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Vash wakes for the second time all at once, blinking out of an unstitched dream. It's ten minutes before his usual wakeup and he's got Wolfwood asleep against him. The press of Wolfwood's back to his chest, Vash spooned around him, is impossibly lovely. He noses into the hair that curls against Wolfwood's neck and breathes in; faintly soapy from their shower the night before, the flat sweat of sleep. He carefully lifts his head and looks. He loves the broad sweep of Wolfwood's shoulders. He loves Wolfwood's mouth slack and parted, face smooshed against the pillow. Wolfwood's eyes flicker slightly behind his eyelids. Dreaming, then, and benign enough.
The delicate skin under his eyes is gently bruised, likely from their interrupted sleep. Pre-dawn, dark out, and Vash waking the first time to Wolfwood's restlessness, Wolfwood nudging him moments later with a soft rasp, "Tongari, you awake?" Vash teetering for just a second on the cusp of alertness, overalertness, before Wolfwood pushed into his hip, gently but inexorably, not enough to wake him had Vash still been asleep but enough that Vash found him hard and hot and wanting. The day one of errands and chores, unloading and sorting and packing away the delivered supplies from his trip into town last week. Home together but not really until Wolfwood reached for him in the dark hardly-morning.
Wolfwood had said he didn't need much, yet Vash could tell Wolfwood wanted his cock but wasn't about to ask for it in the middle of the night. That was okay—Vash gave it to him anyway, though only after they'd both come. Wolfwood, from Vash two fingers deep in him, all the way to the base so that his ring—harbinger of bus-and-bandit destruction not six days ago—tucked against Wolfwood's sweet puckered hole with his thigh grinding into the root of Wolfwood's dick just shy of pinning his balls too hard; Vash, from Wolfwood stripping him hot and slick and fast, from the way Wolfwood panted out missed you before nipping Vash's chin. Orgasm like a circuit snapping closed, a spark so sharp it hurt.
Vash had cleaned them up but left Wolfwood oiled so he could wrap around him to nudge his flagging cock inside. Two fingers had been just enough for Vash three-quarters hard. Wolfwood wiggled back to settle, pressed a kiss to Vash's palm, and that was the last Vash recalled before dropping into satiated sleep.
Presently, his dick is against Wolfwood's ass instead of in it so he must have slipped out in the night when he'd gone soft. Vash runs his hand down over Wolfwood's ribs, the dip of his waist, the muscle and hard-won fat padding his hip, revels in the soft catch of sparse hair at the top of Wolfwood's thigh and the thicker hair that gets more dense when Vash nudges just one finger between Wolfwood's ass cheeks. He rubs over the tender skin of Wolfwood's perineum, delights for a moment in the silky slack warmth of his balls, before stroking over Wolfwood's hole. A little puffy. Slippery, warm, relaxed. Vash must have been in him until half an hour ago at most.
He wants to taste him, badly. Maybe this afternoon or tomorrow he can bend Wolfwood over the new fencing they've been working on and lick into him, hot as high noon, soothe the ache he knows Wolfwood will have after all this. Tomorrow, probably. If there's any more room for indulgence today it should be luring Wolfwood into an afternoon nap. For now, he walks his fingers back up Wolfwood's flank and experimentally tugs at Wolfwood's hip.
He's not quite sure what he's looking for. Curious, maybe, to see how deeply zonked out Wolfwood is. A small part of him wants Wolfwood to wake up; the rest of him wants Wolfwood to stay asleep but not be so far away, which is silly, he has Wolfwood right here, in his arms. Wolfwood tips back into him, pliable, still dreaming.
Oh, that's…that is very nice.
Vash does have to get up, they both do, there's plenty to do today, but Wolfwood is so soft and still oiled, sleepwarm from Vash at his back, from their bed, a commingled heat, that Vash bets he could slip right back in with Wolfwood hardly noticing. It's where he was supposed to be anyway, should still be, it's not like he slipped out on purpose.
Carefully he tilts himself back to give his hand enough room and then, resisting the urge to pinch the swell of Wolfwood's ass, he tugs one of Wolfwood's cheeks up with his thumb, parted just enough for him to ease his cock—flexing every few seconds, filling fast—between. He rocks himself slowly, slicking himself up with the oil between Wolfwood's cheeks.
