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    Summary

    “Just so you know,” Vash repeats, and there's that aching sweetness again, in the soft curve of his smile and the careful trajectory of his hands, running down his cicatrised chest, his abs, to rest above the join of his thighs. "I… might not be exactly what you're expecting. Y'know. Down here."

    He traces the front seam of his boxers with one prosthetic finger, the burnished blue-green metal an almost obscene contrast against the scarlet fabric - against the soaked scarlet fabric, Nicholas realises with a jolt, transfixed by the drag of vivid colour beneath Vash's touch.

    "That's fine," Nicholas garbles out. God, if Vash is already that wet, then Nicholas - Nicholas is absolutely parched. "Of course it's fine. Because I - I, also -"

    Vash and Wolfwood very tenderly explore each other's bodies. And also cry from the love, just a little bit.

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