Out of the Saddle

Forest’s prompt: “First-time ‘sharing saddles, not blankets’ fic, starting with sniping and ill-humor to disguise reactions.”

Disclaimer: The characters belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, not me. Woes.

Out of the Saddle

“Mister Larabee, grumbling about the matter isn’t going to make it go away.”

Chris twisted around and glared at the man behind him. “Damnit, Ezra, why didn’t you tell me your horse was lame?”

Ezra scowled right back at him; his foul temper seemed to be catching. “If you’ll bother to recall, I did. Before we left town. I told you I thought he was favoring that leg, and you…”

Seething, Chris turned back around. “I know what I said,” he snapped. He’d thought that Ezra was just trying to delay the ride back to town because he wanted to ply his trade in the saloon at Estancia, and said as much, before practically ordering Ezra mount up. They’d delivered their prisoner to the sheriff without a problem, but then, the man had been riding an animal that couldn’t wallow its way out of a trot.

He gritted his teeth. And I was pushin’ to get home, he thought darkly. Was too much for that leg. He glanced over his shoulder. Ezra’s chestnut still limped along with them. Ezra had the reins in his right hand, letting the horse have all the line he needed. With a twinge of guilt, he faced forward again. Didn’t mean for it to happen. Just wanted to get on back.

He was forced to go slow now; they couldn’t afford to let Fury pull up lame, too, especially since he was carrying double. Ornery beast hadn’t liked Ezra riding behind the saddle, either. He’d squealed and sidestepped and threatened to buck until, even more frustrated, Chris had taken the saddle off and strapped it to Ezra’s horse, along with Ezra’s own saddle.

Riding bareback wasn’t too bad at the walk – not that he was going to urge the big black much faster. Just… now it’s going to take three or four days to get back to town, he thought, grinding his teeth. God knows what’ll happen there in the meantime... Prob’ly get back and find the whole damn place burnt down or somethin’.

He stifled a sigh. That ain’t fair to the others, he reminded himself sternly. But the ones they’d left in town were Buck, still recovering from that broke leg, and JD, who’d been damned lucky he hadn’t been killed weeks ago when he’d been shot, and the fact was that neither of ‘em were quite able to move around freely yet. With Josiah off in Vista City, and Vin and Nathan delivering a deposition for the judge… well. Pickings had been slim, both for who to leave behind and who to take.

Ezra shifted behind him, which brought him back to the present in a hurry, because that shift made Fury snort and threaten to kick.

“Goddamn!” Chris dragged the horse back under control, growling curses all the while. Ezra was unbalanced by the horse’s movement and collided hard with Chris’s back. “Oof!”

When Fury was still again and Chris had managed to suck in some air, he looked back over his shoulder. Ezra was still pressed hard against his back, and he could feel the strong fingers clamped on his hips loosen only slowly. “Whatever the hell it was you just did,” Chris snarled, “don’t fuckin’ do it again.”

Ezra sighed gustily; Chris’s hair tickled the back of his neck in the warm waft of air. “Mister Larabee, I was just tryin’ to find a more comfortable position. It’s hardly my fault your animal has such shockingly bad manners.”

He gritted his teeth hard to bite back the response that filled his mouth. I can’t kill him, he told himself firmly. Ain’t his fault his horse is lame, can’t kill him for that.

I could probably kill him for somethin’ else, though… Chris shoved that thought aside, tempting as it was. “Just… don’t,” he ordered, and urged Fury forward again. Sooner we get back, sooner I can get away from him.

He could feel a movement behind him that may have been a shrug, but Ezra didn’t try to push back away from him again; his front stayed brushing Chris’s back, and his hands were now curled loosely around his waist under the serape, one riding above his gun.

“Don’t block my draw,” he said roughly.

“You realize that doesn’t leave me with a great variety of places to put my hand,” Ezra retorted.

“Don’t give a damn,” Chris shot back. “Don’t block my draw.”

“Don’t move, don’t put your hand there,” Ezra muttered under his breath, and he was much too close for Chris not to hear. “I declare, I’ve known women less particular about where I…”

“Ezra,” he growled, more than a hint of warning in his tone. He wanted to say more, but Ezra did move his hand away from the gun with another offended huff. First he laid it along the outside of the holster, but only for a moment, then wormed it between the holster and Chris’s hip, tilting the gun enough to make the butt dig into Chris’s ribs a little.

