Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He had complained about how loud Boone's rifle was when the three of them had gone from New Vegas to this hellish shack and Boone had shot a few geckos right next to Arcade. It pierced through the eardrums and made even thinking hard for a bit.

Arcade blinked and barely recognized the shot that tore through the Legion soldier's face. He only recognized the machete that still crashed down, a bit off target. It didn't split his skull, it just tore into his shoulder.

He twisted away. Fell back against the rock, and cradled himself towards it.

Dully, he was aware he likely had not gotten the worst of it. Sharp, he felt that pain blossom from nothing more than an initial show of red against the faded pink and white of his lab coat, to something rather all encompassing.

The barest niggle tugged at his thoughts of pain and reminded him of the plan. He'd gone and ruined it, hadn't he? Arcade set the knife down, just there beside the two bodies. He switched the detonator from bad arm to good and moved his index finger over the trigger. It felt comfortable, amid all the worst things come together.

Footsteps seemed to come his way. Voices called out. Maybe they'd heard.

That almost brought a smile, through the pain and the darkness of the situation. Of course they'd heard. There was a bullet, and a body they could almost definitely see.

He leaned over, looked out briefly from behind the rock, his safety, towards the shack. Seven, or so. Well, at least maybe the others were in the building. Better late than never.

The trigger depressed so easily. Just a tiny red little line, unlike the massive red shoulder gash and the stain emanating from it.

He'd not heard C-4 for many years. Not being a man of action, he'd rarely had cause to. In fact, he'd specifically gone out of his way to not find himself in situations like this.

At least the sound of it, the roar of explosives, distracted him from the pain in his arm.

From what he could see from his vantage on the rocky ground, it distracted the others too. They turned, shouted, and seemed at the ready to take the enemy out.

A shot punctuated Arcade's thoughts and tore through the head of one of the men.

Arcade couldn't keep the smile at bay for that one. Looked like those fancy feathers wouldn't protect that man this time. What was that one meant to be, a praetorian or a decanus? Maybe a centurion? Arcade wasn't exactly up on who was who in the Legion, and he didn't exactly pay much mind to their garish clothing choices, but that one seemed important.

It seemed Boone agreed. Though, the next one down seemed more or less average. That one had only worn a simple face mask and a striped helmet. The shot seemed to slide right on through that strip of crimson that Legion man wore so proudly.

He couldn't concentrate though. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. So he pulled back behind the rock, reached over for the Stimpak and the bandages. He'd work on making it fully heal later, or have Boone help him, but for the moment he needed to get the injury taken care of minimally.

Later.

For the first time of the night, it wasn't an insincere or sarcastic smile. He felt almost a sense of peace wash over him, discordant with the gunfire behind him. They would have a later. Later, he would pull himself fully together, literally, but here he had to make do with what he had and then get back into the fight.

After, they'd both settle around the fire, next to the destroyed shack, and eat something. So long as it wasn't gecko steak, he would scarf it down.

Hell, he'd take radroach meat at this point. It was a fantastic source of iron and protein if one could stomach the strong aftertaste that lingered for hours. He could if it meant he didn't have to handle the same steak, prepared the same way, day after day. Even the Followers offered a bit of variation in their meals.

His arm didn't feel particularly better, but he rationed that it would soon enough. That he needed to pull his weight in this, even if it meant literally. Arcade crawled back towards the edge of the cover and tugged out his plasma defender. He adjusted his glasses and peered out from about the rock.

Bodies lay scattered, flames licked around the nearly obliterated shack, and shrapnel coated the desert just before them. Nothing seemed to move, other than the flickers of fire and the light push of the night breeze through wet crimson material left on bodies.

He stood, and did his best to ignore the cracks in his knees. Still slightly crouched, he peered over the rock from a different angle, to see if any of them had managed a retreat. To ensure none of them got away.

Not that any Legion soldier would leave. They'd sooner slit their own throats than allow any weakness to show through an obvious defeat, wouldn't they?

He stepped careful, watched every motion with suspicious eyes.

One, two, three, four. Four bodies, plus two behind the rock made six. If it truly was a dozen to begin with, he only prayed that he could find the last six in the shack.

Maybe blowing it up had been overkill. Maybe he'd been a fool to veto Boone's plan for them both to wait up on the ridge and pick the Legion men off one by one.

But Legion knew that NCR liked to snipe. Knew their well-connected courier friend was a long range sort of person too. So drawing the Legion men into a trap, it made the most sense, right?

A footstep. It wasn't his. He shifted backward, and raised his plasma defender up, with his good hand holding the trigger, and the bad arm's hand holding that hand steady. No, it wasn't a bad arm. Julie would chide him if he called a patient's injured arm that. No, it was an 'affected' arm.

Affected or not, he held his grip tighter and aimed for where their head might pop back up.

Careful, nearly silent, steps brought him around towards that cover. He waited in the darkness beneath a ledge.

Another step. Again, not his.

Arcade could only hold his breath so many times before he probably gave himself permanent lung damage. He wasn't sure on the factual nature of that assertion-- he was no pulmonologist-- but he reasoned it out that way regardless. It helped, to remind himself to breathe in a simple internal chiding voice.

His father wouldn't hide from adversity, he wouldn't crouch behind rocks when there were still enemies about ready to attack. He'd find a good spot, and he'd find a way to make it work for him. He'd be quite unlike how Arcade felt.

Of course, even the harshest ones, like Doctor Henry, never actually said that. They never mentioned Arcade couldn't be all that he thought of his father.

Once again, he was his own worst enemy, which was amazing, considering there were potentially several Legion soldiers out there looking to kill him directly. Or maybe just one. Maybe there was no one but him and Boone, and this was all imagined.

He moved with quick footsteps that countered how slow and steady he'd gone before. He thrust his body behind the high angled rock and aimed the barrel of his gun towards their head.

Boone had said a good sniper needed one bullet per person.

He pulled the trigger, over, over, over, again. He drained the energy cell, pocketed it, then worked another into its place and fired a few more times. Some shots still left, he paused and observed the man. The body.

He ducked down behind the stone cover, once more hiding behind something. Careful, he crouched beside that body and checked to ensure they weren't simply burned and unconscious. Confirmed as a kill, he inhaled a breath that wasn't quite relief.

Killing was never easy, even if the people were bad. Still, he'd much prefer to look down on an enemy, than down onto his own body as a spirit. Not that he believed in such things.

Arcade adjusted glasses that had slipped down the sweat of his nose. He pinched the bridge and focused on the moment. For all he knew, there were more still alive. Additionally, he didn't know how Boone had fared.

Boone.

He moved away from the rock and caught cover behind the rickety remains of the shack. A quick examination showed the torn parts of at least two men, going by the limbs displayed by the explosion all about the metal and wooden remnants. He breathed a sigh out, then sprinted and dodged behind his original spot not more than a hundred feet away.

After a moment to regain his breath and as much composure as he could muster, he quickly made his way along the ridge, keeping to the shadows. Up to the mountains, he went.

