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The chime of the bell attached to Qifrey's sail staff startles him, freezing mid-step. He's long past the tree line where no root should break up the ground. He's nowhere near the cliffs and he doesn't feel any stones underfoot.
He adjusts his grip on the staff, tapping against the ground in a loose circle. It's only once it bumps against something on the ground and he can trace the edge of it does he finally think to look down.
His vision is little more than blobby shapes, but he has a better time distinguishing between contrasting colours. Which makes him feel all the more foolish for not seeing the very red shape against the green of the hillside. There's another shape beside him dressed in black and grey. He assumes they're people by the length of them, but just to be safe, Qifrey steps back and gives the shapes a nudge against what he hopes is their chest.
When both figures immediately bolt upright, Qifrey isn't ashamed to say he jumps back in surprise. He'd have fallen over, were it not for the sail board catching him and giving him something to lean on.
The red one jumps to their feet, head whipping around. The darker figure is still sitting in the grass. Qifrey can't make out where either is looking, but he has an approximation of where their faces are and addresses them.
"Pardon the scare. I didn't mean to interrupt your nap."
"Who are you?" By sound, Qifrey guesses it's coming from the red one.
"Qifrey, and who might you two be?"
There's an odd pause before they answer.
"Vash," says the red figure.
"Wolfwood," then the darker figure adds, "and where the hell are we?"
Their voice is gruff and oddly reminds him of Olruggio, if he'd made a habit of swallowing coals at a young age.
The questions are strange. They can't be locals. They wouldn't be surprised to find him here collecting erbs. They might be travellers, though Qifrey hasn't seen anything that looks like a rucksack or supplies on their persons. They can't be drunkards either. He of all people would know the smell of alcohol.
"If you're lost, I may be able to assist," Qifrey offers, "I have a place where you can rest and you're free to use our Window Way. Olruggio should be finishing lunch by the time we return." It's moments like these that Qifrey truly laments the loss of detail in his vision. He can practically hear the invisible conversation these two strangers must be having. They're standing too far for him to make out any distinct facial features, so he's stuck relying on tone and posture to determine their moods.
"Ah, are you sure we wouldn't be imposing?" Vash asks.
"Nonsense. Frankly, Olly makes too much for the both of us to eat at a given time. I'd appreciate the help."
"Well I ain't ever gonna turn down a free meal," Wolfwood says, "c'mon Blondie, hop on the board."
That's an odd nickname, given that Vash has black hair from what Qifrey can see. He plants his sail staff against the ground once Wolfwood is comfortable in the middle and Vash sits at the far end. Given the design of the board is meant for two at most, they're all sitting hip to hip.
He doesn't hide the little grin when he hears the surprised sound of his two passengers as the board sets off, floating steadily back towards the atelier. It's a little off balance and his feet skirt the ground, but it's still better — and safer, he admits — than walking.
"We've been getting good weather this season. The basiwilt are a menace, but they make for such delicious garnish I can't help but adore them," Qifrey says idily, "I think Olly was planning some sort of spicy pasta dish. He thinks I didn't see him stocking starspice the last time we went to Kaln."
His travellers could just be taciturn, but neither make a sound of recognition at the name of the nearby town. The board suddenly jerks — the underside of the board scrapes against an overgrown bush — and Wolfwood almost tumbles forward.
Instinct has Qifrey snapping forward to grab the mans bidep and yanks him back towards his chest. Years of catching apprentices put the image of scraped knees and bruised palms in his mind, before he remembers who he's holding.
"Apologies. Seems I'll have to ask Olly to fit roadwork into his schedule."
The abrupt motion does give him a better look at the man's face. Wolfwood is tanned dark, with black glasses resting on his nose. He's muscular too, if the width of his bicep was anything to go by. He smells odd too. More than just sand and sweat, there's something metallic and sour under it all.
When the atelier is in sight, he sees the blurry shape of his husband take to the skies and fly towards them. He hears a gasp from both his guests and amends his theories. Perhaps they aren't familiar with witches at all.
