Chapter Text
“Your hair is really soft.”
Surprised, Boothill turns around to face Argenti, who is smiling innocently. He’s not sure whether to be proud or grateful for the compliment, and so for a moment, the two briefly sit in awkward silence before the former turns away, sitting upright all of a sudden.
“‘Course it is,” he huffed, a light flush painting his cheeks, “I’ve been usin’ the hair serum you gifted me.”
Argenti chuckled as his fingers run through his partner’s hair; the lack of armor on his person allowed him to feel the smooth texture. Boothill, also wearing casual clothing today, relaxed at his gentle touch, leaned his head back ever so slightly, eyes closing to focus on the sensation.
“The one that smells like sandalwood and cinammon? Yes, I do think it suits you. I am glad it is also to your taste, mon amour.”
Boothill clicks his tongue as his blush deepens. His voice catches in his throat—what’s he supposed to say to that? How is he supposed to compete? He doesn’t know. This sort of intimacy is unfamiliar to him, who has known only the love of a family long gone, and for the longest time, only the goal of vengeance and the ideal of justice have empowered him. Love was the last thing on his agenda as a Galaxy Ranger, if at all.
Argenti, picking up on the silence, wraps his arms around the cowboy and places his chin on Boothill’s shoulder. He gazes up to his lover; quietude isn’t quite up the cowboy’s alley, for he always had something to talk about, no matter how mundane it was (the latest exotic drinks he'd had being his favourite topic), and if not, he’d always reply one way or another (usually a vulgar but lighthearted reply, or an affectionate gesture).
The knight places a gentle kiss on Boothill’s cheek, and smiles against it when the latter gasps in surprise.
“What the fork!” Boothill exclaims, but does not make an effort to push him away.
“You looked distracted,” Argenti tilts his head so that it leans against Boothill’s warm cheek. “You looked beautiful.”
“Jeez, that’s a whole lotta compliments you’re pullin’ outta your behind right now. You don’t have to exaggerate so much.”
“But mon cœur, to be dishonest is not beautiful, which goes against Goddess Idrila’s principles. I say only the truth, from the bottom of my heart.”
Boothill shuffles to face Argenti completely this time, confusion and disbelief written all over his features. His eyebrows are furrowed and there’s a frown on his (kissable) lips. In contrast, Argenti maintains eye contact with wide, innocent eyes, emerald eyes shimmering with utmost purity as he smiles kindly.
Not a single trace of doubt or hesitation on the knight. His hands, surprisingly soft and despite years of training and due diligence, reach for Boothill’s metallic hands, which are cold and rough from scratches. The acute awareness of their physical differences makes Boothill recoil away, self-conscious and guilty that Argenti, once again, settled for someone barely human—someone barely beautiful, if at all.
But Argenti only tightens his grasp so that their fingers remained intertwined, even pulling the former closer to him so that their noses touch. This time, the knight places a soft and sweet kiss on the cowboy’s lips—so achingly kind, it feels like pure honey drips from his lips and the sweetness of his love pours into Boothill’s soul. He realizes he cannot doubt something as clear and as sweet as this.
“What’s your lucky number? Do you believe in luck, my dear?” Argenti asks after pulling away.
“Uh… three.” Boothill blinks owlishly at the question, suddenly curious and confused.
“Three!” Argenti echoes with a delighted grin. “What a beautiful number. It is a very sacred number in a lot of planets I have visited. Often is it the symbol of perfection and harmony, of wisdom and understanding. I think it suits you very well."
Boothill opens his mouth to oppose the notion, but the redhead interrupts him when he lifts his hands to the cowboy’s cheeks, and surprises him with a deep kiss—and another, and another—three forkin’ kisses in a row. Then he snakes his arms around Boothill, who can only sit utterly still at the forkin’ adorable display of affection. He’s not sure if he can comprehend this—maybe he’s actually in the Dreamscape right now?
“Do not worry about yourself, my love." Argenti lovingly murmurs into Boothill's ear. "I love you as you are, and I am honored that you really accepted my gift.”
“…Man, it’s just a hair product. An’ I should be thankin’ you!” Boothill replies, flustered. But he returns the hug nonetheless, a giddy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He's dizzy from the love received, and cannot resist the smile that creeps up to his lips at the realization that he is loved so deeply. For now, he mentally shoves away the self-doubt that dares to kick him in the behind.