Forest – Chris and/or Chris/Ezra, please, Four Times Chris Larabee Walked the Line, and One Time He Didn't.
Pa was strict with him, more than he was with Chris’s siblings. From what people said behind his back, Chris knew it was because he was a hell of a lot wilder, more likely to find trouble and get into it.
Then one day Pa sat him down to tell him about the world’s evils, how drinkin’, fightin’ and loose women could pull you from the straight path, how love could save you. Chris knew Pa was talking about his own past, all the things he regretted, and decided he didn’t want those kinds of memories dragging him down.
Thing was, though, those evils were everywhere, the devil’s candy waiting to tempt you, and as Chris drifted west, they all got easier to find. He was good with his fists, almost as good as he was with his gun, and he liked fightin’. It didn’t seem to matter how much he had to drink, he could still shoot straight.
But Dodge City proved things to Chris: reputation brought more than whores, drink could drown out the voice of that dead kid in his head, and sometimes the right path to take was the one that kept you breathing.
Buck dragged him from the horse trader’s to the cantina, got him a bottle, and Chris knew he’d already charmed himself into some girl’s bed. He just shook his head; Buck never changed. The senoritas here were pretty, though; all dusky skin and sloe-dark eyes, jet-black hair and painted lips, so very different from his Sarah. They were new, excitin’, and Chris knew that years ago, he’d have followed Buck’s lead. Instead, he just waited until Buck was ready to go.
When they got home, it was smoke and ashes, and he wondered, numb, if this was his reward.
The men they tracked had done more than rob the stage; they’d killed everyone on it, including a boy no more than seven. Chris knew that was what drove him now, remembering the fear on the boy’s face, the small body spattered with blood.
When the seven caught up with the outlaws, Chris grinned, because it seemed like they wouldn’t give up without a fight. Half of the gang survived, and Chris’s fingers ached to pull the trigger and send them to hell with the others. He took a deep breath, turned away. Hanging them would have to do.
Sometimes Chris wondered if Pa had ever made this choice. All the things Pa had told him, the evils in the world, nothing had touched on this.
Ezra’s voice husked curses and encouragement in his ear as they moved together, whiskey-sharp and honey-slow, and when it came, God, the pleasure more than he could stand. Afterward, Ezra suffered Chris to hold him, but fell asleep quick, tangled together with him in a way that screamed trust. Chris kissed Ezra’s shoulder, felt him murmur and shift, and decided it was well worth it to walk this line that wasn’t one.