how much do you know about plant cycles ( closed );

[ecad]

( if you happen to have noticed anything off about him recently, no, you most certainly have not.

he's never claimed to understand much about plant cycles, just that they always seem to come about at the most inconvenient of times, and have gotten increasingly more uncomfortable over the last few years. decade, maybe, but he hasn't been paying that close attention, because at the end of it all it's just one giant inconvenience and he would really rather not have to deal with them in the first place.

but he can always tell when it's coming, because it isn't exactly subtle and generally doesn't leave him with a whole lot of wiggle room to prepare; it begins with an altogether restlessness that overshadows his general skittishness, something that could easily be overlooked or blamed on something else. an itch beneath the surface of his skin that he can never manage to scratch well enough, figuratively speaking, and that's before the low-grade fever sets in. chills and all! because it can't just be a tip of his temperature in the wrong direction, no, because nothing has ever and will never be easy for him, if his track record in all things life are anything to go by. flushed cheeks and the tips of his ears and chills that are more annoying than anything else, but at least that's less embarrassing than the nesting instinct.

which … unfortunately for him is where he's at right now, because he can never have anything nice, but at least … they'd been able to stop at an actual inn, able to afford that sort of thing for a night or two, and if he's lucky? ha?? this whole nonsense will be over before they have to pick up and carry on again.

the only problem with that is that he isn't the only occupant of the room he's currently holed up in. wolfwood had only gone out in search of a new pack of smokes, he'll probably be back any freaking minute, and what is he going to find when he crosses that threshold again? one ( 1 ) humanoid typhoon curled up in the middle of the singular bed, buried beneath what linens he could find — of which there weren't many, because there never are — shivering and hugging his knees and praying to whatever god that is still around to listen that he could just get it over with already.

how many are there going to be this time, hm? )

Comments

[ecad]

( if there was one way to describe what wolfwood is smelling, it would be more honeyed than anything; almost like honeysuckle, even though neither of them probably know what that even is, but it's definitely floral in origin. by the end of this whole embarrassing nonsense it will be almost sickeningly sweet, and thick, and just add that on to the things that vash is never going to live down. for the rest of his life. this is it.

you spikey bastard.

yep, there it is, the cold resentment setting in before everything's even had a chance to unfold entirely, and it's not like vash could blame him, even if he wanted to. he hadn't asked for this, to be a part of it or anything else, and the thought of wolfwood seeing him in a different, negative light after this threads through him like a tangible thing. a hand around his heart that squeezes cruelly.

it's not his fault! or … okay so maybe it is, but it isn't like he's doing this on purpose, or waited until he knew you would come around to lay this very intimate thing at your feet. you spikey bastard resonates through the forefront of his mind and he lets go of another miserable sound, expression open and panicked and oh god, oh god not that. ) No! No of course it isn— ( well, when you think about it. eggs have to be fertilized, don't they? but they aren't! they never have been! ) It's, ah … it could be tied to it, I guess, I think, but this is really not a sex thing.

( he can't even allow himself to think about what that could mean otherwise, if things were different, normal, because he looks at wolfwood and sees more than just kind eyes — but as it stands now, he would really, really rather a grand worm come through the window and swallow him whole. leave nothing behind. not even a memory of this excruciatingly horrible exchange.

he hides his face behind his knees again for a small moment, then chances another peek in the undertaker's direction. ) I don't suppose you know anything about Plant cycles, do you? ( shot in the dark, of course, but why not just go ahead and ask? )

[louboutinjudas]

[ The only right answer to his accusation of perversion is frantic denial, and the threat in Wolfwood's demeanor settles back down into his usual abrasive, snarling self. Some people might get off on this, but not me! isn't answering any of his questions, but at least whatever's going on isn't... isn't that.

He really would throw Vash out the window, if it was that.

And then Vash keeps talking, and it's somehow worse than just a weird sex thing. As soon as he says the word 'plant' those folded arms drop, and Wolfwood goes from aggressive and annoyed to looking more than a little uneasy. He glances over at the door -- still very secure beneath the weight of Punisher -- and then at the window, checking for onlookers and other threats before responsding. In fact... he should probably shut that window, and draw the blinds, just to be safe. If he starts glowing, and somebody outside sees him? Then Wolfwood will have to kill them, and that'll be a whole other problem. ]

Not a goddamn thing.

