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Vash has had too much to drink.
Wolfwood watches him over an unlit cigarette, pouring into the inn room - Nicholas's inn room, to be specific - and floundering on the bed. His coat is unfastened but still hanging on, loosely. It pools around him like a bleeding wound.
"Soooo comfy," Vash stretches his arms out, practically purring towards the ceiling. He nuzzles backwards, the sharp uptick of his hair flattened into the pillows, "Your room is definitely nicer than mine. Hey, dya'wanna trade?"
Wolfwood digs his canteen from a knapsack and puts it on the bedside table, frowning. He'd unpacked here more than he'd meant to - it was harder to find space with the array of personal effects littered across the surface, "Yer not planning on leaving easy, are you?"
In response, Vash closes his eyes. Wolfwood sighs.
There was once a time he would have fought against this, the casualness between them, Vash's insistence on clambering into his space and settling there. It has long passed. He takes a free corner of the bed, barely avoiding a splayed calf, kneeling so he can at least ruck off his shoes and start unwinding.
They'd been in Mae for two weeks. It had been Vash's insistency, one of the whims he gets that always nosedive them both towards danger. So far, it felt more like a vacation town - no one here seemed interested with the two gunmen, and Vash had been lapping up the anonymity, making a new name for himself as some local party animal.
Wolfwood kicks his loafers off to the corner and gestures towards the table. Vash considers him for a moment before collecting the lighter from the mess and handing it over. Wolfwood stares into the fire of his Zippo for a moment, dragging in a breath, talking on the downstroke, "Excess is a sin, y'know, Spikey,"
"Is jus' a bit of fun," Vash says. He's pouting a little. Wolfwood isn't entirely sure if Vash even can get drunk, or if it's a rouse, some sycophantic play like his smile, or every shot he's ever taken. Never the real thing.
Wolfwood grunts. He's too tired to argue it now, and, truthfully, it doesn't fucking matter. Whatever game Vash is playing, Wolfwood isn't a participant, just a witness. Or, no. A failsafe. The thing that sits in wait until something finally breaks.
"I didn't know you painted."
Wolfwood glances back over.
Vash is blinking up at him.
He tilts his head back to the pile, the small aside of acrylics and brushes Wolfwood had stockpiled. Whites and reds, mostly; a tawny brown, one singular pop of blue, more present wiped away on the napkin than in the pan of colour.
He eyes Vash for a second, preceding a shake of his head, reaching under the bed, "Nah, not really. I just needed to fix this one up."
Carefully, although he knows it's long since dried in the desert heat, he pulls his confession booth out. The wider walls showed a few brush marks, dragging down on the vertical, but it was well coated and attended to, freshly vibrant.
Vash's expression goes lopsided, considering it, "You haven't used that in a while."
He sounds all too sober now, for Wolfwood's liking, "Not a lot of people here looking to repent, clearly."
It's not the answer Vash is looking for, he can hear that from the silence that follows. Taking another drag, Wolfwood shrugs, putting it back on the floor between his feet.
"It's been in bad shape for a while. Some thugs put a hole through it, this is the first time I've patched it up properly in a while," He says, smiling a little, "Don't want all them confessions getting out."
Vash sits up in one fluid motion. It lands him all too close to Wolfwood, chest to the heat of Wolfwood's shoulder.
"Aren't you meant to hear them, though? As the priest?" Vash is leaning down, collecting the little box and holding it carefully. When Wolfwood's expression is nothing but a question, Vash elaborates, "It's fine if they get out to you, right?"
"Naw, priest is just the vessel. Like calling through a cup and a wire, main conversations between you and the big man upstairs. Some of those things, I'm better off not hearing."
Vash has the box in his lap. There's an unfamiliar darkness to his expression, fogged like a privacy glass. Before Wolfwood has the chance to discern it's meaning, Vash has already started talking.
"So, you're saying, you can't forgive me, Father?"
It's a joke. He can hear Vash's laughter. Nothing but a throwaway line.
Wolfwood feels his fucking pulse spike. He chokes on smoke.
"Yer outta your mind, Needle Noggin," Wolfwood says, shaking his head, "I don't think you'd -"
His words are swallowed into an echo. It takes him a second to feel the weight on his shoulders, to recognise his own confessional booth, unceremoniously dumped over his head. Smoke curls from his mouth out of the spire, finding the cracks his patchwork hadn't covered.
"Do you ever use it?"
He can't see Vash, but he can sense him, hearing him from his right side. It doesn't feel like Vash has moved much, although with his speed, Wolfwood knows he could, should he wish to. When he goes to tip the booth back, a hand curls around his wrist, not hard enough to actually stop him, but enough to draw his attention to the intent.
