In the cover of night, Vincent couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. The clouded moon glowed just enough to shine through a nocturnal overcast, but that would be an advantage. Starry skies peeked through breaks in the clouds. For once, he would just like to enjoy it. Sit back. Relax. Watch the world go by. Preferably in the company of the ranger he found a little over a month ago.

“If we survive this, we need get a goddamn break,” Lawrence mumbled bitterly as he pushed in the fusion cell. The stealth-boys required exactly four. Fully charged, of course. It took more ass-kissing than Lawrence liked to get a hold of them. Let alone the stealth-boys themselves. Convincing Mordecai was one thing, but lying to the whole chain of command who put the orders in for Lawrence to spy on the boy… The cube battery sprung out from its compartment, drawing another grumble from the ranger.

As much as he was suspicious of House, the reclusive fossil had a point. With the securitron army underneath Fortification Hill and the sudden upgrade, House had a good chance to take his claim. All he had to do was send his securitrons rolling to the dam and that alone would spook the republic into thinking twice about starting another war—That’s if the NCR wasn’t obliterated by the Legion in the meantime. There was no way the republic could hold back the Legion’s numbers by themselves. Well, actually they could but the powers that be were either too incompetent or corrupt—maybe both—to invest in the Mojave campaign, even if to just keep an existential enemy outside their borders.

“Do you think House would use the Boomer’s against the Legion?”

Vincent crossed his arms and leaned against the cool rock face. “Boomers themselves? Don’t think so.” He watched the ranger fumble with the things by fire light for the last half-hour. Even though he offered help, Lawrence got testy and determined it was only him who would conquer the stealth-boys. “He’s more interested in their firepower and keeping it aimed off New Vegas.”

“Hah!” Lawrence jumped off the boulder he sat on, proudly holding up the culmination of his feat.

Vincent pushed off the stone and took the stealth boy, turning it around like a color-coded cube puzzle missing a few stickers. They didn’t look like much. More akin to a landmine than anything else. Flat, round, a little heavy with a simple center display in a narrow window. Four lights and two buttons accompanied the black screen and once properly powered, all lights glowed green.

Lawrence moved on to organizing their belongings. They brought the bare minimum with them—the lighter the better. Not just to avoid heat stroke, but to avoid heat stroke while running for one’s life too. Mr. House predicted the Boomers as a volatile variable in his overarching plans and after reconnaissance flavored with a brief, spontaneous, and concise rant from Lawrence, Vincent now knew why. But the old man in the tower foresaw the base as a potential strategic point. And if there was anything House didn’t like, it was not having the upper hand. The Boomers were dangerous. That was the most pressing issue. They made plenty of people nervous, but only if you were passing close to Nellis did they attack. Outside of that, they were just another group of people. Their advantage was their extreme firepower, but strip that away and they were just people living in the great equalizer of the Mojave desert.

“I’m sure we can find room for a little fun when we’re done here.”

Lawrence folded his duster as small as possible before stuffing it in an over-stuffed duffel bag. “The Millennium is my favorite,” he said as he reached for the second burden they hauled with them. Carefully setting it down, its contents clinked defiantly as if to remind him how delicate they were. “Good food, better bar—heard they got a new show too.”

“So, you’ve been planning this all out, huh?”

The ranger’s mischievous grin glowed in the moonlight. He pulled Vincent closer to him. His husky chuckle sent shivers caressing his younger lover’s skin. Misty veils parted overhead as they shared a kiss. “I’ve been thinkin’ about a lot.”

Then they made their bets, bluffed Death to his face looking in his abyssal eye sockets and started for Boomer territory.

When the stealth-boys were activated, nothing felt different. Vincent waved his hand in front of his face and seeing nothing, brought it closer to his face until he smacked his nose. Then he waved his hand across silver clouds. A strange kind shimmer took on the shape of his hand, but it was distorted like a heat mirage.

