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There may have been a rule about smoking in church, but if there was, Nicholas D. Wolfwood wasn’t one to follow it.
Despite everything in Wolfwood’s nature that might suggest otherwise, he often found that there was something comforting about the mahogany embrace of old polished pews and even older stone floors, of the musty pages in those dog eared bibles lined up one by one across the benches. The way the morning sunlight filtered through the stained glass calmed him with their lazy gleams that danced on silvered pipe organs, and even someone like him could feel reverent - if only for a moment before the morning commute.
The church was empty, quiet, save for the slightly mournful hum of an organ backtrack played on crackling speakers and the skittish sweep of a broom deftly wielded a tasteful distance away by the decidedly nervous padre. Wolfwood inhaled deeply, dark eyes fluttering closed as the cherry of his cigarette glowed in the adolescent lowlight, the smoke curling up towards the dark, vaulted ceiling in lazy tendrils.
It had been many years since he had left the care of his orphanage, where he had learned prayers before bed and before each meal, where the hymns that the kindly Sisters sang had been second nature on his tongue - now they barely registered as misty half forgotten tunes in the sands of his memory.
Certainly in his line of work there was very little use for sickly platitudes plucked from a bible, and less still for someone as loyal and proficient in the devil’s servitude as he.
With a final exhale and a non-committal sigh, Wolfwood rose from his sprawl on his chosen pew and made his way out into the morning bustle - much to the relief of the priest - pausing for a moment to flick a dollar into the charity box before swiftly stepping out into the street.
*
The walk to the penthouse was a lengthy one, but Wolfwood couldn’t complain. The late October air felt good, fresh against his skin and in his lungs, at odds with the steaming hot takeaway cup of rich, dark coffee clutched in one hand, sipped through his tight lips around the butt of a ragged cigarette. People flowed around him like water, busying this way and that, with traffic already backing up bumper to bumper along main street as far as he could see - the sprawl of the city already buzzing before the morning sun had even rolled its golden rays down the sparkling glass skyscrapers to the sidewalks.
Ever the sardonic hedonist, Millions Knives kept an immaculate, if not glacially impersonal home. Mirrored glass and brushed steel made up almost every available surface, minimal and cutting in its harsh simplicity when contrasted to the white walls and plush throw rugs; sterility under the guise of luxury.
Crinkling his stained coffee cup in his hand, Nick gave a brusque nod to his associates as he made his way through the foyer, acknowledging Livio with a brief, lopsided grin and a lazy salute. Zazie lounged by the kitchen island, trailing their finger along the gilded marble counter in dispassionate little circles before they jumped off the barstool and fell into step alongside him, offering Nick a singsong purr that couldn’t have been more teasing if they had tried.
“Looks like someone’s in trouble, better get that tail between those legs, Doggie～”
The sigh that leaves Wolfwood’s lips is equal parts laugh and equal parts cough that makes his tongue taste like gold leaf tobacco and black espresso.
“Good morning to you too, Zazie - what have I done now, pray tell?” Zazie’s grin grew wider, a dangerously carnivorous little thing that made Nick’s stomach tighten with an uncanny tingle of discomfort.
“You didn’t know? Ohhh what an honour you have coming your way; you’re being promoted～”
The tingle grew to a tight, knotted little ball, heavy in the pit of Nick’s gut as the paper cup finally collapsed in on the pressure of his fist. In their industry, upward mobility came in the form of blood and depravity, and more often than not was a necessity borne out of a sudden and violently carved vacancy.
Millions Knives does not promote.
“Alright Zaz, I’ll bite - what’s the big guy want me for now?”
“Aha, it looks like you’re becoming the next babysitter , Punisher…”
The muscle in Nicholas’ jaw jumped, teeth clenching together in a way that made the butt of his cigarette twitch between disapproving lips. The cherry glowed with an agitated burn as he took an irritated drag.
Within The Eye Of Michael, there was always one position that was considered both a joy and a horror - the lackeys called it Babysitting; the Boss called it a Blessing. The job was simple enough; protect Nai Saverem’s greatest treasure, and by extension - his greatest weakness.
Vash.
The light to Knives’ dark, the Yin to the Yang, and the only living, earthly thing that Knives had any moral attachment to in any walk of life.
In principle, the job was as it suggested from the outside; be the bodyguard to the Boss’ beloved brother and protect him from any threats that may present themselves. In essence, a seemingly thankless if cushy job that allowed an Eye Of Michael member to while away the days drinking in the sunshine that was Vash Savarem.
In reality, it was a position that required the occupier to walk a tightrope that hung precariously over a lake of overbearing rules and expectation, all while looking down the loaded barrel of Knives’ infinite gaze itself. Not only was Vash the easiest and only way to cut right to the heart of the Julai’s most infamous crime syndicate, he was the only reason why Nai Savarem had a single shred of restraint.
A single wrong move and one could be messily wiped from existence by an unruly opposite gang member looking to make a mark, or alternatively be obliterated by the cruel, howling rage of blades brought down by the hand of god himself.
Wolfwood didn’t know which was the more preferable option.
When he spoke, his voice broke in a slightly undignified way, hastily buried in a furtive growl as Zazie sniggered by his side. The walk to the Boss’ office at the other end of the opulent penthouse corridor suddenly felt like something much akin to a final march - paved with granite tile and Persian throw rugs.
“Babysitting, huh? Looks like it’s my lucky day…” Zazie bounced with an almost eager glee, entirely too pleased that they had dodged the proverbial bullet that now had Wolfwood’s name on it.