[ His voice is much quieter than it had been before, as he comes back to stand awkwardly next to the bed. He's visibly nervous, at least to somebody who knows him, but not scared. Maybe in another life he'd be frightened of what Vash could do, but right here and now he's worried for this idiot. ]

What do you need?

[ecad]

( it isn't even an admission of some people might get off on this! it's more … there is normally sex involved for what's happening to me, at least there's supposed to be if something is expected to come from it, and that has literally never happened! but at least he'd given the proper response to get wolfwood to lower his hackles, even if it's just a little bit. he's still not going to blame him if he ends up tossing him out the nearest window because it ends up being too much to deal with. Too Much ( ™ ).

he really doesn't mean to make him uneasy, or uncomfortable, or anything close to it but. what is he supposed to do, if he wants the truth out of him? there is no delicate way to explain something like this, especially when vash doesn't understand every in and out of the whole thing himself — don't look at him like that, just because he's a plant doesn't mean he knows everything; do you know everything about being human? no — but he can sense the shift in the other's demeanor before he chances another look up at him, and maybe that's a good thing? also don't judge the fact that he cannot maintain direct eye contact right now. there is a lot happening inside his body presently, and it's distracting at best.

the answer he gets should have been expected, and it is, to a certain degree. even if he'd known how closely wolfwood was tethered to his brother, even in some adjacent way, he wouldn't have expected there to be any crash courses in dealing with their kind. independent, or otherwise.

vash inhales quietly, as deeply as his lungs will allow, and finally shifts to sit akin to cross-legged. he's never been so thankful that his pants are dark, because there is a blossoming wet spot between his thighs, and just that subtle bit of movement brings that sweet scent even more to the surface. ) I can't say I know a lot about them myself, if I'm honest, but I know … uh. ( where is that grand worm that's supposed to be coming to swallow him whole so he doesn't have to deal with this!?

he fidgets with the hem of one of the cuffs of his pants, worrying at a thread that's started to come loose. ) So every few years, we uh … at least I think we all do? It can't just be me— we … uhhh. ( for the love of everything, stampede, just spit it out! ) Welayeggs.

( sorry, what was that? speak up, we can't hear you. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ This is what happens when he tries to be serious! Wolfwood was absolutely ready to be supportive and help Vash here with whatever was going on, but now Blondie's just messing with him!

Eggs. Come the fuck on. ]

Is this the part where you tell me you're secretly a tomas?

[ He can see that Vash is clearly in some discomfort, squirming like his guts hurt, and there's no mistaking the scent that's heavy in the air -- something is happening.

But it's not eggs. People don't lay eggs. People have babies, and before that they have that whole crampy bleeding thing that Wolfwood tries not to think about too much. People have tumors, too, and all kinds of terrible diseases that cause pain and swelling, and people get hurt in ways that make it hard to sit still. Wolfwood's honestly halfway to convincing himself that Spikey here just ate something that he shouldn't have, and that his guts are protesting the matter -- the guy doesn't eat enough as it is, so it's entirely feasible that he's just having an upset stomach from dinner. It could be anything, really. Anything other than eggs.

How stupid does he think Wolfwood is!? ]

You might as well come clean. I'm not leavin' until you tell me what's really goin' on.

[ecad]

( he knew. he knew that if he tried to be honest that wolfwood was going to think he was messing with him, because it sounds ridiculous, right? even if he isn't human, he looks as much, and what sort of sense does it make that he would lay a handful of eggs every handful of years?

none. it makes zero sense and he knows it, and he doesn't know how he's going to make the other believe him without … uh. possibly revealing parts of himself that no one else has ever seen. human anatomy, to a certain extent, is something of a mystery to him still, but he's pretty darn sure neither gender has what he has going on for him.

god. why. why did this have to happen now. what has he done to deserve this? what god has he offended?

another wave of discomfort washes over him, and he winces visibly — crap, crapcrapcrap — and another wave of slick seeks to wet the insides of his thighs even positioned as he is, and he can't help but to think that this is … just a little bit different from the last time? more intense, in a way, and that can't be good.

he sighs. ) I am coming clean. ( pause. fidget. inhale, exhale. ) Wolfwood. ( he really does sound pleading, even if he doesn't know what he could be pleading for other than understanding. ) Why would I lie about something like this? This? It's so embarrassing … you've gotta believe me. ( please.

please believe him! )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Vash is babbling a mile a minute, but Wolfwood's only barely listening to him. No, what he's focused on instead is what the rest of the idiot is doing -- what his body is saying, instead of his mouth. He's in pain -- not bad, but present -- and there's no mistaking that scent that's getting stronger every time Vash winces.

