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The end of a long travel day was music to Wolfwood’s ears. A shitty motel felt more like a five star resort after nights cramped in the back seat of the truck, the idea of a shower, even cold, was enough to make him beg for mercy from above. The four of them barely said any words as they unload into the motel. They scrounged up enough change for two rooms, an unspoken decision of Meryl and Roberto in one room and Vash and Wolfwood in the other. They grab their keys, dragging their weary bones up the stairs and into safer spaces.
Wolfwood propped his Punisher cross against the wall opposite the door, staking his claim to the further bed and relegating the Typhoon to the closer bed. Neither man said anything, just quick nods to acknowledge the decision before collapsing onto their respective beds. Wolfwood lit his first cigarette of the night, taking long and slow drags off the thing to warm his lungs. Vash made a noise of discontent, but left the argument at that, the energy just not there to make more of a stink.
They laid there for a short while, the suns beginning to set outside the dingy and dirt covered window. The room was bathed in golden light before either man spoke, Vash being the first to break the silence. His voice was low and soft when he finally used it.
“Mind if I turn on the radio?”
Wolfwood grunted an affirmation, waving him toward the device as he worked on a third cigarette. “Fine by me.”
Vash pushed himself on rickety legs, a barely noticeable wobble was the most Wolfwood had seen him show of the exhaustion that had to be settling in deep. Wolfwood sat up to watch him, a close eye on the man. The wobble had to mean his prosthetic legs had been on for far too long, the stumps likely chafed and bruised underneath. But he couldn’t blame Vash for it, there was hardly enough room in the truck for him to pull the prosthetics off when he needed rest, nor would it make sense to handicap himself when at any moment they could run into bandits and need to move.
“Yer gonna take those off tonight, right? Wouldn’t want our ace in the hole down for the count ‘cause he pushed himself too far.”
Vash laughed lightly, flicking on the radio and searching for a station through endless crackling and noise. He lets out a small ‘aha!’ upon finding a station playing old and slow tunes. It still wasn’t clear, the crackle of radio waves interrupting, but it’s better than silence.
“Well, of course. I trust you to take care of things if anything happens. But not until we’re fully settled for the night. Still need showers, and food.” Vash turned to look at Wolfwood with a genuine smile, a soft and light thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes where it met them. Not something everyone got to see every day from the Humanoid Typhoon, something reserved for those he trusts the most. He shouldn’t trust Wolfwood with it.
The dark haired man let out a huff, and a puff of smoke with it. No use in fighting it, they’re both too grimy and starved.
“Shower’s yours first, Needle-noggin. I’ve got a date with another cigarette or two before I do anything else.”
Vash wrinkled his nose at that, waving a hand in front of his own face.
“Y’know, I wish you wouldn’t do that. Smoking’s bad for you, and I’m sure there’s other things you could do that wouldn’t be so destructive to your body.”
“Ain’t a fight to pick, Blondie. ‘Sides, bullets are worse than cigarettes, I promise you that. These are a slow death, lead’s quick and messy.”
“Well- Fine. Just don’t stink up the whole room.” Vash waved him off before wandering off into the bathroom.
Wolfwood ignored him, letting the glow of the setting suns wash over him and the crackle of the radio soothe him into a trance. He might just skip the shower in exchange for some extra sleep. The car seat did nothing for his already aching back, nor did the heavy cross he bore. It felt like an eternity before Vash returned to the room, but Wolfwood knew it wasn’t even twenty minutes. Even when urged to take a while, Vash could never leave the water running longer than ten minutes. Something about respecting the work the plants put into providing it. Wolfwood tried not to care, but found himself taking increasingly shorter showers as of late.
Vash was out of his usual getup, instead clad in a threadbare t shirt and dark sweats that are gathered just above his prosthetics. His dirty clothes were folded neatly in his arms and he dropped heavily onto the bed. The clothes were set down by the foot of the bed more gently. Wolfwood watched him closely, a brow raised at the other man.
“Thought you weren’t disarming ‘till later. Still gotta get food.” But the chafing of the flesh of Vash’s thighs was obvious, as well as the swelling, and even some bruising.
