Swept Up in the Storm

The roller coaster of their own making has finally reached the bottom of the hill. His arms, one snaked around Vash's narrow waist and the other pressed against Vash's back, cradling the base of his neck, finally relax.

Wolfwood shivers. Where he begins and Vash ends is lost in a slick mess of their fluids.

Though tender to Vash's encompassing, unrelenting embrace he might be-- God, how does he do that?-- Wolfwood finds himself better able to give shape to his thoughts in way that isn't entirely eclipsed by heat and flying violet sparks as the high of aftermaths stops ringing in his ears.

Wolfwood makes a blanket of himself, draping bonelessly over Vash without the slightest desire to move. Just a second to catch his breath, to breathe in the scent of sex and wandering thought questioning the merit of sleep over running a marathon.

He lifts his head just enough to blink incredulously at Vash.

"...Spiky. Noodles? Really?"

There’s much he can do about the stinging of his eyes. As if Vash hasn’t seen him get a little watery-eyed before. He could hide it better back then, maybe. 

“If this is a dream, then I’d better be fuckin’ dead. Bringin’ up noodles for Chrissakes,” he mutters, tracing the scars from Vash’s shoulder down to the top of his chest. A sour face is hard to keep when he can’t keep the fondness from his voice. “Tell me everythin’ then. All the stuff we’re gonna do.”

Nicholas offers Vash a squinted grin and gleaming eyes. 

He can hardly believe this is happening. He's had days to process Wolfwood going out of his way to retrieve him, to bring him to the abode he built in grief, to share a bath, to have sex, share a bed... none of it—none of it—seems real. Again, his mind drifts... maybe he's still locked in a lonely cell deep underground, maybe he's dreaming, maybe he's dead.

The laughter is broken up by a sniffle as he tries to compose himself; at this point, the most he can do is pray that Wolfwood doesn't find his behavior off-putting or concerning. Even as he manages to find words, they're wobbly and trembling as they leave his lips.

"W-we do... we've got time," Vash is pretty sure he's shaking, even though his body is nice and warm with the amount of attention he's been given. With the amount of attention that he's still receiving, as his anatomy refuses to let Wolfwood back out yet, also clinging to his length in a similar method to his limbs. Not enough to constrict the poor man—God, no... that would be unpleasant. No, the vines and tendrils cling, but they can easily be manipulated were one of them to brush them away gently.

"W-well, yeah, there's... there's a noodle place in December that you'd like... I... I think—I mean, I've been asleep for... seven? Ten years? S-so... there's always a chance tha-that it's gone now," his eyes clench shut as Vash reaches up and nuzzles into his partner's neck, "O-oh, and there's a, um, a beach now. There are bodies of water big enough and warm enough f-for swimming. There mi-might be more now, I... I don't know, I'm not—not sure..."

Vash hiccups, tears spilling from the apexes of his eyes without his permission. He's not sad—far from it—but there's something that pulls so strongly at his heartstrings, as though he's finally had a moment to rest and his mind is catching up on all of the trauma. Two hundred years without Wolfwood, not knowing if he'll wake up, blaming himself for his perceived death... if he'd only gotten to the orphanage sooner, if he'd only been faster, more decisive... Now is not the time to think about this.

"H-honestly, there's a lot th-that we're both going to have to discover together, s-since I," the Plant takes a breath, trying to steady himself again with his centuries of experience in keeping himself together. "I didn't sp-spend much time anywhere else but here towards the end. It was too dangerous for everyone with the, uh, sparking and the lightning. Ugh, I'm sorry, I don't—don't know what's... why I'm..."

His one hand returns to his own face, wiping away the tears as though it'll hide them from his lover. How pathetic he must seem... they have sex once, he comes nearly immediately, and then becomes a mess of tears on the bed. If Wolfwood doesn't want to leave now, he truly is meant to be his soulmate.

"S-sorry, I'm... I'm sorry, I'm... I don't... I don't know—I..."

I should've been faster, I should've saved you.

The old thoughts he'd repeated to himself over and over while building this home echo through his mind. So many times he'd talk to a Wolfwood he'd picture sitting just out of vision, in the peripheral of his sight, and now there's one really here, pressing him down into the mattress and wanting to—to do things with him. Anything. Everything.

Vash must be able to hear the grin in his playful threat, even when Wolfwood’s lips and teeth quickly migrate to Vash’s exposed neck to lavish attention equal parts hunger and equal parts deliberate over-affection. 

