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God, Wolfwood just makes her teeth grit.
Meryl fastens her hands around the wheel tighter, letting her foot get a little heavier on the gas. She would worry about skidding on the sand at these speeds but the faster they are, the further away they are from the disaster behind them.
Wolfwood is quiet in the passenger seat, save for the loud, annoying meddling of his lollipop. Every so often his teeth clack and the noise rings in her head, a frustrating sharpness to her already fraying nerves.
Meryl glances at him, trying to keep her patience in check.
It’s hard to tell in the dark, but she is sure his face is bruised up. The corner of his jaw, below his ear, looks pretty sore in color and just from the edge of his turned face, she can tell his eye will be black by tomorrow, maybe even in less time.
She knows he has those little – shots, in his jacket, that he could suck back and suddenly be a new, healthier man. But he’s jacketless in their stolen vehicle, all of his vices unavailable because they’re tucked inside it’s inner pockets.
Another rattle of his teeth into the shell of the hard candy.
Another thread shakes.
Meryl tries to settle down. She collects all the ire inside of her into a small box inside her chest, keeping it clamped tightly even though it’s ready to burst. All she has to do is keep it quiet and contained until they can get back to Vash and Roberto.
If the grinding of Wolfwood’s teeth doesn’t make her crash the car out of spite.
Part of her would question if he even realizes that he’s doing all these insignificant things but Merl knows better. It’s a placebo, something to fiddle his tongue against in lieu of a smoke. The stress speaks in his hands: twisting the candy stick, lifting to hold onto the bar beside the window, scratching at the hard line of his jaw. Innocent actions that still irk her.
Meryl considers the remaining straining strings of patience. She knows they were never very long to begin with since their captors accosted them, picking her up like a sack, roping Wolfwood like he was a tomas. Hell, maybe they had begun to shrink even before then - the whole reason they’d been grabbed was because Wolfwood wouldn’t listen to her, insisting on finding the right brand of cigarettes . For the flavor, he had said! Meryl was almost certain flavors didn’t differ when it came to those things, but if they did, they weren’t worth getting kidnapped over.
Clack.
Meryl’s nostrils flare on a calming inhale. She’s this close to ripping the candy out through his teeth, maybe taking a few with her. It’s a frustrating thought, because she doesn’t get like this. He just… does something to her.
She looks at him again. He doesn’t seem relaxed, but he’s not tense. No matter how long she peeks at him though, he never looks away from the window. His jaw rocks with his chomping, noisy again.
Meryl feels another thread go. What’s left tremble and tries to weather her sullen mood.
The truck sputters.
Her hands panic to control the wheel as it kicks the motion of the car into disarray, trying to correct the course. She manages it just as the engine coughs again. Wolfwood is thrown towards her and she towards him which results in their heads knocking, twin yelps of discomfort, before she overhauls the wheel. The truck finally listens and jerks to a stop. For a moment, that’s it. Stillness and the sigh of a dying truck.
Meryl slowly leans back in her seat. She counts in her head, really slowly and very carefully, imagining the numbers as large and colorful entities. Breathing is hard but she does it, controlled and even. She’s proud of herself.
Then Wolfwood says with a huff, “Should’a gassed up.”
It’s a mutterance, if anything. He could’ve just kept it in his head as a thought. It could’ve lived there for a short time then been gone – all without Meryl having to hear it. It really is that easy! Meryl has had to keep her mouth shut plenty of times even though she would’ve liked to have said something.
The fact that Wolfwood has to say it now is what snaps the lock on that little box.
“Oh really!” She crows and twists in her seat. His eyes are wide, immediately shocked by her volume, but he hasn’t had the inclination to get defensive yet. The lollipop hangs from Wolfwood’s open mouth, hooked on his teeth.
“When?” Meryl interrogates, lifting one hand off the wheel to swing it. “When could I have gassed up, Undertaker?”
She can’t see his eyes behind his glasses but she knows the tell of squinting eyes.
“Before we left,” He says, apropos of duh.
“Really?” Meryl says cheerily, the grin on her face uncanny to the emote of her voice. “Really? In the middle of escaping -”
Wolfwod groans and rolls his eyes. “Ok, relax, they were hardly -”
“From the people who wanted to -”
“It’s not that serious.”
“Use us against Vash, and you wanted to risk them waking up while we took our time and got gas?”
Wolfwood scoffs. “I would’ve just knocked them out.”
