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The inn-keeper looked at them with the annoyance only repeat offending could bring about:
“Trouble-makers pay double.” Tryin’a keep it flat, but that sneer snuck up in the undertone.
“Keep the change-” Wolfwood paid up in scattered coins, 2 double-cents short, but by the time the error’d be counted they’d both be upstairs.
Rough. This one’s been rough. Enough that there was already a soreness in his bones ‘bout it. The Punisher was heavy enough, he didn’t need his legs to add to that weight. Oh right, and then there’s Mr No-Bodies slung ‘round his shoulders, barely shuffling his feet along. They always rough-housed him and he always took it like he deserves all the punishments the world had to give him.
If only the poor bastard could respect himself enough…
Maybe then Wolfwood wouldn’t have tossed him on that shoddy mattress like a sack. Barely moaned ‘bout it too: just kind curled up in a tight ball on his side, clutching at his ribs with his knees lifted to protect them. He had at least a couple of bullets him – as if that wasn’t regularly on the menu.
The Punisher gave a hollow metal thud hitting the floor as he rested it, Wolfwood slowly slouching against it, unable to keep upright anymore.
Rough. There’s that copper taste in his mouth; he could feel his face warm and getting crusty, lips parched and getting flakey, vision blurred just enough that it felt like a film got cast over his eyes. And he’d really wish the ringing in his left ear’d go away. Throat was scratchy from takin’ in all those big gulps of air, but sniffing just ain’t all that effective: a whole nostril’s clogged off with half-dried blood. That and all his features’d flare up in pain whenever he moved them an inch: metal shards got imbedded to the bone - forehead, nose, several in his cheek, the worst one on the underside of his jaw. Right shoulder was also popped out. And there was some other radiating ache somewhere around his torso but he’ll place that later.
He was outta vials- a lie. He had one left, but he was keeping that for the near death kind of situation. He’s kept it like that for about a year now, even when this ass of’a spikey-haired, bird-brained gunman was testing just how long that one good luck vial’d keep. Now patience was startin’ to run thin.
And if he ever let it run out he was ‘fraid a tender sort of worry’d take its place. Catching feelings worked a hell of’a lot like catching a cold: crept up on you so that when the first symptoms start showing, it’s already too late. And he’s always been the worst at calling in sick.
The pop when the shoulder was forced back in its socket broke any silence, broke any other train of thought too. A grunt, before Wolfwood found himself hissing at the nerve pain climbing down his bicep like ants; sharp and tingling leaving the skin behind sore. He ain’t meant to moan clutching at his deltoid – feeble attempt at counterpressure.
The bed creaked; Wolfwood’s greeted with that Spikey’s mug, plastered pale with concern that teetered on pathetic. All for him? Made the heart flutter, that lower lip quirk when he’s asked:
“You alright?”
Sarcasm sat brisk on his tongue, ready to snap out from behind teeth, but Wolfwood kept them tightly sealed. It’s not like he can talk much anyway: “Mm.”
Blondie’s lips contorted in an even deeper frown.
“Lemme have a look-” Vash muttered, barely audible over the shrieks of that shoddy bedframe as the barely moving Stampede crawled out of it. It lacked elegance in all its aspects – it lacked subtlety.
Wolfwood kept him at arm’s length.
Vash’s frown carried something beyond serious with it.
“It’s only gonna get worse if you fight it.”
Wolfwood clenched his jaw. It hurt.
“As if you’re in any better shape-”
“Wolfwood…”
He wasn’t mortal. He knew that. First aid to humans. Life was precious yadda yadda. Poor bastard better get himself some self-respect first. Such ideology’s no good if it can only be upheld by superhuman paragons.
Who decided Wolfwood’s worth to be one of them?...
“Wolfwood?...”
He got past his defenses; Nicholas’s arm softened somewhere between these scattered thoughts. He conceded with a groan.
“There’s sand in them- Agh!” Sharp, bright, anything touching those nerves on the face made it all light up, dizzying, proceeding into a throbbing headache. “Shit-” Curses ain’t even coming out proper.
“It’s okay.”
