( wolfwood has never been as impulsive as vash — that kind of goes without saying by now, doesn't it? — but the sound of his voice had been enough to find the rest of his resolve crumbling, slipping through the spaces between his fingers like so many grains of sand because he can't stand to hear him sound like that.
like he's losing something, too, even if he's not quite sure what it is.
nothing about this is elegant, it can't be when there's nothing in him but the kind of desperate need that's been beating in his chest right alongside his frantic heart when he'd realized he couldn't find him. because damn it, he still had so much he needed to say, so much he needed to apologize for because in the end, a stupid piece of paper could never be worth trading a life away, and he needed vash to know that he was sorry, so sorry, if he could do it all over again it would be so different —
( would it have been, though? when it had meant the difference between keeping the orphanage safe or letting it fall into the wrong hands? )
he's not thinking about that now; the only thing on his mind is the way their mouths fit together, vash's lips so soft and warm against his own that he's not entirely sure he isn't dreaming the whole thing, perfect as it is. it isn't long before he lets the punisher go, lowering its weight to the ground at their feet as gently as he's able without putting any distance between them because he needs to have both hands on him. needs to create as many points of contact as he possibly can just to be sure it's real.
that now-free hand presses against the very center of vash's chest, fingers splayed damn near possessively over the warmth of his skin beneath a layer of fabric and a quiet, soft moan is startled out of him when the other's tongue slides into his mouth; he curls his own against it, tasting him in turn and groaning at the sweetness of him. it's so much, and still not enough all at once.
absently, the hand at his neck slips up to brush away the wetness teasing the corner of one eye with the pad of his thumb, and he pulls back just as much as he needs to murmur against his mouth: ) Don't cry. ( a brief nip of a kiss, and then: ) You beautiful idiot.
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like he's losing something, too, even if he's not quite sure what it is.
nothing about this is elegant, it can't be when there's nothing in him but the kind of desperate need that's been beating in his chest right alongside his frantic heart when he'd realized he couldn't find him. because damn it, he still had so much he needed to say, so much he needed to apologize for because in the end, a stupid piece of paper could never be worth trading a life away, and he needed vash to know that he was sorry, so sorry, if he could do it all over again it would be so different —
( would it have been, though? when it had meant the difference between keeping the orphanage safe or letting it fall into the wrong hands? )
he's not thinking about that now; the only thing on his mind is the way their mouths fit together, vash's lips so soft and warm against his own that he's not entirely sure he isn't dreaming the whole thing, perfect as it is. it isn't long before he lets the punisher go, lowering its weight to the ground at their feet as gently as he's able without putting any distance between them because he needs to have both hands on him. needs to create as many points of contact as he possibly can just to be sure it's real.
that now-free hand presses against the very center of vash's chest, fingers splayed damn near possessively over the warmth of his skin beneath a layer of fabric and a quiet, soft moan is startled out of him when the other's tongue slides into his mouth; he curls his own against it, tasting him in turn and groaning at the sweetness of him. it's so much, and still not enough all at once.
absently, the hand at his neck slips up to brush away the wetness teasing the corner of one eye with the pad of his thumb, and he pulls back just as much as he needs to murmur against his mouth: ) Don't cry. ( a brief nip of a kiss, and then: ) You beautiful idiot.