The man glows. He's a human battery, impossibly old, capable of feats of strength and speed that even the Eye's prize monster can barely keep up with. So maybe he lays eggs too? Who's Wolfwood to say otherwise?

(Does this mean that Millions Knives lays eggs? Oh he's gonna drink until he wipes that thought out of his head, after this is over!) ]

Fuck.

[ Wolfwood runs a hand through his hair, still unable to believe what he's... what he's about to believe. His life's been so damn strange since he joined this band of lunatics! ]

Fuck, alright! Alright.

[ A broody tomas will kick the memories right out of your head if you get too close... but Wolfwood hasn't been afraid of those big dumb birds since he was a kid, and he's never going to be afraid of this sad soggy bastard here. Muttering under his breath -- he did not sign up for this, this is not in his job description, the bill for his services is going to be so goddamn high -- Wolfwood shoves his jacket sleeves up to his elbows and starts rolling his shirt cuffs up too. If it's eggs, there's going to be mess, and there's now a little flush high on each cheek as he tries hard not to think about what that sweet scent indicates about the source of that mess, and what's about to happen here.

Eggs. The man lays eggs. ]

So what do you need, a nest? How're we doin' this? Gimme something to work with here.

[ Yeah, he said 'we'. Don't make a big deal out of it. ]

[ecad]

( speaking of glowing, his markings are already beginning to flicker a little bit here and there; it's always when emotions run high, when he's flustered or afraid or just feeling so intensely that there is no way of hiding it, and this … he's never thought about what it means to glow when he gets closer to laying his clutch, but he thinks again that it might have something to do with wolfwood being so close, and now being so — transparent about wanting to help him?

he doesn't know. he doesn't know and he may as well just pile that in with everything else that eludes him. there's a lot of that these days, and sometimes it's all he can do to effectively grin and bear it as best he can, because what else is he supposed to do?

wolfwood is cursing, and vash is half-expecting him to finally get up and walk out, because this has to be too much to deal with on top of everything else they've been through recently, and he hates it, because no, he didn't ask for this. should feel no obligation to stick around or even make sure he's all right at the end of it, he wouldn't have asked him to in the first place —

but then he's asking what he needs. how we — we — are doing this, and it makes vash's chest ache in an almost pleasant sort of way. his expression is soft, vulnerable when he looks up at him again, and then down at the pile of threadbare linens he's accumulated. ) Um. ( intelligent, stampede.

he fidgets again, shifting the blanket and sheet around him. ) Whatever can pass for one with what we've got, I guess, it's always like … a compulsion to make one? If that makes any sense at all. ( nothing about this makes sense, vash. surely you realize that by now.

the line of his mouth thins as he looks down at his lap again, not even wanting to think about the mess he's about to make. ) I should … probably take my pants off before it gets too far along, or there's gonna be an even bigger mess and nobody wants to deal with that. ( he pauses, lets the silence stretch out between them far longer than he should. ) I gotta warn you, it's uh— I'm not— it's weird.

( well of course it is. you aren't human. but it's something he's always been self-conscious about, even if there's never been anyone else to see him like this. to know how different he is. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ It's a good thing Wolfwood closed the curtains then, if Vash is doing his best glowworm routine. He needs a nest, too, apparently, and Wolfwood's already heading into the tiny en suite to pull whatever towels there might be in there. He'll leave one, for cleanup later -- he's got a feeling that whatever's about to happen might need a shower at the end -- but the other one should probably go under Blondie's ass. ]

Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first eight times!

[ The towels in this place are just as threadbare as the bedding, so Wolfwood folds the towel in half, and then in half again. It's not much of a pad, but Vash isn't a little kid who's going to thrash around in the night pissing himself, is he? He's a grown ass adult and he can keep his mess contained, dammit. ]

You're gonna shit out a couple eggs, or... or pussy 'em out, however it works and yeah.

[ Move back, dummy, so he can set out this towel. ]

It's gonna be weird. Stop apologizing, you're makin' it weirder.