Somehow, Chris managed to hold his tongue. Ezra was goin’ along with what he wanted, and that’d just have to do. ‘Least I’ll have a clear draw when I go to kill him…

They rode without speaking, the only sounds the beat of hooves against the hard-packed earth, Fury’s slow and regular, those of Ezra’s chestnut not quite as even but just as slow. Occasionally, a bird wheeled overhead; one time, Chris found himself checking to see if it was a buzzard, then firmly told himself to ignore it. No sense borrowing any more trouble than I’ve already got…

And it really was starting to seem like he had a bit more trouble than he’d originally expected. Given their pace, he was beginning to wonder if it was going to be dark before they made it to the stream where they’d watered their horses on the way to Estancia just after daybreak that morning. They were going to have to give Fury a rest soon, and the two of them afoot would slow them even more.

Maybe the strangest and most worrying thing of all, though, was the fact that he kind of... liked having the warm weight of a body close behind him.

He and Sarah had rarely ridden together, and if they had, she rode in front of him so he could hold her in the saddle. He’d given rides to a few others over the years, but never on Fury, so they’d ridden behind the saddle without a problem. None of them had been pressed as close to his back as Ezra was.

There were times when he drew in a breath that he could smell something faintly spicy and tempting and thought it was something he wouldn’t mind getting a better whiff of, before realizing it was Ezra’s hair pomade, faded as it was after more than two days in the saddle.

He’d never noticed it before, never been close enough without something else to hold his attention. He wished he had; it was… real distracting.

Finally, tired of trying to figure out what he was thinking, and realizing that it was well past time Fury had a rest from carrying them, Chris pulled up.

“Mister Larabee?” Ezra asked after a moment of stillness. “Why have we…”

Chris cut him off short. “Time to walk a piece.” He didn’t move, though, just stayed where he was, collecting himself.

Ezra sighed. “Mister Larabee, if you do not dismount, neither can I,” he said, his tone more than a bit sharp. “Your beast has already proven he does not care for weight behind where the saddle rests, and as I am no longer five years old, I cannot contort myself in the way necessary to both appease him and avoid kicking you.”

Chris gritted his teeth. Leaning back a little, bracing his back against Ezra’s chest, he managed to get his right leg up and over Fury’s neck, then slid down his shoulder. His muscles, stiff from the long, slow ride, protested as he landed. “Fuckin’ ornery mule,” he muttered, though he couldn’t have said whether the words were directed at his horse or at Ezra.

Ezra mimicked him, landing on the off side. Without a word, he knelt down to run his hands over the chestnut’s leg.

“How’s he doin’?” Chris asked, guilt niggling at him once more. He was testing Fury’s legs as well; not because he’d noticed the horse favoring anything but because he just wanted to make sure that everything was sound. It’d be days before they got home like this, but it’d be longer if his horse foundered as well. Or we’ll be dead, he thought, trying to stretch out the kinks in his back as he straightened. Hell, we might kill each other first, save the horses the trouble of carryin’ us back to town. He snorted softly at the thought.

“Still the same,” Ezra replied shortly, standing. He patted his horse’s shoulder, spoke softly. Chris watched the chestnut’s ears twitch, as if he were trying to catch all of Ezra’s words. Much as he talks the rest of the time, Chris thought, studying them over Fury’s back, can’t help but wonder if he talks to his horse like that…

“Mister Larabee?”

Chris blinked and saw that Ezra was looking at him, head cocked to one side, and frowning a little. “What?” he demanded.

“Are you all right?” He gestured aimlessly with his free hand. “You appear to be somewhat… distracted.”

“Ain’t distracted,” he said curtly. “Just thinkin’ on when we can reach that stream.” Which wasn’t really a lie, since he had been thinking about it…

“Then, by all means, let us proceed.”

The cold tone took him by surprise. He hadn’t meant anything by what he’d said; he’d just been answering Ezra’s question. As he watched, Ezra urged his horse into motion again, keeping pace by the nodding head, one hand on the arched neck. His face didn’t have any expression, just like when he played poker, though his mouth seemed tighter than usual as they plodded past.

Ain’t got no call to be angry, Chris thought, abruptly angry again himself. He grabbed the cheek strap of Fury’s bridle and glared at Ezra’s broad back, walking slowly away, before following.

Ezra’s horse still set their pace, and they limped along. Fury chafed at being behind the other horse; he much preferred leading to following, and didn’t know the meaning of tired. He snapped a couple of times at Ezra’s horse’s rump, until Chris jerked his head away and they walked more abreast than behind. He danced then, not quite fighting Chris’s grip, but eager to be moving faster than the slow walk.

