Salty-Says-Stuff

No, even with her mind still replaying the latest catastrophe they encountered on their travels through Noman’s Land, she would’ve been able to find some kind of rest; that strange gun-wielding maniac that had threatened to shoot up the entire town if they didn’t present him with the 6 million double dollar bounty without comprehending what facing said 6 million double dollar bounty would mean for him – neither of them did, truly, as they finished the day watching the gun-wielding maniac drunkenly apologise to them whilst snot was running down his face.

Meryl shivers at the recollection.

And shivers again when the reason for her current insomnia huffs against her chest and proceeds to nuzzle into her breasts. Her cheeks warm with that familiar spark of heat that she’s learned is just her body’s natural reaction to Vash’s skin on hers. Another shift of his body, thigh twitching against hers, followed by a small hiccup, almost too quiet to hear. Heat turns into concern, just as heavy a weight as his body on hers. She doesn’t hesitate, hand sliding down his back, the other one nestling in his hair. The strands are soft against the tips of her fingers as she brushes through them, like protruding feathers, almost.

Vash sighs, muscles going lax as whatever ailed him seems to evaporate. Despite the exhaustion hanging off her bones, Meryl’s lips twitch into a smile. Perhaps her body was right to keep her awake, granting her own anxious mind the solace of seeing the one person you care for so intensely finally at peace. Her fingers brush over scars, blooming over Vash’s back as if they had split his skin open to reveal his true shape. They feel coarse, but no longer make her wince as they did the first time she splayed her hands over them.

She hasn’t seen Vash this relaxed in a long time. It’s nice.

Leaning forward, she presses her lips against the crown of his head to quell the overwhelming feeling rising in her chest. It almost brings tears to her eyes; the tenderness of the gesture is not new, but rare in between fights and blood and debilitating sandstorms. Just as she’s pressed her eyes shut in another attempt to finally fall asleep, Vash’s body stirs.

He whines, low and needy, lips dragging over her skin wetly as he rouses (she’s pretty sure that’s drool). She watches as he drags his head upwards, until they’re face to face. His eyes droop down midway through, blink open again blearily in an obvious attempt to find hers. When they do, his lips squish and jut out, until they mirror the pout on her own. Meryl almost calls him cute then, if it weren’t for the deep circles underneath his eyes, belying the exhaustion resting underneath his skin.

Oh, Vash, Meryl wants to say, murmur it into that sacred space between them, your typhoon doesn’t make a halt even for you, does it? She wishes she could keep him here, keep them both here, in this shitty room above a shitty saloon, where no brothers or responsibilities or the goddamn bad lads gang can find them. She wishes they could rest, only for a moment, but longer than a single night; rest until the hop in Vash’s step stops being fake, until the weight of her gun stops feeling heavy against her conscience.

Vash huffs, a tiny little sound, brows furrowing slightly. Fuck, she just wants him to be happy.

“M’ryl?” Vash’s voice is a little too raspy, not awake enough to make sense. “Y’r like a pillow.”

It’s too much. She feels her heart burst, explode into every crevice of her body. It fills and fills and fills, flowing past the hollow of her ribs, up to her flushing skin and down her arms where hairs rise in its energy. Her fingers tighten as she yanks Vash's face closer. He yelps until he feels her lips hit his cheek, a little too forceful, a little too enthusiastic. She feels him laugh just as his cheek warms underneath her lips.

“Meryl,” he sighs sleepily, not even attempting to escape the death grip she has on him. Good, she wouldn't have let him leave either way.

They stay like this, buried in affection and warmth, nuzzling against each other. It doesn’t take Meryl long to recognise what that feeling fizzling in her chest means, but it takes the rest of the time to gather her courage to voice it.

“Vash,” she whispers, voice barely audible above the clanking of glasses from downstairs, “I love you.”