Chapter Text
It’s unexpected even though he had a hand in making it happen. A gentle gesture, a snap decision, and suddenly this other mouth is pressed against his. He’s not ready for it, not quite. He’s not ready for any of this, and he wants it so badly his chest hurts.
Wolfwood’s left hand tightens on his waist until he can feel the slightest bite of fingernails through his shirt. Other than that they’re holding perfectly still, a little too surprised and afraid, maybe, to do anything else – to change, or to stop.
He presses in tight for a moment and backs away, and it makes a gentle popping sound like when someone blows a kiss. He opens his eyes and sees that Wolfwood’s are firmly closed, his brow knit, and when Vash nuzzles their lips together he sighs in a shuddering rush of air. Vash can feel the heat of it against his own mouth.
He lets his eyes flutter back shut and presses his fingers tighter into the downy hair at the nape of Wolfwood’s neck, wishing fervently that he could feel the texture of the other man’s skin with his left hand, wishing that he had more limbs in general, like one of the gods in Rem’s pictures. One for Wolfwood’s nape, and one for the shadow of stubble on his face, and two for his ribs, and – He puts their mouths together again, pressing Wolfwood’s bottom lip between his own, then the top, moving into it this time because it makes up for having only one hand that can feel.
Wolfwood starts to kiss him back, leaning into it, moving against him the same way, until a low, pained sound escapes him and he breaks away. A small pulse of concern goes through Vash, growing when he opens his eyes again to see Wolfwood hanging his head, his breath coming in shaky bursts. Emotions fueled by adrenaline are so similar, especially in times like these, that he can’t always tell them apart.
The hand that was cradling the back of his head slides down to his shoulder and grasps, half the fingers on skin and half on metal. He covers the hand with his own, glad he can reach with his right, and after a few seconds Wolfwood turns palm up and catches him, twines them together and squeezes like he’s anchoring himself. Vash raises their hands together and presses his mouth to Wolfwood’s knuckles without really thinking about it. It’s a touch more than a kiss. His every instinct is to stay close - gentle, cautious, but close.
He’s terrified to speak. This Wolfwood, so near to the door only moments ago, is far more frightening than Black Mood Wolfwood, the finality of his absence only avoided by a hair’s breadth and still looming if Vash makes the slightest mistake. The exact right words must exist, but the chance of hitting on them at the first try seems hopelessly remote. He releases Wolfwood’s hand and slides his palm along his face, tilting his chin up very carefully. It’s a delicate form of communication. Even after living as long as he has, he’s not sure if he’s any good at it.
Wolfwood’s face is rough like sandpaper against his hand, and he shivers. Their eyes meet for a brief flash in the dark, and Vash still can’t tell if it’s fear there or excitement, or fear at being excited. Mostly he just looks very, very young.
He presses a kiss against Wolfwood’s jaw, then another. And again. Three, four, five. He pokes out the tip of his tongue to run a warm, slow stripe from the underside of Wolfwood’s chin to the soft spot right under his ear. The bristles of stubble are a perfect burn against his lips and tongue, and now Wolfwood is the one shivering. He turns his head gently, chasing Vash’s mouth, and Vash hovers there waiting with carefully crafted patience, his lips parted in a quiet invitation.
Wolfwood’s tongue traces Vash’s bottom lip, and then he seals their mouths together and licks his way inside. He does, and doesn’t, taste like the smell of his cigarettes. He’s an ashy, tangy, human weight in Vash’s mouth. Vash supposes that on some kind of objective level it might be disgusting. He can’t begin to pretend to care.
He feels the exact moment when Wolfwood’s reserve melts away into nothing, when his fingers tangle into Vash’s hair and clutch at the back of his head, and his breath starts to come out harsh and quick in between the hungry clashes of his kisses. Vash drifts his palm to Wolfwood’s chest, over his heart, to feel how fast it’s beating. The thrum of it pounds against his fingertips. Undeniable. Real. Already burning so bright, just from his mouth. He presses his whole body closer and tries to match the intensity of that burn with his kiss. There’s a conversation they should have that he doesn’t want to right now or ever when it comes down to it, but it’s enough to put it off awhile, and the rush of skin, warmth and closeness, is an ache all its own.
