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]

( can he really be disappointed, when he'd been convinced before he'd even asked that the answer would be anything other than no? maybe he can, maybe he just sounds like that when he understands why a certain thing has to happen a certain way, even if he wishes it could be different, if it could be anything other than that, but the problem with vash the stampede is that there's always going to be just a little bit of hope mixed in with everything else. even if the bottom-line realization is that nothing is ever going to be the way he wants it to be, no matter how hard he tries.

it's been that way for pretty much everything in his life up to now. so. why would that suddenly change?

he isn't asking because he thinks it's just something wolfwood wants, even if it would be nice to feel wanted, for however long or short a time that ends up being. even if it's just a means to an end, some measure of relief for what his body wants. the heart could be different, the heart could not even be involved, because what does he know about their resident undertaker, beyond what he deigns to give over for himself, the surface barely scratched that vash is sure hides more than it gives up. because walls are always going to be there for a reason, he might know that better than either of them, better than either of them combined, but —

do what you like.

the way he blinks in response is clearly surprised, but maybe wolfwood will miss it before he turns back to face him again; maybe he'll miss the way vash's back straightens just a little bit, or the way he stops fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, or … the way his thighs press together as a renewed wave of heat sees fit to make its way through him, and it has nothing at all to do with the fact that another egg might be coming, because it might not be, and it's his own stupid, traitorous body responding to wolfwood.

as if it hasn't been, already, but one thing at a time, or something.

their undertaker turns back toward him, and he may not even be looking at him directly, but vash reaches for him all the same; hands on either side of his neck as he closes a bit of that distance again, his own knees edging closer to the edge of the mattress, a breath catching in the back of his throat that resonates with a bit of that purring from before. low, quiet, hesitant, but he can't help it as he raises himself up and brushes lips against lips.

it's sweet. soft, almost tender in a way he doesn't really mean for it to be, but ends up happening anyway. first, the very center of his top lip, and then the bottom, both at once as he leans into it as the fingers of his flesh hand absently make their way into the dark, fine hairs at the back of the other's neck, a point of contact he hadn't expressly asked permission for, but will apologize for all the same once he finally pulls away, if he needs to. one short inhale, the same sort of exhale and he's pressing their mouths firmly together with the faintest hint of his tongue.

the tiniest flick, because he wants to know what he tastes like, and if this is his only chance … what is it, he'd heard someone say once?

ask for forgiveness, not permission? he's already done that once, and the answer had been do what you like, and if this doesn't count, he'll ask for that forgiveness. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Oh he’s damned. He’s so damned for this.

Vash kisses him so sweetly, like they’re friends, like he’s worth savoring, worth gentleness. Like he knows what to do with sweet and gentle. He can’t even lie to himself – or to the paranoid, skittish voice in the back of his mind – that the hands on either side of his throat are there for anything other than softness. Vash could snap his neck so easily, he knows. He’s strong – he could squeeze his throat shut with one hand, could dig a thumb into the corner of his jaw and sever the big artery there. He’s the Humanoid Typhoon, the brother of Millions Knives – he’s dangerous. He’s off limits.

He's so far above Wolfwood that he shouldn’t even be able to see the man, down here in the dust and shadows. He’s the closest thing this miserable planet has to a god and it’s stupid that he’s here like this, stupid as hell that he’d want anything to do with Wolfwood at all.

How fucking desperate must Vash the Stampede be, to seek tenderness from an undertaker and a traitor?

Vash’s tongue flicks against Wolfwood’s lips, sweet as candy and Wolfwood parts his lips without hesitation, letting Vash taste any part of him that he wants. His body moves in response to Vash’s touch, his own hands coming up under Vash’s shirt to rest warm and heavy around that ridiculously small waist. Behind his glasses – which Wolfwood foolishly still believes block the view of his eyes from the rest of the world – his gaze is wide and wild, just a stupid, nervous thing. There’s no signs of hesitance in the rest of him, though – he’s better than that. From the neck down he’s eager, hands moving smoothly up Vash’s sides, and as he licks into Vash’s mouth he can’t help but groan quietly, a mirror of Vash’s faint purr. ]

[ecad]

( if wolfwood is damned, vash may as well be, too. how was he supposed to know it would feel this good, just to kiss someone?

