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Wolfwood was beginning to wonder if this glorified babysitting job was worth the number of times he'd been forced to play battlefield medic.
Vash was accident-prone. And it didn't help that, even under the all smiles and sunshine, Vash was stubborn as hell. Even after Wolfwood dragged his ass from nearly being maimed beyond repair, Vash would scurry away from any further attempt of Wolfwood's to help.
Today, it had been disastrous.
Vash was in a state of disrepair that bordered on falling apart completely. A rough run-in with some bandits, and sure enough, the dumbass couldn't keep his mouth shut like a normal person. So Wolfwood had hauled Vash's dead weight back to their motel.
"You gonna let me help ya?" Wolfwood knew the answer before he asked. But he couldn't stop indulging in the curtesy, not when Vash was lying on a cheap mattress, shaking like an abused dog.
"I'll be fine."
That's what he'd thought Vash would say, but it didn't settle his skepticism. He had bled through his clothes, soaking a crimson stain into the mattress he lay on. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Each one made Wolfwood cringe violently.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever ya say."
That was the usual. Vash would lay awake while Wolfwood tried to rest, crying so softly he was sure no one would hear. His groaning and whining echoed in Wolfwood's brain, lulling him to sleep. And when Wolfwood awoke, his wounds would be replaced with scar tissue, and he would be ready to move again. Wolfwood had to constantly remind himself Vash wasn't exactly human, and the same rules didn't apply to him.
Wolfwood tried sleeping off the unjustified anxiety, tossing and turning and only sleeping a blink before his eyes would flutter open again. He looked out the window, near his mattress, seeing the moons had only moved perceivably inches in the sky since he last fell asleep. He was sick of it and officially too tired to lay there anymore.
He sat up, mattress creaking under his weight. Throwing off the covers, he massaged his temples and blinked the weight of fatigue from his eyelids. He could just take a walk, get a drink, and then return before Vash even noticed he had scurried away. An old-fashioned, if the bar was still open.
He heard a groan from the bathroom. His head shot up, instantly alert, reaching for the punisher leaning against his bedframe. He glanced at Vash's bed, then rolled his eyes and released his weapon. Vash was just in the bathroom; that was all. Nothing bad was going on, he told himself to ease his fluttering heartbeat. And yet, the sense of anxiety persisted. He stood, shuffling with as much stealth as he could muster to the door.
The groans were louder up close. It wasn't just groaning; there was a deep guttural clicking, wet hissing, and squelching. A gross, saturated pop sounded every couple of seconds. Wolfwood stood there. His stomach churned, thoughts moving fast to make sense of what he was listening to. It sounded like a wild animal.
He rapped on the door twice, gently, and the noises ceased. "Hey, spikey, are you good in there? I gotta piss," he lied. Behind the door, there was a crash. Like thrashing, clattering, a force hitting each wall before settling silently. That jarred Wolfwood back to full consciousness.
He fought the door handle, swearing loudly when it wouldn't open. He looked around for an answer before settling on kicking the door so he could worry about the fees later. If Spikey was in trouble, that was the priority.
The bathroom was pitch black. Wolfwood couldn't see anything beyond his nose, and the vague shape of the bathroom was the only thing not illuding him. There was no Vash—only soft, formless animations in the bathtub. Wolfwood's breath hitched violently. Something was in there, a black oscillating form with jutting edges extending from it like stalks. It made soft breathing noises, but the emissions were like a whistle. The kind of whistle that, when you hear alone at night, you turn around and start running.
His fingers trembled as he reached around desperately for the light. It took a moment, and whatever was in the tub hissed in protest. Wolfwood clamped his eyes shut and bathed it in the flickering motel light.
Oh. That's Vash .
Except it wasn't. Wolfwood knew plants weren't humans and that the form Vash and his brother took didn't reflect their nature. He should have logically understood that whatever Vash was wasn't in his realm of comprehension, but…
He was wrong. Everything about him was wrong. His body had shifted from fair but sunburnt into something with a glossy sheen, broken up by feathers that would grow, fall off, and then grow two more in rapid succession. A fallen angel's broken, formless wings were jutting from his back. His face had become too long, too close to a muzzle, so sharp Wolfwood worried he would be sliced open if he touched it. His eyes reflected the light like a cat in the moonlight.
