasps, and he can feel his dick getting harder by the second.
“Yeah, baby?”
“M-more please, more—”
Wolfwood gives him more. He gives another finger, thrusts them faster and harder, pulls Vash down and kisses him with enough force to bruise. Vash is crying again, but this time from pleasure, this time because Wolfwood is doing something good.
He’s starting to realize that he likes doing good things, if they’re for Vash.
He thrusts his fingers again, finding his sensitive spot if Vash’s moan is anything to go by. Now that he’s found it, Wolfwood presses against it, leaving Vash gasping in pleasure before pulling them back. He does it again, stabbing the little bundle of nerves with hitman-like precision, over and over again before Vash is falling apart on his lap, moans falling into one another. He takes his hand off Vash’s clit, trading one pleasure for another. He keeps going, mouth dry at the way Vash leans on his, hands scrabbling to grab onto anything as he’s subjected to an onslaught of pleasure.
Wolfwood kisses him once again, timing his thrusts so that Vash can barely breathe, tears streaming down his face. His beautiful, flushed face. He can tell Vash wants more, so he finally gives in and puts his free hand back on the blond’s clit, pushing his fingers in and pressing on his clit at the same time.
It only takes a few more moments before Vash is cumming unannounced, hole clenching around Wolfwood’s fingers and mouth frozen in a silent scream. He lets go of the clit, but doesn’t stop finger-fucking him to the point of overstimulation, Vash squirming and whining above him. Finally, he takes pity on the beauty on top of his and carefully pulls his fingers out, Vash slumping against him, exhausted. Wolfwood smiles, pushing him back slightly.
Vash whines, confused, but Wolfwood simply pulls his own shirt over his head and wipes both of them up, tossing the cloth aside when he’s done. The tent smells faintly of citrus, and Wolfwood wonders what other parts of Vash taste good.
“Are you okay now?” He asks, maneuvering them both into a more comfortable position. He ends up pressed against Vash’s back, hard-on pressing against his ass shamelessly.
“Yeah,” Vash says sleepily. “For now.” Wolfwood raises an eyebrow.
“For now?” He asks with a smile, and Vash hums a sound of confirmation.
“Yeah, this wasn’t even the worst of it,” he continues, and now Wolfwood is really interested.
“Does that mean I can fuck you next time?” He inquires, chuckling slightly as Vash jolts against him.
“Maybe.”
The conversation ends there, but Wolfwood knows the answer. For now, though, he just presses Vash close to him and tries to fall asleep.
He doesn’t.
—
The next morning, Roberto and Meryl are confused as to why Wolfwood is so tired, and why Vash is far less sick than before, and why they seem to sit closer together in the car than before. He ignores them and passes out in the backseat, head falling unknowingly onto Vash’s shoulder.
He’s looking forward to ‘the worst of it’.