His breath quickens, fanning over the back of Wolfwood's neck and wafting the mussed curled tails. Wolfwood feels so good and Vash isn't even in him. It's ridiculous how horny Wolfwood makes him, how lovey-dovey turned on. Part of him wants to come like this, rutting against Wolfwood's ass, but he knows he'd want to see it properly, would want to press Wolfwood on his belly into their mattress and yank his hips high, Vash's pillow under him so that Vash could bury his face in it later, would need to spread Wolfwood a little meanly, bare him to Vash's greed, and for that he would want Wolfwood awake.
Right now, Vash is caught in the sweet tangle of Wolfwood sleep-flushed and dreaming, Wolfwood not needing to do a thing, not even wake up, of Wolfwood feeling so loved and so trusting of that love, of Vash's love, that he can sleep this deeply at all. That's what Vash wants to cradle this morning.
Carefully he keeps Wolfwood's cheeks parted while he nudges against that puffy warm slippery hole. He takes a minute to let the head of his cock kiss Wolfwood's rim, stifles a helpless moan at the sensation. He holds Wolfwood steady while he presses in, in, in, oh, it's so easy after a night spent inside him, Wolfwood takes him beautifully.
Darling, he mouths, achingly, against Wolfwood's shoulder when he's fully inside. This is good. This is right. Wolfwood had wanted his cock in the liminal wash of pre-dawn and he should still get to have it in the suns-flooded surety of morning.
He's only been inside a few moments before Wolfwood's heart rate speeds up, and, seconds later, a deep inhale as Wolfwood registers Vash in him.
"Mornin'," Wolfwood mumbles. He angles his head back for a kiss, barely, so that Vash has to lean up on his stump to reach him. It pushes Vash in deeper. Wolfwood exhales a bewitching sound between them. "Can't believe you didn't slip out," Wolfwood seems pleased about it, voice burred from the noises Vash pulled from him in the early hours.
"I did," Vash says. He lays back down to kiss the slope of Wolfwood's shoulder in apology. "Not too long, though."
"Should've woken me up, you know I like feelin' you get hard in me," Wolfwood says.
WOW, Vash's stomach swoops and dives, honeyed and fervent. It's not that Wolfwood is usually particularly modest, but there is a certain type of thing he says these days, a certain way about his lewd honesty when Vash has gotten him just so—purposely or not—that drives Vash crazy. Vash does know Wolfwood likes it when he gets hard in him because Vash has been very, very present to Wolfwood panting and grinding desperately on Vash's half-hard cock shoved into him, or wanting it early before there's even much for him to work with, insisting s'fine, get in there, c'mon as Vash fills out in him, on him, against him. So Vash knows intimately, feverishly how much Wolfwood likes it. But neither of them has outright said it before. And here Wolfwood is, knowing that Vash knows, tacking up the shared recognition of this truth like he does their sheets on the laundry line.
"I didn't wa—ahh—ahnntgh—" Vash is cut off by Wolfwood's whole body going tense and arched around him as Wolfwood stretches in a simulacrum of orgasm. "Mercy," Vash begs, thumping his forehead to the back of Wolfwood's neck when Wolfwood squeezes his thighs and ass together in a final big stretch. Something pops in Wolfwood's lower back and Wolfwood groans in relief. Vash's dick flexes to full dizzying hardness in the tight, trapped hot clutch of him.
"There we go," Wolfwood sighs out, smug.
Temptress, tease, brat. Love of Vash's impossibly long and strange life.
"I didn't want to wake you up," Vash aims for reprimanding and falls iles wide as he catches up to himself all at once, "didn't want you to have to do anything for it, I wanted to still be—" yours, for you. He couldn't bear to break the continuity of Wolfwood tied to him, for either of them. He's overwhelmed suddenly, or near it. He clamps his teeth to the back of Wolfwood's neck with a whine, not biting down but holding on.
"Alright," Wolfwood soothes, petting his forearm, "alright, it's good you're back in me, don't worry, m'asleep," Wolfwood pulls Vash's hand from his hip to wrap across his chest and starts to snore loud, fake, the way he does when he's goofing around with the kids at the orphanage. Oh Vash loves him, loves him, what is he to do but—
"Darling," Vash mouths again, but this time he says it out loud, a dark heat flickering through him, the core of a sun unwinding. Wolfwood's fake snoring cuts out when his breath catches and holds before he presses back into Vash, shoulder to thigh, so warm, strong and soft.