Wolfwood's entire body was trembling against his will. Fuck, he was going to be sick. Not because Vash was disgusting, but because something-something in his head was screaming that this thing wasn't supposed to exist here, and he wasn't supposed to see it. His tongue was heavy as lead, and it lagged behind the thoughts in his brain. He spoke like he had input delay, throat clogged with baseless fear. He tried breaking through the illusion of antipredator trepidation to see past the unfathomable form but was sorely disappointed that Vash didn't suddenly congeal back to a stable form.
"What the hell are you doing?" Wolfwood's voice betrayed his trembling, but he took in stride. He broke through the amber of fear holding him in place, grabbed Vash's wrist, and wrenched it away from whatever he was toying with. His fingers, too long and nails filed into a point, came out bloody. More than just bloody-they were gorey. Bits of chipped flesh stuck to the underside of his talons, still dripping and saturated.
"I don't understand," He meant to keep that in his head, but his previously leaded mouth spoke before he could think. "You hurting yourself in here?" he asked, genuinely unsure what answer he would recieve. It wasn't his business; he wanted to scream at himself, but the thought of Vash curling up alone and tearing open his scars boiled his blood.
Vash pulled himself away with such strength that Wolfwood stumbled. He tried to retreat further into the tub but only succeeded in showing off more of his uncanny body. His wounds were pulsating. Now dry and crackling, the one on his hip ran cavernously deep into his flesh, and the approximated wound edges vibrated. All his wounds were. Vash noticed he was looking and crumpled back down.
Wolfwood sat on the tub's edge, unable to identify his emotions. His brain fell victim to itself, as it did, by retreating far away behind his eyes. He would do it when he was younger to get through his training, and now the habit stuck when he felt fear strangle him like weeds. It didn't help that Vash's reflective eyelids blinked up at him with the apprehension of a stray cat unsure of how to approach the stranger holding their hand out to it. Wolfwood suddenly was craving a cigarette, a sweet sting of nicotine to reorient himself to his body.
"I'm healing them."
The voice was undoubtedly Vash's, bringing initial comfort and reassurance to Wolfwood's malaise. But the more he thought and listened, the more his voice sounded too wistful and dreamy, like a mewl of a predator trying to lure its prey into perceived safety. Wolfwood offered a raised eyebrow.
"My wounds. They heal when stimulated." Vash continued. He held up his flesh arm, showing off a minor scrape. Using his other hand, he touched the wound, massaged it, and pinched it. While he tenderly prodded, the flesh around the wound reached to feel the cool metal of his prosthetic, acting like putty as it reformed over the deep hole previously present. After a couple minutes, a light scar replaced it, along with a couple of feathers that bloomed from the root of the wound and fell off a few seconds later.
"What the fuck." Wolfwood watched, intrigued, confused, and rubbed his chin. "Oh, seriously, that's so fucked up."
Wolfwood hadn't meant it negatively but always had trouble sugarcoating things. Vash's face rippled in annoyance before grimacing.
"I know it's- It would be better if you just left me alone and-" Vash trailed off, cowering under the sudden weight of uncertainty.
Wolfwood bit his lip, grinding it in his incisors as he tried to wrap his head around the information. He eyed that cut on his hip, the bullet holes in his shoulders and torso, scrapes and lacerations. Forgetting manners, he reached to touch a bullet hole in his right shoulder. Vash reflexively hissed, recoiling from Wolfwood's touch.
"Can I touch one?"
There was a profuse silence, only interrupted by the strange thrumming continuously emitting from Vash's injuries. Vash's nose twitched like a rabbit's face, impossible to read in its anthropomorphized shape. There was a permeating uncertainty that cycled between them.
Wolfwood admonished himself for even asking. He was curious, a dark seeded desire pulsing in his brain as it grew roots in his cerebrum. It was the intrigue of something far beyond his understanding that somehow reached across the veil and offered itself to him. He wanted to help, he told himself. That was the justification.
Vash's body slowly relaxed. He bowed his head like an animal declaring its subservience to an alpha's will. Wolfwood slipped into the tub, trying to ignore the fact he settled on Vash's protruding hip bones or that he noticed now that Vash was much bigger, fluffier, and longer than he was. He was wearing the boxers he slept in, but the fabric was thin enough to allow any change in condition to go fully noticed.