( even if there's still a part of him that thinks it's all because it's him, and nothing else could ever come close, but it isn't as though he has some brain cells to spare for that level of coherent thought, so. moving right along. )

he kisses like he wants to be kissed, or rather, the way he's always thought he would; because he's always tried to be gentle in everything he does, to be tender and kind and all the things this world needs, but doesn't often lend itself to, because how much tenderness can there be in a world that has hardly known anything other than the harshness of going without? and how can he be greedy, in turn, when he's never even had this to begin with?

but wolfwood … he deserves that tenderness. that sweetness, and for as long as do what you like is in effect, he's going to let it pour out of him in droves, and he's going to hope the other accepts it for everything it is.

those big, warm hands slip beneath his shirt and he can't even think to stop the way it makes him shiver, from the back of his neck to the point at which his knees dig into the thin mattress, his own arms coming around wolfwood's neck fully and seeking to pull him closer. to line them up, to press their bodies flush together, and if the clothed head of the other's cock brushes against any sensitive part of him — well, you'll have to forgive the shocked little moan it pulls from him, sweet and muffled against parted lips.

his markings glow faintly at the flick of wolfwood's tongue into his mouth, against his own and he wants to kiss him even deeper, he wants to bite, he wants to suck on that soft, slick muscle until there's nothing but the taste of wolfwood in his mouth — and he does that last bit, tentatively, still not entirely sure what in the world he's doing but letting instinct take over. just a little bit of suction, almost delicate, and if that syrup-sweet scent begins to come back around, just a little bit stronger —

he's dripping down the insides of his thighs again. just from a kiss, and his own eyes might be closed, so he misses that wide, wild gaze behind dark lenses, but the next time he can be bothered to put any distance between them, make no mistake. those glasses are coming off, if he'll let him take them. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ To be fair, it’s a really good kiss.

Wolfwood’s fucked a couple of times – there’s no other word for those encounters – but kissing is just about as new to him as it is to Vash. Blondie sucks on his tongue and Wolfwood has to squeeze his eyes tightly shut against the vision, immediate and desperately wanted, of having that gentle suction elsewhere. He’d said do what you like and he’ll stand by that, whatever happens, but God in fucking Heaven, Spikey, don’t… just don’t. Don’t be sweet. Don’t be gentle. Don’t make him want this.

Don’t treat him like he’s a person, instead of just a tool.

The scent is making his head swim, and his hands move of their own volition, up Vash’s broad back and then down, over his skinny hips. He freezes in his caresses when Vash reaches for his glasses, but he doesn’t protest, not even when the dark shades are lifted away and Vash gets treated to a front row seat to his anxious uncertainty. If Vash sees how spooked he is, he’ll say something – he’ll be even more gentle – and Wolfwood can’t bear the thought. Quickly, as soon as the glasses are moved, he leans in, capturing Vash’s mouth in a searing kiss, sucking at his tongue and keeping their faces close enough so that Vash can’t see him. ]

[ecad]

( but he wants him to want this. unfair as it might be to the both of them — because there's no way it could be anything more than this, a one-time offer of help — but he wants him to want this just as badly as vash wants it himself, to be felt and seen and held, no matter for how short a time. he wants to touch, he wants to taste, he wants to commit everything to memory and god he just wants, not only for his sake, but to give back as much as he's been given.

his breaths are already coming in quick little pants again, sweet puffs of air against the other's mouth when that suction is turned back around on him and he whimpers; flesh fingers drag between wolfwood's shoulder blades, nails digging into fabric, heat pooling low in his belly and he can't quite help the way his hips seek to press forward, seek some kind of friction, and maybe … maybe later, he'll feel some manner of shame for how shameless he is in this moment. how his body betrays him, even if there's no way he could possibly hide anything from the other man now.

not the scent of his arousal, not how soaked he is, not the eagerness with which he kisses him back and silently begs for more with the subtle scrape of teeth over a bottom lip. he doesn't know how to be anything other than gentle, perhaps especially like this, even if he's never gotten this before — but wolfwood deserves gentle, hasn't he thought that before?

he has to breathe, or at least try to, just for a moment. pressing a smattering of tiny kisses to the other's lips, he swallows around another purely wanting noise that catches just behind his teeth, eyes finally slitting open, little more than a sliver of brilliant, shining blue behind dark lashes. ) Did you mean it? ( he breathes, barely more than a whisper, flesh hand coming back around to wolfwood's front and brushing the backs of his knuckles against the flat of his stomach.

do what you like. did you really mean that? )

[louboutinjudas]

[ No, there’s no hiding Vash’s arousal. This close, with no space at all between them, there’s no hiding Wolfwood’s either. Between his own mess and Vash’s grinding, his trousers are soaked, wet fabric clinging in all kinds of new and hard-to-ignore ways.

