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“Could you move over a little more?”
“What, the view not good enough for you?”
Vash gets a hand around each ankle and squeezes, placating. His voice is muffled from how the skirts fall around him where he’s stretched out on the floor, curtaining his head and shoulders. “I want to do the view justice! Angle your hips more, the petticoats are—”
“The petticoats,” Wolfwood growls, and, fed up, hoists his skirts, kicks off one of Vash’s hands from where it’d been sneaking up his calf, and hikes his leg up to dig his knee into the table, balancing on one slim heel. The change in angle shifts the toy he’s had slipped inside him for the past half hour. He gasps, fist clenching where his arm is braced on the table and he hears Vash let out a fluttery sigh.
“Oh, that’s pretty,” Vash says, and, because he’s a menace, “Gosh you’re really wet aren’t you? Your thighs are all red, too. Are you close?”
Obviously he’s close! Vash now has a very clear view of just how close he is! Unfortunately, that in itself—knowing how his perched leg puts everything on display for Vash, Vash who was so insistent on climbing under him, on watching, on letting Wolfwood get all worked up without even touching him, the anticipation simmering higher and higher, knowing what Vash wants as he gets teased—it all makes Wolfwood stumble closer.
A treat for later, Vash had said as he’d nudged the toy into Wolfwood before the ceremony they’d staged to catch a robber. After we’re done with Dowry Dave. A robber with the worst name and equally bad aim. Wolfwood hopes he gets bullied by all the other robbers in jail.
Wolfwood opens his mouth to say something, he’s not entirely sure, something witty that plays along with Vash wanting to torment him a bit, but before he can tether his voice, Vash presses a kiss to his ankle, right over the jutting bone. Wolfwood clenches, hot and tight, warm slick dripping out of him to patter softly onto…christ, he glances down over the edge of the table. Right onto Vash’s cheek.
Vash’s cheeks which are ruddy, newly shiny with precome. His eyes are bright with a self-satisfied desire that Wolfwood doesn’t get to see nearly as often as he’d like. Vash smiles up at him, soft and dopey.
“Very pretty,” he says, soft smile turning sharper, hungrier. “You got any more for me?”
Wolfwood flushes down to his chest. He half-collapses forward onto the table, thunking his head onto his forearm. The veil has flipped to fall around him and he pants into the cloister it makes, light filtered through the lace.
“Didn’t know we were takin’ ‘here comes the bride’ so literally today,” he finally manages. He arches his back into a gentle dip, canting his hips, presenting himself more to Vash. The toy rings shivers of pleasure through him relentlessly, waves lapping at each other. He heaves a breath and the silk bodice of the dress rubs at his nipples. It’s stupid how good he feels.
Vash laughs, holds his ankle again, smoothing a thumb over his shin. “You’re not very good at lying, Nick. You knew as soon as you put that dress on. It’s only been, what, half an hour and look at you.”
“Yeah?” he gasps when he feels another kiss. Vash mouths at the bone, touches the tip of his tongue to the tendon. “What d'you see?”
“Hmm,” he hums against Wolfwood’s skin, nuzzles against his leg sweetly. “When you get this wet it slicks your hair into all these little curlicues,” his breath puffs humid and absurdly intimate over Wolfwood’s ankle. Vash’s hand runs up and down his calf, tracing circles in the hair in an affectionate mimic of the wet curls sticking to Wolfwood’s inner thighs and ass. “It’s so cute. Your thighs are all tense—god, you’re strong. Can see you clenching around the toy, that’s cute too. Yeah, just like, oh, thanks,” Vashs says, painfully genuine and horribly smug when Wolfwood drips more precome onto his face, even though some of it misses its mark and patters onto the wood floor.
“Mngh,” Wolfwood replies intelligently. He can feel it, really feel it now, his whole body alight and shivery, electric pleasure ratcheting higher, steadily, riding the edge. He didn’t initially think he’d be able to come untouched like this, but he feels simultaneously molten and strung tight to be here, kitted up as a bride with all the fixings and more, Vash his groom beneath him, effortlessly reeling him in and driving the heat low in his belly into a tight, honeyed twist. His ribs strain against the palms of the bodice and it feels good, dizzying and grounding all at once.
