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The moment he had realized something was wrong was when Vash did not come back to the hotel.
Sure they had had a huge fight, after another gunfight with bounty hunters where Wolfwood would have preferred the easy way out of it, rather with him and Vash still in one piece and unharmed than full of bullet-holes and on the brink of death. A little well-placed bullet shot here, a little there, some missiles there, and done, no more bounty hunters coming after them! But no, that’s not how Vash wants it to go down, doesn't want to kill the very people who would kill him without a second thought.
Idiot.
So, they had done the trek through the vast desert after the whole ordeal, and were very much pissed off at each other through the whole walk.
They walked for what felt like hours, and if they had been normal humans, he was quite sure they would not have made it alive, the binary suns scorching the dry earth and burning their flesh and sucking all the moisture out of everything the light touched.
They then got lucky, when the suns had already started dipping low in the horizon, painting it in shades of burnt orange instead of bright blue.
They had come upon a small settlement in the middle of nowhere, now looking like a shining beacon against the skyline, hungry and thirsty and definitely still cranky at each other, but then again, what else was new? They were Vash and Wolfwood, always bickering, poking fun at each other, always joking and butting heads with completely opposite morals and ideals but that didn't mean anything, it was irrelevant because they were them. There was no way a little argument over arbitrary things like morals in a god-forsaken hell-scape like No-man's Land could actually destroy what they had.
That’s what Wolfwood told himself, at least.
When Vash had told Wolfwood that he would go to a bar down the street, he knew it was just an excuse for Vash to escape the oppressive atmosphere that had enveloped the air in the cramped room after their not-shouting match (okay, maybe there was a little shouting), most likely to give himself and Wolfwood both some space to clear their heads.
But then Vash had not come back.
So, to put it in simpler terms, Wolfwood was concerned.
No, not worried , that wasn’t really his style, he was just a little… concerned.
Yeah, let's go with that one.
At first Wolfwood thought that he had finally done it, he had finally pissed Vash off enough for him to just up and leave. Though, Wolfwood eyed the bag on the floor, and stopped his dramatic train of thought with some more logical thoughts like Vash wouldn't leave without his stuff, that would he stupid, where would he even go?
So Wolfwood did the smart thing; he sat his ass down and waited.
After the first hour he had got up and paced in a circle around the room, like a caged animal, almost vibrating with pent-up energy. Vash did not usually stay away for long, afraid that someone would recognize him and they would have to skip town without enough time to rest.
Didn't want to make that mistake twice.
After pacing in their shared hotel room for what must have been at least a few more hours, long enough for the the suns to have already fully set, and for the sky to turn endlessly black and mottled with sparkling stars, and then, only then, after he had smoked enough cigarettes for the room smell stale and for him to come dangerously close to running out, he finally made the decision to go looking for Vash himself.
Wolfwood had slinked into the shadows of the desert town with practiced ease, exploring the settlement erected in the middle of the vastness of the desert, keeping an eye on all the people he passed from where he could see them but from where they could not see him. The thirsty ones had started coming out of their daily hides to quench said thirst with something, anything, to make their bleak reality easier to bear, to make the stale food taste even a little bit better, make the murky, muddy water taste fresher, to make it so they can bear another day having to endure scorching sunlight and little-to-no hope.
They did not notice Wolfwood's bulky frame slink down the abandoned alleyways, they did not see his shadow nor the cross he bore on his shoulders or the furrowing of his brow as he did not see even a glimpse of spiked-up blond hair, no sound of light laughter, no sight of a bright red jacket.
He walked around aimlessly yet methodically, making sure he left no stone unturned and no alley unwatched, until he came upon an abandoned part of the town at the very outskirts of it. Hulking dilapidated buildings of metal lined the edges of it and now surrounded him, their exterior more rust than anything else by now, creaking and whistling in the wind, him only seeing gray and orange slabs of forgotten homes. Some of the walls had started rotting with time, exposing interiors some still full of their previous tenants' possessions, toys, carpets, tapestries, chairs, small trinkets that spoke of lives long lost.
The taste of rust coated the back of his throat.
Wolfwood briefly wondered what had happened to this place, but he could venture a guess: the same thing that happened to most settlements. A dying plant, not able to keep producing enough energy for the humans’ needs, then it going through a last run with nothing else to replace it, no one having the means to get a new plant, then resources running out, not enough water and food and warmth to get through the freezing nights, then, finally, people started dying, until eventually the town collapsed into itself.
The sight had become cynically familiar to him.
He kept his pace quiet yet quick as he traveled further into the eerie ghost town. Soft wind howled through an alley, strong enough to be felt, but not strong enough to be harnessed, not enough to be useful, not even strong enough to cool someone down under the blistering suns.
He walked until he heard a strange sound that drew his attention.
Halting in his steps, feet digging into the soft sand, he stopped and listened.
A whimper.
He knew that voice. Could recognize it anywhere.
Vash .
Adjusting his grip on the straps of the cross, he started determinedly speed-walking towards where he thought the sound had come from.
Now he could admit that he was genuinely worried. The sound had sounded pained, and, shit, was Vash hurt? While Wolfwood had sat on their hotel room bed and twirled his thumbs, had someone managed to get their hands on Vash? Townspeople with revenge in their mind? Bounty hunters? Equal opportunists? Knives?
Keeping his ears open for any small sound, he suddenly became sort of grateful, in a strange way, for his enhancements. He was sure if not for them, he would not have heard the faint sounds of distress. He came up to another building further down, took another moment to stand still and listen, only to hear labored breathing behind a door.
Another whimper, this one louder, made the hairs at the back of his head stand up.
Swinging the Punisher over his shoulder and setting it against the outer wall, Wolfwood tried the door handle, only to find it bolted shut, either taken over by rust, or maybe something had been set against the door to keep it shut.
“Hey, Vash! Can you hear me?” Wolfwood tried to speak through the door. As his hands rattled the doorknob, the sounds had stilled and stopped completely.