Did you mean it?, Vash whispers against his mouth, but Wolfwood can hear the real question in those soft kisses, and in the whimpering flex of Vash’s hips against his own -- do you want this?

What a stupid question. ]

You talk too damn much.

[ It’s a snarl, cut off as he takes Vash’s lower lip between his teeth, gripping both hands full of Vash’s scanty ass and grinding their hips together. Vash wants him to want this, so he’ll want this, want him, and he’ll make it as good as he can. Tomorrow is tomorrow’s problem. Julai is a lifetime away. Here, now? There’s nothing but Vash, and his sweet slick heat, and his eager mouth, and his breathy little sounds. He can want that, just for tonight. ]

How d’you want me?

[ He doesn’t break off that kiss, mirroring Vash’s smattering of tiny kisses with his own somewhat rougher ones. He’s no good at being gentle, but if that’s what Vash wants, then he’ll find a way to be gentle. ]

You want my hand again? My mouth?

[ecad]

( if things keep going the way they are, there's going to be a lot more than just wolfwood's trousers that are ruined — but at the very least, vash will offer to wash them himself if he needs to, because that particular mess is his fault to begin with, isn't it? eh … heh. if he happened to look down and see it for himself, it would make him flush an even deeper shade of pink, all the way down to his shoulders, maybe his collarbones. an impressive show of how flustered he can get from the smallest, simplest things.

even if it is filthy. in a good way.

you talk too damn much.

he knows he does! he's been accused of as much more times than he can count at this point, and he's never bothered to argue the point because there's no point in it; not that he could, anyway, with the way the other takes his bare ass in both hands and brings their hips together in a filthy-delicious grind, his bottom lip between his teeth and he keens with the combined motions, high and just a little bit sharp in the back of his throat, sweet as anything and just this side of desperate. ) I want—

( his heart knocks so loudly against his ribs that he's sure wolfwood should be able to hear it, murmuring into those rough kisses between abbreviated inhales, nipping back just to show that he isn't always gentle, or maybe that it isn't all he wants the other to be with him, fingers working at the front of his trousers until he can slip his hand into those ruined shorts and trace over the shape of his cock. brazen, unashamed, honest. )

You. Just want you.

( be rough with him. use your teeth, bruise him, mark him. make him yours for the night, or as long as you want, because as far as he's concerned he already is for as long as you want him. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Just you, Vash says, which is sweet anduseless -- it could mean absolutely anything at all! Good thing the hand working its way into his sticky pants has a more direct reply than Vash himself is capable of. Wolfwood’s not a small man by any metric, but he can’t believe that after having that big egg -- and a hand -- up in there that Vash’ll even notice something like a dick… but if that’s what Blondie here wants, then that’s what he’s going to get. ]

Okay.

[ Oh, he’s going to pay for this later. He pulls his hips back, away from that inquisitive touch, and breaks off their kissing with a nip of his own. ]

Okay, shirt off. Everything off.

[ His heart’s pounding double-time in his chest, a mirror to Vash’s eager pulse, but Wolfwood’s excitement is more of the impending panic type. He yanks his pants down, leaving them right where they fall, and tries as hard as he can to only think about what’s here in front of him and not about how bad the consequences for this action will be. It’s easier by the moment to focus only on Vash, at least – the more skin he bares, the more Wolfwood finds he simply can’t look away.

Only when he’s stripped down and reaching again for Vash does the thought occur to him, pausing him in place with a worried frown. If the man’s full of eggs, then… then isn’t it risky to have Wolfwood inside? If Vash has a pussy, weird or otherwise, and Wolfwood comes in him, then doesn’t that mean he could get knocked up? ]

Shit. I don’t have anything to wrap it up in.

[ecad]

( maybe it's the opposite of helpful, but it's what he means without thinking about it too much; it still feels like it might just be the two eggs this time, which would be a feat in and of itself, and he's pretty convinced that if more were coming, he would have felt the onset by now. everything he's feeling is for wolfwood, and wolfwood alone, and if the only coherent thought in his head is i just want you, that's all he's going to get.

coherent thought is for future vash to think about. a tomorrow problem. right now everything is wolfwood, and he couldn't make room for anything else even if he'd thought to try.

