Work Text:
“How many times do I have to tell you-” Wolfwood spreads his arms wide in a desperate gesture to convey how often he's tried to instill an ounce of self preservation or simple urge to pause to think things through in the two, fairly unashamed, individuals sitting on the edge of bed. It is fairly hypocritical of him, but at least he can say he sometimes tries to consider his options, favorite of those being “none of my business, walk away”, and then gets dragged into action by Vash. Or even Meryl.
“To let locals sort out their shit on their own!”
He runs his fingers through his thoroughly messy mop of hair in frustration. Awaits the usual rebuttal, the sort he already heard on the way to this hotel room, like ‘they let us stay for free because we found the stolen Thoma!’ and ‘I know you wanna take part of the race, too, Wolfwood, don't act all indifferent’.
But it doesn't come and for a brief moment he wonders if he's finally gotten through to the pair, but that feels more unlikely than second coming of Jesus (one could argue that has already happened, that he is sitting primly in front of him and Wolfwood is -).
“Are you even listening?” He snaps, pointing an accusing finger at the pair and earns a mhm and a mumbled I’m sorry in return.
It takes Wolfwood a second to track what has distracted his partners (partners! It still feels foreign, impossible, achingly beautiful and even more scary) so thoroughly. Their gazes are glued to his chest that is quite exposed on the best and worst of days, but his shirt’s buttons seem to have lost the fight against his wild gesturing earlier and popped open almost all the way to his navel.
“You are not listening!”
The two nod in agreement to whatever scolding they think they're receiving, all faux humility, while their gazes leave a hot path down his stomach, following the trail of dark hair.
It is only when he flexes his pecs that Meryl and Vash look back to his tits and then face in an ideally synchronized move, like cats who have been enamoured by a bouncing toy.
Oh, he will give them a bouncing, alright.
Wolfwood crosses arms across his chest, blocking the view and the two have some sense to look a little bashful.
“I am sorry, but it all ended well and we only got shot at once,” Vash puts on his best pout and Wolfwood thinks that he could stay angry, but it feels like a lot of effort compared to personally checking the two people he loves are fine and take advantage of the room they'd been given for the trouble as Meryl had pointed out.
So he drops his arms, flexes his pecs again and watches both of their eyes widen and darken, Meryl's pretty pink tongue darting out to wet her lips, as he steps closer, the overflowing energy of his worry sliding lower in his abdomen, turning to simmer there as Wolfwood reaches for them.