punisheye
welcome home. ₍ ₁₈₊ ₎
what i wouldn't give to be in church this sunday, listening to the choir so heartfelt all singing:"god loves you, but not enough to save you."NICHOLAS D. WOLFWOOD.affiliated with isola radiale. indie friendly.
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"Only kinda? Wow." Wolfwood presses his lips to Vash's jaw, trails them up to his ear where he nips at his earring playfully. "Only thing I'll complain about s'how the guy I put a ring on only kinda likes me."
He grins, eyes shining in the dark. Wolfwood wants to press them closer, but they're already so impossibly close, like he wants them to just melt into each other, forget where one ends and the other begins. Vash is still so responsive to every little touch; Wolfwood's glad to keep touching him.
Not something either of them can blame on the alcohol, but if they were anywhere else outside of this room or their home or some little closet they've crammed themselves into when they couldn't wait anymore, they wouldn't be in this position.
One hand stays on Vash's back, right under his shirt. The other moves from his waist down to his hip, grazes over the curve of his backside (before they left, he'd laughed and made a comment about Vash's ass looking good in those pants), down to his thigh. He squeezes it.
"Vash," he mumbles dizzily. "Fuck, yer so..."
Beautiful. Handsome. Hot. Wolfwood could go on. He brings his hand back to Vash's waist, his fingers digging in. Still toned with muscle, but their time here, where they can afford to relax, to eat, to laugh, has added a small plush softness to his torso, along with the rest of him. Wolfwood's extremely aware of every part of him now.
"All mine." God, it's still somehow so hard to believe. Wolfwood turns his head and their noses bump together. He breathes in and then kisses him, right there in the middle of the crowd where he knows no one will look at them.
★ --;; Wolfwood's right and they both know it, no matter how many theatrics they may resort to with one another. All Vash is capable of is snorting and rolling his eyes, as pathetic of a comeback as it is, not helped at all by the hopelessly endeared grin on his face.
"Yeah, yeah," he smiles around his bitten lower lip, letting the pulse of the music and sea of bodies act like just as much of a guiding hand as the warm palm against his back. Their faces are almost just as close as the rest of them, noses brushing against each other and gaze taken up entirely by the mirrored one from brown eyes reflecting the ever-changing lights bouncing around the dance floor.
The movement of the cradles of their hips shifts along with the song, matching its beat; even if it's not anything like what they've done before, whether that be slow and easy in their dim kitchen or any of the not-quite-sober romps back home that doesn't mean it doesn't still leave him a bit giddy, the stabbing notes rattling straight through him.
The anonymity of it all is just as much a part of the intoxicating atmosphere as everything else; the fact that there really is no one paying them any mind, no one cares or even has an inkling about who they are, that they can be loose entirely and simply be another blip in the crowd only aids the vaguest of shivers that runs up his spine as the feeling of calloused fingers shifting and finding themselves against his skin.
The song shifts, still being carried by the same trance-like beat but into something higher and reedier, even if just for the moment. It makes it easier to hear when Vash hums back in return, regardless of the both of them being nearly equal in just how honed their senses could be.
"Well I guess I kinda' like you, preacher man," he smiles, turning just the bit towards the other's ear. Fingers toy with dark hairs at the base of Wolfwood's neck, denied their previous resting place by the press of their fronts together. "You complainin'?"
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I'm realizing why I hate drafting posts. Cause most of the time I make new stuff I wanna share but now I got all these other things I gotta post as well TwT
On a brighter note, a lot of you on here and Twitter seem to enjoy the homestuck x trigun art. Which makes me happy :3
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That little stunt has Wolfwood considering, for the briefest moment, pushing Vash over the edge of this floating island and carrying on like nothing happened. He gives him a nasty glare in response, but keeps himself from chewing him out right then and there if only so he won't scare the wildlife away.
"I ain't gotta worry about gettin' snatched up. You, on the other hand." He plants his hand on Vash's head and shoves it down, holding him there. His other hand brings his own binoculars up to his face.
A pair of cranes with plumage more suited for some sort of tropical bird are perched at the top of a small waterfall that tumbles over the edge of one of the tinier islands; one snatches up a colorful fish and gulps it down in one go.
"Maybe I could use ya to bait the scarier ones out." He's joking, but he sounds as serious as a heart attack.
"Huh. Are they?" Just for the sake of it, Vash tosses the offered pair straight up into the air, spins in place himself, and catches the binoculars by the straps—barely keeping it from smashing against the ground. Then he pulls the 'nocs back into his hands properly.
Unbothered by any complaint Wolfwood might make for that, the rascal tilts his head up and peers through the glass, finger adjusting the zoom.
"Whoa." A low whistle. "Jeez, glad we're far away, Wolfwood. Wild how those birds are way more huge than they look. We'd get snatched up in a heartbeat!"
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Sᴇɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜsᴇ “Hᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀ (...)”s. Tʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏɴʟʏ ʀᴇᴘʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ‘ʏᴇs’ ᴏʀ ‘ɴᴏ’.
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Of course he's met both of them. Vash the Stampede's always running around poking his nose into other peoples' business, after all. Doesn't matter what world he comes from or if his hair is black or blond.