From time to time, Chris thought he heard Ezra say something, but whenever he glanced over, Ezra was turned away, looking at his horse instead, hand stroking the dusty chestnut hide. The silence seemed heavier afterwards, like he was waiting for Ezra to talk to him instead of the horse.

But Ezra seemed determined to say as little to him as possible now. As they kept walking, the sun beating down on them, Chris decided he couldn’t blame him. Better just to save your breath for movin’ forward, he thought.

For a while he tried to decide when Ezra would get weary enough to stop walking, when he’d ask if they could mount up on Fury and ride another while. But he didn’t, just kept on. Chris snuck looks over Fury’s back, listening as close as the deafening silence allowed, and he kept expecting Ezra to stumble, but he didn’t.

Finally, starting to get a little footsore himself, he steered them toward some good-sized rocks, figuring to use them as mounting blocks. The sound of boots and iron-shod hooves crunching against the dry dirt stopped as he swung himself up and over. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Ezra looking at him, expression neutral. He held out his hand and said, “C’mon, get up.”

“I think perhaps… it might be for the best if you continued on,” Ezra said and Chris could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “You may return to town and determine that nothing disastrous has befallen it while you’ve been gone. We will follow as quickly as may be.”

Chris scowled deeply. “What the hell? Ezra, I ain’t leavin’ you out here with only one canteen and a lame horse. It’d take me two days to get back to town, and another two to get back to you. God knows what you’d get into.”

“Believe me, Mister Larabee,” Ezra began, glaring up at him, “I am quite capable of leading my horse in a straight line, and I recall where we watered and rested along the way. You need not worry.” He paused, and Chris caught a glimpse of something in his face, something he couldn’t quite recognize before it disappeared again. “If you are concerned that I will not return to town,” he went on, voice quieter now, “you may rest assured that I will.”

Chris pursed his lips in a moment’s thought before replying. “That ain’t it at all, Ezra,” he said, trying to keep the anger from his tone. “I wouldn’t leave any man out here alone. Sure ain’t gonna leave one of my… associates.” He bared his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a grin. “Now c’mon, let’s go. Still got a ways to go before we hit that stream.”

Reluctantly, Ezra looped his reins around his hand, and stepped up on the rocks. Chris hauled him onto Fury’s back, prepared this time for the horse to sidestep and skitter and for Ezra to fall against his back. He dragged Fury back under control once Ezra was close up behind him, and got them pointed in the right direction. The gelding chewed at the bit a little, chafing at still being held to a walk, but set off when Chris nudged him. Ezra’s horse followed along; Chris could hear the limp-step over the beat of Fury’s hooves.

They rode through the silence, and Chris couldn’t help but think that much quiet was unnatural when Ezra was around. If it weren’t for the press of Ezra’s warm body against his back, the strong grip at his waist under the serape, he would have sworn he was alone.

Of course, even in the silence, that warmth was hard to ignore.

They walked twice more before hitting the stream Chris had been concerned about. Sunset wasn’t far off when they struck it, so after watering the horses, they pulled both saddles off Ezra’s gelding and set up camp.

Wandering around this arid land without water wasn’t a laughing matter. Chris was relieved they’d hit the stream, even though they were still far from home. He used Ezra’s lucifers to get a fire to burning, watching Ezra sidelong as he took care of the horses. Fury got a quick, efficient rubdown before Ezra tethered him where the grass was thickest among the scrub. Then Ezra gave his own horse a more thorough going-over, including the application of liniment on the bad leg. While he was taking care of his horse, the horse nosed at Ezra’s hat, knocking it off. Chris chuckled as he pretended to feed the campfire, and Ezra muttered a curse, pushing at the chestnut’s head until he moved it aside. It worked for a couple moments, then the horse lipped at Ezra’s hair and snorted.

“Ungrateful beast!”

Chris managed to contain himself as Ezra pushed himself up and stalked over to sit by the fire. The flames cast their light over Ezra’s glower, and before he could stop himself, he said, “Guess Scotty’s feeling better.”

Immediately, Ezra’s glare transferred from the fire to him, and the sight of it on Ezra’s usually genial features made Chris duck his head to hide the grin stretching his mouth.

“His name,” Ezra said, each word distinct, like he was biting them off, “is not Scotty. As I have told Mister Tanner repeatedly, whenever he uses that atrocious sobriquet.”

“It’s not?” Chris asked, feigning disbelief.

“No,” and it really sounded like Ezra was gritting his teeth. “His name is Highland’s Scotch Whisky.”