[ecad]

( he flushes an even deeper shade of pink at wolfwood's choice wording — pussy 'em out, sheesh — and averts his gaze, shuffling back and letting the other set the newly folded towel down. what he's got going for him as far as anatomy goes, he supposes that would be close enough, save for a few key … er, differences.

he'd taken his boots off the moment he'd gotten back to the room, and now he takes a moment to peel off his socks and set them carefully aside. he hesitates here, knowing that the next feasible decision would be to get his pants out of the way but fearing the reaction he's going to get, even if wolfwood is being the logical one here. in the face of all this weirdness, vash has to admit that he seems to be taking it all in stride, as well as could be expected, and he appreciates that. he really does.

he huffs out his next exhale, fingers moving to the front of his pants and working open button and zipper, and just that is enough to bring another wave of that sickeningly sweet scent into the room; he moves as little as possible, shimmying both pants and undershorts down little by little until he can kick them off and away. they are definitely going to need a good wash, but of course that isn't the biggest thing worth noticing in the here and now.

to start, there are petals. little appendages that are close enough to qualify as such unfurling at his core, soft and colored like the sun except at the edges, where they almost seem to glow a muted, pastel blue. at his center, plush little lips made to glisten with the slick that is now visibly dripping down the insides of his thighs and at the apex, a hooded nub that may as well serve as a clit for how sensitive it is, especially when he's like this.

every bit of him is swollen as though aroused, and he's not about to tell wolfwood that an orgasm or two always helps the eggs come more easily, because he has a feeling the other won't be happy about that? because of his immediate thought that this was all a sex thing —

he pulls his knees up again, trying to maintain at least a bit of his modesty, but it's. not going very well, is it?

he presses a weak smile into the bend of his knee. always trying to stay positive. ) It's time to play the waiting game now, I guess. Sometimes it starts all fast and then slows down. It's never consistent.

[louboutinjudas]

[ He doesn't mean to look. He really doesn't. He understands that eggs means that Spikey's junk is going to be involved, okay, but he was putting that thought aside for the time being, busying himself with thoughts of privacy and wet spots on the bed and quietly running in circles in his own head, flailing with panic.

He doesn't mean to look, and he doesn't intend to look when it happens. He's just curious -- professionally so, since he's playing farmer this evening to the world's strangest tomas -- about that slick stuff, and where, exactly, these eggs are supposed to be coming from. Is he going to piss them out like caviar? A tomas eggs, compared to the size of the bird, are far bigger than they really should be, and Wolfwood's already thinking about an infant-sized egg when he catches sight of something brilliantly yellow and fanned out like... like...

No, he's got no comparisons for this. He's never seem anything like this before, in all his very short life.

He's still staring when Vash pulls his knees up, and only then does he look away, embarrassed. He's supposed to be helping out his... his target, the man he's been tasked with guarding until he can be taken into custody by the devil himself, he's here to make sure Vash doesn't die, or get hurt! And sure, those yellow and blue fingers (is that what they are?) are pretty, but that doesn't mean anything! They're not for him. He's not made for pretty things.

This is a job. Stick to the job. ]

How, uh...

[ He doesn't dare sit on the edge of the bed, so standing just off to the side with his hands deep in his pockets is the next best thing. ]

How many are we talking here?

[ If there's going to be multiple eggs, they have to be tiny, Wolfwood reasons. Vash is a skinny bastard, for all his muscles, and his belly doesn't look like its hiding any secrets. Marble sized, maybe. Little things.

Although this is sure a lot of slick and cramping for something marble sized. ]

[ecad]

( he's sure wolfwood doesn't mean to look, means to give him any measure of privacy that could even serve as such a thing when he's so exposed — but even knowing that he is looking, can feel his gaze on him despite the fact that his own is focused on a scattering of freckles on his right knee, it doesn't make him feel … self-conscious? something like that. but it does make him feel warm, and some distant, latently debauched part of him wants him to look. to understand what he's getting himself into here, and … he doesn't know. appreciate how vulnerable he's allowing himself to be with him.

it sounds silly, even in his own head. but he can't help what his thoughts do or where they go, and especially not like this.

his petals seem to fan out even more under the other's eyes before he looks away, the tiny little tendrils scattered through them acting almost as if they want to reach for him, and vash thinks stop that, we don't do that, we usually do this alone and this isn't about to be any different! there's just … an audience … moral support! that's it!

he's in the process of peeling off his glove when that question comes, and he hums a bit under his breath as he sets the slip of fabric aside, bare hand now slipping down to absently sift through the topmost of his petals, and the touch is nowhere near sexual by any means, but maybe trying for some measure of comfort? yeah. we'll go with that. ) No more than a handful, usually. ( he finally says, almost conversationally, made easier by the fact that the discomfort has subsided for the time being.

he holds up that hand and uses prosthetic fingers to measure the length of his palm where wolfwood can see. ) About that size. Sometimes a little bigger, sometimes smaller. When I say there's no consistency … ( oh boy does he mean it!

he unfolds his legs again, letting them stretch out in front of him. ) You're not … creeped out, are you? Told you it was— ( he knows, vash. you really can stop repeating yourself. ) Sorry.

