Many Hands Make Short Work

by Pirate Ryoko & Quatre-sama

(expect the unexpected in this one!)

 

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“Mmph.”

 

Vash gritted his teeth.  This wasn’t something he’d planned.  It was the last thing he’d expected to be doing when he woke up that morning.  But here he was, hot and sweaty with Nicholas Wolfwood, wondering for the first time if they’d really have the endurance to keep on going.

 

Wolfwood stood a little in front of him, his jacket discarded and his shirt open to the waist.  With a gowl of impatience, the priest shucked it from his broad shoulders.  Vash’s eyes widened at the sweaty expanse of tanned skin, his nostrils flaring at the tangy scent of perspiration and flesh.  A bandage covered one powerful bicep, traces of blood seeping through the white gauze as Wolfwood braced against the car.  It was bad enough that the wound had reopened—Vash didn’t want to hurt his friend any more than he had to.

 

“Are you sure we can do this?” Vash asked uncertainly.  Desert surrounded the stilled car and the suns shone hot and bright above them.  “Maybe we should try again later . . .”

 

Wolfwood spun on his heel, leaning very close to Vash’s face.  “Later?” he asked with a snarl.  “Why is it always ‘later’ for you?  Do you think I can sit here twiddling my thumbs while you make up your mind?”  He motioned toward the vast expanse of desert.  “We’re all alone out here--if we don’t do this now, we’ll probably dry up and die and never get another chance!”

 

“Someone might come by . . .”

 

Wolfwood laughed, a scratchy sound that Vash usually enjoyed very much.  Today it dripped with sarcasm.  “Do you really believe that?”

 

“But your arm . . .”

 

“Forget my arm!  If we don’t do this we’re stuck here like this forever!  Do you really want to be left in this rut, rotting here for the rest of your life?”  Wolfwood pushed his damp hair from his forehead, flinging the salty wetness from his hand onto the red leather coat draped beneath them on the car. “It’s only going to get hotter from here, Vash,” he said quietly.

 

Something about his friend’s tone hit home with Vash.  “Okay,” he agreed finally.  “But how should we do this, exactly?”  He knew the basics, but was fairly inexperienced at the whole thing--it would be better if they had some sort of plan.

 

“Just brace against the hood, like that,” Wolfwood instructed curtly.   “It’s best if we push together--short thrusts will get a lot more done without as much strain.”  He was matter-of-fact and direct.  Vash’s height and Wolfwood’s wounded arm were clearly the only things keeping the young priest from taking all the control for himself.

 

Before they began, Vash peeled his own shirt away from his sweaty skin.  He was conscious of every scar and gouge in his flesh, but realized that passing out from heat exhaustion would probably make his friend very angry.  Wolfwood turned away from him, clamping his hands onto the hood of the car.  “Let’s go,” he directed curtly.

 

Sliding into position, Vash leaned close, bracing his own arms against the car.

 

“Push,” Wolfwood whispered, clenching his jaw.  The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged, straining as the priest closed his eyes and leaned.

 

A stream of perspiration dripped over Vash’s temple and down his cheek.  He tensed his body, half-afraid of the pain in his muscles as he strained to push.

 

“Ouch!  Damn it, Vash!   If we’re going to do this, you have to be more forceful!  I told you that this would be hard for me!”

 

Taking just a moment to reposition themselves, they tried again.

 

“Aaarg!”  Wolfwood cried out as Vash felt something give beneath him.  “Keep going,” the priest encouraged, out of breath.   “It’s going to get easier from here.”

 

The sweat beneath Vash’s palms made him slide against the hot metal of the hood.  He’d never felt like this before, like he was burning and melting all at once.  His brain was focused on the gentle rocking of the car as he pushed, the short thrusts of his body, the hot sunlight that made the perspiration boil on his back.

 

He couldn’t tell if Wolfwood’s grunts and moans were from effort or pain.  The sweat on his wrapped arm, the only part of him Vash could really see as he pressed against the car, seemed pink beneath the bloody gauze.

 

“Vash!” Wolfwood yelled, his voice tight, “Just a bit more and—”

 

“Can I help?”  Milly’s sweet voice made them freeze.  “Please Mr. Vash, Mr. Wolfwood?”

 

Wolfwood’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head.  “I told you to wait in the car,” he growled.

 

Vash was mortified--the women weren’t supposed to be part of this.  This kind of thing was between men only.  He glanced up, panicked until he saw that Meryl was still in place behind the wheel.

 

“Please?” Milly asked petulantly, unbuttoning her coat.  “My brothers let me help, as soon as I was big enough.

 

With a sigh, Vash stepped away from Wolfwood and the car, allowing Milly to slide between them.  The tall girl removed her coat and tossed it onto the ground.

 

Wofwood winced.  “I didn’t want you to have to do this,” he growled, giving Milly more room.  Vash noticed that his friend’s cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

 

“But I want to,” she said, smiling.  “You shouldn’t be doing this at all, in your condition--the least I could do is make it easier on you!”

 

Milly was just as sweaty as they were, but Vash couldn’t help but enjoy the feminine sweetness of her scent, so different from the masculine smell of Wolfwood.  “Ready?” he asked, more enthusiastic than before.  With Milly’s help this should be easy--almost fun.

 

The three of them moved in perfect unison, arms and legs and hips all pushing together as the car rocked gently on its suspension.  Wolfwood’s grunts and Milly’s tiny sighs only drove Vash to work harder, leaning and thrusting until he bit his lip with frustration, holding back his strongest, most gratifying push until they were both ready.

 

“Now!” Wolfwood barked, and Vash changed the tempo of his short thrusts into one powerful movement.

 

Milly’s triumphant cry mingled with Wolfwood’s as the priest collapsed to the ground, resting his sweaty forehead on the clumping sand.

 

“Ohhh,” Milly sighed, flopping onto the hood of the car.  “I’m so hot and exhausted!  Let’s get something to eat!”

 

Vash, now sitting with his head rested on his burning hot knees, couldn’t agree more.  Except that he couldn’t move an inch.  Fatigue and the tingly triumph of satisfaction left him powerless.

 

“Let’s go already!”  Meryl suddenly loomed over him.  “We got the car out of that ditch, now let’s hurry.”  She flung his smelly shirt at him, and grinned, hands on her hips.  “I want to make it to June before dinnertime!”

 

Dragging himself to his feet, Vash glanced down at the two-foot ditch next to the road.  He glanced at his friends, for the thousandth time happy to have met up with them.

 

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end