Olruggio lands with a skip and Qifrey holds out his arms, catching him in an indulgently long hug. His husband smells like spices and fresh bread and he doesn't hesitate to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. He draws back, licking his lips and laughs at the taste of flour in his stubble.
"Don't tell me you've made such a mess while I've been gone," he says.
"Of course not. I wouldn't mess up your kitchen. And who are these two?" Olruggio asks. "What's got them looking so gobsmacked?"
"Just a pair of travelers I've invited to lunch," Qifrey says. With his back to the strangers, neither Vash or Wolfwood can see how Qifrey's smile thins out.
Even with his blurry vision, he can read the concerned expression on Olruggio's face.
"Trust me," Qifrey whispers against his cheek.
"Always someting with you," Olruggio grumbles, then adds, "did ya at least pick the fresh thornbark?"
Qifrey holds up the basket in the crook of his elbow. Turning back to the other pair, he adds, "How do you take your tea?"
"Ain't much of a tea guy," Wolfwood says, "you got any beer?"
Olruggio barks out a laugh. "Maybe we'll finally polish of those spirits tonight."
"Only if you can stay awake long enough to get through the second glass," Qifrey says.
He hears a snorting sound from Vash's perspective. One of his hands is clasped over his mouth, muffling his amusement at Olruggio's expense.
The atelier smells even better once they're inside. Qifrey stands his sailboard and staff against the entrance and hangs up his cloak. Olruggio vanishes off to the kitchens and he's left again with these two strangers and all of his suspicions.
"Am I correct to assume this is the first time either of you have met a witch?" He asks bluntly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Wolfwood asks.
Qifrey doesn't miss how Wolfwood puts himself between Vash. His tone is prickly as a spinning needle. Qifrey remains calm, setting up the pillows around the short table in their living space, maintaining the offer of hospitality. No need to make threats where there aren't yet any.
"Someone who practices magic," Qifrey continues, "the sailboard, Olruggio's sylph shoes, they're all products of magic."
He fishes out his palm quire and finishes a circle to one of his water sculpting spells. Out from seemingly nothing, a bushel of thornbark forms from the moisture pulled from the air. He hears the stunned gasp from both strangers and Vash's vivid red shape moves closer, kneeling opposite to Qifrey and leaning into the sculpture.
"No way — " Wolfwood says faintly.
"Magic! Actual magic!" Vash says excitedly.
Now that he's closer, Qifrey can see that his eyes are a beautiful shade of aqua that matches his strange arm. His smile is small, lips parted and the expression is earnest and bright as a star.
When Vash abruptly leans back, Qifrey realizes that he must've been too obvious in his staring, "Apologies. It's just the first chance I got to have a good look at you. I hope you don't take offence."
"So you are blind," Wolfwood comments, taking a seat beside Vash.
"Partially. I can see colours and shapes, but nothing more distinct," he explains. No need to hide this truth, "I can only tell you apart by your clothes and your voices."
"Nico, c'mon, we don't need to interrogate him," Vash says, reaching out with his teal-coloured hand and brushing against the sculpted thorns, "this is… incredible."
There's something off about Vash. Wolfwood's aggression fits into the image he's already forming of the other man, protective and wary of strangers. Vash acts passive, but he also hasn't given a single non-verbal tell to his confusion or his worries. That alone sets Qifrey on edge.
"Oh, uh, sorry. But do you happen to have a restroom I can use?" Vash asks.
"Of course. Where are my manners, I haven't even offered to let you both wash up before supper," he points back towards the kitchen, "first floor down the hall. If you need more water, simply open the brass contraption and tilt it sideways into the basin."
Qifrey expects Wolfwood to go with him and he's fairly certain Vash just needed an excuse to confer with his travelling partner. Once he hears the sound of the doors closing, he stands and makes his way into the kitchens.
He finds Olruggio standing on his toes to reach the dishes. Qifrey happily wraps his arms around his middle, squeezing at the weight he finds and nuzzling into the back of his neck.
"So what's the story of those two?" Olruggio asks.
