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]

[ 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. )