Vash did not answer him.
Growing more and more concerned for Vash's wellbeing, Wolfwood hit his shoulder against the pesky door, the only thing between him and a potentially hurt and bleeding Vash, and the thought made him use all the strenght he had in his body, putting his whole weight behind his strikes, the thick steel door ominously creaking under his weight, until finally, fucking finally , it collapsed under him and hit the floor with a resounding bang .
It took his eyes a second to adjust to the complete darkness inside the building.
“... Vash?” He whispered.
He could not see Vash anywhere. Where the hell was he? Did he pick the wrong building–, no, that’s not possible, Wolfwood could hear him here and–
Suddenly Vash was in front of him, having appeared there quicker than Wolfwood could blink, quicker than even his eyes or brain could comprehend, and he almost, almost, sighed in relief, Vash was alive dammit –
He also had a gun in his hands.
Which was now pressed against Wolfwood's forehead.
“Blondie? What are you…?” Wolfwood suddenly spoke quietly, whispered his words in complete disbelief, the air around them strange and charged.
Oddly enough, the hand holding Vash’s gun was shaking.
Wolfwood had never seen Vash's hands shake while holding a gun, if anything holding one seemed to stabilize him even more, almost like the familiar weight of it erased all of his anxieties and doubts, like it was the line between doubt and conviction.
Now, the Colt gripped in his hands rattled with his tremors.
Wolfwood lifted his eyes higher, over the gun, the fingers holding it, all the way up a shaking arm, to the shoulders lifted up to Vash's ears, then dipping down to gaze at the strung up muscles of his neck and clenched jaw, all the way to his face, after which Wolfwood came to a concerning realization.
Something really was wrong with Vash.
His face was pale, even paler than normal, a sheen of sweat covered every visible inch of his skin, some dripping down Vash's brow bone in rivulets. His hair stood up in odd angles, even more so than usual, like someone had held their hands there, gripping the soft strands, disrupting the usual way it laid, the natural dis-order of it made even worse.
But, out of all of these things, the most concerning thing Wolfwood noticed was Vash's eyes.
His eyes were wide and unseeing, the pupils blown out to the point there was no familiar blue to be found in them anymore, and it seemed almost like Vash did not recognize who Wolfwood was , there was no familiarity in those eyes that had grown distant underneath his half-lidded eyelids, following things with his gaze only Vash could currently see, frantically flicking over Wolfwood, the open door, and the gun pointed at him.
Vash had a gun pointed at him.
Wolfwood never understood Vash's insistence to love the very people who would kill him in a heartbeat. The ones who would use him, pretend to be his friend, then turn their backs on him the moment the bounty started sounding more appealing than his help and company.
Yet Vash still forgave them.
Over and over and over again .
Wolfwood kind of gets it now.
If it's Vash pointing a gun at him, the safety off and his finger firmly on the trigger, it would be fine, really.
If it was Vash who killed him, he would be glad to go.
That didn't mean he wanted to die, exactly. He knew he was going to, eventually, maybe not in a way that other people get to die, oh no, he had been robbed of such luxuries by The Eye. He knew whatever they did to him would catch up to him eventually. Or, maybe the vials would one day be too much for his body, or maybe he would get shot in a place he could not come back from, or, or, maybe, right now, right here, when Vash finally takes pity on him and puts him down like the rabid dog he was, he could die in a way that had meaning .
Because if it was Vash, it would be a meaningful death to him.
Wolfwood could feel his chest constrict and fill with warmth at the same time, the combination disorientating and new, and what he does next he could conveniently blame on the confusion for his half-assed plan and actions.
Wolfwoof looks at the gun still pointed up at him, pressed firmly to the center of his forehead. He brings it downward by nudging the barrel with his forehead, applying pressure which at first seems to do nothing, until finally something gives, Vash's hand relaxing enough for it to move, the gun going down inch by inch, and finally when it's close enough–
He kisses the point of it.
Vash's breath hitches.
Wolfwood noses along the familiar feel of the gun, knowing from memory all the bumps and ridges of it, even though he knows he shouldn't, shouldn't be allowed to take his fill of Vash's precious gun but still doing it, shame burning in his chest with the image of it stamped permanently on his mind.
Wolfwood concentrates on keeping his hands relaxed by his sides, not wanting to startle Vash by trying to touch him or the gun, yet, and truthfully not actually feeling worthy of touching the gun with his hands while it is in Vash’s hold anyway. The cold barrel slides along his cheek, the feeling of it oddly soothing, and he sighs, planting another kiss to the side of it, and Vash's hand is still trembling, his breath stuttering in his chest, his brows furrowed in confusion, in shock, and something else Wolfwood can't seem to name.
Wolfwood turns his head until his temple rests on the gun, leaving behind soft presses of lips, worshiping the gun like he wishes he too would be worthy of being worshiped. He hums softly, and inches his face closer to Vash’s hand, closer to the finger resting on the trigger, which caresses his cheek as he goes forward, stubble catching on skin and the fabric of Vash's black glove, all the way until he reaches Vash’s wrist.
With an inhale, he takes in the unique scent of Vash. It's floral, but there's more to it, like the ground after a storm, ozone and air and alive , and he almost can't get enough of it, wants to peel the glove away until he can touch bare skin, feel the heat Vash emits unobscured by any barriers between them.
He gets lost in the sensations, head growing cloudy, and if it were anyone else here with him, he would claw his way back out of the feeling, but it's just them here.
It'll be fine.
It's fine if it's Vash.
Wolfwood lifts up a hand, slowly, carefully, telegraphing his movements in a way that he knows Vash can see. And he does, following Wolfwood’s every movement with dilated pupils, until Wolfwood can cradle the hand holding the gun, taking his delicate wrist into his palm, not gripping, not squeezing, just holding, and steadies Vash’s wrist until he can press his cheek against the inside of his wrist.
Vash moans.