"I'm fairly certain they aren't from Zozah. How they got here is a mystery. It can't have been windowway and neither even knew of magic before I showed them."
"Oh they definitely ain't locals. Their accent gives it away. That red fellow's got the most unique a prosthetic I've ever seen."
Olruggio's fingers just barely brush the edge of the wooden dishes. Qifrey easily reaches over his head, finds the lip, grasps it and sets it down on the counter. He giggles, pressing his forehead against his husband's back.
"You put it up there on purpose," he sulks.
"You can fly, darling. Being vertically challenged shouldn't be a problem."
"Shut up."
Qifrey is spun against the countertop, still laughing as Olruggio blows a raspberry into his collarbone. The turtleneck can't save him from the ticklish sensation and he presses a palm against Olruggio's forehead, desperately trying to shove him away.
It's only once they hear the louder sound of something metal hitting the ground that the both of them look up. Qifrey keeps one hand on the wall as he makes his way down the hall, listening for the sounds of his guests.
"Is everything alright?" He calls out once he feels the edge of the doorframe against his fingertips.
There's a scramble and both voices hastily shushing each other, before Vash finally speaks up.
"We're fine! Just… do you have any extra towels?"
"What happened to the ones on the rack?"
"They got wet."
Qifrey pauses. "All of them?"
"Blame Wolfwood, not me!"
"You spikey shit — "
Vash howls and there's a distinctly wet crack. Behind him, he hears Olruggio sigh and the clinking shift as his hand searches his robes for his rings. His husband steps in front of the door and boldly knocks twice, silencing the two on the other side.
"If you're both done horsing around, get out so I can dry you both off. Lunch is ready."
Qifrey hears the door open a crack. It's dimmer in the hallway, so he isn't sure who it is until he hears Vash speak up.
"Sorry. You guys should go eat. We can clean up ourselves."
"Don't be like that. You're guests."
Qifrey sees the glow of Olriggio's magic and hears the little gasp from both parties as whatever moisture was left on their bodies evaporates in a single, warming instant. He sighs and folds his hands onto Olriggio's shoulder, resting his chin against him.
"His magic is so thoughtful, isn't it?" He says. "He made me my board and staff too. I'd be lost without his assistance."
The removal of the Silverwood had entailed the removal of his replaced eye. He still remembers the pitying voices of the other witches and doctors. They kept up their whispering during his recovery, as if they thought he'd gone deaf as well as blind.
However would he continue to be a witch if he couldn't see his seals? As if his husband wasn't a brilliant inventor who already had a Searneedle Wand ready for him the moment he sat up after the operation. As if the first lessons they taught their apprentices wasn't how to draw based on memory alone.
Olruggio splutters out something about preparing the table and hastily shoves Qifrey off his shoulder.
Vash follows, still sputtering out apologies. Qifrey is about to join him, until he realizes Wolfwood hasn't moved.
"Something the matter?"
"You left bruises on my arm when you grabbed me. You ain't frail," the man states, "so why the act?"
There's a spike of fear, a measured lie ready on his lips before Qifrey lets himself breathe. He can't look Wolfwood in the eye, but in an odd way, that reminder of his condition helps. It reminds him that he has no reason to lie anymore.
"You're right," Qifrey confesses, "it's a very bad habit from when I had to do very questionable things to survive. I'm ashamed it hasn't yet been broken. I apologize for your arm and for lying. I could get you a cold pack for the bruises?"
Whatever reaction Qifrey expects, it isn't a long, loud quiet. He stresses his hearing for anything, squints at Wolfwood for any hint at what the man might be thinking. The silence gnaws at him, leaves a chill at his fingertips like frostbite.
Wolfwood shrugs, "I'll live."
"Does it hurt?"
Another strange pause. Qifrey tries to understand where the hesitation comes from. Wolfwood wasn't particularly scared of his magic. The man could just be the stoic type. By the sound of his voice, he's younger than he and Oru by at least a few years and it's telling for a young man to wave away concern so easily. There aren't many good reasons to be adverse to an offering of care either way.