"Sweetheart," Wolfwood answers him, still playful. Wolfwood threads their fingers together over his chest, his hand atop Vash's, squeezing so that Vash gropes his tit. Vash thumbs at Wolfwood's nipple just as Wolfwood yawns, a real edge to it. "Think I really am gonna keep snoozin'. A lazy morning ain't a bad thing every now and then."
And oh god Vash wants to roll on top of him, smother Wolfwood flat between himself and their bed and fuck into him sweat-ridden and hard until Wolfwood bucks him over and forces him slow again, equally possessive, just as all consuming. Never has Vash wanted so much simultaneity as he wants all of Wolfwood. There are days where neither of them know how to stop going, where there's nothing left to do and the hours are a spoiling—an indulgence sorely craved—and spoiled—the rot of blank space, overabundance, fecundity gone fetid. They are disciplined men used to bearing what needs to be done. It's the same old story, Wolfwood had once said, and they are trying to make a new same old story. What needs to be done: Vash makes the bed in the morning so that they can unmake it every night so that he can make it anew the next day; Wolfwood tills the garden to ease the seedlings, grows what he can come back to with water with shade with composted kitchen scraps from the selfsame garden. They are disciplined men used to devotion and, now, turning the lathe to shape too much and not enough to here, with you.
A lazy morning, like Wolfwood had woken with Vash nestled in him and found the morning ripe, pressed his thumb to Vash's attention and his own rooted want, felt the soft give, ready to harvest the fruit of their labor.
Vash nods, throat tight, and nuzzles the back of Wolfwood's neck and squeezes his tit affectionately.
"I'll wake you up in a little bit," Vash says, as if they've turned off the alarm for an extra handful of minutes and it's not Vash gluttonous for the clutch of Wolfwood around him, for Wolfwood meeting him measure for measure.
Wolfwood relaxes into him and Vash makes sure to breathe big and slow so that Wolfwood can feel it against his back. He keeps their hips snugged up and waits. He can be patient sometimes.
Wolfwood doesn't drop into full sleep but Vash does lull him into a dozy drift, skimming just under wakefulness. It's a cottony place for him and Vash wants to keep him there.
He picks up where he left off mouthing silent endearments against Wolfwood's bare skin. Sweetheart, he echoes Wolfwood with the kind of giddy disbelief he's often struck with any time Wolfwood names him, names him as such, names Vash as he knows him no matter what it is.
Sweetheart once more, bestowed, a naming of his own, looping them together.
Beloved, he gets hazy with it, pressing his cock in a little bit more. Wolfwood's ass cheeks squish into the basin of Vash's hips before he relaxes his hold again.
Dearest, Wolfwood is so hot around him, so clingy, the barest drag magnified by how slow Vash moves. He slips his hand free from Wolfwood's to instead slide over his belly. He tucks his thumb against Wolfwood's belly button, spreads his hand wide, possessive, grinds slow and heavy. Wolfwood's rim flutters around him and Vash feels his own cock pulse wet inside.
Yours, yours, I'm yours, he pants soundlessly against Wolfwood's shoulder. His palm rustles over springy hair to cup Wolfwood's cock. It's still mostly soft, velvety, warm, humid. Wolfwood makes a contented little hum and tilts back into Vash to just barely push up into Vash's hand, the tiniest suggestion, still skimming that dozy place.
He cups Wolfwood's soft cock against Wolfwood's belly more firmly, covers nearly the whole thing with his hand. He risks a look over Wolfwood's shoulder and has to quickly drop his head back down because the sight of the dusky-pink tip engulfed, peeking out from beneath his palm, makes his cock throb, then throb again. Once more Wolfwood flutters around him, beckoning. He rocks his hips, a slow, deliberate rhythm he decides to keep, the sway of a sand steamer hammock. Maybe just one more look. Vash leans up again and sees the tip of Wolfwood's dick is wet, glossy, feels it swell gently under his palm, blood thrumming—nnnooononono he can't look, it's too much.
The next rock of Vash's hips knocks a quiet, pinched off whine from Wolfwood but his body is still tipped lazily back into Vash's. It's not followed by anything else so Vash doesn't stop. It's practically cockwarming, how deep and slow his rut is. Even though Vash isn't the one being filled he feels full of Wolfwood up to his throat, can't help but play with Wolfwood's soft sleepily-stiffening cock. He wonders if Wolfwood could come like this, hardly being fucked at all, just a relentless hot slick pressure inside him and Vash's hand doing nothing more than keeping him in place.
