"Mr Wilmington, I fear that if we tarry any longer, the good
judge will send a search party out after us." Ezra leaned against
the nearest stall post to watch Buck continue to ransack through his
dozing horse's saddlebags. "The stable lad will be here momentarily
to tend to the horses. What could possibly be so important as to make
you want to incur Judge Travis' wrath?"
"He won't hang us, Ezra," Buck replied, still rummaging.
"He needs our testimony." He winked before cursing, "Darn
things! Where'd they get to?"
"While I agree that hanging is a tad extreme on this occasion,
he could still hold us in contempt and I'm sure both of us have already
spent longer on the wrong side of those jail bars than we ever
intended."
"Oh, he wouldn't go that far."
"Oh, I beg to differ. That gentleman has the tolerance level of
an irate wolverine when it comes to his courtroom and you know it."
"I'm not holding you here." Buck shooed with one hand.
"Go. Run along if you're that worried but I'm not setting foot in
that court without my peppermints."
Ezra could only stare in disbelief. "You'd risk the judge's
well-known ire for peppermints?" he asked just as Buck gave a loud
victory whoop.
Ezra never saw the small paper bag Buck hoisted aloft; he was too
busy being alerted by the horse's snort of alarm, watching its eyes roll
and its ears flick back. It was just as well too because that way he
managed to avoid the flying hooves that kicked out viciously in his
direction. Unfortunately, in his haste to avoid the kick, he stumbled,
lost his balance on the uneven floor and crashed hard into the wood
partition of the next empty stall.
"Ezra?" Buck's voice seemed to come from a long way away.
"Ezra, you all right?" Gentle hands patted his cheeks.
"Damn. See what you've done now!" Buck cursed in the other
direction. "Next time you get lost in the mesquite, I ain't lookin'
for you. You can just wander around gettin'--"
"I assure you that getting lost in mesquite is the least of that
animal's worries." Ezra eased himself up into a more dignified
position to glare at Buck's horse, which was standing looking at him
over Buck's crouched form. The creature actually had the good manners to
look abashed.
"You all right?" Buck frowned at him. "That was some
knock on the head you took."
"Knock on the head?" Ezra frowned back before retrieving
his somewhat bashed hat from the straw and gingerly feeling the back of
his skull. It only hurt when he looked at the poor state of his hat.
"I'm actually surprisingly well despite your equine's best efforts
to the contrary." He got to his feet, pushing his hat back into
shape as best he could.
"You sure?" Buck studied him.
"Yes, quite, Mr Wilmington. Now, can we go please?"
"Can't go yet. He wants to apologise, don't you, boy?" Buck
turned to his horse, letting it snuffle at the peppermints before moving
the bag away.
"Have you been drinking?" Ezra scowled.
"C'mon, just stand still against the stall post and--"
"See you in court, Mr Wilmington." Ezra turned to walk away
but was immediately tackled by Buck who was trying to forcibly pin him
against the post. "Have you lost your mind?" He pushed back
only to be wrestled harder until they were almost brawling across the
stable. "Buck!"
"C'mon, Ezra, it'll only take a minute," Buck panted then
won their tussle with a breath-stealing kiss.
The heartbeat that had previously been hammering in Ezra's ears froze
when Buck's warm lips settled coaxingly upon his own. Just as his brain
was finally getting around to processing this revelation, something
started rubbing at his crotch in a maddeningly good way. Which wasn't
good.
"Buck," Ezra broke the kiss to say, "I don't know what
just happened here but--"
"Ssht or you'll miss the best part." Buck grinned and Ezra
was too busy trying to ease away from the stall post while avoiding the
next kiss and trying to think up something to say, anything to say, when
something hot and disconcertingly arousing pressed at his crotch.
"Oh lord." Ezra closed his eyes. "Tell me that's
not--" Any hope he had left of keeping his sanity disappeared when
Buck's horse snuffled an even hotter breath over his burgeoning arousal.
This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. "Eh, Mr Wilmington, your
horse is..."
"He's apologising." Buck smiled up close.
"Get--"
"Nope, I wouldn't do that if I were you." Buck pushed
Ezra's protesting hands down. "He might bite."
"Bite?" Ezra suddenly felt ill, but his erection continued
to grow happily under the horse's disturbingly effective ministrations.
Which wasn't fair at all. "Buck, I'm warning you, if you don't get
that--"
"Ssht." Buck closed in for another kiss. "His apology
will be over as soon as he realises there ain't no peppermints down
there. Then I'll start to apologise. If you want me to."
"I don't. Thank you," Ezra breathed back but his voice was
depressingly weak. Then Buck was kissing him and the horse had moved
away so Buck's hand was massaging his eager length and it was good, too
damn good to--
"What's keeping you two so..." Chris trailed off as Ezra
startled and pushed Buck off to face him.
"We were just coming," Ezra blurted out, brushing bits of
straw from his coat. "I mean we were just on our way," he
stumbled miserably over the words while Chris' face settle into a stony
mask.