The need for more contact wins the internal battle with self-consciousness and he gives Wolfwood’s chest a soft push with both hands, just enough to get the space to move and breathe. “Please,” he manages with what little air he can get inside of him, breaking the silence because he has to explain that this isn’t in any way about wanting to stop. “I need - I need more of you, I need to-” His fingers are already pulling reflexively at the hem of his sleep shirt and Wolfwood has noticed, fixated on the thin strip of visible skin, his own hands half extended to help. Swallowing guilt, Vash freezes and pleads barely above a whisper, “Don’t look.”
There’s enough light pouring in around the curtains that he can see Wolfwood’s eyes narrow, the furrow of his brow. He opens his mouth as if to argue, then his gaze flicks upwards, his features soften, and he says, “…I won’t. I promise,” before turning away, rolling over on his side.
Vash pulls his shirt over his head. The cold air immediately bites at his skin, and he shudders as he lets the shirt fall to the floor on his side of the bed. He tugs the quilt up at the corner, unwinding it carefully from Wolfwood’s body until there’s enough for him to cover up to the neck as long as he bends his knees. He stares for a moment at the breadth of Wolfwood’s shoulders with no idea how to proceed. “…Ok,” he finally says. “I’m-I’m good.”
Wolfwood rolls back over and breathes out a laugh. Vash can only imagine how silly he looks, a head and a crown of tousled hair all that’s visible, but before he can feel too embarrassed Wolfwood gives him such a blindingly fond smile that it makes his heart trip. Then he tucks the quilt still left to him over his arm and whips it up over both of them, blocking out the moonslight. Vash’s feet hang out, but under the blanket there’s warm darkness and the heavy sound of their breath, and it’s easy to ignore the chill.
Wolfwood wraps his arm around him, hand pressed up against the small of his back, and pulls them together. Vash can’t stop the bolt of panic - he can hide himself from Wolfwood’s sight but he’ll still feel every single scar and screw and plate, which is almost worse - and then their bodies line up, and Wolfwood’s belly slides warm and soft against his. He bites back on the moan that tries to pop out of his mouth, so he hears the sound Wolfwood makes perfectly, the startled, husky stutter of it, and has to hold in another moan just from that.
The slight pressure on his abdomen is enough to start the first urgent spark of heat at the base of his spine. He doesn’t follow the impulse to chase more of it, lets Wolfwood initiate another kiss instead. There’s a suspicion beginning to form in his head, so it’s still a time to be careful, to move slowly. He follows Wolfwood’s pace, warm and open-mouthed but not any too deep. There’s nothing shy or reserved about the erection nudging his leg, but Wolfwood isn’t letting it drive him yet, and Vash can appreciate that. Can and does. He hopes their space under the quilt feels as comfy and companionable to his bedmate as it does to him.
Wolfwood’s also doing a really fantastic job at not making the tattered wreck of his chest remarkable or a problem, which is a whole lot more than he can say for pretty much every other human being who’s interacted with it. Granted he’s also smart enough not to crush himself against it, but that means Vash doesn’t have to stress the whole time he’s being nicely kissed about how big the bruise from the grate is going to be after. The way Wolfwood’s hands are moving it seems like he’s a lot more invested in making Vash feel good than he is in cataloging every mark on him. It’s enough to ease his fretting when the quilt begins to inevitably migrate downwards every time they come up for air.
This time when they break Wolfwood keeps his eyes open and backs off far enough to see Vash’s whole face. His breath slows down a little, and his left hand stills on Vash’s hip. His mouth quirks a half-smile that doesn’t match the rest of his expression, wide-eyed and lost and - yes, fearful; now that they’ve stopped moving it’s impossible to mistake for anything else. He holds eye contact long enough that the intimacy is uncomfortable. Vash is dead sure the combination of all these cues is Wolfwood wanting desperately not to have to say what the hell do I do now out loud, and that’s the last thing he needs to confirm his suspicion that Wolfwood’s never been this intimate with someone whose body is the same shape as his before.
That’s a hell of a lot of pressure, always is, because being someone’s first anything means they’ll remember this for however long their own personal forever is, and assign about three times the deserved amount of significance to every moment of the experience. Vash smiles back, trying his best to put into it all the confidence and ease Wolfwood’s missing right now without seeming smug or demeaning. There’s only so much a smile can do in the end.
