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“Yer makin’ me nervous, spikey. I take my eye off ya for one second and yer like to cause a world of trouble. So askin’ me to keep my eyes shut…”
“Just trust me,” Vash said; already his cunt (or what passed as a cunt, he didn’t like to be pedantic about it) throbbed with anticipation, which was rare without stimulation. But there was something to be said about running his hands down Wolfwood’s chest as he undressed him from behind, chin leaning against his broad shoulder. Delicately he unclasped the buttons of his jacket, then started for the dress shirt underneath. How he yearned to take his sweet time and relish in every second of this process. But the fact of the matter was he had plans on this fair night, and intended to see them through.
All for Wolfwood, he told himself, lips spreading into a smile. Well– technically for Wolfwood. Would it be selfish to admit this was really for his own pleasure? A funny little piece of equipment he had passed by and decided to purchase on a whim? Vash breathed deep against Wolfwood’s shoulder, lost in thought until Wolfwood stirred suddenly, twisting an arm up over Vash’s head to pull him nostril-first into the sweat-moistened pit of his dress shirt.
“Thought ya’d get a better whiff from down there,” Wolfwood barked with a mild grin as Vash yelped and pulled back like a dog with its head stuck between the posts of a fence.
“Told you to keep your eyes shut!”
“They still are, dumbass,” Wolfwood replied as Vash finally wiggled loose. He wiped at his damp nose with a grimace, the lingering musk in his nostrils much less appreciated when forced in his face at full concentration. Gross.
“So mean to me, when I just want to give you a surprise…”
Were his eyes open, Wolfwood surely would have rolled them. He shook his head and started to unbutton the rest of his shirt himself, only for Vash’s arms to fling around his waist in haste to stop him. “No! That’s my job!”
“Then hurry the hell up. I’ll make ya lick my pits next time. And quit yer poutin’, ya deserved what ya got.”
Vash pointedly pressed his lips into a fine line, if only to deny Wolfwood the pleasure of knowing his bottom lip had indeed been jutting out. Fine, then. If Wolfwood was going to be a bitter baby about it, then he’d just have to get his fill of the sights after he bestowed his gift. Though greedy hands still copped a feel of Wolfwood’s abdomen as he disentangled shirt from man to wad it up and throw it aside along with the jacket.
Even greedier, his hand strayed lower, relishing in the bump of Wolfwood’s belt, then the mild bulge of the cock in his pants. Vash smiled. “I haven’t even done anything, and you’re already so happy to see me down there!”
This time he anticipated Wolfwood’s grapple. Vash ducked away and promptly opened up his coat to grab the paper packet tucked away inside.
“Yer one to talk. I can smell yer down under from here. Surprised ya haven’t soaked straight through yer pants, and we haven’t even started.”
Sure, he couldn’t blame Wolfwood for it. This was just how it went nowadays– long, gruelling days of travel, and when they had a moment to spare, the double dollars to duck into some shitty rental room, it always inevitably devolved into horseplay. The inevitable conclusion of having to share a room for the sake of saving money.
That, and, well…
Wolfwood didn’t seem to mind it all that much. So there was no harm in having a bit of fun while they still could, right? Vash tried to shake the encroaching sense of dread from his mind, and with a deep breath, he stood, circling around to Wolfwood’s front. “Who’s to say it’s that kind of surprise?” He asked, to which Wolfwood scoffed.
“Y’aren’t slick, spikey. Drool over me a little less next time if ya wanna play coy.”
“Whatever. Hold out your hands.” A demand to which Wolfwood merely quirked a brow. Vash huffed through his nostrils. “Please, Wolfwood? Please hold out your hands?”
Wolfwood folded his arms over his chest.
“I’m gonna keep saying please until you do. Please, please, please, please, please–”
“Oh, cork it.” Lips quirked into a most pleased smile when Wolfwood begrudgingly set his hands face up on his lap. Without a lick of hesitation Vash pulled forth his surprise from the bag, though not without checking once more that Wolfwood’s eyes were still shut. It had to be quick, a surprise attack for the ages. But not before Vash ran his hand of flesh across the pair of thick gloves he held, feeling up the hard leather. Careful to keep the metal buckles from rattling, of course, lest Wolfwood uncover his plan before he had the chance to put it in action.
“Okay, you gotta trust me,” Vash said, on the precipice of having to bite his own knuckle to stop himself from an involuntary, giddy laugh. “I don’t want you to feel what the surprise is, so I’m gonna cover your hands first. Alright?”
Shit. He could feel his member starting to stir. An alien appendage that poked out from his slit of its own accord and pressed hard against the tight crotch of his pants. Still, Vash kept his breath steady, his tone even, well practiced in the art of deception when it really mattered. He watched Wolfwood’s expression, hawklike, and caught the uncertain twitch of his brow. “Sure,” Wolfwood said, though he didn’t sound all too convinced.
Oh, he wanted to take his sweet, sweet time with this. But alas– it wasn’t in the cards. He had to act fast, but not too fast. So Vash set one glove aside upon the bed and nonchalantly curled one of Wolfwood’s hands into a loose fist before he tucked it inside the fine leather contraption.
‘Glove’ wasn’t really an accurate descriptor, after all. ‘Glove’ implied fingers. ‘Mitt’ was more accurate. A firm shell that swallowed Wolfwood’s hand, and simultaneously brought his lips to an uncertain frown. “Trust me!” Vash reassured him, and some small part of him couldn’t help but pang with guilt at how, despite all odds, Wolfwood remained still and kept his eyes shut.
One hand disabled, followed by the other. Provided Vash could pull off the next, critical step. Without skipping a beat he pivoted on his heel and crossed the room to fumble with his bag. All a ploy, of course; he rummaged aimlessly for all of a few seconds before he crossed back. “Okay,” Vash said, looming over him, “Ready?”
Wolfwood scoffed and opened his mouth to snark as he oftentimes did, but no words left him before Vash moved quick to tug at the strap at the wrist of the first mitt, tightening it as far as it would go before he pulled it taut. No time to secure it wholly just yet. “Hah–?” Wolfwood jerked back, startled, and tried to pull his other arm out of reach. Steely grey eyes opened as Vash practically threw himself on Wolfwood in anticipation of the sudden fight that flared through him. “The hell ya think yer doin’–?!”