"Judge is waiting," Chris bit the words and spat them out
before turning on his heel and stalking out of the stable.
"Chris, it's not what it looks like!" Buck called out after
him but Chris had gone.
* * * *
Ezra had never enjoyed the atmosphere of a courtroom but today's
trial was hell on earth: Judge Travis kept glaring at him; Buck kept
apologising to him; Chris wouldn't even look at him and he stuttered
through his testimony like some kind of woefully backward schoolboy. The
whole experience was straight from the very bowels of hell but only got
worse when Judge Travis 'invited' him back to his private room.
"I must apologise for my unforgivable tardiness and ill-prepared
testimony, sir," Ezra began as soon as the judge closed the door,
hoping that some immediate grovelling would stay his wrath.
The judge, however, just walked behind his changing curtain,
presumably to change his robes, without uttering a word.
"I fear I may have caught a head cold being out in the rains
last night at your behest," Ezra went on but the judge made no
reply. With a longing glance at the door, he bit back his burning need
to speak to Chris and tried again. "I'm sure you see the need
to--" Ezra's words choked and died in his throat as Judge Travis
re-emerged from behind the curtain, wearing nothing but a scowl.
"...Put on some clothes?" he finished lamely.
The judge still didn't speak; he just moved over to his desk and
picked up the riding crop that was lying on top of the legal papers
there.
"Feeling a trifle warm are we?" Ezra asked lightly while
backing up to the door.
"Step one foot outside of this room and I'll put you in jail for
a month," the judge growled, flexing the riding crop.
"I...see," Ezra tried unsuccessfully to get his mind around
the situation. Unfortunately, Judge Travis' next words made everything
frightening clear.
"I know your type, Ezra. I've been dealing with them for
years." The judge walked up in all his naked glory to take Ezra by
the elbow and lead him over to the desk. "But you're not like the
rest of that scum. With a little direction, you could be back on the
straight and narrow."
"Is that so?" Ezra tried not to look down; he tried not to
look anywhere because this wasn't really happening.
"Jail won't do you any good, I know." The judge stroked
Ezra's cheek softly before fingering his lips. "You'll talk your
way around it, blame the law for your own flaws." He sighed,
shaking his head sadly. "I know the flaws in your character aren't
all your own and that's why I'm prepared to give you this chance."
"And what chance is that?" Ezra asked nervously, not really
wanting to hear the answer.
"Bend over the desk," the judge ordered in a business-like
manner while flexing his riding crop again.
"Why?" Ezra tried to back away but the solid desk was right
behind him. "Do you really think I'm going to..." He
accidentally looked down and caught sight of a bobbing something he
really wished he hadn't. "Why did you take your clothes off?"
"It's a warm day for a whipping." The judge shrugged.
"I always overheat somewhat. Now, bend over, Mr Standish, it's time
to receive what's coming to you."
"Frankly, I'd rather rot in jail." Ezra pushed past the
judge and walked smartly for the door, only to find it locked.
"I can arrange that." Judge Travis swished the riding crop
through the air. "If you call for Mr Perry, he will unlock the door
and take you straight to jail for contempt of court and, since our own
jail is full of the Parmason Gang, I'm sure they will enjoy your
company." He walked up to take Ezra by the elbow again but Ezra
shook him off.
"The others wouldn't let that happen. They--"
"Like you too much?" the judge asked low. "Do you
really think they enjoy the way you always try to dodge the work, never
pull your own weight?"
"That's not true," Ezra protested but somehow allowed
himself to be led back over to the desk nonetheless. "I do as much
as--"
"You think you can get away with. I know," the judge
finished gently. "It's not your fault, Ezra. That's why I'm going
to help you," he said soothingly while taking off Ezra's coat.
"Lean over the desk now, son. It's for your own good. Your friends
will finally be able to depend on you after I've shown you the errors of
your ways. It's much easier this way, trust me," Judge Travis
continued encouragingly and Ezra found himself bent over the cold desk
with warm air breathing over his exposed rear. "Your friends need
never know what happened here." A hot hand stroked the shivering
skin of his lower back. "You'll warm up soon, my boy, never
fear."
Ezra closed his eyes, expecting to feel the bite of the whip at any
second, and almost jerked himself of the table when something hard, cold
and slick pressed for entrance into his body instead.
"Ssht, ssht, lie still, son. It's all right," the judge
whispered soothingly by Ezra's ear before kissing him lightly on the
cheek. "This is the easy way. You don't want it the hard way, now,
so just relax and take your lesson."
And then the cold hardness was back, an insane counterpoint to the
gentle strokes on his back and the half-whispered promises that floated
around him until it reached deep enough inside him to strike that
honey-sweet spot again and again until he was groaning from the
pleasure, entreating the judge to move faster and harder until--
That's when the gunfire started. Dull at first, Ezra hardly noticed
it until the judge pulled away cursing, leaving him bereft of feeling
and struggling for breath.
