Meryl was frustrated.
There was a lot to be frustrated about on No Man's Land, from the dust and sand that found its way into everything from clothing to food, to the bandit population's habit of popping up just when she had an important report to get done, and, recently, the chaos that accompanied a certain typhoon.
If she was honest though her mood had a lot less to do with any of these problems and far more to do with the fact that she was drinking alone.
Milly and Wolfwood had excused themselves an hour ago and gone to enjoy other entertainment for the night - an open secret by this point, and one she tried not to think too hard about - and that should have left her with Vash for company, except that when he got drinking Vash wanted to make friends with everyone in the saloon. He was loud, quick to laugh, and soaked in any affection he was shown, leaving Meryl to quietly nurse her drink by herself as she watched the display.
Worst of all was that when the alcohol really started to take a toll he hit on just about anything with a pulse. Anything but Meryl, that was.
And it wasn't that she was jealous… not really, but it stung a little, to be so overlooked, especially when she wasn't blind to his own attractiveness.
Because… okay, because maybe she was just a bit interested, sometimes, when she forgot how wholey irritating he could be.
There was a delicate beauty to his features - smooth skin, adorably pointed nose, eyelashes far longer than a man's had any right to be - and in delicious contrast there was the broad shoulders and tapered waist his coat worked so hard to disguise. And ever since the time she'd accidentally caught him out of his shirt the knowledge of how much lean muscle was underneath had preyed upon her daydreams.
As embarrassing as it was to admit, he was her type. Pretty but strong. Powerful but never threatening. She thought it would feel good to let a man like that ruin her.
But it would always remain an idle fantasy and nothing more, because Vash wasn't interested and Meryl had far too much pride to let him think she felt any different.
So, here she was, knocking back another ale and thinking about the dismal certainty that she would be sleeping alone while he no doubt found his way into someone else's bed. Usually she left before he did simply so she didn't have to see whoever it was that captivated his interest that particular night. So she didn't have to compare. To study them and think, what do they have that I don't? What am I missing?
Tonight, though, something ugly was rearing its head, and rather than accepting that she had yet again been abandoned and making a graceful departure, she lingered and continued to drink well past her normal limit.
It just wasn't fair. Wasn't fair that she was a hot blooded, adult woman and hadn't had anything but her own fingers for company in two years. Wasn't fair that the thought of dragging a random stranger back to her room turned her stomach. Wasn't fair that she had stumbled into maybe actually being attracted to a broom-headed idiot who sewed carnage as effortlessly as breathing and would let the world cut him to pieces rather than answer with the terrible destruction of which he was capable.
Vash wouldn't even look twice at her and she shouldn't take it personally but maybe she did anyway. She wasn't repulsive, was she? Couldn't he at least go through the motions, drop an invitation so she could politely decline and comfort herself with the thought that her own loneliness was entirely of her making?
Or… or maybe she wouldn't decline, maybe they could just have something quick and dirty and never speak of it in the days that followed. It didn't have to mean anything, right? They were both adults, they had needs, they traveled together so often it was only practical to satiate them in one fell swoop. That was all she wanted…
But Vash was busy letting some nobody whisper sweet nothings into his ear - a brown haired man they'd never even met before today - leaning comfortably into his space and giggling along with his cheeks flushed red and hand loose around his half-finished pint, having forgotten her existence entirely.
And the more she drank, the more she came to realize that while sober Meryl was a creature of dignity and restraint, drunk Meryl was jealous and just a little spiteful.
Enough was enough. There was no reason she had to sit there and endure the sight of someone else winning everything she craved with none of the effort. They didn't even know Vash, not like she did, they just saw a pretty face and bought into his casual flirting because it was easy. Because Vash lapped up their attention like he was starved for it.
And really, why should he get to have all the fun while she was miserable and alone? He should be sitting at her table and finding ways to make her laugh rather than chasing after a quick lay.
So when the brown haired man let his hand stray to grasp at Vash's thigh Meryl slammed her mug down and got to her feet.
