a selective, dash only primarily tristamp nicholas d. wolfwood rp account by melee.
icon art: @carnivalfair
status: active
mun: melee
age: 31
pronouns: they/them
follows from @typhoonvash
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rules:
-18+ only. no minors.
-do not follow if you use a--i in place of actual art or writing. do not use my writing for any kind of a--i project. this is 0 tolerance, and i do not care if you use it as a joke or to make fun of it.
-this account follows the plot of Trigun Stampede, however Trimax plot threads/characters may pop up because i like the mix of the two.
-unless stated otherwise (i.e. same verse/au) each blog gets their own verse. this allows us to develop a meaningful plot and diverse interactions without stepping on any toes. Do not ask me to be exclusive.
-doubles okay and encouraged.
-n/s/f/w sometimes and only with 21+ muns. will be properly tagged and placed under a read more when intense.
-rp style: multiparagraph preferred with small text. i will not be using icons, but feel free to use yours.
-if you are a multimuse, there is a high chance we won't interact. it's nothing against multimuses, but i'm looking for serious, long standing rp, not short interactions. i also prefer to keep my dash clean of anything that's not trigun or my rp partners.
-no ocs, sorry. i do not have the energy to give the attention that your oc deserves. naturally, ocs may appear in longstanding canon/canon plots (i.e. villains, minor characters, etc) but i prefer threads to be focused on canon characters.
-not interested in drama.
-shipping is by discussion only. flirtation is fine, but if you want his heart you gotta work for it.
-Will not ship: pl*ntwood, liv//wood
-will tag common triggers not present in trigun. blood, violence, and alcohol will not be tagged. i try to read bios for personal triggers, but please let me know if it's extremely serious/common/i mess up.
m!a status: closed
anons: open
random starters: open
threads preferred, but short interactions will happen.
often canon divergent/in aus. will be tagged as such.
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short bio:
Name: Nicholas D. Wolfwood
Age: around 25-27, birthdate unknown.
Height: 6'2"
Sex/Gender: cis male (he/him)
Sexuality: ???
Occupation: "Undertaker", "Priest"
Family/Connections: n/a, Hopeland Orphanage, Livio the Doublefang
Weapons: The Punisher (multipurpose cross-shaped heavy weapon), handguns, serrated knife, sharpened canines.
Abilities: S+ compatibility. regeneration (natural and via serum), high pain tolerance. hand to hand combat, melee combat, and firearms. enhanced strength capable of lifting several hundred pounds with mere fingers. increased stamina. excels at gaining intel and getting close to targets before execution. applies creativity and cleverness to strategy, allowing for unforeseen successful outcomes. the near perfect weapon—behavior and independent habits need work.
Nicholas D. Wolfwood (a.k.a. The Punisher) is a weapon and extension of the Eye of Michael, a cult worshiping the two Angels of salvation. He is trained in various styles of combat and marksmanship, which he uses to fulfill his contracts—assassinations, executions, and search and retrieve are the most common.
He's trusted with a special contract: retrieve the Angel. Deliver Him safely. Protect the Angel.
Like a good, functional tool, he obeys and is rewarded with the guaranteed safety of Hopeland Orphanage and its children; no more will become victims or lab rats. His current status with the organization is unknown after the JuLai incident.
He didn't expect to make friends. He expected to kill them. He didn't expect the Angel to thank him for his work. He expected the Angel to hate him for his betrayal.
A little over halfway through washing his hair when Wolfwood called out to him— hey, doing it one-handed made it take longer, especially if you had a fluffy blond mop —the blond blinked and chirped, and let his mouth fall open with intent to apologize after getting called out for leaving the door open like that. Playful and enticing as he'd meant to be, he hadn't really thought about the actual ramifications of leaving the door to a hot, steamy bathroom open— thankfully, though, his faithful companion would correct his error and close it in his stead!
… annnd instead of hearing muffled footsteps getting further and further away, Vash heard bare feet on tile that were most definitely getting closer, and migrating towards the center of the bathroom; Wolfwood's silhouette appearing and eclipsing the think material of the shower curtain. And while part of him was absolutely delighted (his coy little machinations had worked; his undead heart is aflutter!) another part of him was slowly coming to the realization that he was very much screwed, now.
That part is what makes him drop his gaze down and settle it right on the shadow of Wolfwood's dick, his mouth watering at the sight. It isn't even the actual sight of it, either, what is wrong with him—
"J-join…"
Yes. Join. Like you were trying to get him to do.
"Ah— yeah, s-sure! Please!" he said, his voice cracking as he snapped out of his trance. Kicking himself, he remembered— "oh, it might, um— actually, you can probably see my arm on the counter, so… might not be too much of a shock when you come in…"
Ugh, anything to make it sound like he wasn't ogling the priest's shadow like some kind of repressed teenager… Vash huffed to himself beneath the din of the spray and scooted up a little, just a bit closer to the wall and the shower head. There was already plenty of room in the shower— plenty room enough for two people, easy, especially when he was pretty slight to start, but Wolfwood was… much broader, and he wanted to make sure that his to be-shower buddy was, um… properly accommodated…
…
… ah fuck right, his hair, h-he still had shampoo in his hair— gotta rinse that out—!!
Wolfwood can't help the smirk that grows—toothy and wide—at the notion of himself being right about Vash wanting him there. Wanting him to join him in the shower...
(Okay, okay, calm down you horny moron—just because he wants you to join him in the shower doesn't mean he wants... wants... anything else...)
... it... did kind of look like the vampire's chin was angled down, though. Like he was looking... at...
Whatever!!! He's getting in the shower!!
The hunter tries not to move the curtain too much as he slides in behind Vash, wanting to preserve as much hot air within the space as possible (since someone already did a piss-poor job of that). As Vash dips his head under the stream of water, Wolfwood feels his breathing pause; he can't drag his eyes away from the blond's body that he wasn't exactly permitted to see in full earlier.
There are... so many scars.
This is a man who just wants to live. He's generally considered a positive element of whichever society he decides to squeeze himself into—Wolfwood knows that the little convenience store's management will feel his loss when he doesn't return. The bartenders at their regular watering hole will miss him. Everyone that this clearly important vampire has touched will be affected by his loss.
Wolfwood will be impacted by his loss.
Still, he doesn't want Vash to take his gaze and silence the wrong way. Wolfwood flits his eyes up to meet Vash's once he's finished with his hair and brings his smile back. He hoods his drowsy eyes, reaching out with a greedy arm and wrapping it around Vash's midriff. With no left arm, there's plenty of space—nothing preventing him from pulling the vampire close enough for him to kiss at his jaw.
"Hey," he mumbles against pale, wet, warm skin, feeling smug and not at all ashamed of the way his length bumps against the blond's thigh, "Hmm, I like how the shampoo smells. S'nice."
His hands wander, the one on the vampire's front gently caressing his sternum and reaching further down. The other hand roams down Vash's right side, fingers ultimately tightening on his hip after tracing the outline of a deep gouge.
Honestly, though, Wolfwood wasn't wrong about the heat: it was starting to feel like the sliver of space between his body and his shirt was filled with hot air, imprisoned beneath the relatively-hearty material. They'd been doing physical labor, after all, so he'd chosen a good shirt to work in… but once it was up and over Star's head, and the air around them could touch his skin directly, there was absolutely nothing that could stop the gasp that tore out of him, or the rise of goosebumps along his skin— that Wolfwood would no doubt be able to feel slowly popping up as his hands wandered and touched; when Star's back arched, and he pushed himself forward and up, further into his beloved's palms.
In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to smother him and drown in each other until the fever waned and they could think again, like the last time, and it… definitely showed. Desire curled his hands into loose fists that relaxed, then curled again, bunching up into the fabric of Wolfwood's shirt as he pulled and tugged, enough to finally slip his hands underneath as he sat up a little more and tipped his head forward, pressed his forehead against the undertaker's shoulder again…
… but in the barest hint of peripheral he still had, there, he spotted that violet glow, and curiosity forced him to turn his head. Just enough to finally spot Canary, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of him lingering in the doorway… and something like thrill quickly blossomed between them and their shared connection.
different. pretty. so pretty.
The words echoed through both of their minds, evoking that same breathless sort of quality that would have come if he'd said it out loud. Out loud, though, it risked becoming more of a whine, while this was… something else. Still needy and wanting, though; it was another invitation extended to the visiting Vash by way of projecting that shared need, and trying to synchronize with what he could feel of Canary's. Make it theirs, instead of a set of two individual needs.
Part of him does wonder (blearily) if that says something about him, if Canary's disposition had him avoiding getting close with his Wolfwood despite his feelings while he'd basically taken that note of mutual attraction and run with it, like a bat out of hell—
Maybe he could ruminate on that sort of thought later, when there was more room for it… if it even stuck around long enough to be ruminated on. It was entirely possible that that brief, fleeting thought of potential self-deprecation could crumble away to nothing beneath the weight of his connections— the physical, mental and emotional —and get left behind entirely, which would probably be for the better, all things considered. Right now? There was nothing else to be considered; the only thing Star was concerned with was what was going on around him, and to that effect, he fit the slope of his nose against the column of Wolfwood's throat, in a spot where he could kiss and nip against his collarbone—
"Just… need to start…" he said. One of his arms fell from its place on Wolfwood's side and drifted along his hip, searching for the shape of his need to fondle through those work jeans while he pressed warm, plush kisses to the base of his neck. "W-want everyone t'be comfortable, though… m-more than enough room, bed's big enough for all of us…"
Another invitation, though this time, it was given while looking Canary directly in the eyes—
don't be nervous. please. want you to feel good, too…
Canary's hands tremble as he lets his crimson coat fall to the floor in a pool around him; with all of his dexterity, it's almost impressive how they seem to vibrate as he hovers over his own hips, allowing his fingers to trace the many belts that line his leather pants. They're mostly for show, in any case—the pants themselves can loosen and fall much like any other pair of pants, he just has a couple of extra steps.
His boots on the other hand...
Those do require him to unstrap about six levels of fasteners before he can remove them. Perhaps Wolfwood does have a point there. After a quick breath, Canary is able to snatch his gaze back from Star and get to work on his boots, shaky hands be damned.
Mentally... he needs to unfasten several other locks and knots that usually prevent these kinds of needs from breaching the surface. The wildfire blossoming behind his connection with the other Vash assists to burn some of those restraints away, but it is still a process Canary is unwilling to rush... especially if his stupid clothes are going to get in the way of the pace anyway.
Gonna be hard to control myself if I... if we...
The spiky-headed Vash swallows, closing his eyes as one boot comes off. Both other individuals in this room have agreed to the conditions of the arrangement. They both know what they're getting into. There... there isn't any reason for him to be nervous... outside of him perhaps being a little rusty in regards to coitus. He doesn't really think that'll matter once his instincts kick in, though. Poor Wolfwood is gonna be drained.
On the bed, Wolfwood's need is not difficult to find—Star's hand takes hold of it through the undertaker's jeans and he responds with a deep groan. The mood, even if he's not tapping into the mental link, is contagious; very quickly, Wolfwood is finding that he's starting to care less and less about the nerves surrounding their debauchery, the newness of Canary joining, the usual jitters that come with bottoming for his love. Every hint of nervousness has been replaced with boldness—a want to welcome Canary to this sensation with open arms, to be some kind of expert, or suave romantic, to really show him what he's missing out on. It's a thankless job, of course. It's not like Canary's Wolfwood will knock on the door and thank him for a job well done or something... in fact, if they ever met and he found out about this, there's a non-zero chance he'd just get slapped upside the head.
Probably worth it.
"Lemme... get these jeans off, darlin'," Wolfwood mutters, shuffling away slightly to unzip, unbutton, and wriggle off his pants. He sits hard and hot within the confines of his boxer-briefs, a bulge well-defined with a wet spot of dark gray building near the outline of his tip. He returns to Vash with a warm flush over the entirety of his skin, even his arms seem to blush auburn in comparison to their usual color. Eagerly, he guides Star's hand back to his prize, wanting nothing more than to give the Plant what he wants. Wolfwood exhales as if he'd been holding his breath... and maybe he has been.