“That’s not the point!” Meryl slapped the wheel. “I wanted to get out of there!”
“Yeah,” he sounds annoyed now, leaking into his words, “But getting out of there and stuck out here are two different issues. We’re past the first part. Now our truck is outta gas and somehow, you’re not outta air.”
She shook her hands around empty space, pretending it was his head.
“You are so annoying!”
Wolfwood snorts.
“Says the kettle.”
She knows it’s a mixture of the adrenaline and anxiety, blended in measure, coursing through her. Knowing that still doesn’t stop her hand from reaching out, grabbing Wolfwood’s shirt to yank him close to pull the lollipop from his mouth.
“Can you not?” He growls as she whips it into the back. He curls his fingers around her wrist and the heat of them strikes her.
“I want you to take this seriously!” His grip holds fast and no matter how she twists her arm, she can’t break it. She knows better, this is practically cake to her to get out of, but the how has slipped her mind in order to make space for all the aggravation. “This isn’t normal!”
“It’ll be fine!” Wolfwood insists. Breathing coming out in hard gusts through her nose, Meryl pulls back, curling her fist towards herself, but it’s no good. Wolfwood doesn’t let go.
So instead, she pushes at him with her other hand, turning the force into a series of smacks punctuated with words.
“Look! Around! Us!” He curses in a language she’s never heard and tries to catch her other hand. She’s ready for him this time and keeps it out of reach. “We’re in the middle of a desert with a dead truck and we have no idea where we are! How is that fine? How are you fine with that?”
Wolfwood lifts up into his seat so he can push into hers, claiming her other hand with a force so hard she bares her teeth. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knows the logistics: they’re frustrated, hot, hungry and dehydrated. Her patience has thinned too much to care about sensibilities of appearance and calmness against his offenses. Teeth on a lollipop shouldn’t have gotten to her. In retrospect, it’s silly that all of this is because of that.
Wolfwood gets in her face, close enough she feels his breath fan over her.
“I am not fine with it,” he mocks her voice at a shrill that is nowhere like hers, “But I’m not the kind of guy to question what’s been handed to me, I just deal with it.”
Meryl thinks about kicking him, but by the time she got her feet up he’d probably clue in to what she was doing. She spins her wrists, hoping the friction will make him back off.
“Then don’t blame me for not getting gas!”
How was she supposed to know the truck was low? Why was that something she even had to worry about? If he hadn't been so one-track minded, they wouldn’t even be here! And he can’t even manage to be serious about it. Meryl feels grossly insan, on the edge of hilarity for the situation and its ridiculousness, wanting to wring him of all his silliness until he shows a shred of solemnity.
“Look,” Wolfwood says after a tense moment of will-they-won’t-they with their tangled grasps. Meryl, pulling away, and Wolfwood, pulling back. “I get it. It’s your first rodeo with a kidnapping -”
Meryl debates the merits of a headbutt.
“But I didn’t blame you for not getting gas. I’m just saying it wouldn’t have hurt! Ow! Calm down!”
This time, when she bites him, he does let her go along with spouting a bunch of colorful words. He flaps his marked hand, scowling at her.
Free now, she digs her fingers into the ones holding her other wrist, tucking her legs up from the seat well.
“Dios, will you just listen to me?” Wolfwood says until he growls, and hauls her close.
He must not have realized how much strength he had put into it. Maybe he was blinded by his own exasperation, exhausted from their mini scuffle. Maybe all the smacking around they did to him got to his head. But he ends up tugging her into his bubble, right where he’s hovered over the middle console. His fingers press so hard into her wrist she wonders if he can feel her traitorous, racing heart.
Her lips make a sound as she parts them, to curse him.
Wolfwood turns his face just enough that her curiosity is piqued. Then he’s on her. The kiss feels more like a punch with its ferocity and fire overtakes her, makes her lean into it and open her mouth the same time he does. She goes to him when his hand comes to rest on her back, guiding her, clambering to get over the separation between them and onto him.
Something spans between them, a tangible chord between their chests that tugs. It’s an uncomfortable position but the heat over his lap more than makes up for it. Meryl can’t bring herself to open her eyes, thrown by her own tenacity for kissing him. Neither of them let up.
He licks hotly into her mouth, the thick muscle of his tongue lighting arousal inside of her.
She grinds her hips down against him. It makes him flinch inside her mouth, turning his heavy exhaling into pants. Then he’s kissing her again, so deeply her head begins to swim.