Opening his eyes, he finds Vash looking at him, only concentrating on his face and eyes and lips, and his eyes look a bit clearer, his breaths coming out in soft pants instead of stuttered sobs, his mouth open and brows still furrowed, though his shoulders have relaxed incrementally, not yet fully relaxed, but not ready to rip him to pieces either.
“Ya with me, Needle-Noggin’?”
Wolfwood’s soft raspy voice seems to break the deafening silence around them, and Vash appears to come back to himself even more, though he does not step back, does not pull away from Wolfwood’s gentle grip, like he's sure Vash would if he was fully in his right mind.
“...Wolf…wood…? Nick?” Vash’s voice is brittle, unsure, like he’s not quite convinced the person in front of him is actually Wolfwood, but maybe a mirage, something the desert and sand and heat pulled out of thin air to mess with him.
“I’m here. Are you hurt?” Wolfwood’s voice hadn't sounded this gentle in years, and the reminder that he could still sound like this almost hurt.
“I-, I'm n-not sure.” Vash's teeth had started chattering, the sweat freezing on his skin in the night air. The air around them had become cold, their breaths misting around them.
“What do you remember?”
“I- I went to the b-bar. I was alone at first, but someone– someone offered me a drink. I accepted it.” Vash's breath kept hitching. His words were slurred and slow.
Wolfwood furrowed his brow.
“There was something in the drink? Did they recognize you?” Wolfwood asked frantically.
“I don't… I'm not sure.”
Vash still looked so out of it.
Shit.
Whatever they had mixed in Vash's drink wasn't obviously mixing well with Vash's plant physiology.
If Wolfwood had to guess, Vash had been given worm venom. A new fun little craze the humans had come up with. Wolfwood too had experienced his fair share of worm venom trips (very much unwillingly), also finding it did not agree with him.
He knew the come-down could be pretty brutal.
Vash's arm had lowered back to his side by now, the one holding his gun, taking Wolfwood's hand with it too. Vash still trembled, and another whimper drew Wolfwood back to the present.
“Are you hurt in any other way?” Wolfwood grit his teeth, letting go of Vash to raise his hands up, as if about to check himself if Vash was otherwise in pain and trying to hide it. He decided to grip Vash’d shoulders instead, to soothe and steady him.
“No, j-just the drug. I noticed something was wrong and tried to come back to the hotel, but they tried to stop me and I had to distract them and then I started running and I just kept running and I got lost and I couldn't find you –”
“VASH! Fucking, breathe!” Wolfwood gripped Vash's shoulders tighter, his eyes had grown wet and glassy again during his explanation, the words growing more and more jumbled, his breaths becoming near hyperventilation, sobs wrecking his already shaky frame.
Vash tried to take in a deep breath, but he couldn't get enough air in his lungs. The light-headedness caused his knees to eventually buckle, the Colt falling from numb fingers. Thankfully Wolfwood already had a grip on Vash or else the man would have collapsed to a heap on the floor. He swore as Vash’s deceptive weight was now all his to bear (how could someone so lithe weight this fucking much?!), and he slowly lowered them to the dusty floor.
“Goddammit, Needle-Noggin’, breathe.” Wolfwood cradled Vash's sweaty face in his hands, pushing blond hair away from his forehead gently.
“I'm here now, it'll be alright.” He softly hushed Vash, until his breathing evened and the sobs quieted.
“That's it Vash, you're doing so well.”
“It hurts.” Vas whispered.
The last remnants of Wolfwood’s heart broke into pieces. There was no antidote to the worm venom. He had learned that the hard way himself. There was really nothing they could do but to ride it out.
Wolfwood did not answer Vash's declaration with words. Instead he gathered Vash into his arms and pulled him into a hug.
It had been a while since he had cared for someone sick. Back at the orphanage, Livio had gotten a pretty nasty cold from somewhere, and he had been so miserable. Wolfwood had done anything he could to soothe him back then. He read Livio bedtime stories, rubbed his back when the coughs rattled his small chest, shoved away his share of the food and drink portions to make sure Livio could eat himself full and drink enough water.
The memory stung worse than any bullet wound. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to concentrate on Vash right now, not days long gone. They should slink back into the hotel, while it was still dark out, using the shadows to not attract (any more) unwanted attention.
Vash had actually calmed down a bit, in Wolfwood’s arms, his face was nestled in the crook of his neck, and Vash’s damp erratic breath left behind a moist residue on his neck.
They needed to move.
Wolfwood gently nudged Vash, who whined in distress at the movement, obviously feeling way too comfortable against Wolfwood’s chest.
“Hey, Vash? Can you hear me? We need to go back to the hotel, you need rest.” Wolfwood spoke in a soothing tone, adjusting his grip on Vash to prepare them to rise from their slumped position.
Vash only moaned in misery. Wolfwood sighed.
“I know. Just hang on.”
It seemed like Vash took his phrasing a bit too seriously, looping his arms around Wolfwood’s neck and holding as tightly as his shaking arms could. Wolfwood ended up having to lift both of them up, first up to their knees, and then slowly, carefully up again, until finally he had his legs securely under him, and Vash pressed against him with Wolfwood having a tight grip on Vash's hip to steady them.
Vash's eyes grew a bit glassy again, obviously the upright position not agreeing with him.
Wolfwood could see something glint in his peripheral vision, and noticed the gun still laying on the floor.
Carefully bending down, he grabbed the gun and inserted it into an empty holster hidden underneath his own jacket.
Vash would actually kill him if he left the gun behind, after all.
The trek through the beaten down floor underneath them was not easy. Vash dragged his feet, and when it seemed like he had gained his footing, his knees would bend and Wolfwood was back to dragging his whole weight.
At least hauling around a 300 pound metal cross was good for something, he mused. He had become quite good at towing around dead weight.
Speaking of, the cross still leaned against the side of the building, completely untouched, and with the hand that did not support Vash, he grabbed one of the leather straps and heaved it onto his other shoulder.
The suns were maybe an hour away from rising.