"It's a simple matter to shape some ice and wrap it in a towel for you," Qifrey continues.
Wolfwood's tone is pure shock. "Seriously? You'd waste ice for this?"
Qifrey chooses not to comment on that. Further down the hall, he hears Ollrugio yelling for the both of them and Qifrey decides to leave it at that. Once he's back in the kitchens, Qifrey breathes deep and smells all sorts of rich sauces and spices in the air.
He can hear the sounds of someone already eating and finds Vash face first in a bowl of pasta. "Spikes! And you were harkin' on me for manners!" Wolfwood yells.
" 'm s'rry. T'stes so 'ood!" he says around a mouthful.
Wolfwood cuffs the back of his head and Qifrey hears the wooden bowl clatter back to the table. "Jesus, swallow before you speak at least."
"Compliments to the chef go unneeded, clearly," Qifrey says as he takes his seat.
He smells the air again and perks up when he smells something floral. His guess is confirmed when he hears Olruggio pulling out their set of pewter cups on the table with a metallic clink. There's another sound of awe from across the table and he sees how Vash leans towards the container of spirits.
"I don't think I've ever had a drink with flowers in it," he says.
"Really? Well, I'm glad that this is your first introduction. We've had this one sitting for a while now. Never got around to finishing it," Olruggio says.
Qifrey takes his seat as his husband pours him a cup. It takes him a moment to place the scent and taste, but the colour alone is enough.
"Wood sorrel and purple lemons," Qifrey comments, "what's the occasion?"
"Figured our guests would appreciate a vintage after their travels," Olruggio says, "where'd you two come from anyhow?"
Qifrey hastily shoves a piece of pasta into his mouth to give himself an excuse not to participate in the conversation. He hears how Vash splutters something about being from far away before Qifrey hears the dull thud of someone being kicked under the table.
"Don't gotta feed 'em the story, Spikey," Wolfwood says, "if magic is real, chances are they'll believe the truth."
"Yea, wel — " Vash starts.
"Cottonball offered me ice like it was nothing. I ain't fuckin' this up by fibbing out the gate."
Qifrey almost chokes on a piece of basiwilt. Olruggio spits into his cup.
"Wolfwood!"
"What? Cotton's white, ain't it?"
"That — " Qifrey coughs, holding up his napkin. " — I'm not offended. Simply charmed."
"He's an abrasive little scamp," Olruggio adds. Qifrey can hear the smile in his voice.
"Hey!"
"Is ice really such a novelty from where you're from?" Qifrey asks, unable to restrain the question.
"Well, I've only had ice in my drinks once or twice," Vash offers, "but, yea. We're both from a desert. Not a lot of water to spare."
"Fuckin' wasteland, more like," Wolfwood adds, "still ain't ever gonna believe we got off that rock."
"'Off'?" Qufrey repeats. "As in… off the continent?"
Another silence. Then Olruggio sighs and adds, "is this story gonna be easier or harder to tell if we're all drunk?"
"It's not exactly short," Vash's tone has changed, turning subdued and grim, "… and it isn't very pleasant either."
Qifrey glances out the corner of his eye to his husband. Under the table, Olruggio offers his upturned palm and Qifrey takes it. He laces their fingers together, squeezes, then speaks up.
"Neither is ours. Given that we've all survived, at the very least we know it has a happy ending. So how about this; let's see how many bottles we can finish before our stories become incoherent?"
"Sounds more fun than doing it sober," Wolfwood agrees.
Olruggio sets their dishes in the sink while Qifrey crouches down to gather the spirits. He goes for variety, wondering what their guests tastes in alcohol are. Maybe they'll stumble across something that reminds them of home.
He brings the drinks to the living room, knowing that the pillows will be useful once they inevitably pass out.
"This should help to keep us awake," Qifrey uncorks a bottle of hard thornbark tea, "so, who'd like to start?"
"I probably should. I was alive for the start of it all," Vash volunteers.
"The way you say that makes you sound like you're older than you look," Olruggio comments.