The saloon swayed treacherously as she meandered her way over, the background hum of a dozen conversations bleeding into an amorphous drone at the edge of her awareness. Sidling into the space on Vash's right she took a possessive grip of his arm.
His head turned, glancing down at her in confusion, and she put on her best pout.
"Vash," she whined, "walk me home?"
The gears were turning in his head but it clearly took him a moment to process.
"But I'm having fun," he said, a faint slur tinging his speech.
"But it's late. And I'm a woman."
It was a cheap card to play – she was a woman with a lot of guns and perfectly capable of defending herself, thank you very much – but it was also the only excuse she could think of and drunk Meryl had a lot less shame than she should have.
The brown haired man caught on right away of course, if his expression was anything to go by, but Vash still puzzled over the statement for several seconds before it finally seemed to dawn on him.
"Oh," he said. "Oh, right. Uh... okay."
"Can't you just-" the brown haired man began, but Meryl cut him off.
"Now?" she asked, tugging at Vash's arm.
"Yeah okay... Sorry, uh... Mike? Sorry. This was nice... you're funny. Meryl, he's funny... he knows lots of jokes. Uh... nevermind. I have to go now. Bye."
She finally managed to drag him off the bar stool and out the saloon, staggering them both in the direction of her motel room with a sense of grim accomplishment.
Screw Mike. She bet his jokes were terrible. He didn't deserve Vash. He was her friend and it was only fair he keep her company a little longer.
"I know jokes too," she mumbled anyway, her head pillowed against Vash's side as they walked. In truth, he was leaning just as much into her, focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
"Tell me a joke," he requested.
She chewed on her lip while she contemplated the matter. It was harder than she'd thought, the words tangling together in her memory so she had to pick at them determinedly to unravel anything worth speaking.
Eventually, she said, "What do you call a worm that isn't hot? No, wait- isn't cool? What do you call it?"
He hummed. "Dunno."
"Warm."
There was a beat of silence and then Vash burst into laughter. "Because it sounds like worm!"
"Yeah."
He cackled to himself for a while at that, thoroughly tickled by the thought, and Meryl hid her smile behind her hand. This felt good. This felt like how the night was supposed to go – just the two of them, enjoying shitty worm puns with a comfortable closeness that spoke of familiarity.
Then, when he had recovered from his fit of laugher, Vash let out a deep sigh and murmured, "You're funny too."
And that squeezed her heart in a painful way.
"Your turn," she said, nudging him. "Tell a joke."
"What do – ugh, nope, uh... a sad shark... no... why is a shark... no it's a whale! Um... why is the whale sad?"
"I don't know," Meryl said. "Why?"
"Because it's a blue whale!"
He beamed at her expectantly. It was his expression rather than his nonsense that teased a giggle out of her but he looked satisfied.
"What's a whale?" she asked.
"I dunno, what is a whale?"
"No, I'm asking you."
"Oh," he said. There was a pause. "I don't think they exist."
"Like horses?"
"Like horses," he agreed. He got quiet after that.
"It was still funny," she told him when the silence became too much to bear, patting his arm in reassurance. "You made me laugh."
Vash sighed again, one of his sad smiles playing out across his face. "I like it when you're nice."
He needed to stop saying things like that.
The rest of the trip passed uneventfully, and Meryl was contradictorily glad she had chosen somewhere nearby that didn't require them to blunder through the whole town and disappointed that things were drawing to a close so soon. She let Vash walk her up the stairs mostly because it meant another minute before she had to make her farewells.
But, when she unlocked the door to her rented room he tottered right on in and fell face down on the bed. Meryl stared at him for a moment.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Sleeping," he told the pillow.
When she didn't respond he peeled himself up, glancing at where she still hovered in the doorway, a slow calculation taking place in his brain.
"This isn't my room," he discerned.
"No," Meryl said, "it's mine."
Hastily he rolled off the mattress and managed to find his feet, laughing awkwardly as he scratched at the back of his neck, shuffling around her. "Sorry. I- sorry. I'll go. Sleep well."
