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

[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? )

[louboutinjudas]

[ There's no mistaking that glow, and as Wolfwood shivers through the last of his own pleasure he finds that there's one thing, anyway, to be grateful for: he didn't fail entirely.

He should get up. He should stop panting into Vash's shoulder, should lift his weight off the other man, pull himself free of all the ways Blondie's clinging to him right now, should pull on his soiled clothes and what's left of his dignity and slink back to his own rom.

Ha. Like he's got any dignity. ]

I don't...

[ The words are abrupt, harsh, and he cuts off the rest of the sentence just as harshly. How could he finish it? I don't want to do this again is a lie, I don't think we should do this again isn't, but he's here to keep the Stampede close and content, so how could he push him away like that? It'd be foolish. It'd be cruel.

I don't know what happens now is too honest, too fucking vulnerable.

Words are pointless anyway -- he should pull away, and so that's what he's going to do, easing out of Vash as gently as he knows how and straightening up, just long enough for a deep breath before he's crouching down to pluck his cigarettes out of his pants pocket. ]

Are there any more?

[ Eggs. Commands. Reasons he can find to stay. ]

[ecad]

( he doesn't want wolfwood to go, just as he hadn't wanted him to go when he'd first admitted to what was happening to him; realistically, of course, he knows that the other probably wants to, because he's done what had been asked of him, hadn't he? he'd helped, lent more than just those big, strong hands, and he almost misses the last two, much smaller eggs slip free of his body to join the mess between his thighs when wolfwood pulls out and away from him.

… a mess that is much, much more even with wolfwood's spend added to it. had he squirted and not realized it!? as if this wasn't already embarrassing enough, but he reaches for those infinitesimally smaller, infinitesimally brighter eggs and brings them to join the others off to the side, ready and waiting to be disposed of once he's gotten himself cleaned up and moderately closer to things that resemble coherent thoughts. it's going to be a little while for that last bit, but it's the very least he can do to pull himself up into a quasi-sitting position, severing any points of contact they might have left.

if he isn't the only one that does it, that makes it easier, right?

his knees are tucked up beneath his chin again before he speaks up, surveying the damage around them and thinking that he should probably give their clothes a good scrub — along with his entire person, jeez — before they can call themselves presentable for general consumption again. )

I don't think so. ( eggs, to start. he doesn't feel so feverish, so achy anymore, and that's usually a good sign — but something in his chest twists, leaving him feeling like there's still something to be wanted that he most certainly isn't allowed to have. ) Jeez, I really made a mess, huh. I'm— ( sorry dies on the back of his tongue like it had before, because he's saying it too much and he knows it. he huffs out a small, frustrated sound under his breath. ) I'll get everything cleaned up real quick, I can wash your pants too if you want, since it's kinda my fault they got messed up in the first place.

( he's babbling again, because he doesn't want to say you can go if you want, because he doesn't want him to. he doesn't want him to want to go, but we don't always get what we want, do we?

he turns and gently throws his legs over the side of the bed, already feeling like he's going to topple over if he tries to stand too quickly. ) Thank you. Again. Really. ( he turns his head slightly to the side, a thin, shaky smile spreading across the line of his mouth. whether or not wolfwood sees it is another thing entirely. ) I should see if the hot water's worth anything in this place … unless you wanna go first.

[louboutinjudas]

[ Vash starts babbling the instant he's given the chance, and Wolfwood just stands there, silently smoking and not listening to a single word after that initial I don't think so.

His job's done here, at least for tonight. Every few years, Vash had said. This happens only every couple of years. It won't happen again before they get to Julai, which means this won't happen again. In the morning, they'll go back to being whatever they were, just an idiot and his executioner.

Shouldn't that feel like more of a relief? Shouldn't he be pleased that all that shit that Vash's big eyes and eager pussy dredged up from the depths of his rotten soul can be allowed to settle back down now? Punisher likes killing his friends, Zazie had said, but God in heaven it's not fucking true! He doesn't have any friends. Can't kill people who don't exist. ]

If we're done here then I'm going back to my room.

[ His pants are soiled, but he can wash them in his own room's sink as readily as he can here. More readily, really, because he won't be hanging around with his ass out next to the guy whose pussy he can still taste. Still not having turned around, Wolfwood steps into his pants and pulls them up with a cruel yank. He's scrubbed blood out of them enough times -- a little spunk shouldn't be any trouble at all.

It's only as he turns to go that he catches sight of the two new eggs in the pile, brilliantly colored and gleaming with Spikey's slick. They hadn't been there when they'd started, which means they just came out, doesn't it? Which means they were in Vash when he... when they...