Another whim. Vash playing some kind of game, only this time, Wolfwood is the centrepiece. Fine.
"I don't think God has much They want to hear me say," Wolfwood fails to laugh it off. He thinks of the Angel arm, of how vulnerable he is, here, subject to whatever Vash wants. It fails to stir the fear it should.
"That's a no, then."
Something undercuts Vash's tone; a sadness. The same pathetic melancholy that haunts Wolfwood every time he raises his gun.
"No."
"Maybe you should try," The hand on his wrist slackens, a clear invitation. You can go if you want to. We don't have to keep playing this is you don't want to.
The cigarette in Wolfwood's stray hand is burning to a stump. He feels it being removed, stubbed somewhere out of view, before Vash has returns to his side, a decidedly slow, calculated speed.
"If this is yer way of getting me to spill my secrets, it's not clever," Wolfwood says, stopping Vash from admonishing the accusation, "Let me think of where ta' start."
He tips his head up, leaning back so the heels of his palms keep him upright. It's just as dark from this angle, but if he looks down past his cheeks, he can make out their thighs, close together. Vash had sat up, then, dangled his legs alongside Wolfwood's over the lip of the bed.
"Bless me, er, God, for I have sinned. This is my first confession," It's unnatural, coming from him. He's encouraged enough people to try, coaxed the same words out of them that stick like honey to his tongue. He feels something heavy in his chest, "I've taken your name in vain."
Vash exhales, but without seeing his expression, Wolfwood can't tell its tone.
"If you don't want to-"
"I'm thinkin'," Wolfwood cuts him off. He straightens his spine, clicks something high in his back, and tries again, "I've stolen. I've acted in pride. I've spilled innocent blood."
Vash's hand finds his chest. It's meant to be reassuring. Instead, it only makes Wolfwood's blood spike, a mimicry of earlier when this game started.
Is Vash trying to make him feel better or worse?
"I've acted in Greed. Taken bounties for the money, stockpiled some, used others for, uh, vanity. Think'a bank deposit might be missing on the holiness."
Vash huffs at this, a little affirmation. Wolfwood can picture his smile, saccharin.
"I've… Acted in lust. I've broken my vow of chastity. Plenty of times, if that counts."
"Oh?" The sound is fucking involuntary, he can hear the way Vash's jaw slams shut in the wake of it. Wolfwood's laugh echoes into the booth.
"Don't have to sound so enthusiastic about it," Wolfwood says, directing it to wherever the noise had come from. Vash's hand has retreated from his chest, but the heat of it remains, "Didn't know that was so important to you."
"I just didn't realise! That's all!" Vash's voice is muffled, by his own palms most likely, hiding his face on instinct, "I.. didn't know you were seeing anyone."
There's a tang to that, too. A hurtfulness, an 'I didn't realise because I thought you would have told me'.
"I'm not. Don't exactly get a break when I'm babysitting you all the time."
"Oh."
A different kind of offence, now. Being an inconvenience. Wolfwood brushes off the guilt that arises at the sound, "If you have any more questions-"
"Do you want to be?"
Wolfwood's too stunned for a moment to react. He'd gone to take off the headpiece, but Vash's voice, so uncharacteristically small, so expectantly sincere, froze him in place.
When he doesn't respond instantly, Vash goes to elaborate, "Seeing someone, I mean?"
"I got that," Wolfwood frowns. Is this truly where they'd gotten to? Perhaps Vash could get drunk, after all, "But this is hardly the life to lead for some sweet romances."
"People are interested," It's ignoring his point. Despite still seeing his leg in the crack of light below, Vash feels at a distance to him, "Earlier today, in the tavern. The girl with mole."
Wolfwood remembers her. It should be because of the lasso work she'd been demonstrating, her keen hook for a round at the bar. He'd seen the beauty mark under her eye and thought it looked like Vash's.
"She's not really my type." He doesn't know why he's still indulging this. If he tried, said he was uncomfortable, Vash would stop. He'd give Wolfwood space to say, seriously, it's over, and they'd move on. Fail to acknowledge whatever-the-fuck this was. When Vash didn't speak, Wolfwood pushes his luck, "Do you wanna hear about that?"
"Sure," It's feigned nonchalance; a failure to seem uninterested in the topic. Wolfwood is deeply cognisant of their thighs, barely touching.
Under the booth, Wolfwood hums, "First person I broke the vow to was a man in Juli. Too smart for his own good, some plant scientist working in the main power supply."
