Bright pink patches of anger blossomed high on Veronica's scowling cheeks.
"Hm. I see. Say... you know that move I'm always using, the one you want me to show you so badly?"
The courier's eyes lit up. "The scribe counter? Yeah, I know it! You're gonna teach me? Finally?"
Veronica's eyes narrowed. "You've hurt me, Courier. You've hurt me and put an irreparable strain on our friendship that, quite frankly, I may never truly get over. And I am taking the knowledge of the scribe counter with me to the grave. I will NEVER teach you how to do it."
The courier's face fell. His pleas, however, fell on deaf ears as Veronica stormed angrily out of the room, Courier begging at her heels for forgiveness.
Rex following the chaotic pair, yipping happily behind them. Loud noises! Yelling! Master's games were such great fun! It was so good to have everyone home again.
And then there were two. Arcade turned to Boone, who was currently in the process of pulling the dress down and off over his hips.
Oh. Oh!
Arcade cleared his throat, politely averting his eyes. "So," he attempted, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "That was really, uh. Yeah. Glad to, you know. Good to see you guys back. Safe and everything, I mean. But um. Is it really necessary to take that off, right here?"
He chanced a look at Boone's face, and Boone met his gaze dead-on. There was a pained look in his eyes. "This," he gestured to his himself and damn it, Arcade, don't look. Don't look. "This is less humiliating," he affirmed, stepping out of the dress pile and kicking the silk bundle to the side, clad now in nothing but his grey, tattered smalls. Dropping his gaze, he turned his (naked) back to the other man and made his way to his room.
Arcade knew it was wrong, he knew it, but he just couldn't help himself from sneaking a sideways glance at Boone's backside under the thin (and, thankfully, NOT inside-out) fabric as the other man ambled away. 'Bad Arcade', he scolded himself, appreciating the muscular curve of the sniper's strong thighs as they disappeared around the corner of the hallway. 'Very, very bad.'
Arcade felt the distinct, unnerving sensation of someone staring. Guiltily, he turned his head and was met with the glowing smile of Yes Man, beaming happily from his securitron housing.
That freaky bot had been standing there the entire time.
"You. You saw nothing," Arcade threatened, pointing a warning finger at the robot. He turned to leave, giving Yes Man a final, withering look before turning to go retrieve his long-overdue Sunset Sarsaparilla.
And, if he was lucky, maybe catch one last glimpse of an agitated Boone bending over into his wardrobe, trying desperately to find something decidedly less traumatic to wear.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
Drop Dead, Gorgeous [3/3]
Date: 2012-01-20 07:09 pm (UTC)"Hm. I see. Say... you know that move I'm always using, the one you want me to show you so badly?"
The courier's eyes lit up. "The scribe counter? Yeah, I know it! You're gonna teach me? Finally?"
Veronica's eyes narrowed. "You've hurt me, Courier. You've hurt me and put an irreparable strain on our friendship that, quite frankly, I may never truly get over. And I am taking the knowledge of the scribe counter with me to the grave. I will NEVER teach you how to do it."
The courier's face fell. His pleas, however, fell on deaf ears as Veronica stormed angrily out of the room, Courier begging at her heels for forgiveness.
Rex following the chaotic pair, yipping happily behind them. Loud noises! Yelling! Master's games were such great fun! It was so good to have everyone home again.
And then there were two. Arcade turned to Boone, who was currently in the process of pulling the dress down and off over his hips.
Oh. Oh!
Arcade cleared his throat, politely averting his eyes. "So," he attempted, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "That was really, uh. Yeah. Glad to, you know. Good to see you guys back. Safe and everything, I mean. But um. Is it really necessary to take that off, right here?"
He chanced a look at Boone's face, and Boone met his gaze dead-on. There was a pained look in his eyes. "This," he gestured to his himself and damn it, Arcade, don't look. Don't look. "This is less humiliating," he affirmed, stepping out of the dress pile and kicking the silk bundle to the side, clad now in nothing but his grey, tattered smalls. Dropping his gaze, he turned his (naked) back to the other man and made his way to his room.
Arcade knew it was wrong, he knew it, but he just couldn't help himself from sneaking a sideways glance at Boone's backside under the thin (and, thankfully, NOT inside-out) fabric as the other man ambled away. 'Bad Arcade', he scolded himself, appreciating the muscular curve of the sniper's strong thighs as they disappeared around the corner of the hallway. 'Very, very bad.'
Arcade felt the distinct, unnerving sensation of someone staring. Guiltily, he turned his head and was met with the glowing smile of Yes Man, beaming happily from his securitron housing.
That freaky bot had been standing there the entire time.
"You. You saw nothing," Arcade threatened, pointing a warning finger at the robot. He turned to leave, giving Yes Man a final, withering look before turning to go retrieve his long-overdue Sunset Sarsaparilla.
And, if he was lucky, maybe catch one last glimpse of an agitated Boone bending over into his wardrobe, trying desperately to find something decidedly less traumatic to wear.