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The late afternoon sun filters through the broken blinds of the Dino Dee-Lite motel room, painting uneven streaks of light over the chaos within. Weapons are stacked in precarious piles against the walls—everything from well-maintained sniper rifles to pipe pistols held together by little more than rust and hope. Clothes of every imaginable type drape over chairs, form lumpy heaps on the floor, and spill out of dressers and suitcases. The room looks less like a living space and more like the aftermath of a scavenger raid gone wrong.
Boone stands in the middle of it all, shuffling through the mess with a soldier’s precision and a growing sense of exasperation. He crouches by a pile of mismatched boots, sorting through them with his brow furrowed as he tries to decide which ones to toss out first.
“Do you really need four identical pairs of combat boots?” Boone grumbles, holding up two scuffed pairs.
“They’re not identical,” Six responds breezily from their perch on the bed. They’re cross-legged, fiddling with a collection of tarnished pre-war pins that they’d picked up at a trading post weeks ago. “One is less scuffed on the left toe, the other has better ankle support. Big difference.”
“You’re impossible,” Boone stares at them, as if his glare could vapourize them instantly. At least then he wouldn’t be stuck in this hopeless battle.
“Impossible? Boone, I’m efficient. This is strategy.” Six waves a hand vaguely at the chaos around them.
“This is not strategy,” Boone shoots back, dropping the boots back into the pile with a dull thud. “This is hoarding.” He moves to a nearby chair, where a bundle of mismatched clothes sits in a precarious stack. With a sigh that borders on a groan, he picks it up as though it might bite him. “You don’t wear any of this.”
“That’s not true!” Six protests, sliding off the bed to stand and point his finger in the air as if making a genius point. “I wear... some of it!”
Boone raises a skeptical eyebrow and gestures with his chin toward a red sequined dress draped over the back of a chair.
“Alright,” Six concedes with a grin, holding up their hands. “That’s for emergencies.”
Boone exhales loudly, running a hand down his face in a clear bid for patience, before adjusting the sunglasses ever-present on his face. That’s when Six sees their opening. They step closer, arms crossed, their grin turning sly.
“You know,” Six begins, leaning casually against the wall. “I’ve been meaning to ask—what’s with the sunglasses? You do realize we’re indoors, right?”
“They’re practical,” Boone stiffens slightly, his hand dropping from the frames to his side.
“For what? Shielding your eyes from the enemy lamp?” Six smirks, straightening and taking a step toward him. Boone’s jaw tightens, but the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays his amusement.
“Come to think of it…” Six presses, leaning into his space. “Do you even take them off before you go to bed?”
Boone doesn’t respond, but his silence is enough to embolden Six further. Before he can react, Six lunges forward and plucks the sunglasses off his face in one swift motion.
Hey!” Boone growls, his voice sharp, but Six is already retreating, holding the sunglasses triumphantly above their head.
“Gotcha!” Six teases, waving the shades just out of reach. “Oh, would you look at that! Eyes—actual eyes! I was starting to think you didn’t have any under there.”
“Six,” Boone warns, his voice low and steady, the kind of tone that would send most people running. But not Six. Boone steps forward, reaching for his sunglasses with his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. Six, grinning ear to ear, takes another step back, holding the sunglasses even higher above their head.
“Not so fast!” they taunt. “If you want these back, you’re gonna have to earn them.”
Boone narrows his eyes, though there’s no real heat behind his glare.
“What’s the matter?” Six teases, tilting their head dramatically. “Afraid I’ll see your soul through those beautiful green eyes?”
“You’re infuriating," Boone mutters, stepping closer until they’re nearly toe-to-toe.
“Am I?” Six asks, their voice softening, their teasing expression giving way to something gentler.
Boone doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans in, his hands settling firmly on Six’s hips as he rises onto his toes. The kiss is firm and insistent, his lips conveying what words can’t. Six’s raised arm falls to wrap around Boone’s shoulders as they melt into the kiss, their teasing grin replaced by a soft, breathless smile when Boone finally pulls back.
With deliberate slowness, Six then places Boone’s sunglasses back on his face, the weight settling familiarly on his nose. Boone’s mouth twitches in the faintest hint of a smile, but whatever he might have said is lost as Six leans down to kiss him again. This kiss is gentler, slower, their lips moving in perfect sync. Boone’s hands tighten on their hips, drawing them closer, and when Six smiles against his mouth, he can’t help but deepen the kiss.