Legion soldiers could wait a bit longer to die, if there were any left. He fully intended to ensure Boone was alright. After all, Boone couldn't administer his own Stimpaks if he was injured, even though they were present, right? That's what Arcade was for.

He felt his heartbeats rush, and a bit of dizziness washed over him when there was motion ahead of him, in the darkness. Forcefully steadied hands rose, and he aimed his defender.

"Easy. Unless you want to roast me." Boone stepped into the barest section of light and offered something akin to a smile. "Nice work on the one behind the rock."

He barely felt the words leave his lips, but he heard them distantly. "Which one? There were several." He wanted to lunge forward and look his companion over more thoroughly.

"I don't call two 'several', but alright. Both, I guess." Boone was just ahead of his now, seemingly unharmed. He stood tall, and held his rifle in both hands, not quite at the ready, but ready to be. "You cleared the shack out pretty well, too."

He'd almost considered it an insult, a snide remark about Arcade's incompetence in doing a simple plan he, himself, had set up. But that nod seemed sincere, and the tone held steady. Arcade blinked and nodded back. "Thanks." The word felt as numb as he felt stupid to say something to simple in the face of a sincere compliment from Boone.

Words desperately craved to come. There were any number of things he wanted to say. More than a few of them involved histrionic expressions, hyperbole, and latin. He kept it all to himself.

Arcade turned back towards the path and nodded down towards the bottom, an indication of where he'd come from that no one needed. He hadn't quite gotten the whole nod and grunt and snort thing down as far as communication went.

Boone still seemed to understand. His footsteps followed, soft crunches of thick soled boots over rocks and dust.

"I think there might be a few left. I did a preliminary count." Arcade finally found some words, but they were only about the situation. The words felt as cold and detached to their situation as the breeze that tugged at his coat, but it was nice. It calmed. Against the heat of the situation, and the pain in his body, he felt a stillness that steadied.

"Did you count the two down at the bottom of the slope?"

He did a mental inventory of the bodies, mapped it out inside his mind for a moment. Behind the various rocks, three now. Potentially two inside the shack, although it was possible he'd mussed that count up. Four bodies before the shack, from right in front of the door, to an almost equilateral triangle, made up of bodies spread out over about a dozen feet between them all.

Arcade shook his head and held his defender at the ready more firmly. "No, I guess I didn't. Two plus my count of nine still isn't a dozen."

"Guess we're hunting something else tonight."

His belly gurgled and he glared back over his good shoulder at Boone. "I'd much prefer hunting something that can sustain me, but if you insist."

"Would you prefer they gut us in our sleep? They could return to Caesar and maybe get promoted."

"I'm not proposing we ignore someone who may or may not be there, since a dozen was never an exact number anyway. It's just, I don't particularly want to remember how hungry I am, and you've just called my attention to it. So I suppose that's that."

Boone stepped so close to Arcade, just right beside him. Hot breath teased at the coil of Arcade's left ear. "Well, I would have gotten them when they came out from cover, but I saw you take off towards me. I figured it was important."

Two whole sentences, and long ones at that. Any other time, he might tease that Boone had practically delivered a speech. He may even give a round of mock applause. Here, he felt like he was melting and that rather distracted him. "It. It was."

"What was important?"

"You." Oh dear. "I thought perhaps you were injured, and well, I figured they were all dead. What harm could there be in coming up?"

"You said you only counted nine."

He didn't look over, he refused to note that expression. If the tone was any indication it was, well, teasing of all things. This was not the time to prod, this was a time of action!

Arcade stepped a bit faster. "And besides, snipers need spotters, don't they? It occurred to me, if there were more, that you might be more effective with my assistance."

"So you came to check me out."

Arcade felt his toes twitch and curl in his boots. They were clearly too small for him, he'd have to see about getting a better pair when they reached New Vegas, or perhaps even in Primm, though they'd have to track backward a little bit for that. "I am a doctor. That's my job."

"Well, maybe when I finish my job you can. But I'm fine for now, nothing more than a few scrapes. So far."

"The morning is still young." He wasn't sure if it was a statement of fact, or a dire prediction. One soldier left, perhaps, and anything could happen.

Would his father have waited down below near the shack until the job was done, or would he have gone up to ensure his companion was alright after a time of silence?

Arcade craned his neck just a bit and watched Boone.

It didn't really matter if his father would have stayed below or come up. It was what Arcade did, and he'd stand by the choice, like he walked beside Boone.

---~~~---

Movement made Boone and Arcade both still. Footsteps sounded in the night.

They stopped.

Arcade scanned the darkness, searched for any sign that whoever had moved was nearby.

Boone crouched down, lifted his rifle, inhaled, then released and pulled the trigger.

The only sign he'd hit was a movement of shadows in the distance. Something collapsed.

It wasn't difficult to ascertain what that something was. Arcade holstered his defender, and pat Boone on the shoulder. "So, we can eat now, right?"

Boone arched a brow. "Is that all you think about?"

"Can you blame me? I got a machete to the shoulder."

"They spotted the body you dropped. The boot stuck out a bit."

"Hindsight's better than my sight now, even with glasses. Besides, I had to take them out. They spotted you."

"What?"

"It's true." He countered that incredulous, scrunched up look, with a defensive response, and one hand raised to his chest, more or less in front of where his heart was chambered. "I almost didn't do anything, I don't think he saw me. But he said 'I better go murder that sniper up there'--I'm paraphrasing of course-- and that was it. If they knew where you were for sure, it wouldn't be long before you got trouble up your way."

"And they'd have come towards you in droves too."

"Well, sure, minimize my attempt to keep you safe. It's fine, I get it. Big tough soldier man needs to know he was the most important cog in this killing machine." He nudged them with his good shoulder. His chest and opposite shoulder didn't appreciate that movement (or most of his other movements) but still he didn't wince. He was fine.

He just needed some food, a bit of whiskey, and some stitches. Maybe not in that order.

---~~~---

"You know, I think you've seen me half dressed more often than a few of my exes."

That quip got a snort, but it sounded more amused than irritated. Not that Arcade knew that for certain, seeing as how Boone did the stitches from behind him.

"How come that phobia of yours doesn't apply to stitching me up?" He regretted it a moment too late. Boone wasn't done, and he all but begged for him to freeze up? What was he thinking?

To his surprise though, Boone kept right on with that simple stitching he did, he barely even faltered. It would look amateurish, and likely it would scar a bit oddly, but Arcade could appreciate the effort.

Finally, Boone finished, and set the needle and what remained of the thread down. He cleared his throat, then replied. "It does."

---~~~---

Arcade flipped the slice of coyote steak over. He didn't particularly like killing coyotes himself (they rarely attacked unless provoked, in his personal experience) but he couldn't be upset when he found a few meaty slabs in some of the Legion bags. Nor was he upset when he found a worn box of Dandy Boy Apples.

"Have you ever actually seen an apple tree?"

"Hmm?" Boone glanced up from where he crouched beside a Legion body, doing only Boone knew what.

"An apple tree. I know people farm nearby, but I don't think I've seen an apple tree before. I don't know they grow nearby at all."