“Mhmm, looks like Rolo is no longer with us…so sad. A shame, really, I thought our dear Monev would make the cut; and Vash seemed pretty taken with him, too…”
“Not helping, Zazie-”
“How long do you think you’ll last, Nick? I give it a year tops.”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine-”
“Better not keep the boss waiting, Punisher - break a leg～!”
The smokey sigh that left Wolfwood’s lips was nothing short of defeated when he twisted the jade doorknob, crossing the threshold and stepping inside the maw of the office in one smooth motion.
Once again, the Boss’ study followed a theme when it came to decoration; smooth steel and cool marble, a swathe of white and silver. However it always amused Nick to see the occasional potted plant here and there - no doubt a suggestion of Vash’s to make his brother’s home seem less of a prison and more of a sanctuary.
It was the thought that counts, right?
The sound of running water could be heard from the adjoined powder room, accompanied by the sombre swirl of piano keys playing from speakers nestled in the depths of the gilded cornicing. A single cut-crystal glass of clear alcohol sat sweating on the bureau beside the single window that opened out onto the sprawl of the city below.
Approaching the slab of marble that served as a desk, Nick’s practised swagger barely even faltered when a deep, sonorous voice cut through the soft sounds of Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, commanding and curt.
“Put that out before I cut out your tongue, Dog.”
Nick chuckled in spite of himself, rolling the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other, easily shrugging off his suit jacket to slide it onto the lone brushed steel chair opposite the familiar white leather wingback.
“And take away my only source of joy? Forgive my sayin’ so Boss, but you’re a kiljoy.” A low growl answered him, and the trickle of water came to a stop.
“A killjoy that pays your checks, pulled you out of poverty and gave you everything you have - insolent curr.” The sound of polished wingtips on marble followed the insult, and Nick found himself stubbing out his cigarette in his palm all the same with a grimace of a smile.
As much as baiting Millions Knives was an amusing hobby for the lethally adventurous, Wolfwood wasn’t particularly looking for an early grave just yet.
“Ah, but your insolent curr.”
“And don’t forget that, Nicholas.”
Nai Savarem - Millions Knives - was as cold and beautiful as the rest of his earthly accoutrements. Tall and statuesque, with thick musculature and a dignified bone structure that would be the envy of deities the world over, he was wrapped from head to toe in an air of lethality one could attribute to a leopard or a butterfly knife. Almond eyes the colour of seaglass glared out from under the hood of long lashes the colour of cartier platinum, his trademark beauty mark - one he knew that mirrored that of Vash’s - resting artfully under his right. His hair was just as effortlessly elegant, a sweep of silvery silk atop a precisioned undercut, and Nicholas could just about spy the stark jet swirl of black ink peeking out from under the collar and sleeves of his crisp Armani shirt. An Armani shirt that was once a pristine white - now marred with a curdling splatter of crimson.
Ah, so it was that kind of morning.
“I gather you know why I’ve asked for you, Wolfwood.” Nick wet his lower lip, allowing a quirk of his eyebrows in the affirmative before settling himself into the guest chair with a groan that pointed to more than just overused bones and sore muscles.
“I have an idea, yeah. You want me to babysit your brother, right?” Knives’ eyes glinted with something dangerous as he pulled on the knot of his tie, loosening the silk as he wound it around freshly cleaned knuckles before setting it down on the tabletop.
“Don’t be so disrespectful. I enjoy you Punisher, but you’re not above being corrected if need be.” Nicholas immediately held up his hands palm out in a placating gesture of surrender, leaning back into the chair and crossing his ankles while meeting Knives’ eyes through the blackened lenses of his Oakleys.
“Apologies, Angel - alright, I’ll be a good dog. What’s the gig?” Seemingly satisfied, Knives stepped over to the bureau, long fingers curling elegantly around the chilled glass of vodka, swirling it once before bringing it to his lips with an easy grace that made Nick’s hindbrain itch.
“As you may have surmised, for reasons outwith our control, our colleague Monev the Gale is no longer with us.” Nicholas wordlessly eyed his employer’s shirt and the drying rorschach of umbrous red adorning it, tonguing his teeth as he idly wondered if The Gale’s departure was intentional or not.
“Therefore, I’m reassigning you to personal security, and giving you the most precious task I can give to anyone.” Nick watched with idle fascination at the easy, elegant bob of Knives’ throat as the vodka slid home, expression pointedly impassive.
“You will indeed be looking after my brother, Vash.” Nick’s eyes tracked the movement of Knives’ cut-crystal glass as it was placed elegantly back in its coaster, catching the sun from one of the nearby windows before sighing deeply, arms folding over his chest.
“Yeah, we’ve met.” Knives watched him piercingly for a moment, the corner of his lip twitching in minute disapproval as he elegantly slid into the wingback behind the opulent desk, steepling his fingers carefully while Nicholas continued.
“So, what? I follow your baby brother around night and day, making sure he doesn’t get into trouble? That’s it?” The question was loaded as it left Nick’s tongue and Knives’ slender nostrils flared in derision.
“If you think that’s ‘it’ then you clearly misunderstand the seriousness of the position…and of the punishment should you fail, Dog.” The boss’ cold glare narrowed to shards of ice, boring into Nick and making a sick thrill rise in his chest in the way only Knives could elicit.
“He is to be untouched, unharmed, and accompanied everywhere he goes. I can’t perform this duty in the way I desire, and so the responsibility falls to you, Punisher. If you value your life, do not fuck up.”
Nick didn’t even flinch at the barely-concealed implication of grievous bodily harm, taking a slow, deep inhale through his nose, sighing with a sloppy salute before rising to his feet.
“Yeah, yeah…babysit the brat, make him happy, get paid. Anything else, Boss?”