“Huh,” he replied, not bothering to hide his grin now. “Never hear you call him that.” Christ, shoulda done this before, he thought, filled with wicked glee. “Besides, that’s a hell of a mouthful. Think maybe you should call him Scotty instead. Shorter, anyway.”

Ezra looked both angry and pained, and he massaged his forehead with one hand. “I don’t know why I persist in arguin’ with either of you,” he muttered. Louder, he continued, “He knows his name, and he will not answer to that… appalling epithet.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I heard Vin callin’ him Scotty in the livery, an’…”

Ezra turned away and fussed with his saddlebags. “Mister Larabee, is there any point to this discussion other than to provoke my temper?”

Chris tried very hard not to sigh. There goes my fun. “No, guess not. Sorry – I was just teasin’.”

Ezra didn’t have any bias against sighing. “And while that is something that normally I would welcome as a departure from your usual brooding silences, I must admit that I may not be quite so forgiving this evening.” He pulled a couple hunks of camp bread out of his saddlebag, left over from their breakfast that morning and wrapped in bit of cloth. “I presume we have some beans to accompany this only slightly-stale bread?”

He didn’t answer right away. As Ezra lifted the bread in offering, the firelight painted his features in red and gold, giving them a distinctly different cast than the one Chris saw every day, and for a moment, he couldn’t look away.

“Mister Larabee?” Ezra tilted his head to one side, and the movement brought Chris out of his reverie. “Everythin’ all right?”

Chris belatedly recalled Ezra’s earlier question. “Yeah. Reckon we got somethin’ to go along with that,” he said, and started rummaging through his own bags.

Dinner was consumed in a silence broken only by the crackle of the fire and the scrape of utensils against their tin plates. When they finished eating, Chris asked, “You want first or second watch?”

The question drew Ezra’s attention away from the shadow-dark shape of his horse, and he flashed Chris a puzzled look, before his mouth pulled in a wry grin. “So my choices are to be rudely awakened in a few hours or to be rudely awakened at sunrise?”

Chris gave him a smirk in return. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Given that unenviable decision, I believe I’ll opt to be woken at dawn.” Ezra stood and reached for Chris’s plate.

While Ezra washed their tin plates in the stream, Chris settled back on his bedroll. He watched Ezra for a short while, though he could see little more than the white of his shirtsleeves from where he lay.

What are you lookin’ for? Chris asked himself. Ain’t nothin’ you ain’t seen plenty of times before.

The answer came when he closed his eyes and saw Ezra as he had when Ezra had offered up the bread for their dinner; his features cast in gold and shadow from the fire, hair all mussed, eyes dancing as the flames danced. It was something he’d seen plenty of times before, but this time there had been something different in it – that spark of anger in Ezra’s face, the kick Chris himself had gotten out of teasing him, just something that wasn’t the same as it usually was…

“… -abee. Chris.”

The touch on his shoulder jerked him awake instantly, and he reached instinctively for his gun before the voice registered. He tilted his head back against the saddle, saw Ezra upside down against the inky-black sky and relaxed, letting go of his weapon. Whatever it was he’d been dreaming about drifted away and he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “That time already?” he asked, voice rasping.

“Yes,” Ezra replied, already rolling himself into his own blankets. “There is some coffee on the fire for you. Good night.”

“G’night,” Chris offered, climbing creakily to his feet, joints popping all the way. It was only sometime later, after he’d checked on the horses and sipped a cup of coffee, that he realized that sunrise was closer than he’d expected. He eyed the huddle of blankets that was Ezra, and decided that the extra bit of sleep he’d gotten was well worth not waking Ezra up at dawn – a chancy prospect at best. Chris snorted at the thought and poked the fire and waited for morning.

For a while after dawn broke, Chris kept an eye on Ezra, weighing how tired he must feel against the discomfort of sleeping on the ground. Wonder if he’ll wake up on his own, he thought, lips curling in an unholy grin. Finally, after nearly an hour, he put on some more coffee and started their meager breakfast, knowing that they would have to stretch what supplies they had left to last until they got back to town.

The smells of coffee and food made Ezra stir slightly. Chris nudged him until one green eye opened. “Mornin’,” he said, grinning.

That open eye closed again, and Ezra groaned. “I take it, then, that my horse really has gone lame and that it wasn’t some horrible dream?”

“Don’t know about horrible, but it sure ain’t a dream.”