He wonders if he himself could come like this and it's embarrassing how instantly he knows the answer: yes, yesyesyes he could, Vash could come in him and stay in until Wolfwood fell asleep, actually asleep, could fuck his spend all over Wolfwood's insides as slow as he is now, harder, a little harder, would be sosogood and not spill a drop though of course Vash would probably come again and then it'd be too much to keep inside and Wolfwood would have to wake up from it dribbling down his legs, under the crease of his ass and thigh, tacky in his pubic hair, and he'd be mad about sleeping through that and he'd—he'd—
He's panting, Vash realizes, Wolfwood is panting with his face turned into the pillow, eyes scrunched shut and body held so purposely beautifully relaxed. Vash's composure, already tattered, starts to snap thread by thread as he registers Wolfwood isn't dozy and drifting anymore at all, he's fully awake and he's keeping himself as if he isn't because he doesn't want Vash to stop. It is so fleetingly rare for Wolfwood to let himself be enough, however he is, on any given day, and here he is giving Vash his most heedless, permissive self.
Vash pulls out a few iches, the furthest he's separated so far, and fucks back in just as deliberate as he had been. An airy moan tangles in Wolfwood's throat and his eyes scrunch even more, biting his lip to stay quiet.
How sweet, how terribly sweet of Wolfwood. Unfortunately, that drives Vash to the verge of unspeakable craving.
He pats Wolfwood's cock fondly goodbye to brace his forearm across Wolfwood's chest. He cradles Wolfwood's jaw to turn his head, thumbing his lip free. Wolfwood lets him, intoxicatingly pliant. He slides his thumb over Wolfwood's bottom teeth and gently presses down. Wolfwood's mouth opens wet and easy. His eyes stay scrunched closed. Vash pulls out a scant few iches again.
"Baby," Vash says, sinking back in. Wolfwood's cheeks pinken immediately. Vash leverages himself on the stump of his left arm to kiss Wolfwood's upper lip, the corner of his mouth, licks around his thumb and right into Wolfwood, sloppy and warm.
"Sleepy baby," he murmurs, kissing Wolfwood again, deeply, until Wolfwood is breathing harsh through his nose, unable to kiss him back or break for air the way Vash has him held open. And he's asleep, of course, Wolfwood is so totally definitely asleep, he can't complain about Vash giving him what he deserves.
Hm. Vash likes that, he likes that so much, but there's something…..he's not quite sure. This is what he wanted, what they both wanted, and yet he finds himself breaking away to take Wolfwood in. Wolfwood gasps for air, ruddy all through his cheeks and down his throat and to the swell of his chest. His eyebrows, so handsome, are drawn together, as he works to stay lax. Vash's next thrust unspools a wanton, hoarse moan from Wolfwood. Abruptly, Vash is done not having Wolfwood fully there with him. He thought he could edge them in a syrupy sweet simmer for another fifteen, twenty minutes, let his fantasies fizz and pop like soda bubbles, and if Wolfwood still wanted to come he could tip him gently over the edge, but he needs him now now now, probably needed him minutes ago.
Feed me, Vash thinks, prying Wolfwood's mouth open a fraction wider and kissing him again, keeps it soft but unyielding; I want to feed you, when he finally gives Wolfwood a proper thrust and it makes Wolfwood keen high and splintered.
The need to be held in Wolfwood's familiar, loveworn gaze claws over him clamoring and demanding.
He pulls away, tonguing a well of spit into Wolfwood's mouth before releasing Wolfwood's jaw so he can swallow. Wolfwood's ass clenches dizzingly tight around him.
"Rise and shine," Vash whispers.
Wolfwood's eyes open, half-lidded and dreamy, and he smiles. Everything in Vash thrills.
"Wow," Wolfwood says, scratchy and breathy from Vash's overbearing kiss, "morning again already?"
Vash drops his head to Wolfwood's bicep and feels his cheeks and ears heat up while Wolfwood laughs at him.
"Sorrrryyyy," Vash whines, "I'm sorry, I know."
Wolfwood pats his hand consolingly then guides them both down to his cock, grown fully hard.
"M'not in much better shape," he says, which is so, so! Vash looks back at him. "Besides," Wolfwood's smile goes sheepish and cheeky, "I wanted to wind you up a bit. S'cute when you're trying so hard to keep it together, even cuter when you can't."