Boone's brows tugged together, in thought, presumably. Finally, he nodded. "I think I saw an orchard once, on my way out here. It was in the distance, though. I think someone mentioned it was an Old World orchard."

It still wasn't the time to tease Boone about talking. A week before, even two days before, he would. But here, he was pleased. Boone was talking. None of that grunting nonsense. Actual real words were escaping those lips, as though Boone didn't actually mind being around Arcade!

He smiled and flipped the other piece of meat in the cast iron pan they'd saved from the wreckage. It was a bit bent, having spent a time as dangerous shrapnel, but it worked otherwise. "Where did you see the orchard, do you remember?"

Boone returned to whatever work he made himself busy with while Arcade cooked. "No. I was younger then. A lot younger."

"Was it your first time out here?"

"First and only. I've... I've never gone back."

Arcade opened the box of desiccated apples. Unlike some of the questionable food products one could find out in the wastes, at least these looked more or less like they had originally. The proof was right there in the ingredients: dried apples, sugar, cinnamon. And sure enough, that was exactly what you got, even centuries later.

He kept his mouth shut until the food was done.

Whiskey out, he downed a sip or three, then set the quarter full bottle between the two of them. "I feel like we should call this breakfast." He handed a plate over to Boone, filled with steaming lightly salted steaks, and shriveled slices of apples. Professionally plated, it wasn't, but Arcade wasn't exactly trying to get in as Head Chef for the White Glove Society. Especially with those rumors about just what might go into the food at the Ultra-Luxe.

"Do you usually have whiskey for breakfast?" Boone took a swig, before he settled it back in its spot and cut through the steak.

"Lately, yes. Oddly, it's right after meeting you that started. I'm sure it's just a coincidence. I've also been more grievously injured than lately, and I think that's the real cause."

"Also a coincidence," Boone smirked around a bite of the well-done meat.

"I'm sure." Arcade chuckled and inhaled a bit of his meal, he was so hungry. It wasn't juicy. It wasn't even that tasty, though maybe that's because he never really enjoyed that fatty gamey taste. But it wasn't gecko, and that was enough.

His mother had always told him he was too picky. That wasn't the case. He ate the food he didn't want, even if he didn't like it. Daisy just said he was born in the wrong time period.

Wasn't everyone? This was a wrong time. It had been for centuries. No one would choose this time to live.

Arcade paused after a swig of alcohol.

Boone ate slowly.

Arcade passed the whiskey on over. "Something wrong?"

Boone accepted the whiskey, then replaced it on the ground. He didn't look over, he just shrugged. "Something feels off."

"Any idea what?"

"No."

Helpful, as always. But he nodded, as though it really had been. As though he somehow understood what Boone was feeling. Mostly, he felt pained, and he felt a bit tipsy, and he felt tired.

Arcade returned to his food. The apples made it more enjoyable. They were little blunt pops of sugar mingled with cinnamon behind the aftertaste of salty and fatty game.

The more he ate (and drank) the more he didn't necessarily mind the food. It wasn't as good as Boone's, but Boone didn't want to make food immediately, he'd wanted to go through the Legion soldiers looking for only Boone knew what.

There wasn't more food, but he wasn't hungry anymore. Eyes had bags, no doubt. Lids drooped and asked to close fully.

Boone tilted his head, just ever so slightly, towards Arcade. He played it off as a nod, and he looked in the direction of a star. One hand slowly raised and pointed up. "There was a hill near where I grew up. If you climbed it, you could see that same star."

Dates had explained things about the stars before. Interesting facts about constellations, and how far away things that looked like you could just reach out and touch them were. They'd use all the fancy names and know the terms, almost like this wasn't a post-apocalyptic hellscape where people were just trying to survive half the time, to say nothing about trying to thrive.

But that wasn't something Boone could probably do. This, just sharing he recognized one star and could see it whether he was in the NCR or out here in the desert, it was nice.

It was intimate.

He leaned a bit closer, partly from the effects of the alcohol on his system, partly because he wanted to be near Boone. Which, admittedly, he only admitted he wanted when under the effects of alcohol or stress. He'd blame it on the alcohol tomorrow. Maybe he'd blame it a bit on Boone, too.

Boone didn't jerk away. He didn't lean into it, but he certainly didn't lean away. No, instead he just held upright in that same quiet manner he had while he'd eaten.

After a time of pleasant silent, Arcade scooted just a bit closer. Casually, he rubbed his good shoulder up against Boone's. The gap between their bodies squished inward, until there wasn't much of a distance at all.

"We should probably stop drinking." Boone's voice sounded a bit slower, a bit more careful than usual. He seemed to chew on his thoughts like he had his food.

Arcade nodded. He didn't move away, he just held his spot. The whiskey sat in between his legs, but he could remove that from the picture. It took a bit of finagling, as he didn't want to use his bad arm to lift the heavy glass jug, but he reached over himself and set the last few gulps of whiskey at the bottom of the glass to the side. "There. No more drinking."

Boone let out a quiet sigh. "Shame the shack blew up."

"Shame the beds blew up." He'd said beds. Praise the little bit of his functioning mind, he'd said beds. He hadn't accidentally implied exactly what he was thinking.

Boone nodded. "The sky cleared nicely though."

"Mmhmm. Daylight's coming soon." And he lightly lifted his right arm up and pointed his index finger at the smattering of color that blotched along the east, like patches in a watercolor painting he'd seen once in the remains of a museum.

"Hell of a night." Boone tipped his head down, just ever so slightly. It nestled against Arcade's right shoulder. "Sleep's good."

"Yeah." But he had slept. Boone was the one running on nothing here. "We could just lay down here."

"Yeah." Boone sighed. Then he pulled away, rose up, and stepped towards the salvaged bucket, half filled with sand and rocks. Up and over, he emptied the metal container and set it aside as the fire burned down into itself.

The moment died down like the fire. Arcade stretched one arm with only a bit of complaint from his body, then moved back towards the burned remains of the shack. "You know, just even for shade purposes, we should probably still sleep in there. Plus, a half charred wooden floor still seems more comfortable than rocks and dirt and geckos coming up to nibble on my toes."

"It'd go for your throat first. That's a clean kill. Makes eating you easier."

He shot Boone a dour look over his right shoulder, then rolled his eyes. When his face was safely facing away from the other, he grinned just a bit. "Well, I'm sure it would still eat my toes."

"I doubt that's your tastiest part."

It was just the heat of the day that flushed over his face. Sure, it wasn't fully upon them, but that didn't mean a thing. He burned easily in the sun, and clearly today was no exception. He stood a bit taller and walked a bit faster to the skeleton of the building.

Boone cleared away a large section of corrugated metal and kicked away a bit of rubble from beneath it. "This spot looks fine. There's still a bit of wall and roof above it."

Coverage. Smart.

It was a shame that the C-4 had been in the bedroom, and had destroyed every part of that section. The beds were nothing more than smoldering ash after burning out over the hours preceding.

