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“Can I offer you something to drink, uh, Mr. Boothill… sir? Himeko makes the best coffee. You’d love it!”
“Thank you kindly for the invitation, but I was fixin’ to head out soon. Got a score to settle not far from here,” March 7th sighs, giving him a silly grin, “Still, thank you for letting me check out your little space here. It’s real handsome.”
Caelus’ Express is magnificent. It’s far removed from the glitz and glamor of Penacony, but it’s pretty all the same. Warm but not hot, well-lit but not blinding. Boothill is so enraptured with the view and character that he almost misses the Knight standing by the window, chatting with a man he’s fairly certain is the famed Dan Heng he’s heard so much about.
His spurs jingle slightly as he walks, his boots kissing the tile with a sound he’s certain the dead hear in their nightmares, the soft whisper and click of the leather entangled deeply with the sensational bite of a bullet, but the gazes that follow him are all friendly, pleasant for once.
The Knight turns around- he’s handsome, and so is Dan Heng, at his shoulder, but the Knight’s eyes- they’re like aquamarine crystals.
He knows those eyes.
“Well, Heaven. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, huh?”
“Ah, my friend. I didn’t know you knew the Astral Express.”
“It’s recent.”
Argenti is just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen him, and though there are no explosions lighting up his handsome face, this time, painting him in colors not unlike a sunset, he’s just as gorgeous. His red hair tumbles across his polished armor in easy waves, effortlessly divine and unapologetically pretty, his smile is dashing, bright and sincere, and when he clasps Boothill’s hands in his, it’s damn near reverent.
“You… know each other?”
March glances between them, visibly shocked. Dan Heng does not look as surprised, his expression as cool and calm as March had lamented it always was.
“I was actually just talking about you. Dan Heng asked what I’d been up to- I mentioned I’d met a beautiful Ranger not long ago.”
“You flatter me.”
“Never,” Argenti chides, running his fingers over the backs of Boothill’s knuckles, drawing their hands almost to his chest, “It’s all earnest.”
“ Heaven. C’mon now.” Boothill ducks his head, letting his hat hide the way his eyes are certainly flexing oddly, trying to catch the ‘threat’ that’s made butterflies come alive in his neurons.
“Uhh… we actually have a ‘no kissing in the Express’ Main Cabin’ policy!” March yelps, suddenly, flailing her hands.
“F-” Boothill’s expression twists, almost comically, “I wadn’t- We weren’t-”
“Uh, or that’s what Mr Yang would say, haha- Good thing he’s not here! And good thing- Uh, Dan Heng, I need you- to- Dan Heng! Come with me! The database needs you.”
“The- what?” Dan Heng glances between all of them, passively, as if he’s used to this.
“Oh, what’s that? Coming, Caelus! We are coming and we are going to be in there. And that train, that one over there? Is going to be conveniently empty, as always, and whoops! Look at that, I dropped my keycard! The thing which only I have for that private room! At the end of that hallway! Oh no!”
Dan Heng reaches down to grab it, and she swats his hand, grumbling gibberish under her breath, gesturing wildly at Boothill and Argenti.
He grabs it anyway, handing it to Argenti, his gaze plain, visibly unimpressed.
“It’s a guest cabin.” He explains, casually, “And since you’re the only guests, you can have it. Feel free to lock it, nobody’s scheduled to arrive as a guest for a while, since we’re docking to resupply. We’ll be at the Space Station.”
“Uh…” Boothill glances at Argenti, then at March and Dan Heng, “Sure… Thanks?”
Argenti releases Boothill’s hands to clasp Dan Heng’s and retrieve the card, bowing his head, “Thank you, Dan Heng,” and then March’s, “And you, March 7th.”
A wild blush colors her face, and she twitches slightly, awkward and embarrassed, gently extracting her hands. Argenti bows, politely, a hand on his chest- ever chivalrous.