Lawrence led the way through the suburbs. Both studied the old and new maps of the area, however the ranger proved better at memorizing the complicated crosshatch of roads and intersections. Little remained to use as landmarks. Remnants of the world were scattered not once, but twice by bombs. To the west were the ruins of the residential area once part of outer Vegas. A faux boundary line that told any wandering not to pass into range of the Boomers’ artillery. Only once on the ground did both realize the true expanse of the maze of armatures and artillery craters. Each blast was a reminder of looming danger. Yet, a gentle breeze that carried sage and pinion, the hum of hidden crickets, and the faint moans of exposed steel bones filling the void of explosions.

Instead, those artillery shells dispatched inside Vincent. Lawrence’s whole work as a ranger led him into danger constantly, yet he didn’t fumble with his steps. He was sure of himself. Precise. Confident in ways Vincent only hoped to be—

A warm hand splayed across his face, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Sorry,” Lawrence whispered. A few yards ahead of them were decayed chain-link gates topped with barbed wire like the garnish on a plate. Floodlights stared into the swath of destruction behind them. Guards patrolled the perimeter, stood at the gates, and loomed overheard in the watchtowers on either side. Lawrence and Vincent were completely surrounded. “Stay close.” Vincent reached for Lawrence, finding his shoulder then the strap of the duffel bag to cling on to. “We’ll approach the gate, and I am going to take out a missile, then we deactivate the stealth-boys.”

“Got it.”

Crossing the threshold, the lights barely caught a glimmer of them. When the ranger came to a stop in front of the gate, Vincent listened for the zipper unlocking slow and steady. Then a hushed clink came as a missile withdrew from the bag. In a blink, Vincent’s view was wholly eclipsed by Lawrence’s back.

“Don’t move!”

Surprised gasps and shouts gathered the guards around the gate. The floodlight on the watchtower creaked, swiveling its focus down on the intruders.

“Don’t shoot, otherwise you’ll blow up everyone here.” Lawrence held a single missile. More guns than he liked were pointed on them while reinforcements rushed to the scene, but they were at a stalemate. Vincent peered over Lawrence’s shoulder. Maybe twelve were scattered at the gate, all trigger happy and antsy. Radio chatter buzzed from a watchtower.

The lead guard approached the fence, “why are you here? How did you avoid triggering our artillery?”

“We’re here to talk,” Lawrence stated. “As a show of good faith, we’re gonna give you these.”

“More like you stole them from us.”.

“Then you can check your reserves,” Lawrence spat back. “If you’re honest then you’ll see I’m being honest.”

“Stand down!” she bellowed and every one of her men lowered their arms. Heads turned at her approach. A sour face and stern eyes fixed on Lawrence and then flashed to Vincent as he stepped out from the ranger’s cover. She wore the same uniform as the others; a blue-gray jumpsuit like vault-dwellers would wear, but the Kevlar vest and ballistic armor was her own addition. Brown hair was drawn back tight to bear an angular face and a glare sharp enough to stab. Lawrence knew the look of a CO. She was the one in charge not just from the orders she barked but the way she walked, carried that rifle, and browbeat her underlings with a glance.

“Let them in,” she announced. “Pearl’s orders.”

Ticking clock hands filled the silence. Only a few patches here and there on the convex roof or the walls gave away the bungalow’s age. It was mostly untouched by the years, however. The little burrow reminded Vincent of the small apartment he shared with his mother with the way memories were everywhere in the form of odd knick-knacks scattered about and all the little things her children had given her. Even the string of lights with a bulb missing meant something important to its owner.

Lawrence sunk into the sofa, no longer denying the comfort of the old floral-patterned couch. Hands twiddled in his lap as he glanced about the living room. Pearl, as they called her, stood in her kitchen. She gathered a chopping tray, one hand holding down the mound of diced vegetables before dumping it in a boiling pot. Steam bloomed out, fogging the kitchen window adjacent to the stove. She hummed to a tune no one else heard and wiped her hands on her apron. Turning around, she smiled at her company, deepening the lines around twinkling eyes on her hunched shuffle over.