"Just one," he clarifies. "The tall one, black hair."
Wolfwood snorts. This guy sure is one to go on about being talkative, huh?
"Ya get used to it. I had more than enough time." Constant chattering for countless hours across the endless expanse of desert made him learn how to just tune it out, or else he would go insane. What was it that someone said about how leaving two men together in a tiny room for two months would create the necessary conditions for murder?
That, but with two men on a motorcycle on a desert planet.
...Well, they didn't end up killing each other. Definitely came close a couple dozen times, though.
"He ain't givin' ya any trouble, is he? Just talkin' yer ear off?"
「✧」 Your wedding? Aurelius stops to re-examine Wolfwood again. He doesn't see anything particularly wedding-like about the man, but perhaps he just needed a wardrobe change to white and then ditch the sunglasses.
"I see, allow me to offer my congratulations."
"Marriage is a happy union, so naturally the more blessings the better. Perhaps your unintended deliveryman was trying to augment your good fortunes. That being said—"
He casts a sorry look at the crumpled remains of the invitation in the trash. "It seems their sincerity failed to touch your heart."
Oh well, he didn't need it back since the details were easy to memorize.
"I've met two of them," Aurelius goes on, now more curious than ever to see how this match came about. "They're both extremely talkative creatures. I do hope you're only marrying one, or one at a time, because I can't fathom how your eardrums would survive otherwise."
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Back of house is already cleaned and closed up, and all that's left is to clean behind the bar and then out in the café once the singular couple left finish their drinks and leave...
The bell above the door jingles and Wolfwood turns around from the espresso machine and says, "We just cl—oh."
Usually, this guy would avoid coming around the café if he was here. He hasn't really come 'round in a while to begin with, ever since Meryl left.
"Yeah. Just about." What did Nicholas tend to drink while he was here? He usually learned folks' orders fast, but the undertaker seemed to just drink whatever the shortie gave him. Wolfwood sets up the machine for an espresso shot. A jug of milk is pulled out from the fridge underneath.
Then he speaks further and something like dread and alarm lances through him.
Is he fucking with him?
Wolfwood turns his back to him so he won't have to see the way his face twists in a grimace. It's easy to use steaming the milk as an excuse to not look at him. The pitcher almost burns his palm.
"Duly noted," he says, voice level, tone casual. "Few things I hate more than shitty alcohol. Thanks for lookin' out for me."
He turns and places a vanilla latte in a to-go cup down on the counter, pushing it towards the other. The couple is leaving, so Wolfwood pulls the keys off his belt and circles around the counter to lock the door behind them.
"No way ya came all the way out here just to say that."
"Closin' up here?" He pokes his head in, Punisher conspicuously absent as the Punisher himself walks into the cafe. It's only the owner himself there at the moment, and the din of the place speaks of closing time.
He's definitely been avoiding the guy, but, well, he should probably make nice. Before the...
...
...
Wedding.
"Word to the wise, don't drink some shit booze called The Bride or whatever, no matter how cute the stuffed animals with it are. Betcha ten doubledollars they did that to hide the label so people were more likely to buy it."
@punisheye
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yes & no by Natalie Wee | Trigun Ultimate Overhaul
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"Sorry, can't teach an old dog new tricks." They press flush against each other there in the middle of the crowd. Wolfwood's hands slide up Vash's waist, around to his back. One hand presses against the curve of his spine like it'll bring Vash impossibly closer. The lights of the club have gone purple, illuminating Vash's face in their glow. "'Sides, you wouldn't want me any other way."
He's vulgar and mean and Vash loves him, still kisses his cheeks and pets his hair and talks about how kind he really is underneath it all. At this point, it really is all just for show. He's turned into a pile of mush these days. The alcohol is just making him mushier.
The song changes, a vicious and nasty beat. Wolfwood breathes in. The hand on Vash's spine moves down to the edge of Vash's shirt, slides underneath the thin fabric, fingers running over the rough texture of scars, the bits of metal pressed into his skin.
No one is even giving them a second glance, too caught up in themselves, in each other, in the music and the booze and the drugs. Wolfwood feels something stirring in his gut when he moves with Vash like this, and he's not entirely sure if it's the alcohol doing it; probably not, now that he thinks about it.
He's just disgustingly into the guy in his arms. The ring on his finger is enough of a testament to that.
It's different than their dance back in that ice castle, for certain. Wolfwood never thought he'd like something like this in this kind of environment. It's a lot of noise, so loud it vibrates through his bones. A lot of people, all pushed too close together. Maybe if he had come here alone he would have hated it.
Wolfwood presses his nose against Vash's jaw and exhales heavily. He murmurs low, but he knows Vash would be able to hear over the sound of the music, "Didn't take much booze at all to get ya like this."
★ --;; "You wouldn't," Vash faux-gasps, though it quickly gets undermined by the clear smile in his voice, the laugh as more kisses get pressed against his throat and stubble tickles against his skin.
he hadn't been lying, either; as much as he loves dancing with Wolfwood, he also would have been perfectly content soaking in the atmosphere from where they're tucked away-- they probably would have been hip to hip wherever they found themselves anyway, pressed against one another. It's easy, still enough to make sure he'd have a grand time regardless of what they ended up doing. Besides, watching Wolfwood's throat bob as he downs his drink just serves to put more ideas in his head.