He was already out the door and in a few more steps he would be gone... and it wasn't the plan. It wasn't even a good idea. But something about the picture of him sprawled across her bed and the memory of him leaning warm against her side, bright with mirth and utterly relaxed, it put silly notions in her head... Twisted at her insides and filled her with a wretched yearning...
Vash was going to leave her again and it wasn't fair. So she grabbed for him, catching his arm and jarring him to a halt with the alcohol buzzing through her veins and leaving her dangerously reckless.
"Stay?" she begged, hating how desperate her own voice sounded.
Vash's expression did something complicated, but he eventually settled on a smile, offering her one of his little head tilts as he asked, "Why?"
Because I don't want to feel alone.
Because I want you.
Because I drank too much and I feel like being selfish.
But Meryl didn't know how to say any of that, not in a way that could be understood, so she went for the only gesture she could think of and took a hold of his coat to tug him down lower. Ignored the pounding of her heart, and the sweat of her palms, and every little doubt shrieking in the back of her head and just dragged him down until their faces were level. And kissed him.
It wasn't elegant – too hungry, too overwrought – just the crash of her lips against a mouth that remained frozen, but she couldn't bring herself to stop because she knew that if she did then she would have to deal with the consequences. That she would pull back, and he would run, or softly take her hands in his and tell her he was sorry he couldn't give her what she wanted, and she would cry herself to sleep and curse herself for ever being so stupid. But like this... like this she could pretend, live in one drawn out moment and refuse to acknowledge the tide of shame and disappointment that awaited her.
And then... and then, after what felt like a minute of ineffectually pressing into him, trapped in a act that had long since lost all charm but too frightened to end it, against all odds, Vash responded. Slowly, cautiously at first, but he opened himself to her and Meryl thought she might cry anyway for an entirely different reason as he deepened the kiss, a hand drifting up to cup her jaw.
She could taste the lingering flavour of cheap lager on him, could appreciate the ever so slightly pointed edge to his teeth... and more than that, he was warm, and present, and he was kissing her with something like real interest and she wanted it to go on forever.
Wrapping an arm behind his neck Meryl let her fingers tangle in his hair, clinging to him as she urged him on, chasing his tongue and snatching gasping breaths before she dove back for more.
When they finally broke it was a matter of practicality, because Vash was ridiculously tall and Meryl was spectacularly not, and it turned out that a fraught make out session after a night drinking wasn't easy to perform at a forty-five degree angle. Before his legs could give out she pushed him toward the bed, and when the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress he sat down heavily.
There was a dopy smile on his lips, hair mussed and skin flushed, and it was a picture she wanted to burn into her memory for good. She closed the door and went to stand in front of him and admired the view for several languid seconds, hands resting on his shoulders while she collected her thoughts.
Maybe the silence made him think he needed to speak because after a beat he told her, quite earnestly, "Meryl... you're pretty."
And she laughed. Light and happy, something easing in her chest. It was entirely Vash in a dorky and well meaning sort of way, not a proclamation she could tear down as a pleasant lie spoken in the heat of the moment but a simple truth she could treasure along with the sense of finally being seen.
She patted his cheek. "You're pretty too."
"I'm handsome," he countered, flashing a grin.
"You're pretty and handsome," she said, and that at least he was willing to concede to.
Climbing into his lap she got back to kissing him.
It was indulgent – the sort of unhurried momentum that was as much about discovery as it was about the simple pleasure they shared. She learned that he liked to be touched – wanted her hands anywhere, so long as it was affectionate, and let her choose as she saw fit. Vash figured out that her neck was more than sensitive and that she wasn't quiet about it either. He was gentle in a way that made her wish he wasn't, because she trusted him, because she knew how much strength he had and that he would never use it for anything she didn't covet just as bad. She wondered what it was like to see him let go.
She could feel a telling hardness growing beneath her, sending shivers of want straight to her cunt at the thought. Experimentally, she rolled her hips, drawing a sharp breath as his hands tightened around her. Meryl did it again, harder, enjoying the groan he failed to contain this time. Her underwear was starting to feel damp enough it was probably going to be soaking through her tights soon and abruptly she wanted their clothes gone.