Knives’ tone turned low, dangerous as he surveyed his guard dog with about as much contempt as he could manage while maintaining the last sliver of his civility.
“You touch him, Nicholas…and I’ll send you to the seventh hell myself.”
*
The tinkle of the shop bell was soft and welcoming as Nicholas pushed open the heavy, worn door - a shiver rippling through his body as he stepped into the sticky humidity and out of the mid-autumn chill. The lingering cling of tobacco in his nostrils was immediately replaced by a medley of sweeter scents, all floral, and all slightly overwhelming in a myriad different ways. Bursts of coloured petals, fresh greenery and an endearing mishmash of odd-and-ends pottery littered every available surface, stuffed to the gunnels with succulents, grasses and branches of foliage. The local pop radio station played cheerfully on the florist’s sound system, and Nick’s ears pricked when he heard a slightly muffled call that was half drowned by the rush of running water in the back room.
“Be there in a minute!”
If Knives Savarem was the moon - cold, beautiful, uninhabitable - then Vash Savarem was the sun, the Venus to Knives’ Mars, the light to the shadow.
Despite sharing a womb, coming into the world together, Vash seemed to inherit all the warmth that his brother lacked. Every detail, down to the soft peach of his skin, the cornflower blue of his eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled, and the chestnut gold of his hair, Vash emanated a radiance that could melt ice and warm even the most hardened hearts. Certainly, over the years Nick was no exception. They had met many times here and there, never for more than a few hours each time but as always, Vash had a way of making anyone feel like he’d known them for years.
“Nico? What a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you of all people!”
Nick smirked, dark eyes homing in on the source of the voice, who’s owner had finally trotted into view from the store-room; he was all long limbs and sunshine, clad in bright overalls and a grin, hands - one flesh, one prosthetic - curled around the stout bottom of a bucket full of red geraniums. As with the very first time he met Vash, and every time since, Nick felt something akin to excitement flicker in his chest where he assumed his heart would be - that is, if he still had one after all of his misdeeds.
“Hey, Blondie - long time no see, huh?” He gave a little huff of amusement, gesturing vaguely at the shop interior as he glanced over the top of his sunglasses, meeting Vash’s crinkle-eyed smile with a lopsided one of his own.
“Business is going well, I see.”
Setting down the bucket with a slosh on the worn wood counter, Vash chuckled and wiped his hands on his apron, nodding with such genuine enthusiasm it could have made tyrants smile.
“Hah, yeah! The changing of the seasons is always transitional, buuut it just means there’s more to play with! Dried arrangements, different challenges, all of that.” Vash barely stopped to breathe as he gushed about his plants - and Nick couldn’t help but notice with a strange envy the way Vash thumbed an errant claret petal of a stray geranium between the surprisingly deft thumb and forefinger of his prosthetic.
“Whatever you say, Needle-Noggin.” Vash gave him a little embarrassed smile, rubbing the errant chestnut hair at the back of his neck and cocking his head mildly.
“So what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you, Nico? No offence, but you don’t seem like the type of guy to buy a bouquet.” Nick barked out a laugh at that, taken off-guard by the well intentioned jab.
“Yeah, a cactus maybe.”
The laugh that left Vash’s lips was sheer sunshine at the dry remark, sky blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he busied himself with gently opening a bucket of fresh rose-buds. Wolfwood swallowed softly as he watched with fascination at the way those elegant fingers begun to dance and caress around the young petals, dipping into the dewy furls here and there to encourage the little slips of colour to relax outward.
“Actually, your brother sent me. He thought that you could use - uh - a friend.” A dark brown brow shot upward into strands of gold at that, Vash’s eyes flicking up to his before they rolled back down to his flowers with a fond kind of resignation.
“A friend, huh? That’s a new way of saying it…more like a jailer, right?” Nick snorted, rustling around in the lining of his suit pocket for his crinkled pack of smokes, unable to stop the lazy grin that curls his lips.
“Nothin’ gets past you, Spikey.” A pause as Wolfwood considered his words, tonguing a cigarette out of the squished little cardboard box. “Your brother is pretty damn fond of you.” A flick-clink of a zippo. “To a fault.”
Vash didn’t look up at first, smiling softly as he arranged the last petal in the bucket, stripping a couple of leaves off a stem or two before plumping the bouquet, satisfied. If he disapproved of Wolfwood’s smoking, he didn’t say it.
“Mm, he’s always been that way, ever since we were kids…”
It was common knowledge between those close enough to the heart of the Saverems that the twins were brought into the world together, separated by tragedy on a rainy December night, then raised in entirely different worlds before being reunited in a way that Knives ensured he was never without his little brother again - even if it meant blurring the boundaries between love and obsession.
Vash laughed a little darkly before glancing up at Wolfwood, waggling his prosthetic hand with a deceptively nonchalant little “Car wrecks are a hell of a thing, huh?”
Nick paused for a second, rolling his cigarette along his bottom lip with a swipe of his tongue, voice soft.
“Yeah, Tongari - they really are.” A moment of sombre silence settled like snow over them in the humid little flower shop, but as soon as it had appeared, Vash was quick to dust it away. With another one of those beautiful smiles, he hefted his bucket of roses, gesturing towards a box of succulents on the counter with a pointed little glance at Nick.
After all, he was never one to brood.
“C’mon Punisher, help me with these, I could use an assistant!”
“Hey, being your little bitch-boy isn’t in my job description-” Wolfwood was immediately cut off with a peal of musical laughter, and his chest relaxed as the mood brightened by the second.
“May as well make yourself useful!”
*
As much as babysitting wasn’t his forte, Wolfwood supposed that there could be worse jobs under the iron fist of Knives Savarem.