His hands wander unhindered, sliding over the pert of her ass. Wolfwood uses that leverage to heft her closer, until there’s no space between their hips, stomach and chest. Feeling him breathing against her, the heavy in and out of his lungs, increases the little embers inside of her that want him.
Blood rushes in her ear when he slips his hand up to her waist, traveling up to the edge of her bra. Under they go until he’s able to cup her breast, his skin searing hers with how hot he runs. Meryl knew that, could feel it through his trousers, but the full onslaught makes her gasp. Once he finds it, he rubs his thumb over her nipple.
Meryl’s short on temper and inhibition so it’s with confidence that she leans back from his hold. She gets a glimpse of his - honest to god - pout when it forces his hand loose, his glasses lost in the chaos and giving her the full view of his face. It becomes agog again when she pulls her shirt off. Wolfwood’s eyes drink her in, locking on her chest, and before Meryl can second guess, his mouth closes on her nipple.
She throws her head back as he laves at her, grazing his teeth on the very tip of her nerves. He leans forward until she’s leaning back and from her position, it lets her feel the full brunt of his hardness against her. It’s a shame there’s so many layers, she thinks, because she would’ve liked to feel it more .
Realizing nothing’s stopping her, she tugs his hair.
He stops, backing up without letting her go, only intent on giving her space. He looks concerned and it hits her that they haven’t spoken once .
Suddenly, the idea of doing so makes her feel cowardly. Instead of letting him get out a word, she surges forward to kiss him again, pinching his lower lip between her teeth. His delighted noise rings in her ears. Encouraged, her hands fuss down between them to bully the button off his pants and touch him. It’s been a long time since she’s touched anyone’s dick but Wolfwood’s is a nice one. Even through his underwear, it twitches at her touch. The lack of air between them makes everything awkward, but all he needs to do is get her wet.
Which shouldn’t be too much of a problem, she notes. When she clenches herself she can feel the way her underwear sticks.
His breath hitches when she peels back his underwear to unearth the head, using her thumb to collect the precum collecting and swishing it around. Everything gets slippery fast and Wolfwood’s hips leap up, hungry for her attention. He makes a little noise into her mouth and she swallows it greedily as his hands grow distracted over her chest. With a little bit of wiggling, she gets his dick in her hand to give it a few proper strokes.
Meryl draws away to watch his pupils expand, how his mouth sits open stupidly with her frail touch. His expression straightens out soon enough, their predicament coming back to him, and his fanaticism returns with one hand dropping to her crotch, the other tangling itself up in her hair. He uses the newfound leverage to bring her back into a kiss. It starts rough but grows sloppy the more she explores his length, the want she feels in the slide of his tongue against hers melting in her chest, dripping right down to where she wants him.
Wolfwood’s impatience shows itself in the hard wrench he gives the button of her shorts. She squeaks as it pulls her waist. Meryl knows he wants to keep kissing her, the same way she wants to keep kissing him, because it’s easier than having the option to speak into the strange air between them. But mangling their clothes won’t do them any good.
She lets go of his dick to fumble with her pants instead. After a moment of watching her, Wolfwood follows suit. Their mutual hurry results in hands knocking against each other, the buckle of her belt bouncing off his knuckles and his hips lifting her awkwardly so he can shove his trousers to his thighs. They make it work, and when she comes to rest against him again the overwhelming press of him against her clothed sex makes her breath catch.
Red in the face, Wolfwood stares her down. Meryl’s aware of her own half-naked torso against his, how they reach for each other as if they could pass air between skin. He latches onto her neck before she can think of saying anything that might make sense. The sultry seal over her pulse point makes it jump and he licks that spot as a reward. She tilts her head to give him more access.
His arm shifts against her stomach and then his fingers are lightly touching at her pubic mound, skipping clumsily over the hot, cotton fabric. Down and down they go, until he can collect the edge of her underwear and tuck it to the side. The gap between them is so small that after the shock of air hitting her recedes, she becomes aware of the heated throb of him, especially when he nudges himself up against her. They grind together and Meryl can’t lock down the moan quick enough.
It's a nice feeling. The pressure of someone against her, how that calefaction overrides everything else. She doesn’t remember that they were arguing, petty and tired. All Meryl knows now is the shape of Wolfwood, and how she wants it inside her, carving out pleasurable spaces.
A finger tests through the swell of her folds and Wolfwood hums around where he’s got his teeth pricking her jaw. Whatever he’s felt must please him because he’s quick to slip into her with that same finger, shooting straight until she takes it all.
