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They had, as the humans on Earth would’ve called it, a Vegas wedding.
To call it spur-of-the-moment was inaccurate. But they hadn’t gone deep into the heart of Octovern with the intention of getting married. The intention had been to celebrate with the rest of humanity, a year after the last threads of a space-faring humanity survived total annihilation.
Wolfwood, personally, didn’t care so much to celebrate it, certainly not to travel all the way to Octovern. But he knew it meant the world to Vash, to get to mingle among the people and see the faces he had fought so hard to save. It was for this reason that Wolfwood actually encouraged it. It would do him some good to, well, see all the good he’d done.
Octovern had been the last man standing, so to speak, and so their celebration of survival was destined to hit harder than all others. They got there a whole day early and people were already getting tremendously drunk and popping firecrackers. Wolfwood suspected it’d become one of those holidays unique to Noman’s Land in time. Or maybe in five years they’d all forget about it. Who knew how people worked?
People hadn’t forgotten Vash. That was kind of expected, he’d been around a long time, but it wasn’t how it used to be. Earth was here, and they brought hope. Vash’s bounty was still technically up in the air, but enough people were filtering in the idea to the public: we are alive today because of one idiot who didn’t quit, so how about we let sleeping dogs lie?
That's where Meryl and Milly were. Instead of celebrating, they were back to spreading more word about Vash the Stampede on one of the most important days of the year. They’d have to party with them some other time.
Vash still did nothing to hide his appearance. Moron. But maybe it helped that he wasn't blond anymore. Maybe people were finally worrying about other things, especially since Vash had laid low. Which was to say, he had practically dropped off the face of the planet for a solid month after the end of everything, recovering alongside a barely-alive Wolfwood.
He didn’t ask what Vash had done to him. Knew only that when Vash had finally looked at him on that couch, Wolfwood tried so hard to smile. Mouthed out the three words he’d known to be true for quite a while now. It was a cruel thing to do in his last moments, but he wouldn’t let Vash go any further without knowing, despite it all, he wouldn’t go to Hell unloved.
Vash held him close when wings erupted over his back. There was a thrumming power in the air, a shriek like no other. Maybe it had come from Wolfwood. All he knew was that he woke up in the town formed upon the crash site of Ship Three, barely clinging to the thin threads of life, and Vash had saved the world.
(When Vash stumbled into his room, shaking and falling apart at the seams, he did nothing but stare at Wolfwood laying there. Wolfwood had stared back.
“The hell happened to your hair?” He blurted, voice terribly scratchy and all kinds of broken.
Vash snorted, a wet sound as such a painfully earnest, brilliant smile stretched across his face. He’d never looked more beautiful. Even when he collapsed beside the bed and pulled Wolfwood into his arms, sobbing his poor little heart out and blubbering into his shirt, he was nothing short of divinity itself.
Wolfwood wondered if Vash even knew if his trick had worked. If he left those remains to face his brother and prayed he wasn’t abandoning a dead body. He never asked him this, either.)
So, a year after it all, they went to Octovern. They got drunk in the streets the day-of and laughed to the heavens. Vash slurred through the songs people played on the corners like he’d grown up knowing them, and maybe a part of him had. Wolfwood was getting drunk off his smile alone.
He couldn’t tell you how exactly it happened. But Octovern did this thing, offering marriage certificates at a cheap price. For that day, practically anyone could’ve acted as witness. People were flitting in and out of that old church so often that someone had seen, and it didn’t particularly matter who.
They had…kind of talked about it before? In that Wolfwood made jokes about the circumstances of The Couch Incident (it was how he coped, shut up) and Vash being his groom. Vash hardly ever teased back (fair), but once he’d curled his finger around the rosary dangling from the fake-priests neck and hummed; “I can only imagine how you’d look in a wedding dress.”
It was outrageous. It should’ve made Wolfwood laugh. Instead he licked into Vash’s mouth like he was trying to carve his own space in there, which was probably confirmation enough as to where they were both heading.
All Wolfwood recalled was that Vash had pulled him along, and like always, he followed. Followed him all the way to that church, where they saw another couple getting hitched to the cheers of nearby drunkards and friends.
Wolfwood had glanced at Vash’s face. Saw his wistful little smile, a lock of black hair hanging over his shades. He plucked them right off Vash’s face and tucked them away with his own sunglasses, getting stared at in response.
