Ezra felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Riding quietly behind the
other six on their way back to town, he had been trying for hours to
shake the unsettled feeling he had woken up with early that morning, but
to no avail. As much as he tried to concentrate on Buck's outrageous
tale regarding a lady by the name of Anteater Annie, he just seemed to
fall further and further behind until any clues as to how the lady came
by her quaint moniker were lost on the afternoon breeze.
It had started with that dream. He had been fine the day before but
now those half-remembered images wouldn't leave him alone. They plagued
his thoughts, driving him to distraction. As dreams went, it had started
out normal enough. He was standing in his hotel room looking down Main
Street, just watching the citizens come and go as the sun set. However,
as the sun bathed the street in a long shadowed, red glow, a barrel of
nails fell off the back of a wagon, scattering its contents all over the
street. While he stood there watching the men gathering up the nails as
best they could, he began to feel strangely warm and content. Then,
slowly, that feeling of heat grew into a need that concentrated
intensely at his groin.
Freeing his arousal from its confines, he began to pleasure himself
with slow, steady strokes as the sun slipped down behind the horizon.
His erection grew long and hard at an astonishing rate...until it
bloomed into a two-foot orchid.
Startled awake, Ezra had jerked up to urgently check his vitals, only
to find Chris watching him curiously from across the campfire.
"You all right?" Chris had squinted down at him in the weak
morning light.
"Fine." Ezra had flustered, pretending he was just
rearranging his clothing, or bedding or something, while glancing around
at their sleeping companions.
"Want some help with that?" Chris had smiled back
knowingly.
"No. Thank you, Mr Larabee." Ezra had cleared his throat
and settled back down. "I assure you, I'm fine."
Chris had shrugged easily. "Please yourself."
But Ezra wasn't fine -- far from it. After pretending he was asleep
for another uncomfortable hour in which he could feel Chris watching
him, he had busied himself with the morning necessities, telling himself
that he wasn't really going out of his way to avoid Chris' attention.
Nope. Not at all. He was just a tad preoccupied with that strange dream.
That was all. Nothing more. The fact that he spent most of the morning
skulking around out of Chris' line of sight meant absolutely nothing.
Truly it didn't.
"Oh, lord," Ezra sighed, averting his gaze as Chris looked
back at him. This was verging on the ridiculous.
* * *
Chris turned back around in the saddle to face the horizon as soon as
Ezra deliberately looked away from him. It was clear that what had
started as a little early morning teasing had developed into something
Ezra was taking very seriously, and he was at a loss as to understand
why. Although tempted to put the whole incident down to an attack of
Southern pride, Chris had to admit that Ezra wasn't the kind to carry a
grudge over something so trivial as a little ill-timed teasing. The more
Ezra avoided his gaze, the more Chris' good humour ebbed away. He
shouldn't be feeling good anyway. Not today. Not tonight.
"You sure you don't want to take off to some little bordello
over the border and cut loose?" Buck asked quietly as he eased his
horse alongside. "Town's quiet enough and frankly, Chris, you're
making the rest of us nervous."
Scowling at Buck's smile, Chris lowered his voice to a warning growl,
"You think this is funny?"
"No, sir." Buck shook his head then turned his attention to
the approaching town. "But we all have our own ways of grieving and
maybe it's not time for you to change yours just yet."
"What do you mean by that?" Chris demanded, feeling the
last of his good humour evaporate with the afternoon haze.
"Look, we've finished the job we set out to do. There's nothing
to stop you heading out for a few days. That's all I'm sayin'."
"Then you've said it," Chris returned, effectively ending
the conversation. After a moment, Buck edged away again and was soon
having a light-hearted argument with Josiah and Nathan over whose turn
it was to stable the horses.
By the time they were entering Main Street, Buck had wheedled his way
out of seeing to the horses. He and JD were dismounting to cut across to
the jail when Chris rode past, down to the Clarion office just as Mary
Travis came out to greet them.
He nodded at her smile and answered her question before she could
voice it. "You can wire the Judge it all went fine." He made
to ride on but she stopped him by stepping forward to the edge of the
boardwalk, into the sunlight.
"And how are you, Chris? I realise this anniversary is a
difficult time for you but it's good to see you--"
"Mary," he said, cutting her off with a respectful nod
before continuing down the street, out of town, to his cabin.
