Gwendal/Wolfwood IS my camp OTP, why do you ask?
I am a bad person for writing this, and there should be more soon. Because. You know. ♥
Wolfwood grumbled, half-awake. "The wall isn't all that comfy, Gwendal."
When he received no grumbled response he cracked open an eye. Yeah, that was a Gwendal in front of him, though the man was sitting up and so Wolfwood's view wasn't of the expected grumpy face, but that of a pajama'd thigh. Not a bad thing to wake up to, really, because it was a rather nice thigh, but. The point still stood. Gwendal never woke up first (even if he always thought he did, because Wolfwood would lie still and silent until the man begin to stir).
Wolfwood gave the leg a poke and Gwendal grunted; a blind hand felt around at the man’s side before it found Wolfwood’s head and laced fingers through the preacher’s hair.
“You girl,” Wolfwood muttered, but he slid closer to the other man and rested his head on Gwendal’s knee. “What is it?”
Gwendal opened his mouth first to criticize Wolfwood’s rather inflammatory choice of endearments but then seemed to think better of it and instead said, “It appears that camp has caught up with us.”
“Eh?”
Gwendal was just staring blankly in front of him, at the wall on the far side of the chapel (yes, Wolfwood wanted to say, that one’s made of pine too); but he finally shook his head, slowly, back and forth, and looked sharply at the man sneakily stealing his way onto his lap.
“We were never punished for breaking the rules, Nicholas,” Gwendal said guiltily, as though that explained everything, and Wolfwood thought that maybe someday he’d get that Gwendal-to-English dictionary he’d been fantasizing about for a while now.
‘Which ones?” Wolfwood asked, and then the answer struck him like a ton of bricks, even before Gwendal’s forehead wrinkled up in that familiar “you’re an idiot” expression. Wolfwood could catch on, really, especially when he and Gwendal were lying in bed and the only reason Gwendal was wearing pajamas at all was because he’d insisted on getting dressed last night at something like the godforsaken hour of 2AM because he feared someone coming into Wolfwood’s room and being scandalized. (There was no point reminding the man that the door was locked, really, he’d made Wolfwood check a good three times, because when Gwendal got like that it was just better to nod and smile and maybe question his sanity a little, but silently and to oneself.)
So. Punishment. Right. “What, are there stripper zombies outside or something?” And before Gwendal could object, critique him for taking the matter lightly, Wolfwood continued, “Okay, really. What?”
“Do you have any idea of the month?” Gwendal asked tersely.
Okay, really, Wolfwood knew he could be a little stupid every once in a while, but -. “Yeah. June,” he said instead, because Gwendal was looking a little red in the face.
"How long has it been since we advanced to this specific stage in our relationship?” Gwendal pressed, and Wolfwood thought it might be better for him to just say whatever he was thinking, because his face was turning a little green now and no one wanted to start the day by resembling a Christmas tree. It was a good question, though, because it gave Wolfwood a reason to remember that night in February when he’d jabbed Gwendal with his elbow during dinner and Gwendal, flustered, had spilled his drink everywhere and Hakkai has insisted that Wolfwood take Gwendal to find something to change into while Sanzo did an admirable job of not laughing into his drink, Gojyo looked torn between being shell-shocked and cheering Gwendal on, and Goku ignored the whole lot of them and managed to sneak a meat bun off of Gojyo’s plate. Gwendal had managed to peel his jacket off and Wolfwood had pulled an undershirt from one of his drawers before one of them grabbed the other by the front of his shirt (they were above placing blame for such things by this point in their relationship) and slammed their mouths together, with much clacking of teeth and scrambling hands.
Dinner had quite been forgotten. Breakfast had been awkward, but entirely worth it to hear Gojyo sputter, “You can’t. But that’s. Hakkai, they. We’re. Did you really?”
Yeah, Wolfwood liked that memory. It was never a bad thing to remember the way Gwendal looked that first time, just before he - right. The matter at hand. Punishment. Stripper zombies. “Yeah, February,” he finally answered. Gwendal nodded.
“April,” the mazoku said softly, and Wolfwood looked up at him, reached a hand up and pushed Gwendal’s bangs away from his face and behind his ears.
“April?” he asked. Began to ask. Stopped halfway through the word and felt his insides coil up and clench and implode and whatever it was that insides did when you were just told that your boyfriend was -. “But you’re. It’s not, because you’ve gotta be -.” Right. Not a wise path to go down, implying that Gwendal probably should’ve, what, gone through menopause and all, being 150. Menopause. Maybe it was called womenopause when it was for men.
Wolfwood was pretty sure he was too old to be suddenly faced with the “knocked-up girlfriend” scenario, especially when said girlfriend was actually a boy and. Right. He could look at this situation objectively. That’s what Gwendal was doing. Objectively.