“You want something, Tongari?” He murmured, tilting his head. “C’mon, you know how to ask.”
It was a learning curve. One he was slowly prying out of Vash like detangling threads of yarn. Asking for what he wanted. Getting what he wanted. Being in charge of that happiness in such a way.
Right now, though, he mostly felt like being a little shit.
(He was also, quite possibly, a coward. He was joking. He was joking because he didn’t believe it, not really. He didn’t get these kinds of things. He didn’t get to have that. They were gunmen on the run. They didn’t—)
“Yeah,” Vash breathed, and then his hand found Wolfwood’s, “indulge me?”
“Indulge,” Wolfwood scoffed, “I ain’t never indulged you in yer life. It’s not indulgence if m’wantin’ the same.”
He really did spoil that man. The smiles were worth it though.
(Maybe they did get these kinds of things.)
They were drunk off each other and their drinks when they got married in, what, five minutes? Maybe seven? There was absolutely zero fanfare and honestly, that was preferable. They were tired of grand events where they were the stars. Didn’t even have any rings. He should get rings. First thing in the morning, he was getting them rings.
He could recall this clear as day, though: Vash’s hands, warm flesh and cold metal alike, cradling his face as though he were some precious, fragile thing. He always felt fragile when Vash held him, when he knocked their foreheads together.
Especially so when he murmured, so quietly: “Are you still going to want me tomorrow?”
It was not the first time he’d asked it. Wolfwood hoped tonight would be the last.
“And every single one after that.” He rumbled back, hands weaving between the short black hairs at Vash’s nape.
The priest (a real one) was tired of their nonsense and just finished up everything he had to say when they kissed after that. The priest was especially tired when they had a slight kerfuffle over the license and last names. Vash obviously shoved Wolfwood out of the way and immediately said he was taking his.
“I don’t exactly have a last name.” Vash shrugged. “And it feels sacrilegious to name you anything else.”
There was a double meaning behind that. Wolfwood had fought like a dog to finally shed the title of a Punisher, to keep the name he’d come to Hopeland Orphanage with, the name he wanted to die with. Vash knew that very well.
And so, one year after Vash the Stampede saved the planet from mass eradication, in the last city that stood before it all, he was christened anew: Vash Wolfwood.
He looked so stupidly happy to be called “Mr. and Mr. Wolfwood” that he got a bonus kiss for it. Vash deserved to find a way to shed his old name, one stained in bloodshed and endless misery.
He remembered very little after that. They got even drunker than before, celebrations blurring all throughout the city of Octovern. Knew only that the pleasant buzz in his chest hadn’t left him for hours, hours, and hours. Not till they collapsed back in the old hotel they’d bought for a few days.
He remembered the sex was positively mindblowing, though. Enough that their neighbors loudly banged on the walls, drowned out by Vash’s wails as he clung to the head between his thighs. Communion had never tasted so sweet.
He had the thought, laying over Vash and swallowing each other's sounds as they moved in holy matrimony, that they should get re-married in that church by Hopeland, the one he used to attend with Miss Melanie when he was just a kid. It was a dingy little thing, but luckily there weren’t exactly a lot of people they’d invite. They could exchange proper vows. Wear those rings he needed to buy. Hell, he’d even wear the damn dress. Vash would look incredible in a suit.
These were the thoughts he finished too, the idea of Vash with a pretty gold band over his metal finger and seeing it every morning.
Surrounded in feathers he hadn’t even noticed, he felt cocooned and eased in a way he hadn’t been in…ever, maybe. Long limbs tangled through his, and his cheek mushed against a metal grate that was warm with body heat.
He would have said he fell asleep peacefully. The entire situation was very soothing. Unfortunately, just before he fell right under, this very loud thought reamed its big ugly head with all the grace of a sandstamer;
What the fuck am I doing?
Wolfwood woke up the day after getting married with a start, sitting bolt-upright like he’d heard gunshots outside.
It was actually just stray firecrackers, because humans were humans and they’d continue setting off annoying shit before and after the actual celebration occurred. This realization did not quell his nerves in the slightest. Probably made it worse, because now he was back to confronting the situation at hand.
He looked down.
Vash was still sound asleep, arm loosely curled around Wolfwood’s wrist. The bed was full of feathers. There was a subtle rise and fall to his back, drooling a little on the pillow. He looked so stupid. Wolfwood loved him.
What the fuck am I doing?