This time, it’s hungrier. Boone’s kisses grow more insistent, as though he’s been holding back and the dam has finally broken. One kiss becomes two, then three, until he’s pressing forward, his body crowding Six’s space. They stumble backward, laughing softly as their knees hit the edge of the bed.
Six falls onto the mattress, their hands reaching out to pull Boone down with them, his weight settling over them in a way that feels grounding and overwhelming all at once. His hands slide over their sides, fingers curling around their waist as he tugs at the button of their pants. With a swift, practiced motion, he yanks them and their underwear off and tosses them into the nearest pile of clothes without a second thought.
“I thought you were supposed to help me clean up,” Six quips, their breath hitching as Boone’s hands skim along the bare skin of their thighs, “not add to the mess…”
“They’re where they belong,” Boone replies, his tone dry but his lips already moving against the line of their jaw. The words send a shiver down Six’s spine, and their retort is lost in the growing warmth spreading through their body. Boone’s kisses are purposeful, each one trailing lower as he maps the curve of their neck and lingers at the hollow of their throat. His hands move with the same deliberate intent, sliding over their sides and igniting a wildfire of sensation beneath their skin. He slips his hands under their shirt and bunches the fabric under their armpits before pulling it off completely.
Six’s soft sighs and gasps replace their laughter entirely as Boone’s lips continue their descent down their body. He pauses just long enough to glance up at them, his sunglasses slipping slightly down his nose. The sight of Six—flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted—leaves no doubt about their feelings, but Boone holds their gaze for a moment longer anyway, as if to ask permission.
Six gives a faint nod, their lips parting to respond, but whatever words they meant to say dissolve into a quiet gasp as Boone’s hands slide down to part their thighs. His thumbs trace soft, rhythmic circles into their skin, grounding them even as his movements send anticipation spiraling through their nerves. When he bends down, pressing a deliberate kiss to the sensitive skin of their inner thigh, Six’s breath catches audibly.
“Boone,” they manage, their voice trembling with both need and uncertainty, like a whispered plea.
Boone doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, he leans in further, his mouth finding its target with unerring precision. The first stroke of his tongue draws a startled cry from Six, their back arching involuntarily as pleasure sparks through them.
His movements are slow, deliberate, almost maddeningly so. Boone seems intent on savoring every reaction, every shiver, every hitch in Six’s breath. His hands anchor their hips firmly, preventing them from retreating from the intensity of his focus.
Six’s fingers clutch at his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as though it’s the only thing tethering them to reality. The sensation Boone evokes is overwhelming, teetering on the edge of too much, yet never quite enough. Boone, ever perceptive, seems to sense their need. He increases the pressure and pace, his hands keeping them in place as they squirm beneath him.
A low moan escapes Six, their hips bucking instinctively against his hold. Boone pulls back slightly, his breath ghosting against their skin as he growls a quiet command to stay still. The low timbre of his voice sends shivers coursing through the courier, and Six nods, swallowing hard. Thankfully, Boone doesn’t make them wait long. He resumes almost immediately, one hand sliding up to splay across their stomach, while the other moves lower.
His fingers tease at first, stroking against their entrance with a feather-light touch that makes Six gasp and squirm. Then, with deliberate care, one finger presses inside, drawing a sharp inhale from them as he begins to explore.
The combination of his mouth and hand is utterly consuming. Each calculated flick of his tongue, each curl of his fingers, feels like a deliberate attempt to unravel them completely. Six’s breaths come in ragged gasps, their grip on his shoulders tightening as heat coils low in their stomach.
“Please,” they whimper, their voice cracking with desperation.
He hums in acknowledgment, the vibration sending a fresh wave of sensation crashing through them. His fingers curl, seeking out the places that make Six gasp and shudder, and when he finds them, he focuses his efforts with the same meticulous precision that defines every movement.
Boone’s pace is steady, methodical, as though he has all the time in the world to discover every secret hidden in their body. Each sound that escapes Six—every gasp, every moan, every whispered plea—seems to drive him further, pushing him to explore deeper, to commit each response to memory.
