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“Will you stop trying to tickle me!”
That's what Vash hears as he steps inside the bedroom, fresh out of his shower, his pout fading off his face at the sight before him, replaced by an amused roll of his eyes.
So this is why they didn’t answer when he called for them to join him. Rude.
This, being a half-naked Meryl straddling a Wolfwood whose boxer briefs have been pulled down to his knees, swatting at his wiggling fingers.
Meryl is scowling but giggling despite herself, and Wolfwood wears his biggest shit-eating grin as he carries on his assault, preventing her from lowering herself down on him regardless of his obvious interest.
“Do you want me to hold down his arms?” Vash quips from the door.
“Vash!” she exclaims, head snapping away from Wolfwood to smile at him like he’s her savior, twisting to avoid Wolfwood’s relentless tickling. “You’d be such a darling!”
“Needle-noggin, don’t ya dare—” Wolfwood warns, but Vash promptly skips forward and sits at the head of the bed.
Vash ignores the empty threats that follow (not bringing him any donuts back from his next visit to the part of town that houses the best bakery in the country), grabbing Wolfwood’s wrists and keeping them firmly against the mattress with a chirped “Sorry!” that could not sound less sincere.
Wolfwood scowls at him in mock betrayal, so Vash slightly leans down to bring one of his palms to his lips, and kisses it. The gesture has Wolfwood first scoffing, but then the lines of his face effortlessly smoothen into an almost flustered smile.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Meryl gets what she wants; she slides into place, taking a deep breath when she’s fully seated.
“Finally,” she sighs, only to yelp indignantly when Wolfwood gives a single sharp thrust up without warning.
Evidently quite proud of himself, Meryl gives him a stern look and says, “I was going to tell Vash to let you go, but now. . .”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, shortie.”
Meryl’s laugh comes out as a snort, which has no business being so cute.
In answer, she begins to rock at a slow pace that has Wolfwood letting out little puffs of breath. He behaves against all odds, his hips leisurely meeting Meryl halfway, following her pace.
Meanwhile, Vash merely observes, eyes following every movement, ears listening to every sound.
Milly, who left earlier that morning for an appointment, loves Vash’s theatrical retellings of their partners’ bedroom activities—more often than not, Meryl disappears behind her hands and slides down her chair while Wolfwood nearly climbs over the dinner table to silence him even though he’s cackling too, and Milly laughs so hard she struggles to breathe.
However, she doesn’t like to watch.
But Vash often likes watching. Sex always looked kind of funny to him, but also really beautiful; the vulnerability and intimacy of it, the knowledge his partners can give each other pleasure, the clear enjoyment and trust between the two of them—the three of them sometimes, even if he never actively participates.
Often, arousal will build on the inherent eroticism of the moment regardless of his unwillingness to get involved—like it does now.
Enough to move his grip on Wolfwood to his prosthetic hand alone and slip the other in his underwear, seeking satisfaction that is solely his—well, safe for Meryl sneaking glances at him. He doesn't mind; he knows she won't make it about him.
Wolfwood, on the other hand, doesn't immediately realise; he's too out of it now, enraptured with pleasure and the sight Meryl makes riding him.
When he does eventually look at Vash, he appears unable to look away, his gaze hazy and intense and fond with the smile Vash offers him, until Meryl snaps his attention back to her.
Vash reaches climax silently and quickly, further spurred on by the sounds Meryl and Wolfwood make.
Then he bends down and kisses Wolfwood’s moans off, smiling through it. Wolfwood is hanging on to Vash’s hands for dear life now, his hips bucking and stuttering in search of his release, pushing Meryl towards her own.
After Meryl comes, she stays seated for a moment, rocking leisurely and visibly satisfied with the sight Wolfwood makes, utterly wrecked as he is, but makes no move to help him finish, and Vash still hasn't let go of him.
He looks between the two of them, groaning when Meryl anchors herself, not letting him move. “That’s not playin’ fair,” he huffs.
“Please, we all know you love it,” she retorts, sharing an amused look with Vash.
Meryl only pulls out when Wolfwood starts begging, taking him in hand until he comes, too.
Then, it's quiet, safe for heaving breaths. Soon, building laughter follows.
“Thank you, Vash,” Meryl says as she flops over Wolfwood’s chest.