There's a new implication, thick in the air.
Vash might have known him.
Vash might have killed him.
"He was pretty," Wolfwood says, unapologetic, "Kinda scrawny. Real annoying. Feels like a knack of mine to attract that. But he had this real soft mouth, felt like-"
"Okay. That's… That's enough," Vash goes to retreat, but it's Wolfwood now who stops him, a hand on his sternum. The closest target he could locate while blinded so.
"What's the matter Spikey? I thought you wanted all those sordid confessions," Wolfwood turns the action over in his head as he goads. What point had been determined as too far? What were the rules of the game?
Without seeing Vash's face, all he can do is feel his breath under his touch, unnaturally deepened. Reversed toxicity. Carbon dioxide in, oxygen out. Kissing him must feel like fucking breathing. Must fill your lungs with so much life it could burn forever.
"You don't have to give details," It's a pout. He's honest to God pouting. Wolfwood's hand slides from the front of Vash's body to the side, curling down into the small of his back. It's not the most elegant move, propped up now by only one hand on the alternate side, but it hardly matters.
Wolfwood's mouth is a sepulchre. His voice curls with amusement when he tries for, "I didn't peg you for the jealous type."
"Really?" It's back to the uncanny smallness, how little and frightful something to impossible can seem. A voice so unbecoming of all that Vash is, "Maybe you haven't got me all figured out, then."
"If you wanna confess some envy, you're welcome to take the box," Wolfwood tips up the base, now, enough that he can finally poke his eyes out from the cover. There's a petal-light blush over Vash's expression, his pupils thick black like a bullet wound. A wetness to his mouth, like his bottom lip had found solace in his mouth, only just freed.
His breathing doesn't find it's rhythm.
"Humanity. It's an amazing thing, really. I don't think your people realise how much of a blessing being born human is," It's a second without his veneer; a confession so genuine, Wolfwood wonders if perhaps this is one he shouldn't have heard.
Something between Vash and a God with a sick fucking sense of humour.
Because Vash shouldn't have to envy anyone.
Because Vash is more human than anyone else Wolfwood has met.
Before Wolfwood can conceptualise these into some fumbled words, Vash's hand knocks the lip of the booth from his grip, pulling it back down to veil his vision. For a second, in the hands of the gunman, it's only the priests mouth that remains uncovered, but this too is short lived, as Vash shortly finds it with his own.
Vash's last exhale fills Wolfwood's mouth, like a deluge after a draught. Air cleaner than anything Gunsmoke has to offer. Wolfwood can do nothing but inhale.
It's too short, Vash dipping his head out and away again, like he gets to be suddenly shy and coy about this. Wolfwood pursues him immediately, tightening his hold on Vash's back, and crushing their mouths together, chasing the last hit of air he'd swallowed.
"Nick, what are you…?"
"Do you not want this?" Wolfwood pauses. His nose is bumped against Vash's, but the mans eyes are still obscured from the box. He can read Vash's lips, at least, the way they're slightly parted, deeply inviting. Pulling off now is going to hurt.
"I do, but, well, do you? I'm still… Different. Not exactly what people want to take back with them," he says it while gesturing down himself, over his torso, gesturing to his crotch, the meaning obfuscated.
"I dunno, needle noggin. You should have let me talk more earlier," Wolfwood smiles into Vash's mouth, "You would have heard more about how blonde goodie-two-shoes are completely my thing."
"Don't do that," Vash hisses, his hold now firm around Wolfwood's jaw. Wolfwood tips his head at Vash's voice, faux innocence, "Don't mention other people right now."
"Oh, the really jealous type, huh?"
Wolfwood takes his other arm so both are holding Vash's waist, now, his torso turned so they're chest-to-chest. Vash, he realises, has his knee up under his body, having crawled forward into the kiss. It gives him the perfect leverage to hook his hands onto the mans ass and encourage him forward, welcoming him onto his lap.
"It's just you and me right now, Spikey," Wolfwood affirms, letting Vash settle comfortably above him. He's stopped trying to control the booth on his head, or the whims of his charge above him. Right now, he's exactly where he wants to be, "Got no interest in anything else. Do you know how gorgeous you are?"
"You can't even see me," Vash deflects, but he curls his free hand under the back of the church diorama, palming into the short V of hair down Wolfwood's neck.
"Don't care," He says it between further kisses, gripped fists into the leather buckles of Vash's clothes. There's no disguising his interest, pressed hard through his dress trousers, "You always look good. The issue is that mouth of yours. Better when it's put to use here, huh?"