[louboutinjudas]

[ It's stupid for Blondie to trust him with this, and after they're done here he'll say so, loudly, repeatedly, and probably violently. He should have kicked Wolfwood out the door the second he'd walked in. He should have lied, claimed indigestion, pretended to have company over, anything to stop a vulnerability like this from being shared with somebody like Nicholas the Punisher. This is a mistake that Spikey's making, and it's going to get him hurt.

He waves off the suggestion that he's creeped out, tapping out a cigarette so he's got something to do with his hands, aand something to focus his gaze on other than Vash's fingers combing through his whatever-they-are. It might not be a sex thing, but that sure looks sexy to him.

Why the fuck couldn't it have just been a neglected injury?! ]

And I told you, it doesn't matter what I think about it.

[ It's not creepy, goddamn. He's not frightened that Vash has pussy fingers that are about to spawn a whole bunch of too-large eggs. He's confused, a little disgusted, more than a little curious, furious that Vash is being so casual with such a risky secret... but scared?

How the fuck could he be scared of a dork like this? ]

What else do I need to know? There's gonna be a bunch, so what do you do with 'em? After?

[ Are they going to hatch? Is there a flock of baby Vashes out there in the world somewhere? God, now he's thinking about it. He doesn't want to be thinking about it. ]

[ecad]

( oh, but he's really good at making mistakes, don't you know? though he can't really say he thinks of this as one, per se, because he does trust wolfwood. he trusts his kind eyes, and his passionate heart, and all the other little things he doesn't know about him, but wants to.

if he had to share this with anyone instead of bearing the weight of it alone, he would prefer it be him. even if he ends up voicing his opinion on the matter after the fact.

bare fingers slip over those topmost petals again, and a wave of something different thrums through him this time; his inner muscles tighten, but not in the uncomfortable way this had all started. more of a pleasant sort of buzz that asks for more, more of that, please, and he bites back a breathy exhale that he tries to keep behind his teeth, lest the other perceive it as something sexual. even though … okay, yeah, that felt a whole heck of a lot better than the discomfort from earlier, to be sure.

he continues to pet over his petals almost absently, those tiny little tendrils curling around the tips of his fingers and his next breath out is shaky. thin. just short of the quietest little moan as his thighs part infinitesimally. )

They aren't gonna be, ah … fertilized, so you could call 'em duds if you wanted. ( the admission of that makes his heart ache behind his ribs, even if it's only because emotions and plant hormones are running too high. ) I've only ever cleaned up the mess and … disposed of them.

( he doesn't want to say i just throw them away, even though that's precisely what he does. it feels like a terrible thing to say, even if there is no way in any hell that has ever existed that he could take care of a handful of. what? mini independents? he's never let himself think that far.

his touch shifts unconsciously a bit further downward, through the petals that frame his core, and he's rewarded with a new, embarrassingly noticeable drip of slick. he winces, but only because he's got one more thing to come clean about. the one thing he really doesn't want to. the blush at the tips of his ears and the high points of his cheeks deepens. )

There's one more thing … and it makes it easier, but you're gonna think I was lying before if I tell you. ( vash. you are really not helping your let's keep wolfwood from getting angrier case. dummy. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ They aren't fertilized, and they're going to throw them away. Wolfwood nods, somewhat relieved to hear it. Vash isn't having kids right now, and that's for the best. If they were live in there, he's not sure what he would have done, but chances are it would have been another scar on his soul. ...Not that Vash would have let him do anything truly awful, but they would have had to have been left somewhere, and Vash's feet put back on the road. He can't imagine how that would fuck up somebody as soft-hearted as the Stampede here.

So it's in a haze of relief that he shrugs off Vash's next comment, ignoring it as studiously as he's ignoring those little gasps and groans. ]

Spikey, I stopped thinking about any of this minutes ago.

[ His gaze is fixed on a point in the wall well past the top of Vash's head, but even like this he can see too much. It's easier to just keep his back to the man, so he doesn't give in to the temptation to look. ]

Just tell me what you need so we can get this over with.