The days rolled by without incident, spent mostly inside the cosy embrace of Vash’s flower shop amongst other places - Vash’s little downtown apartment and the local bakery became staples of Wolfwood’s day.
So it went, week by week; Wolfwood accompanying Vash for coffee and donuts on the walk to the flower shop, followed by mindless yet endearing chatter as Vash tended to his business - while Nick sat awkwardly behind the counter perched on a rickety oak stool, avoiding as many questions from customers as possible - and then dinner on the way home at Vash’s favourite noodle bar before dropping him safe and sound on the well-worn doormat at the entrance of Vash’s home.
What begun as obligation became routine and before he fully realised it, Wolfwood could have sucker-punched himself with the sudden creep of eagerness that wormed its way into his belly each morning with the absence of blood, bullets and street fights.
“Hey Nico?”
“Yeah, Blondie?”
“You want to come celebrate Milly’s birthday tonight?” Vash’s tone was upbeat, bright as summer sun despite his mouth being half full of warm cinnamon dough while his nose turned pink from the chill in the air. Snow was starting to fall, Nick noted dully as he tore his eyes away from the way Vash batted at his sugared lips with a mitten, dusting off the remnants of a particularly large bite of donut. Clearing his throat, Nick chuckled, handing Vash a crinkled napkin.
“Do I have a choice?”
Vash grinned, his red woollen scarf riding up his chin as he gave a little bubble of laughter, and Wolfwood felt his stomach swoop with an enthusiastic dose of something horribly akin to longing.
“That’s the spirit!”
*
There was something settling about the way the bass of the club took root in Wolfwood’s chest, the heavy beat of the music drumming in a delightful reverberating staccato within his sternum, giving his leg a lazy bounce as his head fizzled pleasantly with the comforting buzz of dark molasses bourbon. Strobes of coloured light threw themselves in erratic pulses over the roil of bodies on the dance floor, the deafening sound of laughing, cheers and chatter all stirring into the mix as Nick leaned back on the polished mahogany bar.
From his barstool he could just make out the three silhouettes of Vash and two other women - Meryl and Milly, dressed to the nines and double fisting beers - dancing boisterously in the way that only people after a few rounds of booze could dance.
From this distance he could see the way Vash swayed and bounced to the music, those tan cheeks pink with exertion (and a couple of tequila shots, he’d wager) as he lost himself in the moment, and for a breathless second Nick couldn’t help but swallow dryly as he followed the sinuous roll of Vash’s slender leather-clad hips to the beat. Dressed in geranium red paired with wet-look black leather, golden hair swept with effortless charm, he was a thing of utter beauty - and with startling clarity Wolfwood suddenly understood why Knives was so protective of his treasure.
Not that he hadn’t been realising over the weeks regardless, whether he wanted to or not.
Funny how that works.
“Hey Nico! C’mon Punisher, dance with me!” Vash’s exhilarated grin could have put the stars to shame with its brightness, one hand outstretched and eager for Nick to take while the other clutched around a glass hi-ball of something no doubt fruity and deceptively dangerous. Nick simply chuckled in response, an amused - and fond - thing as he allowed his dark eyes to travel from Vash’s face to his feet and back again before tossing back the last of his bourbon. Uneasily, he thought of Knives, and tried to calm his nerves by assuring himself that his boss was in the next town over on business and would never bear witness to what might happen next.
“I don’t dance, Blondie.” Vash immediately frowned, pink lips glossy with flecks of glitter making a little pout of disapproval. Nick felt a bloom of heat in his stomach as soon as the hand that was outstretched came to rest on his bare chest between the folds of his crisp lapels, Vash’s cool fingertips pressed against his skin in a shockingly familiar show of touch that Wolfwood was simply unprepared for.
“Aaaw don’t say that Nicoooo, you have to dance! It’s Milly’s birthday, I can show you how!”
Vash’s big baby blues and pouty lips pleaded with him and Nick felt the resistance bleed out of him like sand in an hourglass. Rolling his eyes, he gave a rueful little chuckle, allowing Vash to curl his hand into his shirt and pull him toward the dancefloor eagerly, pushing their way through the sea of bodies that thrummed to the beat.
“Like I can refuse you, Spikey…alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Famous last words, Nico!”
Vash wasted no time throwing him a cheshire cat grin, pulling Wolfwood’s hands to settle on the nip of his waist, hips immediately flowing into salacious rolls and sways as Nick’s grip tightened on his hem, falling into sync with Vash’s movements. As the music grew in intensity, so did Vash’s moves - immediately his arms snaked daringly around Nick’s neck, the two of them pulled chest to chest as Vash leaned in hot and close, without fear and spurred on by the sweet vodka coating his tongue. Wolfwood was close enough that he could smell the alcohol on his breath, eyes widening as Vash’s met his own, startlingly clear in the strobing lowlights of the club, pulling Nick in like a siren’s call and leaving him breathless.
It was laughably easy how quickly the busy club fell into the background, leaving only the throbbing bass in Nick’s chest as he matched the deep, slow grind of Vash’s hips on his, skin prickling as Vash scritched the damp, silky hair at his nape with electrifyingly carefree, intimate touches. Vash’s lips brushed his ear when he leaned forward to speak, voice an amused little hum, dark and pleasantly amused. It made Nick’s stomach flip embarrassingly easily.
“You’re really good at this, Wolfwood - when did you learn to dance?” Wolfwood chuckled a little breathlessly, wetting his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, fingers spreading inquisitively against the heat of Vash’s back.