Grabbing for the buttons of Vash's coat she began to pop them loose, tugging at the fabric impatiently.
"Off," she said, and after a moment he joined her, fumbling the last few buttons before pawing his way out of his sleeves.
Meryl had to get off of him so he could rid himself of it entirely. She left him to struggle with his holster next as she kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her skirt, adding her cloak and her blouse to the haphazard pile of clothing on the floor.
Vash had made minimal progress by the time she returned – he'd set his gun down on the bedside table but had either been unsure what to start on after that or had simply given up, flopping back onto the bed and watching her undress.
"Enjoying the show?" Meryl asked.
He licked his lips, smile turning wolfish. "Yeah," he admitted.
After a second's consideration she hooked her thumb into the waistband of her tights, drawing it down slowly to reveal an inch of her skin at a time as she worked her way down her thighs. The glint of hunger in his gaze was captivating. It was nice, to be desired. Made a woman feel sensual. Of course, she felt a lot less sensual when she managed to trip up while attempting to step out of her own tights.
She caught the edge of the bed and saved herself a bruising fall, laughing into the sheets in surprise as much as the hilarity of the situation.
"I'm fine," she promised Vash at his concerned noise.
As soon as she had her breathing back under control she wriggled the rest of the way out of her tights and clambered back onto the bed.
Vash was still mostly dressed and that needed to change. She started with his boots and immediately regretted it.
Meryl had always thought they looked absurdly impractical - black leather with metal guards, clinched tight by an ungodly number of straps. How long it took him to put them on in the morning she didn't know because right now, with her uncoordinated fingers fighting a losing battle with each and every clasp, she was quickly getting frustrated.
With a huff she grabbed the heel and pulled, crestfallen to find his foot still well and truly stuck.
"Why do your boots... have so many of these... these..." - the word eluded her for a stretch - "buckles?"
"Because they're sexy," he told her.
"But there's too many of them! Vash, help me."
"Mmmm, no," he said, giggling like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all night. "I'm good."
She grumbled, picking at the next fastening as she continued her way up his boot. He needed to rethink his fashion choices. Aesthetics were one thing, but as amusing as he found it this was killing the mood for her a little.
An age later she conquered the last of the buckles and tugged the boot free, tossing it blindly to the floor where it hit with a dull thud. The victory was short lived when she remembered the second boot. That, and the nonsensical array of straps that encompassed his thighs and upper calves, keeping his trousers snug. Meryl fiddled with one of these before giving up on the idea. It was taking too long and Vash had been of no assistance at all.
In fact, he'd been quiet for a while now, and she hoped he hadn't gone and fallen asleep because that would make for a very disappointing end to the evening.
"Vash?" she called, sitting up a little straighter to get a proper look at him.
He was still spread out on his back, though he must have decided watching her strip him of his boots was less interesting than watching her rid herself of her clothing, because his head was tipped back against the pillow and his eyes had fallen shut. At her voice he made a vague gesture with one of his hands and mumbled something she couldn't quite decipher.
Not asleep, then.
Crawling her way up the bed she hovered over him, reaching out to stroke the side of his face, thumb tracing over his beauty mark.
Vash's eyes blinked open and he smiled up at her like sunshine. "Hi."
"Hi," she echoed back softly. "I hate your boots."
"But my boots are perfect. They have a knife in them."
"But I don't need a knife right now."
"Oh. Sorry?"
She snorted, thumb still rubbing lazy circles across his skin. "Kiss me?"
He obeyed without hesitation, stretching up to meet her lips, and when this proved an inadequate angle pushed himself upright so he could gather her to him properly and explore her mouth with real intent. Meryl settled back into his lap with a contented sigh.
There was a push and pull to it that she enjoyed – easing up before the need for air became too great, nibbling a strip up her neck to the lobe of her ear until she went back for more. Her hand found its way to his hair again and he leant into the contact without seeming to mean to, humming pleasantly while she dug her nails through the crunch of gel to the soft strands at his scalp. She lavished him with such touches. Gentle, kind – all the things he deserved. Kissed him like she could kiss away all horrors the past had inflicted.