"What do you want, Vash?" Wolfwood asks, knowing... mostly... what his partner wants from him, but wanting to hear it from the source anyway, "How... how d'you want this to work?"
His lips graze Star's brow, his hands cradling the blond's face before he turns his attention to their guest, who has just finished removing his boots and pants... perhaps in record time. Nervously, now that he sees that he's being watched, Canary unlatches his body armor and allows that to fall to the floor as well, leaving him only in sleek, black compression shorts. The visitor's eyes flick from Wolfwood to Star urgently, taking in every detail.
Huh. Star has more scars than he does, he's pretty sure. The one around the neck is definitely different.
Oh—oh boy, Star's desire is... wow, that is potent.
The sheer heat of it is enough to make Canary's eyes clamp closed, his breathing speeding up with his heart rate. Sure, it's a shared desire, as certain organs in his body remind him with yawning, hollow pangs of want, but... wow. This... this is what he's closing himself out of by denying himself human connection, huh?
Oh... oh that's... wow...
He wants.
The moment Canary allows the connection to fully bloom between himself and Star is visible—Wolfwood watches as the visiting Vash's eyes flash purple and stay lit up. Canary's attention directs itself, seemingly, directly at him and—well, isn't that flattering? The hesitance and fear apparently melts away with each step Canary takes towards the bed, his eyelids lowering to a drowsy, enamored stare as he crawls onto the end of the mattress.
Movement catches Wolfwood's attention along the surface of the bed as inky tendrils with violet blooms crawl along their covers, like a snake seeking warmth. He follows one of the vines to the source, noticing how it seems to originate from Canary's back.
Oh.
A hot sensation burns at Canary's core, craving... well...
S... Star... I need... mm... can... can I take?
Man, Wolfwood sincerely feels like he's being left out of the conversation here, his head swiveling back to watch the two Vashes have a wordless conversation without him. Maybe it... maybe it wouldn't hurt if he just...
Looking his partner in the eyes again, Wolfwood leans forward and touches their foreheads together this time, seeking out the mental tether and receiving far more than he bargained for—like he opened a damn oven.
Holy shit—
Need floods his senses as he connects; the broken crown of bright white patterns blinks to life on his face, yes, but... but also...
Wolfwood quickly tosses his own shirt off, looking at his shoulders and collarbone to find that there are more markings where there hadn't been before. The set on his shoulders stretch down his back to where feathers tried to grow back when Vash had taken over his body for a few minutes. He traces them with his own hand—the pattern, though it is still not as pretty as Vash's, seems more cohesive than the one on his face.
All Canary can do is gape as he watches this unfold, afraid to reach out and touch in fear that he'll screw it up somehow... and definitely too afraid to ask.
A bright smile quickly blossomed over Vash's face, simply unable to help himself as he got almost exactly the reaction he'd wanted and then some; Wolfwood had basically imploded for more than a few seconds once he'd realized there was now candy in his mouth, and all the blond could do about it was tilt his head, bat his eyelashes and watch. It was like buffering, but make it people: he watched in real time as the poor man in front of him reset, recalibrated, then returned the energy in that coy and charming, utterly Wolfwood way.
Hook, line and sinker… if one went by the way the priest adjusted himself and turned—
And Vash would be respectful, of course— certainly a lot more respectful than he had been earlier, in the parking lot, when he'd had his eyes stuck to the front of Wolfwood's slacks like they'd been magnetized to his zipper —but not so much that he wouldn't let his gaze wander a little bit, much like Wolfwood had done just a moment ago. It was only fair he got to drink the other man in, admiring the slopes and ridges of muscle that made up his broad shoulders, his back, and that itty-bitty peek of hip that was there for him to ogle— then, as best he could, he forced himself to snap his attention back up.
"You're plenty sweet already, you know." Vash said idly, finally moving towards the bathroom door… just to stop in the frame, not fully over the threshold, holding onto the wall with one hand. He looked back at his companion with a soft hum and another smile; it wasn't like he was looking to make 'snacking' on the priest a habit or anything, just out of basic courtesy— and the cycle of self-loathing that would inevitably kick back in once the blood in his system fully passed through —but Wolfwood had already been quite dedicated to giving Vash flak for 'not eating' when he'd been trying to eat normal food. He likely wasn't about to let him get away with his avoidant tendencies now that things were out in the open—
Still. Sometimes humans liked knowing about these things— how they tasted, good or bad, sooo...
Vash drummed his fingers against the wood of the frame, "much as I prefer not thinking about stuff in terms like this, you taste… rich. Smoky and kind of spiced, sweet, and a little boozy. Pretty much exactly how you smell, sans leather and nicotine..."
… a-alright, now it was apparently his turn for a thought to latch onto his brain like a bramble to a wool sweater. Speaking of scents again, how would Wolfwood's… change… were someone to travel a little further south? Somewhere that the scent would mix with pheromones and musk and goddammit, he was supposed to be the one doing the flustering, here, go back—
He wouldn't speak the invitation allowed, though his mouth did open one last time before he forced it shut in a slightly embarrassed pout— the kind that would look like a squiggly line in cartoons. The temptation to say he'd leave the priest some hot water was there, but he swallowed it down and darted into the bathroom for real… and left the door wide open behind him. No move to even close it a little, he hadn't even touched it; the lights flicked on and Vash allowed the scraping jingle of the shower curtain on its rod to puncture his own abrupt (and telling) silence, before the sound of the water running filled it with a softer, steadier constant.
He did actually want to shower…! To the point where he stripped down (and put his clothes up nice and neat on the edge of the vanity counter, since he planned on wearing them again for bed) and removed his prosthetic in just a handful of minutes, then quickly jumped inside.
"What am I, a whiskey barbecue sauce?" Wolfwood scoffs, calling after the blond as he fully ducks into the bathroom—and... leaves the door wide open, even as the shower hisses to life. Is... Is Vash just going to... wait, does he want the intrigued hunter to follow?
Oh. Oh how the tone has shifted.
For a moment, all Wolfwood can do is stare after Vash, his mouth wide open and catching flies (not literally) as he listens to the pat-pat of the vampire's bare feet gracefully stepping against the bath. Well... he did say that they were going to just focus on having fun from here on out, didn't he? This would... be a good opportunity to execute on that promise and make up for his fumble earlier.
The opportunity for a second chance makes his heart want to leap right out of his chest. Alright Vash, he'll play your little game.
He swallows the remainder of the candy, shaking his head fondly as he approaches the open door. Knocking on the doorframe, Wolfwood raises his voice so Vash can hear it above the water, "Hey genius, you're gonna let all the hot steam out and fog up the bedroom."
Wolfwood shuts the door... but not before stepping inside, inviting himself into the small bathroom. Even just the tease of Vash's silhouette behind the shower curtain drives him wild. It's like the less he sees, the more tantalizing of a sight it is—like how ladies would be facing scandals for showing ankle hundreds of years ago.
A thoughtful, harmonic hum groans from behind Wolfwood's lips as he drops his sweatpants to the floor, lifting them up high enough for Vash to see the shadow of his actions on the other side of the curtain. He makes sure that a certain sign of his eagerness would also be visible in his silhouette, facing parallel to the direction of the curtain. He's still quite stiff, especially now that the hot air is beginning to warm his skin—moisture slicking up the goosebumps rising along his arms and legs with a slight sheen forming on his fine black hairs.
"Mind if I join you?" Wolfwood asks, a slight purr in the bassy treble of his voice, "I could get your back if you want~"
The kiss lasted this time, and even with no immediate move to pull away, Star was much, much quicker to respond to it than before, like he was expecting Wolfwood to pull back just as fast; a trap snapping shut as he all but groaned into the other's mouth, and wound his arms around the spread of Wolfwood's ribs to keep him there, keep him close. The proximity to the undertaker was both a blessing and a curse in this context— like his presence and touch were bolstering the coming of that second wind that would tip him over into that less inhibited place, and the man knew that it would, and was trying to drown his partner in it so it would happen faster— a whole different level of teasing that made the attention feel even better, and his hands wander with an intent all their own, digging his fingertips into Wolfwood's back with one while the other tugged at the hem of his shirt…
All the while, his new markings took shape; blobs of color forming small dots and circles, ovals, and extending into thin, swooping lines along the contours of his face. And some spots were a little reminiscent of his original patterns, but they were fewer and far between, especially around his hairline and forehead.
It also seems like they're leeching their color from other parts of his body; Star's eyes look more like a stormy gray than their bright, summer sky blue—
Ah, but Canary was bringing up a concern, and a valid one at that. Normally there would be a discussion and more genuine worry on Star's end of things— at least enough for him to take proper pause —but right now, it was… definitely a bit late to be worried about anything, even biological differences between them that would come to matter in the next little while. Things were starting; Star could feel pangs of heat and want from the visiting Vash's end, and that meant that Canary could likely feel his, too.
It'd be fine, though. Wolfwood was definitely okay with his vines and all his Plant stuff, so anything particularly unique was bound to just entice him more—
He won't mind at all, believe me. Come here.
It was a much more… domineering tone? Than the typically more timid of the two normally used? Like a yank on the proverbial string that connected them as Star gasped and whined beneath Wolfwood's machinations, and maybe he'd feel bad about it later. He was so, so curious about how this was going to go, who would be doing what, and they fact that they were going to figure all of it out while in the middle of it was just as thrilling as it was nerve-wracking— but one thing he was not going to do was allow Canary to do that… that Vash thing they did by giving him room to think about it too much. Letting them have room to think at all was just a recipe for stalling—
"S-same to you, you know…" the Independent said through another gasp, somehow. His remaining handful of braincells were really trying their damnedest to hold out, but with Wolfwood crowding him like this, smelling like smoke and sunlight and every other little note of his natural scent that drove Star insane on a normal day, it was almost impossible. Utter torture, as evidenced by his squirming, and the way his hands clung to the other man wherever he could find bare skin to touch— "can— can do what you want. Kiss, touch, anything… even f'I start acting weirder, I don't— don't—"
Mean it, he didn't mean it, was what he was trying to say, though he was fairly confident Wolfwood would get the gist despite the rest of his assurance dissolving into another throaty little sound. Another braincell gone, poof, popped like a shimmering soap bubble— spent by trying to form another coherent thought while his not-husband's hands and mouth were on him.
"Look at you, losin' your ability to form words~" the undertaker chides, fitting both hands beneath Vash's shirt to lift it off, "Let's get all this off of ya, you gotta be boilin' under these."
... And they'll have to take his clothes off too, of course. If he keeps his own clothes on for too long, Wolfwood is fairly certain that the blond will simply tear them off. There is, admittedly, something arousing about that, but he would like to save his money and not spend it on another pair of work jeans if possible. It'd probably be worth it to see his alien husband act on instinct like that, but, well, for now the frugal braincell is winning out in his head.
Wolfwood finishes peeling the shirt off of his partner and tosses it towards the door. As if Canary is the master of comedic timing, he opens the door mid-throw and is smacked in the face with said shirt. With true Vash-like reflexes, he manages to catch it. He looks down at it, then back up at the scene before him with wide eyes—his pupils now outlined with a glowing violet ring as he stares. Canary's markings are pretty standard for Vash as far as the pattern is concerned, but they are glowing that same violet that Wolfwood could see in his eyes.
Interesting.
"Speakin' of boilin' under clothes," the silver-eyed man scoffs, looking Canary up and down, from the high collar of his crimson coat, to the steel toes of his leather boots and all of the black leather belts in between, "Your Wolfwood must have to go through hell just to get you unwrapped, eh? Don't you get hot in all that getup?"
Canary, with his gaze transfixed on the scene before him, watching how Wolfwood's hands continue to run down Star's ribcage even as his attention is grabbed by their visitor—their third—seems unnaturally quiet compared to his usually bolder persona. He seems stunned for words, even if his mouth is practically salivating with anticipation.