“Hah, just naturally gifted I guess; one of my many talents.” Vash laughed at that, a sweet, musical thing that made Nick grin with exhilaration as that golden head nuzzled boldly against his cheek, lips once again brushing against his temple in a maddening kind of teasing gesture that threatened to stoke the fire in Nick’s belly from embers into an inferno.
“Oh? How about you show me if you have another talent…one a little more fun?”
Before Wolfwood could question it, Vash’s lips were pressed against his own, soft and hot and entirely like candy, addictive and intense. A full body shiver rippled upwards through Nick’s back, and he couldn’t help the moan that left his nose if he’d tried; Vash tasted like sunshine and good times, with a tang of sweet stolichnaya and a hint of mint - and Nick swore he almost blacked out as he felt the gentle telltale pressure for permission against his lips. Without thinking he let Vash in, and the two intertwined impossibly closer as the heated tension mounted higher and higher with every touch of tongue. Wolfwood felt the fingers tangled in his hair tighten with every passing second, and he could only respond in kind with a clumsy slide of his fingertips under Vash’s leather waistband, desperate to touch something, anything that might ground him.
When they finally broke apart they were a symphony of adrenaline, mouths open and breath mingling hotly in laden pants, lips brushing with hands fisted in hair, eyes hooded - both dark brown and stormy blue. Vash was hoarse when he spoke, licking his swollen lower lip with a knowing grin, cheeks dimpling.
“You wanna get out of here, Nico?” Wolfwood could have moaned with sheer want in reply, dipping forward to press a hot, eager kiss at the junction of Vash’s jaw as the blonde chuckled tipsily.
“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.”
*
While Wolfwood had spent a lot of time in Vash’s apartment, it looked completely different at night, in the dark and through the buzz of 50% proof alcohol - not to mention the hurried rush of eager hormones.
The pair of them cursed and laughed through a storm of desperate kisses, kicking off boots and coats while their hands wandered over spans of clothing and then further still, fingertips tracing along hemlines and dipping under to make featherlight contact with flushed, damp skin. They almost tripped over each other’s feet in the corridor, almost forgoing the sanctity of the Vash’s room entirely during a particularly heated grind against the bedroom door - however once the back of Vash’s knees had hit the edge of the mattress they tumbled easily into the sheets.
Nick was acutely aware of the way his heart pounded against the catch of his ribs, blood rushing in his ears - even as Vash’s teeth nipped cheekily against the shell of his ear he knew vaguely that this probably wasn’t one of his best ideas. After all, sleeping with a client in and of itself was grounds for divorce; however, sleeping with Vash Savarem was more akin to signing his own death warrant. But then again, who was he if not a man who liked to tempt fate? As far as Nick was concerned, there were definitely worse ways to go than after a night between those strong, lithe thighs. The same strong, lithe thighs that had already hooked themselves around his waist, bringing their hips together in a tight, desperate grind.
Hell, maybe Knives would take pity and make it swift. Regardless, Wolfwood was in far too deep to pull out now.
Sparkling blue eyes gleamed up at him as he leaned back to allow Vash room to set his elegant fingers to work popping the buttons of Nick’s shirt, revealing a swathe of dusky skin and a liberal dusting of dark, silky fuzz following the grooves and dips of muscle at Nick’s abdomen. With a little grin of amusement, Vash purred as he stripped the shirt away, tossing it haphazardly into the corner before beckoning Wolfwood back down against him with a devious curl of his pointer finger, which Nick followed with all the obedience of a guard dog befitting his stature; chest to chest, nose to nose.
“Y’know, I always had a crush on you, Nico.” Wolfwood huffed out a laden laugh, lips brushing against Vash’s with such beautiful, soft friction that he felt like a livewire, skin buzzing and itching for more.
“Oh? That so, Spikey?” Nick’s voice was more rumble than anything else, and he couldn’t help but groan as Vash rolled his hips upward against his own, making a surge of liquid heat curl tight in the pit of his stomach. Wolfwood was acutely aware of the way his cock had long since started to fatten with the attention, trapped and straining down the leg of his pants, and he felt breathless as Vash cocked an eyebrow at him knowingly. Vash nodded with sly amusement, suckling Nick’s lower lip with a coquettish hum before pulling off with a flourish.
“Mhm - wondered if you’d be brave enough to do this; I’m glad you are.”
Wolfwood felt insane, taking a shuddering breath as the heat between their bodies swelled - here he was, braced half naked over the equally dishevelled twin brother of his morally dubious (obsessed) employer, damn near ready to trade his life for one night of ecstasy.
“Hah, I don’t know if brave is the right word…stupid, maybe.” He paused, breath momentarily stolen as he watched the way Vash smiled up at him, golden hair splayed over the pillow like a halo, with long shadows cast down his cheeks from his lashes in the lowlight. Nick dropped his forehead down into the crook of Vash’s neck, breathing in the scent of sweet musk, florals and something so purely Vash that it made his head spin.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful, Tongari.” A mischievous giggle in response, a hand sifting through his hair - flesh, not fibreglass.
“Then show me how beautiful you think I am, Nico.”
“Christ, you don’t have to tell me twice…”
Wolfwood could barely breathe as he stripped Vash bare, calloused fingers trembling with anticipation as the sheer crimson shirt Vash was wearing was pulled over his fluffy golden head, followed by those impossibly fitted leather trousers. Nick damn near fainted with the sudden rush of blood south when he realised with startling clarity as the waistband travelled down the span of Vash’s slender hips that Vash had gone entirely commando for the night. The groan that left Wolfwood’s throat upon the discovery was barely human when he spoke, kneading his thumbs into the soft dips of Vash’s hips, littered in little silken scars.
“You plannin’ on this, huh?”