Vash bites in protest, barely a graze of teeth against Wolfwood's lower lip, and he smiles into it, pressing forward with more fervour, opening himself up. He wants whatever he can get, the air tanged between them, a canine to his throat. He wants enough marks to convince himself this is real in the morning.
They keep kissing, awkward around the confessional that blocks off the bridge of Wolfwood's nose and above. When he raises a hand, offering to remove it, he can see the shadow dance, the way Vash is shaking his head, keeping it in place.
"I think," The man's voice comes slowly, contemplating. He's lifting up from Wolfwood's lap, but remaining straddling him, enough that his chest is now pressed into the slit of vision the booth offers. At some point, his coat had been shed, leaving him in the tight leather undershirt that drives Wolfwood fucking crazy. He cradles the back of Wolfwood's head as it tips back to greet him, "You have more to confess, don't you, priest?"
"The term would be Father," Wolfwood corrects, working to try and unfasten any of Vash's armoury without being able to see it. It's not easy, fumbling at the buckles without any real vision, but he manages to unlatch enough at one side the fabric is loosened, giving him space to burrow underneath and get onto Vash's skin.
From above him, Vash talks into Wolfwoods mouth, one simple command, "Confess, Father."
"Forgive me, for I have sinned," it's different than before, fraught. Wolfwood can hear the gravel in own his voice as it hums out, "I've been lusting for my charge for some time." - a heavy pause, a swallowed breath, and then- "I've been temped to corrupt an Angel."
Vash makes a noise, something Wolfwood can read as 'and you consider me dramatic?', but his action is being rewarded at least. From their vantage point, Vash is unbuttoning his suit and dress shirt, sliding them both down off his shoulders and back onto the bed behind him.
The prosthetic on his chest is an immediate chill in the heat of the moment, cupping one pec while a metal thumb drawls across his nipple. Wolfwood groans involuntarily, trying to rock upwards, missing Vash's weight immediately as his hips find nothing.
"Are you done already?" Vash's voice is playful, smoothing Wolfwood's cupids bow, before he thumbs his lip upwards, showing his canine. When Vash comes back in, he's practically licking at the inside of his mouth, open-mouthed, heavy saliva, like he's cleaning tobacco and sin off Wolfwood's tongue.
For a maddening second, he thinks this might actually repent him.
"Think God's better off not knowing what I've thought about you," Wolfwood says.
The mass of Vash, hovering above him, moves again, fully lowering. He feels the hands graze his body, lavishing attention down from his nipples, over his abs, trailing the happy trail of hair to start unbuttoning his trousers, Vash bringing his own body descend with every action. It takes Wolfwood a second to register that Vash must be kneeling between his legs, one hand on his knee, nudging his legs further apart, while the other finishes lowering his fly. His own find Vash's head, sliding through the gel, flattening it under his touch.
His face has been fully obscured again. Without Vash's oxygen, he starts to attribute this all to one suffocating daydream, the sweetest death he wouldn't have dared to dream of. He's died. He's choked on his own carbon dioxide and this is heaven's last service before they fully send him to hell.
"Nico?"
Vash's voice is gentle, charming. It's also a question. His palm is a pilgrim's promise on Wolfwood's upper thigh. Wolfwood couldn't find a scripture as holy as this feeling.
"Thought I was the one meant to be prayin'."
"I… have my own confessions, right?" It's tentative, an unfamiliarity with the roleplay holding Vash back. Still, slides his hand upwards, hooking metal fingers into the waistband of Wolfwood's trousers, "May I, Father?"
"Fuck, yeah," Wolfwood says through the cotton haze of lust. He's so fucking hard at what has been the barest touch, that now, the promise of more congeals like a scab over his already muted scenes, dulls him to anything but the blood pumping through his cock.
With his fly open, Vash noses into the fabric of his boxers. Instantly, Wolfwood grinds up to meet him, gripping the back of his hair and dragging the clothed erection across Vash's face.
"Blondie - God, fuck, this is what you think of praying, huh? Gettin' my dick in your mouth?"
Vash hums an affirmative, the noise thrumming through Wolfwood's arousal, licking over the tip of his cock. Circling his hips upwards, Wolfwood manages a few more grinds till his hands turn into fists, imploring. He can see Vash's face from under the booth, how his eyes are contented closed, how his fingers frame his head as they dig blunt into Wolfwood's pelvis, curled mercilessly over his underwear but not fucking moving it.
Wolfwood goes for another attempt to remove the booth, but he's stopped, this time by Vash's halting form, a warning against his skin, "Not yet."