“Ah, yeah, I figured I’d change to something more comfortable for a bit. I know Meryl’s gonna take a long shower, so might as well, right?” He was hiding something, Wolfwood could see it on his face. He stared the other man down for a long moment before shrugging it off and stubbing out his current cigarette.
“Fine, but don’t whine to me about it later.” He stood up from his own bed, joints creaking and popping as he did. He groaned and stretched before dragging his feet toward the bathroom. He hoped there was hot water, at the very least not ice cold. Vash was leaning against the headboard of his bed, rubbing at his thighs just before they turned into metal, face empty.
Wolfwood tried not to think about that too much, shutting and locking the door behind him. He leaned against the edge of the sink, staring himself down in the mirror. The face looking back was a familiar shade of exhaustion, a weariness he’d grown far too accustomed to seeing. He blinked blearily against the light, setting his sunglasses on the edge of the sink. He scrubbed a hand over his face, uselessly trying to wipe away the years of malaise and dejection built up in his being. No matter how hard he tried, there was no removing the core of his being, no removing the parts that held him together. No matter how hard he prayed, begged, pleaded, his orisons went ignored by whatever sick God heard them, beads lost long ago to a desert unrelenting.
With one last look in the mirror, he turned to crank on the shower. The pressure left something to be desired, but as he waited, he could feel the water heating up under his hand, and that would be enough. He stripped his suit jacket, hanging the article off the tank of the toilet, unbuttoned his shirt and let that fall to the floor, his slacks and boxers joining it before ducking into the warm spray. He can’t help the near moan that rises from his throat as the water grows hotter and reaches into his aching shoulders. He can feel the water chasing dirt down his skin, the clear droplets tinged brown by the time they drop down into the tub.
There was cheap soap in the tub, but even that felt like an absolute luxury. He used a bare hand to scrub at himself, taking his time to scrape off the grime that’d built up over days in the desert. The most amazing part was how long the hot water was holding out. He tilted his head into the spray, feeling grains of sand shaking loose and dropping down to the drain as he scrubbed the soap into his scalp. There’s little hope of ever feeling perfectly clean in the desert, but it did feel nice to scrub off a few layers of dirt.
Wolfwood turned to face the spray of the shower, letting the heat seep into weary shoulders, strained pecs, drowning his exhaustion in it. He let his thoughts wander, to the angel in the next room. It didn’t matter now if God wouldn’t hear his prayers, he had his own personal angel to hear him, to worship with his entire being. And worship he did— Behind closed doors, mouths hot and desperate with pleas and prayers. He thought about Vash, thought about those lips on him, greedy for anything he’ll give. He leaned against the wall of the shower, taking himself into his hand, imagining a pretty blonde on his knees in front of him, worshipping tanned skin, kissing and biting everywhere he could reach.
He strokes long and slow at first, thumbing over the head and slit and letting out a low grunt. Knowing his angel was in the next room, might even hear him, drove him on, pulling memories of him debauched and ruined beneath him. He was muttering praise and worship for the angel, tugging at his own flesh. Wolfwood cast a glance toward the door, willing his angel to hear his prayers, to join his worship, to remind him of what drove him to keep moving every day. He tugs at himself faster, chasing the high of release as the water begins to run cold. He knew Vash wouldn’t hear him from here, muffling quiet gasps and moans with a bite to his bottom lip. Before he knew it, he was spilling over his hand, with a barely contained moan of his angel’s name, praise tumbling off his tongue.
Wolfwood leaned heavily against the wall, whatever energy he had left spiraling down the drain with the evidence of his prayers. The water feels like ice against his skin now, a stark contrast to the heat he knows is waiting beyond the motel room in the desert. He cleaned himself off one last time, before shutting off the water with a little more force than necessary. He stepped out of the tub with a grimace, grabbing the nearest clean towel to dry off and redressing in his suit.
When he reentered the room, Vash startled from near sleep against the headboard of the bed, blinking at Wolfwood in confusion for the briefest moment before a soft smile played at his lips and Wolfwood briefly thanked whatever God brought him this angel.