everything off, he says, and it shows in how far gone he is that his dexterity has all but gone out the nearest window. it takes him a moment to remember how his arms work, and how sleeves work in turn to get his shirt up and over his head, and all at once he's blissfully bare and left to watch as wolfwood attempts the same. he really is beautiful, even without vash being able to see the relative beauty in everything; strong, lean muscles underneath skin darker than his own, long limbs, long fingers that he's definitely going to be thinking about for the rest of his time on this forsaken planet, and when the other man reaches for him again, he practically falls into those strong arms, face pressing once more into the side of his neck like he just can't help it.

i don't have anything to wrap it up in.

wh— oh.

vash stays where he is, nuzzling into the side of his throat and dropping soft kisses here and there; there's no way for him to know at all if there could be any unwanted consequences from this, because it isn't like he's done this before, but there is at least a shred of coherency in him that insists that if he thinks they're one hundred percent safe from any negative repercussions, it's because he wants him so badly that he can taste it.

he gives over a slightly grumpy noise that loses itself in the ends of dark hair. ) There's no way to know if we're even compatible. ( he murmurs, knowing what he means, but still trying to be as vague as absolutely possible. ) I'm … not sure it even matters. ( absently, he lets his hands wander, over the slats of wolfwood's ribs and over the sharp jut of his hipbones. the outsides of his thighs. lips framing that frantic beat of his pulse and letting his teeth scrape too gently. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Goddamn yes it does matter! Wolfwood starts to protest, but the words die on his lips before he can do more than open his mouth. Vash probably isn’t just being dismissive of Wolfwood’s worries here, because that’s not the kind of guy he is. He doesn’t know anything about Wolfwood’s story and he doesn’t fucking need to, because what guy wants a baby dropped on them without having a say in it, right? Wolfwood himself doesn’t know if he’s even able to… to… look, chances are that the poison coursing through his veins has poisoned his spunk too. But if it’s not poison, if there’s any chance that he’s going to deliver Vash to Julai with a month-old sprout in there…

Whatever Knives has planned for Blondie here, it’s going to be bad.

But that’s so far above Wolfwood’s pay grade that there’s no reason to even worry about it. Vash is only his problem for a little while longer, and if he says it’s not a big deal, if he’s not worried, then Wolfwood’s not going to worry about it. Do what you like, he said, and if what Vash would like is Wolfwood inside him, condom or no? Then that’s what he’ll get.

Just, if something does take? Do him the small mercy of not ever letting him know. ]

Then it doesn’t matter.

[ Okay, they’re doing this. He can do this. Vash is solid and strong in his arms, but his weight is nothing compared to the Punisher, and it’ll be easy as breathing to hold him close and lay them both down onto the bed. He considers and then quickly rejects the idea of kissing Vash again – it’s just so damn intimate! – but Vash’s mouth on his throat feels fucking great, so Wolfwood follows Blondie’s lead there, urging Vash’s chin up with a nuzzle and latching on with lips and a soft hint of teeth both. ]

I wanna hear you, [ --he rumbles into the side of Vash’s throat, hands ghosting down Vash’s sides. Legs up, handsome – wrap those ankles around Wolfwood if you like, and hang on. ] Mark th’date, because this here’s the one an’ only time I’m gonna tell you to talk more.

[ You’re gonna fucking last, he mentally snarls at himself, rocking his hips back so his cock slicks itself over Vash’s strange folds. Make it good. ]

You want more, less, slower, whatever the fuck, you use your words, got it?

[ecad]

( he would never be dismissive just for the sake of something he wants for himself — especially not with something like this, because that's a level of cruel he could never be capable of — but the truth of it is that he really doesn't know. he remembers what rem had tried to teach him about the different kinds of flowers, and how they were all ultimately within the same realm of species, something about the prospect of cross-pollination ( is he remembering that right? is that the right phrase? ) was difficult, even when the effort was made.

they are not the same species. there shouldn't be an issue … right?

and even on the off-chance that there is … don't worry, he's never had a problem with keeping things to himself if it means keeping a burden from landing on someone else's shoulders. if something comes up, it's going to have been his mistake, and his problem to deal with going forward.

dismissed of all charges, as it were.

he sighs quietly, pleasantly in the back of his throat at both being so effortlessly moved where wolfwood wants him and at the teeth that tease his throat, thighs pressing tight to the other man's sides and ultimately crossing his ankles at the small of his back to keep him close, fingers in all that soft, dark hair, smoothing over his shoulders and the back of his neck — touching him literally anywhere he can reach and savoring every single bit of it.

and he can't quite keep himself from letting his flesh hand slip between them to press his palm gently against where his cock slicks itself with the mess between his thighs, where his petals and needy little tendrils both curl around the length of him to keep him right where he is, because it's already so good — especially when the very tip rubs over the swollen, sensitive bud that is his fat little clit — it wouldn't be all that difficult to bring him to his peak a third time.

there's a breathless, almost incredulous laugh at wolfwood's commanding growl, and he nods for extra emphasis that he understands, even if he doesn't need to. ) W-Words, got it. Words … ( he pauses, considering, at war with himself on whether or not he's bold enough to give over what's just crept to the forefront of his mind and made a home for itself there. )

That mean you really wanna hear just how bad I wanna feel you inside me?

