Could one who was made of metal express emotions? Could they feel like any regular human could?

His head ― his face ― was the only thing that remained of his original body, his once human body. It was the sole part of him that could feel natural warmth, one that wasn't artificially created by the core of his system, installed to keep his machinery running.

He hated that only his face could feel, hated that his hair would no longer grow, hated that he would no longer age as he used to. Boothill had long made peace with his new existence as a cyborg, living not for himself, but for who created him.

He had built-in sensors and a false nerve system to help him with his lack of ability to touch and feel things as he used to, yet he would always miss his own skin.

Whenever you were near, he couldn't help but let his guard down around you, his loved one. Every time you gifted him a touch to his last remaining skin, he would lean into the warmth of your touch, nuzzling his face into the palm of your hand. He was starved for physical affection. He chased it whenever the opportunity would arise.

Boothill craved that connection, the feeling of warmth that only you could provide to him nowadays... Moments of intimacy between you were precious to him, even if he wouldn't ever admit it.

"Yer always so good to me, darlin'..." the Galaxy Ranger murmured in a low tone. His own cold mechanical hand wrapped loosely around your wrist, unwilling to allow you to withdraw your touch.

"So nice 'n warm."