“It hurts like a bitch-”
Vash’d moved in already, dexterous shooting hand untucking his shirt from his trousers, tryin’ to find the source of all that blood he’s gushing. His eyebrows furrowed ever more concerned.
“For the record I’ve seen worse- GODDAMNIT!” He instinctively shot his hand up to cradle his pulsating cheek, but ain’t no way some touch’s gonna help. And Spikey sported a unibrow now. Fuck.
“You’re okay.” Wolfwood wished he was paying full attention, but pain made it slip through the cracks; Vash had taken one’of his hands and placed it firm just below his ribcage on the right. Liver. He can survive that. Maybe with some less smoking and drinking. “Hold it.”
Bitter was the laugh that fell off his lips, causing the circus to do another performance from the jaw up to the temple. Teeth clattered like applause; he couldn’t even tell them no. He wanted to assure him it ain’t his first rodeo. This’s barely ‘bout a 7 outta 10 – okay 8 for being stuck in his face – but there was pain out there that’d kill. Almost did. Pop a blue, reset to fit. He could do that right now-
He really shouldn’t. He’ll be just fine.
Bright red splotches trailed off to the bathroom. Dark in there, the bulb must’ave gone. The water in the sink ran in loud spurts. Needle noggin let out one exasperated bray. Something made a hollow thunk. He could hardly move, lanky silhouette bent over the sink like he was tryina find perch to brace against his own agonies. The cupboards were then searched, left open in a fray, his Stampede falling to his knees halfway on his journey back.
He crawled the rest.
“Water’s rusty…” Vash dragged the rest of his body underneath himself. “But someone’s left us some alcohol.” A thin smile; the lips were growing a subtle shade of purple.
“Boo! Spikey’s just been waiting to get me squirming.”
“That’s your sport!” Back to unibrow.
“Tell me you hate it.” Wofwood grinned red somewhere in Blondie’s general direction. He really should be doing none of that talkin‘ and emotin’.
“No! I can’t.”
“Not even a lil’ bit?” Wolfwood lifted his palm from the wound when Vash urged him to.
“Okay maybe a little.” A first rough swipe of a cloth with that alcohol.
“FUCK!” Unrelated to the comment, he swore! He was just bent in on himself as he felt each individual grain of sand scraped tender flesh on its way out. A firm mechanical hand held him still now; Vash’s entire bodyweight somehow pinned upon his legs. Another swipe came to the same effect. And then another. “Will ya’ get that done already-Agh-” The body trembled unable to cope.
“Don’t ask me to hate on you next time!” Now he’s washing the already burning wound with some more alcohol; thankfully pain receptors could only register as much. “As you can see, there’s consequences.”
“Stop that-” Wolfwood gasped out, trying not to wince.
“Still not enough?” That high pitch went as it came, on a dime, hiding something, now a waver in the vowels.
“Ya really think I’m worth the effort?...” He really ain’t got time now for sentimentality. It swirled and swelled, dark and thick, ready to replace all the blood he’s losing if he gave it the chance…
Vash the Stampede looked at him as if the world was centered onto his shoulders, growing out of that neck to become this brutalized ugly mug.
He sucked a breath in between teeth. He had enough of’a rest, he could close this up on his own. He’s a big boy now, ain’t nobody there to clean up after his messes. He yanked the cloth out of Vash’s hand to press it, still soaking in alcohol, on the freshly retraumatized tissue. Instead of’a yowl he managed to puff out: “Got a needle or somethin’?”
“There was one…” Vash just ain’t willing to hand it to him. Wolfwood ain’t about to beg. It was an effort to try and lift his body up, especially still entangled like it was with Spikey’s. Pressure abated, a trickle of blood ran again down his midriff. “Here. Here-”
Proud behavior, he knew that. But he took the needle that was offered.
“I can brace myself if I’m doin’ it.” Hands lacked proper coordination, trembling like a cowards’, but the thread passed the eye. “I’ve done it before.” Not with a headache that was threatening to blind his left eye from how hard it throbbed. He’ll figure it out. “Should be taking care of yourself, needle noggin. Or ya sayin’ I dragged your ass up here like this ‘cause you’re too lazy?”
