[It's not the first time Vash has called him by his first name. In fact, it happened just weeks prior, when they were attacked in the forest and Vash definitely slipped that in there when he was calling out for him. It wasn't something Wolfwood missed, but at the time he was so busy being eaten that he couldn't really think about it. Hearing him say it now under less immediately dire circumstances leaves his heart hammering in his chest. To everyone else, he is Wolfwood. Nicholas the Punisher, if they want to be formal about it. But other than Livio, no one calls him Nick, and Livio is special in that regard.
It would have been enough to satiate whatever that gnawing feeling inside of him has been craving, at least for now. He would have been content to sit in companionable silence until they either found something else to blabber on about or fell asleep on each other. That's kindof just how reality works. Whatever his alcohol-addled brain could cook up just isn't going to happen outside of his dreams, maybe, so he might as well just-
...
Wolfwood's eyes widen, just a sliver. It's enough to take him out of that perpetual scowl and instead shift his expression into genuine shock, and if Vash expected an answer to that question any time soon, well. He's going to have to wait for more than a few seconds. It feels like hours pass, the deafening roar in his ears having reached such a fever pitch that he can't even think.
And, you know. He could give a normal answer, like normal people do. A "yes" or "no" is what Vash is looking for, here. Rules of respecting ones' boundaries and consent and all that. But Vash is so close right now that he can smell the alcohol on his breath, and Vash could probably pluck that lollipop stick from Wolfwood's mouth without using his hands if he wanted. Well, one of Wolfwood's hands is held in Vash's while the other is being effectively pinned against his side, so...
It means that he has to turn his head and spit the stick out onto the floor, and instead of answering Vash at all, he leans forward and closes the gap on his own. He kisses Vash without a single word uttered, right then and there, like he's been thinking about doing it this whole time yet would have sooner died than done so himself.
Not anymore, it seems. Not when he somehow struggles his other arm free, sliding it around Vash from behind so he can hold the back of his neck, as if to keep him in place as he tilts his head to make their connection more seamless.
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It would have been enough to satiate whatever that gnawing feeling inside of him has been craving, at least for now. He would have been content to sit in companionable silence until they either found something else to blabber on about or fell asleep on each other. That's kindof just how reality works. Whatever his alcohol-addled brain could cook up just isn't going to happen outside of his dreams, maybe, so he might as well just-
...
Wolfwood's eyes widen, just a sliver. It's enough to take him out of that perpetual scowl and instead shift his expression into genuine shock, and if Vash expected an answer to that question any time soon, well. He's going to have to wait for more than a few seconds. It feels like hours pass, the deafening roar in his ears having reached such a fever pitch that he can't even think.
And, you know. He could give a normal answer, like normal people do. A "yes" or "no" is what Vash is looking for, here. Rules of respecting ones' boundaries and consent and all that. But Vash is so close right now that he can smell the alcohol on his breath, and Vash could probably pluck that lollipop stick from Wolfwood's mouth without using his hands if he wanted. Well, one of Wolfwood's hands is held in Vash's while the other is being effectively pinned against his side, so...
It means that he has to turn his head and spit the stick out onto the floor, and instead of answering Vash at all, he leans forward and closes the gap on his own. He kisses Vash without a single word uttered, right then and there, like he's been thinking about doing it this whole time yet would have sooner died than done so himself.
Not anymore, it seems. Not when he somehow struggles his other arm free, sliding it around Vash from behind so he can hold the back of his neck, as if to keep him in place as he tilts his head to make their connection more seamless.
He's not thinking. Not anymore.]