Chapter Text
Wolfwood is drenched by the summer heat. Vash’s A/C unit sputtered out with dramatic flair just around 2 AM last night when Wolfwood was left sandwiched in the sweaty furnace of limbs belonging to Knives and Vash. Twins, huh? Who would have thought he’d pull them.
Jury’s still out on the ‘both’ though. Knives is pretty new to the whole ‘dating’ thing aside from a few disastrous blind ones plotted by his brother. But, hey, Wolfwood’s nose is mostly healed and thanks to Nai he met his deductible early— so grievances aside, he’ll give the guy a chance.
The fan whirs overhead, and sweet syrup melts over his fingers from the popsicle dangling in his hand. Wolfwood darts his tongue over the droplets, sucking the juice from between each knuckle. Knives made them a few days ago after chastising his brother for living off processed sugar. Natural organic fruit juice, no additives. Sounds fancy, tastes pretty good too.
Wolfwood licks his fingers clean and is met with Knives’ unwavering stare.
Oh, he’s doing more than just staring. Wolfwood can see the gears turning in his prickish (pretty) blonde head, steaming as he winds himself up— all hot and bothered over the deft flick of Wolfwood’s tongue. As for what’s going through that thick skull of his, Wolfwood has his guess, and it’s the echo of what Vash had said a few weeks ago.
‘Yeah! Nico gives real good head. You should try it sometime!’
Or later, when Wolfwood had been buried between his thighs, Vash had rolled over prodding his twin, ‘Looks good, right? Give him a chance, Nai.’
It’s a good shot to the ego, but the cherry on top is the disastrous reaction of the man in front of him. If he’d known months ago how easy it was to get under Knives’ skin with something as simple as shameless flirting, he would have tried it earlier.
Wolfwood holds Knives gaze, knowingly. The flat of his tongue swipes the length of the popsicle, circling over the juicy melted tip. It settles between his lips, dripping with shiny fluid. He offers a lazy grin and then a rather suggestive suck.
It hits the roof of his mouth, cold enough that it threatens to give him a brain freeze. Wolfwood doesn’t mind. He likes a little bit of pain.
And, Knives acts like Wolfwood slapped him clear across the face.
“Must you do that?”
He’s really made this too easy. Wolfwood savors the dwindling remains of the popsicle. A drop escapes and freely rolls between the valley of his chest. Knives never once breaks eye contact, huffing with irritation when it disappears into his cleavage.
“Put that away and… button up your shirt! You’re being purposefully obscene.”
“Am I?” Wolfwood challenges. “Take a look in the mirror.”
Knives is a Grade A hypocrite .
So, Wolfwood’s the indecent one when Knives has himself languidly draped all over the loveseat, book in hand with a frozen bottle of water pressed to his temple? The shorts he wears ride high on his thighs, giving Wolfwood the full view of— no underwear, total side dick— Knives Saverem. Not to mention, his stupid little polo bunched up over his 5 AM, five days a week workout routine abs. Yeah, and he’s the one slutting it up.
“At least, I don’t have my tits out, deepthroating an ice pop like it’s a… a—“
Knives frowns, brow furrowed like he’s about to combust or have an aneurism, whichever comes first.
Wolfwood’s broken him. God, Vash leaves them alone for two hours, and Wolfwood breaks his fucking brother.
“Finish your sentence, Nai. What’s bothering you? Is it this?”
Wolfwood shoves the whole thing in his mouth until it hits the back of his throat. The sweet ice melts on his tongue, and his throat bobs with a swallow. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t choke, and even manages a little smarmy grin when Knives fucking wheezes.
Oh, he is having fun.
Only half of it is at Knives’ expense, but that's okay, getting knocked down a peg or two would do wonders for Knives’ disposition. So really, he’s doing him a favor.
“Fuck off.”
Big talk from a guy whose growing erection is on unambiguous display. Wolfwood’s tongue clicks, “You don’t really want me to do that, do you?“
God, Vash isn’t even here. Just what the hell is he thinking?
The rest of the ice is crunched between his teeth, swallowed down, with the stick tossed aside when Wolfwood decides to bite the bullet.
Does he want to fuck Knives? Kind of. Does he want to have Knives squirming under hand, cock, or tongue? Hell, yeah. He’d dare to say the deer in headlights look is cute on him– a nice change from his usual scowl or the playground obscenities once hurled between them.