His own fingers trailed up her spine, causing her to arch into his mouth and gasp as the movement inadvertently rocked her forward against the hardness tenting his pants. Vash whimpered, a sound like music, high and craving and accentuated by the possessive hold he suddenly had on her waist.
Oh, she liked that. But he released her almost too quickly, hands wandering again, picking at the strap of her bra. She wasn't sure if he was toying with her or not, but he was definitely still interested and the need for friction was beginning to consume her.
She moved, little rolls of her hips, stimulating them both as Vash continued to fiddle with her bra without fully committing to taking it off like she wanted him to do, conscious of how shamefully wet her underwear was and how desperately she needed to replace the rub of fabric with the slickness of skin.
He was taking too long again.
Stretching back, she fumbled the clasp of her bra open and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor before grabbing for the hem of his shirt.
The grip on her wrists surprised her. She stared down at them for a moment, his larger hands encircling her gently but firmly.
"No," he said.
Rejection stung sharp enough that she froze. It had been going good, hadn't it? This had felt nice, she'd thought they were chasing the same thing... he'd certainly seemed into it. There was no way he'd go this far purely out of politeness, was there? But she knew she hadn't imagined the desire in his eyes or the response of his body...
Questioningly, she lifted her gaze to his face, trying to understand where she'd gone wrong.
Vash was smiling but it was one of his sad smiles, the ones that felt like an apology even though he had nothing to be sorry for. Regretful, appeasing, too mild to reassure her.
It was then that it clicked – that she realized this was probably about the scars. Because she knew how shy he was about revealing them to anyone... How uncomfortable he'd been when Milly and her had accidentally walked in on him with his shirt off and caught a glimpse of the ruined flesh and metal grafts and bolts that made up his torso.
Not something a lady should have to see, he'd told them.
And she wanted to tell him that she didn't care. That the only thing they were to her was another part of him to map out and stake her claim upon – that she would kiss them lovingly, and savor the ripple of muscle beneath.
But she didn't know if he would believe her, and it felt like a whole conversation they needed to have, a conversation she just wasn't sober enough to carry out.
So instead she said, "Okay."
He let go of her wrists and Meryl trailed her hands lower with pointed slowness. When they met his belts she held still for a moment, just waiting, studying his features for any hint of disapproval.
There was a keen vigilance to the way Vash was observing her but it struck her as more aroused than wary and emboldened by this she began to tug at the first belt, working it out of its loops.
He didn't stop her.
By the time she'd plucked the last one off of him she was getting impatient again, but when she got the zipper of his pants open he lifted his hips obligingly and let her peel them down along with his briefs, just far enough to get the job done.
He was large – that shouldn't really come as a surprise, given how tall and broad shouldered he was, but it was a enticing discovery nonetheless – and any doubts she had about his enthusiasm went out the window at the sight of how painfully hard he was. His cock stood to attention, red and straining, precum already beading at the tip.
She took it in her hand, the warmth scalding against her palm. When she stroked he hissed through his teeth, bucking up into her grasp before he got himself under control.
The thought of just jerking him off while he writhed and groaned in mindless pleasure beneath her thighs was tantalizing, but the ache between her legs insisted on other activities so she shelved that idea for later, letting him go so she could grind into him instead.
Ooooh that was so much better without trousers in the way. She could feel the shape of him, the warmth, the press of his cock through the thin fabric of her underwear, damp with her own eagerness.
Vash might have got with the picture too because he ripped his glove off with his teeth (hot, okay, save that for later review) and pressed his right hand against her lower stomach, fingers skirting the edge of her waistband, teasing, careful.
Meryl grabbed his hand and shoved it down rather than enduring his games, moaning as his fingers slipped between her folds and over her clit.
His eyebrows shot up – lips quirking slightly, amazed at how wet she was for him if Meryl had to take a guess.