( murmured right into his ear, soft and warm and absolutely dripping with want.

where did you even learn how to talk like that? christ. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ Wolfwood’s steady rocking skips right out of groove like a warped record, and he pulls back enough to look Vash incredulously in the eye. Where the fuck did his virginal ass learn to talk like that?! ]

What the…?!

[ No, dammit, that’s not what he meant! Don’t say shit like that, or he’s gonna blush! ]

I meant give me direction, asshole! You don’t need to blow smoke up my ass like I’m paying you for it.

[ Fuck it, he’s slick enough. With how wet he is, and after everything that’s already happened, will Spikey even feel it when he rocks his hips down and slides in? ]

[ecad]

( look, this is new for both of you, and you know very, very well that sometimes vash doesn't think things through all the way before he opens his mouth; the thought was just there, and now it's out in the open, and …

wolfwood looks like he's on the verge of stroking out. hm. tentative success? let's see how far this goes. )

But I do. ( he answers almost easily, shaky as his voice ends up sounding; he means up just as much as he needs to nuzzle at him, cheek to cheek, soft kisses pressed all along the line of his jaw. ) Your fingers are incredible, but not— ohgod.

( it's at that precise moment that the other slides home, and for all he might be expecting there to be some give thanks to those not-quite-small eggs, he's in for perhaps a bit of a surprise; he's still tight, tight enough that every little flutter of his inner muscles is almost like a beat of his heart, staggering and tangible, and he clenches down around him near-immediately, petals folding themselves around the base of his cock and pressing flush against the flat of his stomach once he's fully seated.

vash is shaking, flesh hand now digging blunt fingernails into wolfwood's sternum without realizing, prosthetic cupping his nape as he buries his face in the space between neck and shoulder, a keenwhinemoan startled out of him so sharply that he almost bites to muffle it.

he feels huge, and he's about to try to articulate as much. ) Big … you feel so— god—

( well, he tried. gold star? )

[louboutinjudas]

[ He doesn't realize his mistake until he's already seated deep inside -- Vash's nails dig into his chest and only then does the tight velvet grip around his cock register. He shouldn't be so tight! That egg was huge! It doesn't make any sense!

He heals quick, a little voice in the back of Wolfwood's mind helpfully offers, and he groans with disgust at himself. He just can't help it, can he? This big dumb body really is only good for causing pain. Here he'd been thinking that things were going so well -- he got Blondie off, that strange pussy of his is slick as hell, he wants Wolfwood for some godforsaken reason... and he really thought it would be okay. He really thought that maybe, for once, he'd be able to do something without anyone (not even himself) getting hurt.

He should've known better. ]

Oh shit, I'm sorry.

[ It's the first time in years he's said those words. He holds himself tight and tense so as not to put any more weight on Vash as he slowly, carefully starts to pull back out, his face flaming red with humiliation. They should've just stopped when Vash was still feeling good.

He's a tool that's only meant to hurt, and he needs to remember that. ]

[ecad]

( it isn't even close to a mistake, you big goober. it's good. it's what he needs, even if he hadn't quite realized it before wolfwood had seated himself fully inside, and when he starts to pull back every single thought in his mind screams no! no, please, stayrightthereplease, but he can't find the words to actually say such a thing out loud.

instead, his thighs press even tighter to the other's sides, ankles locked tight behind his back, hell — he might even get a heel digging into an asscheek if he tries to move back any farther, but the only thing that matters to him right now is to convey stay. he pulls his face free of the crook of his neck, the hand at his chest coming up to gently cup the side of his face just as he'd done when he'd asked to kiss him. )

Stop. I mean— don't be. ( his voice is soft and quiet, still wrecked, but that's kind of a moot point by now, isn't it? and wolfwood might have been able to keep himself from kissing him, but vash doesn't — can't — lips finding lips in a surge of heat that leaves him glowing when he finally pulls back to take a breath, eyes bright behind lids at half-mast, markings reflected in the blue of his irises.

he presses a thumb beneath the other man's chin, forces him to hold his gaze. ) Look at me. Look at me and tell me you think I want you to be sorry. Or stop. ( that last point is emphasized by a subtle upward twitch of his hips, and his petals curl just a bit tighter around the base of his cock, wanting to pull him back fully inside.

he nibbles at his bottom lip. then the top, and speaks against them both in a hushed, husky sort of whisper. ) I want … ( his glow flares at the highest points of his cheeks, embarrassment fighting for dominance, but he's not going to let it win. not this time. ) I want you deeper. I want all of you.