Vash didn’t answer immediately, simply flashing him a cheeky grin as he lifted his hips graciously, allowing Wolfwood to peel off the remaining leather. Vash’s eyes gleamed in the soft glow of the moonlight as he let his thighs fall open, offering Wolfwood an impossibly beautiful prize, ripe for the taking.
“What if I was? Are you sad about it?”
“Hell no…”
Wolfwood’s mouth flooded with saliva at the sight of Vash spread out beneath him - if there was a more stunning creature on earth, he didn’t know of one. Vash was every inch a painting; smooth, lithe planes of tan skin marked with raised cuts that were many years old, soft and faded, while two newer ones - pink and prominent - hugged the lower swells of his delicate pectorals. His body was all long limbs, lean muscle and soft tissue, a mix of an athletic foundation and a luxurious lifestyle including the intricate prosthetic of his arm. The curve of his hips and the gentle, barely-there swell of his stomach swept lower, making Wolfwood swallow. Soft pink folds and peachy lips, slick and puffy with a delicate dusting of golden hair - Vash’s pussy was a thing of utmost beauty. With an explorative, awestruck thumb, Wolfwood gently spread one of Vash’s asscheeks to the side, moaning softly as the movement spurred a rivulet of eager moisture to dribble down the cleft of Vash’s ass from his silky, sakura-coloured insides. Vash sighed with approval at the touch, eyes fluttering shut as the stiff little jut of his dick twitched with arousal.
Nick could barely breathe when he finally managed to find his voice, throat dry as he slid down the comforter, one thick, sinewy arm wrapping around each of Vash’s feathersoft thighs. He was so close he could smell the scent of Vash’s musk, intermingled with his rose soap and clean laundry, and Nick felt his cock kick underneath him, pressed up against the sheets, wet and leaking already.
“Fuck, Angel…you’re incredible, gotta get my mouth on you or I might lose my mind-”
Vash huffed out a laugh in response, canting his hips upward as if to tempt Wolfwood further, his flesh hand coming down to frame his plump, pretty cunt, his slender index and ring fingers split either side of his slit, squeezing gently.
“There’s not a moment to lose, Punisher-ah! Ohhhhh fuck!”
Vash’s voice jumped an octave, catching on a strained, sudden moan of pleasure as Nick’s broad, slick tongue lathed over his sex, curling luxuriously where his swollen clit throbbed hot and needy, nestled under the flushed hood. Vash’s back arched off the bed, hands shooting down to grip at Wolfwood’s hair with a gasp as the Punisher went to work, head swimming.
Wolfwood ate like a man starved, talented tongue mapping out every inch of soft, sweet skin, lapping and licking every drop of slick, breathing out what Vash was sure was a prayer against his molten clit before sealing his lips around it and suckling with an intensity that made Vash’s breath punch from his chest with ease. Vash’s head spun as he slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the debauched litany of groans that he barely believed he was making, thighs threatening to slap shut against Wolfwood’s ears as his breath hitched in his chest. He could vaguely feel the way Nick was kneading his thighs, fingertips working into the skin to leave possessive little bruises, and Vash saw stars when the Punisher gave a particularly hot slide of his tongue against the firebrand that was his dick.
“F-fuck, Nico, god please, more, so good-!” A symphony of praises and hallowed begging tumbled from Vash’s lips as Nick’s nose, mouth and chin began to drip with slick, and Wolfwood groaned throatily against the sweet folds of Vash’s chubby, pink, beautiful cunt, dark eyes rolling back with sheer pleasure.
This is where he belonged, this is what he was made for, Nick was sure of it - his altar wasn’t made of stone and leather or pretty words and incense; no, his heaven was made of blonde hair and blue eyes, of peachy skin and mindless self indulgence.
Vash was getting close, body tensioning like a bowstring, pulling back into a beautiful arch, ready to snap and release at any moment. Perhaps it was a little too devious, then, for Nick to glide two fingers through the wet, slippery mess of Vash’s taint, coating them in slick before pressing inside the hot, wet velvet clutch of Vash’s body, making his angel scream with a wild abandon that he was sure god himself would hear. As soon as Nick’s fingers slid in to the knuckle he didn’t even try to stop himself from cursing, giving his digits a little scissoring curl in the tight, pillowy, eager clench of Vash’s sex as Vash’s hole throbbed and twitched around the intrusion. He’d barely completed the slow outward drag before Vash was crying out at the loss, prompting Nick to grin, pleased, before pumping his fingers back inside in a movement that made his angel sob.
And so beautiful were Vash’s sounds of ecstasy, that neither of them could have stood a chance of hearing the door unlock and swing open, as a certain figure shoved open the bedroom door roughly by the handle, standing shadowed and dangerous in the haloed light of the hallway.
As soon as the doorknob made contact with the wall, Wolfwood froze in sick horror as Vash pulled away from him in a wild, clumsy jerk, eyes wide as he scrambled up the pillows backward, squinting at the man in the doorway before he managed to force out a small, timid little;
“Nai…? Nai?! How did you-”
Knives was deathly silent, lips pressed into a cold line of fury, pale eyes narrowed at them both with something akin to disgust. His fist was clenched around a small silver key, and he held it up wordlessly to indicate how he’d managed to get in - and when he spoke his tone was sharp as steel.
“I had finished negotiations early and I had thought I would visit for a nightcap with my dear baby brother on my way back into town to celebrate…” His icy eyes flicked pointedly to Wolfwood, who immediately cringed, swiping a hurried forearm over his sodden mouth to try and hide his indiscretions.
“Clearly, however, you had other plans.” Vash swallowed, bringing his knees to his chest as his cheeks burned pink, a hand going to squeeze at Wolfwood’s bicep.
