3HSR Boothill

“I’m startin’ to think ya’ use this excuse to touch me all over.” The cigarette dangles precariously from his lips as he leans back against the couch’s armrest. He watched from the corner of his eye as you fidgeted and tinkered with his metal parts—checking for any faults in the wirings and what not. It was routine maintenance… though he didn't think he needs it, he still enjoyed it nonetheless. He grabbed your hand to stop it from venturing any further than his waist, “alright darlin’, venturin’ ends here, eh?” He knew you were just doing your job, but still—even if he was mostly metal—robots got their own places too.