fourstrings | the woods are lovely, dark and deep

the woods are lovely, dark and deep

[ What’s so special about this tree, huh?

For Wolfwood, the answer is simple. He’d done a job that pissed off the wrong people, was going to have to move again and dreading packing up all his shit, when a man pale as moonlight and broad in the shoulders as your average wagon had walked up to him like he was trying to put his feet through the earth instead of on top of it and told him he was now a guard. And Wolfwood had laughed – guarding is a shit job, too much sitting around, the payoff too brief when someone finally tries something – until the man produced a bag of more money than Wolfwood had ever seen in one place. He'd said yes, obviously. Before he’d asked what he was to guard.

He should have asked.

He’d roared with laughter when he saw the tree, which had gone… badly. The man who was paying him told him (in a voice that sounded very like he hadn’t used it in a long time) that he had already accepted the payment, and if he wasn’t going to take his job seriously there would be more serious repercussions than paying the money back. So Wolfwood thought… fine. It was out of town, there was a little cottage for him to stay in – not right next to the tree, but close enough to see it. Tough not to, really; it was big, must have been old as hell. And it was… nice, out there. Quiet and green with a well for fresh water, a river running to a lake that would be good for fishing, plenty of game to hunt, and a few wild fruit trees scattered around if he got a sweet tooth. He could use some peace and quiet after things had gone so badly. So he settled in, and became a guard for a tree.

It's still hard to imagine why a tree is worth enough money that Wolfwood will never need to obtain more of it, but he’s grown fond of it. He’s not sure what kind of tree it is; the bark is pale and smooth but knotted and burled in ways that mean Wolfwood almost sees pictures in it when he runs his hands over the trunk. The leaves change colour with the seasons; riotously green in spring and summer, bright and cheerful gold and red in autumn. But trees like that drop their leaves in winter, and this one… doesn’t. Those leaves turn dark but they stay on, providing shelter for all manner of woodland creatures while everything is cold and wet. And he starts to imagine he understands why the moonlight man is so fond of it, too. There’s… a feeling about this tree. Wolfwood find himself returning to it often, sitting under its branches to whittle (other wood, not this one – you don’t take risks like that when you’re paid this much), sometimes talking to it because there’s not another speaking being out here since the one time a dude approached it with an axe and Wolfwood had sent him off with a promise that if he came back the axe would be going through his skull. He gets attached. He rests under it as he makes things, eats his lunch under the shade of its branches. Gets drunk one day, tells a story about his escapades as a street urchin and thinks he hears the leaves rustling on this still and breezeless day, lets himself think that the tree is laughing along with him and pours a little of his wine at its roots like sharing a drink. When summer comes and the sun beats down hot he strips off under its branches, goes for a swim in the lake, and when he returns to the tree to doze while he dries off before dressing again he could swear the branches shift until the shadow of them keeps the sun off him, safe from burning. A woodpecker lands in the branches one day, starts hammering at the bark with its beak, and Wolfwood is nuts enough out here with no company but the tree by now that he swears he feels a wave of disapproval when he pegs a stone at the bird to move it away.

Sorry, tree, he says, but some lunatic paid me good money to make sure you’re not damaged. He runs a hand over its smoothly knotted bark, and tells himself next time he’ll just shout.

It’s a quiet life, but nice. He’s been there nearly a year. Complacent. Which is why it’s the thud of an axe that wakes him, not the sound of people. He rushes out, dressed in the pants he fell asleep in but sword in hand. There’s a brief yelling match – apparently this tree is magical and the men want the wood for – some shit, Wolfwood doesn’t listen. Swings his sword instead. He doesn’t actually want to kill them, because then he’d have to deal with disposing of bodies. That’s probably what gets him, in the end. They leave, injured but not imperilled, but one of them throws an axe at him as a parting shot. Not as bad as it would be if they’d swung it, but he knows from the sick, hot pain deep in his thigh that the bone is broken. It’s some kind of mania that keeps him on his feet until they’re far gone, and only then does he allow himself to go to the ground, drag himself back under the shelter of the tree and wonder how the fuck he’s going to get back to his cabin and tend this wound. He puts a hand over the shallow gash they’d made in the tree like the one he has pressed to his own leg, and counts himself lucky that these idiots apparently didn’t know how to use axes on men or trees. ]

This is a fine fuckin’ mess we’re in, huh?