"Don't act surprised," she scolded, rocking into his hand, "just... uh-just..."
"Like this?" he asked, dipping down to gather more of her slick on his fingers before returning to circle her clit in gentle, soothing motions. She keened.
"Yes, good, that's... yes, no, actually, let me up?"
He pulled his hand away instantly and she rolled off of him to struggle out of her underwear, kicking them off to some distant corner of the room. Then she was back, straddling him, settling in his lap with nothing between them as she pressed them close and undulated her hips in a steady heaving pitch.
That was divine. Forget his fingers, the sensation of his cock gliding between her lips as she moved, smearing his length with her own juices until they were both sticky with it and the squelch of each thrust filled the air in accompaniment to their increasingly heavy breathing and poorly contained moans, that was exactly right.
She wanted it to go on for eternity. Pressed her hands to his chest to brace herself as she found her rhythm and turned her face to his so she could drink in his hastily unravelling demeanor.
Rather than the adoration or thirst she had been searching for a strange, almost puzzled look was taking over his expression – like he was trying to figure out if he'd left the stove on – and Meryl didn't like it. Tried to chase it away with the wet slide of her cunt as she rubbed up against him, whining needily and focused on the catch of his breath and the little gratified noises that would slip unbidden from his lips with every drag along his shaft.
She wanted him enraptured with only her, not lost in his own mind. She wanted him ravenous and ready to take everything she offered.
Reaching down she grasped his cock and guided it to her entrance, teasing the leaking head against her opening, and that captured his attention.
He shuddered, throat bobbing as he swallowed down a whimper, blinking hard at the view of her poised over his length. There was appetite there, warring with some other internal debate that had no place in what was supposed to be a time of shared indulgence and much needed release.
"Wait," he said breathlessly, "Meryl, wait..."
And she should listen but she wasn't going to. Because if she did then he was going to ruin it. Because, oh, he was going to say something stupid like 'we shouldn't be doing this' or 'you're too drunk' or 'you know they charge an extra cleaning fee if you mess up the sheets' or any of the other excuses he would dredge up just to deny himself an ounce of pleasure for once in his life, and Meryl was too pent up to deal with his noble suffering. She wanted this and she knew he wanted this and it wasn't fair for him to complicate things.
So, she ignored him, popping the head of his cock inside and sinking down onto his length before he could offer further protest. Even with how wet she was the stretch burned a little, but it felt good too, leaving her full in a way she hadn't been for an embarrassingly long time, and she was doubly rewarded by the low moan that tore its way from Vash's throat – a sound that sent fire right to her core.
When she finally took him all the way to the base she rested there for a moment, adjusting to his girth with her breath already coming labored and her hands grasping his shoulders like a lifeline, relishing the coil of muscle under her fingertips. His eyes were half-lidded, watching her almost dreamily. She could drown in that look. Could get used to the sight of him like this, blissed out beneath her, cheeks flushed and lips parted.
His hands fluttered nervously at her hips, his touch feather light as it settled against her skin.
"Meryl, are you-" he began, and she silenced him with a heated kiss. He sunk into it willingly enough if not with the fervor she'd hoped for. She rolled her hips slow at first and Vash groaned into her mouth, tensing but making no move to stop her, his hands still so tentative where they clasped her flesh, like he feared to exert any real pressure.
Even this, the leisurely pace as she rocked in his lap, drinking in every sound she teased from him alongside her own gasps, it felt better than her fantasies. More real – the taste of him on her tongue, the smell of sweat, the warmth of his breath tickling her face when he came up for air... It wasn't enough though. She wanted more. Wanted him to grab her with the same hunger she harbored. To move – not just the pitiful, stifled twitch of his hips, but to drive his cock up into her until she was begging for mercy.
Meryl took his hands and arranged them to her liking, one tight at her waist and one at her breast, guiding him until he finally took the hint and actually squeezed, and that helped. His fingers teasing the bud of her nipple did all kinds of things for her. But he was still so careful with how he handled her and it was impossibly frustrating. She wouldn't break. He knew that, right? He didn't really think her that fragile?