Wolfwood, for all his teasing, does not tease her here. No, if anything he’s eager - impatiently fitting a second finger inside her when there’s less resistance. The cramped position lets the edge of his hand rub up against her clit, letting her have that extra friction, letting that spot within her to swelter and wet his curling digits more.
He pulls back suddenly and with a roguish smile for her dazedness, spits down onto his cock.
The act makes her scoff, disgusted and yet it still doesn’t stop her from clenching around his fingers. He smirks and Meryl seeks to punish him, taking the lobe of his ear into her mouth. The reaction is instant: he moans, a high, thin little noise right by her own ear. The vulnerability of it makes her body sing and she wills him to prepare himself faster.
Wolfwood does not disappoint.
He hoists her hips then brings her down onto his waiting cock. He could’ve done it fast, embraced their frenzy and slammed home. But instead, he does it so slowly she can feel the way her walls shift, how he maybe could’ve spent more time stretching but it doesn’t change the fact it feels good. The way he fills her with molton. Meryl can’t help the way her thighs squeeze. He groans.
Brevity looms and Wolfwood wastes nothing more; the moment he settles he’s pulling back to do it again, and again, rough thrusts that arch her up. She has to put a hand on the roof of the truck so she isn’t propelled into it. She’s forced to release his ear lest she accidentally bite it off, but Wolfwood does not let her mouth rest long. He seizes it with fierceness, though neither of them can do much with their dissonant movement. It’s a lot of shared hot air, his panting overtaking hers, but Meryl finds this, unlike most things about the undertaker Wolfwood, does not bother her. In fact, it ignites her. There’s something about his desperation, so alike hers, that makes her claw at his shoulders, bracing against his furious hips. She spreads as far as she can, wishes she could take more of him in, wishes they weren’t in a car or that they got here differently - things she has no business worrying about when he’s rocking into her.
His hand cinches in her hair, reminding her of their closeness. He keeps her steady as he rolls up helplessly, letting their eyes catch and still. It feels too bare to look at him like this, with his fevered gaze unblinking, like he’s trying to search her so deep he figures out who she is.
Maybe he does that. Meryl gets to watch his face twitch, the muscles crumpling under the weight of his pleasure. It starts in his brow, the flinch as the fluttering of her heat around him begins to craze him. There’s a gentleness there, something exposed that she wants to poke over and over in the same fashion he does on her nerves. Their kiss is forgotten, given up on as he utters soft little noises as she constricts around him.
It makes Meryl wonder what he sees. How she looks to him.
Wolfwood’s hand shakes where he’s clutching at her hips, and stumbles down to her clit. The first touch he places against her is aggressive, rough enough to make her cry out loudly and then eases into something consistent and lovely . Leftover spit makes the glide of flesh velvety, makes her hips lose rhythm and fall into inconsistent jerking.
It proves to be too much for him. She feels him panic beneath him, tensing up and he careens backward to let his cock slip out of her just in time. His hand leaves her hair to direct himself so his spend shoots up her stomach, slit pulsing as he groans through his orgasm. Wolfwood’s thumb had dwindled its attention on her with the distracting climax but once his breath isn’t so jagged on her cheek, it resumes with fervor.
A breathy hiccup leaves Meryl. Wolfwood’s eyes light up, like a fox who found prey, and seeks her entrance with his fingers. He never stops watching her face as he plunges three into her, harshly rubbing at her center. It feels like he’s tending fire treading down ropes, ones that he tugs at over and over again. Her hips cant, she loses focus, all she can see is his smirk and his devilishly bright eyes, challenging her, ribbing at her just like he is inside of her, asking and asking, taunting with those delicious curls -
Wolfwood gently pinches her clit between his thumb and forefinger. With a strangled moan, following a litany of “Wolfwood” from her tongue, Meryl comes.
A tornado blazes through the space between her ears. She’s dazzling overcome for a moment, her body stretched on the pleasant sizzling through her groin. His fingers gentle as she continues to undulate around him, the aftershocks prickling the hair on her arms.
As her heart begins to pound less, reality comes creeping in. It’s a cat in the doorway, waiting for it to open wider to make its entrance. To avoid it, Meryl leans into his collarbone under the guise of resting.
He smells like sweat, but not overwhelmingly. She might even describe it as… comforting, in a way. Sweet, like nerves, and hot, like the sun they’d been under until night had fallen and they could escape. Something a little darker rests there, remnants of their frenzy.