“Listen, Nai, don’t punish Nico, this was my idea-” Knives’ eyebrows shot up at the nickname, and Vash continued hurriedly, feeling Nick tense under his palm.
“I promise I wanted this, I like him, Nai - I like him a lot, understand? I know you want the best for me, but I deserve to have something I want, what I need… ”
Knives paused, and Nick could have sworn he saw a flicker of pity - or understanding - lick across those perfect porcelain features, softening his frown for just a moment before his nostrils flared with possessive disbelief. His free hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically at his side and Nick eyed it warily, relief blooming in his chest that Knives hadn’t already tried to murder him in cold blood. The silence stretched for a moment, and Vash ventured a cautious look at his brother.
“Nai?”
“Him, Vash? Really? Of all people…?” Opening his mouth to protest, Wolfwood fell silent when Vash prodded him with a warning toe. Vash nodded, offering Knives a placating smile, eyes bright and honest.
“Yeah, Nai; he’s really good for me.”
Another silence followed as Knives considered his beloved brother’s words, and Nick could have prayed to god himself to thank him for the way Knives’s shoulders seemed to relax a little, a slow breath pulling from between those pale pink lips in resignation.
After all, Millions Knives could never deny his baby brother anything, no matter how hard he tried, and the ire of his beloved sibling would always be something Knives strived to avoid at all costs. And so, while shrugging off his sleek white coat, followed by the top two buttons of his crisp Prada shirt, Knives relented.
“Very well then, Vash. I’ll allow it this once…” A slow, knowing smirk. “On the condition that I see to it he does the job properly.”
*
“What’s the matter, Mutt? Suddenly lost your confidence?”
Knives’ voice slid like molten sugar down the curve of Wolfwood’s spine, caressing him with that dangerous confidence that made Nick shudder, despite the warmth of Vash squirming underneath him, and his boss caging him in from behind. Nick was acutely aware of Knives against his back, knelt behind him as naked as the day he was born, all pale, sleek skin and taught muscle, generating enough heat to make him feel like he was burning alive. Heat, stoked anew, burned in the pit of his belly as he was stretched open slow and easy on Knives’ fingers, the tight furl of his hole stretched wet and wide around the girth of them. His once flagging cock was hanging heavy and dripping between his thighs, the ruddy head of it shiny and glossy as Vash gazed up at him, thighs pressed up to his chest, laid bare and open for his guard dog and his brother to devour.
On a spur of mild hysteria, Nick snorted a gravelly reply as Vash rolled his hips upward on a sinful little buck, making Wolfwood hiss as his cock slid through the slick folds of Vash’s beautiful cunt; so close and yet so far.
“Nah, Boss…just real hard to concentrate with your fingers in my ass-” Nick yelped as Knives clicked his tongue and gave his hand a rough little bounce, making Nick pant and clench. A dangerous arm curled around his chest, and Knives gave one of Nick’s stiff nipples a mean pinch before holding him steady, effectively cutting off any retort.
“Shut up, idiot. Focus on him.”
Wolfwood’s head swam, his mouth dry as cotton as he stared down at the younger Savarem twin, who looked back up at him with a bitten lip and a coy smile, teasing the soft, hot skin of Nick’s lower belly with his toes as if to coax him closer. Vash’s eyes were hooded, needy, and Nick would have dropped to his knees to worship if only Knives would have released him.
“Please, Nico - give it to me, god, please-”
Knives’ voice was carnivorous in his ear as he hooked his chin over Nick’s shoulder, thoroughly enjoying the way his guard dog’s breath hitched as he took matters into his own hands, curling his fingers around the base of Wolfwood’s drooling cock and rubbing it against the silken soft entrance of his brother’s pussy. Nick could feel with obscene clarity the way Knives’ own dick was pressed up hard against his hip, and with a choked off hiss, he realised the older Savarem was just as into this as he was.
“You heard him, Dog…give him what he wants.”
Nick could have sobbed to the heavens as soon as Knives guided him down further, kissing up against Vash’s entrance for just a split second before he pressed inside in one slow, deep grind, the entire length of him swallowed by the slick grip of Vash’s cunt, clenching around the thick intrusion as Wolfwood hilted in a couple of stuttered, eager bucks. Vash wasn’t faring much better, on cloud nine and barely coherent as he let out a rich, bubbling laugh of arousal, rolling his hips in tiny swivelling motions as he revelled in the stretch. Only Knives kept a grip on his composure, effortlessly cool despite the way his own dick twitched pink and ready against Wolfwood’s skin.
“That’s it, a little bit deeper, Nicholas…he likes it rough.” Nick hissed through his teeth, a harried breath that came out sounding as ragged as he felt. As if pulled on invisible strings, Nick gave a quick, eager thrust of his hips, and he swore he heard the obscene squish sound of Vash’s sweet pink pussy slapping against the cradle of his hips as they arched together. If that wasn’t enough, Knives’ fingers gave a salacious curl and twist inside him, and Wolfwood was sure that stars popped in the periphery of his vision as his back bowed inward.
“F-fuck, Vash, Knives, Jesus Christ-” A sudden squeeze as Vash’s hands, hot to the touch, shot out to grip at Wolfwood’s thighs.
“Oh God! Nico, so good! More!”
It was if Vash’s wrecked, honey-rich voice immediately unlocked something feral in Nick. He’d come this far and still kept his head, if he were to die immediately post-threesome at his boss’ hand, he supposed there were worse ways to go than being freshly fucked and mildly buzzed on good bourbon. That, and with Vash making those noises? For him? No mortal man could resist, even with the ever present threat of being cut out of existence by Millions Knives.