Arcade rolled his shoulders back in a light stretch (and regretted it silently, immediately) then stepped to where Boone motioned. "Could work. And hey, at least in the Mojave you don't really need a blanket when you take a siesta. Because boy, would we be out of luck if we wanted one."

Boone settled in, his eyes facing where the sunrise did. "Maybe we should do it in shifts."

"Just go to sleep, Boone. It'll take me a while anyway. I never go easy."

"You do lately."

"Really? And how would you know it?"

"I'm up when you start snoring."

He rolled his eyes and faced the same direction Boone was. "Right. First of all, I don't snore."

That got a snort.

Arcade shoved at him lightly, though with his left arm. It didn't appreciate his gesture of teasing violence. He winced, and rolled onto his right side, facing away from Boone. "Well, fine then. My point's even truer. You need sleep more than me. You go to sleep after me, you wake up way earlier."

"You'll be snoring in a minute."

"Oh, stuff it." He couldn't deny he felt that tug though. Sleep didn't come easily, not normally. So many thoughts wanted to filter through, but he couldn't hold onto them for long. He didn't want to end up like Bill Ronte, but at this point, he was a bit concerned he would. Something about booze stifled all those little fears for at least a little while.

He blinked.

He dreamed of the endless Legion; horrible lines of soldiers had taken New Vegas, and grown in size and bloodthirst on their march towards the ocean, towards the NCR. He'd tried to stop it, tried to help people, but every single Stimpak turned to poison in their veins and rotted them through.

Arcade lay still. The sun was still early in the sky, nowhere near the afternoon rise. He could hear a bird in the distance, no doubt pleased with its perch on a cactus or some other such place. It called out the day, in short little bursts of song.

Something stirred nearby. In his sleepy state, he wanted to roll over and let the noises just be what they were. It was likely just a bird, like that other one. But he couldn't roll. He couldn't shift, not without hurting that still troubled left shoulder. Instead, he held on his right side and blinked a few times to work the drowsy feelings from his eyes.

Footsteps.

He could feel Boone at his back, pressed right up next to him. It was comforting, like the sounds weren't.

Footsteps, in another short burst. They weren't loud, but Arcade was used to listening to those sounds, after having spent so much time doing just that lately.

He reached down and carefully tugged his defender free from his holster. He could stay on the ground, not make a move, until they were just in sight. If he spooked them, they'd flee. Besides. Maybe it was their friend, come back to see if they were alive. Maybe it was anyone, really. It didn't have to be an enemy.

Through a gap between barely standing metal sheets, he saw a flash of crimson. Faded, torn, worn, the material signaled the years of use and abuse it had been through. Tanned legs, thick with corded muscles, displayed proudly beneath the skirt.

He saw a flesh of ax, metal that glinted in the sunlight that streamed through. It lifted a moment later, as though they were readying themselves.

Arcade fired off a round of shots, one after the other into their left leg, then their right. He wasn't the type to intentionally cripple another, but he also wasn't the type to allow a Legion soldier to murder Boone and himself in their sleep. He made a choice.

They collapsed forward. They showed their face then, suddenly seen in the gap that only legs had shown through before. It crinkled with shock and pain, apparent even behind the goggles strapped to their head.

Another few shots pulled off quicker than Arcade could even consider, and the Legion man slumped forward with a stiff expression of pain.

Arcade blinked.

It wasn't a dream. He shifted and sat upright.

Boone was right beside him, gun now in hands, breathing steady but loud. "That's a wake-up call I could've gone without."

"Sorry." He carefully lifted onto his knees, then stood. Careful, he peered around some of the metal that still remained of the shack and scanned as much as he could between the two of them and the horizon. It didn't appear to have more Legion, but he hadn't seen that one Boone had gotten before, had he?

"Not you. Them." Boone toed at the body, then stepped out slightly towards the open. He peeked around some metal too and squinted against the oncoming sun. "I don't see anyone."

"If that was it, then it was a baker's dozen."

"What?"

Arcade chuckled and shook his head. "Nothing. Think we should stay and defend, or leave now? Freeside's only a bit over half a day away if we move fast."

"Are you in any shape to move fast?"

"I'm feeling personally attacked by that question, you know." He grinned over. "I'd be fine with some water and a Stimpak. But, maybe Primm would be a better choice anyway. At least for today."

"Hmmm."

"Then again, with all the comfort this spot brings, why shouldn't we stay just a bit longer nearby?" He definitely didn't covertly rub at his chest in an attempt to soothe some of the pain. He was practically healed.

"We could go back to Freeside slowly. There's no reason to do it all at once." Boone made it sound like it was his idea.

Arcade appreciated how Boone didn't stare at him. Didn't make it entirely apparent that Arcade's pain was obvious. "Slow works. Maybe we could even make a stop or several on the way. You know, take in the scenery."

"We could go to Novac first."

"Oh boy. I just love that place. Nothing says family fun like hundreds of unsalable dinosaurs and leftover radiated rocket ship souvenirs. And don't forget the giant dinosaur out front! Who doesn't want to know there's a snipe-- oh." Arcade glanced over to Boone. "You're one of the snipers that are normally up there, aren't you?"

There was that whisper of a smile again, but it left as soon as Arcade spotted it. "I am. Or, I was. Now it's mostly up to Manny."

"Well, I didn't mean anything about it."

"I know." Boone leaned against the metal, pressed his forehead to the corrugation.

"I'm sure it's a lovely town, with lovely people, that we always pass right on by without stopping in." Because who wanted to be revealed by his favorite mother figure who sometimes said all the wrong things in all the sassiest ways? He'd prefer to meet her in their usual spot, not in a place crawling with ex-NCR in positions to take him down.

The smile returned full force. Boone glanced over and shook his head. "No. It's really not. It's a shit hole. But it's where I go when I'm not traveling. It serves its purpose."

"Well, that's good enough I guess. And it's close, so we could probably make it there without too much trouble."

"Plus, Manny's not so useless Legion would get through without a fight. We could rest a bit."

"You're really selling me on this Manny guy."

Boone snorted. "We used to be partners. Emphasis on used to be." He buried hands into pockets. "We might as well go now. If you're able to." Those last words came out almost as an afterthought in tone.

Arcade rolled his eyes and pulled out his pen from his pocket. "Sure, sure. What wouldn't I love more than moving in the afternoon heat, exhausted and injured? But first, let's let our friend know what we've been up to, sans their presence." He clicked the pen with a dramatic flick of his thumb and arched his brows in Boone's direction. "Would you like to assist in writing this letter?"

"You seem better with words."

"Tell that to my last few exes, they'll laugh right in your face."

"They wouldn't for long."

That got a bout of laughter from Arcade, and he settled in front of the wrecked reloading bench and deemed it an appropriate place to pen a letter to their dearest companion.

Arcade read it aloud as he penned it out in slick black ink on the faded paper.

"Hey there,
So, if you're reading this, you either came back for us and found us gone, or you're not our friend at all and you're probably just wondering why this shack looks so newly destroyed!"

Boone sat down in a barely functional mangled chair beside Arcade and kept that same smirk on his face.