"Yer killing me, Needle Noggin," Wolfwood groans back. It's not enough, the implication of the touch, knowing how Vash must look but being denied the vision. For a second, in the movement, one of Vash's eyes catches his own gaze, and he can see the shine of amusement glimmering over his expression. As soon as it comes it's gone again, one hand pushing the lid so it's fallen straight down towards his neck.
Any protest he goes to rise is bitten off when cold air and hot breath hit his cock simultaneously. The waistband clings around the base of his dick, not even pulled away fully before Vash's mouth meets him, licking a strip up from the fabric to the tip.
"Good," Wolfwood chokes out, curling forward on instinct, shielding Vash's head with his own body, "God, that feels so good. Shoulda known your mouth was good for something."
Against his cock, Vash's tongue works in tandem with the movement. Wolfwood bites off a moan, feeling as the man pushes himself further down on every motion, taking him deeper into his mouth, inch by inch. Here, in the holiness, his body is a lectern.
Driving forward, Vash's throat does something Catholic.
Wolfwood tries to clench his thighs on instinct, unsure if he's trying to grapple towards to pleasure or away from it. The motion is meaningless anyway, Vash's arms are too strong, keeping him spread at Vash's disposal.
"Wait- shit, Spikey, you didn't have to, Gods," Wolfwood grabs at Vash's hair like a dog to the scruff, pulling him from his body. The wet slap of his cock back to his stomach makes him crave his mouth already, "Only what you can handle, ya' hear? No use you choking here."
"It's fine, beside, I want to, Nick. Don't worry about me," Vash punctuates his point by turning his head, kissing at the vein of Wolfwood's wrist.
It's far more intimate than anything else so far; Wolfwood tries not to writhe from it, "If yer sure…"
His hands relax slowly.
Vash takes the opportunity to glide forward, back into position to swallow down the intrusion. Incrementally, Wolfwood forces the muscles in his back to unknot, to focus only on the clever mouth, working across his body like it was made for it. The mask gives him an escape, the opportunity to imagine it's anyone but Vash with his cock in their mouth, whimpering each time it hit the back of their throat.
There's no point to the fantasy. If it was anyone there, he'd be picturing Vash anyway.
"You're real fuckin good at that. Bet you look like a wreck right now," He's rewarded with Vash quickening his pace, bobbing with fervour. This was Wolfwood's chance to confess, wasn't it? Best to make the most of it, "I've thought about this so much. You on yer knees for me, real desperate for it. Sometimes your hands get too low on the bike, and all I wanna do is pull over, drag them to touch me where you should've been all this time."
Vash pulls off, and if Wolfwood whines at the lack of contact, well, that's his business.
"Why didn't you?"
"Didn't think you'd be interested, honestly," Wolfwood paws Vash forward. Something has changed - his hands find it now, bare skin where he'd expected buckles and leather. Curiously, he drawls over Vash's back, over each bump of scarring and metal grating, until he finds what should have been the start of his jeans, except-
More skin. The crater of a wound that curves from his lower back down over his ass, Wolfwood following it's traction until he can squeeze at the rounded muscle. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
"And now?"
"We're not makin it to the next town. Fuck, I need to have you like this all the time."
"I'll remind you of that, next time we're travelling," Vash nips at his neck, playfully.
He can feel Vash settling back to straddle him once more, only now, an unfamiliar heat is grinding across his cock, slick coating his shaft as it lavishes his body. Wolfwood groans in earnest, resisting the urge to buck upwards into what feels like the plushest cunt he's ever experienced.
Wolfwood wants to admonish, to say how much he wanted to lead with his fingers first, then his mouth. How desperately he wanted to reciprocate to Vash, to undo him thoroughly until they were both out of their minds. For the second time this evening, Wolfwood chides that Vash seems far too sober for the situation.
Vash moves again, catching Wolfwood's cock on his entrance. His breath hitches at the implication, further wetness drooling down Wolfwood's body. It seeps down Wolfwood's thighs, coating his balls, curling down to his ass and ruining the fabric of his boxers pooled beneath him.
Likely his trousers, too, with how much there was.
"Please, Spikey," Wolfwood has his hands on Vash's hips, stilling their ministrations, "I need to see you. I can't - I don't care. Whatever you got goin' on, I need it, please."
Vash hesitates. Wolfwood could cry, the hot pulse of something pressed against him, too much and not enough all at once.
"It's not human."
"It's you," Wolfwood says, unsure if he's correcting Vash or agreeing with him, "I want you. All of you."
The gears seem to grind audibly, the way Vash process the words, determines their truthfulness. Hesitantly, hands climb into Wolfwood's vision, and the veil is carefully lifted from his head, greeting him back to the shitty motel room and cheap fluorescent.