The moment of truth. Vash held his breath, pushed back against the mitted hand that braced against his chest in an effort to fend him off. But he’d already gotten his fingers around the second strap, and with his elbow at Wolfwood’s throat, all it took was one firm tug, one firmer pull. He even managed to secure it through the buckle before Wolfwood bucked him off and forced him back several paces in a stumble.
He thought he’d have at least a second for Wolfwood to puzzle it out, but no time to do so much as admire his handiwork. One glance at the unsecured strap and he moved wrist to mouth to pull it loose with his teeth. “No! Not allowed!” Vash barked as he promptly threw himself at Wolfwood again. This time the resistance was more than just play– Vash felt it in the urgent twinge of Wolfwood’s muscles, the way he had to actively push against the force of Wolfwood’s arms.
A momentary tussle, a mitted swing at his jaw, but with everything mostly done, Vash managed to slip that second strap in through the buckle and pull back before Wolfwood really did punch him in the face.
The conflict of emotion came more suddenly than he anticipated. Breath heavy with thrill, he watched Wolfwood sit up and look over his hands properly– and oh, it was just as cute as Vash had imagined, the helplessness of him trying to push at the buckle with mitted hand, but…
The slight curl of Wolfwood’s upper lip, the flash of his gaze that cried treachery and betrayal, uncertain as to what he should think… he knew that look, and it was the sort of glare he’d give the less-than-savory types that crossed their paths, his grip growing firm on his cross…
“Haha… surprise, Wolfwood,” Vash said, hands raised in half-hearted surrender, “Didn’t know if I’d be able to pull that off, if I’m being honest…!”
“‘Trust me’, my ass,” Wolfwood snapped. He tried again to push the glove off, then brought it to his lips to try and manoever the strap back through the buckle with his teeth. Vash wanted to stop him, but one small inch forward and Wolfwood froze up in defense. His teeth weren’t bared, per say, but it looked like it, pointed canines flashed around the strap in his mouth.
“You weren’t gonna let me do it if I warned you in advance,” Vash protested.
“Yeah, I wonder the hell why,” Wolfwood snarled back. With budding frustration he pinned his wrist between his knees and tried to tug it off that way. He really, really didn’t like it. Further conflict to stew upon when Vash’s member pulsed with arousal, prodding furiously at the leather barrier that kept it half-trapped inside his slit. “Spikey, ya got ten seconds to get these fuckin’ things off my hands, or I’m gonna be real pissed!”
Ten seconds to convince him otherwise. Vash dropped to his hands and knees, clasped his fingers together beneath his chin, and looked up at Wolfwood with the biggest, roundest, saddest eyes he could muster. “Please, Wolfwood? Please, can you still trust me? Just a little while? I’ll take them off after. I bought them just for you and I really really really wanted to see you wear them, pleeeease? I spent every last double dollar I had and I don’t want them to go to waste, please? Please? Please?”
Truth be told, he hadn’t the faintest clue how else to play it if his pleading fell on deaf ears. Vash bowed his head; at least Wolfwood had stopped moving. That was promising, right? He squeezed his eyes shut tight as though he could will Wolfwood’s cooperation into existence if he just thought hard enough about it, though he steeled himself for the worst. If Wolfwood still sounded real pissed off as he claimed, then…
Well, he couldn’t just keep Wolfwood in them. Even if he didn’t help take them off, Wolfwood would find a way, shrewd as he was. And then he’d be in real trouble. Quite possibly enough that Wolfwood wouldn’t partake in these fun little games again. “Please?” Vash murmured, quiet and innocent, and peeked up to try and gauge the meaning of Wolfwood’s sudden silence.
Arms folded across his chest, Wolfwood stared over Vash’s head, stony but thoughtful. The vicious flash of betrayal was gone– thank goodness– but he bit firm on his lower lip as he mulled over the proposal with visible hesitation. “Yer damn lucky I don’t throw ya out this fuckin’ window for that, spikey. Damn lucky. Say it: yer lucky.”
“I’m really, really, really lucky,” Vash echoed, not yet daring to let the hopefulness leak through in his tone.
“These things look stupid as hell. That why ya want me to wear ‘em? For a laugh?” Finally Wolfwood flicked his eyes down to meet Vash’s gaze. A gesture Vash took as invitation to jolt up on his knees and fling his upper half dramatically onto Wolfwood’s lap.
“No, not to make you look stupid, to make you look cute!”
Wolfwood’s scowl deepened, and he narrowed his eyes. All the while he refused to uncross his arms, mitted hands very pointedly hidden the best he could manage. “Yer definition of what’s cute is batshit insane. What’s in it fer me if I keep ‘em on, huh? Blowin’ yer money on ‘em like a dumbass ain’t my problem.”
Well, it sort of was. Given that Vash paid for their room and board, and Wolfwood rarely had so much as five double dollars to his name. But just like trying not to call his alien slit a cunt– pedantic. It wasn’t important right now. Not when potential negotiations were afoot.
“I’ll buy you whatever you want for supper tomorrow. As much as you want.”
“They acceptin’ hot air as payment at the diner, now?”
“I would work to get the money back!” Vash puffed out his cheeks. Did Wolfwood really think so lowly of him that he didn’t already plan that far ahead? (He hadn’t planned that far ahead. Once again: pedantry!)
Wolfwood sighed, a hot and angry huff. Then he pulled one mitted hand out from his armpit and examined it, jaw clenched. Vash watched him, watched the gears turn in his mind, and with rising spirits knew in his heart that it was the expression of contemplation Wolfwood wore when he was on the cusp of giving in to Vash’s demands.
“Breakfast, lunch and supper. Next three days. And if I gotta cover a single cent of the bill myself, I’m shovin’ these things down yer throat myself.”
That was so, so much work. And money. Vash nearly grimaced, only for Wolfwood to shoot him a sour look that promptly won a perk in his posture and a desperate, “Deal!”
Besides, Wolfwood wouldn’t actually make him eat the mitts.
If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it. Though Vash supposed he did have a tail of sorts– just on the wrong side of his body. But it was wagging. Desperate to unfurl, stilling for all of a second when he looked to Wolfwood’s groin and saw that what little hardness had been there before had vanished. Did it really bother him that much…?