"I don't—don't get hot, not r-really," Canary squeaks out with the confidence of a mouse, "And I think you're underestimating how often I get close to Wolfwood. Didn't I tell you the other day that I've been avoiding it?"
The visiting Vash shakes the stun from his entire body and begins doffing his coat, revealing a tough, black piece of body armor beneath that is cropped to reveal both his belly and his back. The violet markings continue to dance along his skin, with some kind of pattern coming together low on his belly in an enticing manner.
Wolfwood puts his weight on his knees and removes his belt from the equation with several clink-clinks. He shuts one eye in a sly wink, looking over at Canary from the side of his other, "Sure, but I didn't really expect that to stop you. We're technically on bedrest right now~"
The belt falls to the ground by Wolfwood's shoes with a thunk, masking Canary's choked-out noise of disbelief. His attention returns to his darling, gaze softening as he takes him in, "How are you feelin', sweetheart? Doin' okay? Just tell me what you need from me, love."
Matching his sweet words to his actions, Wolfwood swoops down for more kisses, remaining pressed to the blond's lips this time and allowing his tongue to peek in.
"Yeah, of course~." he chirped, though the comment about sharing with a cute guy didn't go unnoticed. There was a half-baked urge to respond in a flippant, joking manner— something along the lines of 'aw, what, did I get demoted, or?' —that started to form on the tip of his tongue, but Vash quickly bit it down… and not for the more typical reasons of a man so eager to self-deprecate. It wasn't insecurity or him taking that as some kind of twisted up confirmation that they were over or whatever, but the fact that that comment brought up that edge of possessive heat that immediately made his face feel hot.
Except it felt worse this time, and Vash knew exactly why.
Annoying instinctual 'claiming' intricacies aside, though, he didn't… say anything. He could've reassured him. He could've apologized for his behavior, and tried and talk about how all of that had gone down. But words just didn't seem like a good fit between them when it was trying to talk like normal people had gotten them into this space— all because neither of them felt like they could be honest, because they weren't normal people. Vash had tripped on not wanting to answer a loaded question he hadn't been prepared for for Wolfwood's sake; Wolfwood had tripped in focusing on a problem to solve instead of talking about themselves… and now, the result was the priest looking at him like he could find an answer behind Vash's eyes to a question he dared not ask aloud.
Vash made eye contact, too, holding it for a moment or two, then blinked owlishly. Once, twice, three times before he canted his head ever so slightly to the left. He could almost feel the uncertainty and doubt radiating off of the man in waves, but again… talking had gotten them into this predicament in the first place. Talk felt… cheap.
There's another way to show him what you're thinking.
With no ceremony nor warning, Vash moved forward— stepping into the other man's space entirely, where he reached up to brush his palm over the spot he'd sunk his teeth into, against his jaw, and around to the back of his skull, where he cupped and pulled the priest down into another kiss. And it was not a chaste kiss, not in the slightest; call it hunger, call it desperation, call it a need to get this tension out of the way, laid over with silence of words bitten back. Whatever it was, it had the blond catching Wolfwood's upper lip before bullying the seam of his mouth with his tongue, breaking it open so he could deepen the kiss— licking into his companion's mouth, against his teeth and tongue, and pouring every ounce of feeling that he had in through the point of connection; tasting like need and guilt for making him feel like he wasn't wanted, and that same cloying sweetness he'd been exuding earlier, like the colorful candy now rolling along his teeth—
Mine.
A candy that, by the time Vash pulled away— not sated, but certain that he'd gotten his point across —was no longer in Vash's mouth, but Wolfwood's instead, clacking against his lower molars and staining the side of his tongue the same deep blue.
Talk was cheap right now, in the wreckage of the ruined moment; talk meant they could easily mess things up by obfuscating, being vague, not asking questions, and it could always come later, when things weren't as… charged. Heavy. That, however? He certainly hoped that that had gotten the point across through every wayward thought that had been plaguing his companion ever since they'd hit that speedbump— and that Wolfwood found whatever he was looking for in his gaze, then, as Vash's jewel-colored eyes flickered between his silver ones.
Because come what may, he didn't want this to be over, either.
"… m'gonna grab a shower. I think my hair feels pretty gross after everything tonight, and if I leave it, it's gonna drive me crazy." he said almost too casually after taking a moment to breathe— to allow Wolfwood a a moment to breathe, as the one who actually needed it to continue living. He stepped back, then to the side— not far away at all. Not fleeing. Just… moving a little, in the direction of his destination, where he could still nudge Wolfwood gently with an arm and jut his chin in the direction of the chocolates on the table.
"You should eat some of that, though— sugar's good for you after you get blood taken~."
Okay, admittedly, at least half of the dragged-out moment Wolfwood had been staring into Vash's eyes was because they're so hypnotic, dream-like, transfixing... but for Vash to simply dive back into him—
Wolfwood moans into the vampire's mouth, stunned at first, but then willingly deepening the kiss himself—
Wh-what's—
Candy?
As the two back away from each other, Wolfwood grazes his hand over the places Vash's hand just was, hot with fresh blush and eyes wide, pupils dilated. He lolls the round candy against his teeth, folding his tongue around it, trying to search for Vash's flavor among the tart raspberry. His hand drifts to his cheek, feeling where the candy sits with just the faintest brush of his index and middle fingers.
If it weren't for the candy in his mouth, he'd be staring open-mouthed at the vampire, unable to form words. As it is right now, his lips are sealed, his tongue dancing along the candy. And... words...
"Is... that..."
Speaking is hard—his tongue suddenly feels heavy, like all dexterity has left his body. All he can do is clear his throat and analyze Vash's every movement, watching carefully and letting his eyes trace the teasing contours of the vampire's body. His body language is...
Shaking his head to rid himself of the full-body freeze, he tries to continue (even through a little voice crack), "Is that what this li'l candy is? A sucker for donatin' blood?"
He chuckles, a fond smirk growing despite everything they'd been through during the past few hours. Despite every up and down and miscommunication, damn it, this guy still has a vice on his heart. Swallowing around the candy, he continues, "A shower sounds kinda nice."
... Especially if this man is going to do things to his heart that make his blood pressure rise and his cock jump in response, jeez.
He could use a few moments alone, just him and his fuckin' fist, forehead pressed against his own arm, leaning against the tiles...
... or...
No—nuh-uh, there's no way Vash is even remotely interested in showering together. Even... even after that kiss, right...?
Fuck, it's increasingly difficult to hide the direction his train of thought is taking—especially as he quickly adjusts his sweats and turns away, placing his hand on the bag and letting his fingers weave between each chocolate. His eyes flick back towards Vash, a sly grin—something devious.
"Guess I gotta keep my sugar levels up from now on, eh? Never know when you'll need a snack," Wolfwood offers Vash a cheeky wink, "Always wanna taste sweet for you~"
Pfft. Alright, alright, sure, color him tickled by that response; Vash chuffed through his nose, the sound just that little bit stifled by all of the sadness congestion still stuffing it up. Hopefully that would be gone before he got back—
Hey now , didn't I just say the window's closed ? >:-P
Maybe we can do 20 Questions next time we stop . The last thing you need is to be kept up even longer
I will get you chocolate , though :-]
And Skulls ! Better to top up now than have to scramble in the morning !
A bit contradictory: getting him a snack meant that Wolfwood would have to be up longer, but chocolate would help him replenish the plasma that Vash had taken anyway, so. Not the worst idea. Candy and cigarettes were a fairly normal late-night purchase anyway, and that was evident when he forced himself to his feet and wandered out to the little spot he remembered seeing when they'd come in, where that was pretty much all that was on offer. A small selection of confections, bottles of water and energy drinks, and deceptively-colorful packages of cigarettes all being sold at a bit of an upcharge— with some condoms and intimacy kits tucked a little further back, just in case the patrons ran out of what had been 'generously provided' upstairs.
When he grabbed all of his stuff and went to pay, there was even a fee for using his digital cash app wallet-thing instead of a more typical payment method that made the blond's brows jump up. The final price of his modest haul was nearly thirty bucks— all for some chocolate, cigarettes and a little bag of hard candies he'd picked out on a whim. It wasn't like he was pinching pennies or anything, but still, that was kind of crazy?
Sorry, the clerk blustered immediately upon seeing Vash's reaction. I know, I don't get it either, but the machines do it all themselves when we enter the info, it's so stupid—
It was fine, though, and Vash assured the clerk of that. He'd seen a lot worse, and at least the chocolate was of decently high quality, given the nature of the place. The hard candy wasn't bad either, he decided as he gave into temptation and opened up the bag, popping one of the blue ones into his mouth as he walked away; something small to busy himself with during the walk back so he didn't send Wolfwood another billion little texts in the mean time…
The candy is almost the same color as the merman's hair from earlier and that means his tongue got stained with it the moment it made contact with the thing, but that was just the risk you take eating blue raspberry anything—
… mm, he was feeling better, kind of. Still not perfect, but better, and what was left had much less to do with what had happened in the last hour and some and more the whole… overarching core issue of it all. So Vash was quick to hurry back—
?!
—and hoo boy, did that mean he was walking into quite the wall of scent as he turned the corner that would take him to his and Wolfwood's room. Vash actually had to stop and physically cover his mouth and nose with his arm so he could adjust; no wonder the other man had asked him to pick up some more cigarettes. He didn't usually mind the smell— he even liked it when it mingled with Wolfwood's natural scent —but jeez, had he smoked the rest of what he'd had in that short a window…?
Maybe. He smokes more when he's thinking, or stressed.
Once he was used to the pungent odor, that was when he stepped through the door. Vash knocked first, lightly, then used the little keycard he'd taken with him to unlock it, and re-locked it when he was inside. His eyes landed on Wolfwood fairly quickly, finding him by the window— a pretty courteous move, but it didn't seem to have done much to air the place out. Not for someone with Vash's sense of smell. He smiled regardless, and moved the candy into his cheek with his tongue so he could talk.
"Ah, so that's why you asked me for smokes…" he said, his eyes (now back to that dusky shade of purple after everything) and smile both sparkling with just that little bit of fond warmth as he dug the vice out of his pocket— offering both them and the package of chocolate as he moved towards where Wolfwood was sitting. "Here. Handmade chocolates, apparently~."
Wolfwood rolls his eyes at Vash's texts, noting the differences in his typing styles that he hadn't noticed earlier. When he's serious he seems to have a different way of texting entirely, or perhaps it's when the mask is slipping. Does that mean his mask is back up now? If it is, that's Wolfwood's own damn fault, and he has no one to blame but himself for that. Ah, well...
Seems that things are back to normal... somewhat. At least on paper. Hopefully Vash's little walk cooled him off enough. Now Wolfwood knows... a little... more about their situation, enough to know that he wasn't just handed this job out of coincidence. Vash isn't just some high value target worthy of being promoted over—he's important in some way to someone near and dear to his organization. That's enough for now.
He kinda lost count of how many cigarettes he burned through while Vash has been out. It's not great, because now the nicotine buzz will keep him awake for at least another hour... that on top of the chocolate the vampire has insisted on actually getting him for real—seriously, he considered shooting a text mentioning that he was joking, but it'd be pointless. Vash would see the particle of truth in his jest and get the chocolate anyway.
Maybe he should ask if they can stay another night, if he's gonna get to bed so late. Though, it's a pretty short drive to the border of the isthmus from here, and if they stop there before tackling that particular danger zone it shouldn't be too bad.
He scratches his neck, then gets up and stretches. Vash is welcomed inside with a groan and a whine, his bare back turned, muscles glinting in the dim light of the room as they flex beneath his warm, umber skin. Wolfwood follows up with a yawn, then turns around to offer the blond a curt wave as a greeting. His smile is weary but true—he is genuinely grateful that the man came back at all after everything.
"Yeah, lost track of time I guess," Wolfwood supposes weakly, accepting the gifts with both hands. It seems like Vash is struggling with the smell... which makes sense, considering his senses are so heightened right now. Ugh, he should've thought about that. Still... he kinda thought Vash liked the smell? Maybe that's ignorant. "Damn, that's pretty fancy for someone like myself. Guess I'll have to share it with a cute guy, eh?"