[ecad]

( yeah … yeah. as much as his stupid bleeding heart understands that there is nothing to be done for unfertilized eggs, it still hurts him to just. leave them behind. maybe it's because they were a part of him, because his body produced them and, again, emotions and hormones are running high, but he always feels horrible for a few days after everything is over and done with.

not that he isn't planning to keep that sort of thing as hidden as he possibly can from wolfwood once he's through this. he doesn't need this, much less vash's stupid heart on top of everything else. he'll try to keep a lid on it, okay? you might just need to … bear with him for a little bit. he'll get through it, he promises.

he swallows hard, throat working in a dry click that he feels is audible in the relative silence; he doesn't need to say what he's prepared to, because he can try to get through it without that extra help! it just means that it might take longer, or it might be more uncomfortable, he's not entirely sure he remembers. once he'd figured out this little secret he hadn't thought twice about not implementing it, because it meant the whole thing would be over sooner and he could get back to. whatever he's supposed to get back to.

there's a stretch of quiet, and he unconsciously rubs his bare feet together in the interim, not unlike a cricket or grasshopper that he used to read so much about back on the ship. he's not sure he remembers which is which these days. ) I don't need it— I'm not asking for help! But it's always just … so much easier to get them out when I … if I … ( just say it, vash. )

If I come.

( god. god. he is never going to live this down, is he? that grand worm can come along any time, now … seriously. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Did it just get very cold in here? Wolfwood turns with the slowness of a stalking predator, and if the expression on his face is any indication of his mental state, he's planning on tearing Vash's throat out with his teeth.

(This is accurate. He's thinking about it.) ]

If you what.

[ Tentacle-y plant junk he can handle. Eggs he can handle -- he's wigged out and nothing's even happened yet on that front, but he's handling it! But if Blondie here thinks that he's going to sit back and watch while he gets himself off!? Then he's got another think coming.

...Fuck, he doesn't want to think about coming! ]

[ecad]

I—

( crap. crapcrapcrap he knew he shouldn't have said anything! he should have kept it to himself, his horrible, filthy little secret, and just taken everything that hasn't even hit him fully in stride like he had before he'd figured it out.

the hand gently touching his petals flinches away as though burned, and they're left curling in on themselves as he brings his knees back up to his chest again. he buries his face against them, an adamant attempt at hiding the heat that flares high on his cheeks. the shame of this whole horrible thing. )

Forget I said it— forget I said anything. ( please comes out under his breath, but it's anyone's guess whether or not wolfwood actually hears it. wetness prickles at the corners of his eyes, and dang it, he isn't going to cry. he isn't! )

I can. Handle this on my own. You don't have to stay. ( a miserable sound bubbles up in his chest and tries to make its way up his throat, but he swallows it back down. ) You've done enough. More than enough.

( he's sorry. he's so sorry. ) Thank you, Wolfwood.

[louboutinjudas]

[ No he shouldn't have said anything! He shouldn't even have thought it! And if he thinks that crying is going to change anything, if it's going to make Wolfwood more sympathetic, or make him agree to leave, then Vash hasn't been paying attention. There's nobody on the planet more stubborn than the man standing at the side of Vash's bed, arms folded and teeth bared. ]

I'm not goin' anywhere.

[ Did that sound like a threat? Because it was meant as one. ]

As your court-appointed babysitter, I'm not takin' my eyes off you until the light show's over and all this... [ He gestures, vaguely, at Vash's crotch. ] ...is done.

[ Like he's just going to sit outside the door and listen in! Like he'd leave and, what, go down to the bar, toss back a couple of drinks and try not to think about what's happening upstairs? No goddamn way. ]

So if you don't need to... to do that, then this time you're doin' it without that!

[ecad]

( he knows he made a mistake, okay? always opening his mouth when he shouldn't, being honest when he should just deflect or try to lie, which he happens to be kind of decent at when it really counts, and it really counts right now. he should have just kept everything to himself and dealt with it all as he was meant to.

by himself.

wolfwood's words absolutely do sound like a threat, and he still doesn't look at him as he keeps talking, as he keeps. saying that he's going to stay and some part of vash wishes he wouldn't. it comes all the way back around again to this being above his paygrade, that he never asked for this and doesn't deserve to have to deal with it, especially now that he's admitted something so intimate. is he going to think about this once it's finished? is he going to be able to forget it?

he should, but some things are easier than others.

and he doesn't think crying is going to do him any favors, as an aside. sometimes he just can't help it, and it's when he can't that the tears burn, but there's a fair amount of shame involved here, in that admittance alone, and he's going to blame it all on that and move right along.

he sniffles, abbreviated, trying to hide the sound against the barrier of his knees, and a renewed thrum of discomfort settles within the vicinity of his hips. it really is going to start soon. )

Yeah. ( he manages to get out, and the sound of his voice is … more than muffled, more than strained. ) Yeah, all right. ( a pause, and he chews on the inside of his lower lip. ) It's going to start soon. Just … giving you some warning.