Wolfwood oofs but seems too content with lazing in the moment to complain, except when Vash lets go of his wrist to go answer his phone (Milly, asking him to remind her of the place they picked for their lunch), at which point he scowls at him with disappointment.
When he returns, they both remain sprawled over the bed, evidently too blissed out to move. Vash leans against the doorframe and dramatically checks his non-existent watch.
“So, are you gonna shower now?”
“Still wanna come with?” Wolfwood drawls, which earns him a pair of clean boxers thrown at his face.
“So you did hear me!” Vash squawks.
Neither of them has the decency to look sheepish. “Oops?” Wolfwood goes. He points at Meryl. “She started it.”
Meryl gasps offendedly. She looks like she wants to smack him, but instead decides to be the bigger person and begins straightening up.
“Vash’s right, we’ve got time but we need to get ready,” she says firmly. “And I need to—”
“First dibs,” Wolfwood grunts, shamelessly pushing Meryl off and making a run for the bathroom.
“You!” Meryl growls, stumbling up and rushing after him.
Chuckling, Vash follows suit. He might as well get a rinse, even if that means taking his prosthetic off again.
Without Milly around today, the shower is not as much of a tight fit as it is when the four of them squeeze in, but it doesn’t stop them from standing as close to each other as they can.
Vash takes his time washing Meryl’s hair one-handed, while Wolfwood brushes his teeth. He then tightly hugs Vash from behind, kissing the back of his neck as he hums.
Wolfwood always sings to himself when he showers alone.
Meryl talks to herself, Milly hums, and Vash tends to sing for the whole apartment—which either annoys Meryl and Wolfwood or makes them laugh, depending on how much coffee they’ve had since they got up, while Milly loves to join in.
Vash plants a kiss on Meryl’s forehead as soon as she turns around, getting him a smile and a hug he’s more than happy to return.
Every day, Vash feels like his heart might burst. For a long time, he’d forgotten what it was like to be loved so unconditionally. Then he met Meryl and Milly, and soon after, Wolfwood.
Now, he can’t imagine his life without them—can’t bear to think of a future where he doesn’t wake up next to them; baking sweets and desserts with Milly and cuddling up to her on the couch while they laugh at the show that is Meryl and Wolfwood’s shenanigans; reading books with Meryl at the park and going on bike rides with Wolfwood; kissing each of them goodnight. Meryl and Wolfwood on the lips, Milly on the cheek.
Their naked bodies so close to his he can feel all of them, not knowing where they end and where they begin but never asking or taking anything he doesn’t want them to.
Meryl suddenly, slightly parts from him. Her expression softens, and she reaches out to his face.
“I hope those are happy,” she says gently, wiping the tears that have fallen down his cheeks.
Vash nods, grabbing her hand and kissing the base of her palm.
He leans down for more, first the tip of her nose, which makes her crinkle it adorably, then her lips.
Wolfwood’s humming stops. He mumbles against Vash’s shoulder, “Hey now, where’s mine?”
Sidestepping them and seeing Vash’s tears, his mouth sets in a worried line, but quickly softens again upon receiving a smile. “Heh. You crybaby,” he says, and the affection with which he presses his forehead to Vash’s only makes him want to cry more.
“I love you guys,” he gasps.
Wolfwood never seems to get accustomed to him saying it. Vash used to think that the way he loves could not be taken seriously because, to the opinion of some, it wasn’t complete—and yet here Wolfwood is, sporting that disbelieving, adoring look every time, and Meryl always smiles, and Milly never fails to say it back like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Vash pushes against Wolfwood’s forehead. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head to kiss him—something desperate yet slow, deep yet chaste and tender. When he pauses, he feels Wolfwood’s lips graze along his nose before resting over his hairline, and opening his eyes again finds Meryl is looking up at them with unbridled emotion, still embracing him.
For a short while, they do not move or talk or make a sound—they let the water run over them, feel each other’s warmth, bask in soft touches and wiped tears.
Then Vash attentively cleans their faces, thorough on their cheeks and delicate over their noses, playing with soap foam like kids in a tub.
“Come on,” Meryl gingerly says when he’s done, tugging on both their hands. “Let’s not keep Milly waiting.”
Despite their original reluctance, the thought of reuniting with their Milly is motivation enough to face the cold.
The water turned off, Meryl pinches their asses to get them moving faster, laughing as they jump into towels that aren't half as warm as their hearts.