“Enjoy your shower, Nick?” Ha. If only he knew.
“Until the hot water ran out,” he said with a shrug, sitting on the edge of his own bed to face Vash. The radio was still playing gently through the room, the crackle a comfort now to both men. “How’re your legs holding up, Spikey?”
The pain was written on Vash’s face as soon as Wolfwood asked, the mask easily giving way to reality. He rubbed at the spot above the prosthetics again, digging his thumbs into the muscle as he did.
“Laying down helps a lot. Sitting isn’t bad, but there’s still pressure, y’know? But laying down has definitely helped. I should be fine until we’re done for the night.”
Wolfwood hummed, tapping a finger on his knee. “If it gets too bad, I can just carry your scrawny ass back here.”
Vash sputtered at that, cheeks blossoming to bright pink he tried to hide under his hands. “There’s no need for that, I’ll be fine, I’ll be able to get back here just fine on my own!”
Wolfwood snorted and stood up from the bed, closing the short gap to Vash’s own bed. “Nothin’ wrong with admitting you need help, Angel.”
He kneeled on the bed, reaching towards Vash’s left leg. His motions stopped before he made contact, an unspoken question lingering between them before Vash shifted the leg closer to Wolfwood, a silent answer. With gentle hands, he began a slow massage of the skin above the prosthetic, digging into stiff muscle with roughened thumbs. A thought bubbled up about the irony of his hands, so calloused with wear and marred with sin, bringing relief to a being so holy and divine.
A few minutes passed of Wolfwood continuing to massage the battered skin and Vash making little appreciative noises. The radio continued to croon from across the room, cutting in and out as the signal came and went. A song came on, the clearest of the night, that Wolfwood knew well. He stopped his movements and hummed along, swaying ever so slightly to the tune. Vash gave him a look, something he couldn’t quite read, before standing up from the bed. He wobbled less than before, a little sturdier on his feet, and Wolfwood looked up at him. He looked up at his angel, looked up at his saint with nothing but reverence in his eyes, and his angel smiled down at him, a blessing for an unworthy sinner.
“Nicholas, may I have this dance?” Vash was holding a hand out to him, a crinkle at the edge of his eyes as he smiled. Wolfwood took his hand without much thought, letting the other man pull him up from the bed and to the middle of the room. The words processed and he huffed out a small laugh.
“One problem, Angel, I don’t know how to dance.” Despite that, Wolfwood let his hands come to rest on Vash’s shoulders, a sign for him to take the lead. Vash laughed, resting his own hands on Wolfwood’s waist
“That’s fine,” Vash said, and his voice was so soft, a barely perceptive whisper. “Neither do I.”
The signal came on stronger, the song becoming even clearer as the chorus hit, and the pair swayed in place. A small step to the left, a small step to the right. Wolfwood hummed along to the music as they swayed. Vash let his forehead come to rest against Wolfwood’s, pulling the other man closer until there was barely any space for air to squeeze between their chests. This, too, could be a form of worship, a way to show his Angel how deep his need ran, a way for a dying man to plead for salvation. Words of prayer bubbled up into his throat, only hushed by a gentle press of lips to his own. And oh, how sweet it was, how quickly it tore the thoughts from his head, replacing them with a burning need for more. Wolfwood tried to chase those lips when they left his own, only to find a finger pressed to them.
“My darling, my light, keep your praise tonight,” Vash muttered and pressed a kiss to Wolfwood’s nose.
“Poetic little shit.”
“Aw, c’mon, don’t ruin the mood!”
The song crackled out, the signal once again growing weak, but neither man moved to pull away, continuing to sway into place as the next song slid in to fill the silence with the buzz of radio waves. Wolfwood let his arms fully encircle Vash’s shoulder, pressing their foreheads together again as they let the music wash over them. He could hear the signs of life outside the door, outside the window, on the streets below, but none of that mattered with Vash in his arms.
This time, Vash hummed along to the song, a look of pure content on his face as fingers tapped on Wolfwood’s waist. He hesitates for a moment before gripping Wolfwood tighter and spinning the duo. Wolfwood stumbled with him, letting out a yelp of surprise.