Vash shied away, face blossoming sakura pink and cheeks shedding feathers off the translucent epidermis. When not obscured by the reflected light of the dilapidated motel light, his eyes were incredibly blue. Blue that dipped beyond the normal scope of an iris, as if they were pools that Wolfwood could drown in if he weren't careful. Slitted pupils were barely visible in the storminess and darted in every direction, attempting to ignore what was happening between them.
Wolfwood took a deep breath, focusing on the bullet hole. He traced the edges, feeling the skin that had puffed around the rim of the wound. He hesitated as he reached the edge before the hole in Vash's flesh, heart-quickening pace. He felt a sudden revulsion, nose wrinkling and gritting his teeth as he dipped a finger in the cavernous wound.
It felt wet and flaming hot. Hotter than it should have been, but Wolfwood withstood the scorching. Vash clicked, thrashing slightly, glaring at Wolfwood with a cool, calculated expression. Wolfwood made eye contact for a fleeting moment, crumbling under the weight of Vash's glare.
The wound began to trill, sending vibrations up Wolfwood's forearm and spine. The hot flesh began to melt around it like wax, dripping between his fingers and absolving into nothing. He held back another exploitive, entranced and unsettled by the mercurial physics the flesh operated by.
He cautiously, carefully, moved his finger in and out of the bullet hole. He massaged the edges of flesh, touching sinews, the fibrous muscle reaching to wrap around his finger and bonding and tying itself together again. Like strings around his finger, they danced, squelching, almost singing. The wound song transmitting through Wolfwood was accompanied by Vash purring beneath him.
"Does that…feel good?" Wolfwood shouldn't have asked, but he couldn't help it. Vash's purring ceased, and an abashed look told Wolfwood the answer before he said it.
"Relieving…" He said simply, adjusting under him. His purring continued as Wolfwood pulled his finger from the hole, the flesh swirling like bread dough around the digit before setting back.
Wolfwood now had an insatiable urge to do it again. Alarm bells rang in his head at his own chemical change, synapsis in his brain running red hot and threatening to explode and leave him brain-dead. He wasn't supposed to enjoy the alluring caress of muscle and the scrape of bone against his nerves, but here he was, breath still and body pulsing with gross desire.
This was so wrong on varying levels, biblical levels, but even so, he reached for another wound on Vash's chest. It reacted eagerly to Wolfwood's prodding, squelching in almost a lewd way when he shoved his thumb inside. Vash clicked shrilly, arching his neck and flailing his wings.
His hips pushed up, pushing against the curve of Wolfwood's ass, bringing attention to… Oh fuck. Vash was…hard? Wolfwood was now spinning with confusion, wrestling with the morality of his carnal impulses, and Vash was either enjoying this intrusion or…Or nothing, Wolfwood guessed. This can't be happening, Wolfwood echoed in his head, tearing himself to shreds with dualistic desires to rip away and get closer.
With his thumb squeezed by the wet, pulsing meat of Vash's pectoral, Wolfwood dared to push his lips against Vash's jagged muzzle. It was hard to identify now where Vash's lips were, but Wolfwood felt fine with that. Vash allowed it, or at least didn't say no. He instead chirped, turning his head away coyly. The glare Wolfwood received told him it was a hard-to-get rejection and not an actual rejection.
His suspicion was confirmed, and apprehension was soothed when Vash pushed himself into Wolfwood. His tongue slipped from his mouth, extending to lick around Wolfwood's lips. His tongue was rough as a cat's, pushing past Wolfwood's maw and licking around Wolfwood's. He was hungry with his strokes, and fuck; his tongue was long . Wolfwood gagged as he felt it brush against the back of his mouth, unrelenting even as he threatened to spill his guts at the intrusion. God damn , his teeth were giant, too, serrated, nearly the size of kitchen knives with the sharp edge of a machete. Wolfwood was afraid Vash might just unhinge his jaw like a snake and eat Wolfwood while he was still breathing for his transgressions, but the first snap never came.
Wolfwood was losing his grip on resisting reality. He ground against Vash, cock swollen and aching and desperate for warmth. His boxers were beginning to become slick. Wolfwood forced his face away from Vash's hungry tongue to inspect the scene.
Vash's genitalia sent Wolfwood through another hoop of confusion. He had a wet slit that hid in an array of large velvet-like petals and what Wolfwood assumed might have been a phallic piece as well above the opening-long, prehensile organ that oozed thick lubricant through its porous tissue, supplemented by spines. Wolfwood touched it, glancing at Vash for his wordless approval. Vash shied away, but the organ wrapped around his hand, pushing into him, the petals delicate in comparison, also flexing with the promise of reproductive release.