“No way!” That red coat nearly flew off in that hurry. His body was blistered! Pokemarks over scar tissue bleeding red. The sudden movement made him squirm: “Ow. Ow-owow.”
“Idiot!” He wanted to smack him, but he couldn’t reach from here, instead he tried to cover his forehead – that made the pain shoot up again. “Gah! Ya know, words really can’t describe how much of a hardhead ya are!”
Another thin smile and a huff from Blondie, little white flag of concession. Heart sank.
“Thanks for putting up with me in that case…” Down even further to the bottom of the deepest Desert pit.
Wolfwood could only sigh, turning that already frayed attention to stitching himself up as fast as he could. No takin’ out that bullet, the caliber was small enough; he’ll just have to live with the souvenir. Four-five stiches’ve seemingly done the job; they weren’t straight nor were they in any way equal in length, but it stapled him well enough together that he could maybe function. There was gonna be a fever for it.
Barely audible, like a pebble rolling onto concrete, a flattened bullet-head clang to the ground. Made Wolfwood look up. Spikey’s sucking in air and jabbing his fingers right in those wounds, fishing out the metal. They hung just beneath the surface. He probably didn’t even have any major organs hurt. Masochist. Humans first.
Another bullet.
There were no bandages, but Vash brought with him some rags and towels he drenched in alcohol. Infection guaranteed, but impromptu surgery still required the bleeding stopped.
Another bullet. Now he was hissing. Wonder how Wolfwood ain’t registered hearing that before.
He wrapped himself as tight as he could. The thought of possibly using the bedsheet to bind needle noggin’s pelted chest amused him just enough that he almost stopped counting. A fourth bullet came out. And a heartache started croppin’ up. There were a bunch of guns on them, but three proved troublesome: had an accuracy just above average – one he’d even call good. Sure, Spikey’s gotten him stuck with the mob, while he took on the work of disarming the pros. In the moment it felt beneath him. But Vash could’ave dodged those bullets. Wolfwood… not as much given how his back was turned…
A sniff, uncomfortable on his clogged nostrils. Fifth bullet out. How many did Blondie take on his account?
Sixth.
Seventh.
Eighth.
He already bled less than Wolfwood.
“Spikey-”
“Coming. Coming-”
That ain’t what- Wolfwood huffed at him, catching his lower lip between his teeth. Pretty blond face locked its gaze onto him: damaged, so precious in his eyes... It shriveled up the nerves right as he was getting used to all this pain in his skull. And needle noggin had tweezers to help.
“But you’re still-” More like a clatter of teeth than any actual bite.
“They don’t bleed anymore. It’s okay.”
How many times did he have to call him an idiot-
“ACK!” There went the shrapnel from his forehead. A gentle hand swiftly coming up to rub the place clean with some more alcohol. It stung worse than on his body: “Could’ave at least given a warning-”
“Misdirection’s not such a bad tactic though~”
“You do just want to see me squirming- Fuck!” There went another one.
“Really, I don’t!”
“Nobody’s truly that selfless.” No one should afford it to the Punisher of all things. Yank! Another one. “ShIT!”
“I swear we’ve had this conversation before.”
They did. It never resolved.
This time Vash plucked the debris from his nose, which surprisingly hurt less. A hiss.
“You should really see the world more.” Vash offered, but that ain’t a convincing argument right now:
“Same world that just shot us to pieces, Blondie?” He just had to laugh.
“Sampling bias.”
There! That’s why it always ended up unresolved! How could he possibly reply to that; for all apparent stupidity the Humanoid Typhoon’s been ‘round at least a century if not more. Sometimes he had the sentiment he might’ve been as old as the Planet itself, the way he talked ‘bout certain things.
So he’ll just let Vash contend with his displeased silence now. All that only earned him a smidge of a frown, genuine as it was. Disappointment. Wolfwood’s always had a hunch buddy Blondie really did enjoy this back ‘n forth they kept cycling through. But he proceeded further with plucking the shrapnel from Wolfwood’s face: there were those few smaller ones left in his cheek and then the bothersome big boy in his jaw.
Vash touched it and he recoiled. All his features scrunched as if a metal bar got wrenched through the left side of his face. Yeah right. Some idiot in that skirmish had some kind’a grenades or explosives. Wolfwood found himself in earshot.
