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The first time it happens is shortly after the lot of them start travelling together.
They are making their way to Emon, battling against rough, rocky terrain and the powerful gusts of wind that blow in their faces and stick needles of cold into the folds of their clothes.
When they stop for the day, they are stiff with cold. Everyone’s but Grog’s teeth are clattering. The temperature within the small cave they find is lower than outside, but it offers shelter from the wind, and that’s good enough. The only sound between the cave’s ragged, uneven walls is the unfurling of bedrolls and the soft grunts and sighs as everyone crawls under their blankets.
Keyleth ends up spreading her bedroll between the twins. Both of them are curled into compact half-elf commas under their thin blankets. She takes the space in the middle, just enough for her taller, broader frame to spread out. Once she has settled under her own blanket, fuzzy and rich with the scent of pine needles, she lets out a contented sigh. Her bones ache with exhaustion. Sleep quickly claims her.
She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the next time she drifts into consciousness, something is different. Her lower body is warm, warmer than the blanket could have gotten her. More worryingly, there’s an unfamiliar pressure around her waist.
The image of a vine squeezing her middle until her spine snaps flashes in her mind and her eyes fly open. Before she can attempt to wriggle free from whatever has gripped her, her gaze focuses on a small dark form pressed to her stomach. She blinks at it in confusion, once, twice, three times--
Oh. It’s Vax. He has latched onto her, his face nestled against her back, arms snaked around her so tight it’s almost difficult to breathe.
It's kind of endearing.
Nonetheless, Keyleth feels her face heat up. Even in the darkness, she knows she has flushed a deep red. She doesn’t know Vax all that well yet, and she has spent enough time away from her people to be aware that this level of physical contact with those who aren’t your close relatives or your spouse isn’t something you just… do.
And still. She worries her bottom lip. It seems innocent enough. Vax is sound asleep and, frankly speaking, Keyleth appreciates the extra warmth. Plus, they are friends now, right?
She relaxes into Vax’s arms. The rest of the cold that had wound itself up in her chest after the day’s trek releases her with a shudder.
Careful not to jam her knee into Vax’s stomach, she shuffles into a more comfortable position.
The second time it happens, they’re deep in the Underdark.
Scanlan has trouble recalling what it’s like to feel clean, or properly rested for that matter, and his attempts to keep up a cheerful mood grow more and more half-hearted. Scanlan Shorthalt requires his beauty sleep, please and thank you, lest he nod off and walk straight into the next chasm they stumble upon.
It takes him a good hour of loud complaining and well-timed groans (a skill he has mastered over the years), but Vex finally capitulates. She sighs dramatically and throws her hands up. Scanlan’s legs almost buckle in relief.
As soon as they find a suitable place to rest, Scanlan unceremoniously flops face-first on the ground. He takes off his bag and unrolls the bedroll, all without moving from the spot he claimed. No sooner has he managed to wrap his blanket around his aching form than he falls asleep.
His slumber is shallow and uncomfortable; he wakes up time and again, painfully aware of the uneven ground digging into his body. Just as he has found a semi-bearable pose, on his side with legs bent around a particularly sharp piece of rock, the sensation of arms wrapping around him and pulling him flush against someone’s chest jolts him awake.
“Um?” he manages, groggily.
Vax (because it is Vax, Scanlan recognises the smell of leather and evergreens even under the Underdark soot) mumbles an unintelligible reply.
Scanlan wants to protest, to point out that he isn’t a glorified stuffed toy, thank you very much, but before he can form a comprehensible phrase, Vax’s breathing tickling his scalp slows down. He’s out like a light.
Scanlan rolls his eyes, even though there’s no one to appreciate the sheer amount of frustration the gesture conveys.
While he wonders if he has enough core strength to grapple out of Vax’s clutches (or if a well-placed kick would do the trick), he realises he can feel Vax’s pulse against his back. The steady rhythm thrums into his ribcage with every beat, and Scanlan’s own heartbeat slows.
Almost against his will, his body grows heavy, lids drooping. Vax’s warmth seeps through his clothes.
Begrudgingly, Scanlan gives up. Vax isn’t going to hear the end of it tomorrow, but for the time being, both of them need their sleep.
And--not that Scanlan is going to share this particular bit of information with anyone--this is the best sleep he has gotten in weeks.