“Raquel.” She shooed off the young woman, “no need to worry. If our guests were trouble, we’d know by now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Raquel—the same woman who silenced the guards with just a look also escorted Vincent and Lawrence to Pearl’s home. She was the quiet type, but only because she was evaluating them. Sizing both of them up like a deathclaw before pouncing on its prey.

“I’ll be fine dear.”

“And I’ll be nearby.” Raquel slipped one last glare at the strangers before finally leaving, dragging the heavy atmosphere out with her.

Pearl sat across from them on a matching couch with an ancient coffee table between them. Circular stains dotted the wood. Magazines sat on the shelf below along with a few trinkets. A miniature model of a jack mine, a tiny Mr. Handy sat atop the stack of magazines. A battalion of them things wandered the base in tow of human guards, modified by the current inhabitants with additional eyes and utilities added to the old-world bots to suit their new owners’ needs.

“I hoped sava—Outsiders, sorry—” She raised a delicate hand to hide her bashful smile. “Would make it to our gates before one of those armies out there comes knocking.” A burdensome sigh pushed her into the sofa’s plush back. One leg crossed over the other and her hands met atop the apex of a knee. Dim lights cast shadows across Pearl’s face. All those wrinkles, especially the ones that came with a squint, reminded Vincent of the probing gaze of the brothel madame at home. “Times are changing outside. It may be time for us to change too if we want to survive.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Vincent said, glancing at Lawrence next to him. He was still tense, still suspicious, but at least he attempted to hide it. “Have you been keeping tabs on the conflicts across the Mojave?”

“I know enough to see a storm is gathering.” Her smile had since faded for a more serious look to one of worry that gave her those lines on her forehead and between eyes after untold decades. “This has brought you to us for a reason.”

“The Legion, the NCR—The main contenders—Will no doubt try to come here for an advantage,” Vincent explained. “I sooner think the Legion rather just take what you have by force while the NCR may be more friendly, but it wouldn’t benefit you.”

“Many have tried,” she shrugged. “Those Howitzers aren’t just for show.”

“What you’ve dealt with isn’t an army like the Legion,” Lawrence spoke up. He leaned forward, pressing elbows in his thighs and wringing his hands. “I mean no disrespect, but if you think your howitzers will keep ‘em away that tells me you’ve never delt with them. They have numbers you don’t. Their kind of warfare gets in your head. They come to a fortified place like this, they start tossing diseased bodies over the fence. Don’t underestimate them.”

Pearl’s confident gaze faltered knowing he was right. Seeing his opening, Vincent continued, “this conflict won’t be something you can ignore. If we made it in here unnoticed, so will others. Which is why I’m here to make you an offer. An offer that will ensure your peoples’ survival, and solitude if you wish.”

Wise eyes met Vincent’s. She held her chin up and nodded. “I’m listening.”




—




A single bead of sweat streamed down the side of Vincent’s head. The height of the noon sun wouldn’t be reached for another three hours, and he was already soaked. The basin Nellis sat in was no different than the rest of the Mojave. The heat suffocated any life on the surface while the dryness sucked not just the moisture from the ground but also squeezed every last drop of sweat out of you even in the safety of shade. The desolate expanse went on for miles in all directions. That was the current problem on Nellis’s long list of problems—nothing grew.

The fields were loose soil and sand. Vincent could count on his hands the few things that did grow. Most of which were just weeds. “Nothing but the cactus grows out here and even then, it’s not much,” the gardener said. “Too slow growing to harvest the pads. Don’t fruit either.” Bones cracked with a quiet groan as she stood up and dusted her hands on her beige pants. “Pearl says you’re here to help, but unless you know something about farming, I don’t think there’s much for you to do.”

