Vash wipes the sweat off his brow with his coat sleeve after setting down the last box.
Both he and Wolfwood are helping a bar owner move around crates and boxes. The owner had gotten a new stock of alcohol that same morning both men arrived in town and needed the extra muscle to move everything. Being short on money and capable, Vash and Wolfwood took pity on the scrawny owner and helped carry the supply and restock the bar.
Having lifted the goods for the past couple of hours, Vash feels the joints in his hand protesting and he stretches out his fingers.
He whines, “Carrying those things all day makes your hand feel stiff.”
Wolfwood steps in front of him and holds out his hands. “Oh, give me your hands, Needle-noggin. I’ll give it a lil’ squeeze.”
Vash tilts his head, puzzled, giving his hand to Wolfwood. “Squeeze?”
Wolfwood grabs Vash’s flesh hand with both of his own. “Yeah like this.”
Wolfwood presses his thumbs to the centre of Vash’s palm and rubs. He massages into the palm to relieve the tension in the muscles and joints. Thumbs move up to Vash’s wrist to soothe the nerves connecting to the hand, and then they move down to his lithe fingers, giving the same treatment and kneading the joints.
“Ahh,” Vash chirps, “I didn’t know you can massage!”
Wolfwood hums while bending Vash’s hand back to stretch out the wrist. “Kinda, Aunt Mel would ask me to do it sometimes but don’t get your hopes too high. I only know a lil’.”
“Yes, yes.” Vash smiles. He’s definitely going to ask Wolfwood for more massages.
Once Vash’s hand is thoroughly massaged and less tense, Wolfwood lets go.
“Feelin’ better?” He asks.
Vash tests the movement of his fingers. “Mmhm, it’s a bit better, thanks Wolfy!”
Wolfwood holds out his hands again, gesturing towards Vash’s prosthetic hand. “‘kay, your other hand?”
Vash looks at his hand. “Huh? For what?” His prosthetic is working just fine.
“What do ya mean for what? I haven’t done the other one.” Without waiting for Vash to hold it out for him, Wolfwood grabs the hand.
Vash’s face heats up but he doesn’t pull away. “I mean you don’t need to since…” It’s not a real hand.
Wolfwood huffs. “You can still feel a little with it, right? Stop complaining already.”
“I’m not though…” Vash pouts.
Vash isn’t gonna complain when it’s about Wolfwood’s hands on him, even if it’s through his prosthetic. But he’s not sure why Wolfwood is doing this when the prosthetic doesn’t need the same treatment as his other hand. He can feel the sensation of being touched but not the feeling of muscle tissues or bones being rubbed. Vash squirms as Wolfwood goes through the ministrations that he did with the flesh hand: rubbing his palms, wrists, and finger joints.
Wolfwood glances up at him. “What? If ya have something to say then say it.”
“No, it’s just…” Vash hesitates. “Isn’t it weird?”
“Not really? Your hand is still a hand.” Wolfwood explains.
“Oh, okay…” Vash doesn’t get it but he’ll accept that answer and let Wolfwood indulge in whatever he’s doing.
Wolfwood continues his massage as if it’s normal for a prosthetic hand to be taken care of this much as if it’s a normal hand. To Vash, he treats the limb as if it’s a shield that blocks bullets to protect others and minimize damage to his scarred body. It’s useful in gunfights and scuffles. It doesn’t need to be treated like it deserves something mundane as a massage—something soft when all it’s good for is being a tool.
Whether it’s done consciously or unconsciously, he avoids human contact with his prosthetic.
While the hand is bent backwards, stretching out nonexistent nerves, Wolfwood pauses. Then, he leans forward and kisses the centre of the palm. Vash reddens further. If it was his flesh hand, Wolfwood would have felt Vash twitch at the gesture. Wolfwood leans back and releases his hold.
“There, feelin’ any better?”
Vash raises his right hand and thumbs the palm of his prosthetic where it was kissed.
“Yeah, it did.”
Feeling emotional—it was just a massage—he leans forward to hide his face into Wolfwood’s shoulder and hugs Wolfwood’s arm.
He chuckles wetly. “Haha, thank you Nico…”
Wolfwood brings a hand up to cup Vash’s nape. “Don’t go cryin’ on my shirt now.”
“'I'm not crying.” Vash wills away the sting of tears gathering in his eyes.
Since then, Wolfwood has made it a habit to massage both of Vash’s hands, putting extra attention on his prosthetic.