Wolfwood closes the distance, one hand resting on the sofa arm as he leans over into Knives personal space. The chain around his neck hangs low and the liberal way he’s left his shirt unbuttoned gives Knives a clear fucking view. A top tier one, Wolfwood would say. That little bent up paperback he snatches from him, chucking it across the room.
“Vash was right, you know. You need to loosen up. I can help, but you’ll have to ask nicely first.”
Wolfwood looks at Knives’ dick. Knives looks at it, too— albeit with a sort of annoyed acceptance that he dare pop a boner over Wolfwood. Yes, Wolfwood. His former nemesis, now accessory to incest and questionable fuck buddy.
“ Nicholas–”
“Don’t you ‘Nicholas’ me when you’re the one ogling me all bricked up. Nai, Nai, Nai. You know what to do, dontcha? Let me have it. I already know how Vash cries my name. What about you?”
“You’re an insufferable man, Nicholas D. Wolfwood.”
The full name. Oh, he’s really done it now.
Knives is all bark no bite. Literally. Wolfwood takes his jaw, fingers sweeping along pointed canines and then the back of his molars as if baiting him to bite down. He anticipates the draw of blood, but… it never comes.
It is not fury or even annoyance that twists at Knives expression. It’s something softer, more vulnerable and it swells a strange feeling in the pit of Wolfwood’s stomach.
Blood floods beneath his pale skin, turning him pink like a freshly cooked shrimp. His eyes… they’re so similar to Vash’s the way they shoot wide, shining like he’s one blink away from precious tears. Knives squirms, thighs pressed together, lips trembling around the hook of Wolfwood’s fingers, and…
My God, Knives fucking moans.
(Softly. Sweetly. It reminds him so much of his brother. Wolfwood guesses looks aren’t the only thing shared between them.)
It’s an accident, and it sobers Knives up quickly with instantaneous horror. He rips himself out of Wolfwood’s grasp, a panting mess when the sofa kicks back on two legs, nearly toppling them both over, but the damage is already done.
Wolfwood’s chest thuds in a newfound vice grip.
“That's what I like to hear, baby.”
Knives only offers a weak protest. “Vash isn’t here,” he says like it’s an excuse, like Wolfwood isn’t waiting hungrily for the chance to get his hands all over him.
“I know.”
“Let me blow you.”
Wolfwood can't believe he fucking asks – asks in such a damned casual tone like he’s bumming cig off the guy. It's not tender or sexy, but there’s something natural, comfortable, in the way Knives feels himself up, legs spreading a little wider in unspoken invitation.
His head rolls to the side, hinting with that cocky grin Wolfwood’s grown fond of. So what if he drools a little? Knives is no unimpressive specimen of man or cock.
“Thought I was supposed to be the one begging for your highly reviewed mouth.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Michelin Star dick. I’ll have you begging in no time.”
Knives’ ego is, at least, based in reality. Wolfwood can’t deny that. Pretty man. Pretty cock. It’s not the first time he’s manhandled the older Saverem brother, but he’s never been this up close and personal with his junk before.
Vash is probably the only guy Knives has even let this close to his dick. Actually, scratch that. The guy with the blue hair that follows Knives around like a puppy— he might have given it a go one time. But, and no offense to Vash in particular, Wolfwood is better.
Objective fact. He’s a little cocky, too.
The waistband of Knives’ shorts dangles from his ankle. Sure, Wolfwood got an eye full earlier– a lurid peek of flaccid shaft and balls– but now the man is on full, shameless display. Well, almost shameless. Wolfwood thinks the problem is more him than any kind of decency.
His cock curves upwards, the flooded pink head jutting towards his smooth perfectly manscaped stomach. Also, not a surprise. Knives waxes everything. The details of which Wolfwood came into knowledge of against his will and with a mutual agreement of non-disclosure and, uh, never bringing it up again.
“Take a picture if you’re going to look at it all day,” he huffs. The snark barely hides the twinge of red on his cheeks or the very interested way he lingers on the hands Wolfwood rests on his thighs.
Wolfwood has zero doubts. Knives wants this just as bad. Curiosity is an easy excuse for them both, and for them both, as well, a lie.
Wolfwood rolls his eyes, “That old comeback? Don’t you have anything better?”
“Are you sucking my dick or inviting me to debate club?”
“You would be a debate club kid,” he laughs, and that little frustrated knit in Knives’ brow deepens.