It might as well be Elysium, because even without his eyes adjusting, he can see the blurred vision of Vash's naked form. He blinks into the bulb light, focusing on the body atop of him.
A lot of it he's seen before; defined muscles along his chest, corrugated patchwork holding skin and muscle back together, the cage over his heart, protecting it. The few feathers that have sprouted from the excitement fluster along Vash's cheeks and the highpoint of his shoulders.
Some of it is new.
As Wolfwood trails his vision downwards, he devours the way Vash's bones guide him down towards his crotch, drinking in where they meet, and immediately sees where Vash had drawn their differences. Where he'd usually expect the skin to flush pink and darken is instead feather white. It flutters open, not unlike Wolfwood had expected, but the shapes were further layered, a blossomed flower leading him to Vash's opening. At the top, the clit was a cluster of nerves; honey glands, thin as thread and bulbing on each tip.
It drew his attention to his nose, freed now from the booth. Where his breath had been clogged with old paint and wood, he was greeted now the smell of Vash's arousal, thick sugars in the nectar he spilled between them. Vernal pleasure that would make the Garden of Eden envious.
"Fuck, Vash, this is what you've been hiding? You're gorgeous," Wolfwood dips his middle finger between them, thumb circling the flat of his stomach. It's immediately reactive, another glob of arousal coating his finger. The nerves at the top rustle, reeds in a breeze, and he trawls through them, watching in awe the effect it has as everything jitters to the motion.
Mesmerised as Wolfwood was, he missed Vash's reaction at first, the embarrassment that quivers his lip and makes him turn, downcast, finding anywhere to look that wasn't their bodies pressed together.
"I know it's…" Monstrous, the silence fills in for a second. Freakish, "…Different."
"It's incredible," Wolfwood takes his lathered finger, licking sweet spend from his skin. He groans audibly at the taste, something close to honey but imbued with something floral and biological, like he was drinking Turrón, "How do I make you feel good?"
Vash unfurls a little, searching Wolfwood's expression for any trace of irony. When he finds none, he brings Wolfwood's hand back down to the nerves, letting his finger trace lazily over the filaments, "What you did before was - it was good. Or, here-"
Guided further, Wolfwood presses inside Vash, watching as the mans expression scrunches at the penetration.
"That still good, Spikey?"
"Yeah," Vash breathes out, hot, shaky, "Just… Been a while. Forgot how good it feels when it's someone else."
"Thought you had the rule of not talkin about others?"
Vash laughs, softening. Wolfwood feels the way his body constricts around his finger and barely manages to not respond with a moan.
"Didn't know you were the jealous type," Vash bats back, playfully. He circles Wolfwood's neck with the loose ring of his arms, embraced like a real lover, "If it helps, you're the most, uhm, enthusiastic about it. Most people don't even… like to look reall-"
Wolfwood cuts him off with a kiss, far harsher than any before. Their tongues clash on the first impact, Wolfwood taming Vash's in an instant, "You shouldn't have been fucking idiots, Vash. Should have come to me all this time."
"I didn't think you were interested," Vash mirrors. Still, he melts as Wolfwood keeps going, reuniting with Wolfwoods mouth with matching enthusiasm. Wolfwood crooks his index finger inside Vash, joining the first, and grins into their kiss, feeling how sloppy Vash become immediately at the new pleasure.
"How about now?"
He receives a moan in response, Vash's body having started to move to each thrust of his fingers. It's a tight angle, their bodies pressed so closely together, but he was a beast in the face of such temptation. Drawing himself away would be sacrilegious.
The muscles around each digit were wet and relaxed, and with as much care as he took pressing in, Wolfwood now draws them out, replacing the motion with the blunt head of his cock instead. He noses up Vash's cheek, affectionately, distracting him from any discomfort the penetration could bring by lavishing his own sweetness over the mans face.
Vash tips his head back, giving Wolfwood better access to his jaw and neck, letting his lips soften over the plumage that decorated the bones and glands of his face.
"Handsome," Wolfwood drags his tongue over the spined base of a cheek feather , "Beautiful fuckin' angel."
"Just- God, I need you inside, Nick, please," No sooner had Vash spoken, Wolfwood was pushing up, sliding his cock slowly into the petal-softness of Vash's body. They groan in tandem at the sensation, Vash's body straightening up as he coils into the feeling, "Yes, Nico, yeah, that feels so good."
