Suffering Through Patience

Disclaimer: The characters belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy. I just like to play.

It really ought to be a crime, Ezra thought with no small hint of petulance, for any one man to be so… attractive. He leaned back in his chair, ostensibly to stretch his back and legs, having been sitting for quite some time, but he could be honest enough with himself to admit that it was to get a slightly better view of Chris.

Chris sat on the boardwalk outside the saloon, slumped down a little in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. An empty beer mug was tucked beneath his seat, and his attention was divided between contemplation of the dusty quiet of the street and the low stakes – but definitely cutthroat – checker match taking place just to his right. The competitors’ voices drifted in through the batwing doors.

“Yer wide open, son!”

“Oh, shut up, Buck! If you wasn’t distractin’ me…”

Ezra could tell by the way Chris’s head moved that he snorted at the exchange. Seeking a more comfortable position, Ezra imagined the way the corners of Chris’s eyes crinkled when he grinned, how it made his whole face look… younger, somehow. And even more attractive, he thought with an edge not borne of anger, trying to focus on his cards once more, as if that were possible. Or even necessary…

However, his mind simply would not be pulled away from the man on the boardwalk. Just to keep up appearances, Ezra laid cards on the table randomly, pretending to play, all the while watching Chris through the window from the corner of his eye.

Chris pushed his hat back slightly, moved enough to recross his ankles and continued his survey of the street. It stayed still except for a heavily-laden wagon heading out of town, and a few dust devils chased by the breeze.

“King me!” Buck whooped.

Chris glanced at the game again, chuckling. “Hope you weren’t bettin’ on winnin’, JD.”

Ezra heard Buck’s pleased laughter at that, but no response from JD. From behind, though, it looked like Chris laughed again before returning to studying the street. He balanced the chair on two legs, his feet now propped on the rail of the boardwalk.

After carefully gathering up his cards, Ezra consulted his pocket watch, startled and not a little dismayed to find that only fifteen minutes had elapsed since the last time he’d checked it. Patience, Ezra, he told himself. I must practice patience.

Another fleeting look out the window sufficed to remind him why patience was particularly elusive today. Clearly, he thought, I am not going to be able to concentrate at all today.

He wasn’t sure if he was upset about that or not.

He tucked his watch away with a sigh and picked up his cards again. Rather than laying out a game that he wasn’t really going to play, he simply began working them in his hands, shuffling them back and forth, something that took no more of his awareness than breathing. It left him free to continue observing Chris, who had tilted his hat forward again to cut out the afternoon glare.

Every day, it seemed he found something new about Chris by which to be fascinated. At first, it was his hands – long fingers, square and capable – and he wondered what it would be like to feel them running over his skin. He discovered that they could be gentle, brushing feather-light over his chest and stomach, or firm and urgent, holding him tightly as they moved together. His mouth, too; those fine lips gave kisses that cajoled or demanded a response, and Ezra found himself nearly powerless against both.

Now, however, he had fallen low… well, perhaps simply lower on Chris’s body. That very morning, he had woken as Chris rolled from his bed, and then watched through half-lidded eyes as Chris had dressed, the teasing stripping of the night before reversed in dawn’s light. He rolled up onto his side to get a better view. The rustle of the bedclothes had brought Chris’s gaze up from buttoning his fly, and he smiled that smile that made Ezra quiver and want.

He settled in happily, head pillowed on one arm, letting the warmth of gentle desire flow through him, as it always did when he studied Chris like this. It was enough to send heat singing through his skin, enough to encourage his morning arousal to rise further.

This morning, though, it hadn’t been Chris’s hands or lips that had captured his attention so completely; it had been his gunbelt, snugged tight around his waist, the silver studded holster emphasizing those lean hips… and the holster’s tie-down, high (so high!) around his thigh. Practically all the way to the Promised Land, he’d thought, muzzy with sleep and desire, staring as Chris tied the thin black cords, one booted foot propped on the rail at the foot of the bed.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and I ain’t gonna be able to sneak away.” Chris’s low voice had pulled him from his thoughts, and he tore his eyes away from the big square buckle – and what lay just beneath – to meet Chris’s amused gaze.