Wolfwood wanted to wind him up by being all—all pliable and soft and relaxed and sleepy. Wolfwood wanted to WIND HIM UP with a """lazy morning""" of ~slow~indulgence~!
He drops Wolfwood's cock, which was sneakily starting to hump into his hand, to instead wedge between them until he can curve under the tendon between thigh and groin. Wolfwood's sac rests drawn and heavy against the back of his fingers.
"If I hadn't still been in you, when you first woke up," Vash tightens his grip and hoists Wolfwood's thigh up and back in one powerful heft, spreading him while also pressing him tighter around Vash inside him, "would you have asked?"
Vash pulls out, further, and Wolfwood's hand flies back to grip at Vash's hip.
"I—" Wolfwood clearly knows he's damned to Vash's love either way. "Vash."
Vash sinks in deep.
"If I hadn't still been in you," Vash repeats, "would you have just taken it, if I didn't give it to you?" Wolfwood makes a sound that's half complaint, half affronted moan. "Would you have tried to get my dick back in yourself, if you'd woken up neglected?" Wolfwood wanted him wound up? Oh, Vash is certainly wound up!
"Doesn't matter, didn't have to," Wolfwood's voice wobbles when Vash pulls out those same few iches then slides back in, "because you already were." Wolfwood does his best to tilt his head towards Vash, needing to arch his back, stunning, to keep Vash tight to him. He looks at Vash with bleary bright eyes and Vash sees the mischief in them, the beseeching buckshot desire. He's practically twirling his hair the way he's got Vash wrapped around his fingers. "Didn't have to, 'cause you're sweet on me."
Wolfwood hooks his calf behind Vash's and grinds back onto Vash's cock. Vash stares at him feeling a well of love so vast and devouring he has no hope of keeping it all neatly in check. Wolfwood smiles placidly, happy to be getting his way, because even though Vash would do anything for him Vash is still a stubborn man. And selfish, Vash is so terribly selfish.
"You're damn right I am," he says, low, and when he fucks back in it's hard enough that Wolfwood's cock smacks wet against his belly.
"That all you got?" Wolfwood taunts, breathless.
It's easy bait but Vash buries his face in Wolfwood's neck, hauls Wolfwood's leg over more, and bites, hard. It's not even close to all Vash has and they both know it but Vash is still holding on to that last little knot bundling himself together.
"Just us," Wolfwood soothes. He squeezes a handful of Vash's ass. "Just you an' me, right?"
Vash nods, unable to speak, mouth still clamped down on Wolfwood's shoulder, still fucking in a slow hard roll, wave after wave, enough to keep jostling Wolfwood's dick every time because the sound of it quietly slapping against his belly is so enchanting. It's so wet between them, too, slippery with oil messing out of Wolfwood's hole, so warm, so lived in, Vash's own slick that's been steadily leaking from his cock into Wolfwood enough to drip out every time he pushes back in.
"Just you an' me an' our bed," Wolfwood's voice catches on Vash's thrusts and Vash loosens his bite, licks over it. He'll complain about it later while pressing on the bruise when he thinks Vash isn't watching. Vash holds him tight, feels the way his stomach fits into the nip of Wolfwood's lower back, lets himself go a little more.
"Just like that," Wolfwood praises, "You an' me an' the sheets that're gonna need washin' and the damn jayworms makin' a racket out our window, fuck, that's it honey, doin' good, makin' me feel good, ah, Vash," Wolfwood's voice cracks around his name, fracture filled up with a moan that makes Vash's toes curl.
He hums a pathetic whine so Wolfwood knows he's listening, knows he's right there with him. It's crazy how gentle Wolfwood can be, it makes Vash crazy. Wolfwood's litany neatly and softly pulls loose the final little twist Vash had made of his conflicting desire.