Vash would simply need to make him understand just how much it mattered to him, then. He took Wolfwood’s mitted hand between his own, clutched gently like how a real gentleman would take the hand of a maiden, and brought it to his lips to kiss the back of it. All the while he watched Wolfwood’s face, and ignored the salty taste of armpit sweat on the leather. “You won’t regret it, Wolfwood. I promise I’ll make it worth it.”
Wolfwood scoffed. A petty ‘tch’. Before Vash could back away, the tip of a boot prodded his lap– specifically nudging against the bulge at his crotch. A blind investigation that made Wolfwood quirk a brow without even having to examine Vash’s lower half. “Damn, spikey. Yer goin’ crazy down there. All over these? Really?”
“Yeah, really,” Vash replied. He perked his hips against Wolfwood’s sole, spread his legs a little wider to accommodate the touch, then leaned further into the coarse fabric of Wolfwood’s slacks. Or more specifically, closer to Wolfwood’s crotch. He didn’t want this to expressly be for his own enjoyment. Not entirely, at least. If he wanted a one-sided lay, there were plenty of opportunities for such things. And he’d lost interest in those sorts of encounters a long, long time ago.
“I mean it,” Vash said, yearning to press his face right against Wolfwood’s crotch. But that entailed moving beyond the range of the boot that so teasingly rubbed against his groin. To the point where his cunt throbbed around the protruding member. “You look real cute in them.” He felt up the length of Wolfwood’s thigh, a firm upward drag of prosthetic hand cupped around as much of that muscular leg as he could manage. Inching closer and closer to his pelvis, where he found the base of Wolfwood’s cock beneath the fabric, then followed it to the tip. “Dunno what it is about them, but… I just really like the look on you.”
“Ya like the look of leather? Never woulda guessed.”
“We-ll, it’s not just that.” Vash rolled his palm across the soft outline only to falter in his mission, hand going still in favor of grinding against the tip of Wolfwood’s shoe. It felt so good– but it would feel even better if he took his pants off–
He reached down to do just that. Wolfwood pressed hard on his cock, beyond stimulation into ow! territory. “Finish yer thought, spikey,” Wolfwood said, warningly, to which Vash did indeed freeze. Only for his gaze to wander from those fierce, commanding eyes, cut jaw, the barest hint of stubble, the beautiful curve of his prominent nose–
(He liked to take his time when wandering.)
–to the hands at rest on either side of Wolfwood’s body, mitts braced against the bed so he could better lean the weight of his shoe against Vash. Then Vash’s expression shifted from pathetic little thing on the cusp of doing precisely what Wolfwood asked of him to an impish smile. He scooted back, and while the absence of pressure against his crotch only highlighted how hard his member strained against his pants in desperation to be let loose, it was worth it to see the confused furrow of Wolfwood’s brow. Then the offense that dawned on him when Vash said: “What are you gonna do about it if I don’t? You can’t do anything without my help while you’re wearing those, Wolfwood. You neeeeeeed me.”
Slowly, making a show of it, Vash made for his belt to unclasp it. Unfortunately Wolfwood seemed less preoccupied with that even if he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and more interested in examining his mitted hands, visibly debating just how badly he wanted those three days of free meals. He spared Vash a single glance, radiating displeasure, then exhaled sharply through his nostrils.
“Sure, spikey,” he said at last, and while Vash had unclasped his belt, he didn’t free the monstrosity in his pants. There was no satisfaction in doing that while Wolfwood wouldn’t even watch. “I’ll play yer stupid game. Get me a smoke, since I’m so damn helpless.”
Suddenly teasing him was the farthest thing from Vash’s mind. He practically leapt for Wolfwood’s discarded jacket to reach inside the pocket for the carton of cigarettes– and Wolfwood’s lighter. Worth it to see the way Wolfwood’s face curled into a look of smug satisfaction for the first time since the unveiling of his surprise. Vash tucked the cigarette in the corner of Wolfwood’s lips, the place it oftentimes perched, and diligently lit the end.
He inched back, their stares held in a deadlock as Wolfwood took a long drag, an exhale of cloudy smoke blown out around the cigarette. Then with a roll of his eyes, Wolfwood leaned back, baring his lap in silent invitation that Vash eagerly accepted. He straddled Wolfwood’s legs and took the opportunity to drag a longing hand across the thrashing member in his pants. Gaze wandered up the length of Wolfwood’s chest, straying only momentarily to the mitted hands at his sides– but a wayward glance was all it took to invoke Wolfwood’s ire once more.
“Don’t know why ya got it in yer head that I’m at yer mercy,” he said, promptly moving to rub the mitt against Vash’s groin. Which, admittedly, Vash did not fight in the slightest. Rather he tilted his hips readily and threw his arms around Wolfwood’s shoulders, fighting the smile that he knew would set Wolfwood off even more. Especially when he caught the twitch of Wolfwood’s brow, clear frustration in the barrier between his hand and the alien appendage that yearned for freedom.
He’d give Wolfwood credit for one thing– if Vash didn’t already know how to read him like a book, the effort to conceal that sore lack of satisfaction might’ve been enough. Leather pad pressed firm against Vash’s crotch, he dragged his hand up and down, the pressure sufficient to make Vash throb. A tease that left him humping the mitt even when Wolfwood stopped to breathe a haughty little laugh. “Ya like that, huh? Ya know ya coulda just stuffed the sleeve of yer coat and had the exact same experience for free.”
“It’s not the same,” Vash whined against Wolfwood’s neck.
“Damn right it ain’t. One makes a hell of a lot more sense. This makes ya look real desperate, spikey…” Wolfwood leaned in to breathe in his ear, the heat of the cigarette against his lip so close to Vash’s skin that any closer would burn. A twitch and nothing more. Then he braced himself better, pressed harder against Vash’s cock, and the flutter in his gut prodded so hard at his insides that he couldn’t help the frenzied way he reached between them to free his raging erection.