“Perhaps that is part of my devious plan,” he replied, pushing himself up on an elbow so that the sheet slipped down his chest in what he hoped was an enticing manner, to puddle around his hips.

Chris had been on top of him in an instant, a hint of that same blinding speed he used when drawing his gun, kneeling astride his hips and pressing him back down flat against the featherbed. Chris’s mouth covered his and he met it eagerly, fought one hand free of the sheets to reach for that tempting buckle.

But Chris had pinned his hand to the bed, kept himself braced up on his hands and knees over him so there was no contact when Ezra arched and squirmed. “Chris,” he gasped when Chris drew back to look at him. “Tormenting me like this – and so early in the morning – is most rude of you...” He put on his best pleading expression, and licked his lips for the lingering taste of Chris.

But instead of responding to his answering tease, Chris had simply grinned down at him, slow and wicked. “Ain’t you the one always saying be patient?” he asked, and nipped at his chin. “’Specially when I wanna see you naked, an’ you with all them layers. So now you be patient,” he murmured, warm breath puffing against Ezra’s throat, making him close his eyes, “an’ if we’re lucky, you might get a chance to put that devious plan into practice.”

With that, he had gotten up once more and picked up his spurs from where he’d left them the night before on Ezra’s bedside table. At the door, he turned, treating Ezra once more to the… riveting view afforded by those tight black pants. Ezra’s eyes had immediately locked onto the gunbelt and buckle, the holster, the thigh lace…

He must have made some sound, because Chris huffed a laugh. “You behave, Ezra,” he said, smiling, though the tone of his voice held a light warning.

Ezra had stared at the closed door for several long moments after Chris had slipped out, willing him to return. When it did not open again, he had covered his eyes with an arm, groaning. “Behave, he says,” he muttered, clutching at the sheets with his other hand, “when he is the one acting badly!”

His self-control was selective at best, and it took all he had to not bring himself relief, and remembering the time Buck had accidentally pushed him into an icy cold creek besides. He had not managed to return to slumber; had, in fact, forced himself to get out of bed and get dressed much earlier than his norm, desperately hoping to find some way to divert himself from his own thoughts.

And he had done well enough, all things considered, until Chris had settled himself on the boardwalk in line of sight of his table – deliberately, Ezra had no doubt. He focused on Chris nearly to the exclusion of all else.

The way matters stood, however, was not… all unpleasant. There had been no disturbances thus far – no would-be bank robbers, no drunken cowhands, no trouble at all. And, Ezra thought, fanning the deck before squaring it again, without looking down, that may be the luck that he mentioned earlier… The warmth of arousal that he had been feeling since waking, sometimes faint, sometimes stronger, rose up again at the idea.

He forced it back as best he could. Soon, he told himself, though he had no idea how long soon might be.

After another frustrating half-hour or so – and Buck trouncing JD twice more – Chris grabbed the beer mug from under his chair and stood, stretching the kinks out of his back. Ezra wet his lips at the sight, and paused in the midst of his one-handed shuffle, just to appreciate the view as Chris’s jacket rode up, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of those black pants tightly hugging the curve of his derrière. Then Chris turned to enter the saloon, and Ezra forced his gaze back to his deck. Some of the cards had fallen to the table, and he blinked down at them before smirking ruefully. Well, you must admit, he is a fine distraction, he thought, swiftly gathering the wayward cards up again.

The ching-ching noise of Chris’s spurs grew louder, and Ezra didn’t need to look to know Chris was approaching. He did glance up as the chair next to him scraped loudly away from the table, and managed a smile that – he hoped – concealed his hunger as Chris sat down. “Mister Larabee.”

“Ezra.” Instead of settling back and resuming his usual slouch, Chris leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. He wore a tiny half-smile that still drew Ezra’s eyes, no matter how often he’d seen it, a sexy, dangerous curl of his lips. In a low voice that sent a shiver down Ezra’s back, he said, “Like what you see?”

He froze, felt his heart stop just for a moment, though a distant part of his mind told him he should not be so surprised. He caught me, he thought, and licked his lips once more, studying Chris’s face. He seemed amused, and the intent look in his eyes promised more, so Ezra forced away the worry of what else he might have let show. Grinning to let his dimples wink, he softly replied, “Why, Mister Larabee, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“No? Then it musta been somebody else watchin’ me all afternoon,” Chris said, smile widening. “Knowin’ you’re lookin’ at me like you were this morning, all that wantin’ in your eyes, makes… it…” He paused, studied Ezra in a way Ezra felt was particularly provocative, and finished, “Difficult.”