“Are those the only cactus you have?” Vincent pointed to a humble patch. One which looked closer to natural deposits rather than a deliberate farm.

“For now, yes,” she tucked a stray lock of hair the same color of the dirt she worked behind her ear. “We used to have more, but the land here isn’t best for farming.”

Vincent raised his wrist. He had since donned the pip-boy he much preferred to hide while they toured the base. Occasionally he paused for notes yet had to say anything of his ideas to Lawrence, but by now the ranger may have had his own. Lawrence tapped Vincent’s arm. “Why don’t we check out the NCR farms outside of Vegas?”

“For food supply or get help farming?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “That land was never used for farming until we moved in. They grow water intensive crops though, but…” Even behind the dark lenses, the sun’s glares beat eyes to a squint. “I’m sure they use something on the soil to make it more than just a pile of typical dirt.”

“And it’d make our crops grow?”

“It could certainly help.”

“Well, that’s a good start,” Vincent agreed. “But, from the looks of it, you don’t have a lot of water either.”

“Not one bit.” She sighed as arms crossed against her chest. “Rather stick to native plants that can survive this and still grow.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t until Vegas has full control of the dam, but I have an idea.” Vincent pressed a button on the pip-boy before resting it back at his side. “One of the farmers where I lived often just transplanted cactus and succulents from the wild onto her farm for easier foraging.”

“Just… uprooted the whole thing?” Lawrence arched a peculiar brow.

“It worked,” Vincent shrugged. “Pissed off some people, but it worked.”

“We’ve never done anything like that, but it beats leaving the base and dealing with savages out there.” The gardener turned to Vincent. Her intrigued expression lightened a suntanned face. “That actually might work if you can also get something to help the soil.”

“If we can use the robots around the base, it would make this much easier,” Vincent added. “Unless you don’t mind sending some people outside.”

“Some might be antsy out there, but I wouldn’t mind,” she admitted as defensive arms unfolded from her chest. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Vincent.”

“Gina,” she said, extending a hand to him. “If you’re here to help as Pearl says…” They shook hands, but Vincent still sensed apprehension in her voice. “I’ll talk to someone who may be able to temporarily re-program some of the Mr. Handy to help.”

Lawrence looked over his shoulder at the humble farm shrinking behind them. “Do you think it’s really a good idea to help these people?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“They’re a liability. Help them, maybe they help you… What makes you think they’ll agree let alone keep up their end of the bargain?”

“They can’t survive out here on their own,” Vincent noted. “Pearl mentioned they left their vault, what 50 years ago? Nellis was still stocked and locked down, but their supplies are finite, and they refuse to leave or trade.”

“Then there’s also that nutjob prophecy,” Lawrence rolled his eyes and jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the prophesiers in question. “Seriously, what the hell is that about? House should use these people against the Legion as fodder.”

“Lawrence, that’s a little harsh.” Vincent raised his hand as if to halt the man’s train of thought. “I get what you’re saying though, but I don’t think the prophecy—” Fingers curled around his own words recalling the fevered-dream of restoring an old-world bomber plane—none of which remained intact after two centuries—for the sole purpose of delivering “savages” from themselves. Anybody outside the fence of Nellis was a savage to them. Listening to Pearl recount the story of when her people emerged from their vault, he could see why. From the outside though, others thought the same of the Boomers, which was also a reasonable sentiment. “—is anything. We just need a little finesse in dealing with them.”

“Finesse ain’t my forte if you haven’t noticed.”

“The main thing that I have planned is enticing them with a supply deal once we take the dam.”

“I heard, but…” Lawrence paused. The ranger looked to his companion as a finger rose. A light went on behind his eyes. “If they ever become a liability, they can be cut-off from the dam.”

“Make them rely on us,” Vincent said. “Without the water or power, they won’t survive and it’ll make them think twice about pissing off the hand that feeds.”

“Shrewd,” Lawrence said, wondering if that was all Mr. House’s idea.

