Hung Out to Dry

Disclaimer: The boys belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy. I just like playing.

Hung Out to Dry

The drawer was empty. Chris frowned down at the bare wooden bottom and tried to remember just what had happened to all his shirts. Didn’t I have at least one more? he asked himself.

No, he recalled. His shirts were all waiting to be washed, and the one that he thought he still had in reserve was the black one that had finally worn out at the elbows and was no longer fit to be worn anywhere but the barn.

Which meant he couldn’t wear it to town. And all the other ones, he discovered, were covered with dirt and dust and, in one case, blood. No chance of wearing any of those to town just to take his laundry in. He let out a breath. Guess that means I’d better find the washboard, he thought, surveying the pile of dirty clothes, then snorted. ‘Least I don’t have to worry about gettin’ my shirt wet.

To get started, he heated up some water on the stove, then strung some rope between the two trees closest to the cabin. He had a sack of clothespins that he’d gotten when he’d bought the washboard, because he’d had every intention of staying out here rather than in town. But there had been times when it had just been… simpler to stay at the boarding house, and if he was in town anyway, it was just more convenient to have Miz Morgan at the boarding house do his washing when she did her own.

He’d just gotten the washboard positioned in the tub when it struck him why this was so familiar – he’d watched Sarah take the very same steps every laundry day. Just for a moment, Chris closed his eyes, a faint smile curving his lips as he remembered her, the front of her dress damp, soap bubbles up her arms, a line of them on her cheek where she’d brushed a strand of hair from her face, humming a little as she scrubbed the clothes and hung them out to dry.

The memory warmed him a little inside, and he watched it until it faded, then shook his head pushing away the chill and pain that lingered in its aftermath. Got things to do, he thought firmly. Can think about that later.

A short while later, after wringing out his third shirt, he heard the sound of a horse approaching, hooves drumming evenly against the earth. Shirt dripping in his hands, he stepped out of the cabin, slung the shirt over the line and secured it with the clothespins. They weren’t like the ones his ma had used when he was growing up; those were just whittled pegs his pa had made. These had a spring in the middle; press down on one end and the other opened. Release the end and the spring pulled the other back together. Invented by someone back East, Mrs. Potter had said, not too long before the War.

Once the shirt was hung, he turned to face his visitor, who was just now pulling up beside the corral. He was a little surprised to see Ezra swing down and brush the dust off his brilliant green coat.

Ezra noticed his confusion, and shot him a grin, dimples creasing his cheeks. “Mister Larabee,” he greeted, touching the brim of his hat. “You were not expecting me, I’m sure, but Mister Wilmington assures me that it is my turn to, in his words, beard the bear in his den.”

“I wasn’t expectin’ anyone,” Chris admitted. “Somethin’ goin’ on in town?”

“Unless something has transpired since I left, no,” Ezra replied. “But the fact that you had not been to town these last few days has left Mister Wilmington… concerned at your continued absence.” He squinted up at the sun, already bright in the morning sky and promising that the day would be hot.

Chris rubbed his chin with his hand, trying to hide his grin. Maybe Buck had been concerned, but just as likely he’d warned Ezra and everyone else to stay the hell away, Chris’ll come back when he’s ready. If Ezra was here, it was because he was too bullheaded to stay away. When he was sure that his smile wouldn’t give him away, he said, “Well, my continued absence is nothin’ for Buck or anyone else to be concerned about.”

Ezra stopped pretending to study the sky. “No, indeed,” he said, eyes sharp on Chris, “it appears that your absence is due more to the absence of clothing than anything else.” He licked his lips, then flashed another grin. “Though I must admit that the lack is… very pleasing to the eye.”

This time, Chris didn’t bother to conceal his smile. “Told you, I wasn’t expecting company, so I figured no one would care if I was goin’ around without a shirt.”

“Oh, believe me, Mister Larabee,” Ezra replied, and his voice sounded a little huskier than normal, “I do indeed care.”

Chris felt his smirk widen. “May not have been expectin’ company,” he said, “but I still got manners. C’mon in.” He turned to lead the way into the cabin…

And was unsurprised to feel Ezra’s hands trailing down his back as soon as the door was closed behind them. He shivered at the light touch, then directed his words over his shoulder. “Still got shirts to wash,” he said mildly, but he didn’t pull away.