If things were different he’d have those shorts off and hands on him by now, but as it is Vash feels like even the verbal suggestion of that might send Wolfwood out of bed and halfway across town. Instead he detangles their legs and rolls onto his back so the other man won’t feel trapped and has plenty of room to back off if he wants or needs to. Wolfwood follows him down with only a little guidance, still a bit sheepish but content enough to kiss him again.
Vash feels the vibration of Wolfwood’s startled pleasure noise in his mouth when he lifts his hands to slide from his companion’s chest down to his hips. He gives in to what, if he’s honest with himself, is a longtime fantasy and runs his thumb down the trail of dark hair that leads across Wolfwood’s navel to the hem of his underwear. Wolfwood fumbles out of the kiss with a groan and a barely conscious roll of his hips, which is immediately followed with a mumbled apology. Vash is torn between appreciation and frustration, grateful for Wolfwood’s conscientiousness but wanting at the same time to rant and rail at just how unnecessary I’m sorry is. Sorry is so far removed from being wanted or needed here that it’s nearly laughable. But he can’t say that out loud, not now - it would come out sounding like cruelty, a punishment for reticence.
He does his best to content himself with the slightest shake of his head. “It’s ok.” A wild understatement on its own, so he pairs it with more nonverbal communication - slips his hands down farther and grips as he bends his left knee and plants his foot firmly on the bed, offering up the thigh with no bolts or implants at the front. He applies gentle pressure to Wolfwood’s hips, showing him where he can go if he chooses. After a few seconds’ hesitation the other man follows his careful lead, pushes into Vash with a more deliberate roll.
Vash keeps his hands on those hips and pulls the other man against him over and over until Wolfwood starts keeping the rhythm up on his own. Vash hopes that by keeping him focused here against his thigh, Wolfwood won’t notice he’s not hard yet himself. He reaches up his right hand to pull Wolfwood into another kiss, to give him a warm and wonderful excuse to keep his eyes shut and avoid the awkwardness of not knowing where to look. His partner is starting to let the heat drive him now, kisses getting deeper and sometimes sloppy to the point of hurting, but it’s a wonderful hurt, bright little spark of pain as teeth graze lips.
When Wolfwood has to break for air he pants against Vash’s throat, groaning heat against the skin there, and oh that’s one of his spots, he’s found one, the puff of warm breath alone is enough to start Vash’s heart racing and his blood flowing down, down until he can feel himself starting to swell, feel the beginnings of the ache and the urgency. It’s been longer than he cares to put the effort into counting, as it often is in between with his ridiculous lifestyle, and he can never quite hold the memory in his head of how it really feels. He’s shocked by the sheer power of it, by how suddenly that spot on his throat is directly connected to a spreading warmth everywhere between his legs. Wolfwood feels him shudder and starts deliberately working that spot on his neck with his mouth, gentle press of lips and sweep of tongue and the barest scrape of teeth, and Vash can’t keep from crying out as his nails scrape against Wolfwood’s back and then the bedsheets. He does his best to be quiet after that because his general experience is that people find you making noises like you’re getting fucked when they kiss your neck offputting, but these tiny whimpers keep finding their way out and when Wolfwood chuckles “Damn, you really like that, huh” in another warm gust of breath, all he can do is nod helplessly.
Wolfwood keeps working that spot and Vash grates out “You - you can go harder than that if you want ,” so that teeth clamp down on skin and his whole body rolls like a wave. It’s the sweetest kind of pain, and he wants it to go on forever. Wolfwood goes hard enough that he knows there’ll be marks, brief but present, as hips continue to drive down into him and he’s collapsed his leg against the bed now, can feel that hardness pressing into his abdomen and with help even lower until they’re colliding against each other on each stroke.
Any reserve left between them goes up in total smoke. Wolfwood pushes and Vash pulls and they exchange their sloppiest, most frantic kiss yet. Dignity stops mattering, everything in the world stops mattering except Wolfwood’s body crashing into his and the shared sounds of forced, short breath. Vash wants desperately to be touched but he wants even more to stay like this, to see if this is enough to push Wolfwood over the edge, and it is - Vash focuses in, eyes wide open, not wanting to miss a second of the tensing and the trembling and the sounds he makes, all sudden and too unexpected to be stifled.