“Manipulative too.”

“It’s an unfortunate part of life,” Lawrence said. “You have to make hard decisions. Who lives and who dies.”

“I just don’t think I’m really justified or qualified in doing that.”

Lawrence yanked off his sunglasses and grabbed Vincent by his shoulder, stopping their leisurely pace. “No one is. Not President Kimball, not any of those generals sitting in their own Lucky 38s back home while their people starve in squalor, and not me either.”

Vincent sighed. He hung his head and stared at the tarmac sweltering in the sun, shimmering beneath their boots like a mirage of black water. It was a lot like trying to look into the future. Dark. Murky. Sometimes bleak. All those hard decisions were what Caesar, House, the NCR, and countless others had to tackle in the pursuit of what they thought was right. Decisions he would have to make to have what he wanted—what he needed. Vincent looked up to Lawrence. “I just want to at least try and make things better if I can.”

Lawrence petted the boy’s back in wide circles. “Let’s head back to Vegas and talk about it when my brain’s not being fried in my skull.”

In the decent hours of the day, the strip wasn’t flowing with tourists or talents working the streets in search of caps. Make no mistake though, it wasn’t for a lack of interest nor the vast number of thrill-seekers too hungover from the night before. Not at all. It was the god-awful heat. It swept in like a plague, deathly quiet and still. Then it hit you. Sucked the life out of you. It had become one thing on a growing number of reasons why Lawrence had begun to hate the place. The war and its waste topped that list.

Lawrence pushed up the sunglasses gliding down his sweat-slicked nose. He left McCarran as reluctantly as he went. Another string of truths and lies following behind him like his own shadow just to keep his superiors happy. This time was a half-assed recollection of what happened at Nellis, the true outcome of which he would probably have to keep secret too. As far as the NCR knew, the Boomers wanted nothing to do with the Legion, New Vegas, or the dam, but that wasn’t enough, even as plausible as it seemed. The general pushed for more. An alliance. A security net for the impending attack on the dam. Sweeten the deal with an offer to join the republic—That one he did his damnedest not to laugh at. Nothing was ever enough for glory-hounds. Just more, more, more.

It was times like these that made him question whether his loyalty lay with the right people. He knew his own actions, their reasons, and the moral compass he wondered lately if he had been following faithfully for the past few years. The republic stretched their resources thin enough as is. He’d seen the outcome of that a little too often for his liking. Yet the orders kept coming in and sending him and countless other rangers all over the Mojave. A skirmish here. Recon there to confirm they lost control of an area, either to Legion, highwaymen, raiders—doesn’t matter. name it.

They threw more soldiers at the problem like it was the solution. Kids fresh out of boot camp, conscripted from some bum-fuck town on the outskirts of the cushy metropolitan cities because no way any politician would let his son get chewed up in the meat-grinder. And should that poor soul find themselves in that scenario, realizing it only seconds before death or laying in a med-tent cot missing both his legs, there was also someone else to draft.

His thoughts kept coming back to what Marcus would have thought about it all. Those days of ignorance and patriotism withered away somewhere between his and death and where Lawrence was currently passing through the terminal station on the strip.

“Well, well, well.” A throaty voice cooed ahead of him. Lawrence looked up, sunglasses sliding down his nose again. “Y’know, I’m pretty good at this MP stuff. Trouble comes to me.”

 Lawrence grinned widely at the sight of the lieutenant leaning against the rail, wearing a cocky smile on her face as she waited for him to exit onto her turf. A red beret kept her curt brunette hair in place all but where it curled around her earlobes to poignant ends.

“What brings you to the strip?” Jackie tilted her head, eying the incognito ranger as he joined her side.

“Business,” Lawrence said, laying the intrigue on thick. “And pleasure.”

She balked at that, crossing her arms crossed as she warned, “you better not make me do my job.”

“I don’t make promises.”