He had to be quick.
So, with as hurried as pace as he could, he started the journey back to their hotel room.
.
Wolfwood did not consider himself a lucky man, as his history and many misfortunes suggested, but he thanked whatever god or god-like being (or maybe The God, whoever that was) for letting them get back to their room without being disturbed.
With a groan, he first deposited the Punisher by the door, somewhere he could easily see it, and if necessary, reach it.
Then he gently laid Vash onto the bed.
He had fallen asleep at some point, exhaustion and anxiety and pain finally knocking him out.
It did not seem like his sleep was restful though.
Fine tremors still wracked his body, occasionally flinching away from whatever he saw in his dreams with small sounds.
Wolfwood went to the bathroom attached to their bedroom, grabbed a clean washcloth, a bucket, and then ran the faucet until the water became as cold as it could.
Coming back to the room, he placed the bucket by the bedside, took off his blazer, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt, exposing strong tan forearms.
He would have to undress Vash, just enough to keep him cool, and funnily enough, that is the thought that made his face heat up, cheeks flushing and heating. He shakes his head, and tries to convince himself that it’s fine, it’s only clinical, medical, something he has to do and is not allowed to derive any pleasure from.
With his thoughts back in order, he starts carefully peeling off Vash's coat. He lets it stay underneath Vash, too exhausted to lift him up and back down again, and then takes his time unlacing Vash's combat boots, the leather soft and supple, well-worn underneath his rough hands. Quickly taking off the socks on his feet, he now concentrated on the black undershirt Vash wore underneath his jacket, slowly peeling it off of a sweaty, heaving chest, exposing marred and delicate skin.
After folding the shirt on the nightstand, he realizes he needs to still take off Vash’s pants, and he needs to give himself another pep talk about how it’s only clinical, Vash is sick and needs help and you should not be affected by any state of undress he is in. He’s not sure if it works though, as he can feel his eyes catch on old wounds and shoddy attempts at wound care, but finally with determination, he unbuckles Vash’s pants, and definitely does not allow his eyes to dip below the waist.
Finally, bare enough for Wolfwood to cool him down, he grabs the cloth still soaking in the bucket, wrings out the excess, and blots it over Vash's chest. Vash had stopped making sounds under Wolfwood’s working hands, but his eyebrows were still furrowed, turned downward in a way that looked strange and unusual in his typically carefree face. Wolfwood slowly washed away the sweat and dust gathered on his skin, until the water had turned slightly murky and he felt satisfied. He eventually abandoned the cloth in the bucket, went to a closet that held a few more pillows, and thankfully, a fluffy white duvet, which he meticulously draped over Vash’s sprawling figure.
The suns had risen by now, casting deep shadows through the curtains on the windows, more decoration than anything that could keep the sunlight fully out, and Wolfwood could finally feel how bone-tired he was. After a full night of not sleeping and lurking around the town, and then tracking down Vash, and then bringing him back to their room. His tired brain finally registered the want to kill whoever had dared to do this to Vash, he wanted hunt them down and toy with them until they begged for the sweet release of death–
But Vash wouldn't want that. He didn't want Wolfwood to want that.
Wolfwood slumped on the edge of the bed and felt something poke his side, remembered the Colt still cradled there, and with careful hands he extracted it out of its hiding place. He remembered how he had nosed along the barrel, had kissed the pipe softly, reverently, like something that Vash held dear should be treated, remembered the feeling of it resting against his cheek, cool and sleek. The memories of what he did made his face flush once again, as he cradled the gun in his palms, gently swiping his thumb back and forth, over and over, committing the feeling of it to memory. He knew if Vash was awake right now, could see what he was doing, he would be shocked, maybe even disgusted with him, but here, right now, Wolfwood caressed the gun with a strange hot feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach, and he eventually had to let go, and then gently lowered it on the bedside table.
Laying down beside Vash on the bed, on top of the covers, still wearing his shirt and dress pants, though he toed off his sand-filled shoes and they clattered to the floor, Wolfwood thinks that he's only going to rest his eyes for a bit, just a bit, he’s gonna stay awake and look after Vash. Just in case he wakes up disoriented again, scared and anxious, Wolfwood will be here, ready to soothe all of his worries, like the loyal dog he is, has always been.
The next time he closes his eyes, they stay closed.
.
Wolfwood woke up with a start, feeling a flurry of movement beside him, the sound of pattering bare feet on the floor, a slam of a door and a painful retching sound.
Oh no.
Heaving himself up with a groan, Wolfwood softly padded to the bathroom door, and gently knocked on it.
Another retching sound answered him.
Wolfwood entered the bathroom with a grimace, not shocked at the sight of Vash in a heap in front of the toilet, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his brow.
“Don't go dying on me yet, you still owe me half for the hotel room.”
His joke falls flat, Vash too nauseous to even pretend to laugh.
So there they stayed until Vash had emptied whatever he had eaten last. Wolfwood went through their bags to find a full canteen of water, and handed it over. Vash drank from it gratefully, swishing out the bitter taste of stomach acid from his mouth.
They laze around the room that day, Vash either lying or sitting on the bed, and Wolfwood smoking the last few of his cigarettes by the table, Wolfwood keeping an eye on Vash and Vash trying his best to ride out the worst hangover of his life. At some point he manages to gather just enough energy to grab his pants and undershirt and put them on. He's starting to look a bit more like himself, like this, Wolfwood muses.
It also seemed like Vash was thinking about something very deeply. His brows were drawn together, mouth slightly downturned. He had the Colt in his hands, inspecting it like he was trying to find some kind of a flaw on it that he could fix.
Wolfwood had already become lulled in the comfort and calm of their little moment, the one where they sat around the room quietly and totally ignored everything that had happened.
Of course Vash had to ruin it by talking about… y’know, it.
“Never do that again.” Vash had his gaze turned down, a frown pulled the sides of his mouth down unhappily.
“What?”