(Not a real cock. Not a real erection. Pedantry, pedantry, he didn’t care– shit, he just wanted something touching him then and there–)
Wolfwood swatted his hand aside. “Watch it,” he warned, tone stern, but what power did he have to stop it? Vash’s lips twisted into a smile, pained in equal measure, and snared Wolfwood’s wrist where leather met skin.
“You can’t stop me,” Vash said, his grip loose at first, only to snap tighter when Wolfwood sat up to try and push him off. “You said it yourself, Wolfwood, you’re helpless–” a tease that seemed impotent when he had to jerk his body to one side to block Wolfwood’s other hand from getting between them.
“What happened to bein’ well-behaved, jackass?” Wolfwood hissed. He’d give the priest credit for one thing– he still couldn’t get his not-cock free, both hands wholly preoccupied with now preventing Wolfwood from kicking him off his lap entirely.
“When did I say I was gonna behave?” Now it was the principle of the thing. Vash shoved hard against Wolfwood and pushed him properly onto his back. He thrashed, but Vash caught his other hand– pain in the ass that Wolfwood was, he still had the disadvantage of no fingers. He glanced Wolfwood’s face; the hard scowl and bared teeth were to be expected. But a pissed-off Wolfwood wasn’t the same as that flash of malice from before. A green light to push back against his arms to pin his wrists against the bed by his head.
“What’s the plan now? Ain’t got no hands to pull yer pants down,” Wolfwood taunted, exhaling a plume of smoke as he settled. “Still at square one.” He rolled his wrists even while they hung in stalemate, pushing against Vash’s grip to try and find leverage to slip out of the mitts. Vash swallowed thick; an earnest effort to free himself, and he couldn’t. If Vash turned his back and let him use his teeth, sure, he’d find a way. But every twitch of his hands was a telltale sign that as it stood, he couldn’t get out of them.
All of that to say he didn’t really have a plan. Unfortunate when his groin continued to throb with a venomous heat. Vash whined, dragged his crotch against Wolfwood’s, and no sooner did he make contact with the budding hard bulge beneath him did Vash bite his lip at the mild gush in his pants. An unpleasant wet that leaked out between the thrashing member for him to sit in. “You’re being really mean, Wolfwood,” he murmured, voice thin, “You should just let me take my pants off.”
Wolfwood’s steely gaze nearly bulged out of his head with incredulousness as he jerked his mitted hands up in defeat beneath Vash’s grip. “Cry me a damn river! Quit manhandlin’ me if ya wanna get naked so badly!”
It didn’t deter the budding pout on Vash’s lips. He rocked against Wolfwood’s growing erection, his only solace in this cruel, unfair world being the building flush across Wolfwood’s beautiful cheekbones. “You have no idea how bad I’m dripping right now… you’ll never be able to know if you don’t let me take them off…”
“Gimme a break. I can smell yer needy stench through yer pants already. Told ya this already.”
“No you can’t,” Vash retorted. He didn’t produce that much of a stink.
“Can too. Always can when ya get all pathetic like this.”
“You’re full of it!” He stopped grinding; it was almost worth letting go to yank off his pants and smell the crotch himself. Almost. He held firm, though Wolfwood jolted slightly to take advantage of that second of weakness.
“Ya know what? I am. C’mere, closer, and I’ll tell ya a secret.”
Wolfwood never relented so suddenly. What a blatant trap of an invitation. One Vash eagerly accepted as he furrowed his brow and ducked in. Not close enough; so he drew closer with every slight tilt of Wolfwood’s chin in gesture until he hovered just over Wolfwood’s face, the stench of smoke so potent that he nearly coughed when Wolfwood blew another drag out through his lips.
“What?” Vash asked, the pulse of his groin in the background of his mind as he tried to fathom what game Wolfwood was playing at.
He promptly leaned into Vash, prodding the lit end of the cigarette into his collarbone, extinguishing it at the cost of a momentary sting. Vash yelped, but Wolfwood spat out the butt and made to bite him on the nose. Quick as a whip, that one, but Vash moved quicker, if only narrowly– he sat upright, pointed teeth snapping on air so hard that they clicked.
“The secret’s that I could smell ya all afternoon, ya moron! Yer thing reeks when ya get worked up! Yesterday, too!”
“No way!” In his heart Vash knew it was a mere taunt; yet his tone read so serious that Vash couldn’t help but lift off Wolfwood and take a few steps back from the bed to start wrangling his pants off. So preoccupied with this sudden mission, Vash saw Wolfwood stand from the corner of his eye— but already his pants were halfway down his knees. The perfect opportunity for Wolfwood to take him in a headlock.
“Wolfwood— HHNCK—” Hands flew up to scrabble at the powerful forearm wrapped around the front of his throat. Not actually tight enough to deprive him of air; the choked wheeze emerged in that instant of startle. “What—the—heck—!”
“Call me helpless again,” Wolfwood barked in his ear. Vash arched against him, then twisted in failed attempt to grab at Wolfwood’s hair. “I dare ya, spikey!”
He’d be a dirty rotten liar to say that his body didn’t radiate delight when Wolfwood got rough. A single downward glance as he struggled to push back against his captor proved it. Every feathered pube that usually sheathed his cunt twitched and jittered, thrown wide open like a wreath around his writhing member. Translucent fluid dripped in a long strand down his inner thigh, gushing again when his brow hardened and he threw his weight back in earnest to push Wolfwood— and himself— back-first upon the bed.
There were ample opportunities to let himself go, to ride the waves of Wolfwood’s strength. This was a rare opportunity. One with a hefty price tag. So if Wolfwood wanted to wage war, then…
Abandoning his grip on that debilitating forearm, Vash snagged Wolfwood’s ankle and jabbed his elbow into his knee. Gentle coercion, all things considered. Gentle— but sharp pressure that probably would have broken a bone on a regular person. That was the scary thing about exerting any real degree of strength on Wolfwood, but…
No time to dwell on that. Wolfwood gasped a swear and loosened his vice grip for all of an instant that Vash needed to jerk himself free. Not that it secured him victory. Not yet. Hands made for him, but he pulled back to turn. A proper face-to-face wrassle to his advantage. Wolfwood possessed strength in measure, sure, but when Vash used his power in earnest?
