[In the end, it's less that Wolfwood is perfect and more that Vash appreciates him in spite of (or perhaps because of) those imperfections. They are, after all, all parts of the man he loves. And what else can Vash do but love every single inch of the man he's virtually pledged his entire life to?
He knows when that gaze shifts, though, can practically feel the heat of it raking down his body. He shies back solely out of shyness, rather than apprehension. A faint whimper grows at the back of his throat, while a very self-conscious heat rises on his cheeks and spreads down the span of his neck.]
You can't talk to me like that. You'll get me all worked up again! [The chiding note in his voice has diminished greatly, as if the fight he puts up is solely to say that he did resist, even if he clearly doesn't want to.]
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He knows when that gaze shifts, though, can practically feel the heat of it raking down his body. He shies back solely out of shyness, rather than apprehension. A faint whimper grows at the back of his throat, while a very self-conscious heat rises on his cheeks and spreads down the span of his neck.]
You can't talk to me like that. You'll get me all worked up again! [The chiding note in his voice has diminished greatly, as if the fight he puts up is solely to say that he did resist, even if he clearly doesn't want to.]