“Awakening at this… unseemly hour, Mister Larabee, quite definitely qualifies it as horrible.” Ezra sat up with another groan, reaching blindly for the tin cup Chris held.

It always took two cups of coffee for Ezra to truly wake up, but this morning he seemed more alert. Chris had long since suspected that Ezra’s sleep-muzzy act was just that. After all, he thought, studying Ezra over the rim of his own cup, can’t keep your money – or your life – if you ain’t awake enough to know there’s some kind of danger…

At least this morning he didn’t have to deal with Ezra’s contrary sense of nobility. When he mounted Fury and held out his hand, Ezra simply followed him up, immediately bracing himself for Fury’s prancing.

The day passed much as the day before had, only in more silence. From time to time, Chris heard Ezra stifle a yawn behind him, but nothing was said. No complaints about Fury’s manners, the desert, the grit and dust.

Chris was starting to find it a bit unsettling. Ezra bein’ so quiet for so long… just somethin’ wrong with that, he thought. If it weren’t for Ezra’s hands on his hips, grip firm and sure, he would have thought that he’d fallen asleep behind him.

Ezra being silent gave him too much time alone with his thoughts, which was something he’d never thought he’d have, particularly with Ezra around.

After a longer stretch of quiet than Chris had ever imagined, Ezra muttered behind him, something that sounded like a curse, but so low that he couldn’t be sure. Then he shifted away just the tiniest possible bit, his hands tightening on Chris’s hips as he did.

Fury tossed his head at that movement, muscles bunching, and Chris tightened his legs in reflex, but the horse didn’t start to sidestep this time. Fury settled down quickly, and Chris relaxed again.

“Mister Larabee,” Ezra said, and his voice sounded different somehow, strained maybe, though he tried to hide it. “Isn’t it long past the time for us to dismount and give your horse a respite?”

Surprised, Chris glanced up at the sun, still crawling its way up in the sky. “Got a while yet ‘fore we haveta walk,” he replied, then craned his neck, trying to look over his shoulder. “You all right?”

Ezra’s hat was tilted down, and Chris couldn’t quite twist himself around far enough to see his face. “Yes, I’m fine,” he said, accent thickening some. “I was merely curious.”

Chris faced front again. “Think we can make that little waterin’ hole by noon, then push on a little. We crossed a couple of streams on the way up. Could probably make it to the next one by dark or just a little after. Means we haveta go a little faster. Think Sc-Whisky’s up to it?”

There was the briefest of pauses before Ezra chuckled softly. “Well, at least that is a much more… dignified shortening of his name than the one Mister Tanner insists on using,” he murmured. Then, louder, he continued, “I believe he’ll be able to maintain a slightly faster pace, though I will apply some additional liniment when we halt at the watering hole, merely as a precautionary measure.”

“Fair enough.” Chris urged Fury to move a little faster, knowing Ezra would be watching his own horse as closely as he had the day before.

They reached the watering hole just about noon, and rested there in the limited shade thrown by the stunted trees. But, mindful of where they needed to be come sundown, Chris only allowed them a short while before he pulled Ezra up behind him again and they continued on.

Ezra inched away from him almost as soon as they were mounted, but not far enough to make Fury react. Probably ‘cause he’s too warm, Chris thought, wearin’ that wool coat…

They hadn’t been riding for too long when Chris became aware that he was warm, too, and not entirely from the sun overhead. It felt sudden when he noticed it, but he knew it had to have been creeping up on him for a while.

Ezra’s hands rested on his hips under his serape, though he carefully avoided blocking the gun and holster. Chris could feel the warm, firm length of Ezra’s thighs against him, the tension in them as he squeezed to keep his seat. Chris’s back was warm from the heat rising off Ezra’s chest and arms, even allowing for the small distance that Ezra was keeping between them.

He should be used to it by now. If Ezra sat further back, Fury would start to fidget and fret and then at least one of them would be picking himself up off the ground, if he managed to not break any bones in the fall. But that it was necessary didn’t seem to have any effect on the way that he actually liked having Ezra sitting so close behind him for the second straight day.

That gave him pause. Thought yesterday that I liked havin’ someone behind me, he thought slowly. It’s kinda… nice. Thought it’d be nice with anyone… but somehow, it’s… ‘specially nice that it’s Ezra. He lifted a hand to rub his chin, considering. Even though I kinda snapped at him a lot yesterday… but he snapped back, too, gave as good as he got. Walked yesterday and never complained… then got all prickly ‘cause I was teasin’ him last night and he looked so different in the firelight...

