the woods are lovely, dark and deep

[anthophilia]

[ 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?

Comments

[anthophilia]

[ Perfect. Vash is just perfect. The sound of his voice, the way he pets through Wolfwood's hair so sweetly. What's he gonna do in the face of all that? Make Vash wait?

Impossible. He slips another finger in to join the stroking, shifts his mouth so he's working over the little bud at the top - it's positioned right, so maybe that'll make it better, too. Kind of exciting, figuring all this out - and even better getting the kind of feedback that lets him know he's getting it right. ]

[spiculatus]

[ he moans all over again as wolfwood eases in another finger to join the first, unable to stop his hips from rocking down greedily into the combined efforts of his mouth and hand. it's the kind of pleasure that feels like warm syrup melting over his skin, building slow but good --

and then wolfwood promptly sucks around his clit, and the slow part goes right out the window.

vash cries out sharply, fingers tightening in wolfwood's hair and hips rocking up before he can help himself. it's a struggle just to remember not to tighten his thighs around the other man's head in a desperate bid to keep him right there. ] Nico, oh wow, please, that feels -- Wow, so amazing, you're amazing, please --

[anthophilia]

[ Holy shit. Wolfwood was plenty hard already, but that reaction takes him right from hard to aching. Not to mention it's a hell of a thing to be told you're amazing by a literal magical being with a face like an angel and a pussy that looks like a flower and feels - if the sensation of it around his fingers is anything to judge by - like heaven itself.

So what's he gonna do? Double down, obviously. Get those fingers stroking just so, aiming for that place that's gonna get a reaction and then staying on it, adding the circling of his tongue to that sucking over what he's now pretty sure is a clit. There's part of him that still kinda thinks of this as an audition, but it's a pleasure all of its own - the taste of Vash, the scent and sound of him, the way he moves. Gorgeous. ]

[spiculatus]

[ it seems like all wolfwood needs is that praise to go ahead and double right on down with what he’s doing, and wow. those fingers crook up against a spot inside him that makes it feel like his insides are full of stars, and keeps right on working over vash’s clit in the meantime, and wow. (is he saying all these wows out loud?)

vash comes with what can only be described as a wail, and this time he does forget all about not squeezing wolfwood’s head between his thighs. his spine arches hard enough to leave the bed almost entirely, and his voice is a senseless mess of things that are supposed to be praise, pleas, wolfwood’s name — but are honestly coming out just sounding like a mess. ]

[anthophilia]

[ There's nothing Wolfwood's ever experienced that is more charming than a nymph (?) saying wow, wow, wow and then coming so hard that he squeezes his thighs tight enough around Wolfwood's head to make his ears pop. He can feel Vash's orgasm, squeezing around his fingers and pulsing against his tongue, and it's incredible. He stays right where he is, though he lets up a little - gentling Vash through it until the pressure around his skull lets up, then shifting his mouth just enough to kiss softly at Vash's thigh as the movement of his fingers slows to something so slow and gentle it's more like petting. ]

You're really somethin', you know that?

[spiculatus]

[ he?? is really something??? vash???? he didn’t even do anything!!!

and it feels like he really needs to say a lot of words to convince wolfwood that he’s obviously the amazing one here, but neither his brain or his mouth seem like they’re in the mood to work correctly, so. he settles for a tug on his hair, trying to pull him up for a kiss. ]

C’mere.

[anthophilia]

[ Embarrassing that Vash tugging at his hair gets a little rumble of pleasure out of him, but Vash sounds if not beyond noticing, at least beyone teasing him about it. He withdraws his fingers, gives that incredible flower pussy a little parting stroke, and goes as directed - up to plaster himself against Vash's side and kiss him, slow and lingering. ]

[spiculatus]

[ slow and lingering is good! really good! and usually? vash wouldn’t complain about it at all!

but! wolfwood moves in to press himself up against vash’s side, and somehow that still doesn’t feel like enough. it’s why he rolls them until he’s straddling wolfwood’s hips, making a low, eager sound into the kiss at the feeling of wolfwood’s cock nudging impatiently up against him. ]

Should be more careful. [ there’s a lilt of teasing in his voice, scraping his teeth along the other man’s jaw. ] Might be dangerous if you make me never wanna let you go.

[anthophilia]

[ Oho! Wolfwood's very pleased with this development. As is Wolfwood's dick, which twitches under the feel of Vash. He can't help rocking his hips up, rubbing, even as he grins. ]

I've never been good at making safe choices.

[ And anyway, Dangerous is his middle name. Chosen, sure, and chosen when he was too young to realize he had in fact misremembered the saying Danger's my middle name, but the folk at the orphanage thought it was cute enough to put on documentation and now he's stuck with it. ]

[spiculatus]

Yeah? You’d like that?

[ despite himself, vash likes it too. he’s never really been comfortable with the idea of worshippers, felt like maybe people should make better choices when they wanted to devote their lives to him, but now? ]

Being all mine?

[anthophilia]

Yours.

[ He can't think of anything he wants more. There's been plenty of religion in Wolfwood's life but he's never really thought of himself as religious, but now he can see where it comes from. Finding something so beautiful, so comforting, something that brings you such peace you want to devote your whole life to it? For the first time in his life it makes perfect sense. He skims his hands over Vash's sides, brings one to rest against his cheek. ]

All yours.

