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Nicholas shudders, reaches for him with both hands and reels him in for a kiss, calloused palms cradling his jaw as Vash stumbles up the last few steps. “Why do you say it like that,” he gasps right into Vash’s mouth, sliding his hands back to stroke the nape of Vash’s neck, tangling his fingers in soft golden hair. “Spikey, why’d you have to say my name like that?”
In No Man’s Land, Wolfwood rationalizes, you have to steal pleasure where you can.
Because sometimes Vash holds Wolfwood’s hand when no one pays attention to them and it sparks the dangerous ideology of hope within him that maybe, just maybe, he does also deserve to have a gentle life that he spends with Vash.
It took losing his arm for Vash to get back home, to the simple and peaceful life he once had and lost. He avoids people, sticks to himself and his ranch, but when a handsome stranger with a smile that means trouble knocks on his door one day asking for a bed to lay in, Vash can’t say no.
In which Wolfwood struggles with intimacy, and Vash somehow finds a way to make it so much worse.
The first time he sees them, Wolfwood has to make sure he didn’t mistakenly smoke something other than a cigarette.
They abruptly snap into existence like a sudden crack of lightning, rippling across the sky in washes of feathery white. It happens in a moment of desperation—in the midst of what should have been a routine, hardly-bat-an-eye skirmish against bandits.
“Let me help you,” Vash says as Wolfwood stares, cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Kissing Vash always feels like he’s kneeling and worshipping, praying into his mouth, accepting every little noise he makes, every part of him that he places into Wolfwood’s hands. He selfishly wants every piece he can take, wants to cradle his entirety in his rough palms, wants to pretend like he’s even worthy of holding this wondrous creature so close.
aug 11 2023 +