It was his turn to shift now, trying to ease the sudden tightness across his groin that thinking on Ezra in the firelight had given him, and just like that, it struck him that Ezra might be keeping that distance between them for some other reason than being warm.

Maybe, he thought, lowering his hand again, maybe that’s why we’ve been snarlin’ at each other… not just ‘cause of his horse, but ‘cause…

For a short while, he was put out that he hadn’t even recognized that he’d been looking at Ezra that way. But now I know, he thought, and I got the chance to maybe find out if he’s feelin’ the same way.

The idea definitely had appeal.

He considered his options – not that he had many, not while they had as far as they had to go to reach that stream he was thinking of, and he wasn’t about to go playing some game like a coy girl angling for a kiss while they were on Fury’s back.

Instead, despite how it eventually made dismounting even more difficult, Chris thought on what he might do after they’d walked the next piece.

Getting back on Fury after walking was definitely not an enjoyable experience either, since he’d been imagining the whole time what he might do or say to discover if he and Ezra were in the same boat… and couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to what might happen if they were. Unfortunately, Ezra had let his horse lag behind Fury almost the whole time they’d walked, giving Sc- Whisky a respite from the pace Chris was pushing, and offering no chance for conversation.

When he pulled Ezra up behind him this time, Fury hopped, squealing a protest, and Ezra crashed into Chris’s back. It took Chris a moment to wrestle the horse under control once more, conscious of Ezra pressed hard against him. Once he’d got them pointed toward home again, he felt Ezra start to shift away, and saw his chance. Quick as he could, he reached around with his free hand, grabbing for whatever he could touch. His hand came to rest on Ezra’s thigh, and the solid muscles there went taut, more so than keeping his seat warranted. “Don’t,” he ordered.

For a moment, Ezra didn’t speak. Beneath his hand, Ezra’s leg went even tighter. “Mister Larabee,” he said, and Chris could hear the same tension in his voice as he could feel in his leg. “The heat of the day is still upon us, and I am simply…”

“Just don’t,” he replied, keeping his tone even. “Don’t want Fury gettin’ worked up any more than he already is. A little heat ain’t gonna hurt either of us.”

More silence. Fury pawed and snorted before he settled enough to obey the pressure of Chris’s knees and move forward. Ezra sighed, his breath gusting across the back of Chris’s neck. “I will attempt to endure,” he said quietly.

Chris glanced back over his shoulder. Ezra’s face was shadowed under his hat again, but there had been… something in his voice, something that told him Ezra would go along with what Chris wanted, but only because he didn’t see a way to refuse. He nodded. “Appreciate it.”

“Is there some reason that your hand must remain on my person?”

Christ, he thought, caught. His heart thumped harder against his ribs. Didn’t even realize my hand was still there. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Just makin’ sure you stay on the horse.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. We both know that there’s no way I could keep him on Fury’s back like that, and he blew out a breath.

The pause this time was so long that Chris started to hope a little that he might have gotten away with it. The tension in Ezra’s leg eased slightly under Chris’s hand. “Why, Mister Larabee,” Ezra drawled, amusement lightening his tone. “Such consideration for my welfare. I’m touched. Truly.”

Chris relaxed, let himself rock with the rhythm of Fury’s stride. He hadn’t heard that teasing note in Ezra’s voice since he’d ignored Ezra’s concern about Sc- Whisky’s leg. Things might be lookin’ up…

Of course, that was a long way from knowing that his… advances might be welcome. Damn, Chris thought with a snort, I’m even startin’ to sound like him.

“And may I enquire as to the reason for this solicitousness regarding my well-being?”

Chris swallowed. Ain’t some kid, he berated himself. Don’t have to beat around the bush. Ain’t like I’ve never done this, either. He had, a time or two, before he’d met Sarah; if Ezra was willing, this would be the first time since. “Got a couple of ideas of somethin’ we might try after settin’ up camp,” he said, and awkwardly moved his hand up Ezra’s thigh. “I think I’d rather neither of us was banged up any before then.”

The silence stretched for several of Fury’s paces, matched by Sc- Whisky’s limp-step behind them. “Indeed,” Ezra replied at last, his voice soft. “You believe I might be… amenable to your ideas?”

Chris twisted around as far as he could, and caught Ezra’s eyes. “Hopin’ so,” he answered, voice rough. “I’m takin’ a hell of a chance, here.”

Ezra licked his lips, and Chris felt a jolt go through him at the sight. Then Ezra smirked at him. “If you are willin’ to hear some of my ideas,” he said, lips curling up into a dimpled grin, “I think you might find I’m agreeable.”