“God, Nick. Don’t you know how to–”
He absolutely knows how to wine and dine, as well as the proper bedside manner Knives seems to entirely lack. It is that he chooses to use it only when it is most advantageous to him. Like now, like when Knives thinks he has the high ground, all smarmy and self-assured. It only takes one well-placed kiss for that facade to come crumbling down.
Wolfwood smirks, winks, and rolls his tongue between his lips, pressing it to the seam where foreskin tugs under the flushed crown. A thick glob of spit rolls free and trails down the shaft. Knives hisses, both enrapt and unsettlingly compliant. Wolfwood can’t help but stir the pot a little– old habits die hard.
“You’ve gone all quiet on me now. Don’t be shy. I wanna hear you.”
It's rhetorical. Wolfwood doesn’t want Knives’ words, but his moans . Whines and cries teased from a man in desperate need of loosening up . A decision mutually agreed upon by him and Vash.
Knives doesn’t get a chance to answer. Wolfwood buries himself between his thighs, nose pressed alongside the root of his cock with his tongue sliding over his balls. He takes one into his mouth, sucking it gently. He’s so sensitive, both unsure and likely unused to this kind of treatment.
Not that Wolfwood dares to ask if Vash blew his brother during their two year stint of exclusivity.
“What are you doing down there?” Knives’ voice pitches up at a particularly languid lick from taint to tip. Wolfwood smooths his hair away from his face and takes Knives in firm grip around the base.
He’s big. It’s the first thing Wolfwood noticed when Knives fucked him. Not obscenely so, but he’s got a good inch on him and a thicker shaft that really fits his hand, and if it fit in his ass, it’ll 100% fit down his throat.
Wolfwood tests this out immediately.
“ Nick!” Knives sputters from the sudden stretch of lips around his cock. His feet kick out. One knee nails him in the shoulder and the other in the head. He ought to be grateful Wolfwood’s got enough restraint to not bite his dick. “ What the fuck?”
This is supposed to be good. It is going to be good.
The weight of his cock rests along the back of his tongue, dribbling with that sweeter than normal smoothie, green juice, pineapple bullshit fucking precum. It nudges the soft flesh of Wolfwood’s cheek when he swallows, and his tongue sweeps the underside, peeking out from his lips as he bobs on Knives’ cock. What he doesn’t take into his mouth, Wolfwood works over with the twist of his hands, slicked and wet from the buckets of damn drool that he pours over Knives’ dick.
The guy’s stubbornly quiet, tensed and focused in a concentrated effort to give him nothing. No wanton pitch of his hips into the velvety heat of Wolfwood’s mouth, no curl of a hand in his hair forcing him to choke on it, and no needy whines that would betray him. After all, he’s not the kind of guy to come undone just from some head, right?
Wrong.
A few noises slip through the cracks. Breathy little moans that Knives cannot hide fall alongside Wolfwood’s obscene deepthroating slurps. And, deepthroat, he does. It bulges beneath Wolfwood’s jaw, that suspicious little bump of cock threatening to fuck is goddamn windpipe at this point.
And, Knives… Knives can’t tear his eyes away from it.
“Fuck,” he murmurs again, driven to such crass language. It seems Vash isn’t the only one he’s been a terrible influence on. “Shit, Nick, you weren’t lying when you said you could–”
All in. Wolfwood’s not a half-assed kind of guy, and he, also, knows this is something Vash can’t do. Terrible gag reflex, always ends up sputtering like a sneezing kitten.
His throat constricts, muscles fluttering around the entirety of Knives’ dick. His head falls back to the cushions, eyes fluttering on a begrudging groan, but there’s something different in it. It's not entirely horny. God, can this guy go half an hour without overthinking shit?
“Nick,” he says again. This time lower. This time, honestly. “Nick, what is this?”
Wolfwood hums, mouth clearly full.
Knives shoves him off, unsatisfied, and asks, “You. Me .”
You, me, and Vash.
Wolfwood hasn’t thought much about it, figured it was an unspoken thing that they’re all like together-together. It’s not like he goes to bed with all the twin siblings he meets, or makes them breakfast when he wakes up the earliest, or does all the laundry, even separating the colors like Knives insists.
It’s domestic-like. Nice. Even with Knives, and fuck, Wolfwood coming to the realization that its especially with Knives.
The answer he gives is one of a simple shrug and a grin when he kisses Knives’ erection for the second time, “ Long overdue .”