He stumbled when he stood up. Pushed his hands into his hair, stared off at the wall like it might hold all the answers. Looked back at Vash’s sleeping form. Vash Wolfwood.
What the fuck.
Apparently now his sentence structure was shrinking on a mental level. That wasn’t good.
He paced the room, feet quiet on the floor. This was a pretty nice hotel, he and Vash had splurged a little extra money in the name of celebration. It had a tiny ass balcony that could barely fit a single person and a large glass door. It also had a massive window facing the bed, and Wolfwood was now realizing they had not at all drawn the curtains last night. Whoops. At least they were a few floors up?
Their clothes were all over the ground. There were also a few empty bottles of alcohol. He paused when his foot kicked by one and the shot glasses that had spilled wine all over the carpet. Lingered on The Bride stamped across the front of the bottle.
There was still some left. He picked it up and chugged a swig back straight from the neck. Placed it on the bedside table, where Vash’s prosthetic had been placed. It was the only item of theirs that had been handled with any amount of care. Not even Vash’s gun had been treated in such a way, fallen halfway under the bed.
He paused for a moment. Took another gulp of wine before setting it down again.
He looked at their clothes on the floor and crouched, digging around. Checked his jacket pockets, nothing. His pant pockets, nothing. Vash’s pants, nothing. By the time he got to Vash’s coat he was seriously contemplating if maybe last night had just been some crazy dream he’d concocted, or, worst of all, had just been rendered completely pointless.
In one of the pockets on the inside of Vash’s coat, he felt the crinkling of paper. He pulled it free with a slowness, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases as he sat back on his heels.
That sure was a marriage certificate. Had their names and everything. Course Vash was an idiot and put down Vash the Stampede as if that was legally binding. Or maybe it was more symbolic, truly freeing himself of that title.
And he freed it with Wolfwood’s name.
“What the fuck.” He choked, standing and pacing as he stared at the certificate.
He turned to stare out the window of the balcony. Remembered he still wasn’t wearing any clothes and hastily moved away until the backs of his knees hit the foot of the bed and he roughly sat down.
He got married. He’s hitched. Shots and everything. Didn’t even get a bachelors party. Livio would’ve wanted to be part of that.
Oh God, Livio was gonna kill him. Meryl and Milly were gonna kill them. Miss Melanie would throw a fit. They had to take this to the grave. He just got married. To Vash.
“What the fuck.” Came out horribly high-pitched and wheezy, staring wild-eyed at the opposite wall.
“Mmf,” Sounded behind him, and he couldn't even muster the coherence to startle. Felt the sheets shift, heard a yawn. Could already imagine the needle-point teeth glinting in the low light of the rising sun. “Nick?”
Wolfwood looked over his shoulder. Couldn’t even be horribly endeared by Vash’s bedhead and adorably sleepy face, cheek smushed as he leaned up on his arm. Wolfwood just held up the certificate in one hand, elbows on his knees and stared at Vash as if he could make any more sense of it.
“You married me?” His voice cracked. Didn’t really mean for it to come out that pathetic.
Vash blinked, squinting like he himself was trying to remember the tomfoolery they had gotten up to. Then a slow beam spread across his face, stray feathers on his cheeks puffing up. Wolfwood wanted to kiss them so bad. When he wasn’t freaking out.
“I did.” Vash breathed, like he couldn’t believe it either. Except in a far less panicked fashion.
“What the fuck.” He echoed, abruptly setting the certificate down on the bed. Still quite gentle, mind you, but if he had to hold onto it a second longer he was scared he would rip it. He was terrible at holding things gently.
He dropped his head to his hands, leaning forward and staring wide-eyed at the ground. He was married? He got married?
“Wolfwood?” Vash called, bed shifting as he sat up. There was a nervous waver to his voice.
“I didn’t—” He swallowed. “Spikey, this is insane.”
He didn’t think that statement called for a very sudden, heavy silence, but that was what he got. It lingered enough to give him another shot of anxiety before he got a response.
“...did you,” Vash spoke in a low voice, alarmingly solid in his tone. He only sounded like that when he was in his my life sucks forever but I need to keep it together and be a martyr for no goddamn reason mood. The kind where Wolfwood had to beat him over the head and try not to feel his heart rip out of his chest, “did you not want—?”