"You have no idea," Wolfwood throws back his glass, pauses, the stares at the dregs, "holy shit you guys have alcoholic coffee?!"
They do manage to get pieces of one another's stories between mouthfuls of liquor. It sounds incredible; ships that sailed through the stars, technology like no known contraption, all of humankind doomed to a desert wasteland.
"I've travelled to the desert for clients, but havin' to live in one sounds like a nightmare," Olruggio shudders, taking a swig of his second refill, "it's all backwards; cold at night but no snow. How anythin' lives there I'll never understand."
"Ain't a lot of water to spare and even fewer ways to get it," Wolfwood mutters.
"Explains why you made such a mess of our washrooms."
Wolfwood makes a spluttering, embarrassed sound. He starts blaming Vash, claiming he instigated, only for the other man to cry out and swoon into his lap. Wolfwood just yells louder, barely catching the edge of Vash's cup before it spills over them both.
Qifrey isn't shy about sharing in turn; a boy found in a flooded casket, lost memories, forbidden spells. He's generous as he pours his fourth cup of thornbark. Vash and Wolfwood have already finished the bottle of silvernectar wine and the rest of the wood sorrel and purple lemon liquor. Qifrey's fairly sure he saw Olruggio hide the full flush bottle once he realized just how much their guests can drink.
Both he and Olruggio have migrated to the floor, while Wolfwood leans back on the couch and Vash does his best to continue from where he lies back in Wolfwood's lap.
"What made you think biting him was a good idea?" Vash asks Wolfwood.
"I was desperate! It worked didn't it?"
Qifrey is still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of a weapon that uses bullets, fire and concentrated light — let alone how one would wield such a monstrosity. He'd almost be convinced the two were far too drunk, were it not for the clear eyes and pronunciations.
It's remarkable their story is as coherent as it is. Qifrey hears Olruggio pour himself a hasty drink and sets his hand on the rim to lower it, "dear, if you're trying to keep up with them, you'll end up puking in the sink."
"I can keep up!" Olruggio insists, red in the face.
"Nah, you really can't," Wolfwood insists, "I got blessed genes and Vash is his own freak of nature."
"Hey! Why is this empty?" Vash whines, turning a now empty bottle of wine over in his hands.
Wolfwood laughs, holding his cup high over his head like a trophy. "It's all mine, Spikes!"
"No, no because it's sweet and you love me so…. so," Vash stretches both hands into the air, "gimme!"
"No!"
Olruggio tries to stumble to his feet. "Oi, oi! Watch it or you're gonna spill — "
"Gimme!"
The glass tilts and Qifrey hears the dull thud as it falls to the floor a second later.
Wolfwood groans, but Vash continues to crawl up like a vine, pressing messy kisses to his cheek.
Olruggio sighs, though it sounds more appreciative than aggravated, "better than lettin' it go to waste, I suppose."
"I admit, I'm unsure if your behaviors are due to the drink, or your actual personalities shining through," Qifrey comments.
"Why can't it be both?" Vash says, then brightly adds, "do you guys have jelly? We can do shots of Nico's tits!"
"God, you really are shameless, Spikes," Wolfwood says, grunting as Vash keeps leaning into his space. Tellingly, Qifrey hears no effort to remove the other man.
"No. No way you two are still sober," Olruggio cuts in, "that's too smart an idea to have while piss drunk."
"I'm not drunk, just happy," Vash says and Qifrey is struck by the sudden bought of pure, unfiltered honesty from the man, "besides, I'd drink you out of house and home before I got tipsy off this stuff."
Wolfwood giggles, wiping his face with the hem of his soaked shirt. "Bet you'd get wasted just lickin' the spirits off my tits,"
Both Qifrey and Vash cackle like old hags. Olruggio splutters, tries to stand, only for his legs to wobble and his drink to nearly spill across the ground.
"Wha's that s'possed to mean?"
"I'm callin' you a lightweight, old man" Wolfwood continues, the grin evident in his voice.
"Little rascal," Olruggio huffs, slamming the cup on the table, "bet I got the better tits between us anyhow."