[louboutinjudas]

[ What would he have done, if Vash had said no? If Vash had told him that this had nothing to do with him, that he wasn't wanted here, that if he was going to be so bossy that he wasn't welcome to stay? Would he have left? He's a lot of things, but is he the kind of guy who would force a naked guy to... to do pussy stuff in a way he didn't want to?

Well, that's what's happening now, isn't it? He's used to Blondie crying -- it happens often enough -- but he's discovering that he really doesn't like it when the tears are his fault. Hates it, even. Who is he to tell somebody what they're allowed to do with their body, anyway? As much as he doesn't want to stand here while Vash jerks off, he could always just leave! He could stand guard outside, or in the next room over, he doesn't have to be here. Their luck is bad, sure, but nobody's going to attack while Vash is... is laying, and even if they did, he could hear the attack and respond just as well from out in the hall as from next to the bed.

So why isn't he leaving? ]

Fine. Hurry it up.

[ Why is he being such a asshole? Even for him this is excessive! And that sweet scent isn't making things any easier -- if anything, it's just confusing him more, making his mouth water and his head spin. He can't help thinking, too, of the size of the thing Vash indicated was coming -- as wide as his palm, some of them, he'd said. That's bigger than anything Wolfwood would want to pass. Surely Spikey's body is designed for it, though? Surely this will go easily, and then it'll be over and they can pretend it never happened. ]

[ecad]

( the awful thing about this whole mess is that vash doesn't want to be alone for it; he has been every other time, yes, he's used to it and he's prepared for it but even if wolfwood has his own misgivings about what's happening, having him there is … soothing, in a way? even with all of his harsh words and threats and whatever else he might feel the need to employ along the way, he's glad he decided to stay.

no matter how awkward it is. no matter how awkward it's going to be once everything is underway. wolfwood might look at him differently once it's all over and done with, but he's used to that, too, isn't he?

no one ever looks at him like he's normal. no matter how hard he tries to keep all of his eccentricities in check, no matter how much he tries to be like everyone else. he's different, and it shows in the smallest ways.

and the tears aren't your fault, nicholas. just so you know. they just so happen to operate under their own terms and decide when they come and when they don't. so. don't you go feeling any guilt about that, yeah?

he's just a big baby, and that's all there is to it.

vash swallows hard against another thrumming wave of discomfort, laying his legs flat again and letting his thighs fall slightly farther apart; both in some attempt at easing the building ache in his hips and preparing for the first egg to make its appearance, but a flush still flares high on his cheeks and he continues to look anywhere but at wolfwood.

there's a cluster of freckles on the inside of his right thigh, innocent amidst the surrounding patchwork of scars, and he decides to focus on that. that sweet scent that's proving so difficult for the other to parse out gets just a little bit thicker as a new trickle of slick betrays the inevitable.

and even still, he huffs out an almost incredulous sounding laugh. ) I can't just. Make it happen, you know. But it won't be long now.

( the space between his thighs is throbbing, but he keeps his hands where they are. on either sided of him, fingers digging into the makeshift nest of linens, and he bites back a small noise. something that could almost be called wanting, even if he isn't sure what he wants in this moment other than for it to be over. ) —Ah.

( oh. this first one is going to hurt. ) … Nngh. ( wolfwood doesn't need to know that it feels bigger than the others have been. he doesn't need to know how badly vash is convinced it's going to hurt.

but maybe that means the rest of them will be smaller, and come more easily? he can hope, right? )

[louboutinjudas]

[ He doesn't expect that it's going to be a fun process, not with all the buildup so far about how weird it is, and how much he needs to do... that, to make it better. That first groan sets Wolfwood's teeth on edge because yeah that sounded like wanting. That sounded needy, and strained, and like something he's going to think about the next time he takes himself in hand, whether he wants to or not.