“Finish that fucking sentence and I’m suffocating you with a pillow.” Wolfwood snapped, shoulders tensing as he glared daggers at the wine-stained carpet. “This is—I think this is the best day of my life.” He whirled around, pointing an accusing finger in Vash’s direction. “Never say that again.”
Vash startled, Wolfwood catching the tail-end of a blank, empty-eyed stare vanishing from his face. Jesus, he never wanted to see that ever again. Not for the rest of this marriage. He was married.
Vash blinked once, then slowly shifted back into a much more preferable expression, a pleased upwards curve of his mouth as he leaned forward, wrapping his arm around one of his bent legs through the blankets.
“Never again.” He repeated, moving like he was zipping his mouth closed before he clearly just remembered he didn’t have his prosthetic on. Adorable.
“I just, I,” Wolfwood stuttered, suddenly feeling too much under that preternaturally bright stare. He turned back around and ran a hand through his hair. “I got married.”
“You did.” Vash sounded highly amused.
“To you.”
“That’s what the certificate says, yes.”
“Is this not insane to you?” Wolfwood looked over his shoulder again. Vash’s chin was resting in his palm, propped on a knee. He was smiling like it was all so charming.
“That you married me? Very.” His grin got brighter. “You wanted me that bad?”
“I want you for the rest of my life.” Wolfwood blurted out. Later he’d relish in the blush that went up to Vash’s ears, as if they hadn’t said much filthier things to each other. Currently he could barely think twice about it. “But that doesn’t—I don’t get married, spikey.”
Vash shifted into a frown. Not a concerning one, at least. “Uh, elaborate?”
“I’m—” He choked on the words a little. “This is—this is normal. This is what normal people do. All of this, it—” He fell back against the bed, both hands digging into his hair as he stared up at the ceiling. “We own a house, right at the edge of December. I’ve had normal jobs, I’m probably gonna finally keep one! So are you, once they calm off your ass. I got married. I wake up most days in a bed, that is mine, to a literal gorgeous blond—this isn’t crazy to you?” He turned, arm braced on the bed. “This is a textbook ‘how to be a normal person’. This is how you explain the average Joe to an alien.”
Vash slowly raised a brow. Wolfwood didn’t even care to be embarrassed. He hung his head and kept speaking to Vash, viewing him halfway upside down and trying to make his head understand this was his.
“Without context, this is just what…this is what normal people are like.” He repeated. He looked off at the wall. “Pick a random person out of a crowd and you’ll hit the statistic of some guy with his loving partner and two-point-five kids—do you want kids?” He snapped his head back around.
“I—oh God, well,” Vash stuttered, clearly thrown wildly off-kilter by Wolfwood’s ramblings. His feathers puffed, giggling high and nervous. “That–that would be wonderful—“
“Holy shit, we’re gonna have kids.” Wolfwood dropped back to the bed, heels of his palms pressed into his eyes. “What the fuck. Is this what normal people feel like? I’m not supposed to know that. I’m not supposed to know any of this."
“You’re…not?” Vash stumbled over his words. No doubt getting the whiplash of the century.
“I’m a Punisher.” Wolfwood recited to the stars bursting behind his eyelids. “There wasn’t even…I wasn’t supposed to have any of this. I didn’t even get to think about missing it because it was just never going to happen. These things were meant for other people. I…” He swallowed, dropping his hands. “I was destined to bite the chain until I bled to death out in the sands. Long before I ever got gray hairs.”
A feather brushed the edge of his vision. He looked up to find Vash had shifted, thighs bracketing his head as he sat on his knees, looking down at him with such a sad, softened expression. Wolfwood tilted his chin up when Vash’s hand gently came down to cup his cheek, fingertips crazing his collarbone, as though his very being were an oratory. The haze of the morning sun lit up Vash’s outline and metal parts, flesh turned into stained glass.
“I wouldn’t let you.” Vash murmured, as sure as a preacher speaking God’s truth to his flock.
“You didn’t.” He replied, leaning his face into the touch. Met Vash’s gaze. “I get to have this?”
It came out a lot…needier than he intended. Awestruck. A real question, confirmation that he hadn’t just been having vivid hallucinations for the last year. That he wasn’t still dead on that couch and drinking his last shots while his best friend couldn't even look at him.
Vash was looking at him now. Straight into his soul, really, thumb brushing over his cheek as he shifted Wolfwood’s head till it was resting on his bent thigh, his other leg stretched out beside him.