“Aha… Of course… Now, uh… We really do have to…. uh…”
Dan Heng nods, turning, and she splutters, chasing him.
“You stayin’?” Boothill asks, facing the Knight.
“For a few days, perhaps. My ship is in the hold.”
“ Shtick. Can I see it?”
“Of course.”
“ Oh,” Boothill runs his hands reverently over the beautiful red and gold of Argenti’s ship, slightly bulkier than his own, with flared wings, far weightier than the Bullet vessel, the Knight’s skiff equipped more like a tank than a fighter.
“What’s her name?” He asks, running his hand along the golden ornamentation along one of the tucked wings, and Argenti watches him, his gaze deeply intense.
“ The One and Only.”
“Pretty.”
“Indeed. I try to worship beauty in every way that I can, naturally my ship should follow suit.”
Boothill thumbs over a rose embossment, before glancing back at Argenti.
He’s as pretty as his ship , Boothill thinks, lamely.
“Beauty or Idrilia?”
“Both. They are the same, really.”
Boothill steps toward him, cocking his hip, “So… when you call me beautiful? Is that worshiping Them?”
“It’s worshiping you.” Argenti explains, proudly. Boothill gives him his hands as Argenti reaches out with his own again, and the Knight practically glitters with excitement over his little indulgence.
“ Heaven . Kind of intimidating, phrased like that, but I like it. We’re not so different, you and I.”
“No?” Argenti’s gaze fixes to his eyes, roams his face.
“Nope. We’re both convicted.”
“I agree. And so this,” and he releases one of Boothill’s hands to gesture, the other hand sliding to clasp their palms together, draw him toward The Bullet, “ must be your vessel?”
The Bullet is sleek, and well-armed. She’s completely black save for the tips of her four wings, like a reticle, one on each side of the main body, like streaks off a bullet, lined with dark red that only shines once it’s already too close to outrun.
“Sure is.”
“Gorgeous,” Argenti breathes, resting a hand along the side and closing his eyes almost like he’s listening to her breathe, “You have good taste.”
“Thank you kindly.”
“She’s fast?”
“The fastest.” And when he smiles, toothy and wild, Argenti grins back like he’s been given some sort of reward.
Neither of them packed much, so when they settle into their rooms, Boothill wanders back into Argenti’s, sitting on his bed as the Knight fusses with a painting, orienting it just so so that it’s perfectly parallel and flush to the wall. There’d been a slightly crooked frame in his room, too, a sign of too much hyperspace with too few guests wandering in and out.
After a moment, Argenti begins peeling off his armor. It’s slow, almost like a show, from gloves to gauntlets to his chest plate. He’s gorgeous as he does it, casually sensual, and Boothill’s eyes never leave him, even for a second, watching full plate give way to a tall, warm and muscular Knight who is no less striking or dangerous bereft of his armor than encased in it. It is blatant intention- an offering. He follows Boothill’s gaze, the way he spreads his legs and leans forward, interested.
Argenti keeps stealing glances at him, as he strips, lingering looks that trail from the tips of his boots to the top of his hat and, after the eighth, once he finally is left only in his velvety red and gold underclothing, an embroidered tunic and pants, he sighs.
“Forgive my staring. It’s not often I get to revel in the presence of beauty as striking as yours.”
That’s not all, he knows- he can feel the sparks of chemistry between them, the way Argenti’s eyes burn as they bore into him, fascinated and eager, the way his own gaze pierces right back. His collar is slightly flushed where his tunic slopes low down his chest. Boothill can’t help the way his gaze travels along his flesh.
“Nah. I see you looking, and I don’t mind, trust, but I’ll be transparent and say I don’t have the parts you’re looking for.”
Argenti’s eyebrow raises, and then he shrugs, “I don’t mind either way.”
“Ah-” He laughs, helplessly, “No, uh. I don’t have anything at all. I can only feel on my face or in my internal circuitry to sense damage, so any extra parts were sorta unnecessary.”