"Vash," she whined, "move. Fuck me, please."
"I am," he insisted, with just a touch of petulance. To his credit he did angle his hips upward, actually thrusting in time to her own movements now, but she felt certain he was holding back. It was deliberately measured in a way that just didn't feel right. Meryl was not satisfied.
"No, properly," she said, taking his lower lip between her teeth and biting down in the hopes this would get her message across. "Hard."
Something flashed in his gaze. "But-"
"Please?" she begged, stretching up to kiss at his jaw before snagging his earring in her mouth and tugging sharply. "For me?"
Whether it was the taunting pull at his ear or the desperate tone of her voice, finally she sparked the reaction she was after.
With a growl Vash surged forward, pushing her down until her back hit the mattress and he caged her in, one arm braced by her head to grant him leverage while the other hiked her leg up further around his waist, and god, yes, this was perfect. There was nothing gentle about the snap of his hips as he pounded into her now, just raw, untamed lust as he put every ounce of that lean muscle she admired to use, and Meryl loved it. To see a hint of the ferocity he kept so tightly in check unleashed... to know it was her that drew it out of him.
"Yes, yes, like that, yes," she chanted, hooking her ankles behind him and clinging on as he continued to set a brutal pace. "Don't stop."
His cock was hitting at just the right angle and she thought she might even be able to cum from that alone, she could certainly feel herself building to something. Her nails raked over his back, lamenting the shirt between her and the taunt pull of muscle beneath, wondering what it would be like to leave her mark on him... something carved with love, with the passion they shared, not the cruelty the world had to offer.
"Meryl," he moaned. It sounded so broken, so desperate... like her name was a prayer, a plea, and she needed to hear it again, found heaven in the way he uttered it, in every whimper and whine lost amongst the wet slap of sex and her panting breaths.
"I'm here," she told him, because it was the only thing she could think to say. His lips pressed to her neck as he trailed clumsy kisses to her collar bone. When his teeth grazed her skin she arched into him with a startled gasp, and she knew she was close, teetering just shy of the precipice as the sharp point of his teeth returned with renewed force, punctuated by each rough thrust.
"Meryl," Vash choked out, face buried in the crook of her neck.
And then... it stopped.
He stilled so suddenly it took her a second to catch up to what had happened, to recognize the stiff line of his body and the warmth pooling inside of her before he collapsed bonelessly atop her.
His eyes were closed, chest heaving in the aftermath. It was a full twenty seconds before he roused himself enough to pull out and roll onto his side, and when he did it was with a sigh of contentment, one arm slung over her as he nestled beside her, looking for all the world as if he was halfway asleep with no intention of turning back. Completely spent.
And Meryl still, still hadn't cum.
She felt the prickle of tears stinging her eyes and threatening to spill. Wrapping her arms around herself she stared up at the ceiling and listened to her racing heart begin to slow.
It wasn't fair. It had been so good, and he shot one load and immediately passed out, and she was so mad at him but worse than that she knew it was her own stupid fault. She knew he was drunk, probably even more drunk than her, and she shouldn't have pushed for this anyway, so selfishly, so pathetically needy...
What had she been thinking?
God, she was awful... jumping her friend's bones and then getting upset when it didn't end as perfectly as she'd dreamt. She should just finish herself off and go to sleep, let sober Meryl deal with this in the morning. But the hurt was still here, the same inexplicable pang she got when Vash left her behind to go party with the rest of the saloon's patrons, the sense that she was being overlooked, forgotten because she just didn't matter... and really, that was a mood killer.
She was sniffling before she knew it, trying to keep the miserable hitch of her breath as quiet as possible while she wrestled back some form of composure.
It was this sound that caused Vash's lashes to flutter. His eyes opened again, blinking hazily, taking in the sight of her before concern pinched at his features.
"What's wrong?" he mumbled.
It was silly. It felt even sillier to say it, but worse to hold it in.
Her lower lip wobbling, Meryl confessed, "Vash, I didn't cum."