Slow. 

There are parts of him at odds with this command and others still rife with enthusiasm when it comes to unbidden imagery of their complementary silhouettes in the sheet, on top of the dresser, pressed against the windows, the floor, the bed, and any other available surfaces they encounter along the way. 

Wolfwood groans helplessly in agreement when Vash reinforces his request with a compelling squeeze. He responds in kind, sliding his hand from Vash’s neck to the small of his back to hold him close and lift Vash’s hips just so. The warmth trapped between their bodies and the slick of Vash’s thighs as he rocks his hips leaves no room for even the possibility of a counterargument. 

Slow it is. 

Wolfwood hits a spot just right, causing a breathy moan to eke out from Vash's throat. He cants his hips up with a sigh and a 'right there.' His arm shifts down, his fingers gripping his lover's waist right above his hip.

If he were thinking more clearly, he'd be full of thoughts about how now that they're together, perhaps Wolfwood will eat more than just meager rations—maybe he'll fill out a little more, maybe the both of them will. The thoughts—or the wisps of them that creep in—are blown away with the raw desire channeled between both of them.

He groans as Wolfwood shifts his attention to the rest of his scarred body; the contact alone leaving sparks with every kiss and nibble. It's been so long since anyone has touched him—and... and even then, it was Wolfwood all that time ago. Fast and desperate—they knew their time was running out... any time that they fell in bed with each other could've been their last, and they knew it back then. Now... now that they can afford to be slow, that today is not the last day they have together, or even the last day of the world...

"M'here now," Vash sighs, arching his back against a particularly tender thrust, "M'not leavin' anymore, not for the world. J-just you and me—and-and I can show you some of my favorite places out there..."

With a gasp, his violet eyes shudder closed as his face contorts into a furrowed image of sheer pleasure. They're not even going that fast—he must seriously be out of shape. Still, going this long without Wolfwood's touch does make it all the better... especially seeing him so... so eager and desperate. Vash has to stop himself from urging Wolfwood to go faster—God, he wants to savor the moment, but his more feverish desires are shallow and not well-hidden.

"There's a—a-ah—uh, a ramen place i-in—o-oh," Vash continues in his efforts to maintain conversation, but loses his train of thought. He spreads his legs wider and presses upwards, wanting his lover deeper. "N-noodles... nnn..."

Noodles always made me think of you.

The sentimental thought prods at him like a worm bumping into a light repeatedly.

Everything made me think of you.

Suddenly, Vash feels the need to open his eyes and certify that the man inside of him is indeed Wolfwood—the man out of time, his star-crossed lover—and as soon as he does he can feel the sure pressure of his throat closing, his teeth clenching as he tries to prevent the tears from breaking free. Another gasp turns into a stuttered sniffle, and his fingers push harder against the give of Wolfwood's soft skin.

"You're r-really here, right? It's... it's not a dream?" He can't help the little sob that escapes as realization dawns on him—where he is, who he's with, what he's doing—

“Huh. Don’t hurt yerself thinkin’ so hard, blondie.”

He has two perfectly good hands, one which continues pleasuring Vash with regular, rounding movements with his fingers and the other that reaches to cut the flow of water. 

“‘Sides, we’ll find out what’s what, won’t we?” 

Wolfwood politely declines Vash an opportunity to respond by capturing his lips and hoisting him up by gripping around his thighs. He is still plenty hale enough to do that; carrying Vash’s weight blindly through the bathroom and navigating his way back to the bedroom proves a doable, if not somewhat clumsy endeavor between wandering hands and occasional pits stops to push Vash up against the wall and devour him one kiss at a time. They make it past the open doorway into the bedroom eventually. Their bedroom. The concept tickles in more ways than one, but the thought does not occupy the space of his mind for long as he drinks in the sight of Vash, gazing back at him with covetous violet-aqua eyes, scars, fleeting arcs of electricity and all, reclining against the soft sheets. 

When Vash decides enough is enough, biology has not left them bereft of preparation, and Wolfwood is more than happy to oblige even if Vash’s petals are not initially eager to release his fingers. 

Time seems so immaterial now, no matter how much of it they have lost to circumstance. 

But, as nervous and tense as he is, Vash's body doesn't lie when it comes to the way he clings to Wolfwood with each kiss and he can't stop the bubbling of giggles that crop up when they have to make a pitstop.

Wolfwood's alive. They're alive. Together.