He didn’t stand a chance. A noble struggle, another snap of his jaws in the air, and a venomous snarl of outrage as Vash forced him onto his stomach to straddle him from behind. With panting breath he pinned one arm behind Wolfwood’s back; limb trembled with exertion, but Vash held fast.
“I think you need to settle down,” Vash said, a breathy laugh given as Wolfwood’s free hand twisted awkwardly to try and swat at Vash’s hip. The only part he could even reach. Wolfwood jerked his lower half, a bucking thomas, but Vash had all the core strength he needed to brace himself atop his writhing steed.
“Yer gonna get yer comeuppance for this one, yannow,” Wolfwood snapped. He twisted his head to lay his cheek on the sheets, eyes hidden by the mess of bangs that Vash almost wanted to brush out of his face for him. But if Wolfwood really wanted help, he’d just have to ask. Not that it was likely. Instead he tried to blow them back with his breath, then tossed his head awkwardly. Neither strategy worked.
“Yeah? What’ll that look like?” Vash asked. No doubt Wolfwood took it as a taunt, even with the enthusiasm latent in his tone. He meant it— genuinely— and his gut fluttered eagerly with anticipation as he used his free hand to slowly jerk Wolfwood’s pants down to expose his ass. One tedious inch at a time.
“Like I’m givin’ ya the satisfaction of knowin’ in advance, shithead.” For all his grumbling, he settled, abandoning his efforts at punching Vash to swipe at his bangs— another failure— before he growled in frustration and opted to use the mitt as a pillow for his brow. “Let me tell ya, if ya ever pull a stunt like this again without tellin’ me, I’m puttin’ my fist up yer ass.”
Vash bit his lip.
“That’s a threat, spikey! Act like it!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, his holy grail in sight. Vash glanced to the nightstand, to the small bottle of lube, then back down to Wolfwood’s crack. No chance, after all the effort expended in getting his stubborn ass down in the first place. So Vash stole away to his feathered groin and nestled his fingers into the slit above his alien appendage. Warm and wet. Soaked, in fact. He only needed to slip in for a second to coat his index and middle fingers in slick. “Speakin’ of things up the ass…”
Rubbing along the inside of his slit felt good, yes, but the thought of what was to come gave him the self-restraint to pull out and gently tease those fingers between Wolfwood’s cheeks instead. He grumbled again, an indignant hiss.
With practiced precision he found the hole and stroked against the rim as he leaned in to half fold himself over Wolfwood’s back. Though he had to keep pinning that arm if he wanted the man under him to behave, he yearned for closeness, the heat that radiated from his beautiful brown skin. “Say please, Wolfwood,” Vash cooed, hopefully, as he teasingly traced Wolfwood’s entrance.
Hopes promptly dashed to pieces before he had even finished speaking. “Go fuck yerself.”
“I’ll make you feel soooo good, if you just say please.” Try, try again, they said. Vash batted his eyelashes and pressed gently against Wolfwood’s hole, almost making the breach, only to continue that gentle rub.
“Who are ya tryin’ to kid? Yer gonna do it anyway. Ain’t gonna get a single please outta me when it ain’t even me who’s desperate to go fishin’ up there.”
Just because it was true didn’t mean he had to say it. Vash puffed his cheeks out and pulled at Wolfwood’s pinned arm to make a point. Which Wolfwood responded in turn with an attempted kick, stymied by a quick readjustment of Vash’s legs to better pin him down. “Fine,” Vash said with no shortage of dramatic fervor. Hand retreated if only so Vash could run it across the curves of Wolfwood’s upper back, tracing tenderly around well-defined muscle. He followed along his shoulder, then dragged down to caress Wolfwood’s hip and fully fold himself over. Pinned between them, his member twitched and throbbed against the small of Wolfwood’s back while Vash’s lips hovered close to his nape. “Have it your way, buzzkill. Guess I’ll just…”
He trailed off as he pressed his lips down and kissed, relishing in the mild taste of salt and Wolfwood’s well-travelled scent. Much more palatable when his face wasn’t being shoved into his armpit. Vash breathed deep, adjusted ever so slightly, then kissed him again. A trail of smooches, each deeper than the last, inching closer to the crook of his neck. “...take in the sights by myself,” Vash said, almost as an afterthought. Every shift in Wolfwood’s breath came as a victory, and when Vash caught that tiny, mild moan of frustration in the back of his throat, he suckled against Wolfwood’s skin in the hopes of getting him to vocalize.
No moan, but Wolfwood did exhale sharply through his nostrils. Vash stroked gently along Wolfwood’s hip, his kisses deep and ravenous, every press of his lips made with the intention of leaving a bruised mark behind.
“Hey,” Wolfwood murmured, jerking his head away, “Don’t get carried away.”
“Hard not to,” Vash replied, intentionally gunning higher on his neck. “You smell so good.”
“It’s called sweat,” Wolfwood retorted, and Vash knew he intended on elaborating, but his voice trailed off, insult cut short. Between them Vash’s member writhed, desperate to burrow between Wolfwood’s cheeks. He abandoned the hip just long enough to stubbornly pull the appendage back out and force it flat along Wolfwood’s back again. Though maybe his eagerness wasn’t a bad thing. Vash hummed against Wolfwood’s neck and began to rock gently against him, a rhythmic hump, the wet glide of skin-on-skin audible with his every mild thrust.
“Don’tcha want in, spikey?” Wolfwood murmured.
Vash’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. Hook, line and sinker. “Nah,” he replied, every other word spoken between a hungry kiss, “I’m fine just like this. Feels good…”
A hole would feel better. But a little white lie never hurt to help things along. Wolfwood shifted beneath him. Vash rubbed himself in careful measure. The hot throb hat accompanied every lick of pressure against his cock, let alone the occasional brush of skin against his cunt— it filled him with liquid heat, curdling in the base of his gut. Rancorous, screaming for more. If he rubbed faster, or even kept at it like this, he had no doubt he would come. Something about the sight of Wolfwood’s screwed expression and slightly parted lips did something to him he couldn’t explain.
But that wasn’t the point. That was the opposite of his point. So Vash kept steady. Slow, purposeful, teasing. Focused instead on the deliverance of wet, sloppy kisses at Wolfwood’s shoulder, he watched and waited as Wolfwood swallowed thick. Parted lips snapped shut only to fall open again, and his upper lip curled back with reluctance.