“What you did back there. I don't want to hurt you, but I don't think I recognized you. What you did… I could have killed you.” The end of Vash's sentence grew near a whisper, Wolfwood having to concentrate on his soft words, being drowned out by sounds coming from the outside from where he sat beside the open window. His hands grew a bit sweaty at the reminder of his… indulgence.
“Ah, well.” He was honestly a bit speechless. Wolfwood had no idea how to justify his actions.
His answer obviously pissed Vash off, whose frown intensified into a full blown glare.
“Do you truly value your life so little?! I knew you were a coward, Wolfwood, but I didn't seem to realize to what extent!” Vash yelled.
Wolfwood rose from the table with a clatter. Vash seemed to flinch at the noise, like either the sound startled him, or maybe it was Wolfwood’s sudden reaction, or maybe it all just hurt his head.
The words cut deep. Vash didn't get it, the true hypocrite he was.
Wolfwood strode over to the bed, stepped in front of Vash sitting on the edge of it, all the way to the space between his legs.
Wolfwood was tired of Vash not fucking getting it, he was tired of them circling around each other like hungry vultures, never getting close, never swooping down to get what they both wanted, never landing to feast.
He wanted to finally sink his claws into Vash, and wanted to devour him. The feeling almost took him by surprise, even though he knew, even though he didn't want to admit it out loud, that he wanted Vash, that he loved–
He grabbed the hand still holding the gun, and he could feel Vash trying to dislodge it, trying to pull it off of Wolfwood’s tight grip, but he kept holding on and after a few seconds of struggling, Wolfwood managed to get the gun shoved against his own forehead.
“You don't get it, Spikey. It's not the gun that I want, if I got to choose, I could honestly go the rest of my life without getting bullets fired into my guts, okay?” Wolfwood stared into Vash’s eyes, who also looked straight back at him, and in his eyes swirled so many emotions Wolfwood could barely keep up. Fear, pain, anger, confusion.
Disappointment.
Wolfwood’s knees crashed into the ground, and now he's kneeling in front of Vash, right in the cradle of his legs. The position felt right, Vash truly being the only entity Wolfwood had ever known actually worthy of worship and getting down on his knees for.
He knows he can't ask for forgiveness like he knows he’s supposed to, but maybe he can ask for something else.
Wolfwood caressed the hand holding the gun, gently swiping his thumb back and forth, and he just couldn't get enough of the feel of it, the body of the gun smooth and hard underneath his hand, had to nuzzle it with his forehead gently, and still looking into Vash's eyes with defeat now shining in his own eyes, already losing hope, he uttered his last words with one last bang.
“It's not the gun I want. I want the one who is behind it.”
He closed his eyes. There, all of his sins out for Vash to judge.
Vash's breath hitched. His mouth opened.
He uttered one word.
“Wolfwood.” Vash said his name around an exhale, sounding so reverent and wondrous that Wolfwood’s eyes blinked open in disbelief. Now seeing Vash’s eyes again, he sees understanding in them.
The emotion rocks him into his core, hope floods back into his chest and it steals his breath away in one fell swoop. His hands have started trembling slightly.
“I… I want it, too.” Vash mutters in the shared space between them.
Wolfwood almost can't believe what he hears. It can't be true right? He hangs his head, and the gun presses stronger against his forehead. Wolfwood lifts up a hand and takes hold of Vash's thigh, right above the knee, trying to ground himself back into reality with the flesh and bone and utter warmth of him, and Vash's breath hitches at the touch.
A hand reaches out slowly, cups Wolfwood’s stubbly jaw, and lifts it up.
The smile Vash is wearing is somehow different from the others. He has never looked at someone else like this, so goddamn gently, and maybe, just maybe, this smile is only reserved for Wolfwood because Vash feels the same.
Now it's Wolfwood’s turn for his breath to hitch, the air getting caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. He feels overwhelmed and unstable, so he closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotion whirling in his chest, tightens the grip he still has on Vash's gun, and brings it down, until he can press his cheek against the cold barrel of it.
Vash seems to hesitate again as Wolfwood guides his hand, but he lets him do as he pleases, and maybe Vash too wants to indulge Wolfwood’s strange desires.
Speaking of strange desires…
Wolfwood looks at Vash for his reaction, and even though he looks a bit apprehensive, he also seems a bit intrigued. Curious, maybe. Maybe he's catching on that something is happening, something electric and exciting surrounding the air around them. Wolfwood feels his body tensing up, electricity running like a current up and down his whole body, from the top of his head all the way to his toes.
“Do you enjoy this then, Wolfwood?” Vash whispers, and he doesn't have to ask Vash what he means, because, duh, he does enjoy the cool metal of the gun against his heated skin and the smell of gunpowder and oil invading all his senses, the unforgiving metal of the gun, the bullets still loaded and the safety on, even though he kinda wishes it wasn’t.
But he mostly enjoys the fact that it’s Vash, the one who is in control, Wolfwood’s entire life resting on his lithe and beatiful fingers, and that only excites him more, because it's Vash, it's Vash, it's Vash, Vash, Vash, Vash–
Wolfwood opens his mouth on a moan, which surprises both himself and Vash. Wolfwood’s breathing starts picking up, and that seems to be answer enough. Now the gun starts pressing against his cheek, first gently, and then more insistently, tips Wolfwood’s head back up and his eyes find Vash's once again.
“You should have only asked.” and he’s so gentle about it all, only his smile becoming more teasing, and if Wolfwood could concentrate long enough, he could see how affected Vash is by this whole thing, a light blush resting on his pale face, his breath more even and deep, relaxed but wired.
“Let go.” Vash's voice has somehow become raspier, deeper, and it's like the command cuts all of his strings, and his hands fall limply to his sides and his head is still held in its place with the help of the gun, and Wolfwood stays, awaiting further instruction.
The gun moves, and Wolfwood almost chases after it, but he holds back and is rewarded with it now resting right in front of his face.
