Boothill doesn't know if he can call it sex but for him it's definitely something more intimate than anything, it's a moment he longs for, a moment that makes him feel human again, You touch his body and all he can do is imagine your warm touch, it's like a fever dream in which it seems very realistic but it's still a dream, a sweet dream for a broken heart. But he is awakened from his thoughts by the only sentence that runs through his head.—Do machines dream? he lets out a deep chuckle that comes out as just a soft snore to his thought, a purr that makes you smell the cheap malt on his breath “Touch me, Darlin'“ he speaks in a low tone, his accent predominating in the simple sentence that comes out of his mouth like a request— no, maybe like an order, a need.
And when you touch him, yes when you place your warm, soft hands on his face he almost lets out a strangled sigh before forcing himself to close his eyes, enjoying your warm touch. It's so little but so good that it's torture for him, But Boothill is used to being content with little, but when it's about you? He'd die again to be able to feel a little more, feel the heat of your naked body on his body, feel his metallic fingers kneading your skin that felt like the most delicious and soft thing possible, his favorite delightful to take, to possess, to have, to look at every morning of his life
— 2025 not reviewed