a/n: insane heatwave going on everywhere currently, i hope everyone stays safe and drink lots of water !! Take care of yourselves <33
cw: light suggestive implications at the end
The cosmos were a frigid place to be in. Not just mentally, with the inherent sense of loneliness brought about when drifting through large areas of nothingness, but also physically.
Not that you'd know, of course. You rarely ventured out of the spaceship when traveling and when you did, it'd only be with the adequate equipment. What little you know of space's cold temperatures came from Boothill, mostly from when he'd come back from a venture out and would immediately bury his ice-cold face in the crook of your neck.
"Fucking- Get off me, asshole!" You'd squeal, trying to push the heavy cowboy off.
"Save me, darlin'! Reckon 'm turnin' into one'a them snowmen!" Boothill would lament dramatically, nuzzling against your warm skin.
That was the norm. That was your comfort zone, staying in spaces with a moderate temperature that were either refreshingly cool or just the right amount of warm. Not whatever the hell the Kata desert was.
"This place feels like having jalapeño peppers rubbed on your asshole" you mutter, making a pitiful attempt at fanning yourself.
"You speakin' from experience?" Boothill eyes you.
"I don't have to experience it to know what it'd feel like," you retort.
"Right. 'Course. Forgot you're fudgin' omniscient."
"Shut up. And how are you even walking around wearing all that leather? I'm sweating just from looking at you!"
Boothill shrugs, grinning lazily. "Eh. I'm used t'it. I've been through worse back home. An' hey, I always wore ponchos too. Y'gotta admit it's helpin', ain't it?"
You glance down at the poncho you were wearing, made of linen and thoughtfully purchased in your favorite color. Boothill had even gone as far as to embroider flowers onto the material in his spare time. They were a bit lopsided but hey! It's the thought that counts.
"It is... but still. How are you not sweating your balls off?" You raise a skeptical eyebrow.
"Probably 'cause I don't got any no more," Boothill quips.
"Maybe I'm choking to death from the heat."
Boothill rolls his eyes and holds his left hand out. You flinch back on instinct, not wishing to burn yourself on his metal body again. You were still pouting and cradling your poor hand from when you'd tried to grab the cowboy's hip, even though Boothill had already given you ice from his internal cooler and "kissed your hand better."
"Calm down, honeybee. Jus' helpin' ya cool off 'fore ya faint on me," Boothill sighs, blasting refreshingly cool air from the hole om his palm.
"Could've done this sooner, don't you think?" You grumble while leaning closer.
"Thought you were the one who said y'can handle yerself and ain't a delicate lil' flower," he snorts.
"I think the heat is making you hallucinate, dear."
Boothill shakes his head, a weary yet affectionate smile on his lips. He is so fucking tired of your sass and your antics and despite the heat leaving you and him in less-than-stellar moods, there really was no one else he'd rather be suffering with.
"Poor me, huh? Oughta put the licks in an' head back to camp then."
"Please. I can't believe you left all the cold drinks back there."
Boothill only chuckles, kissing you in apology. You gasp when his split tongue makes an appearance, shockingly cool.
"What? Told ya my insides always stay cool," He shrugs.
"No no.. Just... I'm thinking of other places where your tongue could be of use."
You yelp when Boothill presses his hat down on your head in response. All you manage to see before the brim obscures your vision is a roguish wink followed by the words:
"Hold yer horses there, darlin'. Don't want ya overheatin'."
"With that cold tongue? Never."