“Yes,” Vash murmured, “it’s all yours.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over Wolfwood’s forehead.
Wolfwood suddenly couldn’t breathe. For a second he thought he’d gotten shot in the lungs, but Vash was still smiling at him, still holding him. Everything had wound tight and snapped, he was untethered and adrift in the wind.
He was going to spend the rest of his life like this. The Eye of Michael would be nothing but a memory. He’d know warm mornings for twice the amount of time he’d known dirty cells and cold needles. Maybe longer.
The sound Wolfwood let out was somewhere between a desperate gasp for air and a hysterical snarl. Vash cooed, curling over him completely as he pressed their heads together, noses brushing and murmuring gentle assurances as Wolfwood shook apart in his arm.
Wolfwood fumbled to turn, pressing his face into Vash’s bare lower abdomen, as if that could somehow hide the tears Vash had already seen. He could breathe even less this way, sucking in heady and tortured gasps against warm skin as he trembled.
“Angel,” He gasped, maybe minutes or hours later, when he finally thought he could speak without sobbing, “why the hell did you let me marry you?”
“Oh, Wolfwood,” Vash breathed, moving to thread his fingers through Wolfwood’s hair, “you’re the—”
“Not what I meant.” He interrupted for his sanity’s sake, muffled into scarred tissue. “I meant why’d you let me marry you in five goddamn minutes. With—did we even have witnesses?” He turned away, one arm loosely coiled around Vash’s waist as he patted around before he found the certificate in the sheets, holding it up to his face and squinted. “We had witnesses—we don’t even know these people! You let me marry you like that?”
“Didn’t I ask you?” Vash squinted down at him. Then he looked off in thought. “...pretty sure I did.”
“Jesus Christ, we got married n’ can barely even remember it.” Wolfwood slapped the certificate back down and rolled over so he was on his back beside Vash, arm flung over his eyes. Vash took the certificate and stretched over to gingerly set it on the side table so they wouldn’t crush it. “Why did I let you do that? There weren’t even rings.”
“You want rings?” He felt Vash sit up beside him.
“I married you!” Wolfwood barked, lowering his arm. “Yes, I want fuckin’ rings! You deserve one, first of all, and because I am not gonna be the asshole who marries a guy just for bragging rights!”
“You–you really don’t need to do that.” Vash stammered. “I don’t—”
“Shut the fuck up, we’re getting rings.” Wolfwood sat up, took one hard look at their clothes on the floor, then flopped back down. “Later, we’re getting rings. But I’m not getting you a diamond.” He closed his eyes. Paused. Cracked a lid open. “Do you want a diamond ring?”
“Oh my God, no.” Vash looked appalled. “We can’t afford that.”
“I didn’t ask if we could afford it, I asked if you wanted it.”
“Do you really think I want diamonds?”
“Figured,” He snorted, closing his eyes again, “you’d lose it, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Vash sighed, and Wolfwood felt him perk up at his side, “oh, but it’s gonna be a little complicated.”
“What?” Wolfwood looked over at him.
“Well, I mean,” Vash gestured to his stump, “I hate to tell you this, but metal rings don’t really…stay on this arm. They slip off.”
“Ah,” Wolfwood frowned, “maybe if it was tight enough—”
“I’ll just weld one on.” Vash brushed off with a wave, an idea visibly sparking in his brain. “Or we can swing by Luida and have her take a look at my arm, see if she can engrave a ring on it, have it painted over so it can match yours. That way I’ll never take it off.” He grinned down at him, bright and blinding.
Wolfwood stared. Stared some more. Vash blinked, nervous eyes darting for a moment. He was then tackled down to the bed with a very undignified squawk.
Vash was promptly smothered in enough kisses to drown a man alive. He flailed about, limbs flying as Wolfwood pressed him down to the sheets. He had to do something, otherwise his chest might’ve exploded thanks to Vash. Horrendous, the things that man did to him.
Vash squeaked as Wolfwood wrapped his arms around him, crushing his body under his own as he kissed every inch of his face, his neck, biting at his earring. The Plant laughed, feathers tickling all over as he settled back to lay down and take the loving abuse.
“I’d like that.” Wolfwood muffled into his throat, nipping gently. “Now girls’ll finally quit hittin’ on you at bars.”
“You think it’s funny.” Vash protested, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of Wolfwood’s neck.