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[ okay, vash is powerless to stop the little snort of laughter that escapes. ]

I never said if it was good or bad! You’re getting all confident again, huh?

I'm banking on it being charming.

[ And he stands, walks over to Vash and cups a hand at his cheek, leaning doen close enough to kiss - ]

Is it working?

You know it is.

[ and it's no fair that wolfwood wants to tease him! vash isn't gonna stand for it! which is why he reaches up to grab two fistfuls of the other man's shirt, tugging him down the rest of the way to get that kiss. ]

[ Hehehe.

Since he made Vash work for the kiss, Wolfwood does his best to make sure it's worth it. Bites gently at his lip, slips a hand back to graze his blunted nails through Vash's hair and over his scalp. It's designed to get a reaction from Vash, but it gets one from him, too - a low hum of want into Vash's mouth, warm and needy. ]

[ that little bite drags a moan out of vash, and he's eager to deepen the kiss in response. licking greedily into wolfwood's mouth like he wants to claim it, trying to tug him a little closer despite the difference in their positions. ]

[ Well, there's one way to deal with that issue immediately. It doesn't exactly tie in with Wolfwood's attempts tp present himself as Manly, but sometimes solving the problem quick is what's important, so -

he just slings a leg over the other side of the chair so he's straddling Vash and sits right in his lap, meaning he's closer and he can keep kissing without fucking up his neck. ]

[ oh!

well. for the record, vash is a big fan of this move, even if his initial reaction to it is a breathless little laugh against wolfwood's mouth. but then he slides his hands around so he can run his palms down the broad planes of the other man's back, making a pleased little hum as he keeps going all the way down until he can get a double handful of wolfwood's ass. hehehe. ]

[ Even better than planned! Nice. Wolfwood makes a little sounds that's half laugh as Vash grabs his ass, but as cheeky as it is it feels like an invitation to escalate, so he breaks the kiss just to move his mouth down to the side of Vash's neck and start kissing there instead. ]

[ oooh. there's a part of vash that hates having to put a pause on the kissing, but that... feels really nice. it's why he can't help but tip his head back with a little sound of encouragement, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment so he can better focus on the line wolfwood is kissing down his throat. ]

Wolfwood... s'good...

[ That reaction is good, just what he was hoping for, but - ]

Nico.

Wolfwood's my surname. First's Nicholas. You can call me Nico, if you want.

[ And then? Right back to kissing, and a little graze of his teeth to liven it up a bit. ]

Nic -- oh!

[ whoops, that slipped out thanks to that teasing graze of teeth along the sensitive skin of his neck. but then he's laughing a little, taking wolfwood's face in his hands just so he can tug him back up and look him right in the eyes. ] Nico.

Thank you.

[ Oh, shit.

Vash is laughing, but there's something about the way he looks right into Wolfwood's eyes and the sincerity in his voice that makes it feel like Wolfwood's done something way more significant than just give him rights to a nickname. And sure, Wolfwood remembers something from stories about the fae and true names (and Nico feels truer than any other he's known by) but there's no fear in the knowledge. Vash wouldn't hurt him. He knows it.

He feels his cheeks flush a little, tries to cover it with a grin. ]

Don't thank me yet.

[ And he climbs right off Vash's lap to kneel in front of his chair, slipping a hand into the split of Vash's robe and shifting the fabric just enough to let him bow his head and kiss Vash's thigh. ]

Wh --

[ here we go again with that blush-and-splutter routine, because he wasn't expecting... this! not that he minds the sight of wolfwood kneeling down between his legs, but! ] Why not? You let me call you Nico!

I'da done that when we first made introductions if I knew it'd mean so much to you.

[ That's... not exactly true. The name means something to him, and while he liked Vash right away, just liking someone usually isn't enough. Nor is wanting to have sex with them, no matter how much he wants to ingratiate himself. Still, it feels weird to spell that out. So instead he starts kissing a trail higher up Vash's thigh, making his intent clear.