He had no intentions of getting drunk. Not really. Not until he sat
down on that feather mattress and it was only him, his memories and the
fading light.
* * *
Ezra was relieved and, judging by the light mood of his fellow
peacekeepers as they lounged around the saloon table, he wasn't the only
one. However, while their eased concerns were likewise to do with their
missing leader, he severely doubted that their motivations were as murky
as his own. Buck, JD and Vin, he was sure, were just relieved that they
didn't have to lock up, knock down or otherwise restrain a friend they
respected so. While they couldn't do anything to help Chris in his
grief, they were well aware that keeping out of his way was their only
option, and that was something they couldn't do if he took his drunken
anger out on the town.
Much better he take it out on some nameless bordello.
Yes. Much better.
He always paid well for the damages...and the whores he used. A good
night's work done by all.
Suddenly feeling very tired, Ezra stood up to excuse himself from the
table.
"Leaving so soon?" Buck asked with a grin. "C'mon, let
JD buy you another one before you head off to skin them poor
suckers." He nodded towards the poker tables.
Ezra eyed the worn-out team of tinhorn gamblers pretending they were
having a real game of cards and decided he wasn't feeling that
masochistic. Not yet, anyway. "I regret to say that engaging in a
game with the gentlemen in question would not seem beneficial to anyone
with a modicum of good sense. I do believe that they are the Watts
brothers, a notorious bunch of atrocious card cheats who have the habit
of turning nasty when their marks complain. Although I am unfamiliar
with them personally, I'd guess that gentleman by the door looking so
conspicuous by trying to look inconspicuous is the fifth member of their
group and also worth keeping an eye on should you gentlemen wish to
remain here or alert Messrs Jackson and Sanchez of their presence."
Ezra inclined his head politely. "I, myself, found last night's
sleeping conditions rather less than conducive to rest so am turning in
early. If you gentlemen will excuse me." He smiled, exchanged good
wishes, and was out on the boardwalk, blanketed by the night a few
seconds later.
It was not until he was jogging up the outside steps to his room,
breathing in the cool air, that he realised how constrained he had felt
in the heat and smoke of the saloon. That was another first. It seemed
that today was the day for firsts. This morning he had went to
ridiculous lengths to stop Chris looking at him, something he had
hungered after for months, and now he'd rather be in bed trying to get
some sleep he didn't really want rather than face off to a bunch of
lowly tinhorns.
He was weary, yes, but his tiredness originated from his soul, not
his body, and it could not be cured by sleep. Going to bed and closing
his eyes would only fend off the feeling, not dispel it. This Ezra knew
as he opened his door and stepped into his room. However, despite this
knowledge, he still went about getting ready for bed, stripping off then
neatly putting away his clothes before washing up in the basin of tepid
water atop the chest of drawers.
Avoiding the gaze of the defeated-looking man in the shaving mirror,
he finished washing and blew out the lamp before padding naked across to
the bed, drying his face and hands on a towel that had definitely seen
better days. Smirking in empathy, he draped the towel over the back of
the bedside chair that held his guns before slipping into bed. The
sheets may have been thinning but the harshest of the blankets were far
from his skin and the mattress was of good quality even if the pillows
were a tad hard. All in all, the bed was far from uncomfortable enough
to distract him from his thoughts. Unfortunately.
Curling up on his side, Ezra tucked an arm under the pillow and
closed his eyes, pretending to sleep but really just trying to calm his
overworked mind. There was absolutely no reason for him to feel guilty.
None at all. He hadn't promised Chris anything in word or deed. There
was no proof, no binding agreement that forced him to--
"Damn!" He snapped up to punch the pillow a couple of
times. It didn't help. When he settled down again, he still wasn't
comfortable with the vision of Chris frowning at him in his mind's eye.
Nothing would help that, but the punching must have done something
because a few moments later he was drifting off through a landscape of
people he half-knew or thought he should know, who would smile and shake
his hand before turning their backs on him and walking away. They all
just walked away, leaving him alone -- until someone opened a door
behind him, letting in a cold breeze. Before he could turn to see who
was there, someone was pressing warmly against him; their hands stroking
down his...
