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Vash's first mistake was to be, well, Vash.
His second was to believe it would be just another of their many arguments. Nothing special about it. Fight, crash into their respective beds facing away from each other, sleep. Repeat the next time Vash inevitably gets them into trouble again.
Except Wolfwood was more on edge than usual as they went back to their inn, making curt comments about the shoot-out they just escaped from and Vash's apologies seemingly only making it worse. Once back in their room, he watched like a hawk the whole time Vash undid his coat, leaning against the Punisher.
Vash's third mistake was to ask what Wolfwood's problem was.
Vash should've seen it coming, really: one moment, he was arguing with Wolfwood, voices stiff and straining with frustration. The next, he's rammed against the wall, breathing heavily as Wolfwood's arm pins him in place.
It would be easy to dislodge him, then hide in the bathroom for a shower that would do little to wash off the craving and inadequacy Wolfwood's proximity provokes—or to go back downstairs to get drunk at the bar, and later tumble in bed like nothing happened. It's a familiar routine.
However, something is different this time: Wolfwood seems to have no intention to let him go.
Wolfwood's glasses rest broken in his chest pocket, leaving his eyes visible as they flick to Vash's mouth, his grip tight around Vash's wrist. Both are burning with a want Vash recognizes all too well. Even if it's not the first time Wolfwood slips and lets it show, being on the receiving end of such desire still takes Vash by surprise.
He's never followed through before, nor let this much of his want shine through—but Vash still senses it every time, aching and raw. Wolfwood is always chastising Vash about burying what he wants deep, deep down, but the call is coming from inside the house, isn't it?
Vash tells himself it's still just that. Desire. Lust. Something he can't relate to, but can understand. For all his self-control, Wolfwood was bound to reach his limit, one day.
"Don't ya fuckin' do that again," Wolfwood rasps. He swallows, adam's apple bobbing up and down uncomfortably. "Not for anyone, but especially not for me."
Vash blinks. That's not what he expected to hear.
It's not right. Wolfwood is the one who could've gotten killed today. Isn't that what he's been mad about? Isn't that why they were fighting? Vash getting them in another predicament. The usual.
Not Vash putting himself in harm's way for him.
Clearly, he got that wrong.
Doesn't mean he's going to regret it, though. He wasn't about to let Wolfwood pay the cost of his mistake. But it doesn't mean he wants to think about what Wolfwood's behavior means, either.
"Don't get so worked up," Vash responds, poking Wolfwood in the side—to no reaction. "It turned out alright, didn't it?"
He's so close he can see Wolfwood's mouth twitch. It's impossible to tell if Wolfwood is going to kiss or punch him.
As much as Vash likes that unpredictability, he doesn't intend to find out which he's going to get today. He makes to free himself and go get a nice, strong drink—
Wolfwood pushes him right back into place. His back hits the wall with a thud again.
"Don't ya dare run away, Spikey," Wolfwood growls. "Were ya hurt?"
Vash could still push him away, if he really wanted to. They both know it.
"Do I look hurt? I'm fine."
"Christ's sake, ya piss me off."
The window for escape closes.
Wolfwood kisses him, open-mouthed and biting. And Vash, cursing himself, melts.
Wolfwood's hands graze over Vash's chest, checking over sore spots that are doomed to bloom bruises later. With no major injuries uncovered, Wolfwood's concern subsides, but Vash couldn't pay it any mind even if he wanted to. Wolfwood's touch is scalding and his want is overpowering—it's in every point of contact, every kiss, every dig of Wolfwood's body into his flesh.
Vash's body reacts to it, arousal kindling into hot embers. It's clear where this is going. He isn't sure if that's what he wants, but he's helpless to the magnetic pull between them. Besides, perhaps Wolfwood deserves to get what he's craving. Wolfwood is right: he screwed up earlier. Not for taking that hit for Wolfwood, but for putting him in that situation at all. On that, they can agree.
That, and he wants to lose himself in Wolfwood any way Wolfwood will have him. Pretending otherwise would be a lie.
With a growl, he covers the back of Wolfwood's head protectively—he flips them around, his hands taking the hit as they slam against the wall with the force of the switch. Vash puts his mouth on Wolfwood's neck, kissing wetly as Wolfwood's hands rake up and down his sides.
Then Wolfwood lets out a small, content puff of breath, and it all slows down. Wolfwood's hands settle on the window of skin in Vash's back, rubbing deep circles into it. The touch burns. Vash wishes it would never leave.
After all this time spent traveling together, he would've had to be blind not to see how often Wolfwood's touch seeks him. He's not sure Wolfwood does it on purpose, but pretending he doesn't notice has been excruciating. Every burning brush of skin, every aching little touch, every hand clasped on his shoulder with a bellowing laugh.
It may have been driving him crazy.
It may be why he's not only letting it happen now, but driving it forward.
He likes telling himself he's doing it for Wolfwood's sake. But the truth is, he's a selfish, selfish man. Although their goals may differ, everything Wolfwood wants, Vash might want tenfold. Sex is one of many ways they can both get what they want.