Jackie shook her head but couldn’t shake her smile. “Eve’s here. Just got in late last evening on a caravan from home.”

“Already? We gotta get together soon.”

“I got tickets for an opening show, and it just so happens to be your favorite place.”

“I actually have someone I’d like you two to meet,” Lawrence added, the bashful glance to the floor telling more than his words. “Which reminds me…” He licked his lips—a stall to a burning question he had no better person to ask, unless he wanted a slap to the face. “I have a friend—”

“That’s where this is unbelievable,” she laughed, drawing out Lawrence’s own chuckle. She landed a playful hit on his shoulder. “Go on.”

“I’ve been looking for something.” He raised a hand to his chin and stroked his goatee, but it did little to coax the words out of him. “To help him…”

“Ah huh…” She nodded as slowly as Lawrence’s words came.

“He’s a little—” Awkward hands cupped his chest as his face twisted to a quizzical furrow. “Top-heavy.”

“Top-heavy?”

“It gets in the way,” he explained. “And makes him self-conscious.”

“Ah huh… And you might be wondering how I keep my top-heaviness in?”

“Please tell me I ain’t makin’ a fool of myself asking this, but I just—”

Jackie laughed, waving off Lawrence’s insecurity. “I have some things I recommend my girls in the field to use, but if he’s a heavy-set—”

“He’s pretty thin,” Lawrence corrected, but just as quickly as he said it, he realized his mistake.

“But he’s ‘top-heavy’?” She craned her neck. A humored smile tugged the corners of her mouth finding glee by poking holes in his story.

“Please. Go with it. He’s shorter than you, probably a little thinner, so if you have something, I’m sure it will fit. Just something to keep things flat. Whatever it costs, I’ll give you the caps.”

A tongue pressed the inside of her cheek. “Alright. I’m off in three hours so meet me at the McCarran barracks.”

Lawrence finally exhaled. “Thank you, Jackie.”

“Also! Come with us,” she insisted. “Shows not for another few days and Eve would love to see you again—Oh, and bring this someone you wanted us to meet.” Intrigued eyes gleamed under her shades. Of course, the two of them would have to pry once they met Vincent, but he already knew they’d like him

“I’d think we’d both really like that.”

Lawrence felt renewed entering air-conditioned sanctuaries of the casinos. The Lucky 38's chill, however, was different—unsettling in its emptiness, with dim lights casting shadows through the lifeless gaming floor. After a day of gathering intelligence and maintaining his public persona, the quietude was almost welcome.

Meanwhile, Vincent had immersed himself in old volumes of Mr. House’s personal library in hopes to find something to assist in their current endeavors. A collection of books and holotapes for the terminal were neatly stacked and organized around him on the desk. Old pages zapped his fingertips, rushing him with a mixture of inspiration and intangible power. However, when the door to the suit swished open, he abandoned the desk to meet Lawrence at the foot of the stairs.

“How’d it go?” Vincent asked. He'd been anticipating this moment all day—their nightly ritual of dinner, perhaps drinks, but most importantly, their intimate conversations about anything and everything.

“Good,” Lawrence replied, pushing one boot off with the other. “Found out some interesting stuff, met an old friend.” Descending the stairs with a cocky sway in his shoulders, he added, “got something for you…”

Vincent gave Lawrence a peculiar look noticing his hands were hidden behind his back and a boyish grin. Once he stood on the last step, Lawrence savored the anticipation he riled up in Vincent for a brief second, but it was him who was more excited about it. He thrust the folded square to Vincent.

“What is this?” Vincent asked, studying the matte black fabric folded into a thick square as he slowly reached for it.

“Try it on,” Lawrence urged, turning Vincent around and guiding him to the bathroom. “Let me know what you think.”