Wolfwood was more interested in the blood smeared on his thigh. His motions had irritated the wound on Vash's thigh, still cavernous and pulsating. Even with Vash's legs open and ready to devour him with his maw, Wolfwood had a terrible impulse that made him freeze.
He couldn't help himself, though. Those words were beginning to lose meaning in his head, yet somehow, he had to justify his actions. He hoped Vash wouldn't mind. He kissed Vash's neck, licking a small laceration, still oozing and savoring blood on his tongue. Vash mewled under him. Wolfwood pulled down his boxers, his weeping cock sticking to the fabric of his boxers from already accumulated precum. Between Vash's thrashing and Wolfwood pressed snugly against his body, Wolfwood could convince himself grinding against the wound was a coincidence.
It did things to him it shouldn't have. Wolfwood, between the taste of gore dancing on his tastebuds and Vash's claws raking down the meat of his back, already felt faint. Just sliding his length against the cut, slicking his length with its secretion, feeling the twinge of warmth the slit promised was enough to nearly bring him to finish. The wound vibrated in response to his intrusion.
He wondered if he could fit inside the laceration. It was deep enough, he was certain. If he just-if he just pushed past the epidermis to the adipose tissue, under the hanging flap of disconnected skin….
Wolfwood nearly passed out, nearly emptied his stomach, and nearly came right there when he forced his cock past the thin edges of Vash's wound. Vash uttered a fearsome throaty cry, talons rooting themselves into Wolfwood's back. That nearly sobered Wolfwood, sudden sharp pain in the puncture wounds waking him up from his dissociation. He glanced down, forcing himself to see his cock nestled in the wound, to see blood smeared in his pubic hair, to witness the disgusting display of their current union.
And he still pulled out, in, out, in, slowly, like an inchmeal of pleasure. If he went too fast, he thought he might explode. On top of it, the wound was thrumming, adding an extra layer of sick pleasure. As he thrust, he felt the sinews wrap around him, reconnect with the frayed tissue, and then melt with a spark of heat. It tickled, almost, with parts of Vash wrapping around him and dancing around his intrusion. He swore under his breath, closing his eyes tight. He was so close, and he wanted it to be over just as bad as he wanted this to last.
Vash was hissing, sputtering, clicking, purring. The excitement was supremely difficult to gauge if it was overstimulation, pleasure, or agony. Wolfwood paused, and Vash answered his curiosity with a flash of movement and teeth in his shoulder.
Wolfwood yelped, writhing and only managing to get Vash embedded deeper. His heart skipped a beat, fluttering, and after the immediate shock, he found he wasn't dead. Vash had calmed down, too. His purring pulsed through his chest and shook Wolfwood, bringing a soothing sensation even as fresh blood poured down Wolfwood's back. And that was the last straw for his body. Between Vash's body enveloping his, biting him, Vash's now nearly closed wound squeezing him, his orgasm shot through him like a bullet. It felt downplayed by the searing pan in his shoulder, but he still saw stars despite it.
Now awake, post orgasm, he found himself in a precarious situation. He carefully wrenched his softening cock out of the wound, now perfectly stitched into a nice white scar. The putty flesh sunk back into Vash and returned to its biomass, fluid as water and ugly as gore. It spurted out a whitish-pink substance, which he assumed was the 'foregin body' he left in his wake mixed with healthy amounts of blood. He moved delicately to avoid embedding Vash's teeth further into him. His jaw seemingly locked into place, hips writhing, and demanding Wolfwood paid attention to the mess between Vash's legs he had created.
Wolfwood reached to touch his reproductive organs, unsure of how to even begin to describe them. His phallus was the texture of wet meat, and when Wolfwood curled his fist around it, it curled around his digits in turn. The spines pricked his hand when he stroked upwards against their grain, but Wolfwood gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the uncomfortable pinching sensation. Vash's chest thrummed softly, encouragingly, and the grip on Wolfwood's shoulder loosened.