So he bites down, nibbles, deepens the next kiss. Wolfwood follows the pace, cradling Vash's face. Their foreheads collide. Vash feels each of Wolfwood's breaths ghost over his lips.
Wolfwood is flushed against him. He's hard through the cloth. Vash ignores it for the time being, focusing on Wolfwood's hands on him. They're so gentle, even in their urgency; it makes Vash want to cry.
Vash crashes their mouths together, fingers tangling in Wolfwood's hair. Wolfwood gasps, his own hand coming up to mirror Vash. He tugs.
It's like a spray of water on hot embers. Feathers burst from his cheeks and shoulders. Wolfwood starts, but within the next moment, he's only tightening his hold, breath hot on Vash's shoulder.
And then, a chuckle through the heat. Wolfwood holds one hand open and lets feathers curl around his fingers.
A wave of emotion surges up Vash's throat, the touch shooting warmth from the point of contact straight to the throbbing pool in the center of his chest.
Taking a steadying breath, he abandons Wolfwood's hair to pop more shirt buttons open and better get his hands on his chest. He hears Wolfwood's breathing quicken, his next exhale stuttering. His skin is hot too, moist with a layer of sweat.
It's a script Vash hasn't followed in a very long time, but hell, he thinks that for perhaps the first time, his whole heart is in it.
Vash pushes his knee into Wolfwood's crotch, slides a hand down his back as feathers grow and wrap further around his limbs.
Wolfwood shudders, a startled noise escaping him. Vash smiles, his lips still on Wolfwood's jaw as he moves to the front of Wolfwood's body and fumbles with his belt.
"Wait, Needle-noggin—"
"You'll get your turn, just let me do this for you? Please?"
"That's not it. Listen, I don't want ya to—"
Vash whines as Wolfwood tilts his head out of his mouth's reach.
"Where are you going? Come back here. I swear I want this. I'll be good, I promise—"
Finally, he gets Wolfwood's belt undone. He slides the zipper down… He's so close to freeing the tent under Wolfwood's pants, and then he can sink to his knees and—
Wolfwood grabs a fistful of his hair, sudden and harsh enough to not have it add to Vash's arousal, and pulls his head away. "Vash, stop."
Vash comes to a screeching halt. He blinks away the haze, breaking contact and taking a step back, his heart launching itself against his ribs. His feathers reluctantly part from Wolfwood, hovering between them.
What? What's going on?
Wolfwood's chest heaves, clenched fists pressed to the wall. His hair is in disarray and his shirt rumpled, a single brave button still hanging on.
Vash realizes with a sinking feeling that Wolfwood doesn't look like he's enjoying himself anymore. And yet—he's still got the remnants of that hungry look in his eyes.
They stare at each other without a word, for what feels to Vash entirely too long, two toma caught in headlights. He always knows what to do with each part of his body—perfect control, whether it be to dodge a bullet or trip on his feet, but he has to actively prevent his fingers from twitching now.
Wolfwood averts his eyes and adjusts his pants. He fishes for his lighter and cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth.
"Sorry for leadin' ya on," he says, lighting it up and taking a first, long drag.
"No, don't. It's fine." Vash chuckles nervously. "It takes two!"
Wolfwood unintelligibly mumbles around his cigarette as he pushes himself off the wall. He goes to slump on the open windowsill.
Vash follows silently, swatting the feathers trying to reach for Wolfwood still. Can't they get lost? This is mortifying enough as it is.
"I'm sorry," he blurts.
Wolfwood huffs. "What for now?"
"I got ahead of myself." He grabs the chair by the small table in the corner and straddles it, facing Wolfwood. "Which is silly, in a way." He's always been fairly indifferent to the idea of sex. Sure, he's enjoyed it before—and he's fairly sure he would've greatly enjoyed it now—but he knows what it's like to be forced into situations he doesn't want to be in, regardless of what his body says.
Wolfwood blows smoke to the wind. "Why?"
"Well. I don't— I don't feel for people that way. I'm not wired like that. But I was happy to do what I thought you wanted! So, I'm sorry for getting it wrong. I should know better."
Vash thought taking all the blame would make Wolfwood angry. A small price to pay to lift some of the guilt off Wolfwood's shoulders, but Wolfwood… squirms instead.
"Ain't as… silly as feelin' it and gettin' turned on but not wantin' it," he mutters. "Makes no goddamn sense."
"Don't say that. I think I get it," Vash says. Wolfwood did look and sound like he wanted it—shit, wanted him—in more ways than one, until he froze and stopped it. "Yeah, these things can be confusing. Trust me, I would know! But there's still nothing wrong with that."
Wolfwood arches an eyebrow. "Not a whole lot of people would agree with ya on that, Needle-noggin."
"Since when do you care what people think?"
"I don't. But I—nevermind."
I care what you think. What you want.
Perhaps it would be wiser to pretend he can't fill in the blanks. But Vash can't help himself.
"Wolfwood," he says, swiftly catching a misbehaving feather. "Even if having sex with you was important to me, there still wouldn't be anything wrong with it. I'm happy as long as I get to—"
He snaps his mouth shut.