Ideas which are quickly quashed by his own drink getting pilfered; this time his pout of indignation ( "Hey!" ) is very much real, even as he lets himself be easily manhandled out of where he'd been finding himself rather comfortable.
"So bossy," he huffs, even though his feet carry him in the direction he's being pulled with minimal resistance. "After not even askin' for my drink. Maybe you gotta work on learnin' your manners again."
Their booth's been reserved, so there's no worry about it suddenly being gone by the time they get back. So as the throng slowly thickens, with the promise of another drink not-so-far-away and incapable of being robbed from him, arms wrap around Wolfwood's shoulders as they're pressed closer together again. The further in they get the louder the music is, too, and even though this is far from what they'd grown used to it's easy enough to get caught up in it.
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"I'm just SAYIN'... if yer gonna go commit a crime just do it n' don't fuckin'... broadcast it to everyone first. Then yer just gonna get caught!!!"
"Can... can we not burn the city down...? Please....?"
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"And if they really wanna do it they oughta just do it, not announce it to the whole damn city first."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"No idea— these people are gonna end up on some lists if they keep it up."
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"What're we talkin' about arson for?"
He's a little late.
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"Yeah, because it's my wedding."
The little doodles of their likenesses that Vash put on the invitation don't really do much to portray Wolfwood in all his... very big, imposing dark-figured "glory". He's not that cute.
"It wasn't supposed to be public," he says. "Don't know how these ended up all over the city, but."
Wolfwood reaches over and snatches the paper out of the guy's hands. He looks at it, squinting behind his sunglasses, clicks his tongue, then balls it up and tosses it into a nearby trash bin. "Guess we're gonna have to prepare for more folks than we expected."
He works his jaw, sighs through his nose.
"You know him?"
「✧」 By now Aurelius has caught up with the rogue piece of paper and plucked it out of the air. Without it blocking the view, he has a better look at the man's face and also finds it...familiar.
"Nobody I know, but they were quite enthusiastic about stuffing it into my hands," the angel replies. He flips over the paper and reads its contents again, amused.
"I wonder if they're lacking for guests."
"In any case, I happen to be acquainted with one of the couple, so I think I'll send a gift." His eyes drift to Wolfwood next, a question evident in the irises.
"...are you as well? You seem familiar with this invite."
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You were given teeth. Use them now and use them wisely.
i liked this ask so much i made it into a sign
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COMING SOON...
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The invites weren't supposed to go out to everyone and their damn mother and dog, but it's too damn late to really take it back at this point. Just means they're going to have to prepare for a bigger turnout, and tell the venue they'll need a bigger cake... and more food in general.
But the thing is, those invitations could fall into the hands of anyone.
Like this guy, who he vaguely recalls meeting before. Had to have been a year now. Time flies.
He's still got a weird vibe around him. Wolfwood had just been walking, didn't even realize what he was holding 'til it fluttered away and froze mid-air.
Wolfwood's not concerned about the little magic trick, of course. He says, "Who even gave ya that?"
「✧」 Stopping on the sidewalk, Aurelius stares closer at the piece of paper a mysterious stranger had thrusted into his hand just moments prior. This was, without a doubt, a wedding invite. What's more, one of the names on it looked familiar, but he couldn't be sure which man it referred to.
"...is it the tall one or the short one?"
"Stampede hardly counts as a last name, but I daresay he wouldn't use 'Stamps' on formal correspondence..."
Shifting the sheet in hand, he almost digs for his phone to check—and that's when wind whips the paper out of his fingers and towards the face of some tall, dark-haired pedestrian walking his way.
"Ah—stop right there."
Though it's the invitation he speaks to, which freezes in mid-air to proclaim its contents to the world.
@punisheye ໒꒱
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"Have you everrrrrr......" This is difficult, when you're practically attached at the hip. Little devil horns may as well start sprouting as he thinks, then laughs. "... gotten jealous?"
meme.
Cheeky little shit.
Wolfwood gives him a nasty glare. The answer is a resounding yes, but it's hideously embarrassing to think about—especially when so much of that jealousy involved Vash, and happened before this city.
Seeing men in bars flirt with the tall, pretty blond always made Wolfwood grip his glass so tight he was surprised it didn't shatter. He hated thinking about why it pissed him off so much, why seeing their hands fall on Vash's shoulders, or arm, or waist made him want to drink himself into a stupor or go chain smoke in the motel room despite the faded, peeling 'NO SMOKING' sign on the wall.
The only thing that made it more bearable was the fact Vash would politely rebuff all of them. He doesn't know why it made him feel better, like somehow that meant Vash stayed available to him, as if he ever was, or ever would be.
(But he is now, right? But that's just past-Wolfwood's silly, silly brain talking.)
"Yes," he finally bites out.
His eyes narrow.
"...Don't say anything... DON'T SAY ANYTHING. And STOP lookin' at me like that."
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