welcome home. ₍ ₁₈₊ ₎

At least, for a little while. The longer the feeling persists, Vash finally sends a questioning glance over his shoulder from where he'd been watering one of the hanging plants in the kitchen. He's made a point of understanding Wolfwood's various faces, of being able to read him and all the meanings that come with each time of stare, and though he's been leveled with much more direct irritation many time before the extent of the one he's the current subject of has his movements slowing, uncertain.

Did he... doe something wrong? Forget something? No-- Wolfwood would have been direct with him if it was something that simple, neither of them shy to that sort of thing. So...?

Finally, after a few more minutes without any sort of answer presenting itself, Vash huffs and pouts and shuffles over.

"If this is about your anniversary gift,"

"then I'm bot budgin' on not tellin' you--?!"

Vash yelps as he's yanked forward, only to be muffled as his face plants itself in the couch cushion at the junction of his husband's neck and shoulder. It takes a moment for him to finally shift so he doesn't have a mouthful of fabric, pout still firmly on his face, even with the fingers in the hair at the back of his head. HIs feet dangle up in the air, knees bent akimbo.

"Why you gotta think I always have some ulterior motive?" Wolfwood grouses. The hand in Vash's hair settles on the nape of his neck to pull him in, planting a kiss to his lips that lingers for a few moments before he lets him go. "Maybe I just wanna look at ya. Or hold ya."

Both hands land on Vash's criminally tiny waist. He gives it a squeeze, fingers kneading into tight muscle and scar tissue through the fabric of his shirt. Wolfwood can feel the bumps and ridges of metal in his flesh, but it blurs together with everything else. They hardly register anymore.

"Not gonna give me a hello? Just gonna complain? Heartless, aren't ya?"

"You can pet her," he replies.

Sometimes the little thing just needed some supervised outside time so she'd stop trying to climb in the cupboards...

Wolfwood adjusts his hold on the leash.

The small bar is only half full this late into the Friday night. As disgusting as the lingering scent of cigarettes is, Knives much prefers places like this to the more lively clubs in the downtown Fibonacci area. The customers were older and quieter, most of them regulars, the music was more pleasant, the drinks were cheaper- he couldn't complain.

He takes his drink once it's slid across the dusty bar counter, turning around to find a calm place to sit down- Only to bump directly into a stranger, the impact making him spill nearly the entire glass of whiskey onto their clothes, and a few drops onto his own. Knives is far more irritated about his drink than the possible reaction, yet still bothers to look at the man, and he is immediately met with unexpected flash of familiarity.

Even with only a mere inch of height to his advantage, Knives manages to peer down at him, gaze narrowed. He had watched those same eyes staring back at him over the quivering barrel of a gun, filled with-

He can no longer recall the emotion. The insignificance of it has wiped it clean off his mind - a clear threat to his life made by this man had been a worthless one.

Wolfwood's finished off his second glass of bourbon and is taking it over to the bar when it happens. Some tall guy standing there suddenly turns and collides and... now there's booze on his shirt. Wolfwood blinks a few times, looking down at the dark stain, and then looking up to meet the other's eyes.

Once upon a time he might have been scared. He might have frozen, or maybe ran away. His skin might have crawled. He might have sweat. Right now all he feels is irritation.

Wait. He mentioned... and that's when the insurance agent sees the ring on his finger. A ring??? A wedding ring?!!!

When Wolfwood says "Vash," it fully clicks into place. They were married!!!

Meryl isn't sure what her face is saying before she speaks. "I would love to!" Meryl hopes that comes out even and not in a squeak. When had their wedding happened?! There were so many more questions on her list now...

Maybe eventually. A shame they never got to that point back home.

There are a lot of things he regrets. Not attempting to know the people closest to Vash better is one of them. Now he has a chance, right? Better not just throw it away.

Pick a Pokémon team for your muse.

Silvally: Its trust in its partner is what awakens it. This Pokémon is capable of changing its type, a flexibility that is well displayed in battle.

Drampa: It appears in towns and plays with the children. Drampa will protect kids when they're in danger, so their moms don't have to worry. / If a child it has made friends with is bullied, Drampa will find the bully's house and burn it to the ground. / It has a compassionate personality, but if it is angered, it completely destroys its surroundings with its intense breath.

Mabosstiff: Mabosstiff loves playing with children. Though usually gentle, it takes on an intimidating look when protecting its family.

Kangaskhan: They are known to raise other species of Pokémon alongside their own children, and records exist which describe a childless Kangaskhan raising a lost human child. Regardless of how badly injured it becomes, the mother will not cease fighting until its young is safe.

Pangoro: From the slight twitches of its bamboo leaf, it deduces its opponent's movements. It's eager to tussle but kindhearted toward its companions.

