lies on the lips of a priest

[anthophilia]

[ When you live the kind of life Wolfwood does, you have to have rules in place. Like: some things you remember, and some things you forget, because if you don’t do the second thing there’s no way you’ll survive the first. Or: children are pure, and adults, in general, are shit. Or: People can call him Wolfwood (for preference), Punisher (if it’s work), or Nick (at a stretch), but nobody gets to call him Nico anymore. Or: it’s better to fuck without kissing if you can get away with it, because kissing – faces close so close you share breath, the thing that everyone needs to keep living – is how you catch feelings.

Vash has an irritating way of blasting right through all his rules.

Rule one, they’ve done okay with. He can’t remember what it was that tipped him off that the restless, fidgeting way Vash tossed and turned when they shared a bed meant he wanted to cuddle. And that’s good, because it’s probably some tearjerking, traumatic bullshit that causes Vash to be so fucking anxious when someone’s that close that he can’t be at ease unless they wrap him up close and kind. He did, though; figured it out, caught Vash up in his arms and felt the other man go pliable and sweet in his embrace, and he finally managed some fucking sleep. After that is where is all turned to shit. They next time they’d done it Vash had just been watching him with those big, clear eyes, his permanent blush starker even in the dark, and maybe it was some stupid plant power at play but Wolfwood lost his mind and kissed him. It had been good, warm and wet and heated, and Vash had said please, Nico, can I- with his hand already halfway in Wolfwood’s pants and of course he’d said yes. But when it came time to repay the favour Vash had brightly said oh, that’s okay, I’m actually really tired! and immediately done the worst job of pretending to fall asleep Wolfwood’s ever seen in his life, complete with little snoring sounds that were a hair’s breadth from the honk-shooo mimimimimi bullshit you see in old cartoons.

The next time they’d done it Vash had kissed him first, and he’d been really into it until he shoved one of his thighs between those stupidly long, slender legs with the idea of grinding it against Vash until he had no option but to let Wolfwood give him a blowjob or at least a handy, and realized Vash wasn’t hard. That had felt shitty, but he still let Vash get him off, and that’s how he knows he fucked up when he broke his rule: he kissed, and then he had to lay there feeling like worm shit after he finished and Vash answered his groping hand with thanks, but that was enough for me! and faked falling asleep again.

This time, when Vash thrashes around and Wolfwood pulls him in close, he jerks his head back when Vash leans in for a kiss. He wants it – of course he does – but his stomach’s sour as a hangover when he thinks about going through that whole performance again. Rocking his hardon against a pelvis so flat Vash might as well be one of those dumb boy dolls they make so the dolls with long blonde hair and ballistic plastic tits have someone for little girls to marry them to, coming in a way that makes him want to watch Vash’s face and tell him things he doesn’t tell anyone, laying there hating himself for it when Vash makes fake little mnm mnm sleep sounds.

He squints against the dark. A wasted effort, when the colour of Vash’s big eyes almost seems to glow, but he does it anyway. ]

You know you don’t have to do all that shit. I’ll still hold you.

Comments

[anthophilia]

I'm not.

[ It sounds flippant like that, but he really isn't. His whole life has been people breaking him until they could twist the parts into a weapon to point at someone. This at least has a good side to it. ]

He sent me to you.

[spiculatus]

[ wolfwood can probably feel that smile against his skin. if vash could undo it, of course, he would. rewrite wolfwood the kind of childhood with two parents that loved him, one where he didn’t have to learn about pain so early, a life without his brother’s shadow falling onto it at all. but he can’t.

is it so awful, then, to be grateful for what it gave him? (a voice inside him says yes, but vash doesn’t let himself listen.) ]

What’re you gonna do? [ smoothing a hand idly over wolfwood’s hip, tracing secret little runes into his skin. ]

[anthophilia]

[ He can feel it. It makes him smile too, despite the fact that internally he's a battle of two sides, one screaming that Vash isn't taking this seriously enough and the other just delighted that he got away with it. ]

Finish my cigarette. Get some sleep. Try and get laid again before we have to check out. And keep doing my job, I guess. Trying to keep you alive is hard work, but the benefits are top-notch.

[spiculatus]

[ all of that… sounds pretty good, actually! and if vash was a little younger, a little bit more naive, this might be the bit where he looks into wolfwood’s eyes and makes a promise to keep him safe. to swear that nai will never hurt him again, that vash won’t let anything bad happen to him.

(it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try. he’s just learned that it’s better not to go around throwing the impossible in people’s faces.) ]

I’ll make sure to leave you a good review, ehehe. Maybe you’ll get a raise.

[ he absolutely will not get a raise. ]

[anthophilia]

[ He absolutely will not get a raise, unless the raising involves a noose. But he leans to stub out the cigarette - he doesn't really want it anymore, not when it means one arm he doesn't have around Vash - and settles himself back in, curled close. ]

That'd be good. A bit of extra cash to take you out somewhere nice.

[spiculatus]

[ it usually isn't this easy to fall asleep. more often, he's likely to toss and turn for hours, trying to chase it. but he's lulled by the heat of wolfwood's body, the rumble of wolfwood's voice coming up from his chest. limbs heavy, eyes dragging closed. ]

Let's get pizza. [ half-asleep, mumbling the words into wolfwood's skin. ] S'romantic.

[ it almost definitely isn't. ]