Chapter Text
Vicente, frankly, isn’t really sure where he is. He’s in a cot in a tent, and that’s about as much as he knows. When he tilts his head to the side, his consciousness sticks where it was like some sort of viscous jelly.
Oh shit. I’m high as fuck.
“An astute observation.”
Vicente lifts his head further, looking for the source of the familiar voice. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Unless I’ve become a mind-reader.”
Vicente feels like he’s moving through gelatin. The discomfort and confusion melts away when he lays his eyes on a tired, scruffy blonde. “Aaaarrrcaaaade!” he coos happily, and tries to lift a hand to wave him over. Sadly, the limb just twitches. “Did you do drugs to me?”
That gets a small chuckle out of Arcade. Vicente feels something stir in his chest. “Nothing more than medically necessary. Sorry to skimp out.”
“Awww. Boooriiing.” Vicente smiles oddly before looking down at himself. “Oh shit.”
Arcade snaps to attention at Vicente’s sudden worried tone. “Something wrong?”
“There’s bandages on me.”
Vicente does not see how Arcade’s shoulders relax. “At this rate, you’re going to be a doctor yourself soon.”
Vicente’s mind is too clouded to catch the sarcasm. “… That sounds scary.” He zeroes in on the bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach. Whatever expression he’s making, it must get Arcade’s attention, because the tall man is by Vicente’s bedside in a quick few strides.
“You were shot — right about here.” Arcade hovers two fingers over a spot on Vicente’s lower abdomen. “You’re lucky it didn’t hit anything important.”
“Bona fortuna,” Vicente murmurs, and Arcade’s thin lips turn up into a smile. It’s tired and faint, but Vicente feels himself melting under his gaze.
“And it seems the head injuries aren’t too bad either, then?” Lamplight glints off of Arcade’s glasses as he tilts his head.
“I feel like I’m in soup.”
Another wry laugh. “You have a lot of chems in your system. I had to dig the bullet out and stitch you up.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’ve got me working more than the Followers ever did.”
“Ooohhhh. I’m sorry.”
Arcade lightly pats an uninjured spot on Vicente’s arm. It sends a pleasant, warm static through his veins. “Eh. You’ve saved my life enough times. I’m sure it’s somewhat statistically even.” He smiles, a little kinder than before. It inspires an odd feeling, which makes Vicente shift, completely unaware of the way he’s staring at Arcade. Unfortunately, he’s also completely unaware of the way Arcade’s touch lingers longer than necessary. “How’re you feeling? Besides the soup.”
Vicente is quiet for a long moment as he does his best to assess his body’s needs. Fuzzy. Weird. Weeeird. “Can I have another pillow?” he blurts out.
Arcade looks around, makes a clicking sound, purses his lips, and stands still for a second. “I’ll have to call up room service,” he says dryly. Before Vicente can pull together a response, Arcade is emptying his pockets and shrugging off his coat. Vicente blinks with heavy lids and struggles to process why Arcade is so carefully folding up the worn coat. When their eyes meet, an odd look crosses Arcade’s face, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Sit forward a bit.”
Vicente follows his command without question. Arcade carefully tucks the folded up jacket behind Vicente, providing at least a bit of additional support in lieu of another pillow. His fingertips inadvertently graze against Vicente’s back, leaving warm ripples of fuzzy feelings. He gently guides Vicente back into a resting position. The domestically pleasant smile on his face rattles around Vicente’s jellied brain.
Fuck, I wanna suck him off so badly.
Arcade freezes where he stands. His pale cheeks quickly blossom into a bright shade of red as he just hovers there and blinks. “… What?”
Vicente blinks as he slowly processes what just happened, shame and guilt hitting him like a baseball bat. “… Ohh! Ohhh. Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“I.” Arcade opens and closes his mouth to start and stop a few times. “That is not medically advisable at this moment.”
Vicente’s brain stalls like an ancient terminal as Arcade fusses over his bandages. “At this moment,” he eventually clarifies, over-enunciating every word in an attempt to not sound completely high out of his mind.
Arcade pushes his glasses up with the back of his hand and clears his throat, but he does not look up from the bandage he’s unraveling around Vicente’s thigh. “Correct.”
“Sssssssssssooooo-uh……. A. A future moment then?”
It’s a little comical, the way Arcade’s furrowed blonde brows stick out against his flushed skin. “Vicente, you are on a lot of chems right now. It would be incredibly unethical for me to accept a sexual proposition from you after injecting you with enough Med-X to kill a dog. And I highly doubt you would say something like that with a sober mind.”
Vicente blinks one eye at a time. What? Of course he would. Well. Maybe he’s been a bit too shy to actually say it. “Yeah, but I’d think it.”
In a moment of horrible timing, Arcade swipes a cloth over the wound on Vicente’s thigh, disinfecting it and sending a horrible sting through his nervous system. Vicente jolts and lets out a loud hiss, everything in his body enraged in one way or another.
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep thrashing like that.” Arcade carefully cleans the wound while Vicente struggles to stay still between the pain, chems, and lust, his addled mind pulled in too many directions to land anywhere.
“I would love some jet right about now,” Vicente hisses out through gritted teeth.
Arcade sighs. “Fresh out.” His palm slides across Vicente’s thigh as he rebandages the wound, pausing momentarily. Vicente doesn’t know why. He’d very much like Arcade to keep doing what he was doing. “Ah. Hm. I suppose I shouldn’t worry about blood loss, then.”