The hands in his hair don't pull or tug or guide as they so often do when the two of them find themselves this way, and though it's missed it also provides Vash the clarity those digits would otherwise steal as they let him be mindless. He hums as more little whines are drug out of his husband, his own pleasure almost drowned out by the obscene sounds of his mouth, muffled as they find themselves, stuffed full. He can feel the heat across his cheeks, radiating down his neck and chest and all the way through him, lips stretched and pink so quickly despite all the practice he's had.

Tell-tale signs quiver under the pads of Vash's fingers, both where one hand continues to hold Wolfwood in place as well as ones that sit lovingly once again against his thigh, its crease. The muscles jump and twitch, and Vash doubles his efforts, tongue laving against the head weeping against it, long stripes licked and leaving special attention down the vein on the underside of him, each one practiced in the art of carefully picking his husband apart.

Woe to let go of any stretch of warm, pliant skin as he is, Vash's relatively free hand is still dexterous as it slips away, as it pops the cap open on the lube. With how full it still is, it's even easy to maneuver it around enough with the one hand to coat two fingers in the stuff before the tube gets shoved away again for later. And if some gets on the sheets-- well, they'll probably have to be washed again shortly, anyway.

All the while, Vash's mouth has remained busy, determined to ring a first orgasm out of the man beneath him-- no one can ever say he can't multitask. Wet lashes flutter open to look up, to see just how pretty Wolfwood already is beneath him, pleasure written so clearly across his face, the heaving of his chest. The knowledge that Vash is the only one that gets to make him look that way still coils warm in his gut, still makes him throb with the heady knowledge of it.

Another little whimper tumbles out from him. The heat around his dick makes him feel a little like his brain is melting, while sweat beads on his forehead. His skin burns hot, his chest heaves, and the hand petting Vash's hair suddenly twists back into those dark locks to hold on tight. His husband's doing things with his tongue that are driving him crazy, and he knows he's not going to be able to hold out for much longer.

He's barely aware of Vash's hands busying themselves with the bottle of lubricant until he feels slick skin press up against him. They nudge gently against the ring of muscle, not often penetrated and always so sensitive as a result. Wolfwood thinks with some embarrassment that they must spend more time with prepping him than anything else when their positions are switched like this.

But the wet, warm sensation combined with that familiar mouth around him has Wolfwood coming with a full-body shudder. He can't help but hold Vash's head down, his fingers tight in his hair, so he can come right down his throat. The sound he makes is choked-off, a pitiful little whine that trails off into a sigh. His other hand comes up to cover his eyes as he breathes in sharply, his belly heaving with each inhale and hips jerking.

It takes him a few long moments to collect himself enough to pull Vash off of his dick with a wet pop. His softening dick falls sideways against his thigh, wet with saliva that still connects it to Vash's reddened lips in a thin string—that promptly snaps with another small tug at his hair.

Yearning Maximum

But even that isn't the strangest thing. If he had to pick one thing, it would have to be the flora. Plants and trees and flowers giving the world more color than endless browns. It's beautiful and full of life.

That's why, after settling in and coming to terms with the fact that this all might as well happen, the first thing Livio does is find his way to the nearest park. His intentions are to just wander around and observe, but…

The white haired man casts a few furtive glances around to see if anyone is around. When he's sure there isn't, he lets himself drop into the grass. It's firm, but soft and springy, too. After a moment, Livio pulls his gloves off and shoves them in his pockets so he can sprawl out and dig his fingers into the dirt. Just to be surprised at how moist it feels.

Forgetting himself entirely, he rolls onto his stomach to inspect it more closely. Alternating between shredding blades of grass and digging a little hole into the turf.

What he does not expect to see is someone... oddly familiar rummaging around in the dirt. In a whole suit, at that.

Wolfwood comes to a halt to look down at the man. He... has definitely seen him before. It's been a long time. A really long time. Close to three years now, right?

He starts moving toward the door, looking over his shoulder, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth and sneering, "You act like I don't fuckin' know yer story. If that's the case ya don't know mine. Callin' me a child after threatenin' me, after callin' me here to, what? Hear me bitch about him?"

"Fuckin' spare me," Wolfwood spits out, and now he's regretting saying sorry at all because what the fuck is he sorry for anyway? Checking in on a guy and having that guy take it in the worst way? "I didn't call ya here to hear you bitch or deride yer Vash. But sure, if ya want somethin' to be upset about, believe that if ya want."

He has half a mind to throw this damn spatula at the guy's head.

"Called you here because I wanted to make sure you were okay. Seems like yer just fine. That's fuckin' great. I'm real glad for you. Genuinely."

He doesn't know if he's angrier at the undertaker or at himself for somehow always saying the wrong fucking thing. No matter what he does, it's always wrong. It always makes it worse. His hands are shaking and his guts are turning.