Ezra awoke with a start to find he was not alone. The bedcovers had
been thrown back and rough hands were moving possessively over his
shivering body. Just as his disorientated thoughts were stumbling
towards taking defensive action, Chris' whisky-soaked voice breathed
across his cheek, "Don't say a word. Not a word."
"Chris?" Ezra immediately blurted out in disbelief, trying
to turn around only to be held painfully tight against the clothed body
behind.
"Not a word," Chris growled. "Ssshht." He kissed
Ezra's cheek firmly. "You're mine. No matter."
His heart hammering in his mouth, Ezra kicked out and twisted free of
the imprisoning hold. Moving with his momentum, he rolled off the bed,
blindly snatching up the nearest gun from the chair in the dark as he
went. "Get out," he spat, backing away from the bed while
aiming at the slow moving area of deeper black he assumed was Chris.
"Now, Larabee, or I swear I will shoot you where you are."
The bed springs groaned as a weight moved off them. "You'd shoot
me in the back?" Chris' voice echoed in the darkness.
"Why?"
Confused, Ezra lowered the gun. "Of course I wouldn't shoot you
in the back." He squinted into the pitchy room, backing up against
the wall as imaginary shadows began playing tricks on his eyes.
"But what kind of welcome do you expect when you break into my room
in the middle of the night, when I'm asleep, and attempt to gratify
yourself--"
"Not now, then!" Chris suddenly bellowed. "What did I
do?"
"I don't know what you mean," Ezra returned sharply.
"Since you're obviously in no state to explain yourself, I suggest
you just leave, now, before you bring someone up here to
investigate."
"I didn't break in," Chris said hollowly then there was a
long pause followed by a broken sigh. "You gave me a key."
"Well, thank you for reminding me. That situation will soon be
remedied. Now if you would just--"
"What do you mean by that?"
Catching a quick movement in the myriad of shifting shadows, Ezra
pressed closer to the wall. "Chris? What--"
"You gonna run out on me again?"
Ezra shook his head even though no one couldn't see it. "Get
out, Larabee. I mean it."
"Why? I thought you liked all the kissing and fucking. Don't you
want to shoot me?" One long shadow seemed to be easing closer out
of the darkness. "That couldn't be worse than what you were already
planning."
"I wasn't planning anything." Ezra frowned as he lost the
shadow again in the gloom. "We can talk in the morning, Chris, when
you're sober. Just--"
"That won't work," came the quiet response. "I can see
your mind working. You're not like any of them. Not one. I don't want
you to... I just... But you're scared. Runnin' scared. You're going to
run out on me like some rancid whore in the night."
"That's enough!" Ezra shouted to stop himself from
stuttering. "Get out!" He brought up his gun, cocking it
loudly.
"I'm going," Chris returned, low and menacing. "Shoot
me in the back if you think you can."
Then he was gone, leaving the door creaking open on its hinges in his
wake.
Numbly, Ezra walked forwards to shut and lock it before wedging a
chair under the handle.
* * *
Chris awoke with a shiver to blink groggily around the saloon
storeroom. Finding himself lying shirtless on the rough wooden floor, he
moved to sit up and paid for it with a pained hiss. By the pale shaft of
morning light struggling through the barred window, he examined the
swollen knuckles of his right hand then gingerly rotated his left
shoulder, watching the aching muscle and bone move beneath its rainbow-coloured
bruising. It hurt like hell. So did his head.
Stifling another hiss, he stood up carefully to look fruitlessly
around the floor for his absentee shirt before trying the door. It was
locked. He pulled at the handle only to hear the bolts thud mockingly
against the solid frame.
"Shit," he growled, vaguely remembering his furious assault
on the door the night before when Buck and Vin had first locked him in.
Realising that he'd gotten off lightly with the few injuries he had, he
was just settling down on a stack of boxes to suck his torn knuckles
when he heard Buck's cheery whistling and the sound of bolts being
pulled away.
"Mornin', sunshine." Buck came in grinning with a bottle of
whisky in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "You sure tied
one on last night," he continued lightly while Chris took the
bottle, swigging a mouthful down then pouring a little over his bloody
knuckles before handing it back. "Yeah, I'd say the door won that
fight," Buck concluded, giving Chris the coffee cup. "The
decision wasn't even close."
Chris didn't acknowledge the good-natured baiting; he just took a
drink of coffee -- and promptly spat it out on the floor. "What the
hell?" he coughed and scowled.