( you said you wanted direction, didn't you? )

[louboutinjudas]

[ He did. He did say that.

Pinned in place by Vash's heel, by Vash's mouth, by Vash's insistantly goddamn blue eyes, Wolfwood can't do a damn thing but listen. He parts his lips obediently when Vash kisses him, but even with all the evidence laid out before him -- beneath, him, gripping him so tightly -- it's hard to believe what Vash is saying.

Look, he's listening, but belief is harder than attentiveness. ]

It's really okay?

[ He's already convinced himself that Vash's gasp was pain and not pleasure, and even with Vash's clear and direct words, it's hard to trust what the self-sacrificing idiot says, when what Wolfwood's seeing and feeling seems to contradict Vash's words.

Carefully he rocks his hips forward, sinking into the other man's body until the scraggly hair at the base of his cock is pressed right up again Vash's skin. The whole time he's watching Vash's face with laser focus, sure that he's going to see wincing, gritted teeth, some signs of pain. Sure that he's found a new way to cause this good, stupid man hurt. ]

You're so goddanm tight, and I'm...

[ Big. He doesn't know why the Eye made his dick big along with everything else, or if this is how it would have grown if he'd been allowed to grow naturally, but no part of him is small. It's really okay? ]

[ecad]

( it's really okay, you sweet, beautiful man. you beautiful soul.

belief can exist in a state of suspension, you know? you don't have to believe him, to take him at his word, but he likes to think that what his body is saying will speak well enough for itself; he's all tense muscles and slick, inner walls already seeking to milk him for everything he's worth even if they haven't really gotten anywhere yet, but it's in every way he reaches for him, trying to pull him closer that he wants to think that his words might actually meet their mark, eventually, if he tries to drive them home.

there aren't any tears decorating his lashes just yet, and even when they had before, it had been out of pure bliss, not pain, or discomfort, just everything that wolfwood had been saving him from by agreeing to help him in the first place, and he should know better than anyone else at this point that he's a crybaby at his earliest convenience, but it hadn't been about that.

it had been everything he'd been feeling, the pleasure and the euphoria of being touched by someone that seemed to actually want to do as much, even if wolfwood wants to keep thinking that he's just helping him out, that's fine. it's more than fine, but vash. oh, this ridiculous anomaly of a living thing is already so far gone that there might not be any coming back from this, as much as the other might want to think otherwise. a friend helping a friend, sure.

but this one is sure that no one else could ever touch him like this, and it would feel the same.

wolfwood rocks forward again, and vash exhales a shuddering, full-bodied moan, lashes fluttering as he kisses him again — sweetly, warm and soft and maybe with the slightest hint of teeth scraping, but nothing sharp — and both of his arms come around him fully to hold him close, chest to chest as fingers sink into dark hair again and drag indulgently over his scalp. ) It's okay. I promise … it's okay. You feel so good.

( big, yes. but in the best kind of way, and if wolfwood is watching him? he's going to make a point of kissing him again as he meets his next thrust, more lips against lips and sweet, breathless sounds of want. )

You're perfect.

[louboutinjudas]

[ Oh, he's watching. He'll kiss Vash back when Vash initiates it, but the rest of the time his focus is square on Vash's face, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for this to go bad, somehow. ]

Don't let me hurt you.

[ That perfect comment is so ridiculous that it doesn't even deserve a snort, much less a real reply -- Blondie's just feeling good, heaping praise on him like it'll make this whole situation less fucked up. It really would be better -- for Wolfwood, anyway -- if he didn't want this, if this was entirely about helping Vash out. If he wasn't, on some guilty level, enjoying every moment of that slick slide and tight grip, that sweet mouth, and the gasping little sounds each thrust pulls out of Vash's throat. He's risking everyone he's ever cared about, and soiling Vash to boot -- he shouldn't enjoy this.

And yet.

He sets up a slow rhythm, deep and even, making sure to grind against Vash's clit with every press. ]

I mean it! If I find out that this is rubbin' you the wrong way and you didn't say anything I'll knock you into next week.

