150 Bullets

124. Bite

The sun is rising through the dusty, cream curtains, and Vash is snoring in your ear.

You groan, rolling away as you continue to wake. Vash makes a noise of protest in his throat, blindly reaching for your warmth, settling on the blankets, and pulling them away to burrow in further. The cool air on your arms and legs slaps you awake. You glare over your shoulder at your sleeping man, then, groaning again, stand from bed and head for the inn's bathroom.

Vash is still snoring away when you emerge, showered and brushing your teeth. You roll your eyes and go over to him, gently slapping his thigh through the tumble of blankets. "Hm?" he says and goes back to sleep. You give your teeth a few brushes, then poke his side. "Hm? What?"

"Get up, we have to leave by eight. Motel rules."

Vash turns his head toward you, eyes still closed. "What?"

You snort and go spit in the sink. When you're cleaned up, you come back out. He's sitting up in bed. His hair is a mess of golden straw, eyes squinting and fighting to open. He looks at you and purses his lips. "It's six-thirty."

"Yes, and you take an hour to get ready."

Vash groans and flops back on the bed. "Do we have to get up? This bed is comfy..." Then, both eyes opening deceptively quick, he says "Come lay down with me, I can hurry and get ready in a bit."

You lean your weight on one foot and cross your arms. "No, because then you'll go back to sleep."

"Please?" He does his best puppy-eyes, lip wibbling. "I never get to cuddle with you..."

That's a fat lie. This man is a cuddle bug and takes any chance he can to prove it. "No."

He sits back up. There's determination in his eyes now; he's set on winning this. "I won't fall asleep! Promise! Just fifteen minutes!" He sighs when you shake your head. "Ten minutes? Eight!...Six?"

"I wanna beat the heat. You're not getting your cuddles – " You're cut off when he reaches out and snags your wrist, pulling you bodily back into bed. He's so quick. Despite your protests, he flips you on your back and lays on top of you. "Vash!"

But he burrows into your neck. His hair is soft, going to your nose and making it tickle. You huff as he gets comfortable, feeling all his weight press you into the mattress. "Ah, you're nice and warm," he murmurs. He takes a big inhale through his nose. "You smell good too."

"You're such a pain," you mutter. "Five minutes. That's it."

You feel more than hear his laugh. He presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, humming in contentment and nestling back into your shoulder.

A sigh escapes. Well, five minutes isn't bad. You reach a hand up and start rubbing his back through his shirt. You feel all the bumps of his scars, the metal plates and wires holding him together. He says they itch a lot. You scrub lightly with your nails, careful, and smile at his hum. Minutes pass by like this. You're not sure how long. But Vash is happy, and that warms your heart.

"Stampede, you're such a sap." You say, and smirk as you feel him still on top of you.

"Take it back," he mutters into your skin. You blow air out of your nose. He pinches your side, and you squeal. "Take it back!"

"What? You're the 'Stampede,' aren't you?" You bite your tongue to keep from giggling.

He catches it, though. Vash shifts to rest his chin on your chest, bright blues glaring at you. "Not to you. That's not my name to you!"

You reach up and brush a hand through his hair. "Oh, you mean 'Humanoid Typhoon?' AH!"

Vash sits up and pins your legs down with his hips. You struggle underneath, but his hands are already moving. The tickle attack begins. Your laughter rings out fully. His hands poke your sides, wriggle under your armpits, the crook of your neck.

"Vash! Ha-ha-ha-ha! St-ah-ha-hap! Stop!"

He lets out a few laughs, hands digging into your sides ferociously. "That's not it! You know that's not it!"

"That's your name!" You try slapping his hands away, but he catches them and holds them above your head. He leans down and snorts into your neck before starting to bite at it. It's just ticklish enough. "Vash!"

"Take it back," is all he says, using his free hand to tickle under your knees. The shriek you let out has Vash laughing all the harder, and he moves to your thighs. You're squirming, shaking, trying to gain the upper hand – but Vash is too strong. It's like he's holding down a little bug to play with.

A Mayfly.

"Say it!" He's back at your neck biting where he can. His morning stubble scratches your skin. You squish his nose trying to scrunch your neck up. "I'm not stopping 'til you do!"

"Birdie! Baby!" You finally relent, a few tears leaking out of your eyes and your laughs turning to wheezes. "Love! Sw-sweetheart!"

Suddenly, there's banging on the wall next to your head. Your antics are apparently bothering whoever is renting the next room. Vash pauses and looks guiltily toward it.

Taking in gasping breaths, you cough, "Oh, you're in trouble."

He finally releases you after giving you a look, his smile following. "You started it."

"Whatever!" You push him off, slapping his shoulder as he laughs and gets up from the bed. "Go get ready already!"

"Alright, alright." He picks through his sack by the door to gather clean clothes and some soap. The bathroom door closes, and you're left to recover from the tickle attack. Your sides hurt, your throat is sore.

He's such a pain in the morning.