Waiting for it was almost like waiting for orgasm in of itself. With bated breath and great anticipation, Vash’s chest swelled as lips fluttered, only for Wolfwood to jerk his head away and make an incomprehensible noise into the sheets alongside an aggravated growl.
“What was that?” Vash said, voice husky. “Wolfwood, I think I’m close…”
He lifted his face just out of the sheets. “Said please,” he snapped, “Fer yer sake more than mine.”
If he had more patience, a more polite please would have been in order. Fortunately for Wolfwood, Vash jolted up without a lick of hesitation. This time he didn’t even need to stick his fingers inside; he gathered up some of the slick drooled across Wolfwood’s lower back and broke several long strings that attached the tip of his flailing member to Wolfwood’s skin. As much fluid as he could humanly fit across his fingers as he returned to a hole that puckered eagerly at a mere brush.
“Gotta relax,” Vash reminded him as he started to dip his fingers inside the ring of muscle, gentle and slow in the way he worked. Wolfwood growled, a chuff of displeasure, but he rolled his shoulders and readjusted his arm to use as a pillow. “That’s it,” Vash murmured. “Gonna make you feel real good…”
It would be easier if not for the position he had to maintain atop Wolfwood, still sternly pressing his wrist down against his back. But he knew the instant he let his guard down, Wolfwood would gladly try and turn the tables. And he knew with equal certainty that he wouldn’t have the willpower to deny him that victory a second time.
So he made do. Fingers inched deeper inside. He stroked the rim of Wolfwood’s ass with gentle thumb while the man under him caught his breath. He grunted— the only cue Vash needed to keep going. Hungry eyes watched the back of Wolfwood’s head. How dire, the desire to stroke his hair or run his fingers along the curves of Wolfwood’s shoulders while he worked. If only he had a third arm.
Something itched beneath the surface of his skin. Vash froze. He so easily could do as he desired. He could even see it– the feathered extension that wanted to sprout from his forearm to wrap around Wolfwood’s wrist. He saw it with such clarity, in fact, that blue eyes blinked several times just to make certain he hadn’t.
Wolfwood grunted. Vash stared hard at his arm. Scarred flesh. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not so much as a pin feather to be seen. How could he fathom using that power for such a banal reason? What was wrong with him? He’d gotten complacent, too comfortable in his emotions–
The jerk of Wolfwood’s head to the side stirred him from his thoughts. “Can’t tell if yer tryin’ to get on my nerves or if ya just fell asleep at the wheel. Ain’t like it would be the first time.”
“Angelina is different,” Vash retorted with a pout, voice none the different for his thoughts. He inched deeper; for now, he just needed to focus on the tight warmth around his fingers. “I was just thinking.”
“Think about the fingers ya got stuck up my asshole, then.”
“Don’t be so grumpy,” Vash replied, furrowing his brow as he jolted his fingers in the rest of the way. Not so violent as to truly hurt, but sufficient to make Wolfwood tense and choke on his breath. No time to fathom the power that lay dormant beneath his skin when he had a prostate to find. He traced along Wolfwood’s anus until he found it. But he had to make certain. So Vash pressed down; beneath him, Wolfwood’s abdomen tensed.
“Swear ya got some built-in radar for these things,” Wolfwood said. Vash merely hummed in response, and curled his finger. Soft and rhythmically, he strayed only to test minute adjustments. A good way to take his mind off things, with how carefully he needed to focus on Wolfwood’s every motion. Every shift, every breath, every tilt and turn of his head. Things started slow– they always did.
But then his breath dipped deeper. Shoulders sank with relaxation; the exact instant Vash could mark Wolfwood beginning to slip from active thought and into the feeling of those fingers stroking his insides. He laid his cheek against his bicep. Vash’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of slightly pinched brows beneath his bangs, eyes shut in focus.
“Worth the please?” Vash asked, nearly daring to let go of Wolfwood’s wrist. He thought better of it, though, and continued to work the pad of his finger in firm, tight circles against that sweet gland. Being on top of him served Vash well. His cushion of muscle tensed when he passed certain spots– a radar he could feel in live time beneath him. A semi-satisfactory replacement for the profound lack of auditory response. Wolfwood panted into the sheets but said nothing.
So he pressed harder, and rubbed a little faster. And finally he won a mild gasp for his efforts. One small sound, and Wolfwood saw fit to deprive Vash the sight of his face. He pressed his brow to his forearm and tried in vain to clutch at his head, mitted hand merely brushing uselessly against his temple.
You don’t need to hide, you know. I think it’s cute. He couldn’t say it out loud, of course, but Vash thought it. If anything, he wished so very dearly that Wolfwood would grace him with more sound. But theirs wasn’t that sort of relationship. And really, what right did he have to that vulnerability when he knew what awaited them at the end of the line…?
No, this was more than enough. Wolfwood gave what he wanted to give, no more and no less. A blessing for which Vash knew to be grateful. Vash smiled softly to himself as he continued to rub, intent on coaxing whatever he could from that pleasurable little spot inside of him. His wrist hurt a little, but he dared not stop– not when heavy breath finally graduated to a tiny groan, when Wolfwood’s hips shuddered mildly against the sheets.
There proved another downside to having him pinned like this; cruel deprivation of the sight of Wolfwood’s cock. On his back, Vash had the pleasure of seeing him twitch and leak. That beautiful show of his fine muscles tensing, a trail of fine hair to frame his weeping member. Double teaming his hole and his cock at the same time– that was where the real fun began. But just getting the chance to do this at all? A fine consolation prize. If the hammer of his heart and the soft throb of his appendage were considered consolatory in the first place.
“No chance you’re gonna roll over and do as I say if I ask?” Vash murmured, unceasing in his sweet rubbing.
“Not a chance in hell,” Wolfwood replied, distracted and near breathless. “Jus’ keep goin’– haah–”
“That’s the good stuff, isn’t it?” At least the pride of being able to pry such a sound from Wolfwood’s lips choked out what little lingering uncertainty floated in the back of his mind. Vash smiled, and when Wolfwood twitched, he honed in on that spot, stroking in tight circles until a low hum broke into another groan.