The third time, they’re all fucked up after yet another battle.
Grog’s mouth still tastes of iron and blood when he crashes on the ground in their makeshift camp. The last bits of fury leave his body heavy and sore; there’s a shit-ton of cuts on his arms and chest and all of them are beginning to sting.
“You okay, big guy?” Grog cranes his neck and Vax’s upside-down head comes into view. His skin looks blueish--he must be really fucking cold.
Grog, on the other hand, is feeling just dandy.
“I’m fine. You should probably go cuddle up with Trinket before you freeze to death.”
“Nah,” Vax smirks at him and plops down on the ground next to him.
Grog closes his eyes. “Suit yourself, then.”
The next time he opens them, an unexpected weight is pressing his body into the ground. He shuffles on his back, momentarily confused, but the weight stays. Grog opens an eye.
Vax’s body is sprawled on top of him, one arm dangling in the air next to Grog’s head. Vax’s face is buried in his chest and his breath tickles one of his nipples.
“Vax,” Grog rumbles. When there’s no reaction, he reaches up and shakes him by the shoulder. He gets a mumble for his trouble.
“Vax,” he repeats. He grabs him by the shoulder to try and pry him off of himself. Vax doesn’t budge; his other hand is wedged between Grog’s body and his shoulder plate. Grog feels the sting of nails sinking into his skin as Vax’s hand clenches in an instinctual reaction.
Grog tries again, this time wrapping his arm around Vax’s waist and pulling. He manages to move Vax’s torso about five inches to the side. There’s a tug around his own waist, too, and his belt digs into his side. Vax has stuck his foot under the strap.
The little piece of shit is practically glued to him.
Grog groans. Can’t a guy get his rest, like, solo, in these parts?
Vax stirs. He raises his head a bit and props his chin on his pectoral. He barely opens his eyes to look at Grog. “Stop shuffling, will you, big guy? Get some sleep?”
And he’s out again before Grog can say “fuck you”.
He sighs. If he takes the time, unsticking a squishy half-elf from his body would be like swatting a fly. If he wasn’t really fucking sleepy.
Fuck it.
Grog gives in and lets his eyes close. He has bigger things to worry about than being used as a pillow, he decides. So long as Vax doesn’t make it a regular thing, right?
When he wakes up the following morning, there are dicks drawn all over his chest.
The fourth time it happens, the air smells of fresh grass.
Pike likes to sleep on her back. On nights like this, when there are no clouds obscuring the sky, the stars shine beautiful and bright. They almost seem to wink at her, and she can’t keep the smile off her face.
It has been a long day and her body’s sore from the weight of her armour and her mace, but her mind is at peace. She can feel Sarenrae watching over her, can feel the pulse of their connection thrumming around her. She has never been here before, never seen the constellations above from this particular angle, but it feels like home.
An arm is thrown around her middle, jolting her out of her musings. She gasps, but the fear doesn’t get a chance to rise in her chest. She knows whose body this arm is attached to, and recognises Vax’s sleepy sigh as he shuffles beside her.
Pike’s smile widens. Vax is warm even through the bits of armour she didn’t bother taking off before going to sleep, and as he curls himself around her, she feels a different kind of safe.
Ever so slowly, so that the clanging of her breastplate doesn’t wake everyone up, she rolls to her side facing Vax. His hair has fallen into his face, but she can see the furrow of his brow: he’s tense even in his sleep. Pike shifts closer, fitting just right next to him. She wraps her arm around his shoulder and nestles her head under his chin.
Slowly, Vax relaxes. The whisper of his breath against the top of her head slows down.
Pike’s own eyes start growing heavy. She is drifting off, in the warmth of a different, more immediate feeling of comfort than what Sarenrae gives her. With her goddess, she is at home wherever she goes. With Vox Machina, she’s always amongst family.
And she wouldn’t trade that for anything.
The fifth time, Percy is this close to pulling out Bad News.
“Vax, would you mind telling me what you’re doing,” he says, flatly, glaring at the arm wrapped around his chest.
Vax’ildan is behind him, and while he isn’t pressing against his back, Percy can still feel the length of his body close to his.
There is no reply. Percy can’t tell if Vax is sleeping or pretending to.
