Vash finds a bodice-ripper
"Every muscle tight, taunt, twisting in the rough rope bonds while rougher hands kneaded soft secret skin, sweat-slick, straining, screaming, pleading with stolen breaths for more, for harder, language and leather stripped away by probing fingers and flickering tongue. One, two insidious digits slipped inside and spread, scissored, stretched the sensitive stubborn flesh, while a hot, wet mouth..."
Wolfwood put the last of the pots away and turned back to the fire to find a flushed and sweaty Vash, eyes wide and glazed. "Tongari? You got a fever or something?"
"..."
The priest blinked. "What the hell are you reading?"