The Lucky 38 Penthouse was uncharacteristically quiet. The ragtag crew were all out, a night on the Strip, they'd said. Boone was out elsewhere, doing whatever it was the broody sniper did in his spare time. That left Arcade alone with his intellectual thoughts and a hot bath. The Courier - Jake, and Veronica had pestered him to join them, but a night spent with drunken people in cheap casinos didn't appeal to him.
He sighed, content and extremely relaxed as the clean hot water soothed his muscles. He was happy that Jake hadn't dragged him back out into the Mojave, marching him across hot sands under an unforgiving sun like he did so well. He was especially happy that everybody was out, with everybody living there, the '38 was rarely quiet, so he enjoyed the silence that came with his own company.
The hot water and blissful silence made Arcade very drowsy, and his mind began to wander. He thought of Veronica and her inane ramblings, and Cass and her ability to fit swear words in every sentence. Cass, woman of language, he thought wryly.
He thought about the gang's various escapades in the Mojave, from liberating Nelson to escaping the Sierra Madre with Boone. Boone, with a scowl for every occasion. Boone, quite frankly, terrified Arcade. For a man who was a wellspring of barely-restrained anger and self-destructive vengeance, his face remained the very picture of calm.
He thought of Jake and the first time they had met. The young man stumbled into the Fort, bleeding profusely but somehow still managing to flirt with him as Arcade treated his injuries.
He flirts with everyone, Arcade reminded himself. It was true; the redhead was terrible for flirting. He'd even made some extremely crude jokes to Boone about creative ways to use his 'rifle', to which he'd received Boone's 'shut up' scowl. Or when he'd tried his luck with a sniper at Camp McCarran with a particularly bad attitude, who had made it clear that she was more interested in the female variety.
Nevertheless, Arcade couldn't help but let his mind conjure up highly inappropriate scenarios involving himself and Jake.
Arcade woke with a start as someone stumbled out of the elevator. He was freezing, the water had gone cold, and all he wanted was his bed. He climbed out of the bath, dried himself, threw on a baggy tee and bottoms, and headed for his room.
He was surprised to see Jake relatively sober, and, on his own.
"Where are the girls?" He asked.
"The Tops. Cass is trying to start a fight and sleep with the same guy, and Veronica's doing.. Something." He finished uncertainly.
Arcade nodded, walking towards the room he shared with the others. The Courier kicked off his boots, grabbed a bottle of beer, and followed.
"Boone still out?" He asked.
"Mm-hm," Arcade hummed absently, busy making his bed. They were quiet for a minute before Arcade asked, "So, what brings you back so early?"
Jake shrugged, "Just felt like it, I guess."
"Did you really miss my stunningly good looks and cunning wit that much? Admit it; you did." Arcade, he warned himself.
Jake chuckled, deep and throaty. The sound sent a strange shiver through Arcade, which he quickly dismissed. Not going there, Arcade. You're the sensible one. But when he looked up and saw the toned redhead sitting languidly on the desk, his earlier fantasies came back to mind, and he didn't want to be sensible. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"You should've come out with us. It'd be nice to see you relax." Jake said.
Arcade quirked a brow. "I find that alcohol usually results in me being hunched over a toilet. I don't know about you, but that's not exactly my idea of relaxing."
Jake shook his head. "I'm serious. You never get out, always shutting yourself away."
Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He was tired, and this wasn't really a conversation he wanted to have at that particular moment. "I'm touched that you care, but I have fun. Our ideas of 'fun' are just different." He said, crawling under the covers.
If Jake was anything; he was persistent, and much to Arcade's surprise, he set down his beer and crawled into bed next to him.
"I'm not leaving until you loosen up," Jake said defiantly.
"Let me sleep," Arcade moaned into his pillow.
"No."
"You monster."
Jake chucked again, that low rumble that made Arcade want to jump on the man. This desire was doubled when Jake pulled his shirt off, revealing tanned skin decorated with faded scars. Mm.
He coughed. "Uh, don't you have.. You know, your own bed to go to?" Said Arcade, sounded harsher than intended. Jake either didn't notice the edge in his voice or chose to ignore it, merely shrugging.
"I told you; I'm not leaving until you loosen up."
"I think Boone needs this more than I," Arcade said, propping himself up on one elbow. "His scowl could make a nuclear bomb turn and fly back the way it came. Your concern is touching, really, but I'm very tired. Goodnight, Jake." He rolled over, his back to Jake, and settled down for sleep.
Jake was silent for a while, his steady breathing making sleep come much quicker than normal. Arcade, now half asleep, felt Jake drape a strong arm around his waist. He didn't object; it was comfortable, and Arcade had forgotten how nice it felt just to be held.
Arcade allowed himself a small smile before drifting off to sleep.