Every argument dissolves into a fizzy afterthought when his back hits the cushion of their nest. The carefully selected mattress—nevermind how many times Vash had to try to remember if Wolfwood preferred a firm mattress to one with squish—and the bedding that he'd spent too long flipping on which patterns and colors he wanted (only to settle on a solid dark red comforter with dark gray sheets) cradle him when Wolfwood's arms do not anymore. He can't help it as he bashfully grasps a corner of the bedding and wraps it over a majority of his face, only leaving a single luminous eye to peek and take in all the glory of Wolfwood's form.

"You're lookin' at me funny," Vash says dumbly, as if he can't believe it. Which part he can't believe more—the fact that Wolfwood is here and looking at him or the way that he's looking at him—he's not sure. His face is burning bright behind the cover of the comforter, his dark hair only bringing the color of his cheeks out even more.

With the kiss to his knee, Vash stretches his leg to caress Wolfwood's face as a reward. His body disagrees with the action, as a shot of pain to his hip attempts to stop him from flexing his limbs in such a ridiculous way, but he doesn't let it show. That same leg trails down his partner's side and curls around his lower back, weakly pulling the man forward. Closer. He wants his hips closer. Vash's biology only continues to reveal just how strong his desire is as tendrils reach out with intent to bring Wolfwood inside (and, perhaps, to never let go).

He reaches out with his one arm, wanting Wolfwood to come back down for kisses. The comforter remains partially on his face, loosely jostling off of it with the movement and revealing more blossom-red blush.

"Want you slow," Vash eventually requests, his hand cupping Wolfwood's cheek and pulling him down tenderly, "Don't want it to be over so soon... even if I can have you whenever I want now. I wanna look at you."

He tugs until the corner of the bedding is pinned between their foreheads and their lips are pressed against each other. Vash doesn't close his eyes, instead searching umber hues for two centuries' worth of answers.

“Then you best set the pace.” 

It is both a warning and an offering of his own assent as he claims Vash’s mouth again, kissing slow and deep and breaking only to scent the water-warmed skin along an exposed neckline. Close enough to see the lambent violet glow shifting behind aquamarine eyes, to breathe in the scent of soap, faint florals, and geosmin. Smells both familiar and not, for all the Vash remained the same in the past two centuries, he did not pass through those years unscathed. 

The sound of the shower only barely drowns out the rumble in his throat as his hands continue downward, gently catching petals between his fingers and stroking the bud nestled at their center. 

"H-hey, you won't, um...."

How does he word this in the least insulting way possible?

"When we were in the cave, you were so excited that you, um," Vash's sentence is broken with a soft moan as he follows Wolfwood's curious fingers and encourages them to massage his clit softly. He can feel his body begin to wake up, every touch causing a reaction like ripples in still water. A thin tendril peeks out and flattens itself against Wolfwood's finger, providing necessary lubrication while also beginning to wind itself around the digit, clinging to his hand in a revealing manner—his body itself is warning the priest: 'Don't leave me again.' It's only a matter of time before every one of his petals begins to do the same, they'll begin to beg the man to come in, stay a while...

Even without insertion, he's finding it difficult to stand still without wobbling from one foot to the other... perhaps screwing in the shower is not the greatest idea for someone just rescued out of several years of dormancy. Maybe—as much as he loathes to admit it—he needs the bed.

... now that he thinks about it, he's not sure what the stimulation will do regarding the literal sparks he seems to be capable of. Yeah... water isn't the right idea here. Plus, even if he doesn't need to concern himself with being overly wasteful anymore, it is a waste of hot water... electricity and clean water aren't resources to simply scoff at.

Vash, satisfied with the current motion of Wolfwood's fingers, shifts his hand to the arousal pointedly pressing against his thigh. He slips his fingers around the shaft and pulls the loose skin towards himself gently, his heart fluttering at the tangible memories of being so tactile. He... really did miss it, as much as he shamed himself for it when Wolfwood was asleep.

"I... guess what I'm asking is, uh, can you do this? It'll be a real turn-off if you start throwing up and having a heart attack again. A-and if I have to resuscitate you, you're sleeping on the—in the—uh... guest room, sir."

As if Vash could possibly separate himself from Wolfwood's side now that he's here. It's enough to make him laugh immediately after saying it. He... pointedly ignores the fact that he nearly told Wolfwood to sleep on the couch. That would definitely do... something to the mood that's worse than this.