He pins Wolfwood to him with the grip at his thigh, tips Wolfwood back more solidly against his chest, and ruts into him, full full full. It's obscene and filthy, how the sound of Vash's hips smacking Wolfwood's ass cuts the air. He doesn't go fast but he keeps his pace steady. Wolfwood always likes that, and right now he likes that a lot, digs his nails in to Vash's ass, gets loud, his moans tripping over each other as Vash sets a pace for his pleasure to orbit around, clamber over, be lead by, race ahead of and return to. He licks the sweat from Wolfwood's neck, wishes his mouth could be everywhere at the same time—wetting Wolfwood's tongue with his own, face shoved into his armpits, between his tits, buried in the rougher pubic hair of his crotch and nuzzled to the soft fuzz around his hole. Heat and pleasure zing and coil through him, a solar flare spiraling in his gut, the hollow of his hips, snapping at the root of his dick. He levers himself to hook his chin over Wolfwood's shoulder, rests his temple to Wolfwood's scratchy cheek so he can watch.
Wolfwood starts to squirm, lets go of Vash to press his palm to his cock, flattening it to his stomach the way Vash had when Wolfwood was half-dozing. Territorial affection rises in him. He wants to slap Wolfwood's hand away but he realizes Wolfwood is close—
"You really wanna know what I'd have done?" Wolfwood pants out.
—and even though Wolfwood is starting to get unruly—
"I'd have woken you up," Wolfwood's other hand fists the pillow—
"And I'd have told you what I did the day I put that ring on your finger," his ring his ring, his ring that imprints the soft, warm give of Wolfwood's thigh, the ring he blew up a bus to keep and odds were he'd blow up another—
"I," Wolfwood falters, which is not what he did when he put it on Vash's finger but Vash wasn't fucking him into a scramble at the time, "I ain't done with you yet." Wolfwood drags his hand up and away to instead cup the back of Vash's neck, leaving his own cock blatantly, obscenely bare. It's hard as hell, leaking and blotting sticky pearlescent whenever it taps his belly, which means Vash—
—Vash can make him come untouched.
Wolfwood doesn't just want a lazy morning with a bit more indulgence, he wants to come like this, to be made to come like this. Wolfwood wants all of Vash and he wants only Vash, still, even though Vash woke him up, even though Vash failed spectacularly at feeding Wolfwood effortless dozing pleasure, still, still Wolfwood wants it too.
So when Wolfwood's thigh strains and tries to close just from how pleasure always makes him fold in, Vash holds him open; when his poor, battered gorgeous hips try to seek relief against the bed, Vash keeps him spread on his cock and his cock alone.
"Like this," Vash promises, "give it to me like this," he pleads. He chases Wolfwood's orgasm like it's his own, it may as well be for how bound he is to Wolfwood. "Please, please Nicholas."
Vash's teeth ache, Wolfwood's pleasure his hunting grounds, and Wolfwood lets him have the fluttering bird between his jaws: he curves tense and beautiful—if Vash were loving him against the wall or bent over the kitchen table Wolfwood would have gone up on his tiptoes—clenches rapidly hot-wet-tight, again and again, around Vash. A rough startled cry, like Wolfwood is surprised, like he lost track of himself, and then he comes messily over his own belly, cock rising and dipping, hovering as he spills, suspended for a long moment in their not-so-lazy pleasure-soaked morning.
Vash digs his forehead into Wolfwood's shoulder blades, subsumed in the wake of Wolfwood's orgasm, fucking Wolfwood through it. He has the desperate urge to see himself in Wolfwood. He pulls out a bit, is about to hush Wolfwood's grumbling whine not yet, m'still—when he stops. Wolfwood tries to kick at him, demanding because he loves that curled edge of just-too-much right when he finishes, but Vash has him locked in place.
What stuns him is not the sight of his cock sunk most of the way into Wolfwood, though the picture they make is pretty beyond compare, but the way Wolfwood's ass is practically glowing red. Bright and splotchy like a slosh of wine from Vash's unwavering devotions, hair whorled and rucked, damp and dark with sweat and slick. The swell of his ass is shiny from smeared oil and god it almost looks like he'd been spanked with how brilliantly rosy it is.
"Oh, fuck," Vash whispers, hoarse, "Oh fuck," he shoves his hips forward, using the momentum and the grip around Wolfwood's thigh to roll Wolfwood flat against the mattress.
Wolfwood makes a muffled erotic sort of yelp into the pillow that melts into a muffled erotic groan when Vash braces his knees, plasters himself against Wolfwood, and yanks his hips just high enough so that he knows the tip of Wolfwood's dick is smudging come on the sheets under him. Wolfwood's erotic muffled groan goes high-pitched, taut and sweet, frantic and entreating, and Vash only makes it a few thrusts before he's coming. He doesn't know if Wolfwood comes again or if it's a dovetailed aftershock from his sensitive cock rubbed raw against the sheets, but Wolfwood clamps around him so tight all Vash can do is stay buried in him, pulsing hard and long.