Ezra caught his breath at Chris’s words. The cool prickle of fear was completely swamped by a heated flush of need. His voice a hair’s breadth from rough, he said, “You are playin’ with the devil.”

“Probably already damned.” Chris stood, chair scraping against the dusty floor. “Don’t think anything’s gonna happen here today. Goin’ back to my place.” He leaned forward, pitching his voice low again. “Meet me there in a little while. Maybe you can give your… devious plan a try.” With a final smirk, Chris strode through the swinging doors and out onto the street.

Ezra watched him go, gripping the cards so tightly the edges dug into his hands, fighting for composure. He somehow managed to keep himself from standing and displaying his… definitely humiliating condition to all and sundry, kept himself from scrambling after Chris in a completely undignified manner to have his way with him in the middle of the street, but it was a damn near thing.

He took a deep breath, let it out slow. It didn’t help much. Remember how cold that creek was, he thought, setting the cards down before they crumpled in his hands. And didn’t Vin say it was ice melt? I was lucky not to catch my death of a chill…

He had to replay the memory several times before he could stand up without acute embarrassment.

It was just part of his nature that he didn’t like to play by someone else’s rules; they were always prone to getting changed on you midway through the game, and those were odds he would always choose to avoid. But he was more than willing to play a game by Chris’s rules. Chris sometimes requested, more often ordered. Ezra nearly always chose to follow those orders, just as he chose to follow the one Chris had just issued.

The ride to Chris’s cabin seemed longer than it usually did, but in short order he was guiding his horse along the worn track down the hill. Chris wasn’t outside, but the trail of smoke rising from the chimney spoke of his presence. Ezra settled his horse in the corral with Chris’s big black, stowed his tack in the small shed built onto the side of the cabin.

Chris met him just inside. Ezra had barely closed the door behind himself when he was pressed up against it, Chris’s lips slanting over his as urgently as if they hadn’t touched in a week. With a moan, he opened his mouth to Chris’s tongue, wound his hands into Chris’s worn shirt, then abruptly shoved him back.

Chris stumbled backward at his unexpected move, but only a step; Ezra kept hold of his shirt. “What the hell…”

“You, sir,” Ezra said, leveling a glare at him, “have teased and tormented me since I awoke this morning. I have had enough.” He let go of Chris’s shirt, only to immediately begin unbuttoning it. “When I am done with this, you will sit down in that chair, and I will do some teasing of my own.”

Maybe following orders still rankled a little bit.

Chris stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, until Ezra yanked his shirttails free of his pants and the gunbelt he still wore. “Ezra…”

There was just a hint of a warning in his name, but Ezra chose to ignore it as he pulled off his tail coat and hung it on a peg by the door. “That searing kiss this morning, and yet you refused to let me touch you? Your utterly lascivious stretch on the boardwalk, showing off that… delectable ass? You should count yourself fortunate that I decided not to ravish you in the livery stable.”

Just like that, Chris grinned. “Christ, Ezra, I wasn’t kiddin’ – knowin’ you were watchin’… I had to think about snow and ice and that damned stream we fished you out of just so I was fit to be in public.”

Mollified slightly, he paused in unbuttoning his vest, and could only stare. Chris’s blue shirt gaped open, a swath of sparse hair and golden skin over taut muscle. He knew where Chris’s scars were, the legacy of bullets and his profession, but none showed just there. He licked his lips appreciatively. “You aren’t sitting, Mister Larabee,” he said, his tone less harsh, more teasing.

Grin widening, Chris’s hands went to his belt.

“No,” Ezra told him, before he could even start to unbuckle it. “Leave it on. I’ll take care of it. Just sit.” He shrugged out of his vest and hung it with his coat.

“All right.” Chris dragged a chair away from the table and sat down, slouching just a little, knees spread wide. He gave Ezra a dark stare, tucked his thumbs into the wide belt.

