The desert rolled by, monotonous golden-brown, and Vash's hand crept lower.
Hot wind in his face, hot breath on his neck, hot hand on his dick.
"Are you trying to get us both killed?"
Squeeze. Stroke. Slide.
"Do you want me to stop?" Hot lips against his ear, the touch of teeth.
"God no."
Cold hand on his chest, tweaking his nipple, holding him close. His shifted his hips back, pressed his ass against Vash. A question. An offer. Vash chuckled.
"Later. For now..."
Just hard enough and just fast enough and one two three--
And then he was flying.