Qifrey is ready to tug him back down before he falls trying to stand again. He doesn't expect his husband to stay on the ground and start crawling on all fours. From where he's leaned against the table, he can see how Olruggio's eyes are fixed on Wolfwood's shirt, soaked through and no doubt see-through.
Vash hastily rolls away when Olruggio goes to straddle Wolfwood's thighs. Wolfwood playfully slaps the hands away, but he's either too inebriated or too amused by his husband fumbling for the buttons to put in real effort. Once it's finally parted, he makes a triumphant sound and Qifrey hears buttons clattering off into the abyss.
"Told you! Tits might as well be boards with how flat they are!"
"Hey, fuck you! I like my tits flat!"
"Noo," Vash whines against a floor cushion, "they are not! They're squishy and hairy and I love them."
"You have good tastes," Qifrey raises his glass in a cheers. Vash waves his empty bottle around in solidarity.
"Yea? Well, mine are better!" Olruggio still insists.
Wolfwood leans up on one elbow and yanks roughly at the ribbons of his shirt. "Prove it then, dick!"
"Language!"
Qifrey finally intervenes to help with the knots and ribbons on his husband's shirt. Vash also moves from his spot on the floor, still sitting but now leaning his arms and chin against the arms of the couch for a better vantage point. Vash gently guides Wolfwood's hands away, whispering something against his ear Qifrey doesn't catch.
He's undone this shirt enough times that he can do it by feel alone. The billowing fabric slides off one of Oru's shoulders and Qifrey reaches around to cup the handful of breast tissue that's now freed.
The hair here is sparse compared to the denser scruff at the center of Olruggio's chest. Qifrey's fingers grip and massage at the plush. His skin is always so warm to the touch. Qifrey can feel the dampness of sweat and knows his husband must be shiny and flushed pink all the way down to his round stomach.
Vash whistles, "Oh wow, you're right. Sorry Nico, you've got competition."
"Fuck y — "
Qifrey hears Wolfwood make a choked sound that tapers into a low moan, "don't be mean, Nico. Not after all the trouble they've gone through for us," Vash scolds, "and watch those teeth."
"The brat does look cute sucking on those pretty fingers of yours," Olruggio laughs and Qifrey flushes at the mental image, "been tryin'a figure out how it works since you got here. No magic whatsoever?"
"Nope. It's all mechanics. Got some extra tricks engineered into it too," Vash says.
"And you can also feel through it?" Qifrey asks.
"Mhm. Nico always seems to forget that when he gets bitey. You'll mind your manners now won't you?" Vash leans up, whispering something Qifrey can't catch before he addresses them again, "how about we trade? I'll be careful. I promise."
It's so bold, Qifrey almost, almost splutters at the option. Given the nature of his condition, he'd had precious little experience with intimacy — with or without a partner. Once he was cured, it took less than a week for him to come to Olruggio's room with a polite request to eat him out until the man cried.
The idea of sharing him does set off something protective in his chest, but there's sincerity in Vash's voice that he's already learned to distinguish from his more lighthearted tones. The idea of having Wolfwood in his arms does pique his curiosity.
He's ornery, but quick to submit to a firm hand. He's strong, he sounds handsome and he's come to find his and Vash's accent more charming every second.
"I'd enjoy that. But first, might I try something?"
"What kinda' something?"
"Here, let's move first. Olly, dear, shift back for us."
"Gettin' a better look at the scamp?" Olriggio asks.
"I'd like to know the face of a man before I touch him below the belt," Qifrey adds. Wolfwood settles in his lap and Olruggio in Vash's on the opposite arm. He lets his hands hover at the edges of Wolfwood's vision, "before I do, are you terribly averse to anyone touching your face?"
"Just don't grab my arms 'nd you're swell, Cottonball," he says, trying for disaffected and failing horribly.
Qifrey sighs, "adorable."
He starts high, brushing the pads of his fingers against Wolfwood's hairline. Qifrey leans in, letting his nose brush the finner hairs at the nape of his neck. The smell of sweat and dust is washed away, given in to something smokey and rich. He finds the planes of Wolfwood's cheeks and slowly presses until he finds the bridge of his nose.