With all self restraint snapped to pieces, he began in earnest, making Vash gasp with a sudden moan that made a shudder zip down Nick’s spine, belly on fire as he started to bounce Vash’s hips in a flurry of bucks. He could hear Knives’ breath in his ear, a little heavier, a little hotter, and he knew from what he saw from the corner of his eye that his boss was looking squarely at his baby brother, admiring with a kind of obscene reverence that should have been indecent.
Vash simply bloomed under the attention, back leaving the sheets in a beautiful arch as his debauched moans bubbled from his throat like champagne, such luxury and obscenity all in one that seemed to captivate Nick and Knives alike. With every slide and drag of Wolfwood’s cock Vash seemed to shiver with sheer bliss, glowing with his pleasure. His peachy-spit slicked lips were open on a near angelic smile, and Nick felt the way Knives’ throat bobbed against the damp skin of his shoulder with nothing short of sheer desire before he spoke, low and husky.
“This isn’t all about pleasure, Nicholas - you still haven’t had your punishment…” There was a pause as Nick’s throat tightened, hips stuttering for a moment (much to Vash’s foggy chagrin) as Knives’s teeth grazed the hot shell of his ear with uneasy intent.
“How long has it been since someone’s had you, mm?” Wolfwood’s brain short-circuited, his glossy, slick hole giving a sudden clench around the two lubed fingers still knuckle deep inside him as his stomach flipped.
“Boss-?” A low chuckle as dangerous as poison made his ears grow impossibly hotter.
“Don’t expect me to be gentle, Puppy.”
Before Nick could even form something resembling a question he was once again seeing stars burst in his vision as he felt the easy slide and slick, delicious burn of his hole being speared open by the thick length of Knives’ cock - and fuck, it was perfect . Head hanging low between his shoulders, Wolfwood could barely breathe with the sudden pleasure-pain of being fucked while being balls deep in the plushest cunt he’d ever experienced. It was like a live-wire was connected at both ends, arousal coursing through him like a million volts, head dizzy with the sheer intensity of sensation. Panting, he could feel the way Knives growled into the moist skin at his nape, that pale, silken hair brushing against the round of Nick’s shoulder, and Nick could have laughed deliriously at the realisation that this was the most undone that he’d ever seen his usually stalwart employer. Because of him, because of them.
If Nick didn’t know any better, he’d consider this a religious moment.
No sooner had Nick thought he’d adjusted, grip tight on Vash’s ankles, Knives drew his hips back and punched forward again in one brutal slap, and Nick’s eyes watered as he was sent forward into the hot clutch of Vash’s cunt. The three of them let out a symphony of moans all at once, desperately intimate and obscenely eager - it took mere moments for them to find a rhythm that they chased with tunnel vision. The room was a cacophony of hedonistic sound; rough growls and deep groans, all intermingled with the depraved slap and squish of slickened skin on skin. Nick could smell the heady perfume of musk and cologne mixing with the scent of the alcohol left on their tongues and fuck if it didn’t make the tension in his belly burn tighter.
“Hhgh, Nico, Nai-! Feels so gooOOOOood-!” Vash’s voice rose above the guttural moans of his lovers, rich and beautifully needy as he slid his shaking flesh hand down the span of his stomach, chest rising with a shudder as his fingertips begun to circle and dance around the wet jut of his dick in increasingly wanton motions. Nicholas immediately let out a choked off groan as he felt Vash clench around his cock, milking him tight and insistent, inadvertently causing him to do the same in turn to Knives, who snarled out a shout behind him with his teeth biting into Nico’s nape with feral abandon.
It was a feedback loop of sweet euphoria, starting with Vash and ending at Knives, coursing through Nick as the conduit - and Wolfwood was sure he was ruined for anyone else after the experience of sinful worship at the twisted, beautiful altar of Savarem.
Soon enough the rhythm of their hedonism began to unsettle, each of them drowning in pleasure as they chased their orgasms - Nick could barely think coherently, sandwiched between the brothers with his eyes rolled back, skin on fire as he felt Vash’s moans and gasps pitch higher, with Knives plunging himself deep and quick in rough, selfish thrusts that had Wolfwood’s thighs shaking. The tension was rising, stretched taut and delicate, pure electric pleasure ready to snap.
When it did, Nicholas could have seen the face of god.
Vash peaked first with a rapid flick of his fingers and a sudden scream of ecstasy, head thrown back and tears of pleasure rolling down his heated cheeks. The chain reaction set in motion by the slick, spasming clench of Vash’s heavenly cunt immediately sent Wolfwood into wild freefall, balls pulling up tight as he hunched over the angel beneath him, mouth open in a throaty moan as he spilled deep and hot. Only Knives, beautiful and deadly, kept any sense of elegance during his orgasm. The hard milking pulses of Wolfwood’s sodden hole sent his eyelids fluttering, long platinum lashes twitching as his jaw clenched on a guttural snarl of release, fingers set to bruise on Nick’s hips as his own jumped in aborted little thrusts to completion, deep and wet.
For a moment, there was only the heated exchange of panting breath and the sticky slide of skin on skin, limbs entwined around limbs. Then Wolfwood winced as Knives began the agonisingly perfect outward drag, followed by the obscene drool of pearlescent come down his taint. With a swallow - and a sudden sense of emptiness as his hole clenched needily around nothing - Nick followed suit, and Vash purred with a luxurious catlike stretch as he traced his fingers through the mess that Wolfwood had left, a dopey smile curled on his lips. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, yet bathed in serenity, and Wolfwood’s heart swelled at the sight of him.
“Nai…?”
“Mm?”
“Can we keep him?”