A second finger joins the first, and Six gasps, their hips jerking involuntarily against his hand, but Boone’s other palm is there, firm and grounding on their stomach, holding them steady. He scissors his fingers slowly, stretching and prepping, careful not to rush even as Six’s pleading whispers urge him on. His fingers press deeper, testing, and he watches as Six’s head tips back, their eyes fluttering shut.
Boone doesn’t stop until their body is pliant beneath his touch, every muscle trembling with readiness. Only then does he slow, his fingers retreating with the same deliberate care they entered. He presses a final, lingering kiss to the inside of their thigh before pushing himself up.
The sight before him leaves him momentarily breathless: Six, their chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, their skin flushed and glowing in the dim light. Their eyes open slowly, meeting his with a gaze heavy with trust, desire, and something unspoken that tightens in his chest.
“Don’t move,” Boone murmurs, his voice low and rough, a quiet command that leaves no room for argument.
“Wasn’t planning to,” Six’s lips twitch into a faint, teasing smile despite their breathlessness.
Boone’s hands move with calm efficiency as he undoes his belt, the quiet metallic click of the buckle the only sound in the room aside from their labored breathing. He’s quick to kick off his pants and boxers, adding to the forgotten mess.
When he leans over Six again, his hands bracket their head, his weight grounding them against the mattress. The kiss he gives them is deep and consuming, a melding of mouths that leaves no space between them. Six’s hands slide up his arms, their fingers resting against his shoulders again as if to anchor themselves to him.
Boone adjusts his position, one hand sliding down to guide himself to their entrance. He pauses, his eyes locking with theirs, the unspoken question clear in his gaze. Six nods, their fingers brushing against his jaw.
Boone doesn’t make them wait, but he does move slowly, pressing into them inch by inch, giving them time to adjust. A soft groan escapes his lips as he sinks into their warmth, his forehead dipping to rest against their shoulder. He stays there for a moment, his breaths heavy against their skin as he keeps pushing in.
Six arches beneath him, their nails digging lightly into his back as he bottoms out inside them, his hips slotting perfectly against theirs. The sensation is intense, a perfect blend of grounding and overwhelming, and they cling to him, their body attuned to every movement.
Boone begins to move steadily, his rhythm measured as he allows them both to savor the connection. He keeps his movements deliberate, each thrust calculated to coax new sounds from Six’s lips. He can’t tear his eyes away from them—the way their back arches, the way their lips part in a breathless moan, the way their hands grip at his shoulders to pull him closer.
The room fills with soft gasps and low moans, a symphony of shared intimacy. Boone’s gaze never wavers from theirs, every detail of their pleasure etched into his memory. His control is absolute, his movements steady, until—
A sudden shift. His sunglasses, precariously perched, slip from his face, bouncing off Six’s cheek before landing on the mattress. Boone freezes, his brows furrowing in an instant of concern and embarrassment.
“Shit– Sorry…” he mutters, his hand reaching out instinctively to retrieve them. Six stops him before he can, their laughter bubbling up as they catch his wrist. Their head falls back against the pillow, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“It’s fine,” they assure him, their voice light with amusement, “At least it wasn’t your hat.” They snatch up the sunglasses, sliding them onto their own face with a mischievous grin.
The sight is unexpectedly devastating. Six, flushed and disheveled, sprawled beneath him with his sunglasses on their face, sends a jolt of arousal through Boone so strong it leaves him momentarily stunned. His cock throbs inside them, and Six’s knowing smile only widens as they briefly glance down to where they’re connected.
“You like this look on me, huh?” Six teases, tilting the glasses slightly before shifting their hips upward in a grind that draws a shudder from the sniper. Boone doesn’t answer—not with words. His body reacts first. He quickly tosses his hat to the side before his hips suddenly snap forward in a deeper, harder thrust that tears a gasp from both of them.
The change is immediate, the air thick with renewed urgency. Boone’s careful, measured rhythm dissolves into something urgent, raw, and unrestrained. His control slips entirely as he drives into them, his thrusts harder and faster, each movement fueled by the intoxicating sight of Six beneath him.
Six clings to him, crying out as Boone’s thrusts grow faster, harder, hitting deeper with every movement. The sunglasses tilt askew on their face with every thrust, and Six pushes them back into place with a dazed, almost absent movement that only makes Boone’s desire burn hotter.
