Angels are like scarily skinny and Crosshair fails to understand Bullet’s body insecurity because to Crosshair, humans’ forms are so clearly superior for living unique and loving lives, not serving as living weapons
(Suggestive warning, although these two don’t actually manage to do it.)
It is once again a night where the responsibility of setting camp is set upon Bullet’s shoulders. His capable enough shoulders. He settles into the hollow he spotted before fumbling with their sleeping mat. He begins the next step, starting a small fire using only a conservative scrape of fire starter. It’s not when the fire is lit that the warmth is felt. Bullet sighs when it finally starts to sink in, feeling returning to his fingers.
Bullet jumps when Crosshair thumps down beside him. He’ unsettled by how often the angel sneaks up on him. Crosshair briefly spares a glance his companion. He feels an odd ache when he looks at the human. With a shrug he decides it must be hunger.
“Eaten yet?” His tone is not placid like a gentle stream; his flatness bears the cold indifference of a gun barrel. It’s a familiar indifference to Bullet.
“Not yet, sir. Not before you.”
The angel’s shotgun has its way to his lap for its ritual cleaning ritual. “I do not care if you eat before I eat.” He mutters before reaching for the pack. “You are weaker than I. It is good for my companion to be fed.” Bullet is only able to mumble a small thanks when he is passed his portion. They eat deer jerky and hardtack tonight. Crosshair breaks the tack in pieces and gives the larger to Bullet.
Although they eat in silence for the most part, the cold of their present haunt draws them closer. Bullet shifts to lean to the angel when its wings come around him. Crosshair cautiously looks at him again, finding that ache remains present.
“…Are you…cold, friend?” His head tilts slightly.
“Mh, me?” Bullet swallows a pang of affection at the question. “No, I’m warming up now. It’s colder here than where we’ve passed through…do you think it’s going to be a new stage of this?”
Crosshair hums thoughtfully. “Yes, it will get cold, and then the rains will begin.” He adjusts uncomfortably.
“The rains?”
“Yes. The rains will come and they will be horrible. We will have to find shelter. Move quickly.”
Bullet frowns. “Ah.” He rests his temple on Crosshair’s bony shoulder, seeking comfort. He feels surprise to find it.
Crosshair’s hand settles upon the human’s thigh, touch light and almost careless. But his offhand touch reveals amity towards his traveling companion. “We will be fine. I will get you somewhere safe.” His lissom fingers trace constellations against Bullet’s leg.
Bullet swallows. It’s that tone and that sentiment that makes him feel truly warm. “Ah. Thank you. Sir.” His soft voice comes out strained.
Crosshair’s wispy brows furrow, he is uncomfortable when he identifies the ache he feels. He pulls Bullet close, the human reflexively tucks into the crook of his neck. The angel shudders at the feeling of warmth against him. He tries not to look disgusted by it.
Bullet sighs contentedly. “Thank you, Crosshair.” His hand cautiously meets the angel’s waist before his touch gains confidence. Bullet relishes in the contact when Crosshair’s hand cups his face.
Crosshair is overwhelmed by the human’s affection. He’s not sure what to do with a sensation besides pain. He feels Bullet’s hands caress his hips reverently and all he can manage is a groaning breath in response. “Good God…” He sighs out. The human reads this as encouragement, hand moving the palm between his legs. He freezes, surprised to find no evidence of excitement beneath his hand. Crosshair’s alabaster cheeks flush. He scrambles away like a frightened bird. “Christ.” He huffs, looking away to hide his shame.
Bullet frowns, he knows whatever was burning between them a moment ago has been extinguished. It doesn’t, however, do anything to dismiss his affection for the angel. “Are…you okay?” He asks sheepishly.
Crosshair doesn’t respond immediately. He considers closing himself off entirely. But the human’s voice is too earnest for him to stomach the action. “I am…fine. We should rest.”
Bullet nods quickly and puts out their fire. It’s easy for them to slot back together, laid beside each other as they do every night it does not take long for Bullet to begins snoring softly. Crosshair takes longer, watching Bullet through the dark of the night. It still feels almost nauseous over their intimacy. Despite that, it finds most of all it feels quite warm.
Crosshair is casually possessive of Bullet because to the angel it’s sort of a dog and hunter situation but his phrasing can often be read as romantic. It drives Bullet crazy
Crosshair and Bullet were not physically created to be intimate. It causes problems, it makes things more complicated. But it’s all worth because it’s the connection they both yearn for.