It’s perfect, perfect in the utmost, and Vash is ready to bask in it a good long time before asking for anything, but before he can so much as give the other man a lingering kiss of gratitude Wolfwood pushes himself away as if he’s been burned - there isn’t even time to feel moisture starting to seep from threadbare shorts to sleep pants. “Shit,” Wolfwood breathes, “shit, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” He stands over Vash staring as if he can’t comprehend what he’s seeing, runs a hand through his hair once, twice, clutching at it hard the second time before letting his hand drop to his mouth. He turns and grabs his pants off the back of the chair.
Vash watches frozen, seeing the possibility unwinding in front of him, Wolfwood taking hurried seconds to throw on his clothes and hoist up his gun and vanish, as he threatened to not half an hour ago. Vash is filled with a crushing certainty that if he leaves now he won’t come back. Not to bed, not to the room, not to any solitary corner of Vash’s life, ever again.
Stuttering panic fills his head as Wolfwood pulls on his pants, not looking back. Somewhere, somehow, just as when this started, the right words have to exist, the combination that will make him turn around and come back to bed and stay. But Vash can’t say anything, not even the wrong thing – his voice is broken, and it’s too late, too late –
He rises from the bed, baring his chest to the moonslight, and steps across the room. His hands lift up and catch Wolfwood’s hips.
The other man freezes, and Vash pulls himself forward until there’s only a slight distance between them. He can only hope that Wolfwood won’t break away, as he easily could. He can only try trusting his body to know what to do, since his head is so useless.
Wolfwood’s breath shudders and his skin seems to vibrate under Vash’s hands, but he keeps still for another moment. Vash’s thumbs slide across his hips to hook beneath the hem of his pants and carefully pull them down until they pool at his ankles. He takes Wolfwood’s hand and walks him forward a step, then picks up the pants and hangs them carefully over the chair, because after all they are the only ones. As he tidies up, Wolfwood turns back around to face him.
Vash takes a deep inhale and lets his fingers rest on Wolfwood’s hips once more. He rubs his thumbs over the hem of his shorts, searching his companion’s eyes for permission, or its lack. Wolfwood’s pupils gleam black and huge in the dark, not giving anything away, but his own hands speak for him as they rise to settle softly on Vash’s waist. Vash takes hold of the shorts and guides them down until they, too, puddle on the floor.
Wolfwood is soft now, under the dark patch of hair. He’s also cut, and Vash steels himself against the shock – it’s something many humans have done to their children, out of concern for hygiene or to guard against “self-abuse,” long before they landed here. There’s a graze scar low down on his left hip, telltale long horizontal line punctuated by short vertical lines. Vash sinks down to one knee, looks for the gleam of wet, and presses his mouth to it.
Wolfwood makes a soft sound but doesn’t push him away. Vash slowly guides his tongue along warm, salty skin, sucks at a damp curl of hair, bitter taste of past pleasure in his mouth. Wolfwood sinks his fingers into Vash’s hair, petting his scalp and trembling his voice around his name just once.
When Vash has licked away every trace of what they’ve done, he rises back to his feet and takes Wolfwood’s hands in his own. “Will you - will you come back?”
“Yeah,” his companion whispers, and lets himself be led, to sit side by side on the mattress in reflection of their earlier evening’s activities. “Vash, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - I used you. I was using you like some kind of thing-”
Vash shushes him and presses the most careful kiss to his mouth, and Wolfwood only hesitates for a moment before warmly kissing him back. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assures his partner. “I wanted you to. I wanted you to, Wolfwood.”
“...you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. You - you looked wonderful. You were wonderful.”
Wolfwood gives a doubtful laugh but traces Vash’s jaw with his thumb, grazing his bottom lip. “It only seems right-” He stops himself, shakes his head. “No. It’s not like that. I want to, too. You know?”
“Know what?”
“Do you want me to - can I - take care of you?”
Vash trembles, still aching but not wanting to make that into anyone’s problem but his own. “Please. Yes, please.”
Wolfwood smiles at him, again that unguarded smile so fond it’s like sitting in a sunbeam. He waits for Vash to lead, patient more than nervous now, which is so very good to see. Vash lowers himself down to the mattress and rolls to his side when Wolfwood follows. He’s trembling with anticipation and he knows Wolfwood can feel it, and the idea of looking him in the eye while they do this is a whole new kind of overwhelming. He hopes the other man will take the hint.
