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Wolfwood should’ve gotten the bastard exorcised the first time he had a dream like this.
Sharing dreams with your guardian angel wasn’t too uncommon—in fact, it typically confirmed that you had one at all, which was pretty useful if you had an occupation like Wolfwood did—the title of exorcist had been one he’d fought hard for, especially since demons had been running amok since the July’s massive central electrical plant explosion a few years back.
Being shrouded in darkness once night fell left the city vulnerable to demons, who could only thrive in the unilluminated night. The only way to ensure your safety once it got dark nowadays was to have a bright place to stay the night or have a guardian angel. Tonight, Wolfwood had both.
He almost wished he didn’t. His angel kept invading the few dreams he was able to have and twisting them into something…different. A dream about fighting off demon hordes or being stuck back at the orphanage morphed into something else, but the trigger was always the same. He’d feel claws grip his shoulder gently from behind and tug him away from whatever he was dreaming about into a dark, warm void.
That’s where he was now, looking up at the thing that had pulled him away from yet another nightmare to lay him gently on his back.
It was always in silhouette, the angel. Wolfwood could only ever make out vague shapes. Multiple wings. A broad-shouldered frame that somehow remained lithe. The strange, almost electrified hair. Huge, round, glowing eyes—they were almost cartoonish, really—and those claws. It always ran those claws over his body in his dreams—not trying to hurt him, no, but being gentle.
Wolfwood wondered if angels usually had claws. He knew demons did. He’d seen them, but angels remained elusive and rare, at least physically. He almost thought to ask the angel before him, but he’d yet to speak up in any of the dreams they’d shared. Kind of hard to do when a being of unknowable origin was petting you like a cat.
It also didn’t help that it always made Wolfwood hard. Always. There was something about how preciously the creature was treating him that made him dizzy. The attention. The care. They never spoke to each other—the creature just teased, running its hands over him, looming over his body, warm, watching with those eyes.
There was no way it didn’t know what it was doing. On occasion, it would hook a claw under Wolfwood’s waistband and just toy with him, as if it was waiting for him to ask for more. He never did. He wasn’t sure if he was dealing with a demon instead of an angel, one who was just waiting for access to his soul to eat him alive, to tempt him into letting his guard down.
This had gone on for months. Wolfwood would wake up with a hard-on, jack off, and try to forget it’d happened at all. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when the angel was staring at him like this. But of all the things Wolfwood expected, he couldn’t have anticipated that the angel would speak.
“Are you seriously still giving me the silent treatment?” the being said.
Its voice was masculine, but not deep in the way that Wolfwood’s was. The priest blinked up at the angel. Its voice seemed to echo through the void they were in, surrounding Wolfwood from every angle.
“Excuse me?” Wolfwood said.
“You can talk!” the angel said, sitting up, excited. “What’s your name?”
“Why should I tell you?” Wolfwood retorted. “You could be a demon. You could eat the soul right out of my body.”
The angel glanced very pointedly downward at where Wolfwood’s hard-on was tenting his pants and back up to his face.
“It seems like you wouldn’t mind if I did,” it replied.
“You—shut it!” Wolfwood said. “I’m a man of god!”
“Sure you are,” the angel said. “A man of god who gets all hot and bothered by just a little touch. You’re no fun. What if I tell you my name, huh? That sound like a fair trade?”
Wolfwood considered his options. Knowing a demon’s name did give you a degree of control over it—enabling you to summon it, dispel it. Knowing its name couldn’t be used to banish it to hell, but it did offer some protection. If the demon was telling the truth, of course. He wasn’t sure exactly what knowing an angel’s name did, but it was bound to be similarly useful.
“Why are you doing this?” Wolfwood asked. His brows were drawn together, the muscles in his abdomen tight with anxiety and arousal. He scanned the angel’s silhouette, but it was hard to read its emotional state.
“…well, you seem rather lonely,” the angel said, its tone softening. “You get yourself into a lot of dangerous situations, don’t you? You risk a lot for the sake of other people. You’re welcome for saving your ass, by the way.”