When Vincent disappeared to the privacy of the bathroom, the ranger set for his final destination, the sofa. The moment he sat down, feet began their rant. Aches and pains scolded him for walking so much without rest. The soreness following the next day would remind him was getting older. For a moment there was peace and quiet. Save for that dull ache traveling up his calves. The turn of the doorknob sent a rush through him. He stared at the corner as anticipation trickled down his back. His stomach had been in knots the moment Jackie had given him that thing, but now it may as well have jumped up his throat.

Vincent turned the corner with a smile that put Lawrence’s doubt to bed. Vincent rushed to the ranger. “Thank you.” His muffled voice barely escaped the folds of Lawrence’s shirt. Vincent savored the feeling of the ranger’s body against his own. They never would have embraced like this without the Kevlar vest between them. For as constrictive as the binder was, it was equally freeing. “Where did you—”

“I asked a friend.” Lawrence wiped away a lone tear that somehow escaped Vincent’s eye. “Well, I hoped maybe it’d help you. I didn’t mention anything specific. I promise.”

“It’s perfect.”

He hid his face again. Rarely had he ever been moved to tears of his own happiness. And never had he thought he’d be given a gift like this. The binder was more than a physical gift. It was a symbol of acceptance, of love, and maybe he deserved these things. 

Vincent only shed tears like this once before, when he left Yucca Valley for good, after the last argument with his mother that took him on another long walk through the hills. All the times before he had packed his satchel with everything he needed then set out, but the most important thing he’d needed was lost along the way. Except for the one time he didn’t lose his nerve. He kept walking until he reached the I-10. With night consuming the sky, he stood there in one piece, despite what his mother told him. That nagging voice in his head he tried to ignore most of his life then asked him in the moment of triumph: how much farther could you go if you already made it this far? So, he went farther. Marched down the road, bought himself a private room for the night and cut off all the hair that had weighed him down for too long.

Lawrence hummed as he stared in the mirror. He pinched the slack of oversized dress shirt hanging on Vincent’s form. “How’s that feel?”

Vincent slid his hands down his chest, evening out the wrinkles and folds as he imagined what it would be like when it really fit him. “Right.”

“Go ahead and unbutton.”

Vincent did just that while Lawrence held onto the excess. Clothes were already difficult enough just to find—let alone the right size. He tried to make the best of what he did find, saving pieces that could be refitted later while pretending his mother wasn’t right to snip at him for refusing to learn how to sew. He refused to for reasons he found silly in hindsight watching a man—the idealist of men—shrink a decent shirt down to fit Vincent’s pitiful frame.

Lawrence searched a little box. It was a pragmatic wood rectangle with a tiny brass latch to keep the lid closed. Needles, threads, all the little things to make patches here and there were neatly organized among smaller compartments inside. “So,” he inverted the folded excess of the long-sleeved shirt in his hands then went to work, “I found out something interesting after talking to the science officer at the farm.”

Vincent leaned forward and the bed creaked. It was one of those lazy nights in the comfort of their own suite both came to enjoy. Really any night when a shower, decent food, and not needing to keep on eye open while sleeping was guaranteed, were nights be enjoyed. But lounging in bed, watching the handsome and dressed-down man sitting cross-legged in front of him was a night Vincent treasured.

 “She mentioned a project her colleague is working on,” Lawrence explained, pulling several bobby pins holding his work together. Vincent’s gaze wandered up from the shirt. Sewing wasn’t exactly thrilling to watch, but the flexing muscles in Lawrence’s forearms were. The ranger leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his spread knees and soon Vincent’s eyes were wandering elsewhere. He didn’t need to be shy about looking at Lawrence anymore, but he was looking at places best seen in minimal clothing—short of being completely naked. “Something about research that could multiply crop yields, so I think it would useful to check out.”

“Sure,” Vincent agreed, snapping out of his thoughts, “but wouldn’t me showing up rouse some suspicion?”