"Well, where to begin? Legion attacked, if the baker's dozen of corpses piled up nearby wasn't enough for you to piece it together from their pieces." He clicked the pen a few times rapidly and chewed on his bottom lip. Then, he turned a bit and leaned against the remnants of the table, once folded paper in one hand raised up towards the sunlight, pen in the other. "What next?"

Boone rose from the metal chair. It groaned from the shifting of his weight. He stepped forward and eyed the card himself. "Can I try?"

"So long as you can keep things professional. We wouldn't want to upset them or anything."

"Right. I'll try to keep my language in check." He reached for the paper and pen.

Over he handed it. A moment later, he stood behind Boone and watched him begin to pen the next few lines. He couldn't quite see the words, so he leaned in over Boone's shoulder and squinted just a bit to take it in. He could only make out the last few with how compact the letters were. It wasn't that his vision was poor, it was the lighting and how small Boone wrote.

"'We are headed where you sleep most often.' Do they really sleep there most often? That surprises me."

"They got a place there after-- after Cliff gave them the key."

"Cliff? Oh, right."

"You know him?" Boone turned his head just enough that he was face to face with Arcade.

Arcade straightened up his posture and took a step back. "Barely. I've heard of him."

"From who?"

"Are you writing, or prattling on?"

Boone turned back to the task at hand. "I can do both."

"Can you? That's surprising." He pivoted on heel and turned back towards where the dead Legion man had fallen. "Don't fill the entire--"

"Done."

He was back leaned over Boone's shoulder before he could even blink. "What'd you-- ohohoho."

"Does that work?" There was slow roll to the words, as though he had to think hard to say them. Attached, there was a particular way Boone looked at Arcade. It was an almost smug look, but it stopped just short of that. No, this was simple satisfaction at a job well done.

"If it weren't for your Spartan handwriting, they might believe these words were my own. I'm almost afraid to see how you'd change if we stay together."

"That sounds like a challenge." Boone twisted his hips and repositioned himself so he was pressed up against the table with his back, and facing Arcade fully.

Arcade nearly pulled away once more, but he held his position. "Do you back down from challenges?"

"No."

He felt a tug he'd ignored previously, but here it pulled hard at his thoughts. Demanded his attention. Look at those lips. Look at those rich irises, how the color shifts even behind those shades when Boone talks. Listen to that voice.

Arcade put his hand on the pen in Boone's own grip. "I've a final touch to add and then we can head out."

Boone slowly released his grip on the pen barrel and pulled his fingers free of Arcade's own. He seemed as though he wouldn't move; for several long beats of time, Boone just stared up at Arcade. Finally, he turned and moved past Arcade to the left. "Don't take long."

Arcade didn't. Well, not by his own measure. He still got a bit of an impatient look from Boone, who was already packed up by the time Arcade returned his attention to the other. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"Are we doing that again?" Boone tilted his head down just enough that he looked at Arcade over the edge of his sunshades.

"I'd win. If we were." But he turned back and pinned the note under a mechanism that no doubt no longer worked for its intended purpose. They'd find it, if they used their brain and looked for something to explain what had gone on. "We really could make it to Primm, you know. I know Novac is closer, but isn't Primm nicer?"

"Probably. But I don't have a bed in Primm. Plus, we haven't slept much, we're injured--"

He lifted a hand up and waved the words away. "Alright, I understand. I hate it when you're reasonable. And don't look so smug. Novac it is. Who wouldn't want to go visit Dinky? Or whatever his name is." One more wave and Arcade returned to his items he'd stored just before their ill-timed nap. He began packing.

"Me. I hate that dinosaur." Boone tapped a foot. "I'd rather not go to Primm though. We'd have to go past Nipton."

"Another fair, sobering, point." He dusted his pants off with a note of finality, then tugged on his bag and headed closer to Boone. "Ready?"

A grunt of acknowledgment was all Arcade got, before Boone started on the trek towards Novac.

Arcade followed along after without complaint for at least a few miles along the rocky trail. The soft slosh of the last bit of whiskey, packed snug in his bag, was a pleasant sound on their otherwise quiet start.

"Keep up." Boone wasn't even out of breath, the bastard.

"You know, you can be really insufferable sometimes." Arcade increased his pace a bit, until he stepped in time to Boone once more. "And do we really need to go so fast?"

"Too much for you?" It wasn't taunting so much as lightly teasing. Boone glanced over his signature sunglasses up at Arcade.

"Last I checked, you weren't the one with multiple chest and shoulder injuries. You've got one little bullet injury." He sped up, just enough that he outpaced Boone. His legs were longer after all.

"Last I checked, chest and shoulders aren't legs. But I'm no doctor."

"Keep talk like that up and I won't be the one to give you Stimpaks if you get injured. It'll just be pilfered healing powder for you."

Boone held that quiet smile for longer than Arcade would have thought. Miles and miles, it just lay there, the barest upturn on those thin lips.

The smile faded once they reached the remains. Twisted sheet metal and old rusted trailers with torn sandbags signaled the innards of the once proud Ranger station. Arcade had been inside, once, with their friend. From the look on Boone's face, he'd been there at least once before too. Maybe even before it looked like this.

"They were good people. They didn't deserve that." Boone's steps finally slowed, finally stopped.

This wasn't where Arcade wanted to take a breather, but he wasn't about to say as much aloud. Even he had enough impulse control to see this was a place to show respect. He reached out and put a hand on Boone's shoulder. When that didn't get a recoil, he squeezed gently and stepped closer. "No, they didn't."

A part of him argued NCR wasn't good either, but he wouldn't say it, at least not there. This wasn't a debate. That second part was an objectively true statement and Arcade agreed. No one deserved Legion punishments. Legion soldiers didn't even deserve it.

Boone shut his eyes. Brows furrowed tight for a breath, then they relaxed and his entire face loosened a bit. "Stella was a ranger here. She almost got stationed North. She got sent here instead."

He rubbed a bit harder, worked his fingers in an attempt to ease some of the tension in Boone's uninjured shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Let's go."

They were a little under halfway to Novac, but it felt longer. Miles dragged, time snagged, and Arcade kept wanting to say something until his mouth filled with imaginary dust and he just swallowed it all down.

Boone broke the silence. "I've seen you before. You never go into Novac."

Arcade wouldn't mind if actual dust whirled around them both, swallowed them up in a storm. "No. I said that though. I just travel through."

"Daisy goes along the road too, around when I see you through my scope."

"I bet all the gossips in Novac love to talk to you, get the latest scoops from your scope, hmm?"

"Who is she?"

"Shouldn't you know that, since you live nearby?" He fingered carefully along the trigger of his defender, more paranoid than he wanted to be. He allowed the paranoia from their friend not returning to cloud his interaction there, it only added to the sudden stress of the question.

"Who is she to you?" That voice ground out like the gravel under Boone's boots.

"She's the closest thing I've had to a mother since my own passed." Wasn't that what his mom had always said to do? Don't tell a lie, just tell the truth. Let the truth be what they want to hear.

Boone nodded. "She's a good woman. A bit... pushy."