Relief flooded through Chris, and he grinned back at him. “Sounds good to me.” He faced front again, hand trailing down to Ezra’s knee to rest there.

Ezra’s hands curled around his hips once more, familiar now from nearly two days of riding together, but with Ezra’s chest brushing against his back with every step, his hand still on Ezra’s leg, the warmth between them, it took on a distinctly different cast. Arousal coursed through him, quickening his heartbeat and his breath, and for one fleeting moment, he seriously contemplated saying to hell with finding the stream before dark. He pushed it away, forced himself to concentrate. It wasn’t easy.

It became even more difficult when Chris felt the effect that their closeness and the way they swayed against each other with the horse’s gait was having on Ezra; his sex swelling and firming against his backside, hands clamping more tightly, fingers digging into his hips, hot breath coming fast and ruffling the hair on the back of his neck. Chris shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position himself.

“It can’t be much further to that stream,” Ezra said, accent thick.

“No,” Chris replied, and his voice sounded strangled even to himself, “shouldn’t be.”

The sound of water over rocks was never more welcome as it was when it reached their ears a short while later. Made better time than I thought, Chris thought. Anticipation was a knot in his gut, and he was suddenly, unaccountably nervous when there was nothing to be nervous about, damnit.

He and Ezra were on opposite sides of Fury again after dismounting, which kind of surprised him, until he caught Ezra watching him sidelong. Guess he’s feelin’ the same way, he thought, and that knowledge calmed him some. A bit of blackened earth showed where others had made their campfire – it might have even been their fire from their trip up to Estancia. He started unburdening Whisky of their saddles and bedrolls, offering, “You take care of them, I’ll set things up here?”

Ezra licked his lips and nodded, then tugged the horses behind him down the worn track to the stream. Chris stared after him for a moment, unable to help himself, then forced his attention back to the tasks at hand.

By the time Ezra had finished settling the horses for the night, dusk was falling, and Chris had set up their simple camp. Unlike the night before, he had laid their bedrolls together, and now rested there. Leaning against one of their saddles, he watched Ezra approach the fire, slapping the dust from the sleeves of his coat as he did. He faltered slightly when he noticed Chris, then moistened his lips again. Chris couldn’t quite contain his shudder as Ezra’s eyes raked over him, almost a physical touch, and his arousal, which had faded somewhat while he’d been busy, surged up again in a rush.

“I see you’ve taken the opportunity to get a head start,” Ezra said, but his dimples were playing around his mouth as he spoke.

“Just keepin’ myself occupied,” Chris replied, grinning. He’d taken off his serape, put his gun belt and spurs on it where it rested just within reach, but that was as far as he’d gotten before the sound of Ezra’s steps alerted him to his return.

“Occupied, hm?” Ezra smirked as he shrugged out of his coat, and the expression was so absolutely filled with lust that Chris had to bite the inside of his cheek. “I do hope,” he continued, almost purring, carefully folding the coat, “that you will allow me to… keep you occupied for a while myself.”

He swallowed, but his voice was still rough. “You sure can.”

Deftly, Ezra undid his sleeve rig, then unbuckled his gun belt, and it was Chris’s turn to lick his lips as his hand dipped low to loose the holster tie-down. Taking as much care as he had with his coat, Ezra laid his armament to one side before kneeling next to Chris. The fire lit half his face, making it glow gold and red, threw half of it into shadow as he leaned close. “I have wondered for some time,” he said just above a whisper, long fingers hovering over Chris’s face without quite touching, “if your lips are as good at kissin’ as they appear, because they are very invitin’…”

Chris didn’t have a chance to answer; Ezra’s mouth covered his, hand sliding into his hair to curl around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He opened his mouth when Ezra’s tongue brushed against his lips, and everything changed. Their tongues fought, twining and pushing, teeth scraping. Damn, he thought with what little capacity hadn’t been burnt out by the kiss, this is good… Without thinking, Chris buried a hand in Ezra’s thick hair, keeping him close though he wasn’t trying to get away, his other learning the way those broad shoulders felt, the flex of firm muscle beneath his palm.

They were both gasping when they pulled apart. “Yes,” Ezra managed, and he was practically purring again, “indeed they are…” Chris had time for one more gulp of air before Ezra kissed him again, pressing him against the saddle, leaning into him hard. This time, his tongue was coaxing and sly – just like him normally, Chris thought – urging Chris to come into his mouth. He groaned into Ezra’s mouth, bucked up against Ezra’s sturdy weight when Ezra sucked on his tongue.