“You were so sweet back there, trying to comfort me in any way you could think, right Wolfwood?” Vash crooned, and his voice had become even breathier and softer than before, if that was even possible. Vash brought his legs closer together, completely enveloping Wolfwood in their soft yet powerful cradle where they pressed his arms firmly against his sides, keeping them caged and unmoving there.
“Words, Wolfwood.” Vash softly admonished, and Wolfwood came back to reality and realized he had only panted against the gun still in front of his face without making any sound.
“Y-, yes.” Wolfwood’s own voice had become fried, arousal now zinging down his spine, heat pooling at the bottom of his abdomen. He noticed how his dick was very interested in the proceedings, and seemingly with Vash now playing along and maybe even into this whole thing making him lose his mind.
“Good. You're so good for me, aren't you?” Vash said, and Wolfwood bit down on a whine.
“Fuck, Vash. Yes, yes.”
“Then show me.” And the gun came closer and closer, until the point of it pressed against the side of Wolfwood's nose.
Letting out another little moan he couldn’t suffocate in time, he could feel his eyes closing at the by now familiar feeling of Vash's Colt. The memories of the night before flashed through his mind, and with the reminder, he started nuzzling the side of the gun.
Vash let out a long breath of air, and Wolfwood wanted to make him proud, wanted to show him how much he revered him, how much he loved him–
Wolfwood started planting small kisses along the way, up and down the barrel, sometimes indulging himself and giving it another nuzzle.
“Aren't you being sweet for me.” The smile on Vash's face had diminished in intensity, but had only grown more fond, emotions playing in his eyes that Wolfwood felt like were important and he should try spending more brain power on deciphering everything he could see in there but.
Well.
He's kinda busy.
Growing more bold in his movements, Wolfwood started leaving open mouthed kisses anywhere he could reach really, warm breath condensing and growing cold on the hard metal as he panted. He left another wet sounding kiss straight on the nozzle, on the hole where countless bullets have been shot through. He groaned, and feeling so fucking turned on and desperate, he licked inside the hole as deep as he can.
Now it's Vash's turn to moan, the sound forcibly tumbling out of his mouth, his strong thighs flexing around him like they wanted to fall closed, maybe seek for some friction. The sound only spurred Wolfwood on, touching anything he could reach with his lips and tongue, kissing all the way up to Vash's fingers, and then laving at them with his tongue, too, chasing the taste of Vash with enthusiasm.
Suddenly there is a hand in his hair, gently petting through the black long strands, and the action makes him shiver in pleasure. He's fully hard now, cock starting to leak from the tip, uncomfortably confined in his black dress pants, and he kind of wishes he could grind down on something, but at the same moment he doesn't want this moment to end too soon.
“Wolfwood, Nick, Nico, so good for me.” Vash's words seem to register in his brain with a bit of a delay, but when they do, his jaw falls slack and open, and he turns his attention back to the tip of the gun, starts licking and kissing and sucking at the hole there until it drips with his saliva. Wolfwood then opens his eyes, turns them up until they lock with Vash's sky blue eyes, his pupils blown and gaze locked on where Wolfwood's mouth touches the gun, and when he feels Wolfwood’s gaze on him he turns them to finally lock eyes with Wolfwood.
Without breaking said eye contact, Wolfwood envelops the whole nozzle into his mouth.
Vash groans as if in pain, and his thigh clech again and again, bringing Wolfwood closer to him and the gun now in his mouth.
“Fuck, Wolfwood. Are you gonna show me? How good you are with your mouth.” Vash is now almost babbling and Wolfwood would tease him about it if he wasn't still a bit busy right now.
He lets his eyelids fall back down, long dark lashes fanning over his cheeks, and then he takes more of the gun into his mouth, licking his tongue over everything he can reach, then sucks, and once again hears Vash's breath hitch and curse under his breath.
Wolfwood works his mouth over the body of the gun, saliva dribbling down his jaw and along the gun, bobbing back and forth and sucking and slowly bringing more and more inside his mouth, his jaw stretched wide and painful by the girth of the Colt. He eventually feels it hit the back of his throat and he barely has it halfway in, but he tries to keep going, wants to be good for Vash, wants to make Vash proud.
The gun hits the back of his throat forcefully, and Wolfwood almost gags, tears stinging and swelling in his eyes, and his chest constricts with the pain of it. He eases down a bit, and tries to take more in again, but the gentle hand still in hair tightens suddenly, preventing Wolfwood from going forward.
Vash starts to pull the gun out of his mouth, and Wolfwood whines at the loss and at the ache of his jaw now that it’s not stretched to its limits, and Vash shushes him gently, still keeping Wolfwood from moving until the gun leaves his mouth fully. Another whine follows it out.
“It's okay, take a deep breath. You are doing so well, being such a good boy for me.” Vash soothes him, now carding his hand gently through his hair again, where he had moments ago pulled it.
“Don't try to take too much of it, it can hurt you, alright?” Vash said, and waited until Wolfwood hummed and nodded his understanding. Vash smiled at him.
“Now be good, and I’ll give you a reward, okay?” And the gun was placed against his mouth again, which obediently opened wide once again at the intrusion. It slid against his tongue, pulling out again, and back in, and Wolfwood almost came on the spot, realizing Vash was now fucking his mouth with the gun. Wolfwood couldn’t stop moaning, the back and forth motion hypnotizing and heady, he tried his best to keep sucking on it and caressing the body with his tongue, but he was growing sloppy, Vash’s pace gentle but relentless.
“You've been so good, so good Nick, do you want your reward?” Vash panted, the wet sounds coming from Wolfwood’s mouth almost drowning him out, and Wolfwood could not moan harder in answer, anything, please, just don't stop.
Except that Vash did stop. Wolfwood opened his eyes in confusion, the gun almost out of his mouth, wet lips trembling around it. He looked up at Vash, straight into his eyes and his face, and Vash smiled at him.
Then Vash turned the safety off, placed his finger on the trigger, and shoved the gun back into his mouth.