Argenti glances down, at his groin, where his chaps are cut almost to his crotch, ( and internally, he appreciates the way the Knight gets straight to the point,) and then nods, as if he’s finally put pieces of some sort of puzzle together, before he looks back up to his eyes, “Is it strange?”
“Nah. Y’get used to the quirks.”
“I’m sure I could get used to them, if you’d let me.”
“You… uh.” Could he?
“Unless that’s just your polite way of saying no, in which case, consider the matter no further.” And he’s telling the truth- he can tell that if he weren’t interested, Argenti would stop- that the staring and casual intimate touches would cease.
But he finds he doesn’t want them to.
“No, no. I’m… interested, I think. I just don’t know how interested I can get, if you catch my meaning.”
“We could find out.” Argenti’s in his space now, two steps from being right between the part of his knees, the wide spread of his thighs, standing over him and visibly brimming with the urge to close the distance.
“It might not be all that good for you.”
“Your beauty is all I need.”
“C’mon, ‘Genti. You should know by now y’don’t need to flatter me.”
“I’m not.” Argenti says, earnestly, as he always does.
He kneels, between his legs, and Boothill leans back, using a heel to guide him forward until their bodies are nearly touching.
“We could try.” Argenti says, sincerely.
“Sure. Reckon it can’t hurt, huh?”
Argenti traces along Boothill’s chest, his hips, “Tell me if you feel anything.”
“Sure.”
Laid bare, he is truly one of the most beautiful things Argenti has ever seen- if he had not known Idrilla’s truest form, he might think it were the man in front of him.
Argenti continues glancing up at Boothill’s expression as he runs his hands along his metal flesh and soft flexible joints.
And then he runs his finger along a groove, into a divot where a data stick would go, and Boothill jolts.
“What the Samhill -”
Argenti pauses, staring up at his face, “Bad?” And when Boothill doesn’t answer, “Good?”
“ Something, that’s for sure, which is ordinarily more’n I can say.”
“Hmm. I have an idea, if you’ll permit it?”
“Sure. Can’t hurt.”
Argenti rises, leaning over him, and Boothill’s eyes zoom, and flex, his retina narrowing in on his face.
Argenti licks his finger, a little grin on his face, as if he’s just had some sort of genius idea.
Boothill can feel the slightest press of Argenti’s finger along the port’s wiring, tucked into the side of his hip, the conduction from the copper wiring tucked along its edges making it sting in a way he’s surprised isn’t unpleasant for the knight.
“Feel anything?”
Boothill barely stops himself from squirming, his face twisting into something strange, “You don’t?”
“No. Not on my hand. The conduction isn’t strong enough on my end.
“And- uh,” He shivers, full-bodied, as the strange sensation travels along the rest of his wiring, the squeeze of his synthetic heart picking up like he’s on a hunt, “Where else might you feel it?”
“Would you like to guess?” Argenti asks, sweetly, smiling at him with the utmost radiance.
“Oh, Heaven ,” Boothill breathes, “My back,” He adds, “There’s a fuel inlet on my back.”
Argenti’s hand slides around, back to thumb at the screws, then the cover, which Boothill opens with his own hand, pressing on one of his ‘nerves’ nearby.
“Is this for electricity?”
“Chargin’? No. ‘S for… Blood n’ uh,” he can feel- he can feel, through the slightest amount of conduction, the way Argenti’s hand runs along the inner gasket, then presses along the wiring where the tank and his ‘veins’ meets the inlet, “-gasoline.” It is not pleasure the way a man of flesh might feel it- it is conductivity, pure sensation where there had been none. And that is not unlike pleasure.
“How does it feel?”
“Terrifyin’, I think.” He winces, slightly, before his expression smooths out, the minute servos in his flesh twitching, the actuators of his musculature unable to decide whether to store the sensations or carry them, before they rush along his neural processors, flushing throughout his body in a shadow of feeling .