Wolfwood... isn't sure where the two of them stand. He's not sure if just the night has been ruined or if the entire concept of them getting intimate at all has been ruined. Overt, light flirtation will have to fill in the cracks for now, unless Vash gives him the all-clear, or something... which... considering how hard it generally is to get the vampire to take anything for himself and how much the guy probably hates Wolfwood's guts... seems unlikely.
Setting the chocolate off to the side for now, over on the desk that's within arm's reach, he shoves the Skulls into his sweats pocket and looks into Vash's eyes, searching for... something. Some kind of answer—maybe a crack in his mask.
Even being used to the vast delta of time between sending Wolfwood a text and receiving one in return couldn't stop the concern that gnawed at the blond's stomach, only getting worse and worse the longer the seconds marched on without one. Eventually, though— ding! —he did get one, and it did affirm that, yeah, a solo attempt was a long shot, so they would be continuing forward regardless—
Part of him notes that there's no way for Wolfwood to know whether or not Vash is still in the building. He could already be gone for all the hunter knows— texting him from a mile away and about to throw the phone down a river or something—
—but things still felt a little heavy and weird, despite the confirmation that they could just have fun. That Wolfwood trusted him, which was both a relief and a reminder that Vash didn't really know what Wolfwood was thinking at all. This could just be a front he was putting up, and he wouldn't have any way of knowing, and… and it wasn't exactly out of the question to assume he wasn't going to get to know.
…
really? not a peep about the age drop?
i really can't hook any kind of interest in normal personal questions, huh ?
You know what ? You'd best be ready to COURT any answers to questions out of me for the rest of the trip , young man , cause the honesty window is closed !
Ugh. Ugh— he really shouldn't feel that hung up about this whole… thing, but this was the second time he'd genuinely tried to get feelers out, this time a bit less cryptic and more 'hey, I'm genuinely over (x) age', and it still hadn't landed. No… jokes or light mockery, none of what would usually be there, so either Wolfwood didn't care about that stuff, or… worse. Whatever info they'd given the guy had all that stuff in there, which didn't feel great! Not being able to share and genuinely get to know a person like that because, turns out, your fucking brother or his flying monkeys already compiled a nice little list for your fake friendship that they—!!
crik!
… ah.
Right, the phone… he was squeezing it and the case was groaning in protest, threatening harm to the device should he keep going; Vash quickly dropped it again, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat. He… he couldn't let that thought win out. Letting that become the lens he viewed things through would make him get up and walk out the front door—
… the blond sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to calm himself down again. Inhale through the nose, then… then exhale, slowly, out the mouth…
God, he's lightheaded now. That's such an awful thought, and now he feels a little sick—
…
Hm , need anything while I'm out and about still ? Think I could use some candy or something
Wolfwood was fully under the impression that he was answering a question—there wasn't any room for him to be distracted by 'every fifty years or so', did Vash want him to be?! Yeah—looking back on it, he didn't really react to the information, his eyes kind of glazed over it, but he's been well-trained to sift through important information, to get to the meat of a conversation—
...
Maybe that's part of the problem.
Maybe he's... maybe this entire conversation is so difficult because he's not acting like... himself? Or, well, how Vash perceives him. Maybe he's fallen—accidentally—into his work persona. Vash likes the jokes and the...
Is it, is it, the real him? Does he even have such a thing? Is there a human with a soul somewhere beneath his skin?
Clutching his phone in his hand, Wolfwood swallows. His too-tight throat struggles to relax.
Who... who is he?
The nail of his thumb traces the lines of his phone's case. Whoever he is, Vash sees it. Vash knows him. Vash knows him more than he knows himself—and isn't that scary? Wolfwood can't even scold him for lying, for seeing this... this imaginary man... because it's gotta be something, right?
He can't help but let out a fond, amused scoff. This idiot.
sorry darlin, my momma always told me not to bring up a lady's age. figured that applied here too. wanted to answer your question first anyway
His head bobs back and forth; he chews on his bottom lip as he thinks. It's not wrong—Aunt Melanie did raise him with those kinds of polite mannerisms in mind. Never ask a lady about her weight or her age, it's uncouth. Well, Vash ain't a lady, but he is Wolfwood's date... no matter how poorly it may be going currently.
how many fifties of years are we talkin anyway? how is *that* a normal question jeez...
Why is interacting with another person so difficult? His brain may as well be an overheating computer at this rate. Right... he needs to just... stop thinking. Somehow.
get somethin chocolate we can feed each other while we lay on the bed play twenty questions kick our feet in the air and talk about boys ;)
... fuck it, he'll ask a favor too.
maybe another pack of skulls if you're feelin generous.
His response to Canary evoked that sort of low trill that a purr would externally, as a bit of bonus confirmation that Wolfwood had more than likely painted that exact same picture in his own head, too. At least it seemed like everyone was on the same page, though? It was a topic they'd all kind of been… mm, maybe not 'avoiding' per se, but definitely 'dancing around' since the first night; worried that someone (or someones) might get upset with the implication, or offended, or maybe that they'd been seen as odd for suggesting it…
… or perceived as unfaithful, or promoting unfaithfulness, Star guessed might've come across someone's mind at some point during all of this. He couldn't blame anyone for not wanting to be the first one to mention it, though, not with how he'd been— a-and he wasn't like that, normally…! He'd never been like that: he wasn't insecure about his and Wolfwood's relationship (a-anymore, but even before, it wasn't like that) and he didn't need, like, proof that Wolfwood was faithful! Star trusted his partner with everything he had in him, and he trusted Canary to be playful without some sort of ulterior motive, his stupid brain was just—!!
Ugh. Wh-whatever, not the point, he'd already apologized a bunch for his hormone soup of a brain— now was time to lay groundwork and figure out where the other men stood in regards to terms and conditions and comfort and stuff—
Not gonna leave you in the lurch. Don't think we'll be able to, anyway… feels like once we get in range of each other again, all bets are off…
"From what I can tell, he's interested… nervous to bring it up, a-and kinda trying to convince himself he's okay without, but he is... absolutely interested." the shorter blond affirmed, locking big, glassy blue eyes with Wolfwood's as the undertaker did, too. Wolfwood was clearly nervous about this, too— maybe for some of the same reasons as Canary, but anyone with working eyes and ears could tell he was also trying not to come off as too eager right away, which was really, really cute —so Star set down his nearly-empty glass down on the coaster on the table, wiped the condensation off on his pantleg, then reached over, gently circling his own pale digits around Wolfwood's and squeezing gently.
Pale digits that also seem to be darkening to that same alien blue at the tips…
"I'm okay with it, though. More than, c'ause it seems like something you're interested in, and I trust you enough to explore it with you… even if my body is trying to make us all think otherwise…" he said with a laugh, a soft puff of air from the back of his throat. Of course he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to dig at himself a little— "besides, Canary could really use a little… mm, outside perspective, if he's just gonne keep being so hard on himself, yeah? You're really, really good at driving that out… and self-love can help with that, too~…"
Was that corny to say? Absolutely. Did he really care? Probably not, judging by the way his smile lifted at one of the corners and brought it quite a ways closer to smirk territory—
"Would you wanna do it in here, in the bed? I can call him in… or we can go back out there and talk to him, get things ready… wanna know where you want it, Nick…"
Ohhh it was really starting to creep in, now— those last few words came out as a sultry little rumble of sound as he tilted his head ever so slightly, rolling it against the headboard. He was still feeling weak, yeah, but maybe the connection and the kiss had both sort of… set off sparks, and those sparks had finally found something to catch on…
"Here's good," Wolfwood chirps, all but snapping his mouth shut before he starts drooling over his partner. He leans forward, putting a knee on the mattress as he crosses his feet behind him to slip his shoes off. They tumble onto the floor, and he moves in for another kiss... this time maintaining the closeness with no desire to pull away, "He's gonna have to walk himself in, because you're drivin' me crazy and I can't help myself anymore."
His words are wracked with crackling desire, like dry thunder in the desert night. Lips kiss from lips to dimple to broken earlobe to neck—Wolfwood takes note of all the pretty cerulean markings and kisses each one. He keeps their hands linked together, craving nothing more than proximity to his lover.
"Don't think you have any idea how hot you are, darlin'," the undertaker rumbles fondly, Vash's words rolling around in his mind much like how he'd like to roll around in this bed with him. Light puffs of air against the blond's pale skin mark a sly laugh, "Guess now I know your answer to that age-old question about if you'd ever fuck yourself if you met 'em. Dirty, dirty~"
(Which begs the question: would he do the same in this situation if it were another Wolfwood? Well... another Wolfwood probably wouldn't be going through weird Plant heat, but the idea isn't out of the question...)
Canary, on the mental link, doesn't respond for a long time—like there's pressure building until he just can't take it anymore. Star gave him way too much to consider, and if everyone is open to the idea—wow.
Okay, uh... I'll... I'll come to you guys then? Do you need anything before I... before we...
Wait—waitwaitwait—from everything Canary's witnessed between these two, and from Star's reaction to his more alien features in the transient space that they found themselves in before... he starts to think (while he's still able to) that perhaps Wolfwood may be in for more than he'd bargain for. His Wolfwood loves the alien-floral features of his anatomy, but... is that really so universal? Would he be shocked? Would he reject him?
Wait—does Wolfwood... um... is he comfortable with vines? I realized I don't know what he's used to working with—we might be built different in some... some places... is he gonna be freaked out?
Despite his hesitation, Canary does crawl his way out of his little pillow den, stretching his arms to the ceiling and nearly buckling over when a hot bolt of desire shoots through his midsection. It's not quite a cramp, but a deep yearning, a hunger. It only seems to get worse the more he interacts with Star like this. He genuinely can't tell if the whine he lets out is in his head or with his voice, which is concerning—it means he's losing his ability to stay grounded.
Wolfwood, nearly fully on the bed, only his toes on one foot touching the wooden floor, nuzzles against the crook of Star's neck. His stubble scratches against Vash's skin, his natural scent is heightened with the manual labor they both accomplished at the beginning of the day. Both of their scents are, now that Wolfwood is here, drinking Vash's in both through his nose and through too-soft kisses that he continues to plant along his partner, eagerly waiting for that critical tipping point where he loses himself.
"This'll be fun," he mumbles, his smug expression hidden in the depths of Vash's scarred neck. His unoccupied hand slips beneath Star's shirt, gently rubbing at his side. Even without his brain being accosted by hormones and whatever Vash's biology does to him, he always makes it crystal clear that he truly does want everything that the Plant throws at him. He's pretty sure that helps Vash take what he wants, even when he can't think straight. "If I even need to say it, I trust you with this too. So take whatever you need from me or him—I promise I'll enjoy it all. Leave me feelin' like a wreck, it'll be worth it."
The blond in Wolfwood's arms was more than okay to lie still and just… be carried through all of his partner's machinations, and the display was nothing short of impressive, even in this state. Perhaps especially in this state— it reminded him of all the times he'd seen Wolfwood unsheathe Punisher, and how easily the man moved with something like that all but glued to him, the size and shape alone more than enough to impede literally any and all standard movement… unless you were Wolfwood.
Wolfwood, who was moving around with a whole person in his arms like it was nothing. Opening cabinets and doors and grabbing handfuls of ice and pouring from the pitcher with Star barely able to adjust himself enough to get out of the way in time for any of it, but it didn't seem to matter. The undertaker didn't need him to move out of the way.
And that did something funny to Star's heart and stomach, as the overt displays of strength and physical prowess always did; like watching Wolfwood's dogma of 'I can keep up with you' in action.