"A bit?" He snorted and it choked in his throat, then twisted into harsh bouts of laughter. "A bit? I'll have to tell her you said that."

"Don't you dare."

"Oh, but she'd love it! Of course, she'd tell me I was wrong all those times I told her how very pushy she really is. A bit. Do you know how many times she tried setting me up with others?"

Boone sighed and glanced over. "I know a bit about that myself."

"Do you? Well, she didn't try to set you up with Manny, did she? Or no, maybe she did. That might be why you sounded so absolutely thrilled with his performance earlier."

It was difficult, to catch every flash of emotion on that face. Things were so subtle, unless you looked just right at Boone and caught him just as he began to process words.

Boone managed to not choke. He swallowed, a seemingly arduous task, and shook his head stiffly. "Manny and me, we're not. We never. That's not." He paused, inhaled, then shook his head once more.

"I thought you said--"

"He was my spotter. We were a pair in the NCR, not. We're not even friends anymore."

There were more segmented sections of sentences than usual in Boone's speech and Arcade couldn't help but enjoy that flustered look on Boone. He suppressed the shiver of amusement (and something else) and kept time with Boone's slowed steps. "So, you're not interested in men, or just in him?"

It was a dirty question to pull when Boone was so clearly uncomfortable from just the thoughts.

A flash of irritation washed over Boone's face and he glared over at Arcade. "Why?"

"It's just conversation."

"I can see where you got your pushiness now." He increased his pace and quickly got himself several yards ahead of Arcade. "Keep up."

"Oh, come on. I guess I'll take that as a compliment though. Daisy's a good woman. And she's only a bit pushy, right?"

Boone snorted.

Arcade couldn't keep the corners of his lips from pulling into a most devious smirk.

---~~~---

"This is me." Boone stepped through the doorway.

Arcade entered and closed the door behind them. "It's no Ultra-Luxe, but I'll be honest, that's a great thing. It's a decent place you've got here."

"You can rent a room from Cliff if you need to."

"Oh, and here I thought we were sticking together. Safety in numbers and all that."

"There are other rooms." Boone sat on the edge of his bed and leaned over to unlace his boots and tug them free.

"True, but if I go see Cliff, he's sure to tell Daisy. If I tell Daisy, she'll ask what the occasion for me coming to the town itself is. Then she's sure to try and finally get me set up with Manny. I don't come to town normally, you remember. We meet up outside of it for a reason."

Boone tilted his head back just enough to show the irritation in his eyes, over the tinted glasses. "So when she sees you here in my room?"

Arcade lifted an empty bottle of beer from the edge of a worn dresser and twirled it a bit, watched the last few musty drops swirl about along the glass bottom. He didn't look back at Boone. "Two birds, one stone, I believe that saying works here. If she thinks I'm busy, and you're busy, she'll stop trying to set us up, right?" He glanced over his good shoulder and wordlessly set the bottle back down on the dresser.

If Boone reacted negatively, he'd let it go. He'd rent a room. They'd never speak of it again. But...

"Fine." Boone stood, reached behind his neck, then tugged his shirt up over his belly, chest, and past his shoulders. "But when that plan backfires because she's too slick for either of us to fool her, I will say I told you so."

"Fair enough. I'm definitely not the sort to pass up a chance to gloat when I can. And when she leaves us both alone and stops trying to set up blind dates every chance she gets, I'm not holding back either."

"I doubt she'll be convinced." Boone reached for the belt buckle and swiftly undid it with both thumbs working in tandem. A moment later, he tugged the belt free and snapped it down on a chair near the bed.

Bedtime it was. Arcade couldn't complain, even if his stomach gurgled with irritation. He took a cue from Boone's impromptu stripping and worked his own clothes off with much the same casual manner, even if he couldn't help but feel a static that wound itself over his skin and begged to be touched and rubbed away by the other.

Clearly he'd read too many novels. True, normally the one feeling the sparks was the woman, the 'heroine' of the story, but he was an imaginative man and he could put himself into either place in most of those cheap novels. Such a strong imagination he had, sometimes he could even imagine himself as the dashing rogue who swept the hero off their feet.

This, this was not one of those times exactly, but that didn't keep the thoughts from satisfying him.

He crawled into bed beside Boone. He was the best at not staring, so he hadn't stared at all when Boone had stripped to nudity. He'd just done the same; he followed that cue, that potential clue, and moved beneath the covers as well.

"I forgot that this hotel makes some spots in Freeside look like a resort."

"It's better than a burnt shack and Legion corpses rotting nearby, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'm not arguing that. I'm just saying, there are better places to sleep." He honestly probably shouldn't complain. After all, his little blanket and pillow on a moldy mattress back with the Followers wasn't exactly high style living. He didn't crave the best things, he just... He couldn't help himself sometimes.

Boone settled in, and shut his eyes.

He shifted under the covers a bit and struggled to keep himself still.

There was that anxiety again. It wiggled itself into the front of his mind, and lead him into being less sleepy and more wired. He could practically hear the tick of a clock, even if there wasn't one present and working, and hadn't been for probably two centuries. The internal clock tick was even more irritating, actually. He couldn't just take out the power source.

Boone rolled onto his side. Tired eyes met Arcade's gaze. They were nice eyes with a pleasant color, especially without those sunglasses to cover them. "This bed squeaks."

"I've noticed."

"You're moving a lot."

"Noticed that too. At least we're on the same page, right?"

"Is there something wrong? Are you hurting?"

A quick check revealed that yes, he was hurting. "Aren't you? I should probably look at your arm."

"I'm fine."

"You lie, with a poker face that no one could believe. That's the same look you gave when you said you'd take the Stimpak yourself. Admit it, you're hurting too."

"It's nothing that won't heal."

"Yes, so let me help. That's literally my job. It's about the only thing I'm even remotely useful at."

"That's not true."

"Fine, I'm not all that useful at it either, going by where I get relegated with the Followers, but I still like to pretend."

Boone furrowed his brows in tight. "That's. That's not what I meant." He reached his arm up, and wiped his face with one hand, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes it seemed.

"Then what?"

"You're good at a lot of things." Boone pulled the hand away and let it flop onto the comforter. "I admire that." He shifted, and lay on his back.

Arcade lay still. There was that ticking again. Ticking clock, ticking time. The silence felt like a bomb. "Let me look at your arm."

"Let's just sleep."

"If it's fine, I won't bother you about it for a while."

"Huh. A while?"

"A while. A stretch of time. Until it looks like it's bothering you again."

"Fine." He rolled onto his side, positioned himself so Arcade could more easily access his bandaged shoulder. "It's fine though."

It made more sense that they would sit up for this, but he rolled with it, literally. His own shoulder hurt a bit with the motion, but not so much he couldn't continue. He stroked at the tightly toned arm muscles, reached upwards in a smooth stroke towards the bandage.

Boone's eyes, no longer covered by glasses, focused fully and wholly on Arcade's hands.

He peeled back the bandage. Examined the wound. "It's healing very well. Stimpaks are something of a miracle of medicine. We don't even need these bandages anymore."