"You've been punched in the face quite a few times. Haven't you?" Qifrey asks with a smile against his neck.
Wolfwood chuckles. "You can really tell?"
"You're also overdue for a shave," he says as he splays his palm under Wolfwood's chin, feeling the prickle of stubble down his neck.
His thumb rubs back and forth against Wolfwood's bobbing throat. When his fingers catch on a thin band of leather around his neck, Qifrey plays with it and hears how Wolfwood bites down a gasp. His lips brush against the choker and he tests Wolfwood's reaction to a quick kiss at the back of his neck.
"You're soft," Wolfwood murmurs, "even your calluses are soft."
"Is it unplesant?" Qifrey asks.
Wolfwood shakes his head. A margin more of his weight relaxes against him and Qifrey continues to kiss along his neck and his choker. He listens for each change in breath as his other hand skits over his collarbone and reaches for his chest. He ends up groping air for a moment and he hears both Vash and Olruggio snicker.
Qifrey's eyebrows pinch. "Dear, there's nothing there."
Wolfwood makes an embarrassed sound and Qifrey feels a rough hand guide his wrist. It presses him against what feels like a line of scar tissue, faintly raised and starkly smooth compared to the coarse hair he feels. He squeezes at what little fat is left and he can feel how firm the other man is with muscle.
He cards his fingers down Wolfwood's chest, letting his nails catch on the generous, curly hair. Qifrey spreads his palm's against Wolfwood's stomach, tracing the outline of muscle and feeling each twitch and flex under his touch. He kisses against Wolfwood's stubbled cheeks and the texture is so familiar.
It takes surprisingly little effort to turn Wolfwood's cheek to him. He still can't see the details of the mans face, but he can feel the way his jaw moves and the warmth of his exhale. When he leans in for a kiss, closed and quick, he hears the little moan Wolfwood can't keep behind his teeth.
Qifrey hears Olruggio groaning, low in his throat and breaths. "How th' fuck did you grow all that?"
"Hormone treatment," Wolfwood says with pride, though neither of them know what that means.
Vash pulls up the bottom of Olruggio's robes, petting along his bare inner thighs, "looks like Nico's got you beat for body hair. At least you're fuzzy here."
There's a click, followed by a hum and suddenly, Olruggio moans bodily into the air and kicks one leg out, almost knocking into Wolfwood's knee.
"Oh fuck, Qifrey he — oh gods."
He can hear wet kisses and see the shape of Vash's head turned into Olruggio's neck, mirroring his own efforts. "Is it too much? You can tell me. I'll go slower."
"Blondie's a fuckin' menace with those vibrating fingers," Wolfwood huffs, "your man's already melting with just the one."
Each of Olruggio's breaths is punctuated by a moan that has Qifrey shivering. The column of his throat is bright red and his head falls against Vash's shoulder. One hand grips the back of the couch, the other slung around Vash's neck. It leaves the fullness of his chest and stomach displayed, framed by white fabric. No matter how little vision he has, Olruggio will always be beautiful in his eyes.
"You were always delightfully sensitive. It's such a treat getting to hear all those sweet sounds of yours," Qifrey rests a palm against Wolfwood's chest, index finger ghosting the edge of his nipples, "what about him, Vash? Any secrets you'd like to impart about your man?"
"He likes it mean," Vash shares with a grin in his voice, "and he loves having something in his mouth."
Wolfwood's breath jumps under Qifrey's palm. "I — "
"What? It's true," Vash says, "you squirt so hard when I slap your fat little dick."
"Screw you," Wolfwood hisses.
"Well, see if I'm lying then. Open up your belt for us, Nico. Pretty please?"
Qifrey hears grumbling, followed by a clink and watches the strip of leather getting tossed out of sight. Pushing his pants down, Qifrey can feel just how much hair Wolfwood has and he privately admits that he does beat Olruggio in that regard.