“Vax’ildan!” he insists, and his voice rises in pitch.
Vax has the audacity to shush him. “You’re going to wake everyone up,” he murmurs.
So he is awake after all.
“You know what else would wake everyone up?” Percy cranes his neck to look at him. “Shooting at you with my gun.”
“I’d like to see you explain that to my sister,” Vax counters, and Percy senses his smirk.
“I can hex you,” he points out.
Vax chuckles. “You could.” He shuffles a bit. His head presses between Percy’s shoulder blades. “Let’s do that tomorrow, Percival. It’s cold and I really want to sleep.”
“So did I, before you invaded my personal space and made me feel really uncomfortable!”
Vax’s grip loosens a bit. The cold air quickly spreads in the space between his arm and Percy’s body, and it occurs to him it really is bloody freezing. He almost leans back into Vax before he catches himself.
“Do you really hate physical contact that much?” Vax asks, and his tone is concerned now.
Percy could say that yes, he really does, but he’s been travelling with this ridiculous found family of his for too long for that to be true anymore. Or he guesses it is, they are just an exception.
He sighs. “No, it’s… it’s fine. I don’t mind. Let’s sleep.”
Vax hums in approval and shuffles a bit closer.
“Oh, and Vax?”
“Hmm?”
“...Please don’t mention this to your sister.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He does mention it to his sister. To everyone else, too. The amount of hugs and various other forms of physical affection that result from this is simply preposterous, and Percy tells them all as much.
What he does not tell them is that he doesn’t even mind.
The sixth time, it goes a little differently.
Vex is fuming. She storms out of the common area and up the stairs towards her room. The door slams shut behind her. Only then do the tears overflow and spill down her face.
There’s a closet nearby, a simple wooden thing just standing there. She glares at it and drives her foot into the plain wood. The pain that shoots up her leg only makes her cry harder. With a string of curses, she throws herself onto the bed.
Less than two hours ago, she saw her brother collapse on the ground, bleeding and motionless. Again. He was being reckless, and put himself in danger in an insane, stupid attempt to play the hero.
Again.
It wasn’t his place to protect everyone, Vex told him afterwards. She always did. He was weak and fragile, he should just leave it to Grog, or Pike, or her and her arrows.
He told her that if someone was dying, he would rather it be him.
She pointed out that was a fucking selfish thing to do.
He went on about sacrificing himself for them, about all of them being better than him anyway, and Vex swears to the Gods she was this close to hastening his demise herself. When she interjected he was missing the point entirely, it only made matters worse.
Unable to listen to his tirade for another second, Vex stormed out of the room and into the safety of her bedroom, where she didn’t have to bite back her tears.
A frustrated cry claws out of her throat and gets muffled in the pillow.
Eventually, her breathing calms down. She rolls to her back. Looks at the darkened ceiling. Wipes her eyes.
The wind has picked up outside. She can hear the clatter of raindrops against the window pane.
The first thunder strikes close by and she starts. Her heart begins to race.
She hasn’t been afraid of storms for a long time--there are much worse things than thunder, and she’s stood her ground against many of them--but the roar still brings back childhood memories.
They used to huddle up together, her brother and her, when the sky cracked and crashed around them. It wasn’t as scary when they were together.
That holds true, even now. Another rumble comes from outside and she realises she isn’t angry anymore.
She gets up.
Vax’s room is across the hallway, and a mirror image of her own. She finds him inside, sprawled on his back with an arm slung over his face. He doesn’t even look at her as he mumbles, “You’re being really loud.”
“Can I come in?”
Without replying, he scoots to the side of the bed. Vex tiptoes inside and climbs on. Vax helps her up, grips her by the shoulders and pulls her towards his chest.
She giggles as a wisp of hair gets stuck in her nose. Vax clings to her and she clings back until they are a heap of tangled limbs, and Vex feels like a kid for a moment.
Vax plants a loud kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“No, you’re not. You are just going to keep doing what you want and I’m going to keep getting more and more white hairs.”
Vax snorts. “You’re still going to be gorgeous.”
They stay silent for a while, warm and safe together as the rain and thunder rage outside.
“I love you, Vex’ahlia,” he whispers in her hair.
“That’s the problem, you idiot,” she answers, “I love you too.”