“Not as funny as the look on their faces when they realize yer off the table.” He grinned, very pleased with himself. “All those hopes, dashed in an instant.”
“You know I never take them up anyway.” Vash puffed, dropping his head back against the pillow.
“It’s the principle of the matter.”
“Ah, I see,” Vash hummed, teasingly condescending as he weaved a finger around the rosary beads still hanging from his neck, “carry on.”
“Shut up.” Wolfwood pouted, nuzzling into the shell of his ear. “I wanna marry you again. There’s this church in December, the one I still go to on Sunday’s?”
“You want to marry me there?” Vash sounded breathless. Because that was somehow the most unbelievable part in all of this.
“If we go around announcin’ we got hitched on a whim, the insurance girls are gonna kill us.” He snorted.
“Oh, yeah,” He felt Vash wince, “but it wasn’t exactly a whim, that makes it sound like I didn’t want to marry you before.”
“Don’t say shit like that,” Wolfwood groaned, turning over so he was only halfway on top of Vash, so they could see each other's faces, “I’ve used up all the tear ducts, don’t wring ‘em out more.”
“Oh, I wasn’t even trying that time.” Vash grinned, the little shit. “I could do worse.”
“Don’t.” Wolfwood groaned, shoving a hand in his face and leaning back as Vash laughed. “Crying’s supposed to happen during the wedding, not after.”
“That’s not fair,” Vash pouted around the hand smushed into his cheek, “you made me cry plenty last night.”
“Well that's different.” Wolfwood grinned, terribly smug as he leaned back in, moving his hand down so they could be nose-to-nose. “Sexy crying is a whole other matter.”
“You are such a sadist.” Vash puffed, rolling his eyes and gently bonking their foreheads together. “My husband is so mean to me.” He whined, though Wolfwood noticed how his voice caught on husband, getting used to the word. Wolfwood was no better. Hearing Vash say it out loud was turning him all kinds of feral.
“I’m your husband.” Wolfwood breathed out all at once, winded. “Holy shit. You sure you aren’t freaking out?”
“Maybe a little.” Vash wrapped his arm around Wolfwood’s back. “Maybe a lot. I didn’t think I’d ever get married, either. It didn’t even cross my mind for a while.”
“I’m just too good to resist, eh?” He taunted, tilting his head against the pillows and batting half-lidded eyes. “Not even the horrible womanizer himself could’ve let a catch like me escape. Took one look and knew he just had to lock my fine ass down.”
“Close enough,” Vash rolled his eyes, leaning over to kiss at his clavicle. “I took one look and knew I wanted to know you.”
“Right, right, yeah, ‘kind eyes’ or whatever.” Wolfwood puffed, and no, he wasn’t embarrassed.
“You said my smile was a beautiful compliment.” Vash deadpanned. “What, thirty minutes after we met?”
“Well it is.” Wolfwood muttered, refusing to look down. “All the real ones are.”
“See?” Vash nuzzled his face against Wolfwood’s chest (he knew damn well it was not so innocent, that freak was a fiend for his tits). “And that’s why I had to know you. You can tell the difference.” He traced his hand over Wolfwood’s muscles. “If it helps, I’m having trouble believing I get to keep you.”
Wolfwood hummed, wrapping his arms around Vash and holding him against his chest. Pretended to ignore how Vash planted his face directly between his pecs and was practically purring with delight. What a wonderful little weirdo. He couldn’t believe he got to keep this for the rest of his life.
And he almost didn’t get to.
“Hey,” Wolfwood said, speaking up to the ceiling, “you believe me when I say I’m in love with you, right?”
Vash stilled. The purring stuttered to a halt. Wolfwood carefully kept his gaze up.
This wasn’t the first time he’d said it (obviously). But he could count the times they’d said it to each other on both hands and no more. They were both just…bad at saying it. Preferred to show it in every other word, every action. Weren’t used to hearing it, weren’t used to feeling it.
Well, in this specific context. Vash had so much love he was bursting apart with it. Rarely had it been a selfish form of love, one aiming to possess and keep rather than some omnipotent guardian angel.
Vash exhaled slowly, turning his head, hair tickling Wolfwood’s chin. “Sometimes. I think I believe it a little more every day.”
Wolfwood tipped Vash up by the chin. Didn’t bother searching for those crystalline blues and just leaned down to kiss him. He kept it chaste, and Vash lingered, eyes drifting over his lips as his thumb came to trace where his jaw met his neck.