“I can stop.” Argenti offers, and Boothill only groans, leans back into his hand.
“Don’t you dare .”
Argenti laughs, softly, tracing Boothill’s inner wiring and veins, and the man shivers, hard, gripping his shoulders like he’s the sole hope for his salvation.
“Can I try something?” Argenti asks, again, after a moment.
“Ain’t you already?” He whispers, shakily, his synesthesia beacon quivering with the influx of information, “ Heaven, sure.”
Argenti surges up to kiss him almost like he’s desperate, cupping his face with his free hand.
Boothill’s lips are inhumanly soft, even with the severe sharpness of his teeth. Against the balm on Argenti’s own lips, their kiss is smooth, meandering. Argenti kisses like he’s worshiping him, slow and tasting, and he slips his tongue into Boothill’s mouth seemingly without fear of his monstrous fangs.
Argenti kisses him between breaths, lingering on his lower lip even as Boothill gasps, “ Baby,” and then, “ Sugar,” and then, with a sour expression, “ Heaven.”
Argenti slides a nail along a thin wire, then caresses his vein with his thumb just as he trails his hand along his face.
“Ah- Baby. Heaven.”
“You have a sweet mouth for a ranger.”
“Not on purpose,” Boothill whines, “Somebody- ah- tampered with my synesthesia beacon.”
“ Oh?”
“‘s why I’m sayin’ all that sweet ship . Ship. …Shi..puh. Heaven, See what I’m-? Oh. Oh, I felt that. I… Oh, baby.”
Argenti laughs, into his mouth, kissing him again, “Yes. I do. Though, I can’t say I mind. Your voice sounds pretty when you’re sweet.”
“ Heaven.”
“Baby,” Argenti echoes, and Boothill’s knee jerks, suddenly. Argenti dodges, sliding his own knee between Boothill’s legs, supporting himself on the impressive muscle of his thigh.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve another idea, if you’re willing.”
“For you? Can’t say I’m opposed to much of anything you do.”
Argenti pulls him to standing, then guides them both around the side of the bed, before sitting up at the headboard, lifting his knees and offering Boothill his hand.
“ Ohh. I like the way you think.”
Argenti just laughs, again, letting Boothill settle in his hips, lean forward onto his chest, rest his weight on his knees and hands.
“I want you to just let yourself react.”
“Can do. And what’ll you get out of it?”
“The pleasure of watching someone as beautiful as you lose yourself in ecstasy.”
“You don’t wanna… how can I say it… friggin’ virus… lose yourself , was it?”
“Who says I won’t?”
“Maybe I want to touch you, huh? Let a man have a little dignity.”
“You’re resplendent.”
“ Heaven. You sure are something.”
Argenti pulls him down, finding the neural-signalers in his inlet again, and kisses him, caressing his face and tongue just as he sends neural pulses into his veins and wires, sending waves of sensation through him, that, tangling with the pleasure from the way he’s touching his face, insight a reaction in him not unlike arousal, leaving him panting and desperate.
Boothill whines, then snaps his lips closed, his brow furrowing with frustration, with something pent-up and needy, perhaps even slightly embarrassed.
“Beautiful,” Argenti breathes, kissing along his jaw, his cheeks, along the bridge of his nose and below his eyes.
Boothill’s hips roll, instinctively, and Argenti’s nails dig into his wiring and veins, sending a pulse of signaling through his entire nervous system.
Boothill’s body locks, shivering, spasming slightly, and his eyes go wide, the occipital display, a scope reticle, shivering and darting across Argenti’s body, widening and shrinking until it’s the slightest of red pins in his ordinarily grey eyes.
“ Baby, Argenti, Oh, heaven.”
Argenti presses his nail into the tubing, again, almost harshly, and Boothill’s jaw drops with a ragged sound, a whimper, almost, like he’s unsure of whether it’s pain or pleasure.
“Good? Bad?”
“If you stop I will kill you.” Boothill whispers, but it’s soft, eager, almost sugary, “Er, no- I’m a gentleman-” He groans, raggedly, “So- if you-”
Argenti hums, “It won’t be on my account that we stop.”
“I feel it.” Boothill emphasizes, “Ah, I feel it. Argenti.”
“Good. Let yourself feel it.”
“Can’t believe it,” he whispers, “Can’t believe you. Heaven .”
Boothill rolls his hips again, pressing into Argenti’s hand, chasing the wave of feeling.
Argenti shudders, beneath him, one hand gripping the slope of his hip hard enough that on anybody else, it might even bruise.
Argenti matches him with a roll of his own, petting the wires and veins of his inlet, returning a hand to his face to keep flooding him with sensation, and then they’re kissing again, sloppy and eager, moving together smoothly.
Boothill can feel the way the sensations are overloading his body, making something coil in him, his musculature bunching up as if poised to pounce, storing energy.
“Feels good,” He rasps, mindlessly, and Argenti hums, grinding up against him, drawing him close to fit their hips together, dig into his wiring more acutely.
“Baby,” Argenti whispers, echoing him, and Boothill groans, pressing his face hard into Argenti’s neck, hiding his face. He blindly tongues at him, mouthing along his jaw and throat, scraping his teeth along the skin. He can feel. Argenti gasps, softly, in his ear, muffled sounds of pleasure as Boothill kisses bruises into his collar.
He can taste the shadows of Argenti’s sweat, even on his mechanical tongue, hypersensitive as it is, can taste where he’s scraped skin raw with his teeth.
“You can bite,” Argenti whispers, on the tail end of a moan, “Oh, I would be grateful to wear your marks.”
So Boothill does. Sinks his teeth almost meanly into the meat of his shoulder, and Argenti’s hips buck, his fingers scraping at his wires sharply, a thumb curling into the gasket, pressure from all around.
“ Beautiful,” Argenti whispers.
They’ve lost rhythm, Boothill arching into his hand almost madly, but Argenti keeps them both tethered, moving smoothly, even as his slow grind turns into sharp little stutters of movement against the Knight’s waist, his body locking up.
Bells ring in his skull, or perhap blaring warnings that something is about to happen, and as Argenti tilts their heads, seals their lips together again, Boothill’s entire body seizes, sparks exploding across each and every one of his nerves, impulses gone haywire.
His body locks up and then uncoils with a snap, the only thing keeping him from fully falling are Argenti's steady hands keeping him afloat.
He opens his eyes moments later, watching the way Argenti smiles, brushing his hair out of his face.
“Gorgeous,” he breathes, cupping his face with both hands.
His hands tremble erratically where they’re perched upon Argenti’s chest, so overloaded with sensation he can barely move them.
Steam peels out of his jaws, overheated, his retinal display flexing wildly, his processors whirring so loud, so excited, he’s certain even the Knight can hear it.
When his body finally begins to obey him again, he tilts his head.
“Want me to finish you?” He rasps, and his vocoder pitches raw with synthetic tones, a buzzing undercurrent making him sound strange, sort of hitching and mechanical.
“You don’t need to.” Ever the chivalrous knight.
“Maybe I want to.” And to his ears, the sound of his haywire mechanicus is just shy of unpleasant, but Argenti’s eyes widen like he’s found religion in it.
“If it would please you as well.”
“ Heaven, baby, I’m not sure you could do anything but.”
Argenti twitches at the sound, his head falling back on a silent sigh.
“Promise I won’t use my teeth.” Boothill jokes, but Argenti almost looks like he wouldn’t mind either way.
He parts Argenti’s legs, settling between them, freeing him from his pants, so hard he’s surely losing his mind, and yet Argenti watches like Boothill himself is more gratifying than anything his own body can do to him.
He gives him a tentative lick, and Argenti’s hand twitches almost like he wants to grab him, so Boothill threads the hand through his hair, gazing up at him like he’s heaven-sent.
He tucks his teeth behind his lips, flattening his tongue and lowering himself onto him. Argenti’s hand twitches in his hair, before it relaxes, brushing his fingers along his scalp rhythmically.
It doesn’t take much, all things considered. And the taste- though it should be mostly unpleasant, (like bullets should be, but aren’t,) something about all of it combined drives him insane. He’s so focused on tasting every little thing, feeling every inch of his flesh on his tongue, that he only realizes Argenti’s close because the Knight’s hand in his hair tenses and tugs the slightest amount, alerting him.
“Not sure I should swallow,” Boothill says, after he pulls off, “Stomach’s mostly reserved for ammo.”
Argenti laughs, breathlessly, his chest heaving, thighs twitching. He swallows, heavily, gasping for breath.
“Maybe I should just leave you here.” He muses, and Argenti’s expression twitches into something sort of desperate.
“If…” He clears his throat, “If you need.”
“I’m teasin’. But lookit you.”
He wraps a hand around him, leaning forward to kiss him again, and Argenti’s brow furrows, his muscles pulling taught, gripping one of his shoulders hard.
“C’mon, baby.” He murmurs, against his lips, and Argenti’s back bows.
Boothill swallows the sound of his moan, and strokes him through his climax gently, until Argenti goes still and limp. Tenderly, he kisses every inch of his face, coaxing him to absorb the afterglow.
When they are cleaned up, they lie together in Argenti’s room, almost instinctively.
Boothill works the tangles out of Argenti’s hair, and is blinded by the memories it evokes in him, so much so that when they lie down, Boothill’s back to Argenti’s chest, they don’t say anything, for a while.
“Did I upset you?” Argenti asks, gently.
“No. No, your hair just reminded me of someone.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I…” and he doesn’t know why, but with Argenti… he does, “... had a daughter,” Boothill says, softly, turning to face Argenti- the metal along his chest and waist are warm from Argenti’s body heat, curled around him, and even if it weren’t, the Knight never shies away from the cold, touches every part of him like it’s holy and divine, the greatest pleasure he’s ever known, “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Argenti’s lips quirk up into this little smile, soft and honest, brushing his hand along Boothill’s jaw, into his hair.
“Sort of,” He confirms, “Adopted. I lost her.”
“I’m sorry. Yet, that’s not ‘sort of’ to me.”
Boothill leans into his hand, closing his eyes and kissing his palm. Argenti leans forward, touching their foreheads together. He laughs softly, almost into the Knight’s mouth.
“She’s the reason I keep fighting. I want to make the people who took her and my fathers from me suffer the way I did. I want them to pay.”
“They will.” Argenti says, with such blinding conviction Boothill can’t help but lean into him, sensing the way his arms move to encase him, even if he can’t fully feel it.
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
“Some things are cloudier than others. Uh… I made her this guitar? She would just sort of… tap her fingers on it,” He gestures, rolling his knuckles, mimicking her against Argenti’s arm,, “I used to play. Not sure I could anymore.”
Argenti reaches for his hand, kissing the backs of his knuckles even though he knows the man can’t feel it- it sends tingles through his body anyway. Phantom sensations he’s never known before.
“Music was one of the first times I found beauty.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm. I’m not very good at it, but the notes of an ocarina kept me sane while my world crumbled around me.”
“I knew we were alike.” Boothill murmurs.
“We are loathe to be complacent in suffering like we’ve seen.”
“You’re right. We’ll make them pay.”
“And, I hope, I can be here for you when you do.”
“Likewise. Even across the vastness of the universe, this is twice now we’ve found each other.”
“I’m sure it’s a good omen. We’re meant to cross paths.”
“Or you could give me your contact. To heaven with chance.”
“We forge our own destinies… Yes. I would like that.”
“Me too.”