Work Text:
"Vash the Stampede."
He peers up from his place at your feet, hands bound in chains behind his back. His blue-green gaze is piercing.
You'd finally captured him - that rogue nomad of a man worth sixty billion double dollars.
You snatch his chin, manhandling his face, intending to inspect him from every angle, and he grins sheepishly.
"Awful good-looking for a 'humanoid typhoon,'" you mutter, leaning in close. Your eyes land on his beauty mark, your brows climbing into your hairline. "Pretty boy."
He scoffs, but you note the pink flush that rises high on his cheeks. "I'm just your average Joe, really."
"Uh-huh. With the highest payout in history," you drawl, releasing his chin in favor of burying your hand in his hair. "Ain't no way it sits like this natural."
"Hey," he protests, but his neck goes limp, as if even the thought of putting up a fight wasn't worth it. "Humanoid typhoons don't get so good-looking on happenstance, so I’d appreciate some gentler treatme -"
You tug - not hard; just a little warning to get him to shut that big mouth. But instead he gasps.
He goes rigid, his knees parting ever-so-slightly wider, chains rattling as his chest heaves.
For as stunned as you are by his reaction, he looks twice as dumbfounded.
Oh?
"... Liked that, did you, pretty boy?"
He opens his mouth, likely about to spout something snarky, but you pull hard, bending him backward by the root.
He makes a noise - a startled yelp mixed with something… pleased.
"Wh-what the -" he breathes, back arching prettily, face beet red with embarrassment, and oh, this would be fun.
"You did," you sing, eyeing the tent forming in the crotch of his tight leather bodysuit. "You do. Cute."
"N-now hold on just a -"
Despite his protests, he doesn't struggle, knees splayed wide, and though his long arms can't quite reach the ground, the tips of his fingers perch against the pavement beneath him in a desperate attempt to keep him upright.
Bendy.
You hum, your other hand trailing slowly up his ribcage and smoothing over the warm leather pulled taut across his chest, pleased to find his nipple has stiffened beneath it.
"Adorable," you murmur, circling your finger around it and grinning, delighted, when he twitches. "You ever been handled like this, Mr. Vash?"
He huffs, squirming helplessly, but nonetheless giving you that disarming, lop-sided smile. "N-no, I - I don't generally - mmh -"
You ghost the pads of your fingers back and forth over his nipple and a muscle in his jaw jumps, his head twitching to the side, and he chokes on an inhale when all of his squirming only accomplishes another good yank on his scalp.
"- puuuuut out on the - first date -"
"Well then," you say, leaning in close, breath fanning over the flushed-red skin of his neck, peeking up at him as you pinch his nipple between your fingers.
You watch as those pretty eyes of his roll back, entirely too smug as humanity's first localized disaster turns to putty in your hands.
Your foot slowly slides between his legs, the toe of your boot nudging teasingly over the seam in the thigh of those deliciously tight pants before hovering over the telling bulge at the apex of his thighs.
You press, and the startled, whorish moan he releases in response is sin incarnate.
"How's about we fix that, hm? Before I throw you to the wolves."
He hesitates, breaths coming in short huffs, eyes glassy and distant and holy shit is Vash the Stampede a sub?
"C'mon, now," you say loudly, clearly, raising your hand to give his cheek a firm, grounding smack. "Use your words, pretty bo -"
"Yeah, yes," he practically wails, trembling, eyes downcast as he tries to catch a glimpse of the scene unfolding between his legs. "Please, please, I can't - I've never -"
You coo, caressing his reddening cheek tenderly in apology, and he leans shyly into the touch - only to whimper pathetically when the sole of your boot teases up and down his clothed hardness, ever-so-slowly.
"Good boy."