"JD's triple strength morning after cure," Buck informed
him brightly. "Worked real good tarring Josiah's roof."
Chris didn't even dignify that with a reply. He shoved the cup back
into Buck's grasp and took the whisky bottle again instead. "All
right, what did I do?"
"You mean before or after we locked you in the storeroom?"
Taking a long gulp of whisky, Chris silently waited for the story
that was obviously itching to be told.
"Well, let me see." Buck paused to smooth his moustache in
mock contemplation. "You showed up late as drunk as a skunk and
started off in the saloon across the street, making the piano player
dance on the tables after he kept singing everything off key."
"He never sings." Chris frowned.
"He did when you told him to," Buck returned gleefully.
"The man can't carry a note but you had him howling like a coyote
at the moon until he fell off that table and broke his ankle."
Chris took another gulp of whisky.
"Then you talked Miss Penny into getting up and doing a little
number for us. Whew! I wish that'd happen more often. That girl has
talent, if you know what I mean." Buck winked.
"Then what?" Chris prompted when his friend fell into a
glazed silence.
"Oh, the usual." Buck waved a negligent hand. "You
kicked down a few hitching posts, beat the hell out of the Watts
brothers when they looked at you funny and generally made our good
citizens grind their teeth down a notch or two."
"Who the hell are the Watts brothers?"
"No one important." Buck shrugged. "You were just
warming up to treeing the town when me and Vin shoved you in here,"
he finished with a proud smile. "Damn fine makeshift jail cell,
ain't it?"
"So what did I do when you locked me in?" Chris asked
suspiciously.
"Apart from going hell for leather at the door until you damn
near broke your shoulder, and calling us every vile name in God's
creation and a few more besides, not a lot."
Chris nodded, relieved. "Anything else I should know?" He
closed his eyes before taking another long drink of whisky then handing
the bottle back just as Buck shook his head.
"No, I think that's about it. 'Cept Ezra left town early this
morning, heading for Cedar Ridge. Didn't say when he'd be back."
"Ezra?" Chris frowned then cursed at the returning
fragments of a half-remembered conversation in a dark bedroom.
* * *
The fanciest saloon in Cedar Ridge was a cut above the usual fare in
the Territory with its gold-effect chandelier and velvet draperies.
However, it was not above employing a plethora of quasi-prostitutes to
get its good patrons to spend as much cash as possible. While Ezra
didn't usually associate with such ladies of the night, he had found a
pair he could talk to without too many explanations and had proceeded to
drink the night away with them. The good ladies, Matilda and Beth-Anne,
had never ceased trying to dip into his monetary funds but Ezra wasn't
drunk enough to fall for their machinations. He would never be that
drunk. Just as the ladies were beginning to figure this out for
themselves, someone brought up the topic of circus acts.
"It's purely a matter of balance, my dear," Ezra drawled,
patting Beth-Anne's nearest, well-nourished hand. "Anyone capable
of a neat step or two on the dance floor can carry off one of these
acts, I assure you." He leaned back from the table, pushing his
glass away and feeling a little woozy.
"So you say." Matilda blew a tired ginger ringlet out of
her right eye with a sigh. "How about proving it?"
"Yeah!" Beth-Anne perked up, throwing an arm around Ezra's
shoulder and kissing him on the cheek. "Put your money where your
fine mouth is, sweetie."
"Why, there is nothing I would like more than to take you ladies
up on your kind offer, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of
me to do so, now would it?"
"Aw, we ain't no ladies." Matilda laughed, no doubt
catching a whiff of the money she hoped to procure. "We bet you ten
dollars you can't walk on your hands like you say."
"Ten dollars?" Ezra queried. "Each?" He grinned
at them in turn.
After a exchanging a glance, they both nodded.
* * *
Finding Ezra was easy. It seemed he had chosen to remain in Cedar
Ridge rather than catching either of the trains that had passed through
-- and that gave Chris hope that the wayward gambler wanted to be found.
However, all bets were off when he saw Ezra walking down an alley with a
whore on each arm. If it wasn't for the fact that the build, the cut of
the clothes and the cocksure walk gave him away, Chris would have sworn
it was someone else. For some reason, he had assumed that Ezra wasn't
sexually interested in women, never mind two well-used whores.