The orgasm took Wolfwood by surprise, intense and hard and breathtaking, and Wolfwood crumbled in Vash's lap, the gun falling out of his mouth and then placed somewhere away, and he couldn't stop moaning Vash’s name as he finally wrenched his hands free and crabbed at him.
The intensity of the orgasm made him shiver and breathe heavily, still making small sounds and letting out whines, and he could feel his come rapidly cooling inside his pants, but that didn't matter because Vash was talking him through it.
“Shh, shh, it's okay, you did so good, good boy.” Vash whispered above him, and Wolfwood felt his dick give a feeble twitch at the sweet praise. Eventually his breathing started calming down, but he did not let go of Vash and Vash did not let go of him.
They shared a quiet moment where Vash kept petting his hair and Wolfwood tried his best to remember how to breathe. He slowly came back to his body.
He finally lifted his head up, looking up and up and up, until he reached Vash's face, his soft smile and kind eyes. Wolfwood felt some kind of desperation flood him, making him want, so he raised a hand, fisted it in the short black hair at the nape of Vash's neck, and with his other hand he gripped Vash's leg again for leverage, and crashed his lips into Vash’s.
Vash gasped softly at the contact, but quickly reciprocated with a matching enthusiasm, and Wolfwood softly moaned, muffled against Vash's lips, who then opened his mouth under Wolfwood’s own, and tongued at the seam of his lips.
Answering with his own tongue, they roughly caressed each other, and Wolfwood wondered if Vash could taste the metal and gunpowder and oil in his mouth, and that made him even more desperate, wanting to coat Vash's mouth with the flavor of it. Vash's hands still carded through his hair, growing distracted at times, but honestly Wolfwood was fine with that.
Their kiss broke finally, the need to breathe making both of them dizzy. Vash lay his head on Wolfwood’s shoulder, chest heaving and mouth open. Wolfwood instantly attacked his neck, lapping at the skin with his tongue, and growing more confident in his exploration with the small sounds Vash let out. He bit the junction between Vash's shoulder and neck, Vash moaning louder. The contact left behind bruises Wolfwood knew Vash couldn't hide. Still attacking his neck, Wolfwood started sliding the hand still gripping Vash's thigh up, up, all the way until it was almost at Vash’s crotch.
Vash's breath hitched, but this sound was a bit different, and Vash suddenly gripped the hand clutching his thigh, stopping the movement.
“Ah, Wolfwood, you don't have to…” Vash laughed a bit, and that wasn’t a good laugh either. It seemed nervous, and now that he concentrated long enough, he could see that Vash looked nervous too, head falling and shoulders slumping.
Wolfwood sat back on his haunches, which made Vash's head fall off his shoulder, his ashamed expression now open for Wolfwood to see, a coating of blush adorning his cheeks.
Wolfwood tilted his head to the side, trying to catch Vash's eyes without actually managing to.
“And if I want to?” Wolfwood challenged, eyebrow quirking up.
“Uhm, I'm not–, I'm not… like you.” Vash turned his whole head to the side now, eyes closed so he didn't have to see what kind of an expression Wolfwood was making.
Wolfwood was kind of confused. He knew what Vash was, that he wasn't a human but a plant, and honestly, he could give less shits about it. It's not like he himself really counted as a human these days, either, it's not like he was in any position to judge.
Still, this sounded like Vash being insecure about his plant stuff.
And Wolfwood would not have that.
“I don't really care, Needle-Noggin’. We don't have to do anything, but if ya want to, then I want it too.”
Vash turned his head back to Wolfwood’s, his eyes shyly looking into his, trying to gauge whether he was lying or not. Apparently finding no lie in Wolfwood's brown eyes, he sighed, and nodded his head.
“What was that? Use your words, Blondie.” Wolfwood wore a teasing grin, shooting back the words Vash had used on him.
Vash rolled his eyes, but could not hide the smile taking over his face, so with a small laugh he said, “Fine, fine. Yes, I want to. Please.”
And wasn’t the little plea just a cherry on top.
Wolfwood almost surged back up to devour Vash's mouth again, but suddenly a zing of pain laced up his leg. He realized his legs had grown numb kneeling on the floor.
Apparently he couldn't hide his reaction to the pain well enough, because Vash's hands suddenly fluttered around him, asking if he was hurt, and what was wrong.
“I'm fine, my leg's just gone numb. Fuckin’ pins and needles…” Wolfwood grimaced as the feeling slowly entered back to his leg, and with it a terrible sensation of static. He started getting up from the floor, and with Vash's help, he sat on the edge of the bed.
Vash kept hovering over Wolfwood, worrying way too much, and saying he was sorry he didn’t notice how long Wolfwood had been kneeling (like Wolfwood wouldn't kneel in front of Vash as long as Vash wanted him to), when Wolfwood noticed that Vash didn't exactly look all that well himself, a fine sheen of sweat again clinging to his skin, and face looking pale and colorless once again.
“Fuckin’ hell, Needle-Noggin’, stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself, why didn't you tell me you were still going through the withdrawal?! You should be resting!” Wolfwood admonished Vash, who smiled at him sheepishly.
Wolfwood made a decision, his leg now back alive and come still cooling against his dick. With newfound determination, he proceeded to strip out of the rest of his clothes.
Vash let out a strangled sound, obviously not expecting the response.
“Get your head out of the gutter. I'm just taking off the soiled pants. Ugh, gross…” Wolfwood shivered as he finally took off the pants and underwear, cold air and spend cooling the area of his crotch. He wiped the rest off with a dry part of his pants, stepped over to his bag, and put on some clean underwear and a soft shirt.
He turned to Vash and commanded, “Strip.”
Vash kept looking at him with his mouth open, probably experiencing some sort of whiplash from the sudden change in the moment, but he slowly started to take off the sweat soaked pants and shirt.
Wolfwood nodded in approval, strode back over to the bed, lifted the covers up, and beckoned Vash to lay down under them.