"That's good." Boone shifted, a simple readjustment of his legs so he was closer to Arcade by an inch or several. "Can you take it off then?"

Novels of dubious realism clouded his head. One in particular, 'Midnight Hospital Romance' he'd enjoyed thoroughly up until the burn marks made it unreadable and he'd never gotten to the ending. But some of the last words had been some that Boone had just uttered.

Ah, but he never shied away from being a fool, did he? Arcade nodded, and carefully removed the bandage. "Do you feel any... tenderness?" He rubbed at the now scarred skin, eased thumb and fingers over the spot in a slightly less than professional way.

"Nothing I can't ignore. I've just been stroking it when it hurts. That makes it feel better."

Maybe it was in Arcade's head. Maybe this would get him kicked out of the motel, or worse. But he imagined, he swore he heard, Boone hitch in his breath a bit. Certainly, Boone adjusted himself once more in a way that Arcade might even call squirming.

Arcade massaged at the spot. "How does that feel?" He strived to keep a more professional tone, but it dipped into a rumble. He wasn't a master of self-control some nights.

Boone's leg brushed up against Arcade's. "Good."

"Just good?"

Boone stared at Arcade's face. He swallowed a moment later, then leaned closer. "I've never been good at this."

"At what?"

A pause lingered, clung to Boone's barely parted lips. Finally, it slipped away on the back of Boone's words. "Talking."

Now or never, something in Arcade screamed. It was the most ill-advised internal voice he had, but on some occasions, he gave it the wheel. Here, it steered him into Boone, pressed their lips together in a firm kiss.

Boone sighed into the kiss, then leaned further and pulled Arcade up against his own chest. He parted from the kiss, caught his breath.

"Well, you're decent at kissing at least."

Boone grinned. "Just decent?"

Arcade ducked back into a kiss, moved his one arm from Boone's arm to the back. After a minute or so of pressing lips to Boone's, of tasting the barest hints of alcohol mingled with something more innate and masculine, he pulled back once more. "Alright, you got me. Better than average. Still, I like a man who takes charge some--" He didn't have time to finish his words.

Boone lay over him, his body firm and thick over Arcade's form. A smirk tugged at those thin lips, and threatened to spill over into a smug smile.

Arcade kissed it before he had to witness that.

Boone nipped lightly, testing it seemed. He ground his hips down along Arcade's own, gave no quarter with how much pressure he applied there, even if he held his own upper body up just enough it didn't press down on Arcade's too hard.

That just wouldn't do. Tenderness in the morrow be damned, Arcade gripped Boone by both shoulders and forced him down.

Boone took that hint well. A weight pressed deeper against Arcade's chest, pelvis, hips. Everything felt fuller.

If he keened a little when Boone's teeth nibbled at his ear, what was the harm in that? If he clawed his trimmed nails along Boone's back to encourage the bites a bit more, he could heal them both later. It was fine. It was all fine. It was so much better than fine, he could barely stand it.

"Been a while?"

Arcade blinked back up at them and panted a few times before he brought enough sense to the forefront to realize Boone asked him something. A few more neurons in his brain brought the words to mind, and he nodded. Nodded so hard, it almost hurt his stiff neck. "You have no idea."

"I might have some idea." Boone kissed at Arcade's jaw, then bit along the curve where stubble always promised to grow but never did.

Right. Arcade arched his body up, brought his hands clawing down Boone's back. "So."

Boone paused a kiss, then lifted up a bit and regarded Arcade. "So?"

"Have you done this? You seem like you've done this, but..."

"But?" A brow quirked up and Boone seemed to hold more words in than just that one.

"You get so red when I would even hint at it. It's a lot of mixed signals." Gift horse, mouth. He needed to stop talking. This wasn't the time to inspect if Boone might regret it later, that voice he'd given room to work with earlier insisted.

Still. He didn't want to take advantage. Or think more of this than there was.

There it was, that look that had made Arcade play his fingers along the spine of the trigger on his defender earlier. The look he'd seen in others, of thought just before they bolted, or betrayed in some cases.

Boone nodded. "I haven't. I've. Thought. About it. Recently a lot." There came the truth, and another confirmation of Boone's prior statement. He wasn't good at talking. It seemed that was truer when he was naked, hard, and writhing down over Arcade.

Arcade didn't hide the smile that lit up his features, he just reached up at pulled Boone back down into a kiss. "Good."

"Just good?" Boone tried to hide his... apprehension? Shyness? Something, but it crept forward and colored the lightly teasing words as well.

"I guess we'll find that out, won't we?"

The smile eased into something more sincere. "Yeah. I guess we will."

---~~~---

Arcade wasn't one to just let someone else do all the work. He didn't (usually) just lay back and take it. Certainly not here with Boone, when Boone looked so handsome, slick with sweat, beneath him. Arcade rose his hips, then brought himself back down, completed a cycle and just went on going. Every few rises, he'd scratch light pink marks along that lightly haired chest. Every so often, he'd return one of the nips and kisses with one of his own, placed at Boone's neck, or ear, or lips even.

Boone's own fingers curled and stroked in loose patterns of need along Arcade's back. With every drop of Arcade's body over Boone's own, those fingers pressed with more intensity, worked at a heavy massaging pace.

That length in him, thick and slightly curved, it teased so deep. It struck something so nice. He lifted his chest away from Boone's, despite their sigh and grunt at the motion. "I'm not too much for you, am I?"

"Please." It wasn't begging. Boone's voice didn't contain the sarcasm, it spilled over into an eye roll. With a slight reprieve from full skin contact though, Boone took a moment to wipe a bit of moisture from his forehead and away from his eyes.

Arcade grinned, then began to roll his hips and stroke at his own chest and nipples. "Are you sure? We can stop if it's too much."

The way Arcade undulated seemed to affect Boone; it definitely got him groaning louder, his mouth no longer able to nip and suck to successfully hide the noises. "It's fine."

He pulled up, almost entirely parted from Boone's length. Only the head remained inside, though it threatened to pop free.

Boone reached up, grasped at Arcade's hips and thighs in wide hands.

Arcade slapped lightly at those hands. "Oh, no." He shook his head, but kept that grin right in place so Boone understood.

The sigh filled the room. Boone thumbed gently at those upper inner thighs, coaxed at Arcade silently to implore him to lower. To continue.

At least, Arcade chose to take it that way. He slowly, achingly, lowered himself back onto Boone, until it hilted and he felt pelvis against his bottom. "Do you want it faster?" He reached hands forward, grasped carefully but firmly at Boone's thick shoulders.

Boone nodded, panted, bucked. Mouth hung open, but words didn't seem able to come out, just fallen syllables.

Boone wasn't chatty under the best of circumstances. Arcade could have some mercy. Maybe. But he loved teasing.

Faster it was, but he never fully descended, never let Boone fill him completely.

"Please." This time it had much more of a begging tone. It wasn't begging, not outright, even if the word could be seen or heard that way.

It was closer to what he wanted. Arcade bit his bottom lip and tilted his head, as though it were surprising. As though he hadn't expected that need. "Yes?"