Feeling like a voyeur, he followed the trio at a distance but instead
of going back to someone's room, they headed out toward the empty
railway livestock pens. There, Ezra walked along to a length of fencing
that seemed to meet his approval before taking off his hat and coat then
handing them to the stockier of the two women with a small bow of
appreciation. After securing his guns and pocket watch, he then moved to
take hold of the top rail, stepping onto the bottom rail before using
the next one up as leverage to carefully catapult himself up onto his
hands. Once his handstand was steady, he took a few turns, hand over
hand, down the rail for a few feet then back again before dismounting a
little awkwardly. It was only then Chris realised that Ezra was drunk.
"Thank you, ladies," Ezra was saying as the whores handed
over the money they had no doubt foolishly bet before flouncing off up
the back lots. Unruffled by this show of bad sportsmanship, Ezra tucked
away his money then picked up his hat and coat from the rail upon which
they had been unceremoniously dumped, dusting them off before putting
them on.
Chris had to grin. He expected nothing--
"Not a step closer, Mr Larabee," Ezra called out just as
Chris began to walk towards him. "I don't think either of us would
enjoy a repeat performance of the other night now would we?" He
turned around with a cold glare.
Chris held his ground. "I said some things I shouldn't. I know
that."
Ezra barked a humourless laugh. "If only you'd stuck to spouting
bottled wisdom instead of..." he trailed off, seeming too angry to
continue for a moment. "Suffice to say, I can put up with a great
many indignities but there are some things I will not abide. Good
day." He nodded curtly before stalking off. "If that concludes
your business here, I'm sure you know your way home."
For a few rapid heartbeats, Chris stood where he was, watching Ezra
retreat. Then he was moving. He was almost upon Ezra, just reaching out
to take hold of his shoulder, when Ezra whirled around with a growl.
"Leave me be, Mr Larabee, before something occurs we will both
regret."
Chris backed off, raising his hands. "I don't want to fight you.
You know that."
"Do I?" Ezra studied him for a long moment, his attention
lingering on Chris' swollen gun hand. "That must be inconvenient
for you. What happened? Did the bottle hit you back?"
"I'm not here to fight," Chris repeated, this time with a
little menace.
Ezra raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Then what, pray tell, is
the purpose of your visit for there doesn't seem to be much else between
us from where I'm standing." His tone was still cold but at least
he wasn't walking away.
"I was wrong-headed that night." Chris frowned, searching
for the right words. "I did what I did because I--" He broke
off abruptly as Ezra suddenly moved to draw his guns. Dull surprise
hardly hindered Chris' automatic response of drawing his own gun but his
stiff knuckles made him fumble for the hammer while Ezra cocked his
smoothly. But then the world turned on its head again when Ezra
barrelled into him, driving them both to the ground behind a water
trough just as bullets began ripping through the air around them.
"Hell!" Ezra bellowed between bouts of return fire.
"What rock did they crawl out from?"
"Who are they?" Chris shouted over the plink and splash of
bullets hitting wood and water. "There's five of them?"
Ezra nodded. "Behind the weighing shack. It's the Watts family.
A vengeful quintet by anyone's book."
"They've got us pinned down good," Chris cursed as a
splinter of wood flew off the trough and hit Ezra just above the left
eye.
Yelping, Ezra ducked down low, trying to staunch the prodigious flow
of blood with his handkerchief while shouting back, "I think I got
one, maybe two but my aim's a little off and the law in this town won't
turn up until it's all over."
"I got one too, but we'll have to outflank them." Chris
nodded as he reloaded. "Are you sober enough to cover me?"
"I was sober enough to spot them in the first place," Ezra
said peevishly.
Chris scowled. "You sober enough or not?"
"I can do it," Ezra returned grudgingly while hastily
reloading his guns.
"All right, on three," Chris warned, preparing to run while
Ezra tensed to begin his volley. "One, two, three!" He set
off, fast and low through the empty maze of fencing, hearing bullets
whiz and ping around him until he reached the relative safety of the
counting shack. Then everything went eerily quiet.
Although tempted to call out to Ezra to make sure he hadn't been hit,
Chris stayed the impulse in favour of getting to the Watts gang before
they could change position themselves. A heartbeat later he was bearing
down on them, shooting one man in the head and another through the heart
before kicking the gun from the wounded one's hand and checking to make
sure the last two were dead.