Wolfwood does, wraps an arm around Vash and lets his fingers trail down his abdomen, so careful and gentle it makes Vash shiver all the more. He traces his fingertip over the edge of his sleep pants, then moves his hand to slowly untie the drawstring. Vash can’t help but whimper, his whole body is so completely onboard with everything Wolfwood is doing, and how the hair on his chest feels against his bare back, the warm cigarette and sweat smell of him. After a time that feels like both nothing and forever, Wolfwood’s fingers dip below the waistband and slide down to run the length of him. He feels his partner tense up for a moment in hesitation and realizes it’s the first time he’s ever felt someone uncut. He figures out quickly though the familiar thing to do, to wrap his hand tight around him and move it up and down.
It feels incredible, like every nerve he possesses is crying out for joy. Vash reaches up to grasp at the pillow and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, willing himself not to replicate with his voice the sound his nerves are making, but he can’t stay quiet any more than he can help feeling good. He whimpers again and then Wolfwood twists and it opens up into an outright moan. Wolfwood exhales sharply against the back of his neck and twists again, and Vash can feel his partner’s fingertips getting wet from his own slick, wet spreading to his whole hand and easing its passage until he’s squirming against the mattress trying not to thrust yet. It’s exquisite and it’s agony, trying to hold still, and he’s panting hard, little bit of voice sneaking in on each of his breaths. He’s already so close, he needs to burst into Wolfwood’s hand but he needs it to last forever too and he clenches up and makes a sound of blissful distress.
Wolfwood lets him go and Vash is far gone enough to nearly howl, but then the other man says his name suddenly all serious and he holds himself still and quiet. “Vash,” Wolfwood says again, “I’m sorry but I need you to - please turn around. I have to make sure - I need to be able to see your face, ok?”
It’s so earnest, almost pained, that Vash obeys immediately and meeting the other man’s eyes after what they’ve just been doing is every bit as overwhelming as he feared. It makes his heart pound and his muscles tremble and his breath come in short, panicked bursts. Wolfwood shushes him gently, lifts a hand to somewhat clumsily stroke the side of his face. “You can close your eyes. It’s ok.”
With this blessing, Vash lets his eyes shut. There’s a few seconds of intense anticipation and then Wolfwood’s hand is on him again, spit-slick and perfect, and he wraps an arm around the other man’s shoulder to hang on as tight as he can, fingers sinking into warm skin. The sudden increase in intimacy leaves his body feeling shy, slows him down from the edge he was at moments ago, so he has plenty of time to enjoy the new angle and the soft sounds of comfort Wolfwood makes. It’s enough to draw his climax out of him slowly instead of the quick burst he was anticipating, Wolfwood holding him carefully over the edge for what feels like a good five minutes before Vash stretches out tight and yanks his partner into a kiss to stifle the noise, spilling his moans into Wolfwood’s mouth.
He’s forgotten what this feels like too - the afterwards, the haze over his brain that just for now lets him feel like nothing will ever go wrong again. Wolfwood rises and even through the fog there’s yet a third brief, frozen moment where Vash fears he won’t return, but he’s back almost immediately pulling Vash’s sleep pants all the way off and wiping him down with something worn and soft, maybe another pair of shorts. He eases Vash to his feet for a moment - Vash resolvedly keeps his eyes tight shut, to keep the intimacy from flooding back in and sweeping him away - and pulls back the covers, guiding Vash down before following himself.
Vash rolls with his back to Wolfwood before finally daring to open his eyes. The light is growing dimmer now as the planet turns, putting the moons closer to the horizon and away from the windows. He can tell from the speed of Wolfwood’s breathing that he’s still wide awake, but he finds himself once again afraid to say anything, even the thank you on the tip of his tongue. He wants to lie in the glow and remember that it happened, not talk about it yet.
Wolfwood’s arms wrap around him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, no trace of hesitance or awkwardness this time. Vash finds himself keenly aware of how naked they both are, their legs pressed together, his ass in Wolfwood’s lap. He reaches up to give the other man’s hand a squeeze, and immediately gets a squeeze back. That’s communication enough to put him at ease, and he allows himself to relax and go limp in Wolfwood’s arms, easing into blissful sleep.