"You could jus' ask nicely," he breathlessly teased, his other hand stroking the slit settled between strangely soft petals. Running his finger over the thin fold of flesh, which seeped viscous lubricant, The petals clamped around them like a venus fly trap. The petals created a gentle torque around him, independently motile, encouraging him to sink in further. Wolfwood blushed furiously, somehow finding this act more obscene than, well…he swallowed hard and tried to move on.
He ran a single finger up and down the folds of Vash's cunt, chewing on his lip as he slipped it inside. Vash purred loudly in approval. The texture was nothing like he had felt before. He squeezed another inside, using both digits to paw at Vash's insides with curiosity. It was sticky, and the inside was textured with ridges that nearly felt dangerous. Like Keratin hooks, much like Vash's tongue, that seemed meant to rip flesh from something. Like an unwanted intruder or something worse. The spine's sting was offset by how saturated his insides were, constantly gushing thick lubricant that overflowed past his petals and leaked down Wolfwood's wrist.
Vash finally let go, nuzzling Wolfwood's neck and licking over the new wound. Wolfwood was reeling over the absurdity, trembling as he stimulated Vash. What the hell was he doing? Even so, Vash was so warm, running so hot, Wolfwood worried they might ignite into flames together and be lost somewhere in space without return. He might not mind that, though. At least it was comfortable. Even in the form of an amorphous leviathan creature, it was still Vash. And he was allowed this close, probably closer than anyone had ever been.
That was probably worth this depravity.
Vash wrapped his arm around Wolfwood, claws threatening to scalp him as they forced him closer. Their mouths again slammed together. Wolfwood writhed, hissing on impact. He suddenly felt small. Any attempt he made to adjust was thwarted by Vash's body needing him right where he was. He tried kissing Vash back, but it was hard to even breathe through Vash's oral assault. His chin, cheeks, and neck were saturated with tacky saliva. It carried a sickly sweet smell. He tried desperately to keep his hands working, three fingers working in and out of Vash's cunt while his other hand worked to keep his cock satisfied. It was hard to keep a rhythm with all the tongue in his mouth draining him of his ability to breathe and having the first layer of skin inside his mouth flayed by his cat tongue.
Vash suddenly let up on the assault on his mouth with a sudden jolt, arching back, hips bucking into Wolfwood's advances. His cry churned Wolfwood's stomach, a coat of nausea returning to his tongue. The cry was like a whistle, a dying animal, or a symphony of noises Wolfwood didn't want to identify. He froze in place, suddenly cemented, and watched Vash with the wide eyes of a rabbit who knew a fox was in his hutch.
Vash came, a violent pulse coursing through his pelvis. His cock throbbed in Wolfwood's grip, shooting strings of relatively normal-looking semen. Normal, except for the sheer amount, dripping between Wolfwood's fingers, coating his hand and pooling on Vash's stomach. His petals flexed, freeing Wolfwood's hand, gushing the sickly-sweet lubricant until it pulled between them at the bottom of the cracked porcelain. Vash panted, his body settling, feathers ruffling before they fell off or got reabsorbed into his flesh.
They both stared at each other. Wolfwood felt like a stick was holding him in place, spine fused to his current position despite the ache in his hip and back. Vash was coalescing into something comprehensible before his eyes, and his icey blues pierced Wolfwood deeper than he was comfortable with. His lips twitched, then Wolfwood's, a silent debate on who would acknowledge what the hell just happened between them. They were messes, naked, caked in semen and blood and wound drainage, smelling like sex and gore.
Like an animal to a temperamental owner, Wolfwood slowly closed the thin distance between him and Vash. He laid his full weight onto Vash's body, face brushed against Vash's neck and lips unintentionally tickling his again sunkissed skin. Vash didn't react, then let out a soft breath. An arm curled around Wolfwood, resting on his hair, stroking it tenderly. Every shift reminded Wolfwood how sticky they were; now, the fluids from their union were beginning to solidify and cake to their skin and pubic hair. He tried to forget the blood smeared over his body, but the image of shoving himself inside Vash's was torturing him in hindsight.
But he would never say it. Vash wouldn't, either. At this moment, they could not speak to life any complex feelings or anguish, but it was still there. It was still thick and tangible as julep syrup. Besides, Wolfwood was far too exhausted to consider the nuances of their relationship.
He was sure it wasn't the last time they would do something strange and twisted. They would only trust each other to indulge in it. At least in the aftermath, Vash was warm, And Wolfwood could sleep knowing he was, for the moment, okay.
For however much longer that would last.