"Ezra?" he finally called, keeping an eye on the one who
had been shot in the shoulder while craning his neck to try and see
around the edge of the shack to the water trough. "You all
right?"
The seconds that followed seemed to drag into eternity as Chris
waited for Ezra's response. He was just about tempted to shoot the last
remaining member of the Watts clan just so the whole sorry mess could be
settled, when Ezra eventually called back and he looked up to seem him
walking warily towards them.
"What the hell happened to you?" Chris demanded, taken
aback by the amount of blood staining the left side of Ezra's face
beneath the reddened handkerchief.
"I ran out of bullets," came the huffy response.
"Shooting miscreants and reloading your weapons while trying to
keep blood out your eyes is hardly the easiest of tasks to accomplish.
And, in case you haven't noticed, I'm still bleeding like a stuck
pig."
* * *
Waking up in a strange bed with a pounding headache was not exactly a
novelty to Ezra but it still surprised him. It almost surprised him as
much as finding Chris standing beside the open bedroom window, just a
few feet away, leaning casually against the wall, sipping coffee and
watching the fading evening light with his hat and coat settled neatly
on the ledge beside him.
"Sleep well?" Chris asked over the rim of his coffee cup as
Ezra moved to sit up, a little self-conscious of his nakedness beneath
the bedclothes.
"I suppose, thank you for asking." Ezra frowned around his
Cedar Ridge hotel room, his hand moving up to the fresh stitching above
his left eye. "Ow!" He scowled at the spot of blood on his
finger. "Since there aren't any gentlemen breaking down the door
with the intention of incarcerating us, I take it the sheriff of this
burg believed our story?"
Chris nodded. "As soon as the Judge verified us, he locked that
last Watts away."
"How gratifying," Ezra drawled, rubbing the itching skin
around his stitches carefully. "Mr Larabee, could I prevail upon
you to locate another cup of that coffee?"
"You can have this one." Chris stepped forwards, offering
his own cup. "It's my sixth. I'm done."
"I see." Ezra took it cautiously. "Thank you." He
took a sip. It was hot but not too strong. "How's your hand?"
"As swollen as hell." Chris winced at it then rotated his
farthest shoulder stiffly.
"If you won the fight, I'd hate to see the loser."
Chris gave a non-committal grunt.
"Perhaps it would be wise to see a doctor before you
leave." Ezra took another sip of coffee. It was almost too much and
he almost burned his tongue. "Not that I have any doubts about Mr
Jackson's proven abilities, but the obvious lack of his customary
bandaging adorning your person speaks volumes."
Chris didn't respond. For a long moment, he just seemed to blend into
the lengthening shadows of the room. Then, when he did speak, his voice
was low and directed out towards the sunset. "Sometimes, when you
want something badly enough, your own need drives it away." He
turned to meet Ezra's gaze. "Pushing you away was the last thing I
wanted."
Ezra blinked down at his coffee before taking another sip. When taken
carefully, it seemed to get better, tasting sweeter on his tongue with
each sip. "It seems that many things are meant to slip through our
fingers in this life, Chris. The more we strive for them, the more they
shift to elude us. The more we try to capture them, the more intangible
they become."
"It doesn't have to be like that."
Ezra shrugged. "It's the way things are."
"I won't accept that."
"Then good luck to you." Ezra saluted Chris with his cup.
"You're a braver man than I."
"No." Chris shook his head. "I've just got less to
lose and more to play for."
Ezra sipped his coffee silently, exploring the subtleties of its dark
flavour as he waited for Chris to go on.
"When I lost them that night, I lost everything. It was the
first time in my life I had anything I couldn't afford to lose. I know
what that feels like. I know what it can do to a man."
"Indeed." Ezra nodded. "Then you'll know there are no
easy answers, no miracle cures."
"I'm not lookin' for one. But I'm not afraid to try
either."
"Oh, here we go again," Ezra growled, plunking the coffee
cup down on the bedside table. "Back on the subject of my supposed
non-cowardice. Thank you, Mr Larabee, but I believe I have a train to
catch. So if you don't mind?" He inclined his head towards the
door.
"Fine," Chris ground out. "Run away." He picked
up his hat and coat and turned to march for the door.