The little gesture shouldn’t be so maddeningly intoxicating, but it is. Something about that simple, clumsy movement makes his chest tighten, makes him crave more—more of the way they look, the way they sound, the way their body moves with his. Boone finds himself chasing that sight again and again, his pace growing even more desperate. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his hands gripping Six’s thighs tightly as he loses himself in the sight and feel of them.
Without even thinking about it, he shifts, his strong hands sliding to the backs of Six’s knees and pressing their legs up toward their chest. The new angle is overwhelming, drawing a sharp cry from Six as Boone sinks even deeper, his thrusts precise and unrelenting.
“Fuck– Boone!” Six’s voice cracks, their hips bucking instinctively to meet his movements.
“Feel so good,” Boone rasps, his forehead pressing against theirs as he fights to keep his control. His voice is thick, raw with the strain of holding back as pleasure courses through him. The sight and feel of them unraveling beneath him driving him closer to his own edge at an alarming rate. “So fucking good.”
Six can barely respond, their moans stuttering and their hands scrambling for purchase against his back. They are so close they can taste it, their moans breaking into sharp cries and gasps as Boone hits a spot that sends bolts of pleasure through their entire body and makes their vision explode into stars.
“I can’t– fuck, I don’t know how much longer I can–” Boone stutters between breaths, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as the heat between them reaches its peak.
“Don’t stop–” Six begs, their voice urgent and wrecked. “Don’t stop, Boone, please–”
That’s all Boone needs to hear. He drives into them with everything he has, his thrusts growing erratic as he pushes them both closer to the precipice. The sounds of their ragged breathing and shared desperation fill the room, a crescendo building between them.
Six’s body tenses first, their back arching off the bed as a broken cry tears from their throat. Boone feels the way they tighten around him, their release crashing over them in waves, leaving them trembling and gasping for air. Their flushed face, the soft glow of sweat on their skin, the sunglasses still perched—crooked and ridiculous—on their face…it’s enough to unravel him completely.
“Shit,” Boone mutters, his voice strangled and rough. He bites down on his lower lip and pulls out just in time, wrapping a hand around himself and pumping frantically. It only takes a few strokes before his own climax overtakes him, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as he spills hot and thick across Six’s stomach. His body trembles as the release floods through him, every muscle in him taut and quivering.
For a long moment, the only sound is their shared, ragged breathing, the room heavy with the lingering heat of their connection. Boone collapses onto the mattress beside them, his arm draped loosely across his forehead as he catches his breath.
Six shifts beside him, groaning softly as they sit up and glance down at the sticky mess across their stomach. A small huff of amusement escapes them as they reach up, pushing the sunglasses to rest atop their head. Their fingers linger there for a moment, lightly brushing through their tousled hair.
“Hold on,” Boone mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. He props himself up, leaning over the side of the bed to sift through a scattered pile of clothes. His movements are unhurried, almost lazy, until he pulls out a shirt that’s clearly seen better days. Without a word, he sits up and carefully cleans them both, his touch gentle despite the fatigue in his posture.
When he’s done, Boone tosses the shirt back into the pile with little fanfare and leans back, propping himself on one elbow to look at Six. His gaze lingers on the chaos surrounding them—the scattered clothes, haphazard weapons, and random bits of junk here and there. He’s too tired at this point to return to his original task, though.
“Looks like we’ll have to sort this mess out some other day,” he says, his tone light but tinged with the quiet resignation of someone who knows he won’t get to it anytime soon.
“Guess my distraction worked a little too well,” Six teases, opting to take the sunglasses off entirely and turn them this way and that as though inspecting them for damage. Their smile turns sly as they meet his gaze. “I’ll have to try it again the next time you suggest doing something I don’t feel like doing.”
“You won’t be able to distract me every time,” he challenges, leaning closer until his face is mere inches from theirs
Six doesn’t flinch, their grin widening. With deliberate care, they place the sunglasses back on Boone’s face, their fingertips brushing his temple. They tilt their head slightly, studying him as if searching for something beneath his quiet intensity. Their free hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing along his stubbled jawline as their gaze softens.
“Hmm… Guess we’ll just have to see.”