“And you should know quite well by now that I absolutely abhor the thought of you without your shirt on,” Ezra replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. Those long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pants, just briefly, then reversed, stroking his back just above the fabric. “In fact…”

“In fact,” Chris cut in, turning around and forcing Ezra back a step, “I think you better help me with my washin’. The sooner it’s over, the sooner you don’t have to see me walkin’ around in just my pants.”

“What a crime,” Ezra murmured, gaze locked on Chris’s chest. Then, as if feeling Chris’s eyes on him, he looked up. “Very well, Mister Larabee. If you continue your washin’, I will assist by hangin’ your garments on the line.” He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of one of the chairs.

That went easier than I thought it would, Chris thought. Wonder what he’s up to? But he still nodded his acceptance. “Thanks. Clothespins are in that sack on the table.” He returned to the washboard.

After only a moment, there came a clattering sound, loud enough to be heard over the sound of his scrubbing, and Chris peered over his shoulder. Ezra had taken a handful of clothespins and now let them fall through his fingers back into the bag. Ezra glanced at him, and his gold tooth flashed in a grin. “Go on back to your washin’, Mister Larabee, and pay me no mind. I’m just amusin’ myself while I wait for your shirt.”

Chris met that knowing grin with one of his own, then returned to his washing. Before too long, he held up the shirt, clean, dripping down his arm and onto the floor. When it wasn’t taken from his hand immediately, he said, “Wait’s over.”

“One moment while I roll up my sleeves… I’ve no wish to dampen my own shirt.” Then the shirt was plucked from his hand and the door opened and closed.

Chris chuckled softly and started on the next shirt.

It became a race – Chris tried to wash the shirts as fast as he could so that the next one was ready when Ezra returned from hanging the previous one. If he managed, he met Ezra’s arched eyebrow with a filthy smirk. If he didn’t, Ezra had the chance to let his fingers – cool from handling the wet shirts – brush against his neck, his shoulder, sending little shivers down his back.

He found he liked it.

When Ezra returned from hanging up the final shirt, Chris was Chris was propping the washboard back in place against the wall. He straightened at the sound of Ezra’s footsteps. “Guess you’ll have to wait ‘till those shirts dry before you can see me fully clothed again. I ain’t puttin’ ‘em on still wet.”

Ezra licked his lips. “I’m sure that I could find somethin’ to… pass the time until then.” He put his hands on Chris’s bare chest, and Chris sucked in a breath; they were wet and cold, as if he’d dunked them in the well outside.

Ezra leaned in so that his breath hushed warm against Chris’s throat. “Are you willin’ to… keep me occupied?” he asked, and even as his chill fingers tweaked at Chris’s nipples, his tongue swiped a warm, wet line up Chris’s neck to his ear.

“S’pose I could,” Chris replied, and turned his head to capture Ezra’s lips with his own. His hands, fingers wrinkled and soft from the wash water, left damp prints the fine cloth of Ezra’s vest as he pulled him even closer.

While his tongue tickled the roof of his mouth, Ezra’s hands, warming slowly, smoothed down his chest, over his belly, back up again to pluck at his nipples. He groaned into Ezra’s mouth, body shuddering in pleasure as the attention made those nubs of flesh firm, made his cock stir in his pants.

The blood was roaring in his ears when he pulled away, panting. Ezra’s gasps for breath sounded very loud in his ear. Then Ezra’s mouth was on him again, traveling down his neck with little biting kisses that made him moan appreciatively. “I’ve been wantin’ to do this since the moment you stepped outside,” Ezra whispered against his collarbone, then ducked his head and swirled his tongue around one nipple.

Chris arched up against his body with a noise he couldn’t quite control. Long clever fingers found his other nipple, teased it, even as Ezra bit gently down on the first one.

Eager to feel the warmth of Ezra’s skin, he wriggled his fingers under Ezra’s vest, took a double handful of his shirt and jerked it free of his trousers. Then he was able to sneak his hands under the shirt to stroke Ezra’s sides, trace the lines of muscle along his ribs, up as far as he could reach with the shirt still binding him.

Ezra hummed against his chest, then pulled back ever so slightly and blew a stream of air onto his nipple. Chris shivered, dug his blunt nails into Ezra’s sides.

“I believe,” Ezra murmured, pausing for another lap at Chris’s chest, “we might be… better served… by moving this to your bed.”

“Yeah,” Chris managed, “reckon you’re right.” He slid his hands down to Ezra’s narrow hips and stepped back toward the bed, dragging him along, even as he took Ezra’s mouth in another kiss.

