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Late evening enveloped their hotel room in soft twilight, broken only by the dim light of the bedside lamp. The city was visible through the window, but here, in this cozy room, the atmosphere felt like home.
Wolfwood was sprawled on the bed, leaning back against rumpled pillows. His white sleep shirt was carelessly unbuttoned, exposing tanned skin and solid muscle. Dark hair was even more disheveled than usual, sticking out in all directions after he'd stripped off his street clothes. In the corner of his mouth, as always, rested a cigarette, from which a thin wisp of smoke rose, gradually filling the room with that characteristic tobacco aroma.
The priest looked absolutely relaxed, content, almost blissful — one arm thrown behind his head, the other resting lazily on his stomach, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His pants sat on his hips a bit lower than they should, but Wolfwood apparently wasn't bothered by this in the slightest. He'd closed his eyes, enjoying the moment of peace, taking deep drags and releasing smoke toward the ceiling.
Vash stood in the middle of the room, his figure seeming particularly tall in the dim lighting. Wheat-colored hair stuck up in its usual disarray, yellow glasses removed and set aside on the nightstand, revealing those piercing blue eyes in which sparks of indignation now danced.
At this moment, the usually gentle and cheerful man had his hands planted on his hips, standing in that characteristic pose. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed together in what was undoubtedly meant to express his severity and displeasure.
"Nicholas," Vash began, and his voice rang with indignation that, however, was completely lost against the background of that caring intonation coloring every word. "Do you even understand what you're doing? We've been here for just an hour, and you've already managed to turn the room into some kind of smoke-filled bar! I can't breathe normally, everything reeks of tobacco, and this... this is just impossible!"
He made a broad gesture with his hand, as if pointing to the clouds of smoke filling the space.
"Did it ever occur to you that you could go out on the balcony? Or at least open the window wider before setting up your own smoking lounge in here?" Vash continued, trying to maintain a stern tone, though the corners of his mouth were already twitching traitorously, threatening to spread into a smile. "You're so... so irresponsible! You don't think about consequences at all, as always!"
Wolfwood slowly opened one eye, lazily glancing at the indignant Vash. In those dark blue eyes danced sparks of frank adoration, and his lips stretched into a soft, almost tender smile. He didn't move from his spot, continuing to lie in the same relaxed pose, only turning his head slightly toward Vash. The cigarette still smoldered in the corner of his mouth.
"Mm," he drawled thoughtfully, completely without defending or justifying himself. "Yes, sweetheart. You're right."
His voice sounded so calm, so peaceful, as if he were somewhere very far away, in some pleasant place of his own where there existed neither reproaches nor the need to explain himself.
Vash frowned even more, noticing this serene expression. He stepped forward, and his hands gripped his hips tightly, as if he really wanted to create an impression of seriousness.
"And that's not all!" Vash's voice rose slightly, acquiring those characteristic notes of caring grumbling that Wolfwood knew so well. "You've been smoking all day without a break! Cigarette at breakfast, two more after lunch, didn't let go of the pack all evening! Your lungs, Nicholas! Do you ever think about what you're doing to your health?"
Wolfwood listened, and an increasingly dreamy expression appeared on his face. He looked at Vash with such adoration, with such boundless tenderness, that it seemed the priest saw before him not his ruffled boyfriend trying to look angry, but something incredibly beautiful and precious.
"Unpredictable," Vash muttered, now pacing from side to side, "absolutely unreliable! I ask you for one simple thing — just smoke sensibly, not turning our living space into a smoke screen, and what do you do? Are you even listening to me right now?"
"I'm listening, dear," Wolfwood quietly responded, and his voice was so soft, so yielding. "Of course I'm listening."
But from the way he said these words, how his gaze slid over Vash's figure — lingering now on cheeks flushed with indignation, now on lips pressed together in an attempt to look stern, now on those hands still planted on his hips — it was completely obvious that the priest's thoughts were floating somewhere entirely different from where they should be.
Wolfwood was thinking about what an unbearably adorable idiot this was when he tried to be angry. About how funny his light eyebrows furrowed, how amusingly his cheeks puffed up. About how much he loved him — so much that he was ready to listen to these tender reproaches for eternity, ready to accept any words, just to see this dear face before him, just to hear this voice colored with care. He loved him, God, how he loved this man.