“What the hell?!”
Vash laughed, dropping his head onto Wolfwood’s shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to try that! Sorry.”
“Warn a guy next time, at the least,” Wolfwood grumbled, feeling the heat spreading on his cheeks. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, threatening to beat right out of his throat. If Vash couldn’t feel or hear it, that would be a miracle in its own right. Vash pulled him closer with another mumbled apology, chests flush against each other.
The radio crackled back to clarity, transitioning to another song. Vash seemed to perk up at the lyrics, looking at the radio as the lyrics and piano get clearer.
I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things.
And Vash started singing with the next line, voice low and sweet while continuing to sway in place with Wolfwood in his arms. He looked at Wolfwood with eyes full of mischief. It wasn’t a song Wolfwood had ever heard, but Vash seemed to know it well. It was bouncier than the previous songs had been, but still good. He kept a firm hold on Wolfwood as he sang, peppering kisses to his face, his throat, anywhere he could reach as he did. Each one felt like a blessing on loan to a man running out of time, a man who knew his time could be cut short any day, but he was going to soak it all in, payment due upon death.
The song picked up a bit, but Vash never faltered, crooning on about a loverboy, much to Wolfwood’s chagrin. But he wouldn’t interrupt it, the sound of Vash’s singing being permanently singed into his ears. He had a good voice, but Wolfwood would have loved to hear it no matter what. There would never be enough of this divine beauty to satiate Wolfwood’s hunger for him, he knew that. Every day they spent together was another he knew would come back for him in Hell, but dammit, he was going to enjoy it while he could.
The song was short, fading out sooner than Wolfwood would have liked, and Vash’s singing faded with it. The mischief in his eyes had given way to something soft. Adoration, lust, longing, but they would never call it love. Love was too strong a word for two men running on borrowed time, but for a moment, Wolfwood considered it. He stared deep into baby blues, searching for something he couldn’t even begin to name. Vash just smiled at him, a lopsided and dopey thing that tugged at Wolfwood’s heart strings.
Wolfwood tangled his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging Vash into a kiss that was more teeth than anything else. Rough and quick. He pulls back, but Vash chases it, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Vash, darlin’—” He was cut off with another kiss.
“Don’t. Just… Don’t say anything, Nico.” He pressed another kiss to Wolfwood’s jaw before burying his face against his neck. “Not yet, at least.”
Wolfwood nodded, letting his cheek rest against Vash’s hair and tightening his hold on the other man. They continue to sway in place to a song neither can make out. It felt right to hold each other like this, like they were meant to slot together so perfectly, despite how much Wolfwood would claim he didn’t deserve an angel in his life. They continue to sway in place for a few more blessed moments before Vash stills and pulls away, putting a few inches between them. He looked at Wolfwood and the look in his eyes was so full of sadness, so full of yearning, that Wolfwood wanted nothing more than to kiss it away.
“Nicholas, I—”
“I love you,” he blurted out, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “Shit, uh, forget I said anything?”
Vash stared, eyes wide. Tears welled up in baby blues and Wolfwood flinched back. He isn’t sure what part of that called for tears, but somewhere in Hell a special fire started burning for him for making such a divine being cry.
“No, no, you don’t get to take that back,” Vash said, the tears finally spilling over. “I love you too, Nicholas, so damn much it hurts.”
Oh.
Wolfwood grabbed the sides of Vash’s face, pulling him into a rough kiss that feels like the closest he’ll ever get to heaven after how he’s ruined one of their best angels. Vash’s hands gripped into his shirt, pressing more wrinkles into the fabric, but Wolfwood couldn’t be bothered to care at that moment, a bit more distracted with tasting every inch of Vash’s mouth. Vash tugged him backwards, toward the beds, and something jumped in Wolfwood’s chest. He pulled back from the kiss, thumbs wiping at the tears still on Vash’s cheeks.
“As much as I’d love to get you in bed and tear those clothes off of you right now, Spikey, maybe we should wait until after we get some food,” Wolfwood mumbled, but still let himself be pulled toward the bed.