Did Vash conjure undies when he whipped up that robe? He aims to find out. ]

Still, I —

[ which is all vash gets out before wolfwood starts trailing those kisses right up his thigh, and. ] Wait! W-Wait a second —

[ flustered enough that he latches onto the first thing in reach, which happens to be a fistful of wolfwood’s hair. oops? ]

[ Not the first time this kinda thing has resulted in Wolfwood getting his hair pulled, but it usually happens significantly later in the process and is accompanied by a wail rather than a demand to wait. So this isn't exactly his favourite outcome, but hey. Vash is worth checking in with, worth waiting. Wolfwood pauses, turns his face up to look at Vash with a grin. And slowly, in an attempt not to dislodge that hand from his hair. ]

What's up?

Well! I just thought, um —

[ that pink flush leaps back up into his cheeks, and he cuts his eyes meaningfully in the direction of the bed. ]

Ohhh.

[ It's a genuine wait, not a stop, which is already good. But even better - Vash wants to do this properly, all romantic-like? Wolfwood grins even wider at the thought of it, and gets up off his knees. And hey, Vash is his guest - if he wants romantic, Wolfwood better deliver. Vash is tall but he's slender, so Wolfwood quickly assesses how to best make this work before he leans to scoop Vash up in a bridal carry, and -

jeez. It's like his magic forgot to make him weigh anything near as much as a person. Wolfwood laughs softly as he carries Vash to the bed. ]

I shoulda started with this.

[ okay, for the record, vash isn’t opposed to romance! he loves romance, even! … buuuut the main reason he’d voted for a change of scenery had more to do with not wanting to deal with his tailbone bruising on wolfwood’s wooden chair.

which is why he’s (pleasantly!) surprised to suddenly be scooped up into a bridal carry, but the startled noise melts into a laugh once he realizes wolfwood’s intention. ]

If you think about it, we kinda did. Start on the bed, I mean.

Feels like you're downplaying my brave and heroic decision to leap in front of an axe to save you, here.

[ And Wolfwood is vastly overplaying getting an axe thrown at him by a frustrated lumber thief, but! No time to dwell on that as he sets Vash on the bed and climbs right on after him, setting to work kissing over the curve of Vash's jaw, the stretch of his throat, the skin exposed before his robe meets over his chest. ]

First place I got to touch you and know you could feel it, though. That's gotta count for something.

[ Patching up a wound isn't sexy by a long shot, but he remembers the flush in Vash's cheeks when he was done. That might be what did him in. ]

I am! [ which he manages to say with a lot of conviction, even though the kisses wolfwood is trailing over his jaw and down his throat are making him a little breathless. ] … but mostly because I want to make sure you never do it again.

But… you’re right. I could feel it before, but it’s… different like this. [ more sensitive? but in a good way! like his whole body is an instrument, and wolfwood knows just how to pluck his strings to send the feeling of it thrumming all the way through. ]

You could feel it?

[ That'd be embarrassing, if he heard it maybe an hour ago. Thinking of all the times he plunked down under the tree and gave its trunk a friendly pat. The times he'd let his fingers trace over knots or whorls in the bark, unthinkingly exploring the texture of it. Now, it's a fun thought - like he's been trying to woo vash for longer than he knew he was woo-able. ]

I hope when you say different, you mean better.

[ Sliding a hand into the split of Vash's robe, stroking slowly over his thigh. ]

Obviously!

[ punctuated by a teeny tiny huff. he was a tree, not dead! of course he could feel it!

… but maybe not quite like this, where the feeling of wolfwood sliding one of his big, warm hands up along vash’s thigh is enough to make him suck in a sharp breath, his heart beat skipping a step or two. ]

Mm… you might have to touch me more? So I can say for sure.

[ Hehe. Wolfwood's gonna have to work on his tree etiquette. And the best way he can think of to get Vash to stick around long enough for that to happen - ]

I do want you to be sure. Better get to work.

[ - is to start where he left off before they moved, kissing up the inside of Vash's thigh, grazing his teeth over the tender skin and sucking softly in the wake of it. ]

Mean.

[ even if his voice isn’t convincing at all — breathless and eager and hitching when wolfwood sucks on a sensitive little patch of skin. ]

Touching me is work?

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