“Just gotta come up with another excuse,” Lawrence muttered as Vincent’s eyes were wandering off again. He was avoiding the natural bulge of Lawrence’s underwear, looking at the places that, while he admired very much, were something less exotic to stare at. “I already put in some vague info about Nellis. Convinced some uniforms our work will neutralize the Boomers from being a threat.”

“Think they bought it?” Vincent asked, reminding himself to confirm if his ogling was unnoticed.  

“Seeing as I’m the only one close to you and what you’re doing…” Lawrence’s voice trailed off, but Vincent already had an idea of what he would say. If he heard it at all.

They had known each other for more than a month now, longer than Vincent usually kept company. And far more intimately than he had ever let anyone know him. Lawrence wouldn’t be Vincent’s first. He had known men for only a couple days or even hours and had sex with them. He had been a teenager once too, and like most, he was curious—he felt a lot like that teenager again, his cheeks blooming with warmth as he wondered how much of his palm the ranger’s balls would fill. It was hard to tell by bulge-size alone. This was the first instance in which he was

close enough to observe without an erection getting in the way. Of course, he wondered about that too. Quick eyes glanced to Lawrence’s hands and feet even though Vincent didn’t really believe that; there had been some surprising size discrepancies in his experience.

But hesitancy kept Vincent’s hands from venturing too far during steamy moments. Lawrence never insisted on anything either, but his flirts and teases and risqué touches reminded Vincent he had his own desire swelling too. He didn’t know precisely why he was hesitant but at its core was fear—horniness can override that though, as it had in the past. The difference now was Vincent didn’t have to play pretend with Lawrence. The ranger accepted all his weirdness. Maybe he wouldn’t mind a little more.

“Alright, try it on now,” Lawrence’s enthused tone shattered Vincent’s trance. Suddenly the shirt was around Vincent’s shoulders and Lawrence hopped off the bed. Vincent followed him to the oval mirror reflecting the night sky.

The shoulders fit snugly instead of drooping down his arms. He stood straighter, having nothing to hid with the binder underneath. Lawrence flattened the collar, promising it’ll look better when ironed out. Vincent’s cheeks ached from smiling—it was embarrassing how this frivolous shirt, an extra-tight piece of cloth, and worst of all, Lawrence, made him feel.

“It suits you.” Vincent looked to Lawrence’s reflection. He swung around at the sight of Lawrence’s grinning lips. Their eyes met and Vincent realized there was another thing different about this man compared to all his other banal sexual encounters and dead-end relationships that made it as scary as it was exciting.

want for Lawrence was for more than lust.

Hands slid over the sloping mounds of Lawrence’s shoulder. Fingers pressed into Lawrence’s skin for balance as Vincent stood on his toes. Sparks seem to ignite at their very lips. Lawrence’s arms wrapped around Vincent. Bodies pressed one another. Their hands drifted atop each other’s clothes, bare skin. The bulge Vincent didn’t think he was touching began to make itself known. He teased Lawrence’s lips with his tongue. Pressing up and into the semi-flaccid penis almost touching the right spot on his own body would certainly encourage it to get harder.

Lawrence’s pleased hum responded to Vincent. Hands slid down Vincent’s lower back. Vincent’s fingers wandered down the slopes of Lawrence’s chest. Palms flattened to the gentle curve of his stomach. Too bad the form-hugging tank was concealing the soft hair that led a seductive trail into Lawrence’s underwear. The hardness squished between their hips reminded Vincent it was too late to back out now, and it was exhilarating to know.

One of countless kisses broke and Lawrence picked Vincent off the shaggy carpet with ease. Vincent’s legs wrapped around Lawrence’s waist. He bit his bottom lip in hesitation. Lawrence’s soft gaze admired his younger lover. It was only him and Vincent, nothing else mattered beyond the suite in the Lucky 38. Not even the past or future had influence here. They shared a single kiss before Lawrence turned the half-step to the bed they had left. Then his hot breath exhaled in Vincent’s ear, “do you know what I’m going to do?” 

“If you don’t, I will.”