Slowly he began that winding build to the crescendo. Pressed wholly against Wolfwood’s back, Vash rode the shudders of his body with him. So lost in the song of his muffled moans and the squeeze of his anal muscles around Vash’s fingers, he paid no heed to the words spoken to him until the arm pinned between their bodies thrashed slightly and he jolted his head up from its warm, sweaty cushion.
“I said stickit in,” Wolfwood groaned out, head twisted to one side, eyes still screwed shut with pleasure.
“Huh?”
The soft expression buckled instantly to pinched brows and a scowl. “Yer droolin’ all over my fuckin’ back, spikey– stick it in, for shit’s sake… stick it in!”
Vash pulled back just enough to peek beneath him. And true to Wolfwood’s claims, his member rutted along the small of Wolfwood’s back, wet and writhing, so drenched that both his stomach and Wolfwood’s back glistened with slick.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Vash said, almost making the dire mistake of releasing Wolfwood’s forearm. With awkward manouvers he pulled out his fingers and repositioned, spreading legs to better access that hole. At least Wolfwood worked with him in that regard, even sliding his knees forward to better expose himself. Vash breathed a laugh. “Somebody’s eager.”
Wolfwood huffed, but said nothing. With his free hand, Vash pulled at his cheek, but even that proved unnecessary. The appendage knew what it wanted, hungered for that warm, wet burrow. With a wet schlick Vash’s member pressed up against Wolfwood’s hole. Even if it didn’t feel heavenly to be enveloped by the tight heat, the feathers of his sheath unentangled themselves, spreading wider to wrap around Wolfwood’s thighs and pull them closer together.
Even now, with all this experience under their belt, Wolfwood still sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “S’alright,” Vash reassured him, “You’re so tight, Wolfwood…”
“Yer fault,” Wolfwood muttered back, “Didn’t stretch me ‘nuff.”
“Wasn’t a complaint. Not too much?”
“Little too late even if it was,” Wolfwood choked on a groan that almost teetered on pained. If only he had a little more control over his member. It sunk deep inside, almost malleable, and writhed gently. Vash bit his lip. He pulled back as far as the feathers would permit him– not all that far– and gave a mild, testy thrust, to which Wolfwood whispered: “I know what I asked for, spikey. None of that shit.”
“You feel really, really good, Wolfwood,” Vash said, craning his chin upward, squeezing his eyes shut. Fingers flinched against his wrist and his waist. “I… I’m… you’re sure?”
Wolfwood clenched tight around him. So much so that Vash yelped as he stirred to life. “Point taken–!” He said, hurriedly, but even if he wanted to stop now… no, Vash began to thrust, and suddenly his thoughts no longer mattered, succumbing entirely to the addictive pleasure of the tight grip around his member.
The bed creaked with motion. First a squeak, of rusting bedsprings and uneven legs, graduating fast to a steady beat. Not a lick of space left unused inside of Wolfwood’s hole, the sheer pressure on his prostate had to be the reason why he couldn’t help his quiet grunts with every forward roll of Vash’s hips. That, and the instinct way Wolfwood squeezed around him every time.
“Shit,” Wolfwood gasped out. Overwhelmed, jaw agape. But clearly not overwhelmed enough if he still had a voice left to cuss with. Vash clapped harder against him, leaned the whole of his weight into his thrusts, and the subsequent groan that came out from under him…
Every man had their breaking point. This was his. Vash released Wolfwood’s arm to grip firm against both hips. If he wanted to take advantage of the free limb, so be it. But Vash watched him through the haze of pleasure as his arm slid from his back and returned to a more natural position by his head, no effort made to free himself from the mitt. They both had more important things to worry about.
Vash, the hole he plowed himself into, and Wolfwood, the raw stimulation of his prostate that left his limbs shuddering with every plow.
“You feel so good,” Vash whispered, “Wolfwood, you— you feel so— damn— yeah—! Yeah, when you— haaah—!”
He always clenched to the sound of Vash’s voice. Whether he intended to or not, Vash couldn’t be certain. But either way, it struck him like lightning, harsh and sudden but oh so delightful.
He really wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Touch yourself,” Vash gasped between his groans. Drooling strands of slick clung to his pelvis. For every one that broke off and collapsed into the sheets or against Vash’s thighs, another formed when their bodies pressed together. Wolfwood didn’t reply, and Vash watched through the haze for several long seconds before it struck him that Wolfwood made no effort to move beyond the sharp jostle of his body, his upper half limp in the sheets.
He slowed his pace. It ached even to do that much; the sting of denial shot all the way up into his shoulders. Vash broke his vice grip to tap Wolfwood on the thigh. “You… y’hear me? Touch yourself.”
Wolfwood moaned in protest.
“I know,” Vash continued; as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stop. Not entirely. Not without the feathers that bound them together flinching tighter in protest, or without his gut roiling in revolt when the pleasure filled his gut like a rich meal. “You don’t wanna. But I… I wanna see it. You… can do that for me, right, Wolfwood?”
With another petulant groan into the sheets Wolfwood threw his arm back and wiggled his mitted hand. Vash breathed out a laugh, slowing to a near standstill just long enough to take his wrist and guide it beneath him. Wolfwood’s groaning graduated to a growl. “I think it’s hot,” Vash whispered. “You tryina touch yourself ‘cause you feel so good. ‘Cause I’m making you feel that good.”
“Not that desperate,” Wolfwood managed as Vash started to quicken his thrusts again, only to shove his face back into the sheets and moan.
“Pretend?” Shit. He really couldn’t hold himself back for much longer. The pressure in his cock almost ached, swollen with an urgent need to release. His face and ears burned red hot, and the clamminess of his hands made finding purchase against Wolfwood’s hips difficult. “I’ll really give ya the business. Just… just– yes, thank you Wolfwood, thank you–”
The mere sight of Wolfwood’s arm jerking awkwardly beneath him… Vash cried out, an urgent sound that bubbled up from the back of his throat, and without further hesitation, he started back up. A measured but quick pace that grew frenzied. He hunched forward, then tossed his head back, unable to decide which way his body wanted to curve and contort to try and accommodate the swell of pleasure. And all the while, he drove Wolfwood’s body into the bed through the raw force of his thrusts.