[ Without his glasses his feelings are just out there for anyone to take in, and for all that his snarl matches his tone, his eyes are worried and bright. He's not used to having them uncovered, and he fucking hates it. ]

[ecad]

Wolfwood.

( he breathes out, quiet and just this side of pleading, but. no, that doesn't sound right. the word doesn't feel right in his mouth and maybe he's about to cross a boundary that shouldn't be crossed, but what was that about asking for forgiveness rather than permission, in the first place? )

Nicholas … ( that slow, deep rhythm is good, it's wonderful, it's perfect with the way it has the other grinding against his clit with every downward thrust, his breaths already beginning to come in quick, abbreviated pants as he rolls his hips upward like he has any idea at all of what he's doing. he knows just it feels good, and he wants it to keep going, and as deep as the slide of the other's cock inside him is now, just wait until he finds that secret little spot inside him that his fingers could never possibly reach.

the spot that will end up blinding him with his own pleasure. he smiles against nicholas' mouth, kissing him almost too-sweetly with the way another wave of pleasure washes over him and has him holding on tighter, thigh muscles straining against either side of the other's ribs, fingers in dark hair almost gripping too tightly. ) Shh.

( stop talking. you say he always talks too much, don't you? even if you want him to use his words now, which he will! but he's telling you, and begging you to understand — ) You're not gonna hurt me. Promise. ( there'a a brief pause, and the glow of his flush comes again to the highest points of his cheeks. )

You can be a little rough, if you want. Like … harder. Mm … ( he rolls his hips up again, a bit more fervently. ) I think I'd like that.

[louboutinjudas]

[ Nicholas, Vash sighs, and Wolfwood’s teeth clench so tightly it’s a wonder they don’t crack. Nicholas is the Eye’s prize S+ boy. Nicholas is a killer, cold and casually cruel. Nicholas is a bastard, and okay, sure, what he’s doing here isn’t right at all, but it’s not… he doesn’t mean it to be cruel. Foolish, stupid, but not cruel. Wolfwood, not Nicholas. ]

Don’t call me that.

[ He means it as a demand, a snarl, but he’s breathless, caught up in the moment, surprised, something that takes the strength out of his words and leaves him asking instead, quiet and all but murmured into Vash’s mouth. The sound of their bodies coming together fills the room as Wolfwood drives his hips forward a little harder, a little rougher. His own pleasure is both a present, eager thing – it takes practice to learn how to last, and he doesn’t practice much – and so far away he can’t recognize it. ]

Don’t make me be him right now.

[ Vash is so sweet, with that soft candy smile and the mouth-watering perfume that’s filling the air. Every slap of skin against skin sounds like a punch, and he’s fighting to reconcile the pleasure pouring visibly off Vash and the rough, harder certainty that this will end in violence.

Or eggs. The thought strikes him suddenly, pushing all worries about his capability for gentleness right out of his head. Are there any more eggs in there? Is he going to thrust into Vash, and smash the head of his cock into an eggshell?

Won’t that break it? ]

[ecad]

Okay.

( comes out of him just as quietly, just as breathless; he acquiesces to everything so easily, without question, and maybe it's more out of fear of overstepping than anything else, but some distant part of him realizes he has, once again, said the wrong thing. of course he doesn't know the whole of wolfwood's history, he doesn't know much of anything about the man at all but he does understand the power of names, and if it's been etched into him that he's nicholas the punisher — )

I'm sorry.

( that your name has been taken from you. even if he doesn't know that, not really, the sentiment wouldn't be any different. everyone deserves a name they would rather lay claim to than run away from.

he kisses him once more, achingly sweetly before pushing his face into the crook of the other's neck and shoulder again, burying himself there and just breathing him in; his arms tighten around him, one hand still lost in dark hair while the other presses flat to the very center of his back, clinging to him with every subsequent thrust that finds pleasure bursting behind eyes that stay squeezed shut.

if there are eggs still left inside him, he can't feel them.not enough to be certain they'll be ready to make their entrance before they're finished here, but if wolfwood is worried about them breaking … he honestly can't be sure how much pressure it would take to fracture the shell. they always look delicate when he takes a moment to admire how pastel-pretty they are, sure, but they feel so much sturdier than that. time will tell, of course, as it always does —

so focus on that pleasure of yours, hm? and the soft, muffled sounds of his own losing themselves against the scattered beat of your pulse, shapeless little things he wants to be enough to convey how good this feels. how good wolfwood feels. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ This isn't about his pleasure. This isn't about him. It can't be. Wolfwood is greedy and selfish and demanding most of the time, but this?