Wolfwood remains very still under her as she catches her breath, and stays that way until Meryl makes an attempt to move.
The door to the truck opens with little flourish, and she shimmies out onto rubbery legs. They immediately begin to sing with numbness, a cold flush as her circulation begins to work again. His come begins to slide down her stomach and before she can fret about it too much, a piece of cloth is in her face.
“Found it in the glovebox,” Wolfwood mutters. His glasses are back on his face, too hard to read compared to the exposed manner of before. Meryl hesitates, but takes it when he offers it more insistently.
She cleans up with her back to him, in silence. He shifts behind her, most likely doing the same, and then she hears the zip of his trousers. Her shirt lands on her shoulder. Meryl bites her lip and after she tosses the soiled cloth on the ground, puts her shirt on and pulls her garments back up.
It’s not shame that becomes a miasma around her when she gets into the driver’s seat, but she couldn’t identify it if she tried. Now that the rose-colored glasses have been broken, she feels more than a little lost, and the dead speedometer of the truck offers nothing of solace to her.
Wolfwood shifts beside her and the sound of rustling cracks through the compartment. Meryl, not exactly startled by it, turns her head to watch him dig out a pair of lollipops from his pocket. One of which he offers to her.
“Not much we can do about the truck,” he says quietly, his tone even. “We could always walk.”
Meryl grimaces, surreptitiously wiggling in her seat. Her legs still feel like ghosts to her, her toes cold with numbness. She doesn’t think she could walk anymore than a ile.
“Maybe in the morning.”
Wolfwood shrugs to that, unwrapping the candy. He considers it for a second before putting it into his mouth. It clanks off his teeth and Meryl chokes the zap of annoyance that triggers from the sound. She pockets hers for later.
“Fair enough.”
His agreeance feels strange, given how they’ve gotten to this strange spot of awkwardness. It’s with weariness she realizes how late it must be, the moons hidden by clouds in the dark sky. The lack of light messes with her, makes her sleepier on top of the buzz of good(ish) sex. Wolfwood must reach that conclusion too, because he begins to move. Meryl watches as he fits himself between the two front seats, grunting and cursing as he climbs into the back. He stretches his gawky form out, knees bent awkwardly, and then extends his hand out to her.
Meryl blinks.
He stares back at her. Or, she assumes he does. She can’t really tell with his glasses.
“What do you want, Undertaker?” She asks, trying to avoid snippiness.
Wolfwood drops his chin to look at her over the sunglasses, and scoffs.
"Back to first name basis?" She scowls. “Get back here,” he claps his fingers into his palm.
Beckoning her.
Meryl weighs her options. It seems like neither of them are going to mention what happened. She’s not entirely sure she’s fine with that, but she also doesn’t really feel like talking about it right now. She’s not even sure if she wants to cuddle with him, but the allure of sleep is too great. The night was already long, it didn’t need to be longer.
Climbing into the back is a lot cleaner for her than it was for him. The moment she gets a knee on the seat, he’s helping maneuver her into position. It’s cramped but it’s warm, maybe too warm as his chest presses against her back, but she’s slept in more uncomfortable ways. He fixes them so his arm braces her head, and then his breath is tickling the back of her neck, the shell of her ear. Years pass by in seconds.
Her irrationality got the best of her. Meryl struggles with if it’s a bad thing or not. It didn’t feel bad. Part of her wouldn’t be mad if it happened again, though contending with the rest of her is easier said than done. She can be furious with herself in the morning.
“Turn it off.” Wolfwood’s voice is loud by her ear, exaggerated by the silence in the truck.
“What?” Meryl asks stiffly.
“Your brain,” he sighs, “I can feel you thinking.”
His arm comes around her waist and squeezes. She overlaps it with her own.
“Just go to sleep,” Wolfwood urges.
How can I ? She thinks.
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, considering we didn’t get any gas, we probably didn’t get that far. I’ll keep an eye out.”
Does he need to be holding her to do that? In fact, Meryl thinks it’d be better if she was alone in the backseat, and he was in the front seat. That would give him more mobility.
It’s a rouse.
She smiles to herself, and she feels herself relax despite everything. It’s more than a little confusing, but she’ll figure it out. Things like this tend to. She moves her hand from his to touch the outline of the lollipop in her pocket, strangely touched.
The clack of candy on teeth. Something small pokes the back of her head.
Meryl sighs.