Chris’s hand skated off Ezra’s shoulders and down his chest, spread wide over the fine fabric of his vest, getting hints of the muscle there always hidden by his layers of clothing. He started plucking blindly at the buttons, and got some of them undone before Ezra broke away.

“Still got too many clothes on,” Chris panted, and tried to push himself upright again.

Rather than answer, Ezra pressed him back down with another kiss, and he just couldn’t resist. So damn talented, I could kiss him all day… He felt Ezra’s hands bumping against his chest and stomach, and when they stopped this time, Ezra straightened up and pulled off his vest.

“Yeah,” Chris said, and sat up to attack the small buttons of Ezra’s shirt, tiny fiddly things. Ezra shrugged off his suspenders before setting to on Chris’s own buttons. His roughened fingers dragged against the soft linen when Chris yanked the undone shirt free of Ezra’s trousers.

Ezra tossed his shirt away, careless in his haste, and the fire painted his skin gold, highlighting what Chris had only felt. He trailed his fingers down Ezra’s chest, smooth skin and solid strength… and sensitive, too, if the way Ezra’s fingers fumbled with his buttons was any indication. He grinned and leaned forward for more kisses, shimmying out of his shirt as Ezra drew it off his shoulders.

Then they were rolling on the blankets, touching and stroking whatever they could reach. Ezra’s mouth moved with devastating thoroughness down Chris’s neck, so that he could only moan in response. His hands clutched at Ezra’s hips and he wanted nothing more than to grind against him, seeking that pleasure he knew was waiting.

Ezra’s hand danced over the front of his pants, caressing the outline of his cock, and Chris bucked into that touch with a gasp. He opened his eyes in time to see the flash of Ezra’s grin, then his fly was open and oh, God, his cock was no longer constricted by his tight pants. Ezra’s hand was warm through the soft material of his drawers as he rubbed gently, and Chris’s hips jerked, seeking more of that touch. He swore quietly when Ezra stilled.

“Some reciprocation would be most appreciated,” Ezra murmured into his ear, drawl broad and heavy.

Mind hazy with arousal, Chris forced his fingers to work the buttons of Ezra’s fly, his hand brushing against Ezra’s sex as often as he could, just to hear Ezra groan. He upped the ante by undoing Ezra’s drawers as well, hand sneaking in to encircle the hot hardness there.

It was Ezra’s turn to curse and thrust into his hand, and Chris huffed a little breathless laugh. “Think it’s your turn… again…” He trailed off as Ezra undid his drawers and eased his cock out. He wriggled, trying to shuck his pants down one handed; got them down over his ass and gave up, because the way Ezra touched him made his thoughts simply scatter.

They strained against each other, skin growing slick with sweat, panting and groaning into each other’s mouths. Chris spiraled upward, the sweet pleasure of Ezra’s touch carrying him further and further until it broke over him and he climaxed on a nearly silent gasp, shuddering into Ezra, grip tightening around his shaft.

Ezra followed him a moment later, groan caught in his throat, his seed mingling with Chris’s, covering their bellies. They lay slumped together, breathing heavily, unable to move. The only other noises in the darkness were the crackling of the fire and the soft rustling sounds of the horses grazing in the tough grass.

Slowly, Chris let go of Ezra’s sex, moved his damp, sticky hand to rest on his narrow hip instead, and shivered a little when Ezra did the same. “That was fuckin’ good.”

He felt Ezra’s mouth curve into a grin against his shoulder. “I believe you mean that was good fuckin’.”

Chris chuckled. “That, too.”

Silence fell between them, but unlike those of the day before, this one was easy, comfortable. Chris drifted for a while, lulled by Ezra’s hand tracing light circles on his hip. Finally, he stirred. “Was thinkin’…”

Ezra pulled away enough to look at him, mock dismay written large on his features. “If you were able to think after that, sir, I must have done drastically something wrong.”

Again, Chris laughed. “It was from before… only just now remembered,” he replied teasingly. “Reckon we could stretch our supplies and stay here tomorrow, give Whisky a day to rest.” His hand trailed up Ezra’s side. “If you think you could stand my company, maybe.”

Ezra’s fingers stilled on his hip as he considered Chris’s words. “Perhaps…” Then he gave Chris a low-lidded look and licked his lips. “I imagine we could find some way to occupy ourselves in the meantime.”

One side of his mouth curled up in a slow, wicked grin. “Imagine we could at that.”