welcome home. ₍ ₁₈₊ ₎

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.

"I haven't seen Millie yet," Meryl admits - a bit sheepish, "kind of been getting myself oriented with here, mainly."

She stuffs the paper into one of her pockets in her cloak. Wolfwood didn't need to see it. "I was looking for you and Vash. Someone that looks a lot like him - Vash - mentioned you both lived in this ward."

"Yeah, we do. I was actually headed back home for the day." Wolfwood turns sideways, pointing down the block. "I work thattaway. About a ten minute walk to n'from."

They weren't expecting guests, but yesterday was a cleaning day, so the house looks fine. Plus, she's an old... friend? Were they friends? He didn't know her very well, but he figures they could become friends. Regardless, she's welcome if she desires.

"Vash might not be home yet. He's workin' today, too, but it's in another ward n'he's gotta take the train back unless he asks me to come n'get him."

Meryl's smart, he figures she'll pick up on his usage of the other man's actual name rather than any of the many nicknames, both derogatory and not, he'd given him before.

"Aw," Vsah hums, another kiss just under Wolfwood's belly button to go along with it. "N' here I was just about to say how good you were bein', too." It's said with the same smug, amused little smile, fingers gently petting circles into the crease where Wolfwood's thighs meet his hips. "Callin' me names doesn't really sound like you deserve it, though." The fingers in Vashs hair and over his scalp do at least earn him a few brownie points, though.

He may be going slower than Wolfwood might want-- but it's all about indulgence, too, sometimes. They've been given the time for it, after all, and what better way to show just how much his husband means to him than doting upon as many inches of him as he's allowed? Hell, if Vash had it his way, he could happily spend lengths of time languidly making out with Wolfwood, just as willing and eager for it as he is to have his cock in his mouth. Which, alright, is right there, and as much as part of him would like to press his luck with this lesson on patience, it would be two birds with one stone-- both taking care of his husband as well as that nebulous 'whatever he wants'.

At least, sort of, at least at first. As chaste as it possible could be, a soft kiss gets pressed to the head of him, tongue poking out to catch beading pre-come before he trails further down. The kisses become lewd again, open mouthed mirrors of the ones that had been through the material of Wolfwood's sweats. His hand reaches up for the lube before he can get any further and forget where it is, yanking it down to be closer to him for easy access.

And then Vash's organic hand gives Wolfwood's cock one pump and then another, pulling his foreskin along with it, and he's finally wrapping his lips around him proper. Like everything else today he starts slow, tongue flicking against Wolfwood's slit before his head bobs gradually downward, each time just the bit more of him sinking into Vash's mouth.

Static tingles down Vash's back, pools down in his core as his jaw and lips stretch over the width of his husband, that same heady rush he gets no matter how many times he finds himself between his husband's legs. Vash's own quiet groan rattles up through his chest, through his throat, and the feeling of his husband's cock heavy and warm and thick against his tongue.

Even without the lube to provide a slick glide Vash is still able to easily pump his hand over his dick, and Wolfwood doesn't know why he suddenly feels so sensitive, like some blushing virgin that's never been touched there by anyone—even himself. Embarrassingly, he feels like he could come within moments just from the way his husband breathes along his cock. Is he that worked up? Were all those emotions from the day just leading up to this, making him feel so pent up, ready to burst at a moment's notice?

It takes all off his self-control not to buck up into those soft lips, into that hot mouth. Vash presses him down anyway so he can't, keeping him pinned easily with just one hand while he swallows his cock and nuzzles into the curls at the base.

He keeps petting Vash's hair, not pulling, feeling the soft strands in his fingers and thinking distantly that he must have washed his hair today. Wolfwood cracks his eyes open and stares up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling rapidly, lips parted and nostrils flaring.

A weak little whine bubbles up in his throat. Vash is doing things with his mouth that are sending his thoughts into disarray, and the only thing he can focus on is that wet heat around his dick and the tickle of his husband's hair against his thighs every time he dips his head down. He's always so enthusiastic about it, too. How many times has Vash just gleefully dropped to his knees in front of him while pawing at his pants at this point? Too many times to count.

It's very cute, but he also feels like he's going crazy. Heat and desire coil into a ball in his gut, sitting there heavily. It's spreading through his guts, across his groin, down his thighs like a dull ache.