He really doesn't even know where to start with how he's feeling about this. ]

We're not gonna talk about this.

[ In the morning. Or ever. Under no circumstances. ]

[ecad]

( of course he's babbling. he doesn't know what else to do when the silence stretches out in front of him like too much of the unknown, and he's never known what to do with silence anyway, not even when he and nai had only been a year old and were still on the ship with rem. his brother had once accused him of talking so much just because he liked to hear the sound of his own voice, but back then it had really been because nai had spoken so rarely at all, always erring on the side of ( sometimes sullen ) silence and vash. vash has never liked silence because it always seemed so empty.

so loud. and in the stretch of it that hangs in the air after he's finished trying to fill it, his ears ring with it.

it's no real surprise that wolfwood isn't exactly in a talking mood. it's expected, really, and vash can't blame him, because so much has happened in such a small window of time that he can't have been expected to process it all to the point of actually understanding, so maybe he just needs to be respectful enough to let him have his space and. process. sweep it under the rug so he can forget about it entirely.

whatever he needs to do.

even if it doesn't keep him from wincing the slightest bit when he goes completely ignored, when the other pulls his pants back into place with the sort of finality that suggests he would rather move forward as though nothing had happened at all. ) Yeah, sure, 'course. Go, be free. ( he ends up huffing out with a humorless little laugh, the kind of thing anyone that has spent any length of time around him will have heard no fewer than a dozen times, to be sure. it's the sound he makes when he's also trying to brush something off as nonchalantly as possible, even though he always ends up failing miserably.

please don't go. ) I'll just—

( he trails off, reaching behind him to gather all four eggs in the soiled towel that had been folded beneath him. he means to clean them up even though there is every intention of disposing of them, because it — just seems right? he's not sure how to explain why his brain defaults to something like that, especially if it has something to do with the dormant, inherent need to take care of them — it's what he does every time, and wolfwood doesn't need to see that. nor does he need to see the way his fingers tremble slightly when he goes to remove his prosthetic once he's gotten the water running for himself, if he's even looking into the tiny bathroom after him.

in the morning, things will be normal again. in the morning, he'll be just as empty as he had been before this whole thing had even started, but maybe. maybe it won't actually feel like it. )

End?

[louboutinjudas]

[ That please don't go is so loud in that pathetic laugh. If Vash had said it out loud, maybe Wolfwood would have had to acknowledge that he heard it. If he'd said it out loud Wolfwood might have been able to pretend that they were still operating under the rules of do what you like, and would maybe, possibly, have taken that as a command to stay.

So it's a good thing Vash only asked him to stick around in sighs and looks, and not in words. Wolfwood can ignore sighs, and looks. He can keep his attention where it belongs -- on Punisher, on the door, on the hallway outside -- and put all this behind himself, where it belongs.

Tomorrow he'll pretend just as hard as he can that none of this happened. He'll be cranky, but no more than usual, he'll tease Meryl and steal smokes from Roberto, he'll have Vash's back in any fight that finds them... but don't expect him to look Vash in the eye any time soon. He might have secretly enjoying having somebody hold him, but he's got enough chains wrapped around his souls already -- he can't bear any more weight. ]

never got this one EITHER but yeah lemme wrap up a few thoughts on vash's end and that's all, folks

[ecad]

( everything about him is pathetic, didn't you know? and it would feel too much like asking for something beyond what he's been given — asking for something intimate when it was never meant to be as much in the first place — that he wouldn't possibly put all those looks and sighs into actual words, even if he'd been taught from the very beginning to use them in lieu of letting things just. go.

don't be afraid to use your words, vash. never be afraid to ask for something, even if it's help.

he's pretty sure rem had never meant that in terms of asking for something like this, but that's neither here nor there.

they'll pretend it never happened, and things will go back to normal as best they can; he'll wash the scent of the other man from his skin and dispose of the evidence that lies in pastel shades and delicate shells in the mess of his own making, and maybe chiefmost of all he'll try to forget what it felt like to be wanted. for however short a time it had actually been.

if wolfwood had actually wanted to stay, he would have. that's all there is to it. they'll keep pressing forward and fighting when and where they need to, and vash will at least try to do him the favor of not offering those small, sidelong smiles that were never too few or far between, if only so wolfwood doesn't have to go out of his way to actively ignore them.

he tries to convince himself that one thing, above everything else is the most certain: he'll never let anyone see him like this again. he's fine enduring it alone. )