He knows what’s happening—he just doesn’t like it It’s not ignorance - it’s restraint. Vash knows desire, he’s just unfamiliar with letting it live in his body, especially around you. He respects you deeply, maybe even reveres you a little, and the idea of you seeing that side of him before you're ready makes him ache with guilt and shame. Not because he thinks it’s wrong - but because he wants it to be right when it happens.

He’s trying his hardest to be discreet as hell. He’ll adjust his coat without a word. Cross his legs. Shift position. Tuck himselfaway from you. He’s got a hundred ways to hide discomfort in plain sight, and unless you’re really tuned into his body language, you’d never know what’s going on.

If you do catch on, he handles it with quiet charm. You raise an eyebrow. He meets your gaze, slightly flushed, lips twitching into a wry smile:“Caught that, huh? …What can I say, you’re just extra beautiful today, Mayfly” He’ll redirect the conversation, distract you from himself, maybe even tease you right back just to shift the power a little - but there’s no hiding the blush in his ears or the twitch of his fingers.

He wants – deeply - but holds back like it’s his second nature. Even when he’s burning up inside, he won’t act on it. Not unless you initiate, not unless you make it clear that you’re ready. He’s so afraid of crossing a line, even unintentionally. So he endures. Quietly. Longingly. He thinks about you at night sometimes. Hates himself a little for it. But the feeling lingers anyway.

If you tease him? You’ll see the real restraint. You lean close, murmur something soft against his ear, your fingers brushing his thigh by accident or design. And he freezes for half a second. Not out of fear - out of restraint. Because he could so easily kiss you. Touch you. Ask for more. But he just breathes deep, tilts his head away, and murmurs:“Careful, sweetheart. I’m not made of stone.” That soft warning? Yeah. He means it.

Later, when things are right, he lets go - but it’s always intentional When the time comes and intimacy finally unfolds, it’s not frantic or desperate - it’s tender, slow, and reverent. He wants you, and he’s no longer afraid to show it. But you’ll always know: that control, that composure - it was never because he didn’t feel it. It was because he felt it too much.

Vash couldn't help it.

He tried, he really really tried.

...

Oh, who was he kidding?

One minute you two were cuddling in your shared room at the inn, the next his cool prosthetic hand was pulling at your plush thigh. With some gentle convincing, your thighs were bracing his face and his cheeks were smushed as he grinned from ear to ear. "Just sit, I'll be fine. I've been through worse than this, don't forget you're dating the Vash the Stamp–!"

You pushed his cheeks closer, cutting him off from his ramble as his tongue stuck out between his teeth. "Juth thit," he said.

So you did as he said and gently lowered yourself onto his face, shivering as his cold nose brushed against you. His tongue set to work lapping and sucking, his hands wrapping around your thighs to grip your ass. He spared no second in getting you to relax, pulling you into him to sit fully (and so he would have better access).

This was one of Vash's favorite past-times, truly; he could lose himself in you, and if he could he would spend the rest of his life underneath you; your smell intoxicated him, the feeling of your thighs around his head excited him, and your cries egged him on. Vash could die like this and he would die the happiest man on Gunsmoke.

You could feel Vash's tongue poking and prodding in you, exploring deep before swirling around your clit. He would suck there for a minute, rubbing the sensitive nerves until they felt fried before snaking back into you and exploring again. More than once you felt his tongue press into you just right, his nose teasing your clit as he dug inside to hit the perfect spot. Your back arched, your hips pressed further into his mouth, and Vash chuckled into you, keeping your hips planted over him by holding onto your ass. He was going to take all you were giving him until you couldn't give anymore.

The sounds from Vash's mouth combined with your moans were obscene. Slurps and smacks intertwining with hah's and fuck's became a symphony to Vash's ears, and he was the conductor. If his tongue went further inside, he got a breathy "Oohh, fuck." If he nibbled on your clit, he got a "Vash…!"

Vash was already getting hard when this little adventure started, but now he could feel his dick straining against his boxers. It was too tight, too confining, but the pressure was almost good, so Vash began to rut against it. The material kissed the head of his cock just right, the pressure just tight enough, that he began to time his ruts with his tongue in you. His breaths came quicker and quicker as he heard your moans pitch higher and higher. He could feel you squeezing his tongue while he was inside, hardly letting him exit to rub circles on your clit again.

One of your hands was gripping the headboard and the other found Vash's hair and tugged. He felt you clench and a quick "Oh fuck, Vash!" fell from your lips before your thighs were quaking and squeezing his face. Electricity shot from his scalp to his cock as you came, your juices coating his face while one final rut against his boxers sent him over just behind you. He moaned out against your clit and you whimpered against the overstimulation, quickly moving to hover over his face.

The both of you panting, you gazed down to find Vash blissed out, a smile ghosting over his lips. You looked over your shoulder and could see a dark spot slowly spreading over his boxers.

"Vash… did you cum?"

A breathy, "Uh huh."

"I didn't even touch you!" You swung back to look at him, scooting backwards away from his face. He peeked an eye open, still smiling, and said, "You didn't have to."