God, he's so torn about this. He wishes, a little, that he could just tune out, could let his body move and have the pleasure and Blondie's words both just wash over him, nothing but background radiation crackling along his spine. But he can't, because it's so good. The occasional paid companion he's lain with played at enthusiasm, sure, their mouths full of praise and their eyes empty, and it had always been enough. It had been... not good, but fine.

This isn't fine. Vash's little sounds are piercing right through him, his body tensing and moving with every thrust of Wolfwood's until it's like they're one creature, pulsing together. He feels so good. He feels needed, wanted, like Vash can see right down through him to whatever's left of himself. It's so good. It's too good.

His next breath catches on something like a sob, and he turns his face away, hips pounding faster to try and distract Vash from noticing. How the hell does this guy manage to get under his skin so easily!? ]

[ecad]

( wolfwood turns his face away, and vash can't help but think ah, that's right.

he's only doing this because you asked him to, isn't he?

he's always been good at tuning things out, at running away from something he doesn't want to face but that. that isn't it, this time, is it? he chooses to believe that wolfwood wouldn't simply give in to something like this because it's what he'd wanted, what he'd asked for, but because it was something he wanted, too, whether he chose to believe it for himself or not. because vash was something he wanted, and couldn't have otherwise.

the tears threatening the corners of his eyes, dotting his lash line in constellations are from how good this is, make no mistake about that; every thrust of the other's hips against his own all but punches the very breath from his lungs, the sounds of his pleasure thinning and sharpening at the edges, almost sounding pained, and when one particularly deep press finally, finally finds that spot inside him —

how thin are these walls, again?

he chokes off his own sob, voice breaking around something that may as well equate a scream and if you don't want him getting any louder than that, you may want to consider covering his mouth. the dull blue glow of his markings flares bright, and if wolfwood were able to look, he might just notice that it highlights the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. another constellation in its own right.

the other's cock grinds against that spot inside him again, and again, and again, and vash can't help but to keep right on clinging to him as his pleasure nears its peak yet again, so quickly and so intensely that he feels too close to the word shatter. so close to breaking, to falling apart that there is no stopping it.

and he doesn't want to. blunt nails drag along the line of wolfwood's spine, over every single notch of vertebra, and all he can think is thank you.

thank you, thank you. )

[louboutinjudas]

[ The sounds Blondie's making are concerning, and not just because they're loud! If Vash weren't clinging to him for dear life, moving with him, if everything from the next down weren't screaming yes, he'd be worried about that choked, pained sound.

Maybe they'll get a visit from the manager after this, but Wolfwood can't find it in himself to give a fuck. Vash can make any goddamn noise he wants to. He doesn't think that...

...and then he stops thinking altogether, as his own pleasure -- that tight, strange fire that had been sitting low and smouldering in his belly all this time -- breaks free in a flood. Wolfwood's hips slam forward as he snarls out his surprise, pouring himself out in a hot stream deep into Vash's guts. As soon as he realizes what's happening he grits his teeth and tries to keep going -- he swore to himself that he'd last! -- but the overstimulation is too much. He can't. ]

Fuck!

[ecad]

( he'd probably apologize for all of his concerning noises if he didn't feel so good, because it isn't like he has a habit of being so loud — not when he's alone, at the very least — but there isn't a single coherent thought left in that fluffy blond head of his, and he's so close to his own release that it isn't going to take much more for him to finally reach it.

really, it's going to be the way he feels wolfwood spilling inside him that tips him over; it's an altogether new feeling, the sensation of the other's cock pulsing so deeply inside him, the warmth spreading through his core, and that's all it takes for the wave of his own pleasure to crest, to effectively come crashing down around his ears and he can't help the way his voice breaks around another almost-scream, a high-pitched and keening thing, nor can he help the way the fingernails of his flesh hand dig into the space between wolfwood's shoulder blades. the way they drag down and leave welts in their wake, a mark that says i was here, even if it disappears completely the next time a vial is cracked open.

his markings flare, showering the room in a bright blue glow as he rides out the intensity of his orgasm, as he shivers and trembles and clings, little whimpers tapering off into quiet pants against the bare skin of wolfwood's shoulder. his inner muscles are still fluttering, trying to milk the other's cock for everything it's worth, and he knows that he shouldn't be holding on so tightly —

but it's nice to have something to hold onto, even if it's just for a little while, isn't it? )