By the time they’d covered the short distance to the bedstead in the corner, Ezra had undone Chris’s fly and worked one hand under the waistband of his tight pants, while the other stroked his chest and belly, circling his nipples, teasing at his navel. The bed creaked a protest as Chris fell back onto it, dragging Ezra on top of him, breaking their kiss. After a moment spent just breathing, Chris started working at the buttons of Ezra’s vest. “Always got so damn many layers,” he complained.

Mouth curling upward on one side, Ezra pushed himself upright, so he was kneeling on the bed, straddling Chris’s hips. “Nothin’ wrong with unwrappin’ somethin’ slowly,” he said, flipping up his shirttails to get at his gun belt. “Though… I must admit there is somethin’ to be said for easy access…”

As Ezra unbuckled his gun belt and carefully set it on the floor beside the bed, then set to undoing his vest, Chris watched, moistening his lips, and let his hands wander. They drifted over Ezra’s groin, along his thighs, up under his shirt. Ezra pulled off his vest and flung it aside with more haste than care before leaning forward to nip at Chris’s earlobe and down over his throat.

With a growl, Chris worked his hands between them. “Still wearin’ too much,” he said, working at the tiny buttons of Ezra’s shirt. But Ezra pushed his hands aside and squirmed atop him, wriggling downward, until he was able to suckle at Chris’s nipple again. The warm wet slide of Ezra’s tongue, the graze of his teeth, his fingers teasing the nipple his mouth wasn’t – all of it sent waves of sensation right to his cock, and he bucked against Ezra’s weight with a gasp.

He felt Ezra smile against his chest, heard him laugh quietly. Before he could move again, Chris combed his hands through Ezra’s hair, held his mouth against that sensitized nipple, arched up as Ezra bit it again, a sharp twinge of pain and pleasure tightly entwined. “God…”

Ezra left off tweaking the other, shifted enough to let his hand slide down into Chris’s open pants and deftly unbuttoned his drawers. The feel of Ezra’s fingers – not cool now but hot with his own arousal – winding around his sex made Chris lurch again, groaning and thrusting up against that loose grasp.

“Oh, the sounds you make,” Ezra whispered, and swiped his tongue over Chris’s chest again. “So very… inspiring.” He ground his hips against Chris’s, letting Chris feel his hardness even through the layers he still wore. Closing his eyes, Chris moaned deep in his throat, let his hands slide down over Ezra’s linen-covered shoulders, desperate to feel more of him.

Ezra moved against him, let go his cock only to run the heel of his hand down its length, fingers curving over his balls before drawing back again, and Chris shuddered under the touch. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, not even with Ezra’s teeth against his chest once more.

“I wonder what sounds you’ll make if I do… this?” Ezra breathed, and then something pinched tight on that sensitive nipple Ezra had been teasing. He jerked, mouth falling open to release a guttural groan, and pleasure and pain twined together again, arrowing straight to his groin. Ezra’s hand was around his sex again, holding him firmly.

“Very pretty,” Ezra said, his voice rough, and that pressure hadn’t released his nipple yet. Ezra’s hand still worked him, light strokes followed by harder ones, and his hips lifted into each one.

Ezra moved again, sliding down his body, until Chris felt his heated breath against his groin, and he made a sound embarrassingly like a whimper as Ezra’s tongue flicked against his cock.

Then he was engulfed in Ezra’s hot mouth, laved by that tongue, and he bucked up again, unable to control himself. Ezra pressed his hips back down, pulled back with a hum that Chris felt in every part of his body, plunged back down again.

He was teetering on the edge when he felt a pinch on his other nipple, not as tight as the first, but enough to send him tumbling over. With a choked cry, he climaxed, hips stuttering up off the bed.

He opened his eyes when that pressure on his nipple disappeared, saw Ezra straddling him again, a clothespin in his hand. He eyed the clothespin, looked at Ezra. “You do with that what I think you did?”

Ezra gave him his best cat-in-the-cream smirk. “Enjoyed it, didn’t you?” He leaned forward to share Chris’s taste with him, and his erection ground against Chris’s hip. “Somethin’ to remember for later.”

Maybe it was at that, Chris allowed, watching low-lidded as Ezra finally stripped off his shirt. He sat up to help Ezra undo his trousers, hands sneaking into caress him through his drawers, and it wasn’t long before Ezra was slumped against him, panting against his neck.

He plucked the clothespin from Ezra’s lax hand and just looked at it for a moment. Oh, yes, it was definitely something to think on.