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Argenti knows things about Boothill that he holds as close to his chest as he holds the man himself. Boothill does not let many people know him at all—preferring to be the mysterious gunslinger of the IPC’s nightmares—but Argenti has the highest honor of being not only Boothill’s lover but also his closest confidant.
Argenti knows that Boothill washes his hair with a sweet smelling shampoo, a shampoo that reminds him of his home. He allows Argenti to come a citrusy cream into it to keep it shiny. Boothill’s hair is one of the few human parts of him left and he takes such care to keep it shiny and beautiful. It is a matter of pride, not only in himself, but in the rich, dying culture he was forced to leave behind.
Boothill sits between Argenti’s legs and lets Argenti wash his hair for him. He trusts Argenti with the vestiges of his humanity and gives Argenti the honor (and pleasure) of caring for him.
Argenti often wonders how long it had been since someone had the pleasure of loving and caring for Boothill. He will not ask, he hates the idea of unintentionally bringing up painful memories for his already hurting lover, but he does wonder.
Soon after they had made their relationship official, Boothill had undergone a painful series of modifications to outfit his entire body with synthetic nerves.
“Why undergo such pain? I found you sexually attractive regardless of your lack of sensation,” Argenti had asked, his hands running gently over Boothill’s arms. He had shuddered then, his eyes closing for a brief moment as his brain remembered how to feel and react to stimulation again. “I am not complaining, of course, but I don’t like the idea of you undergoing such pain.”
“It was worth the pain and discomfort to finally feel you. It was a dream of mine, y’know? And you… Sugar, Argenti. Your love is worth any discomfort.”
They’d made love that night, slow and sweet. Boothill wept with pleasure, his cheeks and fans hot with overstimulation, and Argenti held him tightly to comfort his lover as his fans worked desperately to cool Boothill down. They stayed like this for a long time and Boothill had buried his face in Argenti’s chest, his fingers curled around Argenti’s arm.
Argenti knows Boothill better than anyone else in the galaxy and he knows that Boothill needs this contact. Boothill needs his remaining flesh pressed to Argenti’s skin to settle back into his own body and Argenti is always ready to acquiesce.
“Can I ask you something, cherry?” Boothill asks as they lay in bed some time later with his head tucked against Argenti’s shoulder. His crosshair pupils trained on the way that Argenti’s chest, flushed with exertion, rises and falls quickly. He rests his hands, now equipped with little, almost fleshy finger pads packed with artificial nerves, upon Argenti’s chest and simply feels him. His fans quiet as his systems finally cool down and he is unusually passive.
“Of course, my dear,” Argenti replies. He rests his hand on Boothill’s and tangles their fingers. He brushes his thumb over Boothill’s metal knuckles and kisses his head. They, too, have cooled down from their heated lovemaking and Argenti squeezes his hand encourgingly. It seems to ease any remaining anxiety in his lover and Boothill’s shoulders finally relax.
“Can I just…lay my head on your chest? I just want to listen to your heart. Just…really sit in silence and listen to you live against me.”
There’s something else there and Argenti stays quiet to give Boothill more time to find his words.
“Your heartbeat reminds me that you’re a livin’, breathin’ human that’s here and loves me and that you’re not some dream that followed me back from Penacony. I may not have a heartbeat anymore but your humanity… Maybe if I press myself close to it, it’ll rub off on me.”
“Cuauhtémoc,” Argenti says, his voice soft and loving, “I have never met someone as full as life as you are.”
Boothill tenses in his arms for a moment, his equivalent of breath catching in his throat, and his face floods with an adorable pink flush. He is always overwhelmed when Argenti uses his given name, when Argenti takes care to remind him that he is human. The metal that makes up most of Boothill’s body does not take away from the fact that Boothill is a human man and, more than that, he is a man that Argenti loves.
“But, of course you can rest your head on my chest, Cuauhtémoc. We don’t need to say anything at all.”
Boothill smiles softly and shifts their positions to lay his head upon Argenti’s chest. He untangles their hands and instead presses his palm flat on Argenti’s left breast to feel his heartbeat directly. They lay in silence like this for a long time, the only soundtrack to this unique solace a combination of Argenti’s breaths and Boothill’s quiet fans.
Boothill moves again after a few minutes and replaces his hand with his head, resting his cheek firmly over Argenti’s heart. The nerves in his face are reinforced by synthetic work but they feel naturally as his eyes close at the tender sensation. The soft pads of his fingers tap the steady beat of Argenti’s heart against his ribcage to deepen his understanding that Argenti is alive.
To be loved like this is so different from anything Argenti has ever experienced before. He has been loved superficially for his beauty, of course, adored at an entirely surface level that Argenti has always had an easy time understanding but a hard time accepting as real love.
However, being loved by Boothill is a very different thing. Argenti knows Boothill finds him beautiful but Boothill also sees the person behind the silver armor of the Knight of Beauty wore every day. Boothill pushes his hands through the tough bone of Argenti’s sternum, cracks open his ribcage, and holds his lonely and unloved heart tenderly in his unyielding metal palms.
Boothill understands Argenti’s quest for Idrila and joins him in when he can; Boothill has no desire to nail Argenti down because to do so before Argenti is ready is not an act that truly loving Argenti would allow.
Boothill knows what it means to run across the galaxy and readily embraces the idea of no longer doing it alone.
Boothill loves Argenti for who he is because Argenti has shown him the same dedication. That is the true love they both deserve.
Argenti strokes his fingers through Boothill’s hair. They don’t speak, just bask in each other’s presence as Boothill takes in everything that makes Argenti human. Boothill misses his own heartbeat, a sensation that he’d probably taken for granted and one Argenti certainly had previously, but now Boothill can find peace and comfort in Argenti’s.
They can lay in silence for however long Boothill needs because Argenti is happy to hold and keep him together like this.
“Cherry pie?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Thank you.”
Argenti smiles and gently tilts Boothill’s chin up with his finger so they can look each other in the eyes. The vulnerability there makes Argenti’s heart clench but, oh, does he so love that Boothill still trusts him with this.
“Cuauhtémoc, you never have to thank me for loving you the way that you deserve to be to loved.”
“Sometimes you say my name and it feels like one of my dads is scoldin’ me for being a dummy. The worst time was when I tried to ride my colt bareback and busted my butt fallin’ off of the son of a nice lady.”
“I don’t think you’re a dummy at all—though that does sound wildly irresponsible. I just need you to know that I could never love you with conditions. If you need something that I can provide you then I will happily provide it without hesitation, free of charge, and no thanks necessary.”
“Argenti…” It seems like there is an argument on the very tip of Boothill’s tongue but he swallows it down to playfully glare at Argenti. “Fine. I love you, ya big goober.”
Argenti beams and kisses Boothill tenderly, squeezing Boothill close as his lover wraps his arms around his waist. “I love you, too, Cuauhtémoc. More than all the stars in the sky.”
“Yer a fudgin’ goober.”