Memories of today’s earlier near-misses and lucky dodges flashed into Wolfwood’s mind. Maybe this was an angel after all…but Wolfwood sort of expected more of a “Be Not Afraid” moment. Not something this…casual. This human.
“You never stick around those places, do you?” the angel said.
“It’s dangerous to be around me. Demons know who I am. What I do,” Wolfwood said. “They know I could be the last thing they see, so if I allow people to tag along with me, they’re bound to become collateral. That’s just how it is.”
“It’s dangerous to be around me, and yet, here you are, night after night,” the angel said, grinning a little sharp-toothed grin.
“You’re different,” Wolfwood said, quicker than he meant to.
“Oh? And how’s that,” the angel said.
“…if you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it already,” Wolfwood said.
“Not necessarily true, but. I don’t want to hurt you, so you’ve got that right!” the angel replied.
“…You’re making it hard to trust you,” he said.
“You’re already hard, and you already trust me,” the angel said back. “I know that you do.”
It was odd to be so easily read. Wolfwood huffed, gritting his teeth. “What do you want from me, angel.” There was no way this being was an angel. No way in hell. But it was right. Wolfwood did trust it. Or maybe he was just too desperate to care—it had been years since he’d started as an exorcist, and every day had been its own unique, lonely kind of hell.
“I want to give you what you won’t let anyone else give you,” it said. “You’re throbbing. I can feel how badly you want to be cared for, tended to. Let someone else take control, for a change.”
It ran its claws over Wolfwood’s pants, where his erection was almost painfully straining, and palmed him gently. Wolfwood bit back a whimper, letting his head fall back against the soft darkness.
“I’m your guardian angel, aren’t I? Aren’t I supposed to care for you, keep you safe?” it said.
“Only if you tell me your name,” Wolfwood choked out. He needed a bargaining chip if this was a mistake. A way to dispel this thing if he really had taken one risk too many.
The angel considered him, letting both hands run over his body. Wolfwood shuddered but didn’t beg. He held steadfast, waiting for the name.
“…Vash,” the angel said.
Wolfwood gave him a look. “The hell kind of name is ‘Vash’?”
“My name, thank you very much!” Vash said, crossing his arms.
Wolfwood sat up, chasing his touch before he caught himself and stopped. It just felt too good to be real, too good to be human. God. Maybe he was as desperate as Vash made him sound.
“I kept my end of the deal, priest,” Vash said. “What’s your name, then?”
“Why do you care,” Wolfwood spat.
“Well, I want to be sure you really do want my…help. With this matter. And telling me your name can be that confirmation,” he said, his hands drifting back over Wolfwood’s chest and pushing him back until he was laying down again. “And, besides, I’d like to be able to address you properly. That would make it all feel that much better, wouldn’t it?”
It was hard to deny this guardian angel of his. If he did actually want to protect Wolfwood, and in fact, had been protecting him for months now, who was he to deny what the angel wanted to give him? He wanted it too, damn it. If this was a miracle, who was he to say whether or not he deserved it? It was happening. It was a willing gift.
Vash was patient, waiting for him to mull over his thoughts.
“Wolfwood,” he said. “Name’s Wolfwood.”
“…And you expect me to believe that?” Vash said. “That name is ridiculous; it can’t possibly be real.”
“You—owl-eyed idiot!” Wolfwood bit back. “I didn’t choose it!”
He reached out and clocked Vash on impulse and got gravely still once he realized what he’d done. Holy shit. He just punched an angel—or a demon—or—whatever this guy was!
Vash was quiet for a moment before he laughed. And he laughed hard. There was something about the sound that made Wolfwood confident his transgression had already been forgiven.
“‘Owl-eyed’?” Vash said. “I guess they do look a little owl-like in this form.”
“‘This form’? You have others?” Wolfwood asked.
“Sure, sure,” Vash said, waving his hand dismissively.
“Can I see?” Wolfwood asked. Why not take the opportunity? No telling if he’d have a second chance to ask.
“Now, now, Mr. Priest,” Vash said, “I think I have some more pressing matters to attend to.”