Attractive as it was, he'd have to keep it under his proverbial hat for now; Star couldn't even muster enough energy to bring his arms up and cling around Wolfwood's neck and shoulders. He was just kind of limp, useless, aside from a soft laugh and a murmur of 'sorry, sorry' when called out for his accidental prodding, which unfortunately, couldn't be helped. He hadn't even noticed he was doing it…
No, it's definitely not a conscious thing… at least, it wasn't at first. But once he receives a response, he can at least narrow his focus down to Canary and Canary alone, feeling his presence buzzing at the edges of his mind. The other Independent seems eager to be heard, and Star's presence will bloom in response, offering a stronger note of curiosity, some clear concern… all beneath a blanket of warm, inviting heat that gently coiled itself around both of them, and projecting the obvious questions that both of them have been sort of… awkwardly avoiding.
Are you okay? Do you need help?
His attention was quickly snagged by the feel of Wolfwood's hand against his face, then summarily swallowed whole when the undertaker kissed him like that. With his dulled senses (and therefore a slower reaction time) he didn't get a chance to even start to return the gesture before Wolfwood was gone again, far enough away for that needy little whine of his to punctuate his disappointment… perhaps by design, as the cup of water was pushed into his hands, and he was urged to drink.
Are you teasing me?
"Definitely not complaining… you almost seem excited." the blond said, complete with a sheepish little smile and a bit of a laugh, that sounded a little raspy, still. He'd remedy that with a sip of the water— a slow sip! Just as he was instructed! —and a gentle clearing of his throat before continuing. It felt a little easier to think, now that he wasn't buried in Wolfwood's neck…
"Things are probably gonna get pretty hectic, though, yeah. Not just with me, either… you're receptive to my… cycle, and… and now it's not just mine. Dunno if I'm causing Canary to experience his, or if it's just the timing, but…"
But he had said that his cycle 'wasn't picky', and Star's had been revving up for over twenty-four hours, now. It was entirely plausible that Canary's biology was responding to him—
"… he's… gonna need help, even if he doesn't want to admit it…" Star concluded, and lowered the cup back down into his lap. He then forced his heavy heavy to tilt upward a little, just so he could look up at his partner proper— and the angle knocked most of his hair out of his face in the process. Still too long, still needed to be cut… some strands stuck to his face with the light sweat on his forehead…
… though when the blond fringe moved, something… else would become a bit more noticeable: a blotting of glow, the color of midnight, right at the edge of his hairline…
"Do we… want to help him? I know... I know the thought crossed your mind when we were talking about it, the other night, so... w-wanna know your thoughts, there, before this takes over, 'nd I can't really ask anymore..."
What an astute observation from his partner—of course he's fuckin' excited—it's taking every bit of endurance to not cave into the excitement with every kiss he sneaks or touch he offers. His pale eyes widen with each word Vash speaks; a blush grows on his cheeks at the implications.
And... and God, if the blue markings on his face aren't the most beautiful things he's ever seen. He can't stop looking at them. These markings are a far rarer sight than his 'usual' ones, blobby and dark in nature compared to the bright neon lights that form lines across his entire body. The ones that Conrad tried so desperately to mimic on Wolfwood's form—it's like they don't even exist when Vash is in this mode. Perhaps it's just to show how commanding of a mood this particular cycle can be.
"Hell yeah I'm excited," he confirms before touching on the topic of their esteemed guest, "I get to be railed by my hot alien husband until he's spent. What's not to get excited about?"
It's almost concerning how easily that sentence flowed from his mouth. He has no time to ruminate on it though—hopefully Vash doesn't mind the ease of which he's slipping into calling him 'husband'. It was difficult at first, but after warming up to it, practicing when he had time to himself, Wolfwood has definitely come around to the idea.
A short cough as he tries to temper his excitement, his face flushing bashfully.
"B-but, uh," the undertaker scratches the side of his neck with a finger, lowering his volume and flitting his gaze to the door briefly before latching onto Vash's glowing eyes, "You... you wanna help him? We'd... uh... in here? Like... like let him in? Like... you helping him or... or me? Or... he just... sits there? Or... w-wuh..."
His mouth feels dry as a bone left in the sun to rot. It feels too good to be real—
"Like... like a th... threesome?" Wolfwood practically whispers, his pupils blown wide and body gone stiff at the concept, "I—I mean, I... if you're okay with it... could... could be interestin'...."
Wolfwood's thoughts explode into fireworks at the notion of two Vashes taking what they need from him—using him like a—
He has to quickly shake the thoughts away before they completely take over the airspace. Good Lord. If Vash is feeling out his brain right now, he's fucked with the mental imagery he just conjured. It's downright blasphemous.
Mentally, Canary acquiesces to the warmth immediately, the tone of his voice, even in his thoughts, shifting to something dreamy and malleable.
Yes, God, I want—
Just as soon and suddenly as he caved into the feeling, he tries to shake it—brief panic flooding his senses as he realizes what is being asked of him. Wouldn't that be too much trouble?! And... And with how possessive Star had been of Wolfwood, would he even enjoy that?!
I—I mean, I'll be okay! R-really. I mean, like, maybe... maybe if you'd just let me tap into your feelings like this while you two are... y'know, in the thick of it... m-maybe that'd be—I mean! It'd be enough! If I can do that. D-don't need to participate! You—you won't even notice I'm here! I'll be quiet!
Honestly, being a voyeur of sorts for the past few days and what he's asking for now is far more than what he deserves. But! If Star is asking... then... then maybe...
B-but... I bet your Wolfwood would be pretty cute in a Vash sandwich... h-he wouldn't know what to do with himself...
Canary's mind begins drifting to his own heat-addled thoughts, like a lucid daydream that he can only pray Star isn't insulted by. They'd... they'd shared a similar thought like this when they were linked that one odd time... so... so...
Wolfwood's voice breaks through the silence left behind by his own thoughts—though he can tell that his Vash is having another one of those mental conversations without him. Canary must've responded to the initial call... God, these two really are going to drive each other mad even if he hadn't involved himself.
"Do you—" he clears his throat, his voice cracking under pressure, "Do you think Canary'd want that? Or... is it... too weird...?"
He set his phone down in the itty bitty bit of space between his lap and his stomach where it could safely sit while he flexed his fingers, squeezed his hands into tight fists, then unfurled them slowly. Because if he didn't do that, then he was either going to throw it, or squeeze it too hard, and he doubted that the extra-durable eighty-dollar case he had on it wouldn't save it from his strength now.
… or… maybe in the case of the former, it would, and it'd end up biting a hole right through the drywall in front of him. Who knows— there was just something so inherently frustrating about the furiously-male-coded sentiment of 'I'll just never talk about it again', no matter who it was from.
i care about you, too.
but i'm gonna be honest, wolfwood, i'm also getting some pretty mixed signals from 'wanting to plan' and you saying you 'want me to have a good time'. like you're purposefully leaving yourself out of the second equation because of the first one.
but you can't have both, wolfwood. i'm sorry.
There… was no saving him. There was no protecting him. Not if Wolfwood didn't want whatever was being dangled over his head to go up in flames while they made him watch, whether it was his freedom they were offering, or something else.
Vash swallowed, and continued.
there isn't a way out of this for me, not one where we both get to walk away at the same time. i wish i could. i wish you could. i really, really do, but this has been my life for the last three hundred or so years.
i know how it goes, and it will always be the same.
get hunted. get caught. escape. repeat every 30-50 years.
so please. please believe me when i say there's no way out for both of us if you want what it is they promised you. if you try then whatever you're trying to do is out the window.
and your 'reward' is forfeit.
But what was the reward? Vash wanted to know so badly— was it someone else's safety? A tangible prize? What was it that had damned Wolfwood to a path that he allegedly wanted to escape from…?
What are you trying to protect by throwing yourself on the sword instead…?
i won't let you throw that away. so. i need you to make a decision.
we either continue on as we are. no distractions, just business. i get another room and we move on… or you grant me a head start and i run now.
i can get to july on my own. there's a chance i can make this all go away if i hand myself over, maybe even get them to let you walk.
Which was a long shot, but if he just… promised some things, made a show of good faith, then maybe his brother would let it happen. But that was a big 'maybe', and even just presenting the option of pretending they didn't care— that they'd never cared —hurt to think about, and even more so to think about it being accepted. Vash would never hold it against Wolfwood if he did choose it, though, because the man… had a right. He deserved the option to choose, even if it clouded Vash's vision with tears again as he sent the message off…
… but that wasn't the only option, was it?
or, we have fun. we. come what may, we do what we were going to do up until we can't anymore, and we deal with whatever tries to get in our way in the process. and if anyone gets offended that we might be a little late to the 'birthday party'? then they can come tell us themselves.
The phone keeps vibrating in Wolfwood's pocket, almost enough to make him wonder if Vash is trying to call him. The hunter ignores it for the time being, wrapping himself in the quagmire of his thoughts. His entire hand cups his face, two fingers holding a fresh cigarette to his lips.
Wow, he fucked this one up big time.
It's not like him to be so sloppy with a job. All he can do is chalk it up to exhaustion and lust and... something else that he can't really put a word to. This month of tracking Vash and existing as a person rather than a hunter has made him rusty as all hell. This is why people only take week-long vacations from work. A month is too much.
He sighs out the window again, a plume of smoke in the sound's wake. From this vantage point, he—just for a moment—thinks he can see the merfolk they'd fought earlier getting their asses told off by someone tall and shirtless. It makes him chuckle—he can't help himself as he takes out his phone and quickly snaps a picture of the scene. The figures are blurry, hardly five pixels tall, but Vash would be able to tell what's going on. Maybe later he'll show him.
Unfortunately, taking out his phone to snap a picture means that... his phone is out now. He's forced to behold the veritable essay that Vash has written out for him. At least the fact that he's trying means that even with his martyr complex he really does value something about Wolfwood. He doesn't seem to want this to be over either.
Which is... bad... but...
letting you go by yourself is out of the question. they'll see it as failure no matter what you sweet talk them with.
... And if he runs, they'll surely target the orphanage—perhaps violently. No, this needs to be 100% on Wolfwood's shoulders. Even if he's the one who persuades Vash to go to his demise, he needs to claim responsibility.
even if whoever i'm taking you to doesn't see it that way, my mentor and my boss both will. if it were just my ass on the line then sure but it's not so i can't. you're stuck with me i'm sorry to say.
Stubbing his cigarette out, he then puts both hands to his temples, thinking as he sits down in the chair he pulled up to the window and leaning forward. Vash's final message feels like his last chance at an olive branch—it haunts him even in these brief moments.
Having fun means no plan. No plan means winging it. Winging it means that everything goes according to his client's plan. Everything going according to his client's plan means that Vash...
Ugh, the longer he takes with this job, the more danger he puts Hopeland in. Right? Well, there's no reason for them to be kidnapping anyone else if he's still alive—and... and Livio was an exception, since he followed willingly...
fuck it, fuck them, let's have fun.
He pauses, hesitating before saying something too honest... but going through with it anyway.
i trust you, blondie.
Wolfwood trusts that he'll find his own way out of this situation, trusts that Vash will be okay. It's not easy, but... he seems so sure that he will be... so... if blind faith is what it takes for Vash to have a good time on their last hurrah, then so be it.
Ah! N-naturally, there would be an attempt to protest— just a little. Just the usual 'oh I'm fine, I can stay present for a little longer', but it didn't get much further than— "ah, y-you don't have to…"
—before Wolfwood was lifting him up into his arms. His stupid overheated brain had vaguely lost track of things, so it'd felt a lot faster, but he'd more or less kind of spaced out after the undertaker had felt for his temperature. He wouldn't struggle, either— near-instantly adapting to the new position and tipping his head towards the pack of Wolfwood's shoulder, where he fit oh-so perfectly… nice and close to the side of his neck…
Ugh. Try to focus…
Right. He could at least listen to what was being said to hold onto for later… and hearing how Canary had been 'trying' to deal with his own growing affliction did sound familiar, in some respects. Star got like that, too, when he was coming down with something— instinctively trying to skitter off to somewhere more secluded so he wouldn't be found, then… well. The part after that was a lot less manageable, and if this hormonal mess did read to his body like an illness, then yeah, he probably would've been doing the exact same thing…
Except for the part where his Wolfwood would've scruffed him like a cat and dragged him somewhere he could keep an eye on him instead, especially these days…
Star is absolutely going to have to warn him about that sometime so he knows what to look for.
… but the part about the visiting Vash's whole… thing being triggered around 'blooming flora and Plants that are ready to reproduce', that part of the explanation stuck out to him a little. Flora bloomed seasonally, and springtime had been widely known on Earth for being the season of, ah… renewal. New life, reproduction… so, did that mean that Canary was affected by the reproduction cycle of actual flora? Or were Plants in general sensitive to that sort of thing? How did that…
… oh, no, nope, h-he… nnh, he did not have the room in his head for that kind of posturing; the heat that was eddying around his brain swallowed up anything that tried to linger too long. Even trying to force his eyes open again (when did they close??) was a bit of a struggle now that he was getting comfortable… and close…
"… y-yeah. Please…?" Star rasped softly against the column of Wolfwood's throat. Honestly, he felt like a sick child? But that… that was okay for right now. Wolfwood was being such a wonderful caretaker, making sure to bring Canary back to where they— surrounded by MULTIPLE instances of heavy quotation marks, """they""" —could keep an eye on him, and…
… and…
And in the back of the minds of both other members of the household, part-Plant and full-Plant, there's a little bit of a… blip. Like a distant ping on a radar before it fades away...
Because Wolfwood is oh-so-talented and dexterous, maneuvering around their open kitchen, picking out glasses (because despite his ribbing, Canary should probably drink some water too), filling them with ice from their ice tray, and then pouring water from the pitcher in the fridge is hardly a challenge. Vash (the one in his arms) can simply relax (or try to) as Wolfwood practically dances from one station to the next, endearingly preparing something so simple.
Thinking on it, he should probably get himself some water too, but that can come later. Star will probably slurp down this glass and he'll inevitably have to come back to refill it, so when he does that he'll prepare one for himself. Right now, taking care of these Plants takes priority.
First, he brings a glass (okay, it's plastic, does it really matter?) out to Canary, setting it on a side-table with a coaster and everything. Just in case the visitor didn't hear him fussing around, he calls out, "Got you some water too. Drink it. If you need anythin', ask."
There is an unspoken 'or else' in his tone.
Canary murmurs something that Wolfwood assumes is a thank you, and diligently does begin sipping on the water as he returns to the kitchen to grab Star's water. The chime-like presence in his senses doesn't go unnoticed even through all of this.
"You know I shouldn't be usin' my Plant stuff, darlin'," he mumbles fondly to the blond in his arms, placing a kiss on his forehead as he walks them to the bedroom, "Tempting as you are, it is doctor's orders."
... Not that he's ever been particularly good at listening to doctors.
Communicating through their mental link hasn't ever seemed to exert any amount of energy before, but... well...
If he gives in and taps into Vash's empathy, if their thoughts get jumbled up together, will his affliction rub off on him? That might not be healthy for his body in the state it's in, and Vash would feel like shit afterwards if anything bad happened. He can hold off from tuning into their link for now... right?
(Canary, on the other hand, readily reaches out himself—an echo of a ping bouncing off of the walls of Star's senses... curious... and desperate, as much as he tries to mask or dismiss it.)
Wolfwood places the cup of water on their nightstand (again, with a coaster despite the quality of the wood finish being questionable) and sets Star carefully down onto the bed, fluffing up the pillows behind him as he does. Before backing away, he gently places his palm against Vash's cheek, letting his pinky trace the underside of his ear and his thumb rub small circles under his eye. He offers a too-brief, but deep, kiss and releases him, grabbing the glass of water and handing it off instead of pursuing the feeling any further.
"You too, drink up. Not too fast; don't make yourself sick," the undertaker takes care to ensure Star's hands are wrapped properly around the sweating cup before letting him hold it on his own. He sets a hand on his hip and exhales fondly, blinking slowly before looking down at his 'husband' with nothing but soft adoration in his silver gaze, "S'pose I should prepare myself for a hell of a few days, eh? Not that I'm complainin'. Not at all."
It felt like a hammer and chisel delicately chipping against the wall of his resolve— a little tink-tink-tink on the stone as Vash rushed through the hall and away from their room, trying to drown out the noise with the hum of the fluorescent lights and the sound of his feet on the carpeted floor. But he could still hear it.
Tink. Run.
Tink. Run.
Tink. Run, run, run, run.
Run until you can't anymore. Run until it's safe to let this out.
Run ahead of him to absolve him of the guilt.
Tempting as that growing urge was getting, though, Vash managed to find a place to sit instead of entertaining it— a tight little spot between a set of old-looking vending machines and the wall of the nook they'd been tucked into, where he could budge himself in and pull his knees up to block out the rest of the world. A spot where he was squeezed just so around the shoulders for that little bit of discomfort to keep himself grounded… and to sate his craving for penance. Then, he pulled his hood up until it was hanging well over his eyes so he could just… focusing on breathing. In, then out.
In, then out.
But each breath in tore through him in a ragged gasp; each exhale shook, unsteady and rapidly clotting with everything he'd been trying to swallow down. It wasn't calming. It just made things worse as his thoughts picked up and raced, and tears quickly overflowed from the dam of his waterline, streaming down his flushed cheeks in rivulets.
For ten of his promised twenty minutes, it was all Vash could do to keep himself from exploding right then and there.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You're a monster; he's one of your brother's hunters, specifically trained to hunt you down. Why did you think it would be any different this time?
Because it felt different…!
He squeezed his eyes shut tight and pressed his back tight against the wall— it had felt so much different this time, and— and yeah, maybe he was stupid for getting his hopes up that for once in his goddamned life, he could have something resembling a real friendship. Maybe even a relationship where he didn't have to hide who and what he was for however long it lasted! So… so of course he'd fall for the very first one that seemed like he understood when things came to light… and of course, when he was trying to be open and honest, Wolfwood had to go and ask the one question that immediately put a wrench in that whole plan, all because Vash hadn't thought to frame it as— as something soft. Some post-coital thing where they talked like people did, and…
… and…
… Vash… dug his phone out of his pocket with a sniffle, using his other hand to wipe at his eyes to clear his vision so he could check the time. Not like he knew exactly what time he'd effectively stormed out of the room, but it… it had probably been nearly twenty minutes by now, and he… he didn't feel like he could go back and face the hunter without breaking down in front of him yet.
… didn't want to leave him hanging, though…
Vash sighed; he had no clue if Wolfwood would even respond to texts, let alone read them with their history with the concept, but… what else could he do right now? At least that'd be contact— letting the man know that the blond wasn't about to just crack the fucking thing in two and bolt out of the hotel, even if he didn't actually engage with it…
hey.
so.
uh.
Ugh. Already, this felt stupid— yeah, sure, let's just word-vomit all over text, why not, it's not like tonight could get worse—
couldn't have thrown me a softball question or two first? favorite color? 'how old are you really'? how many people have you killed and eaten? that kind of thing?
Maybe that last one is a little more bitter than he has any right to be, but he's upset.
you had so many questions before i thought that maybe it could be… idk, a trade-off. being honest and maybe get to know each other for real now that we're both not lying.
did you have second thoughts? i wouldn't blame you if you did.
Wolfwood is about a third of the way through his third cigarette when his phone begins to buzz.
At first he tries to ignore it, push it out of his mind, but... what if Vash is in trouble? What if it's important?
After the fourth message he pulls the phone out of his pocket and looks at it, marking the message with the notorious 'read at 12:14AM'. No hiding that from the vampire.
Then the phone buzzes again, and again, and again—
Stop.
The impulse to try to shut Vash up takes over, each buzz and message hits him like bullets to the chest. Shit. Where does he even take the conversation from here? He's not entirely sure if the Church tracks his messages—is it possible? Does he... even care anymore? One way or another they'll get what they want, so... does it matter what he says in the interim?
He starts typing. He stops typing. He backspaces. His thumbs fumble on the touchscreen. He nearly drops the phone. His hands are shaking. The dots on the screen keep appearing and disappearing, giving him away, giving every little thought away...
sorry.
Wolfwood groans looking at how pathetic the little word is on the tiny screen. He stubs out his cigarette and lights a fourth. Christ, he's gonna need more in the morning.
Against his better judgment, he continues typing.
don't you dare go thinking i had second thoughts. that's not what this is that's not what any of this is. that's not why i asked what i did. i didn't realize how stupid of a question it was until i asked it. i didn't think it'd be that sensitive.
He pauses, unsure how much he wants to reveal. He could stop here, blame ignorance, blame stupidity, but he's... neither of them are stupid. They're both too clever for their own good.
i asked because i'm so sure of this. i want a way out. i want a way for you to get out. in the moment i thought the only way to start planning was to ask questiosn that i wasn't ready to hear the answers to and you werent ready to talk about. i thought mauybe i wouldn't get the chance to ask them again. i don't know. it was stupid. i guess i thought the answer would be easy like that you just didn't know or something. wont ask again.
The thought of throwing his phone against the wall does cross his mind. Or out the window. Or maybe just tossing it onto the bed.
But he doesn't.
just want you to have a good time, vash. want you to remember this trip after im gone. i care about you. i really do. i dont want it to be over. thats why i worry. that's the honest answer. promise.
He hesitates to press send. Is it... too honest?
After letting the phone dim with inactivity several times, he finally hits send, then shoves the phone back into his pocket and cradles his face in the palms of his hands with frustration. A low growl simmers deep in his throat somewhere, and he holds himself back from howling out the window in agony.
… Wolfwood insisted that there was something that could be done— a way to save him —and as Vash sat and watched the other man wrack his brain for a solution that would likely never manifest, he briefly wondered if the hunter had any idea what the blond sitting across from him could do, if he really, really wanted to. If he really wanted to test the limits of what kind of influence would and wouldn't work on him; if he really wanted to turn this around and take the guilt off of Wolfwood's shoulders in a way that would work out for both of them.
I could make you hate me.
It was an awful thought, one that left a cold and terrible pit in his stomach, thinking about Wolfwood like that. But it'd be easy to do: just a gentle pressure against the back of his mind over the next day or so, poisoning the well so Wolfwood could forget about this… this desire to protect him when there was no protecting Vash if he wanted to get what he was promised. But the waves of his emotional tide had picked up, churning and frothing with a new breed of upset that came up to his neck— made up of doubt and anger and resolve, and what felt like rejection, or maybe the fear of it—
Why?
The word almost slipped out, and it would've ruined everything. It would've been a shuddering, broken ghost of a syllable that completely shattered his composure and showed him for the weak, soft-hearted monster he truly was— the selfish thing that would have loved nothing more than to be pulled close so he could curl up against Wolfwood and blubber into his chest like it would soothe hundreds of years of pain... but Vash caught it in the cage of his teeth before it could escape.
He… h-he had to get out of this room. Now. He was going to freak out, and he couldn't let Wolfwood—
"We can talk about it more in the morning." Vash said quietly, pushing off of the headboard with his shoulders and scooting to the edge of the bed. "Right now, you need sleep, and I… n-need a bit of a breather anyway. Gotta get all the scents unstuck from my nose~…"
I could make you hate me. I should make you hate me.
… g-get dressed. He just had to throw something on, and he had… sweatpants and shirts he could get on easy. Just had to dig them out of his bag. Not too hurried. Don't make it seem like you're rushing to get out of here.
I can't. I can't do that to him, I can't be here, I can't, I can't—
"Shouldn't be too long. Twenty minutes to wander the building, tops."
Out out out out out—
"Got my phone too, if you need me. Try and lie down though, okay?"
He wasn't going to give Wolfwood any time to try and talk him out of it, either, if there was even any desire left to do so. No discussion, no chasing— Vash was dressed and out the door before the swell of his break heart pulled him under and drowned him in front of the one person who didn't deserve to have that on his conscience—
It's immediately frustrating that one of the first thoughts that crosses Wolfwood's mind at Vash's departure—at him wanting to get scents out of his nose—is one of deep rejection. Like their biggest problem right now is that Vash doesn't like him. Get real, Wolfwood. You shouldn't have even done this in the first place.
