Music thrums like waves around him, a blistering life that only elevates the way his breath echoes. The scent of nicotine, weed, beer, sweat, it's thick in his lungs, every breath filled with the vices that surround him. The whole thing makes Vash feel slightly lightheaded, overwhelmed by the pressure of the haze in his mind, the half finished drink in his left hand drips with condensation, the neon liquid shimmering under the strobing lights. He presses the glass to his lips and takes a drink, feels the way the alcohol hides behind the sugary flavour, lets it burn down his throat and settle in his stomach with a trail of heat that spreads from his sternum onward.Â
Behind him a voice sounds so close it startles him slightly. Wolfwood, Nicholas, is dressed in a simple black top, satin by the looks of it. Vash’s eyes trace the collar, follow it down to where his collar bone peeks out, a dusting of pink colouring his cheeks. He refocuses on the drink, takes another sip as his eyes return to the dance floor in front of him. Wolfwood doesn't leave, instead Vash feels him shift closer, pressing his body against the corner.Â
“Didnt know you were one for the clubs needle noggin.”Â
He says it with an heir of curiosity rather than malice, tilting his head to the crow as if to add further emphasis to his point.Â
“I would have said the same for you, a little old for this aren't you, punisher?”
He smiles at his own comment, licks across his lips the way he knows is enticing. Maybe if he plays things right, he could get something more. Wolfwood seems to linger only briefly on vash before he turns his gaze to the floor, swirling something that looks like a malt whiskey. It absolutely has no right to be at this club, a place where the lights and music are much more geared to brightly coloured, much too sugary drinks, topped with too much vodka and things meant to forget. But Vash thinks the drink is fitting for Wolfwood.Â
“Knives never sticks around for these things.”Â
This time vash does scoff, because of course his brother doesn't come to places like this. Vash would bet money that Nai is at his hotel on the travel simulator, focused on training for their upcoming race. Part of Vash knows he should be doing that too, he finishes off his drink with a cough before the thoughts can return any stronger. He isn't here to remember just how much is on his shoulders, he is here to get wasted and have fun and potentially find some nice guy to spend the night with.Â
“Yeah well, I'm not Nai.”Â
It comes off harsher than he intends for it, fueled by a deeper insecurity no doubt, Wolfwood doesn't comment. He simply seems to tuck the information away as he finishes his own drink, albeit without coughing.Â
“Dance with me?”Â
Vash cocks his head because there is no universe where Wolfwood would have asked him that. And yet he holds his hand out to Vash and every ounce of self restraint Vash has ever had dissipates under the contact of their skin as vash places his hand over Wolfwood’s. Its the same rush he gets from the car as he gets dragged out into the center of the floor, his shoes sticky from where they step, a slow swaying to the rhythm as he wills his mind to catch up to his body. Wolfwood’s hands make their way around Vash’s waist, thumbs pressing into his hips as he drags their bodies in closer.Â
His fingers seem to burn Vash's skin from where they make contact, sending a similar sensation to the alcohol through his body. His heart is convinced this is a race start, engine idle as he lets the feeling take over. Everywhere around them is sweaty, hot with the other bodies, base deep in his bones, sending vibrations right through him to only add to the height. He is certain that he might have accidentally taken some form of ecstasy because this feels absolutely ethereal. He grows bolder with the music, rolling his hips into Wolfwood, for a moment he is convinced he even hears the man groan. It must certainly be a figment of his imagination. Except that Wolfwood’s spinning him around like he weights nothing, like he isn't a professional athlete, and it makes Vash dizzy with something he doesn't dare name.Â
Their new position allows Vash the ability to grind his ass back onto Wolfwood, letting out a delighted wine when the man’s lips press into his neck, hot and wet where he begins to leave a trail. Vash’s arms reach to find his hair, fingers intertwining into the silky strands before tugging softly as his head tips back, a flush of heat cascading through him as he hears the growl right in his ear this time. It's too much, addictive, artificial, it makes him feel sick with want. Lust burning deep in his veins every second that Vash moves.Â
Wolfwood's hands are up his shirt, prying the material out of his tucked jeans, hands exploring sweat slick skin. And Vash is panting, hot and delirious, pawing at the man to let him breath, to break whatever curse exists in this club. He knows he should be back at the hotel, knows he needs to be sleeping, preparing for their race, and yet the feeling is intoxicating, and here Wolfwood isn't his rival, he is an angel, dark and mysterious and so beautiful it makes Vash seriously question the presence of a God.Â
The last of his resolve slips away when Wolfwood sinks his teeth into the flesh of Vash’s shoulder and Vash has to beg him over the music,Â
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