Vash reached again for it and Wolfwood just yowled. The pain didn’t subside and for once he couldn’t handle it, huffing it out loud. Spikey’s hand got pinned under his own and he wouldn’t let it go. Squeezed shut over it.
There was pressure back as if Blondie was tryina return the gesture.
“Lemme do this one…” Wolfwood panted.
“I’ll be quick. Promise.” He squeezed harder onto that hand.
“Don’t…” Some imaginary vice got his skull all strangled-
Pop!
Like lightning unleashed, it zapped his consciousness black, balance lost with it. Inner ear was tellin’ him he’s tumbling to the ground, only to find himself braced onto the floorboards letting out a scream.
It burned, dripped red beneath him.
“What did I just tell ya!?” Anger flushed out with the pain.
Vash offered him the last towel, already soiled with god knows what.
“Fuck!” Pressure to the area didn’t cause as much ruckus now though. So quick… “I told ya’ I had it!”
Spikey only gestured something as if that’d put it better into words. No-
“Just… Just- Let me take care of you!”
Took Wolfwood by surprise: “Vash?…” And that in turn took him by surprise.
Silence settled. Tension climbed and reached the roof. One last surge of pain, evaporating into the atmosphere. Just as Blondie’s cheeks were starting to redden.
“You always take me so lightly-” there was force behind those words, all while tryin’ to hide the emotions spreading on his face. He crawled nearer as if trying to cup that bleeding cheek.
“Just tryina keep you outta trouble-” But the bleedin’ seemed to have already stopped.
“I don’t mind it.”
“Ya should.”
“Because I’m dragging you down with me-” Towel got dropped. So he could catch Vash’s face at that. Firm. He turned it so that gazes locked again.
“You know that ‘dug my grave now I’m lying in it’ saying?”
Instead of replying, Vash pressed his forehead against Wolfwood’s with enough force to bother the tender skin. His breath was so warm upon his skin. That nagging emotion he was tryina keep locked having now escaped somewhere in the vastness of his chest.
He wouldn’t trade him for anything.
“I ain’t tryina dismiss you…” But the words ain’t reaching him no more. “Vash-”
A thumb upon his lips. To shut him up, surely, but that ain’t where his first thoughts went. Addled state and throbbing headache, all this strange heat ‘bout the body, made the head interpret mixed signals.
Lips parted, pressed together. A kiss. Sounded shrill as wet skin stuck to leather.
Vash didn’t say anything, only added another finger. Got one more kiss in response.
The whole hand. And Wolfwood gave in to his first instinct to open up his mouth and clasp the hand between his teeth, take it upon his tongue. Cheap whiskey, blood, gunmetal in the aftertaste.
Vash pulled away, hand out with it; too soon, a trickle of saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth up the cheek the man cupped with both palms now. Blue eyes scrutinized him for some sort of answer, but Wolfwood could only sneer. What was he expectin’?
This was the kinda dog that bit the hand that fed it. So now he searched for that gloved hand again with his lips.
Battered, bruised and suddenly craving, Wolfwood seemed to have stirred all manner of feelings in this human shaped disaster: expression flushed through all emotions in sequence before settling on impassable. And that just got Nicholas going even worse.
Why?
Up to now he’s been constantly denyin’. Touch. Be touched. It was just ‘bout to get the wheels spinning in his own noggin. Where it hurt he wanted it soothed. By these hands specifically. He left Vash’s face then, and plucked the man’s palms from his features with as much care as possible – they left with a sticky squelch behind, a mix of fluids, liquids, he kinda wished he’d cared more. But he sure’s fond that Spikey cared just as little. Ugly men they were.
He led those hands to cup his sides, allow them to roam.
“Here. Take care’of me, Spikey-”
Was like a spell got broken. With a sharp inhale Vash lunged for the tender flesh of his neck. A kiss, some teeth, some more’of those lips. It caught Wolfwood moaning out. So those hands did indeed roam now, sinking themselves lower, over those wrapped towels, pressing onto them for emphasis. Did he wanna hear him hiss? Sure, he’ll give it to him. A low rumble to reverberate in Stampede’s mouth just above his voice box.