"You seriously got off just from eating me out?"

vash is the kind of sub who melts from emotion before anything physical happens: his desperate need for affection, his fear of being alone, and the deep shame he carries for wanting so much all combine into a vulnerability that rises instantly the moment someone dominates him with sensual intent; his body tenses first from nerves, but the second you touch his face or speak to him softly, every piece of armor he has built shatters and leaves him exposed in the most gorgeous way.

when he is in sub mode, vash makes sounds without meaning to soft at first, as if he could swallow them back down, but the more aroused he gets, the more vocal he becomes; his breathing breaks, his voice goes shaky, and he lets out those small, embarrassing moans that tell you exactly what your hands are doing to him; he tries to cover his mouth, but that only makes it sweeter.

he is extremely sensitive to being physically controlled; if you take his jaw and make him look at you, his whole body shivers; if you grip the back of his neck and keep him still, he’s already halfway gone; if you push him gently against a wall or guide him by the hips, he reacts to every motion like a live current his hips following your touch before he even realizes he’s doing it.

vash has a deep kink for being handled: any gesture where you move him, hold him, pin him, or correct him physically excites him far more than words ever could; he wants to feel your hands controlling his motions, keeping him steady when he trembles, claiming him in ways he never knew he needed; if you take his wrists and place them somewhere, his cock throbs on the spot.

praise ruins him instantly: if you tell him “good boy,” “look at you,” “i love how you shake for me,” his body reacts with a visible shiver and a rush of arousal he can’t hide; praise feels almost painful to him because he doesn’t think he deserves it, so every word slices straight through him, down his throat, down his chest, between his legs leaving him weak, needy, obedient.

he has an erotic response to emotional collapse: if you tell him you want to hear his voice, he moans louder; if you tell him not to hide, his eyes fill with tears; if you tell him to stop apologizing because it turns you on, he becomes a trembling mess who can’t decide if he wants to cry or come.

vash is a crying sub when he feels loved: he doesn’t cry from pain or fear, but from emotional overload; while you touch him, while you fuck him, while you hold him, his chest lifts and falls too fast, his lips tremble, and sometimes tears slip out before he can stop them; when you notice and touch his cheek, his whole spine arches as if you touched something holy.

he is incredibly easy to overstimulate: his body responds violently to any direct pleasure your fingers brushing his stomach make him gasp, a slow stroke between his thighs makes him twitch, and a firm grip around the base of his cock makes him moan like he’s been waiting for hours; if you give him too much too fast, his hips start moving on their own.

despite being clumsy, he is a very responsive sub: he learns quickly what you like, seeks your approval with every sound and movement; if you give him clear orders “open your legs,” “hold still,” “look at me” he obeys almost instantly, turned on by the blend of structure, care, and authority.

vash has a powerful kink for erotic aftercare: after he comes, especially when he’s still shaking, he needs to be held, kissed, stroked; he curls into your chest, hands trembling slightly as they rest on your hips; his voice goes soft and broken when he whispers thank you, like he’s grateful for being wanted.

his sexual vulnerability is tied to his deepest wound: the fear of being abandoned; during sub dynamics, he seeks you with his eyes, with his hands, with his thighs, with his voice; when he realizes that you truly want him fully, intensely he becomes devastatingly eager, clinging to you, begging softly, trembling under your touch as if you were the only thing keeping him whole.

Your fingers twitch and rub together. What you'd give to see him yourself. Give him a piece of your mind and a knife to boot. Vash's coat, purpled in the dim dark ahead, warps with the wind blowing. Even now, you see his own exhaustion. His knees bend awkwardly. Head tilting from side to side like he can't decide which Plant to go to first, so many sisters crying out for help at once. He tries to keep it to himself, but still, his sigh carries in the breeze like a dying light.

You bite the inside of your cheek. No, you'd do more than give Nai a knife to the chest. Much more.

You stumble. Fall. Your knees catch you, and you spit out in frustration. Why can't you keep up?

A hand to your shoulder. You look up. See the stark blue of Vash's eyes, even with his glasses on. Something human in you, primal, makes the hairs on your neck and arms raise. Lips thinning, you look back down. "You should go on ahead," you mutter.

"Like I would ever do that without you," he says. He puts his pack down and starts the process of pulling out meager camp supplies. "We've gone far enough today. I'm sorry."

You sigh at his apology, but make no rebuttal. Instead, you quickly shimmy into your own sleeping bag while Vash zips his up. There can't be a fire, even a little one; too many eyes hunting the both of you down out here.

It's dark. Even still, you feel Vash's hands reaching out for you, pulling you close and resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat is so irregular. Bump-ba-bump-bump-ba-bump-ba-ba-bump. Always marching to the sound of his own drum.

He won't sleep. Hasn't slept the past five nights. You feel the need to stay up with him, somehow. You talk. "Which one are we going toward?"

Vash lays his head back further, sighing and swallowing. "I think the one in Viridian-Holl is closer. But I know the one over in Faust needs help sooner."

You blink in the black. "Will Viridian-Holl be able to hold on if we go to Faust first?"

"…I don't know."

That heartbeat is irratic under your ear; stressed. Thinking too hard. Healing Plants always takes him out for a while—a few hours to a day at best, and that's only if he hasn't been pushing himself. Vash knows this. You know this too: you will only be able to save one of these towns.

"Why is he doing this?" You mutter to yourself. Vash tenses under you. A bolt of anger courses through your belly. "Why is he doing it now?"

Again, that long, lonely sigh. "I don't know." He pauses, then again, "I don't know."

It's the only answer there can be. Who can understand the insanity of one's own brother? So you press your head toward his heart and whisper that you love him, and you're with him, and to please, try to get some sleep.

All he does is kiss the crown of your head. You're asleep before he ever is.

A/N: