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Val’s mouth was pulled into a grim line at the three bodies on the ground, huddled under the remains of a highway ramp around a campfire. The three gen-two synths that had killed them lay in a heap nearby; his rifle and Mac’s had made quick work.
“Poor bastards.” He muttered under his breath, though MacCready had been close enough to easily pick it up. Val watched with some amusement as the other man rifled through their pockets.
“Can’t save ‘em all—’sides, this one even had a pack on ‘em.” Mac stood and gently nudged the immobile leg of one of the scavengers. He opened the pilfered cigarettes and took one out before shoving the mangled pack into a pocket. “Needed a refill.”
He gave Mac a tilt of his head and a smile, “You know me. Bleeding heart and all.” He was getting desensitized to all the death the Commonwealth dealt out; as dark as it might be, Val was almost glad that seeing corpses could still make him feel something .
Mac laughed, short and breathy. “Oh trust me, I’m aware. I can’t even fault you for it. If you didn’t give a crap about poor souls out here, I doubt we would’ve even…y’know.” He looked down, avoiding finishing in favor of lighting up.
It made Val smile. What they had started was still new, and Mac had a tendency to dance around words. It was endearing—he’d be worried about his commitment if Mac wasn’t one of the most severe romantics he’d ever met. Robert Joseph MacCready just got embarrassed easily it seemed…or maybe it’d just been a long time, for them both. It was a little encouraging to find that something as innocent as confessing to someone could still feel as embarrassing as it did in school. They’d get better at it.
“Oh, I dunno. I think even if I wasn’t jumping to save people’s asses I’d still help you. You’d mouth off until I did something drastic.”
Mac looked up from his cigarette with a raised eyebrow, the perfect picture of ‘not impressed’. “Oh yeah? Like what.”
Val’s grin grew wider, drawing closer to stand near the fire the scavengers had made—it’d started raining while they were chasing after the sounds of gunshots earlier and they were still semi-dry, he’d like to keep it that way. “Run off across the Wasteland to help a handsome father in hopes of winning his heart. It might require some custom-made coffins for his enemies though.” He hooked an arm around Mac’s waist, getting the desired smile on his lover’s face. “Think it’ll work?”
Gone was the put-upon air of irritation in lieu of a gentle smile, a real one. Val liked his real smiles: small, turned-up corners of his mouth like he wasn't used to it. He’d make sure he got used to it.
“Yeah, it just might. You might need a contingency plan though. What if you do end up winning his heart, huh?”
Val pretended to think it over, leaning in closer and plucking the cigarette out of Mac’s fingers to take a draw himself. It didn’t do much to calm his own jitters but it was habitual, an act, which in itself was calming. He blew out before looking back down at Mac, who’d been following his actions with his eyes. Val felt the grin fall back into place like a new habit to be formed, except instead of nicotine it was just being close.
“If he reciprocates, then I might want to kiss him,” he took on a tone of gravity, “but only if he wants to.”
Mac looked down at the bodies at their feet, then the rain that turned the streets of New-Old Boston a delightful wet-sewage chic. Val was really good at the whole romantic setting thing. The thundering of rain on concrete above their heads almost drowned out his heartbeat in his ears. “He just might.”
Permission , and his heart stuttered a little in his chest. It’d be some sort of cosmic joke for him to die of heart failure here after surviving this long. “That can be arranged.”
He’d never cursed the difference in their height before now, but it was a little awkward to bend down to Mac’s level with their sides pressed flush. Chapped lips met chapped lips and while a long-buried part of him bemoaned the loss of lip balm in 2287, it was fine when he felt Mac relaxed a little into him, the arm that was previously trapped between them coming to wrap around Val’s hips in turn. It was a gentle press, entirely innocent and something he hadn’t done in what felt like lifetimes, but it was enough to get his heart playing jump rope in his chest.
As they pulled away, Val took a childish moment to rub his scruffy cheek against Mac’s own, making the other man laugh and push him away. “Hey! Watch it. C’mon, I don’t need more cuts on my face.”
Val rolled his eyes, keeping his arm around the shorter man and giving him a quick squeeze. “Dramatic. I haven’t nearly perfected the art of a full beard, even after 228 years of life. You’re not in danger.”
“Yeah, well…” Mac trailed off, and Val could tell his ears and neck were flushed. He once again marveled at the effect it had on him. “That was…nice. Considering what we’re surrounded by.”
He made another small press of his lips to Mac’s temple, “There’ll be time for more of that and less wet locales…if you want.” An offer laid out like a contract, that’s something they're both familiar with. Val finds himself wanting a specific answer, though he knows that if Mac wants to take it slow he’d agree in a heartbeat.
Mac’s hand found his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Another action that felt laughably tender for two men who worked as guns-for-hire. “I think I’d like that.”
Yeah, they'd get better.