It's spilling out of Vash, now, but he's still too coherent for how insane Wolfwood feels, drenched in the mans precum and sinking now into his heat. Perhaps sooner than intended, Wolfwood bucks up into Vash's cunt, bottoming out as Vash sinks down, his knees hooking harsh into Wolfwoods hips.
It's like melting into sin and indulgence. Vash's body feels like the memory of every good sex dream Wolfwood's ever had, spins him dizzy with arousal and ecstasy. His cock pounds up with a sudden rising need, chasing prurience only this moment could provide.
"Oh, fuck," The smell of nectar strengthens with every thrust, like Vash is trying to fucking pollinate him. Driven by the headspin, Wolfwood falls flat back on the bed, followed shortly by Vash crowding over him. He grips the mans hips, trying to fuck them harder down, fighting gravity and the weight above him to push up into the
"Nico, you're amazing," Vash brings their faces back together, and Wolfwood drinks in his pupils now, pitch dark and swallowing any blue that dared to exist in the pools of his iris. There's a trail of spit that connects their mouths, licked from Vash's tongue onto Wolfwoods lower lip, and Wolfwood chases it back open.
Vash's voice melts into a sob at a particularly brutal thrust, clawing at Wolfwood's chest. Red drag paths rise under the touch, contour from his breastbone down over his stomach at every insertion. Wolfwood pulls himself out to the tip before bucking forward, filling Vash again in one swift, deep motion.
"Take me so well, angel," Wolfwood praises, hooking his leg from over the bed over the back of Vash's thigh, shoving his knee under the man's ass to encourage each frantic motion as Vash rides the pleasure out.
"Thank you," Vash bites his lip for a second, the same mischievous glint in his expression as before, "Father."
"Fuck, don't do that," Wolfwood half-laughs, half-groans, panting to the ceiling, "I'm never gonna be able to hold confessionals again."
"I think I have more lust to confess," Vash teases back, talking between the satisfied little ah, ah's that ride his voice, "Father, I've acted in lust, too."
Wolfwood's grip tightens on Vash's hips, pleasure licking over his cock, tightening in his gut and the bse of his spine, "Yer bad for business, Spikey."
Vash, conversely, looks all too pleased with himself, lapping at the sweat on Wolfwood's neck. His vocalisation shifts quickly from a satisfied hum to a moan, burrowed straight into Wolfwood's jugular.
Wolfwood's hips ache, struggling from their rebellion against gravity. With a grunt, he taps at Vash's side, "Roll over. Gonna fuck you like you need it."
It takes a second for the words to compute, but no sooner, Vash was lifting himself off gingerly, clearing space on the bed for him to now lie. Wolfwood was quick to follow, standing up and finally kicking off the fabric that had constricted around his thighs for too long.
Nectar had seeped into the front of his slacks, ruining the fabric. He can't bring himself to care, looking at Vash now, the splayed morning star. Wolfwood grabs Vash's ankles, looping them over his shoulder. He means to resume fucking him, but here, its too easy to trail his kisses down the pale legs that circle him, bringing his face to Vash's cunt.
It's even sweeter from the source. The filaments glimmer to greet him, the petals open to his touch. It tastes like sticky honey and springtime. It tastes like Vash, with an undercut of his own salt, his own precum imbibed within the liquid.
"Vash, fuck," Wolfwood keeps one hand on Vash's thigh, but his own curls down, fisting at his own cock. Using Vash's spend, he can fuck into his palm in earnest, careful to keep himself on the knife's edge of pleasure. He needs to press inside Vash once more, see Vash's face as he comes undone around his dick, but he could soften his body first, watch an orgasm roll through Vash to his tongue first.
Vash's heels were digging into Wolfwood's back, his hands gripping at the pillow beneath his head. His body sang at every touch, shivering.
"So sensitive," Wolfwood appraises, breath ghosting over the nectary, "You feel good, Vash? You want more?"
"Please," Vash's voice is muffled into his own forearm, quivering now in earnest, "Please, Nico. I need you. Make me feel so good, please, so good to me, Father."
His entire body must be aching with want, stuffed full only to be denied straight after. Wolfwood's determined to make it worth it, sucking the bulbs of nerves into his mouth, stroking them with his tongue as he does.
Vash clenches around him, an unnatural strength in every tight muscle, and there is a fleeting second where Wolfwood remembers this body is a weapon, too.
It's the last thought he has before Vash cums down his throat.
Against the splatter of nectar that coats Wolfood's mouth, a new sensation joins the liquid. A hit of real pollen dusting up Wolfwood's nose, filling his brain with raw, animalistic need, a new arousal that overcomes any sensibility he has. His fist drives harder, pounding against his cock to match the sensation spilling through his head.