He keeps his back to Vash, giving him the pretense of privacy, but without being able to see the expression on Vash's face all he hears is heavy breathing and little whimpers and moans and shit it just sounds like Blondie's getting dicked down good. He's thinking about sex and so that's what he's hearing, that's what he's picturing -- the air's heavy with the scent of Vash's slick pussy and if this goes on must longer his body's going to have a reaction that he's got no control over, and won't that be a fun conversation. Wolfwood knots his hands into fists as his side, fighting the urge to just stick his fingers in his ears -- no wonder Vash wanted to jerk off, if it's already feeling this good! What the fuck?!

Anger helps. Anger keeps the arousal at bay, but for how long? How long can he hold out? ]

[ecad]

( he doesn't mean to sound like that, he doesn't, and knowing that it's going to stay with wolfwood once things are over here … well. not that he's going to know, but if he did, it would make him blush right down to his toes and he might, honestly, never recover from it. he doesn't mean to sound needy, he doesn't mean to sound wanting —

the pressure in his hips doubles down on him and he almost winces because of it, gritting his teeth against another betraying sound as he feels something shift inside him. oh, yeah, it's going to come soon, and it's going to be big, and it's going to. to.

wolfwood's back is to him so he doesn't feel as shameful as he might otherwise, spreading his thighs even more as he does, breaths now coming in quick, short little pants as he bites the inside of his bottom lip again. harder, because he can be quiet, he can do this, he can.

something in him says push, and he does; he bears down as best he can, strained little noises worming their way up his throat and out of his mouth even through gritted teeth, and he squeezes his eyes tightly shut against the renewed wetness threatening the corners. it isn't bad, it isn't horrible, it doesn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would but it's still the sort of pressure that borders on more than just uncomfortable. one, two, three, and —

he gives another quiet, breathless ah! as the largest part of the first egg clears his entrance, the rest of it slipping free with minimal effort, his inner walls almost rippling to help it along and then all at once it's out. done. he finally forces his eyes open — when had he even closed them? — and chances a look between his thighs, and. oh.

it's just a little bit wider than the base of his palm at its largest, smooth, almost luminescent with the way it seems to glow faintly. it is bigger than he'd thought, but he's still hoping that means the rest of them will be smaller. or that there won't be as many.

he breathes out, an almost incredulous huff, gently tracing fingertips over the delicate shell. ) That's … one.

[louboutinjudas]

[ At some point -- he couldn't say for sure when, exactly -- the sounds Blondie's making stop sounding pleased, and start sounding strained. Upset. Pained.

By the time Vash opens his eyes, Wolfwood's turned around, and he's standing at the side of the bed -- with a clear view straight between Vash's thighs -- looking between Vash's face and that way too large egg with worry and a slowly settling resolution.

He's in way over his head here. ]

That thing's huge.

[ His voice is almost as soft as Vash's, dry and unsure. He's still trying not to look right at Vash's whatever-he-calls-it, but from here there was no way to miss just how stretched Vash had to be to pass that thing. That's no hotdog in a hallway -- that was a tight fit. And he might not know much, but he knows that trying to fit something big through a hole that isn't slick and relaxed is a recipe for a bad time.

He really should have just kept his mouth shut, huh? ]

Does it really help? What you were gonna do?

[ecad]

( at the very least, he tries to keep as much of the strain out of his voice as he can, but sometimes — especially when it comes to the largest part of the first egg — he just can't help it, and it only adds to the embarrassment of the whole thing. is wolfwood going to think him weak, after this? that he can't handle a little bit of discomfort that will, ultimately, subside?

( in vash's defense, it isn't exactly like this is normal for someone human-shaped, and he hadn't known what he was even supposed to do the first time it happened.

that's something he would really, really like to forget, if he's perfectly honest. )

he almost doesn't register that wolfwood has spoken when the words leave his mouth, a tinny sort of ringing in his ears making focusing a bit more than difficult for a handful of seconds before his eyes come fully into focus. there's a breathless sort of laugh, no humor in it at all as he shakes his head in an attempt to get the hair out of his face. when had he started sweating? )

It's not that bad. ( he says softly, as he would anything that seems as bad. like getting shot at point-blank range. you know how he is.

he's quiet when that question comes, though, cheeks seeming to burn an even deeper shade of pink and his markings flare for a half-second or so before he gets himself back under control. remember that, if it just so happens again in the future. it definitely means he's flustered. )

… Yeah. ( darn near inaudible, because it's just as embarrassing to admit it for a second time. ) Something about the muscle contractions, uh, moving things along? If I had to guess. ( he hasn't exactly thought too deeply about it, okay? he just. knows it helps. ) I dunno. I try not to think about it.