“I love you.” Vash turned it around, eyes flicking up. “Do you believe that?”
“You love everyone, spikey.” Wolfwood snorted, rolling his eyes. “Even the most nihilistic bastards on the planet knew that.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
No, it wasn’t.
Wolfwood paused, drumming his fingers over Vash’s back. Exhaled, then lifted his head to rest his chin on Vash’s head.
“Sometimes.” He echoed. “Though after yesterday, I think we’ve landed solidly into the ‘usually’ category.”
“Good,” Vash murmured, turning his face back down for another kiss.
Wolfwood rumbled into his mouth, turning over so he was on top of Vash, knees bracketing his waist and arms by his head. He was never very good at letting emotions get the better of him, that was Vash’s thing. But he could act, so he lay his body across Vash’s, slow and languid with a grind of his hips against Vash’s.
“Let me show you,” He breathed into Vash’s parted mouth, “how much I love you.”
“Mmph,” was all Wolfwood could parse from Vash trying to talk back. His arm fisted in Wolfwood’s hair and pulled him back a little, smiling, “haven’t we already consummated our marriage?”
“Shhhh,” Wolfwood covered his mouth with his palm, delighted under the sparkle growing in Vash’s gaze, “semantics. We’ll call it the start of our honeymoon. Oh shit,” He stopped, hand falling as he stared down at Vash’s grinning face, “I get to have a honeymoon.”
“You do.” Vash placed a kiss on his nose. “That comes with the marriage.”
“Crazy how that works, huh?” Wolfwood breathed, then dropped to nipping bites all over Vash’s neck. Like this it was nothing more than a ticklish tease, and right on cue Vash yelped and squirmed, weakly trying to shove off.
“Wolfwood!” He laughed, though one leg was thrown over Wolfwood’s waist.
“Mm, that’s gonna get confusing.” He spoke between his next nip. “Since that’s your name too, now.”
“It is.” Vash looked so giddy he was fit to burst with it. He got another kiss planted straight on his lips for that. “But can you imagine? ‘Hello, I’m Wolfwood, and this is my husband, Wolfwood.’”
“We are not doing that.”
“It would be funny.”
“It would be. We’re not doing that.”
“You are no fun.” Vash pouted, dropping his head against the pillow. Then he smirked, waggling his brows. “Guess that means I’ll have to call you Nick full-time, huh?”
He shivered at that, just a little. The only times he tended to hear some variation of Nicholas from Vash’s lips was in a bed like this, or the few times they were alone and Vash was fit to burst from all he kept clammed up in his chest.
He hadn’t locally gone as Nicholas since he was a little kid. Wolfwood was who he hoped to die as. Not because it was what he wanted most, but because it was all he thought was attainable. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t die as the Punisher, but as Wolfwood. That was the best-case scenario, because he couldn’t even dream he’d something better than that.
Then again, in all his dreams, he never could have come up with Vash. That was the only reason he knew he wasn’t dead, or sleeping, because nothing but reality could make up something like this. Maybe now he’d get to die as something even better than Wolfwood.
He rocked gently against Vash again, hoisting his lower back up once he got a hand under it. Vash sighed happily, tilting his head back to accept a deep kiss, arm wrapping around the back of his neck.
“I could get used to that.” Nicholas purred, prying Vash’s arm off of him until he could slide their fingers together, holding his hand down against the bed.
“Does that mean I’ll get to hear ‘Vash’ more often?” Vash batted his eyes.
“Mm,” Nicholas hummed, then kissed down his chest, “no.”
“You are the worst husband in the world.”
“Too late now,” He laid his face over scarred skin and metal, “you’re stuck with me, Tongari.”
“Yeah,” Vash breathed, curling his fingers around his hand, smiling so bright and real. “Forever?”
“That’s what I promised, wasn’t it?” Nicholas grinned, and kissed his way lower and lower, just to prove to himself what each tomorrow would feel like. To ground himself in this reality, fit only in the storybooks of kinder worlds.
Nicholas could never in a hundred years convey everything Vash had done for him. How much it meant that he could have every single thing that was guaranteed to normal people, that he may be given the opportunity to go on living with nothing but old scars and a memory that would fade with old age and gray hairs. That he didn’t have to do it alone.
But he could love Vash for the rest of his life. And maybe that would be close enough.
They never did remember to close those curtains.