He grips one hand at Wolfwood's waist to hold him steady as his other cups over his mound. It's no surprise that when he touches the man, he's hot and dripping over his fingers like molten honey.
He traces the shape of Wolfwood's cunt, index and middle finger rubbing between his folds. Under his palm, he can feel his cock twitch and Qifrey presses the heel of his hand against it.
"Fuck!" Wolfwood shouts and bucks hard, whining through his teeth when Qifrey tightens his grip.
Qifrey hooks one of Wolfwood's knees up, mindful enough to listen for the man's protests. When he hears nothing, Qifrey uses the new grip to hold the man open as he brings his palm down against Wolfwood's cock.
The man moans boldly against his ear, hips struggling for friction as Qifrey holds him fast. He hadn't struck him hard and even if Vash had told him, he hadn't expected Wolfwood to react so sweetly to the pain.
He switches between quick, open slaps and slowly circling Wolfwood's cock. It's warm and pert under his fingertips and Qifrey gives into the temptation to give it a quick pinch. Wolfwood keeps struggling, trying to pull his knees shut against Qifrey's embrace.
"Oh that's so cute. You blush all the way down to your pretty cock," Vash whispers.
Qifrey almost thinks he's talking about Wolfwood, only to give it a second thought. Olruggio is quieter compared to Wolfwood and it takes him a moment to listen for his husband. He can hear panting and the low vibrations from Vash's prosthetic that had almost faded into background noise.
"Please, please, please — " Olruggio begs, voice cracking and wet.
"Shh, it's okay. What do you need? Faster? Another finger? A kiss?" Vash murmurs to him.
"I… mgh — "
"Ah, ah, don't bite your lip like that. You'll make yourself bleed."
There's a muffled, almost choking sound. Qifrey can make out the shape of Vash's hand hovering around Olruggio's lips and the pale shape of his thighs splayed open over Vash's lap.
"It's okay," Vash continues sweetly, "did you want to cum? Just nod. Whatever you want, all you have to do is ask."
Qifrey feels equally aroused and impressed at how quickly Vash seems to have figured out his husband. "Go on, dear. Tell him. Maybe you'll both finish at the same time. I want to hear how you both sound when you find sweet release."
Olruggio whines, muffled by Vash's fingers filling his mouth. The man must give him some sign because Vash coos and he hears another kiss from their direction.
"There we go," Vash sighs.
"That's a good boy," Qifrey hums.
He crooks two fingers inside Wolfwood and hears the vibrations from Vash's hand growing louder. Both men turn vocal, Wolfwood biting out swears and Olruggio crying against Vash's shoulder.
Qifrey can feel the contractions against his fingers, the tightness that squeezes him as Wolfwood cums. He holds his fingers still and gingerly lowers the other mans knee back to the couch. Qifrey closes his eyes and bites into Wolfwood's shoulder as he hears Olruggio's breathing even out and Vash cooing praise into his ear.
"Wolfwood, open," Vash speaks up after a moment, "clean these off for me."
Qifrey feels Wolfwood lean forward and the movement of his jaw. He realizes in the same instant that Wolfwood is licking Vash's fingers clean and that they must be soaked in Olruggio's cum.
"You both go so red. It's sweet," Vash says and Qifrey fights the impulse to hide in Wolfwood's shoulder.
"Are you always so… forthright with your praise?" Qifrey asks.
Vash is quiet for a moment and it's Wolfwood who speaks up. "Blondie can read you for filth, no matter how good you sweep under the rug. Can't help stickin' his pointy nose in all your business."
"It just seems like people haven't been very kind to you," Vash adds.
It's not true by a technicality. Still, Qifrey doesn't correct him.
"Shh, shh, it's okay. You really are a sweetheart, aren't you?" Vash says to Olruggio, whom Qifrey can still hear his soft, panting cries tapering out, "you did so good."
He suspects the praise isn't directed towards him. Qifrey knows how vulnerable Olruggio gets after anything sexual, how he melts like candle wax into his arms and craves every form of affection.
"You too," Vash adds suddenly and Qifrey knows he must be red up to his ears.