A quick glance down confirms his worst fear. Vicente groans and covers his face shamefully. At least if he hadn't been shot in the leg, he’d have some fucking pants on, but no — only a pair of gray boxers hold back a very obvious boner. Perhaps if he closes his eyes tight enough, he’ll just disappear. Or die. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no. I’m glad the lifelong malnutrition and constant assassination attempts don’t prevent you from having a healthy libido.”
Vicente has no idea what to do with that dry, almost monotonous tone. He very much feels like he’s done many things wrong, though. “S’okay if you punch me in the face.”
Arcade just purses his lips. “Not exactly my kink, but thanks.” He secures the bandages and stands as Vicente splutters.
“I! Did not mean! It like that! I meant! It as an apology!” Vicente defends himself while his cheeks run hot. Arcade gestures for Vicente to sit up, and he obliges, moving much slower than he thinks he is.
“You want me to punch you in the face… as an apology?” Arcade asks slowly, as if Vicente’s… God forbid. Unintelligent.
“For if I have offended you!” The words come out like an actor reciting some declaration. Arcade actually chuckles and shakes his head, sending Vicente’s heart stuttering.
Pale fingertips graze across Vicente’s tan torso as Arcade starts to unwind the bandages around his stomach.
“Yeah. Alright. Obviously, I’m not going to do that. Even if I did, I’d be the one who has to patch you up.”
Vicente scoffs. “I mean, I dunno if you could punch me that hard.”
Arcade shoots Vicente an unamused look over his glasses. “Stop tempting me.”
Tempting. Vicente shifts from side to side, shivering at each incidental touch of skin on skin. Unknowingly, he murmurs the word back to himself a few times.
The wound on his stomach looks worse than it feels, but that’s probably the combination of Med-X and hazy lust at work. Arcade kneels between his legs, and Vicente feels like his dick is going to explode. With one swipe of disinfectant, that feeling is quickly replaced with a sharp, stinging pain that stabs through his brain like a flaming needle. “Fuck!” is all he can gasp out as he arches and writhes under Arcade’s touch.
At least the pain distracts him from the mortifying position he’s in.
“Breathe.” Vicente does his best to follow Arcade’s instruction, biting back a remark about how obviously, he’s fucking trying to. “There we go.”
Vicente truly cannot help it that Arcade’s voice makes his dick twitch. It only gets worse when Arcade grabs the roll of bandages, shifting so that golden lamplight illuminates his flushed face. He’s just stunning. Pale blue eyes meet Vicente’s, sending another wave of heat over the poor man.
“This is going to be a little tight. But let me know if it’s too tight.” Vicente tries not to react to that phrasing, but evidently fails, because Arcade lets out an exasperated sigh. “Your mind lives in the gutter.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Vicente’s response comes out as more of a defensive whine than he would’ve liked. “You’re the one who keeps saying, uh, uh, suggestive things.”
Arcade laughs in disbelief and shakes his head as he begins to bandage Vicente’s stomach. Fuck, it’s almost like a hug. When was the last time he was hugged? Surely, it’s been years.
“Right. Right. Sorry. I’m sure —” Arcade pauses. He actually stops talking. Vicente’s worried something’s wrong with the way Arcade momentarily freezes up, something like a malfunctioning Securitron. But then he thins his lips and keeps working. “You’re on a lot of chems right now. Don’t drink any alcohol tonight, okay? And don’t sleep on your left side, it’ll aggravate your injuries. Though I’m sure you’d figure that out pretty quickly yourself. Oh, and make sure to eat something before you fall asleep. Preferably not irradiated.”
Vicente blinks a few times, a little startled by Arcade’s sudden shift to professionalism. Unfortunately, it does nothing to kill the hard on. “You got it, doc.”
Arcade’s eyes bore into Vicente’s for a moment, something unusual brewing behind them. His gaze drops just as quickly, and he pulls the bandages taut as he secures them. “How does that feel?”
“Uh. Fine?”
“Convincing.”
Arcade’s dry, monotone sarcasm shouldn’t twist Vicente’s heart the way it does. “Uhhhhhhh. Yeah. Yeah. It’s good. Promise.”
Arcade squints at Vicente’s face, and then his wound, and then — oh God. Surely, it’s simply an involuntary downwards glance. It would be foolish to think Arcade just checked him out beyond the medical sense.
Arcade clears his throat and stands, stepping back just far enough for his knees to be brushing Vicente’s. He’s always taller, but with Vicente sitting on the cot, Arcade is absolutely towering over him. Vicente folds his arms across his lap in an awkward, helpless attempt to make his dick less obvious.
“Just… call for me if you hurt yourself, okay?”
Vicente blinks. A peculiarly strong wave of sadness hits him. “Where’re you going?”
“I won’t be far. Just around the campfire outside.”
Something petulant in Vicente’s heart is stirring. He doesn’t want Arcade to leave. He doesn’t want to be out from underneath that blue gaze. “Why?”
Arcade laughs and gives Vicente a glance-over that makes his blood run hot. “I think you need some time to yourself,” is all he says as he leaves the tent with a little wave.
It’s maddening. For a moment, Vicente simply stares after him, but the discomfort of cotton rubbing against his hard cock successfully redirects his attention. Ah. Right. Goddammit. Goddamn him. Goddamn that stupid blonde man. Vicente lays back into the cot, and, after a couple minutes of fruitless effort, succumbs to his fate of desperately fucking his hand and wishing it was Arcade’s smart mouth.