He collapses onto Wolfwood totally wrecked and utterly euphoric. He feels the telltale prickle of tiny feather tendrils on his knees, elbow, along his ribs.
"Good lord," Wolfwood wheezes, then laughs, a throaty sort of cackle.
"What's so funny," Vash slurs, cheek pressed between Wolfwood's shoulders, soaking up Wolfwood's rabbiting heartbeat.
"Nothin', m'delirious and you're heavy," Wolfwood shimmies a little, not trying very hard to unstick Vash.
"Mm," Vash agrees, rubbing his cheek over Wolfwood's spine. Good. Good spine, good shoulders, good back. Good Wolfwood. Good Nicholas, good beloved.
"Wanna see you," Wolfwood says, which is probably the only thing that could get Vash to actually peel himself away. With a final besotted look at Wolfwood well-fucked, well-tended beneath him—reddened bottom dribbling Vash's come onto the underside of his gently smooshed balls—Vash flumps onto his side. He misses being in Wolfwood immediately.
Wolfwood makes a show of arduously turning over to face him and Vash scoots close and gets his hand back on Wolfwood's ass. It's maddeningly hot to the touch. He's careful not to squeeze but he does hold it firmly, petting his thumb up and down.
Wolfwood settles with eyes bright and laughter still at the corner of his mouth. He huffs out a big satisfied sigh and slings an arm over Vash's waist. Vash is so, so happy to see him.
"I love you," Vash blurts out then immediately feels his face go as hot as Wolfwood's ass cheeks. "I mean, good morning. How'd you sleep?" Absurd how Wolfwood can still make him shy.
Wolfwood laughs again, another throaty cackle.
"Mornin'. Love you too." He smacks a kiss to Vash's forehead, then, more softly, over each eyelid. "Slept alright," he kisses Vash easy as anything. "Pretty sure my bones are jello." His hand comes up to stroke Vash's cheek, smoothing over the tiny pinfeathers as they recede. A few float, downy, between them.
"I hear a good night's sleep can do that," Vash presses a kiss to his palm, mouths over his wrist.
"I hear a good lovin' up from my doting husband can do that," Wolfwood counters.
Lovin' up. This makes Vash grin, devilish.
"A good fuck," he says, kissing Wolfwood. "A good, hard fuck," he teases, nipping at Wolfwood's fingers as he gets batted at, kisses him again, again. "A good, hard fuck from your devoted husband who didn't need you to lift a finger, a lovemaking so thorough I'm pretty sure you came twice untou—"
"Alright, alright," Wolfwood gives him a good hard kiss and sits up, looking pleased and flustered. He looms over Vash, threads his fingers through Vash's hair to tousle it roughly when Vash's eyes wander down to his bare chest. "Bit late for our usual, and we've got to get the rest of the fence posts in before it's too hot. Sandwiches?"
"We still have sun tea? The lemony-sage one?"
"Quarter of a big jar, enough for breakfast and a thermos. I can put some more out when we saddle up."
Vash feels like all his bones are jello too. His heart sings soft and sturdy as the flannel Wolfwood wears on porch-dinner evenings.
"Yeah, that sounds good," he smiles up at him, dopey. Wolfwood is his favorite thing in the whole damn world. Darling, sweetheart, beloved. Dearest, mine. Yours, yours, I'm yours. He tugs Wolfwood down for one more kiss. Then, "Last one to the kitchen does the dishes," he says in a rush, knocking Wolfwood down to clamber over him and out of the bed, Wolfwood swearing and chasing, buck-naked and sticky, after him.
Later, after dinner, near dusk, tired from tamping fence posts and hanging up so much laundry and scrubbing the thoma feed trough and bathing and cooking and watering the garden, Wolfwood will sidle up behind Vash getting the thoma settled and wrap his arms around him. He'll sway them side to side in the bitten moonlight and pinprick waver of the stars, enough to lull Vash into leaning back against him, and then he'll pinch Vash's waist, right where it's ticklish, and when Vash makes an affronted noise and tries to squirm away, Wolfwood will catch his hand, tug him back, say, "Time to hit the hay, cowboy," press a kiss to their fingers tangled together, over scarred knuckles and the dull, bullet-melted ring, and lead Vash home.