He only watches in stunned silence from the bed as the vampire shuffles on some clothes, grabs some things, and leaves the room.
Why does it take everything in him not to burst into tears?
Again—it's the pinpricks of rejection laced with the sinister whispering of 'you shouldn't be doing this anyway' fighting a whole damn war in his mind. It... it seemed like Vash had enjoyed himself, if only for a moment, but then reality set in. For both of them.
Sighing, Wolfwood is eventually able to scoot his way to the edge of the bed and sift through his belongings until he finds his gray sweats. He doesn't bother with a shirt, but does dig into his jacket pocket to find his smokes.
If Vash doesn't want the room to smell like him, he'll make it smell like poison instead.
He should be repulsed. He should be disgusted. He should run. He should run. He should run.
Wolfwood flings open the window, setting a chair nearby in case he feels weary enough to sit, then lights a cigarette. After taking the first drag, he leans on both palms and stares listlessly into the trees and mountains and darkness of the night. It's cold. He welcomes it—welcomes every goosebump and shiver like an old friend.
With the night the duo just had, Vash should know that Wolfwood won't be able to sleep or rest until he's back in the room. Sure, the blond can handle himself, but it's still concerning.
Someone wants Vash to themselves, to get some kind of bounty. Leave it to his employer to make the job harder on him—like he's being tested or something.
Or you're taking too long, idiot.
Right... because this job really shouldn't have taken so long. Wolfwood had enjoyed it too much. He'd indulged in petty things, like feelings. Like friendship and merriment and...
He glances at his phone on the room's desk. The cigarette he'd just lit up is already burnt down to the filter. With a shake of his head and an exhale, Wolfwood snatches up the room's ashtray and shoves his phone into his pocket... just in case... before stubbing out his first light and striking another.
His eyes glaze over as he stares outside. A hand drifts over the bruising mark on his neck, suddenly wishing it meant anything. He can't wish that it was gone, he'd be lying if he tried to.
Is this really all his life has to offer? What else is there for him once the orphanage is safe and Vash is gone?
Ah, well, he'd sort of gotten lucky then— guess he'd been the first one back. Dammit—
But Wolfwood's voice paired with the grounding physical contact did make it so he was able to snap himself back, away from that increasingly-fuzzy, too-warm edge of space that he wasn't sure he'd be able to come back from as he was, and Star was thankful for it. He sucked in a soft breath and forced himself back into his body, pushing himself off of the wall so he could face the others. Second wind. This was a second wind, and he needed to focus— he could live with a bit of a headache for a little bit longer if it meant they could sort everything out, that was no big deal, it— uh—
Alright, maybe he wasn't the one they should be focused on in this situation...!
His eyes widened slightly at the sight of them. Much as he'd been hoping that both of them were out so they wouldn't stumble across his pathetic mewling, he really hadn't known where Canary's head was at with what to do with himself when they weren't around— especially since navigating their imperfect clone-esque appearance was something they hadn't quite landed on, in terms of a solution. There were obvious key differences between them, yes, but things like height and eye color disparities didn't really matter when they were literally identical in things that were too specific to explain away easily. The shape of their facial features, the placement of the mark beneath their eyes… even their voices sounded similar enough that it would probably turn heads, were they out and about together. And in a pinch, maybe they could claim blood relations? Twins like that weren't unheard of— all but carbon copies of one another —but still, it was pretty rare…
Besides, he doubts either of them are really keen on slapping a 'twin' label onto each other even as a cover; Star knows the thought makes him bristle a little bit, so—
Hypotheticals and future problems aside, though, Canary had definitely gone outside somewhere to either get away from him to avoid resonance, or deal with his own thing somewhere else by himself. He was pretty dusty… s-seriously, where had he been this whole time? Maybe he should've thought to keep more of an eye on him, but Wolfwood apparently had that covered—
Nngh!
—which was a line of thought that had all but summoned that prickly, hot sensation back from wherever it'd been hiding, now tearing through to the front of his skull instead of settling somewhere much more manageably ignorable. Clearly it didn't like the idea that his boyfriend was managing another him, but Star just bat it away as best he could. I don't wanna hear it right now, we might be in trouble here, do this later—
"Yeah, I'm here. Not sure for how much longer, but…" he huffed softly, and offered his partner a wobbly sort of smile. His voice was definitely a bit rougher than it had been this morning, his eyes a little glassier, but he'd regained enough of a foothold that both of those things still held a note of cognizance to them. He was of sound(-enough) mind… and his attention was drifting towards the visiting Vash. "Seems like I might be doing better than he is, though… where'd you find him?"
"mm-phine...~" ekes out from the space in Wolfwood's neck where Canary's face lies. He tries—tries—to stretch his arm out and give Star the most convincing thumbs up that he can... but the wobbling of his limb suggests otherwise. Wolfwood merely sighs, and hoists him further onto his shoulder, causing the visiting Vash to kick his leather-booted feet playfully in response.
These two...
"Found him in a fuckin' alleyway tryin' to sweat it off. Tucked himself between some full pallets and crates," Wolfwood briefly glances back towards Canary, but then brings his full attention to Star, reaching out with his free hand to cup his beloved's jaw, "What can I do for you, darlin'? Water? Food?"
His hand wanders to Vash's forehead and—yeah—he's burning up. Christ, he's supposed to have this happen to him every month or so? That doesn't seem right at all—but, Wolfwood supposes, at least he's not bleeding or something like a human would during their somewhat-similar cycle.
Sure, he knows enough about Vash's body to be aware of the fact that he's not dying, but this whole phase of it worries him all the same. Wolfwood's sharp gaze takes in all of his partner's features—his tired eyes, fevered skin—and his mouth settles itself into an anxious frown.
"Lemme get this sad sack of potatoes to his pillow fort," Wolfwood is eventually able to break free of Star's orbit, lifting his cargo and taking a few steps towards the bed that Canary has made out of their couch. Over the past couple of days, he's collected more pillows and blankets than either he or Star thought were in the house total. Has... has he been nesting? God...
Another exhale, and Wolfwood sets Canary down. The spiked blond scrambles to arrange the pillows and blankets before skittering into the makeshift "cave" he made with the cushions. In the meantime, Wolfwood bends back down to Star and picks him up with more gentle intent, carrying him bridal style and holding him close. He brings his wilting plant over to the couch so he can stare Canary down properly.
"So what's your deal, huh?"
Canary sputters a response, stumbling on several forms of denial before sighing, knowing he's caught, "I don't... well... usually this sort of thing only happens if I'm exposed to blooming flora or Plants that are ready to reproduce. It's not as... specific... as Star's seems to be. Not picky at all. Not usually."
"Not usually?" Wolfwood questions, digging into Canary's phrasing.
He responds by swiping his hand down his face in frustration, only bringing further attention to his blush. Guilty eyes look up at Wolfwood, then Star, before he looks back down and sighs. "Yeah, unfortunately, it seems like being around a certain priest and bottling up feelings regarding that has its effects on my biology. Do you really need me to go into the details? It's embarrassing!"
"I need you to share any details that could affect me or Star here," the nickname does not flow off of his tongue as well as other names have in the past, but he could get used to it if the need arises, "And then we need to figure out what we're gonna do with you. Don't even think about leavin' if you're just gonna go rot in an alley again."
Canary ducks further into his abode, clutching a blanket as though he can hide his bulky form behind it, "N-no! Th-that's okay! I can... I can settle things on my own, so don't worry about me!"
"Yeah, you've done a real great job at convincing me so far, bird-brain," Wolfwood drawls sarcastically, causing said 'bird-brain' to squawk in response, seemingly insulted. He returns his attention to the Independent in his arms instead, "I should get you in bed with a cold glass of water, especially if he's just gonna be impossible."
Alright, so… maybe he'd underestimated just how hard this hormonal backlog was going to hit him.
It wouldn't help that their second day in town— and their first as 'official residents' of Snake Rock —was almost shockingly normal, despite the previous night's events, though (predictably) it had started with the two culprits waking up far later than they'd planned and a round of apologies from the shorter, blonder half of the problem directed at their poor house guest for their lack of manners. Canary had insisted it was fine (of course) and the playful, knowing smile that Star had been given in response pretty much screamed 'you can promise it won't happen again all you want, but I think we all know better', so. That was that…
Another wave of apologies went to the owners of the house, because there was no way he and Wolfwood would be able to work on the repairs and stuff like they'd said they would… but the couple seemed perfectly fine with it, telling him that it was no trouble and they'd been expecting them to take this first day in town to settle and familiarize themselves with the place, which was… very kind of them, disarming the blond almost instantly by plucking at his heartstrings. Really, it was things like that— the desire to take care of their own, no matter the circumstances —that made the Independent so fond of Snake Rock. The people could be a bit rough on newcomers, but it was just to protect themselves and the people they loved… and if you could prove you weren't going to bring them trouble, they would extend that sentiment to you, as well.
It was really, really heart-warming.
Given grace for the day, though, that meant that they could focus on other things— like taking stock of what they had and what they needed to go out and buy once they started working. After that, they wandered around to look for whatever paid work they could secure for themselves, and Star was fairly quick to find a restaurant that was in dire need of a helping hand as the lunch rush rolled in. Short-staffed on both servers and dishwashers, he'd made quite the spectacle of carrying far too many wobbling trays without dropping anything and sticking around after to help clean; they'd sent him home with armfuls of hot food and the promise of paid work if he came back after this.
All in all? The first day had been surprisingly good— his condition hadn't bothered him at all, and he'd brought home enough food for all three of them to enjoy. Not bad at all!
The second day, though…?
Waking up was… fine. Star was a little groggy, but otherwise okay, able to get himself to eat something and out the door with Wolfwood so they could spend the better part of the morning doing what they'd promised in exchange for their lodgings. It was simple enough, at least for this first day: get all of the big, heavy things (like lumber and rolls of insulation and boxes of tools and stuff) from point A to point B, then get to work on repairing what they were able to before the suns got too high, and it got too hot to continue. That had been fine, too; he was a little more sluggish than normal, but again, he'd managed just fine—
Then he went back to the restaurant, and that was where things really took a turn.
The iconic Vash-brand of elegant clumsiness that had won the staff (and patrons!) over yesterday had turned into… genuine clumsiness, as the heat from the suns didn't ease off— like it was sticking to the empty spaces inside his head and making it difficult to focus. He'd made it through lunch and part of the way through to dinner, but during that time, he wobbled. He dropped things. He'd nearly passed out standing up at one point while cleaning up, and by that point? The staff are concerned.
Oh, you poor thing! Must've given yourself heat stroke, they'd concluded after Star explained that he'd been outside working all morning. Yeah. Yeah, that was it…
Someone kindly walked him home after that, despite him insisting that he could make it back by himself— and after thanking them profusely (and apologizing, of course) the Plant trudged through the front door, took maybe five or six steps in through the entryway, then just sort of… slumped and thudded against the closest wall, letting his eyes flutter shut.
It's starting…
His skin felt too tight. His head was pounding. Was he alone in the house right now...? He couldn't tell; his senses were all muddled, and that made trying to cast out his senses difficult, like trying to throw a tangled, knotted mess of crappy rope and instead it just sort of fell out of your arms, clumsy and entirely unhelpful...
Maybe he'd gotten lucky, though: maybe Wolfwood was still out and Canary was… s-somewhere else, and neither of his housemates would have to see him pathetically groaning and rolling his forehead against the wood of the wall, blearily hoping it absorbed some of the heat from his skin—
Wolfwood could sense the way Vash began to slow down over the course of the day or so since their arrival to Snake Rock—it wasn't obvious to anyone around them (besides, perhaps, the visitor they were housing), but to the blond's keeper...
It manifested in little things.