Lower further, fingertips pointed down, sending shivers from his navel up. Hair all up in goosebumps somehow felt all that more erogenous with those hands passing over.
He nearly about reached his pubes, gunman fingers slipping beneath the hem of his pants only to stop.
It was brief and Vash let out some manner of’a frustrated noise as he hurried to unbuckle his glove from the wrist. Wolfwood nearly voiced a concern, but the man shut him up, more teeth to the carotid. Yeah, that’d get a moan instead.
But the hand got naked and it waited no longer. The fly came undone, underwear passed by as if nonexistent and Vash pressed himself between his folds. The sigh Nicholas let out at that also softened the mouth upon his neck. He ain’t denying the benefits of being taken care of. All that pain seemingly dissolved into something else. Stir coffee with enough sugar, it too eventually becomes sweet.
In little circles. In little circles upon his nub, making Nicholas part his legs and buck against it for pressure. But that made Vash whine against his neck again. Slow. He’d be taking it slow, agonizingly slow. And Nicholas barely had the patience, but that warmth was gettin’ good, nice and cozy. But it made him greedy, unable not to give in and wanna move against that hand that bothered him this sweetly.
Vash met his movements with two fingers down each side of his clit, getting’ him nice and perky, without fully committing to getting him off. He should’ave gone back to circles. Nicholas didn’t move, just tensed up instead, wishing those fingers’d dip just a lil’ lower and curl inside.
But they wouldn’t, not for what felt like the next whole minute, until Wolfwood happened to whine out his concerns. Those lips pressed together real fast in the aftermath.
“Easy now…” He never heard Spikey sound this salacious. “I’ll get there~”
“Ain’t tryin’ all that hard.” No tooth to this remark either, as his voice felt staggery. “Mhhm.”
“Easy does it, you know.” He could just feel Spikey’s grin with that.
“Not when it comes to shrapnel in my face though-” There those fingers went, easin’ into him all slickened up and startin’ to open. The way he gasped out at that. “Irreconcilable tease-”
Vash chuckled: “Oopsies.”
“Fuck…” all breathless. The man lazily pumped in ‘n out getting him to squelch. The pressing need to buck in the feel all but went away, waitin’ instead for his core be touched inside.
Eyes closed, finally lulled into the relaxation Spikey wanted for him. The pain was gone, endorphins were doing their job and attention was mercifully redirected –
But then Vash changed tactic. He removed those fingers and went right back to bothering his erection. Fast and furious this time, side to side with that lil bit of vibrato to the motion. That moan couldn’t be stifled. Nor could he control the way his body seized, trying to brace the intensity.
“Mmmmh-” as Nicholas bit his lower lip, tryina stop the worst from getting heard.
It climbed. Pulsating and greedy. He leaned backwards, propping himself as best he could against the Punisher watching this all go down. Vash wasn’t letting up.
“Vash-” with urgency.
Keep going. Keep going Keep going keep going- It was building, a knot to be released. Further. Further-
Nicholas gasped out, broken down to panting soft lil’ desperate moans. His thighs trembled in the wake of the orgasm. Vash wasn’t yet letting up.
“Vash!-” he sounded gagged, pathetic.
Another high was building right where the other one left off, but each stroke this time left him quivering. Nicholas tried to get a hand to him, get him to slow down. It felt so fucking good. Too hot. Too loud. Fuck-
It took just as long as the other one to release, and when he came he came in spurts, seizing, soaking Vash like that. So now the man could finally get lazy. Token touches to ebb out this second orgasm. Nicholas forgot how breathing through his nose was s’possed to work. Awareness was somewhere scattered down his nethers, but he needed some comment. Some retort. He really needed to chew out this needle noggined-
“You think they got ibuprofen at the local drug store?” Vash puffed, finally parting, taking that magic hand out his trousers, leaving Nicholas’s body to generate its own heat.
“I think I’ll just take two more servings of that and I’ll be fine.”
A snort: “That’d surely save us some money, that’s true. Yup-”
He liked it.
He liked that stupid love-struck look on Vash too.
“Come ‘ere, needle noggin-” Wolfwood was startin’ to get a bit cold already.