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i just wanted to say that i'm obsessed with the idea of kissing boothill. his sharp teeth and crooked grins. his fingers would dig into your sides, and if there was a wall behind you, you know he'd be slamming you against it. gently, of course, because he's only ever gentle with you (unless you want him to be mean). and imagine mewling against his mouth, imagine how he'd swallow down each little noise like he needed it to breathe.
also he'd smell so freaking good!! if his mere presence wasn't enough to make you weak in the knees, then the way he smells would absolutely ruin you. leather, dust, gunpowder, and something warm underneath it all, like cedarwood and sun-warmed skin, that perfect kind of masculine heat that clings to your clothes long after he's gone.
did i mention kissing? god, his lips would be chapped and a little rough, but so hot and so insistent. you'd breathe him in without meaning to, without even realizing how hard you've started clinging to him, and suddenly your knees do go a little weak. maybe a lot. maybe you have to brace yourself with both hands against his chest, like he's the only thing keeping the world from crumbling around you.
and he knows, too. of course he does. that stupid smirk gives him away, and the way he brushes his nose against yours doesn't help one bit.
"You alright there, sugar? Lookin' a little dizzy."
dizzy doesn't even begin to cover it.
and then he's kissing you again. like he's starving. and you realize you are too.