Ezra sucked in a breath at the sight, his fingers stumbling over the small buttons of his shirt. “Yes,” he hissed. “Just like that.” As quickly as he was able, he finished unbuttoning his shirt, then took the few steps that separated him from Chris and bent down to kiss him, devouring his mouth as hungrily as Chris had his but minutes ago.

Chris’s hands snuck inside his shirt, smoothing down over his sides, spread wide. Ezra shivered at the touch, pulled away. “Don’t move,” he commanded softly, fingers trailing down Chris’s face, his neck, down under the fabric of his shirt.

Chris arched into Ezra’s hands as they slid down over his chest, reaching out for him again. Ezra pushed Chris’s hands away, and Chris growled a little at being denied. “Ezra…”

“Be still,” Ezra said, an edge of sharpness in his tone.

“You try bein’ still,” Chris muttered. He hummed quietly as Ezra’s fingers skimmed down his stomach. They hesitated over the buckle of his gunbelt, and he rocked a little, trying to urge them further.

“You told me this morning to behave,” Ezra retorted, a bit more acidly than he intended. His hands still on Chris’s belt, he dropped to his knees between Chris’s spread legs. “And I did. If I can do the impossible, so can you.” He ran his hands down the outside of Chris’s thighs, circled round his pointed knees, stopped. “Now… don’t move,” he repeated, his eyes fixed on the tie-down around Chris’s thigh. He licked his lips.

“What’re you…” The words caught in Chris’s throat as Ezra’s hands made their way up the insides of his thighs, light, slow pressure, pushing them wider. Ezra’s mouth followed, breathing hotly against the inseam. He felt Chris’s legs tense under his hands, but they parted for him. His hands continued upward until they came to rest on his hips, one brushing lightly over the bulge of Chris’s cock along the way. Chris groaned at the fleeting touch, his pelvis stuttering upward before he reined in control.

Almost coquettishly, Ezra glanced up Chris’s body when his lips reached the cord of the tie, met Chris’s eyes, dark with passion. With a wink of his dimples, he turned back to the thigh lace, set his teeth to the end of the cord and pulled.

“God…” Chris choked. His breathing quickened.

Once the tie-down was loose, Ezra turned to press his lips to the cloth-covered swell that had been brushing his cheek. Chris jerked beneath his hands and he drew back slightly.

“How do you like your tease so far?” Ezra asked, shooting a quick look at Chris’s flushed face before returning his gaze to the big square buckle. The Promised Land awaits, he thought, grinning. His fingers worked at the supple leather of the belt, carefully unwinding it from around Chris’s waist. He laid it on the table, then returned to undo the buttons of Chris’s fly, lightly stroking the bare skin that was revealed.

“Ezra,” Chris groaned. One of his hands combed through Ezra’s hair, encouraging, but not directing.

“Patience,” Ezra breathed. He opened Chris’s pants as wide as the tight fabric allowed and drew out the hard, hot length of his cock. Chris moaned and shifted, trying to get him to move his hand, but Ezra just kissed the shaft; soft, warm, almost chaste kisses, meant to taunt.

When he looked up again, Chris had wrapped his free hand around the frame of the chair, holding it so tightly his knuckles stood out white against his skin. His head was thrown back and he panted harshly. The hand on Ezra’s head rested there without pulling at his hair or pushing him forward, though he could feel the tension in Chris’s fingers from remaining still.

Perhaps it is time to stop teasing, Ezra thought, a twinge of guilt in his stomach. When he leaned forward again, he closed his mouth over the head of Chris’s cock, and reveled in the breathless curses that spilt from Chris’s mouth, the way the long fingers of Chris’s hands grabbed his shoulders, like he needed to hold on.

Forward and back, each time taking a bit more into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks to create suction, pushing on Chris’s hips to keep him from thrusting. The harsh gasps and needy noises that Chris made above him fired Ezra’s blood, and he pried one hand away from Chris to undo his own trousers. He was surprised to discover he’d forgotten to take off his own gunbelt; it still rode low around his hips, constricting his sex in a way that was becoming more unbearable by the moment. He tugged at the lace around his thigh, made a sound embarrassingly like a whimper when it wouldn’t come free.

