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"Just a little more…I'm almost…" his voice trails, clearly too distracted to speak.
You tense, biting down harder, stifling a pained sound.
Vash makes noise at you, apologizing, meant to soothe, yet still presses in deeper; doesn’t stop even as you jolt.
“Goddamn—”
“I know, I know,” Vash’s grip tightens on your waist, holds you as still as he possibly can. “I’m sorry…”
“J-just—just hurry.” Your teeth bear into the belt trapped between them, swearing your canines pierce the thick leather. Flinching isn’t helping matters, makes it harder for Vash to focus, but every prod and movement bolts a stab of pain through you.
Worrying his lip, Vash shifts his hand; palm pressing against your chest in an attempt to keep you from pulling away.
You look back over your shoulder, back at Vash’s furrowed brow and concentrated expression; holding your breath as the blond’s metal fingers dig in further. Even as gentle as Vash is being, taking great care with his deliberate movement, you find holding still almost impossible. Your breath hisses between your teeth and around the folded leather beginning to drip with saliva.
“Ah,” Vash sighs, relieved. Finally finding the spot he'd been searching for, he braces you.
Flinching, as expected, you take a long, sharp breath as you feel the burn of Vash’s fingers pulling out. “Fuck!”
“You’re doing great,” the blond offers, pausing as you flinch again just a bit too hard.
“Sh-shut the hell up, V—ash!!” You gasp when Vash’s fingers finally slide free, pressure fading despite the pain still resonating all the way up your spine. Your forehead drops down on your forearms bracing the back of the chair you’re sat in, still practically chewing on the belt caught between your teeth; breathing heavy down into your chest.
The tinny sound of metal clinking precedes Vash’s announcement, “And that makes six.” His palm is warm as he presses it against your back.
“You…you done?” Please tell me you’re finished, your tone seems to plead.
“Yep,” he leans forward, reaching out past your shoulder to display the little plate holding six bloodied mounds of metal.
The belt clatters to the floor as you sag in place, still not getting up as Vash begins wrapping gauze around your torso. “Thanks,” you breathe, unsure if it’s even intelligible.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Vash replies gravely, instead of the usual joking. He sounds horrible, upset.
You recognize the tone, the implication that you should have let this be Vash; shouldn't have moved in to save him from injury. “Can’t help it,” you grunt as the blond pulls the bandage taut to keep it in place. “Told you before, my body just moves on its own.”
The pause is even heavier than Vash’s voice had been, suffocating until the sound of movement cuts through it; Vash standing, moving away.
Guilt, you realize. That was guilt in Vash’s voice. “Sorry,” you sigh instead of trying to argue him down to accept the fact that there are people who care enough about him to risk their lives for him. “But how else was I supposed to get you to finally yank my clothes off without making a fool of myself?”
Vash whips around, blinking at the grin he receives, and ultimately unable to maintain the gloomy expression, puffs a laugh.
“Why else would I strategically let myself be shot in the back, where I can’t reach?”
Giving you a long look, even Vash finds it too difficult to hide his exasperation. "Just don't make a habit of it?"
Your gaze sweeps the length of Vash's body, as if you can possibly see all those concealed scars detailing a lifetime of putting himself in harm's way for the sake of others. The argument is there, on the tip of your tongue, but the pain and exhaustion are beginning to win the battle of will-power. With a tired sigh, you move to the old bed that creaks under your weight. "Thirty minutes," you promise, voice muffled by the pillow as you try to get comfortable on your stomach. "Thirty minutes and I'll be good to go."