[spiculatus]

[ vash knows this is nothing like the old days — this isn’t a rite, and wolfwood isn’t a priest swearing a lifetime’s worth of devotion.

… but doesn’t that make it better? it’s wolfwood wanting to belong to him just because he’s vash. it makes something glow inside his chest, warm and happy, and he leans into that hand on his cheek. ]

All mine. [ it’s soft, warm, adoring. and punctuated by the way he resettles himself so that he can reach down and guide the head of wolfwood’s cock along the slick warmth of his slit, lashes fluttering at the feeling. ] Which is why I’m gonna make sure I take good care of you.

[anthophilia]

Fuck.

[ Breathed out, soft and low, but it may as well be a prayer for the sound of it. The feeling of Vash so slick and warm and right there feels more like a promise than a tease, but it's suddenly very important to Wolfwood that he leave this part of it in Vash's hands; it's something that must be given, not taken. Not that the conviction stops him from clamping that hand that's not at Vash's face to his hip and near begging for it. ]

Please -

[spiculatus]

Yeah. For you, Nico. Anything.

[ and then he shifts, wrapping one hand around wolfwood’s cock to guide him as vash sinks down slowly onto him. that first stretch is enough to wrench a low noise out of him, head falling back and mouth parting around an overwhelmed oh.

it’s so good. like wolfwood really is his, meant for him, filling vash up so perfectly that it makes him want to cry. and when his hips are finally flush against wolfwood’s, he has to take a minute just to breathe, his human hand braced on the other man’s chest. ]

[anthophilia]

[ Okay, yeah. Mark the day: Nicholas D. Wolfwood has found religion. The first slow slide, the way Vash sinks down onto him, letting him in? The way he looks, the way he sounds? It's definitely conversion material. The feeling of it is pure bliss, the heat of Vash wrapped close around the length of him, and Wolfwood moans low. Finds a little of himself when Vash takes that pause, though, and he realizes - Vash only ever seems to touch him with that one hand, the flesh-and-bone one. So he seeks out the other with his own hand, laces his fingers through the ones made of living wood.

Maybe he's imagining it, or maybe Vash just can't feel as much with it, but if he's not? He needs Vash to know that as long as it's part of Vash, Wolfwood wants it. ]

[spiculatus]

[ oh.

the feeling of wolfwood reaching to take his other hand is enough to stir vash out of that little daze, and once he has a chance to take in the gesture? he has to blink hard because of the stupid tears that end up welling in his eyes, heart squeezing warmly in his chest. ]

Nico. [ how can he not lean down and kiss him after something like that? so that’s what he does, sweet and slow and tender.

and giving him a little squeeze with the hand he’s holding, just to make sure the message is clear. ]

[anthophilia]

[ Wolfwood blushes.

He's never been much for romantic gestures. But then again, it's like he's a whole new person out here - never thought he'd be the kind of man to find satisfaction in growing and catching his own food, or the type to fall head-over-heels for someone in a day either. It's not that he's embarrassed, not exactly - he wanted Vash to know, after all - but he can't help the rush of heat to his face at Vash's reaction, or the swell of affection in his chest. ]

You're beautiful.

[ All of you. ]

[spiculatus]

So are you.

[ pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth, to his cheek, right between his eyes. ] And so sweet. So good to me, Nico.

[ pressing one last kiss to his mouth before he finally sits himself back up, rolling his hips in a lazy circle that drags a little groan out of him. ] Wanna be good for you, too.

[anthophilia]

You are.

[ It's probably not necessary to say so, given the declaration comes hot on the heels of a deep groan of pleasure. But when something is this true it feels like it needs stating out loud. Vash and his forest (or... the forest that is Vash, Wolfwood's still not totally clear on that point) have held him close and safe all this time, given him such peace - and now the hot clutch of Vash's body holds him tight to give him pleasure. To share pleasure, which is even better. He rocks up slightly, moving inside Vash as Vash moves over him, his breath escaping in a shaky sigh as he does. He wants to be good for Vash, and Vash to be good for him. For them to be good together, for as long as he can make this last. ]

[spiculatus]

[ wolfwood rocks up into him, and it feels so good that vash can’t help the little moan that spills out of him in response. it’s also great motivation to move, lifting himself up until the petals of his cunt have to clutch at the head of wolfwood’s cock to keep him in place before letting himself sink all the way back down. and then again and again and again, building it up into a proper rhythm. ]

Nico, feels good — [ panting the words out, eyes hazy and dark with pleasure. ]

[anthophilia]

[ The first time Vash does it, Wolfwood's looking at Vash's face. So he doesn't see what's happening - only gets the sudden dizzying pleasure of feeling like Vash is squeezing around him, almost sucking, and moans helplessy at the feel of it. It's the next time when he thinks to look, his hand on Vash's hip encouraging him to raise himself up again, and Wolfwood sees the way those petals curls close around him. Another time he might laugh; as it is he stares in rapt fascination, the incredible sensation of it now accompanied by the knowledge that Vash's cunt apparently doesn't want to let him go. ]

Holy shit. You're incredible.