Work Text:
When Boothill got a letter with an assignment to be a bodyguard for one of the Family members, he just laughed out loud, throwing the letter away. Who would even come up with such a stupid joke? And what the hell the Family would want do with HIM? A space ranger with a reputation for being, let's be honest, not the most decent person in the whole universe.
But after verifying that the letter wasn't fake and taking another look at the reward, they were offering…the cyborg's interest increased. The offer was too tempting, and though, Boothill had heard quite a few rumors about the Family's murky dealings in Penacony, he accepted the assignment.
In a week he was already accompanying some strange winged man to the local embassy on the deserted planet.
There were a lot of nomadic robbers in these places, and the Family, apparently, considering him an expert in blasting robbers' heads off, which he did not really deny, it was nice to add another flattering title to himself.
So they chose him.
Not the most sensible choice but they had their own reasons, which he planned to find out for himself later anyways.
The conversation with his client did not go very well from the start. At first Sunday limited himself to formal greetings and a strained polite smile, though he remained silent when cyborg teased him that his aristocratic snow-white clothes would not survive a trip through the desert.
Then Sunday sat at the window of their small carriage, studiously ignoring cyborg and his entire existence.
Rude.
But expected behavior from a bourgeois, not that Boothill ever cared about other people's comfort in the first place, sitting down across from the young man on principle. Boothill stared at him without even trying to hide his examining gaze.
Sanday's lofty, almost saintly appearance looked almost ridiculous against the scalding light of the deadly desert, as if a drop of white paint had accidentally fallen on the red-orange canvas.
The wings, sticking out of the head, were of course a special attraction. From the first glance at Sunday, ranger had the urge to touch them, but only the feeling that he would be thrown off the carriage or killed on the spot stopped him.
Finally deciding to make a comment on the cyborg's close attention to his appearance, Sunday turned to him with feigned politeness:
- Is there something about me that interests you so much? - no matter how impassively polite his face was, the cold look in his golden eyes betrayed his disdain, and Boothill couldn't help but be amused by the contrast.
Sanday, to his misfortune, fell into that category of people that the Boothill had a lot of fun pissing off. Reticent bastards who thought of themselves as superior to others, pushing the crown of self-importance from their heads was hilarious.
- I was just thinking, why the hell the head of the Family chose me as a bodyguard out of all people at his disposal. Do you, perhaps, have a strong sympathy for me, young master? - Boothill winked playfully, forgetting that his other eye was hidden behind his bangs.
- This is ...- seeing the hesitant smile appear on Sunday's face, Boothill decided to press on. Whether the winged man was playing a game with him or not, as long as it was entertaining he was willing to play along.
- Oh? Did the young master really fell under my charms? ~
What followed next was the last thing Boothill expected to hear.
- How shall I put it ... there is some truth to that.
-Wait, what.
From the way Sunday's smile changed from polite to almost predatory, it seemed as if he had been waiting for an opportunity to shock his companion.
- Well, you see. My dear sister, Robin, found your personality quite...uh, fascinating. And since it would be odd to just send you an official request for an autograph, she decided that hiring you as a bodyguard would be the least crazy way to handle it.
The whole thing seemed as if Boothill was hallucinating, but as soon as he realized the absurdity of the situation, the cyborg burst into loud laughing, tapping his hand on the seat next to him. Whether Sanday was bluffing or not, even so, that excuse was too hilarious.
-AHAhah...well, well, it's an incredible backstory to come up with...though I have no choice but to believe it anyway. - Slowly coming to his senses, cyborg flashed an appraising glance at the man sitting across from him - And yet...why did I get assigned as a bodyguard to you and not to that little songbird, huh? Are you afraid I'll kidnap your little princess?
- ...Robin asked for this, for some reasons she wanted me to get in touch with you - Sunday let an irritated sigh escape his lips.
Of course there was some truth in this farce, Robin did choose Boothill to be his bodyguard. Sunday had asked her several times why, of all people, she had chosen him, to which his sister only smiled innocently and said it was a secret.
Even though he'd Robin, his whole life, sometimes he couldn't understand what motives lurked behind her bright eyes.
Somewhere in his subconscious, the rational part of his brain reminded him of the times Robin had hinted to him to get a partner. But for her, of all people, to pick up Boothill when she'd only heard a few rumors about him.
That's just not possible.
Another part of what Sunday chose to remain silent was that the balance of harmony on this planet was damaged, causing his powers here to be significantly weakened, including things like mind control and regeneration.
But the cowboy didn't need to know that. To admit his vulnerability to a man who could be called a cosmic criminal was like committing suicide.