With a groan, Chris dragged Ezra’s mouth off his cock. “Up,” he urged, pulling on Ezra’s arms. Panting, Ezra braced himself on Chris’s legs and managed to gain his feet, before working frantically at the tie-down once more.

“What are you still wearin’ that for?” Chris blurted, staring at Ezra’s gunbelt while Ezra fumbled with the tie-down.

“I forgot to take it off,” Ezra admitted, then shot Chris a hot look. “As I have told myself several times this day, you are a very fine distraction.”

Chris grinned at that. “C’mere,” and it was another order, but Ezra moved closer, without even a thought of not complying. Chris made sure the thigh lace was undone, then reached for the belt. He worked the long tongue from where Ezra had tucked it behind the belt itself, then unbuckled it, and with every movement, his fingers brushed against Ezra’s groin, stroking his erection through his trousers and drawers.

Closing his eyes, Ezra bit his lip and quivered under Chris’s hands. His gunbelt disappeared, then his trousers slithered down his legs. Chris unbuttoned his drawers enough to sneak one hand in, and Ezra arched, groaning, as those callused fingers closed around him.

“Yeah,” Chris murmured, hand moving up and down a couple times before letting go, only to take hold of his arm. “Now…” He tugged hard, and Ezra stumbled forward, belatedly remembering to kick his pants from around his ankles. Somehow, he was standing over Chris, straddling his legs.

Chris’s hands were on his hips, pressing down. “C’mon,” he said over and over, a litany of want that made Ezra burn. Carefully he settled on Chris’s legs, felt them tense to hold his weight. He leaned forward, bracing against Chris’s shoulders, and his cock rubbed against Chris’s.

They both gasped, and Chris’s fingers clamped hard on Ezra’s hips. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Yeah, just like that…”

Instantly, Ezra’s hand was between them, encircling Chris’s erection, his other arm wrapped around Chris’s shoulders. He leaned in to kiss him, his tongue given willing entry to Chris’s mouth, there to tangle with Chris’s own.

Then they were moving, one of Chris’s hands flat and broad on his back, urging him forward, the other holding his manhood, thumb flicking against the head. They strained against each other, kisses broken off by the desperate need to breathe. Ezra whispered cajolement and curses into Chris’s shoulder, felt Chris’s breath harsh and hot against his throat.

The arousal that had been building in him all day rushed to its peak, overwhelming him with pleasure, and he shuddered against Chris, biting down on the flesh of his shoulder to muffle his cry. That drove Chris over the edge as well, and Ezra noticed the warmth of Chris’s seed coating his stomach only distantly, still lost in his own bliss.

Eventually, Chris shifted beneath him with a grunt, bracing his legs more firmly. “You ain’t no lightweight, Ezra.” His hand stroked the small of Ezra’s back; the other moved to his thigh.

Ezra stayed sagged against him, his face buried in Chris’s neck. “May I remind you,” he managed, “that you are the one who chose this particular position when there is a perfectly adequate bed…”

Chris huffed. “You’re always bitchin’ about the bed…”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you’re spending nights in town,” Ezra retorted, and though he shifted some of his weight onto his own feet, his brow still rested on Chris’s shoulder. His fingers traced an aimless pattern on Chris’s back. “Sleepin’ on a featherbed, I might add.”

After a moment, Chris let out a breath, warm and tickling against his throat, and ran his hands up Ezra’s back, sliding up under the tails of his shirt. Ezra shivered as those rough fingers brushed light and gentle over his skin and closed his eyes to better enjoy, humming softly.

“I’ll admit,” Chris said, words coming slow, “the featherbed’s a sight more comfortable than the bed here.”

In the way Chris’s hands felt on his shoulders, Ezra heard something else, and kissed his neck.

“You know,” he said contemplatively, pausing to drop another kiss beneath Chris’s ear, “I only complain about the bed when I am… not otherwise occupied.”

Chris’s hands tightened, tugging him back and away. He allowed it, but only far enough that he could meet Chris’s eyes, laughing up at him.

“Well,” Chris said, pitching his voice low, “maybe I can find a way to keep you occupied.” His fingers drifted down Ezra’s back again, curling around his buttocks.

“I am certain you will,” Ezra replied, and bent to taste those fine lips once more.

***

November 13, 2010