"You're irresponsible!" Vash continued, and now almost plaintive notes appeared in his voice. "Completely! I'm explaining simple things to you, and you treat it like something inconsequential! As if I'm asking you for the impossible!"
Wolfwood slowly raised himself up, propping on his elbow, and his shirt slid even lower, exposing more tanned skin. The cigarette migrated to the other corner of his mouth, but he didn't even think of putting it out. Dark blue eyes looked at Vash with such warmth, with such adoration, that you could drown in them.
"You're right, honey," he repeated again, and his voice sounded like slow, sticky caramel. "Definitely right. I won't do it anymore."
But the way he said it, the way he looked — there wasn't a drop of remorse or understanding of the seriousness of the situation in it. Only boundless, all-consuming love for Vash, who was trying so hard to seem stern.
Vash stopped, staring at Wolfwood. His blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Are you... are you even listening to me right now?" he asked, and now uncertainty appeared in his voice.
He fell silent, realizing that Wolfwood was still lying on the bed, looking at him with such an expression as if Vash were the only thing that mattered in the entire universe.
Wolfwood finally stirred. Slowly, very slowly, he rose from the bed, and his movements were lazy, almost sleepy. The white shirt had completely unbuttoned, hanging off his shoulders and exposing his entire torso, and his pants hung dangerously low on his hips.
He took a step toward Vash. Then another.
"Spikey," he began, and his voice sounded hoarse, low, with that characteristic rasp that constant smoking gave it. "You can call me anything you want. Irresponsible, unreliable, reckless, any words."
Another step, and the distance between them shortened.
"You can say I don't listen to you," Wolfwood continued, and a strange tenderness appeared in his voice, almost reverence. "You can scold me as much as you want. Every single day. Three times a day even."
He stopped right in front of Vash, looming over him. Though they were nearly the same height, now the priest seemed bigger, broader, taking up all the space. Smoke from the cigarette rose between them in a thin stream.
"I'll still listen and enjoy it," Wolfwood finished quietly. "Because it's you."
Vash froze, looking up at him, and in his blue eyes reflected surprise, confusion, and something warm and soft that made his breathing hitch.
"N-Nick..." he began, but the priest didn't let him finish.
Wolfwood finally pulled the cigarette from his mouth, quickly tossed it into the ashtray on the nightstand, and in the next moment his hands slid to Vash's waist, pulling him closer. One palm settled on the small of his back, the other rose to the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in soft wheat-colored hair.
With special tenderness, he pressed his lips to Vash's and froze, allowing them both to savor this moment. The kiss was soft, almost weightless, like an apology, a promise, and a declaration of love all expressed without words.
Vash made a quiet, surprised sound and froze for a second, but then his hands lifted of their own accord, settling on Wolfwood's broad shoulders.
Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, a distinct understanding of what was happening flashed through him — here he was, this man, doing the same thing again. Trying to solve everything with one touch, thinking he could just kiss him and all the displeasure would evaporate on its own. And the worst part was that it worked. Every single time it worked. Vash felt how his indignation and firm intention to finish the lecture slowly melted away, dissolving in the warmth of those lips, in the tenderness of hands on his body. His fingers traitorously clenched on Wolfwood's shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing away, and he almost groaned at his own weakness. Bastard. Unbearable, manipulative bastard who knew perfectly well what he was doing.
Wolfwood slightly changed the angle, deepening the kiss but still maintaining that incredible softness. Their lips moved slowly, as if they had all eternity. His hand on the back of Vash's head stroked the light strands, his thumb gently tracing the skin behind his ear.
When they finally broke the kiss, Wolfwood didn't pull far away, still holding Vash in a tight embrace. The priest's breathing was slightly uneven, eyes half-closed, and a soft smile played on his lips.
"Sorry, darling," he whispered hoarsely, and sounded sincere. "Really sorry. I really was listening to you. Every word. And you're right, I'm being irresponsible."
He opened his eyes, and his dark blue gaze met blue. In them danced tender, warm sparks.