Those claws slid up, playing with the button and fly on Wolfwood’s pants. He looked from Vash’s clawed hand to his face and back.
“Not getting cold feet, are you, Wolfwood?” Vash asked.
Hearing Vash say his name…fuck. Who cared what he looked like under that silhouette? Wolfwood certainly didn’t.
“Not at all,” he said, surprised at his own composure. “If you’re serious about wanting to, I think we can both agree that I need some help.”
Vash chuckled. “Stop me if you need to, okay?”
Wolfwood nodded. Vash wasn’t treating this like he imagined a demon would, all rough and pushy and erratic. Vash was…savoring this. Taking his time as he undid the button and fly on Wolfwood’s pants, finally pulling them off and taking his underwear with them.
Wolfwood expected to curl in on himself from the cold of the room, but he wasn’t in a room—he was in a dream, in a void, with Vash. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He fumbled with his suit jacket and button-down shirt rather than look inexperienced. He looked up at Vash, who was moving closer.
When Vash’s claws curled around his cock, Wolfwood nearly came, right then and there, but Vash stopped moving altogether, waiting for him to settle as he throbbed and twitched.
“…you’ve needed this for a long time, haven’t you?” Vash said.
“Shut up,” was the only reply he could manage as he reflexively gripped onto Vash’s wrist.
The angel stroked him gently, slowly, and Wolfwood let his head fall back again, panting soft sounds into their shared dreamscape. He let his free hand fall over his eyes, peeking through his fingers to watch Vash’s eyes shine. It felt too good to be real.
“You sound like it feels very nice,” Vash said, smug.
“Don’t get cocky, angel,” Wolfwood huffed.
“I’ll do what I please unless you want me to stop,” Vash said, fixing his gaze on Wolfwood’s face, which only made him more embarrassed. God, to be in this position with an angel looking down on you—it was deeply shameful, deeply basal, wasn’t it? But if Vash was his guardian angel…then, surely, it wasn’t all that bad. He wanted the best for him.
Vash slowed his strokes. “Do you want me to stop, Wolfwood?”
“Fuck, no—don’t—don’t stop,” he choked out.
“Heh. That’s what I thought,” Vash said.
Cocky bastard.
But it was worth it as Vash picked up the pace, the slick sounds of Wolfwood’s dick against that inhuman hand all-consuming in the echo of space they were perched in. Wolfwood felt harder than he’d ever been in his life, something about this being’s tenderness getting to him in a way he hadn’t expected. All this time, in all these shared dreams, had Vash just been waiting for Wolfwood to give him the go-ahead?
Wolfwood squirmed into every rhythm the angel set, canting his hips up into the warmth of his hand like it was the closest to holy he’d ever get. Vash busied his other hand with running up and down Wolfwood’s side, squeezing his chest, feeling the muscle that tensed and pulled the mortal closer and closer to climax.
Wolfwood was leaking all over himself and Vash and making noises he’d deny for the rest of his life when the angel decided to surprise him.
“Wolfwood,” Vash said, his voice still all around them, all encompassing. Hearing his name on the angel's lips had yet to get old. “Can I taste you?”
“Are you fucking serious?” Wolfwood balked. “You’re joking. You’re playing with me.”
“What? No!” Vash said. “You—you just look—”
Vash slid his hand up and down Wolfwood’s length another time, watching as precum dribbled out of him yet again. Vash spread it around the head of Wolfwood’s cock with his thumb gently. The sensation made Wolfwood hiss and close his eyes, cursing under his breath.
“J-Jesus, Spikey,” Wolfwood groaned. “Why do you keep teasing me like that…”
“I want it to last, obviously!” Vash said. “If I’m trying to get you to have a good time, shouldn’t it last? So you can enjoy it?”
“I’m already enjoying it,” Wolfwood said. “Don’t worry about stupid shit like that.”
Vash huffed. “Then, will you let me have a taste of you?”
“…yeah,” Wolfwood said. “Just don’t get smug about it.”