Wolfwood stares at him. The smoke of his cigarette drifts and warps around him, outshined by the rising moonlight. He doesn't have the mercy to pretend he has no idea what Vash was about to say. Vash half-expects Wolfwood to bite back and drag it out of him, but it seems they're on the same page.
"I just don't want you to berate yourself for that," Vash continues carefully. "It's fine if you've got a reason, and it's fine if you don't."
Wolfwood snorts. "Is the Humanoid Typhoon giving sexuality advice now?"
Vash scowls. Okay, that stings.
"And you're being kind of a dick. But okay, fine! I'll drop it! Just trying to help!"
"No, you're right." Wolfwood runs a hand down his face, waves it dismissively. "I'm fine with bein' like that. It's only ever been a problem when this—" He gestures at his disheveled state of undress vaguely. "When this happens."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. Not with me. It won't happen again."
Wolfwood's brow twitches.
Vash decides to ignore that.
Suddenly, he catches movement from the corner of his eye. He was so focused on Wolfwood, he hadn't noticed a feather reaching out to him once more, that traitorous little—
Wolfwood welcomes the feather, letting it loop around his wrist. He inhales deeply, his gaze softening.
Vash falters.
He can tell Wolfwood isn't entirely comfortable, but he's… smiling. Vash swallows, failing to ignore how nice it feels: the goosebumps on his arms, the impossible craving for more.
He can't. They can't. Not now that they can't blame it on emotions running high anymore.
Vash slaps his hands on the back of the chair, the feather abruptly letting go of Wolfwood.
"Well! I'm pooped!"
He stands up with a small hop. Pretends he doesn't see Wolfwood's fingers curling as though missing—
"Good talk!"
With that, he runs to the bathroom and locks himself inside, deflating like a popped balloon.
He splashes some water on his face, heaving out a sigh. Gripping the sink, he stares down his feathers until they retract under his skin. Everywhere Wolfwood touched him feels imprinted into his flesh. His fingers tingle with the loss of Wolfwood's warmth. He should shower, but what if it washes it all off?
Vash gives his cheek a small slap. Stop. Stop that.
After a moment's hesitation, he only cleans up at the sink.
When he comes back, Wolfwood is still sitting on the windowsill, flicking a second—or third—cigarette over the ash tray.
Vash slips under the sheets without a word.
Soon after, he hears Wolfwood move. The bathroom door closes, then opens again.
Wolfwood returns. He pauses between their beds.
Vash holds his breath.
When his mattress dips under a new weight, Vash curses the eagerness that sprouts in his chest, entangled with the instinct to run away. He feels Wolfwood's exhale on the back of his neck. Electricity prickles his skin. If his feathers come out again, he swears—
"Thanks. For what ya said earlier," Wolfwood murmurs.
Vash knows exactly what Wolfwood is thinking: I thought this was just one more way I'm broken. He's been there. He still goes, sometimes. He also thought Wolfwood wouldn't want to keep talking about any of this, that he got the message, but…
"I'll never know if I was always meant to be like this, but it's… good. Bein' told it's fine either way." Wolfwood tips his head. "Even if I shouldn't believe a word ya say. Could be bullshittin' me for all I know."
Vash takes the bait. "I wouldn't bullshit you about that."
"Yeah. I figured. Turn around?"
Vash sighs. "Wolfwood…"
"Ya know I don't make requests, so give me this one, yeah?"
Vash doesn't answer. He knows he owes Wolfwood as much. He also knows he shouldn't.
"Just for tonight, can we pretend we're just two assholes in a shitty hotel room, and the night's really fuckin' cold?"
Vash closes his eyes. Fuck. Shit. Fuckity fuck.
He rolls onto his back. He tries really hard not to show that the sight of Wolfwood knocks the air out of his lungs, like it does every time he sees him this way. No Punisher, no suit. No glasses, no smoke. Just Nicholas D. Wolfwood. He's so handsome like this, it makes Vash's heart ache. It's not fair.
Wolfwood smooths Vash's pout with his thumb.
He leaves it there, over Vash's bottom lip. Hesitating too long.
Vash recognizes the pause for what it is: one last chance to escape. It's both kind and cruel of Wolfwood. Even if it would be the reasonable thing to do, he doesn't want to take it.
Didn't Wolfwood just ask him to pretend? Then fine. He'll pretend. He lost any pretense of doing otherwise the moment Wolfwood asked at all.
Vash's fingers grazes the sensitive skin of Wolfwood's neck. Wolfwood enjoyed being touched like that, earlier. Vash seems to have made the right call: Wolfwood leans into the touch, taking Vash's hand and placing it over his cheek.
Gentle, gentle…
He kisses Wolfwood slowly, just once, before guiding Wolfwood's head to the crook of his neck. He doesn't fight the re-emerging feathers, sighing softly at chapped lips on his skin, calloused hands grazing his scars.
Wolfwood embraces him so close, he doesn't know where one ends and the other begins.
Warmth pools in his core as Wolfwood takes what he needs and, in doing so, gives Vash exactly what he wants as well.
Just for tonight, they'll pretend.