Vash snickered, breaking away from Wolfwood to sit heavily on the bed. “As nice as that sounds, I actually think I need to get the legs off now. I might’ve overdone it?” He swung one leg up onto the bed, wincing with the action.
Wolfwood sighed, crouching down in front of him and shaking his head.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Honeybee,” he drawled, gentle hands on the prosthetic left hanging over the bed. “Let’s get these off’a ya.”
Vash nodded, hands on the other leg. “Okay. On three?”
Wolfwood hummed in response, finding the connection point and waiting on Vash’s signal. He looked at him through his lashes, raising a brow at him.
“On three.”
“Okay. One. Two.” Vash sucked in a breath. “Three.”
At the same time, they disconnected the limbs, Vash letting out a hiss of pain as they did. Wolfwood twisted the prosthetic fully off, propping it up against the bed. Vash pulled the other off, sliding it off next to the other and flopped back onto the bed. Wolfwood rose from his crouch, grabbing his cigarettes off his bed and sitting next to Vash. He shook one out and lit it, sucking in a deep breath of smoke. Vash whined next to him, weakly smacking his arm.
“Nick, do you have to do that on my bed? It’s gonna smell like smoke all night!”
“Are you gonna let me go stand at the window to smoke?” Wolfwood twisted to look at him. Vash grabbed onto his shirt once more, half curling around him and shaking his head. “Thought so. I’ll tell Meryl to bring some food back for us.”
“You don’t have to stay here with me, you can go with them, if you want to.”
“And leave you here alone?” He wouldn’t mention defenseless. “Not a chance, Honeybee.” He twisted to run a hand through Vash’s hair, ruffling the locks as he did.
Vash leaned into the touch with an appreciative hum and Wolfwood took it as a sign to gently scratch his scalp. Vash curled further around him, purring at the attention. A faint glow suffused through Vash’s skin, the markings hiding underneath gradually growing more visible the longer Wolfwood pet him. He could see Vash visibly relaxing further and further under the attention. He finished the cigarette and briefly considered lighting a second before shaking his head at the idea and turning his full attention to the clingy angel at his side. His hand stilled in Vash’s hair.
“Sweetheart, you’re glowin’.”
Vash whined in response, burying his face further against Wolfwood’s side. He couldn’t hear whatever was mumbled, but he assumed it was a request to keep up the attention, and so he continued petting Vash’s hair. The glow emanating from him was quickly becoming the only light in the room as the suns fully set outside the motel. Wolfwood reached over to switch on the light on the bedside table, patting Vash on the shoulder.
“I’m gonna go see what’s taking the other two so long, you gonna be alright here for a few alone?”
“‘M not completely defenseless, Nico,” he says, looking up at Wolfwood with tired eyes.
Wolfwood pat him on the hair one last time before getting up. He haphazardly shoved his feet into his shoes on the way to the door, wrenching it open. Apparently, someone wanted to play a joke on him, because Meryl was already on the other side, one hand poised to knock. She looked like she’d just woken up and Wolfwood stepped back to look down at her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I guess I did. I don’t know if it was an accident for Roberto, but he did too. I hope you guys weren’t waiting on us to get food, but I wanted to check before just going.”
Wolfwood shrugged, motioning vaguely behind him. “We were waiting on you guys, Needles needed to rest his legs. Was just about to come ask if you guys wouldn’t mind bringing some grub back for us. He’s already taken ‘em off and I don’t want to leave him here alone.”
Meryl blinked at him a few times, the words taking a moment to process. “Oh. Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “Of course, it’s not a problem! I’ll grab Roberto and we’ll be back as quickly as we can!”
Without waiting for an answer, she waved and turned to go collect the other man.
“Thanks, short-stack!” Wolfwood called before closing and locking the door before she could object to the nickname. He could hear the indignant noise she made beyond the door, snickering as he went back to sit on the bed with Vash. Almost immediately, the other man curls back around him.
“Well, that’s food covered, Angel, get some more rest.”
Vash hummed against his side, arms circling around Wolfwood to hold him in place. Wolfwood resumed carding his fingers through his hair.