He did, and it seemed like he sighed in relief, only now noticing how spent his body felt. Wolfwood kind of felt the same, the intensity of what they had done now catching up to him, and making him feel sleepy.
“Weren't we supposed to…?” Vash asked hesitantly.
“If you still want to, we can, but you're still sick from the venom.” Wolfwood explained. He felt a bit guilty, he shouldn't have excited Vash too much, shouldn't have made him exert so much energy, he still wasn’t one hundred percent himself anyway. He can't believe he almost forgot about that, how could he be so selfish–
Almost like hearing his thoughts, or more like reading the emotions flitting over his face, Vash faced him with a determined expression.
“I don't regret it, so please do not feel guilty. I… I liked it. I didn't want to stop.” Vash confessed.
Vash wiggled closer to Wolfwood on the bed, until they were face to face. Vash lifted a hand up, and gently moved it over Wolfwood’s face, exploring the contours of it with his fingertips, the stubble catching in his fingers.
“I love you, Wolfwood.” Vash kissed him, and Wolfwood felt his chest fill with the same emotion. He felt dizzy with it, and he honestly felt a bit like crying.
They separated, and Wolfwood said, “Me too, Vash. Me too.”
This seemed to reanimate Vash once again.
Vash kissed him harder, while his other hand reached for Wolfwood’s own, and then guided it down, all the over his chest, his abdomen, glancing over scars and flesh and metal, until it finally stopped at his crotch, and Wolfwood’s breath hitched when the hand guided his over Vash's underwear, laying Wolfwood’s palm flat over the mound with a moan.
Wolfwood groaned at the feeling of Vash against his palm, so hot and so fucking wet holy shit, and he moved his fingers over the soaked fabric to feel Vash's legs clench around his hand, and to hear Vash moan his name.
Wolfwood could feel something move against his hand, and honestly, he was way too horny to freak out about that at this point.
Pressing his forehead against Vash’s, he moved his hand back and laughed at the whine Vash made, only to bring his hand to the waistband of his underwear and slipping it in.
He was rewarded with a sharp moan.
“Mhh, Wolfwood, please.” Vash whispered into the space between them, and who was he to deny such a sweet request?
He slid his hand back down, and found a slit, the edges of it lined by petal-like formations. He fingered the soft membranes, which wiggled against him, and then slid them down to the hole in the middle, gathering the wetness there between his fingers. Vash kept making hitched sounds, grinding his hips against Wolfwood’s hand, and fuck that’s hot.
He suddenly felt something rub against his palm where there had at first been nothing, and now there was something coming out from the top of the slit, something wet and soft. Wolfwood raised his fingers curiously up to touch it, and at the first touch Vash shouted, curling inwards and around Wolfwood.
“Ah, ah, sorry, it's sensitive.” Vash's face had gone slack, his eyes clouded with arousal and desire, and the nub between his fingers kept lengthening.
“Hm, is that so?” With a mischievous grin, he settled his two fingers so they enveloped the nub between them, and slowly moved his finger up and down.
“AH! Wolfwood, Nico, please.” Vash's moaning was absolutely perfect, and Wolfwood wanted to hear more, wanted to bring Vash to the brink of pleasure again and again just to hear the noises escaping his mouth, to see how his mouth looked while moaning Wolfwood’s name.
“Nick, stop teasing.” The whine in Vash's voice almost made him laugh. How could someone be so adorable?
He eventually released the sensitive organ, and dipped his fingers back down, circling around the opening of Vash's entrance. Vash's hips twitched down, like he was trying to get Wolfwood to insert them, and he thought he should finally stop teasing him, and dipper a finger into the first knuckle.
It slid in smoothly, meeting no obstruction, and with an idea forming in his head, he took the one finger out and started inserting two at the same time.
Vash grabbed at him, touching anything he could reach. With Wolfwood’s fingers slowly inching inside, Vash kept grinding down onto his palm, fucking himself against Wolfwood’s hand. Sweat dripped down his brow, mouth open and panting, until he said, “Nick, I- I'm not gonna last…” and Wolfwood dipped the fingers as far as they would go, grinded his rough fingers against Vash's soft insides, and he wanted to see it, wanted to see Vash coming undone under his ministrations, wanted him to feel the same pleasure he had given Wolfwood and–
Suddenly Vash threw his head back with a shout, moaning Wolfwood’s name, and his opening clenched around Wolfwood’s finger, and something wet gushed out of him, drenching Wolfwood’s hand.
He kept up the motions until Vash whined at the overstimulation, and finally relented when Vash grabbed at his hand to stop. Vash looked spent, eyes half-lidded, tired and sweaty, but calm and satisfied, satiated. Wolfwood felt fondness warm his chest.
Adorable, indeed.
He pulled his fingers out finally, and gazed at the wetness covering his hand, dripping down the webbing between his fingers in thick rivulets. His mouth started watering, saliva pooling on his tongue, and without any hesitation, he brought it to his mouth and started licking the hand clean. It tasted kinda human, like regular come, but there was an undercurrent of something sweet, something floral to it, something so incredibly Vash, that he couldn't get enough of.
Vash groaned before him at the sight, and before he knew what was happening, Vash grabbed the hand, pushed it away from his mouth until it became trapped between Vash's hand and the bed, and surged above Wolfwood to kiss him senseless.
Wolfwood immediately answered with the same enthusiasm. Eventually the pace turned more languid, sweet, and then lazy, until it was broken by Vash, who lay his head down on Wolfwood’s chest.
That is where they stayed, for the rest of the night and day, and Wolfwood almost couldn't believe it, that they could finally have this, had finally allowed each other to have this, but maybe, they were Vash and Wolfwood and they kept bickering and fighting over morals and ethics, and maybe none of it truly, truly mattered because they were Vash and Wolfwood, and they were meant to survive in the barren hell-scape that was No-man's Land, fighting for humanity and for each other, because that’s all that mattered.
Them, together.