Wolfwood clenched suddenly, and shit, he saw stars. Vash cried out again. He knew the cues of Wolfwood’s body, the way his entire being froze up and his hand stilled at his crotch. Wolfwood writhed, and finally his moan sharpened to a razor’s edge before it broke entirely and he muffled his orgasmic scream into the sheets. With trembling hand Vash folded over him to fumble blindly for his cock; brushing past his mitted hand, he took Wolfwood’s shaft and moaned again at the way it jumped and spilled in a gush down his fingers.
He’d barely touched himself. Vash stroked at Wolfwood’s cock in his stead, and when he clenched again around Vash’s member the warmth inside of him peaked in his thighs. His cunt and member throbbed in tandem. He spilled, thick and viscous fluid marked by the immediate bitter stench that wafted from their entwined lower halves. So forceful that it made him lightheaded. Still– he owed this to Wolfwood. So he steadied himself and continued to rock against him, feverish and intense, so much so that when the pleasure spiked sharply into unbearable, an overwhelming sensation of everything all at once, Vash collapsed against his back and thrust several more times before the feathers went limp around Wolfwood’s thighs.
Shivering legs gave out, and Wolfwood collapsed beneath him. They laid idle in their sweaty heap, one atop the other, both panting for breath, until Vash finally found it in himself to flop over at Wolfwood’s side. His member slid out, appeased and sensitive, all too eager to retract back inside of its warm, wet sheath.
He watched the rise and fall of Wolfwood’s broad shoulders, the way the sheen of sweat shone in the dim, dusky light of the room. How tempting the desire to run his hand across it, to give a tender rub in the wake of a most debaucherous one. His fingers twitched, but Vash kept them pillowed by his face.
Better to wait for Wolfwood to come to on his own terms.
“Any good?” Vash murmured when their breathing began to settle. Even then, all he received in turn was a single, spent grunt. A sound of approval based on historical precedent, at least.
He’d stayed the desire to touch Wolfwood’s back, but another temptation arose. A want to run his fingers through his hair, to caress the back of his head and massage his scalp, to feel the sweat and grease against his fingertips. One he almost caved to, in fact, when Wolfwood blindly shoved his closest mitted hand into Vash’s face instead.
“A little bit longer?” Vash asked with the quietest inkling of hope.
“Four days,” Wolfwood grumbled into the sheets, to which Vash promptly laughed and moved to unhook the strap. Getting him to wear them this long was sufficient achievement, Vash supposed.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he murmured as he helped Wolfwood slide his fist out of its leather snare. With loving smile he watched Wolfwood stretch out his fingers, only to have sweaty palm wiped unceremoniously on his cheek with nary a spare glance on Wolfwood’s part. “Hey—!”
Like having a soaking wet cloth dragged across his face. Vash wrinkled his nose, but made no effort to move. At least Wolfwood saw fit to wipe the rest off on the bedsheets.
Then came the second hand. Wolfwood merely threw it awkwardly across his back, no effort made to get it any closer to Vash than that. A blessing in disguise, really— it gave Vash an excuse to inch closer, rest his head upon Wolfwood’s shoulder, and unclasp the second mitt from there. A precious few seconds before Wolfwood shrugged him off and grabbed the closest pillow to wedge under his head.
“Not gonna clean out?” Vash asked, wishing so very dearly to at least catch a glimpse of Wolfwood’s face. “Kind of a mess down there…”
Wolfwood grumbled. A sound Vash only barely registered as a half-slurred, it’s inside of me, I know.
Mitt still in hand, Vash brought it close. Nose dipped closer, relishing in the scent of fresh leather— though with every passing second he strayed further towards the opening, leather mingling with the smell of sweat. Wolfwood’s smell. He watched the back of Wolfwood’s head carefully, ensuring he paid no attention as Vash ran his finger around the inner rim of the mitt.
Some part of him wanted so direly to lick his finger. Instead Vash brushed index and thumb together, then wiped them off on his pantleg before he tossed the mitt alongside the other.
It wouldn’t be fair to him. It wouldn’t be right to reach over and tenderly feel up Wolfwood’s body like they were anything more than travelling partners— and occasional playmates. Pinky hooked in the corner of his lip, Vash stared vacantly at Wolfwood’s shoulders as opposite hand wandered down the length of his torso until he hit the limp feathers that had already begun to retract into his flesh.
It wouldn’t be fair. Not when the both of them knew where this road led. Vash’s throat went tight. Then he pressed his lips together and sat up. “Right, I’m gonna wash up. Okay?”
Wolfwood grunted again. Already half-asleep, by the sound of it. A smile crept onto Vash’s lips, sad and small, but he said nothing more as he rose— and promptly waddled to the washroom, trying his damndest to prevent any more of the slick from dripping into the crotch of his pants. A piss, a wipedown, one peeling off of his pants later, and Vash found himself lingering in the doorway of the bathroom, watching the man who hadn’t moved an inch since.
He needed to sponge himself off. That, and scarf down some water. But somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to tend to that just yet. At least his cunt had closed over, feathers settled protectively once again across his opening, already in the process of fusing back into flesh. A silent ghost, Vash grabbed the carton of cigarettes along with Wolfwood’s lighter, and moved them both to the nightstand on Wolfwood’s side of the bed.
He’d be thirsty when he woke up, too. That, and crusty. A glass of water and a towel would be appreciated, right? Vash shifted nervously. Wolfwood laid at peace, already snoring softly into the pillow.
He felt at ease enough to pass out without a further word. And if Vash wanted one singular thing between now and the end of the line— it was to make sure it stayed that way. He dared not change anything. So Vash inhaled, long and soft, then pivoted on his heel to go clean himself.
His pants, too.
No one could say for certain how many more tomorrows they had together, before he caught Knives’ trail once more. But maybe, maybe, if Vash was lucky, they could share another evening like this before the end.
Maybe he’d even get Wolfwood to wear the mitts again. Vash dragged his heels that he might relish in every snore— then closed the bathroom door behind him, turning the handle inward before it shut as to keep the room as quiet as possible.
Even one more time would be a blessing. Even one more tomorrow was all he could ever ask for.
Anything more? That would be selfish.