Suddenly they heard a few gunshot coming from outside, followed by the sound of shattering glass hitting the floor. The carriage swayed slightly and then came to a sudden stop, making everything inside it shudder.
Several intruders climbed in through the broken window and began scattering around the area in search of hostages.
Boothill instantly pulled out his shotguns and pointed at them, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Sunday had hidden behind the seats.
It was easy to get rid of them, these thugs had nothing but a bunch of muscles, no brain included. A shot to the head for one, a swinging kick straight through the skull for another. These brats couldn't have hurt him even if they had been armed with grenades. After killing the ones who were in front, Boothill turned around to check on Sunday.
A sudden loud, almost inhuman scream made him turn sharply toward the sound. The head of the Family was curled up on the floor, covering his right wing with his hands, where scarlet blood was dripping onto the floor, staining his white gloves.
Shit.
He fucked up, didn't he?
Of course, it was generally quite a new experience for Boothill to defend someone other than himself, however he didn't expect to fail so soon.
And yet Sunday seemed to have managed to defend on his own, as the dead body of the intruder lay a few meters away from him.
No matter how untainted the head of the Family wanted to preserve his image on this trip, when a man tried to hurt his wing, evidently the instincts of self-preservation prevailed.
After assessing the situation, Buthill ran up to Sunday and picked up the first aid kit that was under the seat.
The head of the Family looked...pathetic, to say the least, compared to the image he'd been trying to present earlier. Cyborg couldn't see much from a distance, but as he got closer, he noticed that Sunday was shaking. The analysis system built into the his head detected a too rapid heartbeat, hyperventilation, and the possibility of unconsciousness from pain shock.
What the hell...
It was as if he didn't injure his wing, but instead got shot right in the head, seriously, how sensitive were those things?
With a heavy sigh, already knowing how difficult it would be to cooperate with a panicking person, Boothill dropped to one knee beside him.
Sanday didn't even notice him, as his eyes were closed tightly. Apparently, he was trying his best to cope with the pain and not pass out.
-...hey angel, I understand you don't care about this right now, but be a good birdie and let me treat your wound.
Sanday suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils were so dilated from pain that they filled almost the entire eye iris. Two pairs of wings burst from his back, blocking the cowboy's view and wrapping Sanday in a cocoon of feathers.
Fuck. This is gonna be hard. It's like trying to get close to a wild animal. Well, in this case, a bird. Not that Boothill has any experience with any of these animals anyway.
- Well then, let's move those things just... - As delicately as his metal arms would allow, Boothill touched one wing slowly pulling it aside - ...like that.
Having met with little resistance, he did the same with the rest of the wings. The thought of how much it would cost to have a single feather torn from the wing of the Family head himself crossed cyborg's mind, but he pushed it aside. This could be done in a slightly different circumstance, when the time comes for Sanday to pay for the favor.
Unaware of the thoughts of the man sitting next to him, Sanday tried to catch his breath, and began to slowly pull his wings back, keeping a wary eye on Boothill's hands.
- Good birdie… now do me a favor and let me take a look at the wound- ranger carefully reached out his hand towards Sunday, to which he instinctively turned away in response.
Time passed, Boothill didn't move.
This whole situation was slowly beginning to irritate him more and more. He certainly wasn't hired to be a nurse or a therapist.
Finally, injured man took his hand away from his right temple carefully and a broken wing came in sight.
Boothill skeptically examined the wound. It wouldn't take much time to fix it at least, and there was only one fracture. Apparently, the intruder had grabbed Sunday by the wing and tried to drag him away, but the sudden pull and the fragile structure of the wing itself had damaged the flesh at its base along with the bone.
Boothill's thoughts were interrupted by a faint voice.
- Please be gentle…
- Don't worry babe, I'll be as gentle with you as no one else has ever been.
Sanday didn't give any comment on that.
Taking peroxide and wetting a cotton ball with it, Boothill carefully brought it to Sunday's right temple to wipe away the blood.
It was not an easy task to do such spot work with his mechanical body devoid of any sensory feelings. His body was used for killing, quick and precise. Not to run a rough cotton ball over snow-white skin, watching the body beneath him flinch with every slight movement.
At first Sanday sat relatively still, but when the cotton ball got close to the wing joint, he hissed and pulled away.
- Now, angel, I know it hurts, but we're not gonna get far like this, I might just start ho-
As he said this, the ship suddenly began to move again. The glass pieces next to them bounced a little, and Boothill immediately lifted Sunday up in his arms, causing a surprised squeak out of winged man.
And of course, his mouth never knows when to shut up.
- You know, you're lighter than you look, angel, and your waist is pretty thin. Once a woman in a bar said I had a slutty man-waist whatever that means-
While he talked he sat down in the nearest chair with Sunday, settling him in his lap, driven more by curiosity whether the man would notice it or not.