"I won't smoke in the room anymore," Wolfwood continued seriously, though his hand kept stroking Vash's face, running a thumb across his cheek. "I promise. I'll go out on the balcony, or outside entirely if I have to. I just... just didn't think. Got tired after the road, wanted to relax, and I didn't even realize it would be uncomfortable for you."
His other hand slid from Vash's waist to his side, palm settling right under his ribs, feeling every breath.
"You care about me," Wolfwood said quietly. "Even when you're scolding me. Especially when you're scolding me. And I... I appreciate that, spikey. Really appreciate it."
He tilted back slightly to look Vash in the eyes, and his smile became wider, softer.
"So scold me as much as you want," the priest added with a light smirk. "Call me an irresponsible idiot who doesn't understand what he's doing. I won't be offended. Because I know you love me."
Vash looked at him, and in his blue eyes danced all sorts of emotions — remnants of indignation, adoration, tenderness, something warm and bright. He sighed, and his lips trembled in a half-smile.
"You're a fool, Nicholas," he said quietly, but there wasn't a drop of anger in his voice. "An unbearable fool."
His hands slid from the priest's shoulders to his chest, fingers caringly smoothing the rumpled fabric of his shirt, though this didn't make it any less unbuttoned.
"But you're my fool," Vash added a bit louder, and the corners of his mouth finally crept upward. "And I love you. Even if you turn our room into a smoking lounge."
Wolfwood grinned, and his embrace tightened slightly around Vash. He kissed him again, this time faster, lightly and almost playfully, pecking the corner of his mouth, then the other, then the tip of his nose, making Vash laugh quietly and try to pull away.
"That's enough," he mumbled without much conviction, though his hands continued to hold onto Wolfwood's shirt. "Don't distract me from a serious conversation..."
"What serious conversation?" Wolfwood grumbled, now kissing his cheek. "I already understood everything. I won't smoke in the room anymore. I promised, didn't I?"
"And think about your health too," Vash added, but his voice had already completely softened. "You smoke way too much as it is. And you haul that cross of yours everywhere, and your back..."
"Yes, sweetheart," Wolfwood agreed, switching to the other cheek. "I'll definitely think about it."
"And don't interrupt me when I'm saying serious things," Vash tried to look stern, but it was difficult when the priest was so openly peppering his face with kisses.
"Okay, babe," Wolfwood moved to his ear, and his breath was warm on the skin. "I won't."
"And..."
"And I'm an irresponsible bastard who doesn't deserve such a caring husband, but I'm incredibly grateful to fate for having him," Wolfwood finished for him, and genuine humor sounded in his voice. "I know, spikey. I've known for a long time."
Vash finally smiled genuinely, and the light of his smile filled the room, dispelling the last remnants of tension. His arms slid up, wrapping around Wolfwood's neck, and he pulled him closer, burying his nose in the curve between neck and shoulder.
"You realize this isn't fair, right?" he mumbled, nuzzling into the priest. "You think you can just kiss me senseless and I'll forget you smoked half a pack this evening?"
"Well," Wolfwood drawled, and satisfied amusement could be heard in his voice, "it's been working so far. Works every time."
"That's exactly why," Vash drawled, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes, a smile playing on his face, "I can't properly train you. You know my weak spots too well, you bastard."
"You know what?" Wolfwood suddenly looked at him seriously, and something resolute flashed in his dark blue eyes. "I'll quit entirely. For you. Honestly. I just have to want to and I'll quit. Can do it right now."
Vash raised an eyebrow, and merry sparks danced in his gaze.
"So quit," he suggested simply.
Wolfwood opened his mouth, then closed it. Looked toward the table where the damned pack lay. Then back at Vash. Then at the pack again.
"I'll quit," he repeated with less certainty. "Just... not right now. It's already late. I'll quit tomorrow. In the morning. Clean slate, so to speak."
"Of course, dear," Vash laughed quietly, tenderly kissing his cheek. "Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow."
"Or the day after," Wolfwood mumbled, and couldn't suppress a smirk himself. "The day after for sure."
"For sure," Vash agreed. "I believe in you, Nicholas. Day after tomorrow it is."