( nicholas expects him to pull away from the touch when he gives a response like that — from this angle, he can't really tell if it's a good thing or a bad thing — but the thing is that he doesn't want him to, some part of his own repressed self craving the closeness without realizing it, and once he does realize it, it's going to take everything in him to pull himself away, because he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

it's here in the interim where nothing is sure that he soaks in the warmth of him, his other hand slipping down from his collar and making its way around to the middle of his back, arm curling around him quite without his permission, like his body is ready to go to war with his mind if he thinks to put any real distance between them.

close like this, he swears he can feel vash's pulse, and if he were to turn his head just so he could press a kiss there, barely-there, like a secret between them. he thinks about it — and then he thinks about how he doesn't deserve that, either — and he lets out a sigh that ends with him bonking his own forehead against the blond's shoulder, stupid, stupid, stupid echoing in the back of his mind as he taps a reprimand against his collarbone with index and middle fingers. )

Don't do it for me, Spikey. Do it for you. ( his words are just a little bit muffled because he can't be assed to pull back enough to speak properly, so vash is probably going to feel his mouth moving against his shoulder. nbd. ) But … thanks, for tryin' at all. That's all I'm askin'.

( he's the one trying to soothe you, you bonehead —

but there isn't going to be any denial of how nice the touch feels; it's easy to forget just how touch-starved he really is until there is some manner of touch, and vash — vash and his ridiculously tactile ass — always seems to be the one to remind him that before him, he can barely remember the last time anyone had even bothered touching his shoulder, much less hugging him.

( he'd still been a child, that much is true, and while it isn't as far off as it seems some days, it feels like more than a lifetime away. left behind in a past he'd been made to trade in for a future he hadn't asked for. )

he likes the sound of the other's laugh whenever it comes, even when it's exaggerated and all for show but in this quiet moment, that even quieter huff of laughter against his neck sounds about as genuine as he's ever heard it, and he can't help thinking wish you'd laugh like that more often.

suits you.

his throat bobs in a shallow, useless swallow when the other's nose brushes over the shell of his ear, tendrils of warmth prickling over the back of his neck upwards and it's too on-point to be an accident ( you little shit ) and so, in turn, he presses the uncharacteristically soft line of his mouth against the beat of vash's pulse, no more pressure than that, lingering just long enough to register the flutter of his heartbeat beneath the surface of his skin.

an approximation of a kiss, if there ever was one. )

'Preciate it.

( he knows he's overstepping — or at least thinks he is, pressing this close, invading vash's personal space like this — but he can't quite pull himself away from him,because it feels good and it feels right, though ti stands to reason that he's wanted this kind of closeness for so long that he's only convincing himself that there's something there that really isn't.

because he's pushing him away, isn't he? that hand against his chest, while it might be soaking up his warmth it isn't letting him any closer, either, and there's something about that that makes his heart sink a bit in his chest. like he knows he's trying for something futile, but he has to try anyway, just to be able to say he did it in the first place.

he hears the sound that comes out of him — the whine that isn't — and he wants to chase after it, he wants to feel it on his lips and taste it on his tongue, wants to feel it all the way down to his goddamned bones but he doesn't want to press too far. doesn't want to scare him off just because he has the impulse control of a toddler when he's around him.

damn it, spikey.

nicholas exhales through his nose, a warm, slow puff of air against vash's neck as he pulls back a fraction of an inch, pausing because even something so simple makes it feel like they're miles apart again; one hand slips up to cradle the edge of his jaw very, very briefly, a phantom touch more than anything else, and only because he can't stop himself from it. it feels like he's losing something he'd never even had to begin with. )

Yeah, a'right. ( he withdraws completely then, taking his touch and its warmth back with it, bending to retrieve the punisher and hauling it up onto his shoulder as easily as anything. he steps away, turns away, and his chest aches in a way he can't quite put words to. )

Let's go.

( he doesn't want to put any distance between them. goddamn everything, he doesn't, but he's not sure what else to do, what else he can do now that the moment has shifted. it feels like it's drifting away from him, little by little even though he hasn't stepped away from him completely, like he's watching himself outside of his own body make the worst fucking mistake he could possibly make.

don't you dare. don't you fucking dare. don't be a coward.

wait, vash says, and even if it's probably the softest thing he's ever heard in his life, even if he's not entirely sure he hears it at all in the first place it's enough to have wolfwood pausing. stopping before he can even think to put one foot in front of the other and step away from him completely, hope fluttering in his chest like the beat of a thousand tiny wings against his ribs, and he thinks —

no. he doesn't. he doesn't think for once in his god-forsaken life before he's reaching to curl that same hand over the side of the blond's neck, the pad of his thumb pressing just beneath the edge of his jaw in an attempt to tip his face upward. it isn't quite gentle, but it isn't quite harsh, but the press of lips against lips is sweet enough to counter anything that might be perceived as such. even with as abrupt as it is.

wait.

don't go.

don't leave me again, you stupid bastard.

wolfwood inhales sharply through his nose, pressing forward until he has vash fully backed up against the tree, the fingers of his other hand still hooked into the punisher's straps but he barely feels the weight of it at all, a familiar thing in the back of his mind dwarfed by the unfamiliar pressure against his mouth, warm and soft and the kind of sweet that's bound to leave you with a couple of cavities. at the very least, a bit of a toothache.

almost too gently, he sucks vash's bottom lip between his own and nibbles at it, something of a tease and something to keep him grounded all at once, like there's any chance he's going to be able to convince himself that this isn't actually happening.

finally. finally. )

( 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.

( well. that makes two of them, doesn't it? wanting to make sure what they're feeling is real —

of course he hadn't been thinking when he'd closed that distance between them, when he'd taken the blond's mouth in a kiss that he swears he's going to be able to feel, to taste in the back of his mind until he can no longer take a breath, and while he's never really thought about death in terms of his own very much up to now, he's pretty sure he could take the final steps to his grave in that very moment and feel like he has no regrets.

finally, a distant voice insists once again, you're finally gettin' your shit together, aren't ya?

vash nuzzles into his palm, and his heart fucking aches as he does it, wanting nothing more than to take away any of the hurt that still lingers in his chest, the ache of everything he thinks he's missing and replacing it with everything he has in him to give. anythin' you want, blondie. anythin' i've got, it's yours until you decide you don't want it.

he leans in and brushes a kiss to the center of the other's forehead, nosing beneath the fall of his bangs with a hum. more of a rumble than anything else. )

'Course I'll go. ( he says quietly at first,like it's a secret just between the two of them. ) Haven't you figured out yet, there's nowhere you could go that I'm not gonna follow?