“Kind of hard to do that with my mouth full, hm?” Vash said.
“Shut it,” Wolfwood said.
“Gladly,” Vash replied.
When Vash opened his mouth, the first thing Wolfwood noticed were his little tiny fangs, poking out, white as sun-bleached sand, as shiny as his eyes. The next thing he noticed was Vash’s sinfully long tongue—somewhat serpentine, maybe, but certainly inhuman—winding around his dick, wet and slick and warm and perfect.
There was no way Vash was an angel, was there? It didn’t seem to matter—Wolfwood cried out for him all the same.
“Angel-!” he choked, grabbing a fist full of that shadowy, spikey hair. Vash groaned at the touch, sliding his mouth around Wolfwood as his tongue worked him up and down.
Vash moved his hands, sliding them under Wolfwood, easily supporting his full weight and allowing the priest to push farther into his mouth. Wolfwood couldn’t help himself—it was all too much and everything he needed at once.
“Oh, fuck—yes! Vash, yes—just like that—” he grunted, hissing breath through clenched teeth.
The angel responded in kind, drawing Wolfwood fully into his arms, completely shrouding him in protective darkness. For the first time in a long time, darkness—Vash’s darkness—felt inextricably safe. Wolfwood felt safe. Fuck. Maybe Vash was his guardian angel.
Words failed him as he felt himself tip over the edge and fill Vash’s perfect mouth with his cum. He shook through it, thrust after weakening thrust, holding the angel in place by his hair. Vash grunted and gasped but took it perfectly, claws holding Wolfwood up and digging into his skin. Damn angel. Wolfwood was sure it had something to do with his not being human, but didn’t exactly have the brain power to put towards it at the moment. He just wanted to stay where it was dark and warm and good. But he couldn’t for long.
Vash pulled back, setting Wolfwood onto the void he’d been laying on for quite some time now. He coughed a bit, swallowing what he could and licking his lips, wiping his mouth with those perfect clawed hands. Wolfwood could already feel his body aching to scramble back into the angel’s arms, but he was too boneless to do anything but catch his breath.
“Feeling better?” Vash asked.
“…you know the answer to that,” Wolfwood said.
“Sure, but I’d like to hear you say it,” Vash said.
“…it was good,” Wolfwood conceded. “Almost felt like it was real, like I wasn’t dreaming.” He could feel the edges of the dreamscape getting fuzzy, blurry. He was waking up.
Vash chuckled and seemed to notice the shift. “Well, I hope you have a good morning, Nicholas.”
***
Wolfwood sat straight up in bed, panting, sweaty. He’d definitely cum in his pants overnight. But he was panicked for other reasons.
“Well, I hope you have a good morning, Nicholas.”
How did Vash know his name? He’d only given away his last name, how—fuck. Fuck. Vash was definitely a demon, wasn’t he? He should’ve known better, he’d been so easily tricked, tempted, beguiled, fooled, seduced—ugh!
Wolfwood pulled himself out of bed—his legs were still wobbly, fuck—and tugged on a change of clothes. He felt over his chest in the mirror, trying to feel for a heartbeat. If he still had one, then Vash hadn’t ripped his soul out through his dick.
His pulse jumped at his fingertips, steady and present as it ever was.
He let out a sigh of relief, slumping against the bathroom wall. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, taking a comforting, familiar drag. He cracked the bathroom window so the smoke wouldn’t stick to the walls and tried to think straight.
If Vash hadn’t wanted his soul, then what the hell did he want? The satisfaction of telling other demons he’d fucked a priest? No, that couldn’t be it. He’d been too gentle for that to be true.
Then, an idea struck Wolfwood. If Vash had been telling the truth, then Wolfwood had his name, too. He could summon him during the daylight hours and corner him, question him. And if the angel had been lying about his name…well. Wolfwood would simply exorcise himself of the cunning little intruder and let them remain nameless, freeing himself of the nuisance of it all.
He put out his cigarette and walked back to the bedroom he’d rented for the night. He approached his Punisher and tugged its wrappings free.
It was time to get to work.