"Run away?" Ezra exploded from the bedclothes to stalk
across the room and whirl Chris around before he could reach the door.
"You broke into my room, you abused me, and I'm running out? What
exactly did I do to deserve such violations? Can you explain that to
me?"
"You didn't do anything. I was drunk and hurtin'. That's
all."
"Oh, and that gives you the right to do whatever you wish?"
"No," Chris replied sharply. "I thought we had
something but when I needed it, it wasn't there."
Ezra blinked away. "Then maybe you needed it too much."
"What I did was wrong," Chris admitted low. "I'm
sorry. Go if you want to."
Ezra glared back. "I don't need your permission to go or to
remain."
"I know." Chris nodded. "It was always your
choice."
"All this hasn't exactly easy for me either." Ezra scowled
at the floor then realised he was naked. "Hell!" He turned
away for his clothes only to turn back a split second later. "I
didn't start this, Chris."
"I know."
"You did."
"I know that too."
"And... I've missed my train."
"You can always catch the next one." Chris shrugged.
"If you want to."
"Of course I don't want to." Ezra sighed, exasperated.
"I never wanted to."
"Then don't." Chris smiled.
Ezra closed his eyes and rubbed at that damn headache. "Chris, I
don't ever want to be responsible for that."
"What?"
"For that, that thing you do," Ezra returned forcefully if
confusedly. "That whole mean drunk, wreck the town thing. I don't
want that."
Chris shook his head slightly. "There ain't no guarantees."
"With what?" Ezra frowned.
Chris just turned for the door. "Come back to town when you're
ready."
"Hold on a damn minute!" Ezra grabbed Chris as he reached
for the door again. "You don't just say something like that and
walk away," he went on, ignoring Chris' annoyed glower.
"I've said my piece."
"Well, I'm not finished," Ezra snapped. "If this,
this...whatever we have is going to continue, we have to get a few
things straight."
"All right." Chris waited for him to go on.
"First off, if you ever pull anything like that again, I'll
leave without another word, understand? Secondly, outside our peace
enforcement activities, you don't tell me what to do. I go where I like,
when I like for however long I choose to."
Chris nodded. "All right. But if you're having doubts about us,
you tell me."
"Agreed." Ezra nodded.
"You finished?" Chris asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
"No." Ezra shook his head in an opinionated fashion but
couldn't think of anything to say. He ended up doing the only thing he
could do: he kissed Chris on the mouth, long and sweet.
A moment later, Chris returned the kiss in a teasing exploration,
easing them both over to the bed while his hands stroked down Ezra's
back, firm and even. "I won't want you to leave but I won't try to
stop you again," Chris broke the kiss to say softly while Ezra
began unbuttoning his shirt.
"Not even a little?" Ezra grinned, pulling the shirt loose
while Chris unbuckled his gun belt. "I'm sure a man of your
undoubted talent and abilities can be extremely persuasive when he puts
his mind to something."
"Is that a fact?" Chris asked playfully, only to grimace
when he tried to slip out of his shirt too quickly.
"Easy there, my fearless one." Ezra helped him off with the
shirt then hung it over the rail before Chris followed suit with the gun
belt. "We don't want any casualties before the main event, do
we?" He closed in for another bout of kissing while Chris kicked
off his boots and eased out of the remainder of his clothes before they
moved onto the bed.
To Ezra's surprise, Chris seemed content to let him take the lead in
their lovemaking. While he initiated a deliciously slow pace, Chris'
touches were encouraging, his movements strictly responsive.
"I feel it's my duty to warn you that I could get used to
this," Ezra spoke softly between strokes and kisses, enjoying this
unhindered exploration of Chris' body.
"You do that," Chris replied with conviction, causing Ezra
to capture his mouth in a demanding kiss.
"Oh, I see what you're up to," Ezra reluctantly parted from
Chris' lips to say. "This is all a cunning plan to get me addicted
to the abundant charms of a certain Mr Larabee."
"You're not just a pretty face, are you?" Chris grinned as
Ezra nipped his chin. "Is it working?"
Ezra fingered Chris' lips in consideration. "I'd say it's got
more than a fair chance of succeeding."
"Good." Chris nodded before Ezra kissed him deeply,
heightening that chance with every touch thereafter.