Vash still thinks it’s weird that he is receiving this kind of care, having Wolfwood take care of him. Or maybe it’s weird because he’s not used to soft touches. Every time they encounter bounty hunters that have Vash using his prosthetic as a shield, Wolfwood massages his hands after they are safe and have settled down, even when the hands aren’t strained. Every time it leaves Vash flustered and emotional but happy.
So, Vash lets Wolfwood continue with the massages (and the kisses). Until he feels like he doesn’t deserve them anymore.
It happens after an encounter with gunmen who recognized Vash in the town they are spending the night in. Both he and Wolfwood were able to subdue them with minimal scrapes and bruising but not without serious injuries to the townspeople and two causalities. Vash wasn’t fast enough to protect bystanders who were caught in the crossfire. Despite that, the townspeople thanked them, giving them a hotel room free of charge, for stopping the gunmen who had been terrorizing the town for quite a while.
It still leaves Vash feeling sick.
Sitting on the sole hotel bed, Vash’s head spins. If only he was faster, if only he didn’t miss one of his bullets, he could’ve prevented needless injuries. Maybe if he hadn’t decided to go to this town, two people would’ve been still alive and in their homes, sleeping with their families.
Too far into his head, he doesn’t pay attention when Wolfwood kneels on a knee in front of him, almost spooking him. Vash opens his mouth to address him but stops himself when he feels hands on his prosthetic. He flinches and pulls away.
“Oi, give me your hand,” Wolfwood demands.
Leaning away, Vash looks at him wildly, hugging his arm to his chest.
“No.” He’s too tired to appease Wolfwood. He just wants to go to bed so this day can be over.
Wolfwood makes an annoyed sound. “Stop being difficult.”
Difficult? Vash stares at Wolfwood, mouth agape. Then, an ugly emotion twists inside him that have him scrunching his face with hackles raised.
“I’m being difficult?” he hisses.
Wolfwod contemplates for a moment before answering. “Yeah, ya are. Now give me your hand.”
Vash is going to cry in frustration. Wolfwood is the one being difficult, refusing to break his ‘hand massaging’ routine, which Vash didn’t ask for. He doesn’t want a massage, he doesn’t want to be touched in that soft way, he doesn’t deserve anything in this moment and just wants to grieve in his useless—
He remembers that he doesn’t deserve to grieve either.
Deflating, Vash says, “Just leave me alone.”
Seeing the internal conflict, Wolfwood reaches up to cup Vash’s face in his hands. Vash clenches his jaw, steeling himself against the flooding emotions that resurface again at the gesture.
“Why are you doing this,” Vash chokes out.
Wolfwood rubs his cheeks with his thumbs and looks at him softly. “‘cause you’re being hard on yourself.”
With tears gathering in his eyes, Vash’s face crumbles. Wolfwood lets go of his face and instead, grasps Vash’s hands that are limp on his lap—Vash lets him. He pulls them close to his face and kisses the knuckles of Vash’s prosthetic and does the same with the flesh hand. Vash lets out a sob as tears stream down his face.
Vash removes his hands from the grasp, not to pull away but to clutch the front of Wolfwood’s shirt. He leans down to rest his head on Wolfwood’s shoulder and cries. Humming, Wolfwood reaches to rub the back of Vash’s neck to soothe him.
Wolfwood kisses the top of his head. “Let’s get ya to bed,” he murmurs.
Vash sniffles wetly in response. He lets go as Wolfwood moves to stand—Vash probably looks as miserable as he feels. Wolfwood ruffles his hair to cheer him up and helps him remove his black turtleneck and pants to replace them with his nightwear. Having Vash ready for bed, Wolfwood takes off his clothes and replaces his pants with pyjama bottoms.
Wolfwood turns back to Vash to remove the prosthetic arm, kissing the back of his hand before twisting it out of its socket. Vash still doesn’t understand it so he voices his thoughts.
“Why do you do that?”
Wolfwood places the prosthetic on the nightstand and looks at him. “Do what?”
Feeling shy, Vash mutters, “Why do you kiss my hand?” He gestures at the arm sitting on the table.
Wolfwood walks up to him, holds Vash’s head in his hands and kisses his forehead.
“'cause ya deserve it,” he whispers into the skin.
Vash pouts at the answer, he doesn’t think it’s as simple as that. And he doesn’t think he deserves it but he’s willing to believe Wolfwood just for the night.
After lying down next to each other on the bed, Wolfwood pecks the knuckles of his flesh hand and pulls Vash to his side.
One day he’ll understand Wolfwood’s answer is that simple.