There was the clinginess, yes, but that could be attributed to a couple different things. Vash is, in general, kind of a touchy-feely guy. Wolfwood, over the course of their reunion, has attempted to better himself on this front, but he still pales in comparison to Vash. Both Vashes, he realizes, as he spends more time with Canary.
Canary, though he does weave in casual touches with his distant way of speaking, has a cold sort of aura about him. He maintains a carefully erected bubble, like he's trying to keep himself locked away as much as he's trying to keep everyone else out. The way he puts a hand on a shoulder or even hugs someone is just a distraction for the other party—it's a means to keep someone away from the heart of the matter.
Wolfwood is... quite acquainted with it. His Vash has already had plenty of stern talkings to about the self-harm inducing mindsets, and Wolfwood isn't really sure if it's his place or not to have the same kinds of conversations with Canary. Maybe that's an argument best left for Canary's Wolfwood at home. But damn does it bother him all the same. Fuck.
Day two (assuming their arrival was day zero) of their stay in Snake Rock, and it's like Wolfwood has two different leashes going two different directions already. That's fine—his Vash has a good head on his shoulders at this point (even if he's sick) and they worked together all morning. He'd mentioned finding a job at a nearby restaurant, so Wolfwood had let him get to it.
Of course, as soon as he turns his head to talk to his darling husband about anything, the other Vash is already out of sight. He's doing his best to not be an inconvenience, or whatever, and it pisses Wolfwood off. It reminds him of the old Vash, the one who tortured himself psychologically on the regular. He's not sure how long the bird-brain will find himself stuck in this parallel universe, but behavior like that isn't something he'll take sitting down. Once his Vash is settled inside the restaurant, Wolfwood turns his attention down the main road lined with shops and attractions and food carts, nursing a cigarette as he idly looks for both work and any spiky blond morons.
He needs to work, he knows this, but keeping both Vashes out of trouble is a full-time job of its own too. A flash of red slumped against an adobe wall in a remote alleyway is all he needs to see to take some action. Canary can hide all he want behind garbage bins and crates, but Wolfwood is an expert at this well-rehearsed game of hide and seek.
Upon closer inspection, as his flat soles crunch against loose gravel in his not-so-silent approach, it doesn't look like Canary is faring too well himself. He's hunched and slumped, his forehead pressed against a canteen of, what Wolfwood assumes is, water. The metal sweats—the liquid inside is refreshingly cool.
"Don't tell me you're gettin' sick too," Wolfwood chimes up, not particularly wanting to trigger any fight or flight responses from one Vash the Stampede. He leans on the wall opposite of the drooping blond, who merely offers him a weak smile in response. It takes everything in him not to roll his eyes at the faux sign of assurance, instead deciding to blow smoke off to the side, watching as everyday shoppers laugh mid-conversation while they pass by.
"Nothing gets past you, huh Wolfwood?" Canary states plainly, his voice practically croaking as it tries to incline into a question. He sets the canteen back on his belt and folds his hands around his knees, bringing them in before speaking, "Don't worry about me. I think Star's feeling it worse than I am."
"Star... right, I forgot you have a name for him too," Wolfwood mutters casually through another drag of his cigarette, letting the humdrum white noise of the world fill the gaps in their conversation for a moment. Canary audibly sighs, his bangs flopping against his knees as he presses his head against them. After scanning him, the dark-haired man continues, "What a fuckin' week to get sick—it's hotter than the ninth ring 'a hell here."
It's so hot that Wolfwood has left his black blazer behind, wearing only a dark gray undershirt and some work jeans around town after their initial stint with their landlords. At least he has the modesty to wear a t-shirt, but it is still thin enough to sit under his usual clothes comfortably, when the situation calls for such a thing. Most times he goes without undershirts, but if he's giving a service or prayer or something, most God-fearing individuals prefer their priests to keep their chests relatively covered up.
The... tight, thin layer of fabric on its own leaves very little to the imagination, however.
Canary's violet-tinted, bright blue eyes peek from the peaks of his knees briefly, looking Wolfwood up and down. As if he's flustered, he immediately hides his entire face once again, shuffling his arms to wrap around the top of his head.
"You have no idea," he mumbles, clearly groggy with the growing discomfort of the, uh, illness. "It's okay though. I can fight through it on my own. Nothin' I can't handle."
Vash doesn't even bother trying to persuade Wolfwood with that attempt. He remains completely slumped, doing his best to analyze every grain of sand on the ground.
"Look, if there's anythin' I can do to help—me or Va... Star—just lemme know, I'm sure we can—"
"Wolfwood," Canary's voice is ice-tinged, his eyes shut and his smile sharp enough to cut diamond when he looks up, "I appreciate it. But you have a place here, with Star. I don't belong here at all. Unless you can open up a portal and kick my ass back home, there's nothing either of you can do."
Which is a lie, and Wolfwood knows it. Still, there's no use getting into a fight over it, so he chooses to pout and throw the butt of his cigarette to the ground, stomping over it with his heel.
"You and I both know that's a fuckin' lie, you airhead," Wolfwood shrugs with finality, an offer on the table that no one has yet spoken aloud, "But if you're insistin' on torturin' yourself, not much I can do about it. I'm gonna try to find some work, and if I find your ass here while I'm on my way home, I'm gonna drag you back with me. Got it?"
Canary slumps again, waving him off without looking up. He grumbles in response, and Wolfwood pivots on his heel, walking off without looking back.
†††
Almost two hours pass, and Wolfwood is finally able to find a menial task to tackle. Someone who runs a butcher shop offers him some cash if he can check the worm traps around the outskirts of town and bring back the contents. The butcher doesn't trust him to not run off with the meat, but he doesn't have much of a choice accounting for his sprained ankle that's on the mend. He's about to give Wolfwood the keys to the traps, when someone taps him politely on the shoulder.
He fights the reflex to snap at them when he sees it's one of the kind waitresses from the restaurant Vash seems enamored with. She tells him that they had to send his partner home, that he wasn't feeling well at all. Worried now, Wolfwood calls off the job with the butcher (much to the man's displeasure) and starts back towards their house.
Surprisingly, Canary is still slumped in the alley.
These two are a damn mess.
Not keen to fuck around, Wolfwood looms over the displaced outlaw for a brief moment, just to announce his presence again, "Alright Pointy, turns out my Vash got sent home sick, so we have a bit of a change of plans... and I'm not about to let you sit here and waste away in a piss-stained alley, so up we go."
Without asking or waiting for permission, Wolfwood wraps an arm around the blond where he can, causing him to let out an alarmed squawk. This one really is bird-like, huh?
He hoists the visitor over his shoulder with ease; Canary, not feeling entirely himself, squishes his cheek against Wolfwood's collar with a sun-drunken smile. His thoughts seem to be replaced with cotton balls. Has he even bothered to drink any of that cold water in his canteen, or is he simply using it as a cold pack? Maybe he can set up an ice bath or something if it helps him come to his senses.
The door is unlocked by the time Wolfwood reaches it, and he can feel Vash's sad attempts to reach out, like rope at his feet. He sighs, almost scared what he'll find when he opens the door and sidles his way in, trying not to disturb his sick husband as he shuts the door behind him with the barest of clicks. Canary hardly stirs as he squats to the floor, finding Star collapsed. His heart races with anxiety, concern, worry—even if this is something... weird and hormonal, both of these Plants seem to be at death's door. It feels anything but horny.
"Vash, darlin'," Wolfwood coos, placing a hand on Star's shoulder and rubbing him gently, "I came home. One of your friends from the restaurant came and got me. Are you with me?"
Vash looked at Wolfwood dead-on, then, his own conviction bleeding through to match and making it that much easier to keep his tone even in this crucial moment. Failure was not an option— the blond had already made that choice for the both of them when he'd decided to go on this trip. Wolfwood's insistence on the matter— that there was a reason for his actions beyond the standard affair —only served as proof that he'd made the right call, and strengthened his own resolve.
"We're going to July, Wolfwood." he said, that resolve bolstered by Wolfwood's own determination and leaving absolutely no room for argument. This was final. "And whatever happens when we get there, whatever you have to do to claim what it is you were promised for completing this job… happens. Once it's over, it's not your problem anymore."
It… sucked to acknowledge the reality surrounding them so directly. It hurt. But whatever it was that had Wolfwood motivated enough to talk like that… that was far more important than his feelings on the matter—
"You never let them know you know any more than you did going in; you just take what you're owed and you walk away."
—so Vash forced a smile, big and bright enough to cover the way it felt like his heart was coming apart at the seams. It was fine. It was more than fine, he told himself, feeling that urge to pack up and disappear simmering just beneath the surface of his skin. He knew that feeling all too well by this point. Not this time, though— again, he'd already decided. He wasn't going to run again when there was something on the line for another person that wasn't just… greed, or a lust for power and status and whatever else it was that drove people to do things like this…
…
… a spark of curiosity flickered and died as Vash briefly wondered what Wolfwood's reason could be, if not for the glory of it all. What made this worth it? What kept him tied to a place like the Church, if he didn't really get it, or want to do things like this? And by all rights, Vash could ask. Maybe in some fundamental, more transactional view of things, he was owed that much, but the spark that tried to give rise to those questions found nothing to catch on, leaving the words to dissolve somewhere deep inside his chest. He didn't want to put any more of the onus on Wolfwood if he could help it.
…
… or maybe he just… didn't want to know, anymore. He didn't deserve anything in this arrangement; what he'd already been given had been way too much, far too gracious—
Maybe it was his turn to maintain the distance, now. Even if the thought makes him want to tear his heart out.
"Don't even think about worrying about me, either, okay? Not for one second." Vash added with a laugh. "I'll be fine once everything's said and done— there's a reason they bothered telling you how good I am at getting out of tough spots, after all~."
He lifted a hand a tapped a finger to his own lips with a wink; a playful gesture, just to pump a little levity back into the conversation he'd started.
"We're not gonna be able to do any of that if you don't get some sleep, though— seriously, there's no way I'm letting you drive tomorrow if you don't get at least eight hours worth...!"
Wolfwood can feel the room flip itself over—the mood has shifted, and there's no fixing it from this point. He feels like a complete idiot. It was stupid of him to open up about his mission at all, and it was even dumber to ask Vash about what awaits them in July. There's a frigid fissure breaking the ground apart between them, and, God, he just wants to reach out and bring the vampire over to his side.
"Vash..."
The hunter sighs, his eyes searching the blood-red ones ahead of him for any kind of answer that isn't just 'go to sleep, Wolfwood.' His body feels wired now, like if he doesn't solve the problem it'll just eat him alive.
But... why would a vampire want anything to do with their captor, anyway? Maybe Vash is distancing himself now because he knows Wolfwood's true colors. Maybe he just... doesn't meet the mark anymore. Maybe he really is just... another hunter from the Church.
Moreover! The way Vash immediately accepted his fate—it bothers him. Can't they try to figure out some way to... to...
(No... they can't...)
"I can't just let you sacrifice yourself for me, even if you think you will get out," Wolfwood is eventually able to voice the tumultuous thoughts through his choked throat. His eyes drift to the side, his brows furrow heavily. "There's no guarantee you'll..."
He shuts his eyes. A growing, throbbing pain begins to knock his brain around with the stress that builds and builds. What answers are there?
It's stupid, but...
"I'm not walkin' away from you," Wolfwood growls, resolve spitting from his lips, "We're both gettin' out of there, alright? It might... might take me some time to find the right moment or... you know, whatever, but we're both gettin' out."
Why would he promise such a thing? Would the Church really uphold his end of the bargain if Vash disappears weeks after being turned in? Does this doom him to a life protecting the orphanage from assassins like him?
"If you're determined to figure shit out, then let me help," he looks up at Vash again from under his eyelids, like a dog guilty of a crime its owner doesn't know about yet, "We... we still have some time to come up with a plan. It... this... doesn't have to be over. We can still..."
Still...
Still what?
He doesn't want anything to do with you.
That's not...
His voice dies off before he gets to any point. The word 'friend' withers away on his tongue before he can even mention it. All he is is a guilty man looking his quarry in the eye as he sentences them to death.