“Oh damn.”
“Quite.”
Wolfwood grumbled, half-awake. "The wall isn't all that comfy, Gwendal."
When he received no grumbled response he cracked open an eye. Yeah, that was a Gwendal in front of him, though the man was sitting up and so Wolfwood's view wasn't of the expected grumpy face, but that of a pajama'd thigh. Not a bad thing to wake up to, really, because it was a rather nice thigh, but. The point still stood. Gwendal never woke up first (even if he always thought he did, because Wolfwood would lie still and silent until the man begin to stir).
Wolfwood gave the leg a poke and Gwendal grunted; a blind hand felt around at the man’s side before it found Wolfwood’s head and laced fingers through the preacher’s hair.
“You girl,” Wolfwood muttered, but he slid closer to the other man and rested his head on Gwendal’s knee. “What is it?”
Gwendal opened his mouth first to criticize Wolfwood’s rather inflammatory choice of endearments but then seemed to think better of it and instead said, “It appears that camp has caught up with us.”
“Eh?”
Gwendal was just staring blankly in front of him, at the wall on the far side of the chapel (yes, Wolfwood wanted to say, that one’s made of pine too); but he finally shook his head, slowly, back and forth, and looked sharply at the man sneakily stealing his way onto his lap.
“We were never punished for breaking the rules, Nicholas,” Gwendal said guiltily, as though that explained everything, and Wolfwood thought that maybe someday he’d get that Gwendal-to-English dictionary he’d been fantasizing about for a while now.
‘Which ones?” Wolfwood asked, and then the answer struck him like a ton of bricks, even before Gwendal’s forehead wrinkled up in that familiar “you’re an idiot” expression. Wolfwood could catch on, really, especially when he and Gwendal were lying in bed and the only reason Gwendal was wearing pajamas at all was because he’d insisted on getting dressed last night at something like the godforsaken hour of 2AM because he feared someone coming into Wolfwood’s room and being scandalized. (There was no point reminding the man that the door was locked, really, he’d made Wolfwood check a good three times, because when Gwendal got like that it was just better to nod and smile and maybe question his sanity a little, but silently and to oneself.)
So. Punishment. Right. “What, are there stripper zombies outside or something?” And before Gwendal could object, critique him for taking the matter lightly, Wolfwood continued, “Okay, really. What?”
“Do you have any idea of the month?” Gwendal asked tersely.
Okay, really, Wolfwood knew he could be a little stupid every once in a while, but -. “Yeah. June,” he said instead, because Gwendal was looking a little red in the face.
"How long has it been since we advanced to this specific stage in our relationship?” Gwendal pressed, and Wolfwood thought it might be better for him to just say whatever he was thinking, because his face was turning a little green now and no one wanted to start the day by resembling a Christmas tree. It was a good question, though, because it gave Wolfwood a reason to remember that night in February when he’d jabbed Gwendal with his elbow during dinner and Gwendal, flustered, had spilled his drink everywhere and Hakkai has insisted that Wolfwood take Gwendal to find something to change into while Sanzo did an admirable job of not laughing into his drink, Gojyo looked torn between being shell-shocked and cheering Gwendal on, and Goku ignored the whole lot of them and managed to sneak a meat bun off of Gojyo’s plate. Gwendal had managed to peel his jacket off and Wolfwood had pulled an undershirt from one of his drawers before one of them grabbed the other by the front of his shirt (they were above placing blame for such things by this point in their relationship) and slammed their mouths together, with much clacking of teeth and scrambling hands.
Dinner had quite been forgotten. Breakfast had been awkward, but entirely worth it to hear Gojyo sputter, “You can’t. But that’s. Hakkai, they. We’re. Did you really?”
Yeah, Wolfwood liked that memory. It was never a bad thing to remember the way Gwendal looked that first time, just before he - right. The matter at hand. Punishment. Stripper zombies. “Yeah, February,” he finally answered. Gwendal nodded.
“April,” the mazoku said softly, and Wolfwood looked up at him, reached a hand up and pushed Gwendal’s bangs away from his face and behind his ears.
“April?” he asked. Began to ask. Stopped halfway through the word and felt his insides coil up and clench and implode and whatever it was that insides did when you were just told that your boyfriend was -. “But you’re. It’s not, because you’ve gotta be -.” Right. Not a wise path to go down, implying that Gwendal probably should’ve, what, gone through menopause and all, being 150. Menopause. Maybe it was called womenopause when it was for men.
Wolfwood was pretty sure he was too old to be suddenly faced with the “knocked-up girlfriend” scenario, especially when said girlfriend was actually a boy and. Right. He could look at this situation objectively. That’s what Gwendal was doing. Objectively.
“Oh damn.”
“Quite.”