He tries to take a steadying breath but the clink of Vash’s belt distracts him, makes his breath catch instead when he hears a rustle of fabric, and then Vash is muffling a drawn out moan into Wolfwood’s leg.
“Are you—fuck—” Wolfwood swears. “That ain’t fair.” It’s a hollow complaint, the sounds of Vash jerking off weaving above the quiet buzz of the toy. Wolfwood can smell him now, Vash’s arousal heady and familiar, and it makes Wolfwood ache, hot, climbing. He hefts his skirts higher, tightening his fist in them. The wedding ring digs into his finger and he can’t catch his breath.
Vash mouths messily at wherever he can easily reach, his composure finally fractured.
“You’re gorgeous,” Vash pants. “You’re so gorgeous and you're mine, mine, mine, Nick, won’t you, please,” Vash breaks off to whine against him.
Wolfwood's toes curl and the shoe dangling from how he’s got his leg bent up on the table clatters to the ground. “Bride’s gotta belong to someone,” he rasps out, stomach tumbling the way it always does when Vash gets possessive over Wolfwood’s pleasure. He rocks against nothing, the toy shifting only minutely, but he feels it, and how sticky he is. His cock flexes and he’s close, he’s close.
“You’re not a bride anymore,” Vash licks a hot stripe over the tendon drawn taut and shaky. Wolfwood keens into his arm, the sheer lace sheathing his forearm grown damp with his spit.
“Vash—”
“Wife,” Vash calls him, low and unyielding, and then he presses his teeth to the swell of Wolfwood’s calf, blunt and sharp all at once, and Wolfwood comes, hard, pulsing hot and wet all over his own legs and Vash’s face and the floor.
The grip around his ankle tightens, Vash using it as leverage to arch himself up and lick the come dripping down Wolfwood’s leg, his tongue rough against him like a cat's. Vash flumps back onto the floor with a loud happy sigh and strokes the top of Wolfwood’s foot as Wolfwood rides out the sweet, twirling aftershocks.
“Damn,” Wolfwood exhales. One final, fading shiver before he’s pawing at the remote tucked into his garter, switching off the toy and laughing, feeling high as a kite, like a soap bubble, floating and spent and like he’s going to collapse any moment. He stretches his leg out, cramped from bracing, but keeps his skirts high. Vash is peppering kisses all around his ankle. Wolfwood heaves himself up from the table and finally looks down.
Vash is a mess. His face is splotchy, streaked with come, eyes hazy and glassy and heavy-lidded with contentment. His shirt somehow got unbuttoned, a few splatters of come on his collarbone, a little in the hollow of his throat, suit jacket rumpled around him. Legs splayed, pants flopped open, dark splotch over the crotch; his prosthetic rests on his belly, leather glove shiny with come. He looks so fucking handsome and completely ridiculous, debauched and brimming with affection.
Wolfwood wiggles out of his other shoe and carefully backs up, barefoot. Vash makes a displeased noise from having the chew toy of Wolfwood’s ankle taken away. He crouches by Vash’s head, peering down at him, tucking his skirts into his lap.
“Hi there, darlin’,” he says.
“Hi,” Vash smiles up at him and he can’t help but grin back.
Wolfwood cups Vash’s face upside down and tries to wipe off some of the come with his thumbs. It’s a lost cause, tacky and starting to dry, but it feels good to have Vash in his hands. He missed him, all the way down here on the floor.
“C’mon,” he pats Vash’s face, “get this thing outta me and then you can clean me up nice and proper.”
He drops a kiss onto Vash’s forehead. Heart rabbiting, Wolfwood mumbles a quiet, “Husband,” between Vash’s eyebrows. He stands on wobbly legs to make his way to the bed. Vash doesn’t let him get very far, scrambling to his feet and scooping Wolfwood up so fast his stomach swoops. The veil, already precarious, wafts to the ground.
“Nice and proper, huh?” Vash drops him onto the bed and crawls over him, sliding his hands up Wolfwood’s sticky legs under the layers of skirts.
“Well,” Wolfwood pretends to consider, crossing his arms behind his head to show off his pecs framed by the dress’s sweetheart neckline. “It’ll be nice but it certainly won’t be proper.”