He stared at her for a long moment before realization seemed to dawn, and all at once his expression crumpled. He looked absolutely stricken.
"I'm so sorry, Meryl, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"No, it's fine-"
"It's not. Come here, let me... I can..."
He tugged her closer, planting soothing kisses at her temple as he fumbled to get his right hand down somewhere useful.
"I'm being silly," she muttered, hiding her face in his shoulder.
"You're never silly," Vash said, like it was a certainty. "Here... is that good? Tell me what feels good. Let me make it better for you."
His touch was a little blundering at first, too eager to correct his earlier mistake and lacking the dexterity his sober self might have had, but even so, Meryl was more than wet enough to get something going and he quickly picked up on what she enjoyed. Shame melted away and pleasure built. Soon, he was working two fingers steadily in and out of her while his palm massaged her clit and Meryl couldn't remember what she had been upset about at all. She rocked forward into his hand, moaning at the encouragements he whispered into her ear, thinking only of how much thicker his digits were than her own and how much she wanted to find out if his prosthesis was just as good.
"That's it," he crooned as she whined into his chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt in her fists, "I've got you."
Vash's fingers quickened their pace, crooking just so inside her so they dragged back against her inner walls and with a cry she finally tumbled over the edge while he held her tight, slowly working her through her orgasm as she pulsed and gushed over his hand. Her thighs trembled. Her mouth hung open, mind pleasantly blank as the euphoria crested and crashed out the other side.
When reason returned, she was limp and oddly serene in his grasp, and he still had his fingers inside her. Meryl grasped his wrist to let him know to let up and he withdrew them with exaggerated care and an obscenely wet sound.
"Better?" he asked, sitting back to examine his handiwork.
She considered the question.
That was probably the best orgasm she'd had in years, and she wasn't sure if that said more about her than him. So, yes, that was better, that was good, but also... also she had the strange desire to kiss him again. To lose herself in the impossible colour of his eyes and the softness of his lips, to wring all she could from this moment because she wasn't sure if she'd ever get another opportunity...
And... and he'd never bothered to put himself back in his pants and she could see his cock stirring with renewed interest, and. Mmm. Okay. That was tempting.
Rather than answer she grabbed for it, eliciting a sharp inhale as she closed her fingers around him. She gave a few measured strokes, watching his face intently.
He'd clearly shrugged off some of his earlier fatigue and she recognized the focus that sharpened on her and sent an electric tingle down her spine.
"I want you in me," she told him, too burning to bother dressing the request up.
He swallowed. "Yeah... that... give me a second?"
It didn't take long to coax him to full hardness. When he entered her this round he hilted himself on the first thrust and didn't waste time on the gentle pace they had taken earlier. He gave it to her hard and fast, and exactly how she wanted it. She was shoved halfway up the mattress with the force of his rutting, toes curling in delight and urging him on between every stolen breath, chasing a second high with single minded determination.
As Vash began to lose his rhythm his hand snaked downward. He teased at her clit, circling, rubbing, drawing desperate little whimpers from her until she came messily and groaning his name. A handful more thrusts and he followed right after, spilling inside while the tail end of her orgasm milked him dry. They both lay exhausted.
Sweat damp and breathless, Vash pushed himself up on his elbows and slid his softening cock free, hanging over her with their lips inches apart.
"Good?" he asked her.
"Good," she affirmed, and this time it was true.
The kiss he pressed to her was chaste. Vash took a moment to fix his pants before pulling her into his arms and dragging the covers over the both of them. There, with her tucked beneath his chin, his breathing evened out and in only a minute Meryl was certain he was asleep. She kept herself awake for just a little longer though. Basked in the sensation of him wrapped around her... feeling warm... feeling wanted. And, for the first time in an age, deeply satiated.
Sober Meryl was going to have a heart attack waking up in ruined sheets with her thighs itchy with dried cum and the remnants of her own slick, but right now she didn't want to move an inch because for just a little while more... she could pretend that Vash was hers.
Cross-posted to ao3, follow up fic on its way once I get round to uploading or I go by the same username on ao3 if you're impatient