To his surprise, Sanday either didn't notice or didn't find it worthy of comment, silently accepting his fate. The whole situation seemed to have taken a heavy bruise to his pride, and he simply chose to keep his mind off of everything that was happening to him.
- So, listen here softie, luckily for you the wound is not serious and there is no need to stitch it up, you just have to be patient while I treat it, you're a big boy, you can take it, right? - The censorship built into his voice module did it's job, giving the cyborg's speech a strange undertone. Boothill, being well aware of this, could only watch with interest at Sunday's slightly stunned reaction and the uncertain nod that followed. - Good birdie. And now for the bad news, you see, the bone in your little wing will have to be, uh, how should I put it, straightened? - Sunday threw him a hard look. - In short, if it hurts, just dig into me.
Though cyborg began to find some amusement in this whole process, he couldn't stop thinking that the man in front of him seemed to have never experienced any serious physical pain.
Although ... remembering his origins, it would not be surprising, his parents probably took care of their child like the apple of their eye, and when he grew up he already had enough strength to defend himself. However, the question arises as to how the head of the Family failed to anticipate the attack.
To express his indignation, Boothill pressed cotton ball soaked in peroxide directly to the wound, which earned him a stifled moan from Sunday, who immediately clung to his shoulders . He was breathing heavily while his face was directly against the cyborg's metal chest, though Boothill couldn't feel it, he knew that Sunday's warm breath must have caused the surface of the metal plates to get a little foggy.
As much as Boothill tried to ignore it, there was just something in how defenseless the head of the family looked clinging to him while sitting on the cyborg's lap. It...it definitely was making specific parts of his brain work harder.
Putting these thoughts aside for later Boothill decided to finish the rest of his work in silence, accompanied by Sandey's soft painful sighs. If he gives in to temptation, this whole situation will be on another level of absurd.
Now, all that's left is to deal with, was the bone. It would have been a simple matter of adjusting it a little to make it grow back properly and then wrapping it up with bandages, but considering how tightly Sundey's fingers have already pressed into his body, Boothill wasn't sure if it wouldn't end up breaking his own body.
Then a sudden impulsive idea popped into his head. Sanday will kill him for it as soon as they got out of here, but that would be later, the idea was too intriguing not to risk it.
Without tinking twice, Boothill tried stroking the base of the second, untouched wing.
The reaction was immediate. Sunday's body suddenly shuddered and a surprised gasp escaped his lips. Taken out of the haze of constant pain, he raised his head sharply and finally looked into Boothill's eyes.
- What do you think you're doing? - No matter how frightening he tried to sound, his current position clearly precluded it.
- Isn't it obvious, cutie? Since one wing, as I found out, brings pleasure - to demonstrate this Butkhill mockingly touched the wing joint, knowing what effect the contrast of hot skin and his cold metal fingers could create. In response, Sundey unconsciously pressed himself closer to his touch, letting out a small moan as he exhaled - And the other wing brings pain, why not combine something pleasant with something beneficial, mm?
-Don't you dare play these perverted games with me, I'm--
-Sorry, angel, but I'm calling the shots right now.
Sanday only had time to give him an angry glance before a cry of pain escaped his mouth. Boothill quickly began to fix the broken wing with one hand while the other was stroking the other wing.
The contrast of sensations was so strong that Sanday at one point began to think that he was going to die. He wanted to cling to cyborg and run away at the same time, but the weakness in his legs made it impossible, so all he could do was sit there with his head bowed low, trying to somehow escape the touch. Later, his fingers would probably ache from how hard he gripped into the iron.
Just as quickly as it had started, it was over. In an instant, the sharp pain at my right temple stopped, as did the strange pulsation all over his body.
- There you go, you've done good, angel, all that's left is...umm angel?!
The feeling of cold fingers on his cheek gently wiping away the traces of tears was the last sensation that Sunday felt before he lost consciousness.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, no way he would die from that!
Boothill had committed many crimes, but killing the head of the Penacony Family would be the most absurd out of all of them.
After quickly checking Sunday's pulse and making sure he was all right, Boothill finally exhaled. He should ask for a raise, this shit was too tiresome.
Looking at Sundey's relaxed face, ranger could only wonder what kind of god had played such a cruel joke on the people Sundey belonged to, by putting all the nerve endings into their wings.
....
*After a while in Penacony *
-So uhm... How was the appointment? - Robin's excited tone changed slightly when she noticed the bandaged wing, which was a bit of a relief for Sunday because she hadn't noticed the twitch in his eye as she mentioned the trip.
- It... It was fine.