Wolfwood cums without even recognising he has, tongue lapping up as much honey from Vash's cunt as he can, cock spilling over the sheets beneath him. He's barely cognisant of the hand on his forehead until he's fully pushed off, Vash a quivering mess beneath him, shaking from overstimulation.
Carefully, he picks through the fog in his brain, trying to focus. He's filled with a fever pitch. In his hand, his cock twitches, refuses to soften at the sight before him. If anything, the first orgasm only pushes him further into the lust-haze.
"Vash- what?" Wolfwood blinks, dropping his cock so he can lazily stretch over Vash, a hand on either side of the man's face, "What was that?"
Vash's expression toes the line between lust and guilt. He's cupping Wolfwood's face, keeping him both held in affection and at a distance, "I didn't get the chance - God, Nico, you're a state. The spray, uhm, it's an aphrodisiac. It's… We should stop, you breathed in a lot of it."
Naturally producing Viagra. Wolfwood feels like he's gone fucking insane. He shakes his head, lining himself back up, using his knee to part Vash's leg once more, "No, no. Please, want you so bad. This is perfect. "
He's still hazy. Despite Vash's words, the lust has hit Vash just as hard, his body opening back up for Wolfwood. When Wolfwood's cock realigns with Vash, the man can do nothing but groan, welcoming his body once more.
"You're so fucking perfect, Vash," Wolfwood thrusts back inside, feeling how pliant the muscles have become post-orgasm. A moan stains Vash's mouth, his back arching up from the bed. Wolfwood's hips slap against the mans ass, the room is filled with sweet and sweat and the clinging sounds of sex pounding between them.
Vash is babbling some kind of praise into Wolfwoods mouth, the rush of oxygen only adding to the headrush. His hands grab and nip at any point they can, and around them, feathers scatter into the air, sprouting thicker from his back and shoulders, "Feel amazing, you fill me so good, Nico, please, I can't- it's too much, please."
Neither of them know what he's begging for anymore. Wolfwood's thoughts feel like they've leaked into the pool of arousal between them, lost to the space between their bodies.
Wolfwood bites hard at Vash's ear, the metal tang of his earring undercutting the honey coat. Buried into the secret of the moment, Wolfwood groans, buries something that sounds suspiciously like love ya, Spikey into the shell of his ear.
It's enough of a catalyst. Vash's body spasms his voice lost to nothing but Wolfwood's name, cried out loud enough the other patrons must be able to hear.
Wolfwood follows shortly after, fucking through the last of the pollen, spilling more than he ever has before into the heat of Vash's cunt. It takes all his willpower to even pull out, satisfied with the heaven Vash's body provides.
He doesn't go far.
Unceremoniously, Wolfwood flops down next to Vash, using his organic arm as a pillow while the prosthetic brushes his hair from his forehead, cooling the heat rising from his skin. It feels good. With little restraint left, Wolfwood closes his eyes and nuzzles forward into the techno-palm, sighing.
"Any more confessions?" Vash asks. Wolfwood snorts, cracking one eye open to Vash's features.
Something is wrong.
Wolfwood fights the haze to pull closer, pushing one of his legs between Vash's, drawing their stomachs and chests together. He's spent a long time documenting Vash's smiles, appreciating the sincerity of some, noting the mask others provide.
Tension pulls at Vash's lips like a fishhook.
"Talk to me."
Vash considers Wolfwood for a second, before he kisses Wolfwood, slowly, carefully. It seeps some of the bitterness, lost to the saccharine between them, "It's nothing, Nico. Just… That was okay? All of it?"
Wolfwood could have rolled his eyes. Classic perfect saviour Vash, caring to spare his feelings, even after giving him the best orgasm he'd had in forever.
"Yeah, Blondie. That was good," Wolfwood says, before, "I wasn't kiddin'. I've got no idea how I'm gonna do any more confessionals, without picturin' you like that."
"That… might not be a problem for a while."
When Wolfwood tips his head up, confused, Vash reaches above him, picking up the booth. One side of it had caved inwards, punched through from Vash's skull, tossed backwards at some point in the night.
Wolfwood laughs, bright, as he takes it from Vash's hold and drops it back on the floor, giving them the bed to themselves, "I guess some secrets are gonna come out after all."
Vash opens his arms, allowing Wolfwood to settle comfortably in his hold. He thinks about Wolfwood, pollen-drunk, murmuring his love you's into Vash's neck.
"Yeah," Vash says into Wolfwood's hairline, closing his eyes to soak in the moment, "I guess some will."