Doctors and Shit

Sometimes, Vasilyev would sleep for days on end at the Lucky 38. Arcade constantly told him about how he should know better than that, but Vasilyev did it anyway.

This particular night, behind the closed door of his bedroom, Vasilyev blew notes from his favorite harmonica.

Arcade was rather partial to a certain corner of the suite--one with a neat desk (or at least as neat as post-apocalyptic could be) and some space to himself. He lifted a brow at the other man's room, the sound somewhat surprising him. He poked his head in.
"...This late? Really?"

Vasilyev jumped, standing up from his bed.

"Oh, I am sorry," he replied, his accent thicker when he was in the company of his companions. They didn't seem to care as much, and so he tried less hard to hide it. "I forgot that not everyone has the same sleeping habits as me. I'll go into the casino, if you'd prefer."

The man was endearing in his own ways, and Arcade couldn't help but to crack a little, slight smile. "...Well, I don't really mind, I was just a little confused what brought it about."

Vasilyev blushed, despite his usually very monochrome appearance.

"Ah, it was...I am..."

How did he explain how he was feeling? He wasn't lonely, per se, as he did have his friends. He wanted more of a companionship with someone, someone who wasn't just a meaningless one night stand. Yet, perhaps Arcade wasn't the right person to talk to about this.

But the only other people he had were Rex and Boone.

"I simply wanted to play music," he replied, smiling awkwardly.

He chuckled very slightly. "...You should keep playing. At least you're good at it, unlike..." He narrowed his eyes and stared at the man sleeping with a beret over his face.

He chuckled, fingering the harmonica in his hands.

"My father taught me how to play, but my mother taught me how to use a gun," he smiled proudly. "If you like it, then, perhaps I can play something special for you."

He blushed ever so slightly.

"In a very platonic way," he added, unsure of how to phrase it.

"Oh yes, platonic. No problem." He snorted, pushing his glasses up carefully.

"But I'd like to hear it."

Vasilyev nodded at him, making his way over to Arcade's favorite desk and sitting in the chair in front of it.

"I will play while you do whatever it is you were doing, yes?" he replied, smiling softly.

He gave a lopsided smile. The man had charmed him into coming along, after all, and well, it was obvious he was actually somewhat interesting. A first, for the wasteland. He sat back down and returned to scribbling down notes.

The only time when any worthwhile emotion crossed his face was when he was playing the harmonica. He started out slow, with long, deep notes, but the more he played the more into it he got, leaning deeper in to it, concentrating more. He closed his eyes, letting the music flow.

When he finished, he had to catch his breath, as he was panting rather hard.

"...You've got a way with... hums." He remarked, though it fell far, far short of witty.

"...but really, you're great."

"I have wonderful lungs, my father told me. I can hold my breath for a very long time," he said, before realizing the unfortunate implications behind the statement.

He gave a vague, teasing smirk. "Well, that's nice to have. No rebreathers needed, eh?" He joked, setting down the pencil for a moment.

"I'm not good at swimming, actually," he replied, shrugging slightly. "I'm better at other things. Like medicine. And guns."

"Mm, but not grammar I see." He muttered to himself, though it was just teasing, really. "Ah well. It was a joke. Not a good one, but still a joke."

Vasilyev flushed red.

"I...sorry," he said, frowning deeply. "My English is not good. I will try harder."

"A-Ah, no, I was kidding! It was a joke. I don't actually care. Besides, your accent is..." He huffed slightly, adjusting his collar. ".....Appealing."

"...it is?" he asked, suddenly interested. "You enjoy it?"

Vasilyev leaned over the desk, so that he was closer to Arcade. He hoped his intentions weren't too obvious.

"Yeah." He smirked slightly. "I have a thing for... foreign guys." He put a hand on the desk, moving himself closer to the other man, really rather uncaring if his intentions were too obvious.

Vasilyev glanced at the open door, remembering that Boone was asleep in the other room. Not that it mattered, he told himself, it wasn't as if anything was going to happen. Right?

"You don't want to mess up your desk," he teased, giving him a half smile.

Arcade rolled his eyes and shoved the papers off the desk, and in a strikingly quick movement moved himself onto it instead. Not completely, just enough to tug the courier onto him as well. "...Wonder if Boone's going to wake up." He teased.

Vasilyev pressed his face to Arcade's, pushing his lips against the other man's. He didn't care to answer the question, nor did he care if Boone woke up. Fucker was always sleeping in his bed anyway.

(I ACTUALLY SCREAMED INTO A PILLOW OMFG)

Arcade cupped his cheeks and kissed back hard, his rough lips slipping against the other man's. Yeah, he decided, this was a good decision. The other man tasted like a sort of... honey.

[winkwankwonk]

Vasilyev moved his hands to Arcade's cheeks, pushing his glasses up so he could more easily kiss him. It had been so long since he had enjoyed himself like this. Surely just this much was fine. A little snogging never hurt anyone.