"You're a real... bastard sometimes."

He let out the laugh and even rewarded the passed-as-pillow-talk with a few downward slams that got Boone to shudder and tighten the grip on Arcade's thighs. "What do you want?"

There was a glimmer of something. In the wrong lighting, Arcade might even say those eyes reminded him of their first argument, there in the shack days before.

Then Boone smiled, less murderous than that first smile. More sincere. Still, very devious.

Oh dear. Perhaps he'd pressed too-- Arcade moaned and thumped onto his back on the squeaky mattress. Though the springs cried with displeasure under him, he only called out his enjoyment. Still, "Oh, you brute." Even held down by strong arms, legs curled up and folded down over towards the sides of his chest, he teased back as though it were nothing. As though he were in charge and merely tolerating this defiance.

Boone sucked at the left nipple, the only one free from bandages. "Mmhm." Hips rolled, smoothly at first. A few moments into an easy pattern, Boone increased his pace, broke his force right into a deep intensity.

Arcade reached down for his own cock, emboldened by Boone's own sudden assertiveness.

Boone tapped the wrist away, pushed it and the other up towards Arcade's head, held them into the soft pillow. That mouth broke free from its light nibble, those lips curled into a definitely defiant smirk. "Oh, no."

"Who's the bastard now?"

"Me, actually. But Ma didn't talk about that much." And just like that, Boone forced those wet lips down into a rough kiss. A crushing kiss. Hips pulled back and slammed forward, kept that same bruising pace and pressure up until Arcade felt too high for it all.

He arched, squirmed, shifted. He lifted his legs up, higher, tighter over Boone's shoulders. Arcade felt a rush of determination to not be the only one too sore to move much the next day. Hell, maybe they'd do this again the next day, make the entire week sore and heady and incredible.

He barely registered when two hands on his wrist became one holding both. He definitely noticed when that same free hand reached down and loosely stroked his cock. Though the hand moved along his length, it seemed far more tentative than any of Boone's sure thrusts would indicate.

Arcade sighed pleasure and curled his fingers to stroke at Boone's hand gently. "Just like that. Just, exactly, like that. A bit faster, yes. Perfect." Emphasis on exactly, and he couldn't help but buck into the hand. Well, he could have, but with such an uncertain hand on his private parts, he wanted to encourage Boone.

It worked.

Boone increased the pace of his hand, tugged Arcade in time to the thrusts of his hips. "Where should I?" It was a glimmer of a real question, as uncertain if it should be there as that steady hand had been initially.

"Pull out. I want to see it." He tugged his own hands free from Boone's single one, and reached down to ease Boone's hand away. He could take over from here.

Boone nodded, pulled back, and went to work stroking his own length.

Here, he finally pulled his feet away from their shoulders and moved to sit up in front of them, on his knees just like they were.

Arcade wasn't the type to compare sizes, but if he were, he might mention how if feet size correlates to dick size, he was slightly more narrow but longer in size when it came to shoes. He wouldn't ever say it out loud, of course.

"You're staring." Boone grunted, jerked into his hand, as opposed to jerking his hand over his cock.

"I'm sure you can forgive, considering the--" He cut himself off, worked his own orgasm out just a bit faster than he intended, right over the thin blanket. "Circumstances."

Boone hadn't much held back any of his grunts, his sighs, his moans, during sex. But here, he worked into a rhythm he'd no doubt used many a lonely night. He was silent, with eyes screwed shut and lips pursed with concentration.

Not much longer later, Boone finished with the barest breath of a sigh, and slumped over, lay his head lightly over Arcade's good shoulder.

The intimate moment popped as quickly as it took for the door to open. In stepped their friend.

Paper fluttered from their hand, eyes widened like their stance. An instant later, they said a quiet, "Oops, wrong room," stepped back through the doorway and shut the door tightly.

Arcade wanted to be mad. Really, he did. But he didn't have the energy to be angry, or paranoid, or much of anything besides flat on his back. So he fell backward and rested on the pillow. "Well, that'll teach them to not knock before entering a room."

Boone sighed and shook his head, "No, it won't." He carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed, strode forward, and locked the door at the bolt at the top. "Must've been exhausted, to not lock it before."

"Or distracted." Arcade moved just quick enough to strike a modelesque pose, with legs crossed over one another, and good arm lifted over his head at a sharp angle.

Boone snorted, which broke into loud laughter after a moment. He lifted the letter up from the worn carpeting and glanced over to Arcade. "You."

"Me?"

"This." He brandished it, then stepped forward and knelt onto the edge of the bed.

Hey there,
So, if you're reading this, you either came back for us and found us gone, or you're not our friend at all and you're probably just wondering why this shack looks so newly destroyed! Well, where to begin? Legion attacked, if the baker's dozen of corpses piled up nearby wasn't enough for you to piece it together from their pieces.

Legion would not have gained our position, if we had not attempted to stay in one place for your benefit. It's been nearly three days. We are headed where you sleep most often.

Additionally, we fought and killed a massive deathclaw successfully. Not to mention we killed all the Legion men, while grievously injured, I might add. If you intend to go gallivanting about without concern for your companions in the future, do us a favor and just tell us to go our own way, won't you?

Oh, and before you wonder, yes, we did use all your C4, along with some of your other goodies. We're also taking these weapons you stored here. Guess you'll have to come find us if you want them back. Spoils of war and all that.

Yours Truly
P.S. I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but you have been known to take me literally and I am far too annoyed with you to want you to find some sense of self-satisfaction right now. Besides, I'd rather be the one doing any kind of fucking anytime soon. And if all goes well, I will! Introducing him to me was about the only thing that might save you from my ire.

Arcade grinned, though he'd be the first to admit it was something of a sheepish gesture there. "So, I had my hopes up. Can you blame me?" Maybe the smile turned a bit pouty. He wasn't one to manipulate people with his words and facial features, but yes he was. Absolutely he was.

"No." Boone set the letter aside, then moved over top Arcade's body once more. "I knew you did."

"Oh? Mister Emotions knew this was coming, did you?"

Boone leaned in, breathed ever so slight against the coil of Arcade's left ear. "I was worried the other night, so I stayed. I heard."

"That's an interesting cocktail of creepy, erotic, and sweet. I can't say I don't enjoy it, but it's definitely a heady thing to swallow."

"So was hearing what you said."

Touché. Arcade wrapped his arms about Boone and rolled them both to the side. It hurt, but oh well. Such was life. "What do we do about them?"

"They don't sleep here. They've got a room on the other end of the motel."

"But I think I can hear Daisy and them upstairs."

Boone blinked.

Arcade arched his brows up. "Looks like I win. And we didn't even have to pretend anything."

"You're a real bastard sometimes." Boone flopped onto his back and tugged the blanket up from under them, onto them. "I'll be hearing about this for weeks."

"Weeks?"

"Months..."

"You'll be lucky if she ever stops talking about this." He sighed and settled into the bed. "There are worse things that could happen."

"Mmhmm." Boone's voice was low, far away.

A moment later, Arcade smiled and listened to the little snores.