"Damn Parmasons must be trying to escape," the judge
growled and Ezra stood up to blink around at him. "Don't just stand
there, get going, man!" The judge pulled on his clothes.
The next retorts of gunfire were loud and close, startling Ezra into
action so he barely gave himself time to secure his clothes before
dashing out the room, not noticing that the door had been mysteriously
unlocked.
* * * *
It had all happened fast, too fast, and now everything was still. The
whole town seemed to be holding its breath until Nathan finally kneeled
away defeated from Chris' body, leaving him lying motionless in the
middle of the street.
The gunfight had been a mess, a pitched battle in such close confines
that it was inevitable that one of them would be out manoeuvred
eventually. But it hadn't happened like that. The fight had gone their
way right from the beginning. The problem was that someone had missed
his count. When the gunfire had ebbed and died, there was no reason to
think that all the Parmason Gang had not been accounted for. Judging by
his friends' ease of manner, Ezra would have staked his life on it.
Except it wasn't his life up for forfeit but Chris'. The last member of
the gang had met his maker as soon as he'd shown face. But that didn't
matter. Chris had already paid the ultimate price.
As Josiah moved up to ease Nathan away from the body, Ezra saw Buck
slump down to sit on the boardwalk, steadied by Vin while JD just stood
frozen to the spot behind them.
This was wrong. It was all so wrong. Ezra turned numbly away, unable
to look any longer. If he didn't let it register, didn't accept it to be
true, then maybe it would just cease to exist. He pushed his way through
the gathering crowd, caught a glimpse of Mary Travis running up crying,
saw the undertaker following close behind, and pushed even harder. He
couldn't breathe and he couldn't stop moving until he collapsed against
the back of the grain exchange, struggling for sobbing breaths.
* * * *
They had all gone. He could only have been away a few minutes, but
when Ezra stepped hesitantly back onto Main Street the crowds had all
disappeared. Everyone had gone. The street was like a ghost town. Buck,
Vin, Nathan, Josiah -- even Chris' body had--
"Chris?" Ezra almost ran into the middle of the street but
there was nothing there. There wasn't even a spot of blood where Chris'
body had lay. He looked down the street to the undertaker's office,
where the coffins for the Parmason Gang were piled up outside, and was
suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need to see Chris again. The fear
that Chris' body had already been consigned to its coffin clawed at him
with a desperate grief until he was standing in front of the
undertaker's door.
Heart hammering in his ears, he turned the door handle. It was
locked. With a raw growl, he attacked the door: pushing, pulling and
rattling the old lock until it finally gave way and the door creaked
open with a weary sigh.
Inside it was dark, cold and still. It shouldn't be cold, Ezra knew,
but he still shivered as he lit the lamp and moved through the office
into the back rooms.
There was only one body in the main room, lying on the table in its
centre. Ezra walked in keeping close to the wall, not looking properly
at the body until he was level with the head. Then, when he finally
looked, he moved forwards, hypnotised by the silent peace he found
there. Chris just looked asleep. There was no evidence of the bullet
that had neatly entered the back of his head. The hole was probably
small and the matted blood was thankfully out of sight.
Placing the light just up and to the left of Chris' face, Ezra paused
before reaching out and stroking carefully down one pale cheek. The skin
was still a little warm to the touch. He fingered Chris' lips, watching
for any movement of the eyes or eyelashes. There wasn't any.
"Chris?" He moved a few strands of errant hair back into
place -- something he had never done in life. "Chris, I'm
sorry," he breathed, suddenly aware of his own life, his own heat,
his own breath. If only he could...
Closing his eyes, he leaned down to place a soft kiss on those slowly
cooling lips. But it wasn't enough. When he felt Chris' lips give so
willingly beneath his own, he had to have more. For the last time, he
had to have more.
Moving blindly up onto the table, Ezra lay down half on top of Chris,
kissing and stroking and rubbing, desperate to get some heat and life
back into the pliant body beneath him. But no matter how hard he rubbed,
how passionately he kissed, Chris remained still beneath him, unmoving,
uncaring.
"You sick little fucker!" someone bellowed from the doorway
and Ezra was yanked off Chris by the scruff of the neck and propelled
head first into the planks of wood set up against one corner of the
room. "Fuck a dead man, would you?" the big undertaker's son
snarled on and Ezra tried but failed to dodge the vicious kick to his
stomach and was utterly defenceless against the fist slamming into the
side of his face.
The next thing he was aware of, apart from the blood filling his
mouth and the obligatory agony, was being hauled back to his feet and
dragged over to where Chris lay. Chris didn't care when the undertaker's
son ripped at Ezra's clothes, promising to fuck him raw if that's what
he wanted. Chris didn't care when Ezra was punched in the stomach and
made to bend over, giving himself to the undertaker's son. And, because
Chris didn't care when that hard cock ripped into his unprotected body,
Ezra didn't care either. Yes, the pain was unbelievable, the bastard
thrusting into him punched him in the ribs whenever he cried out and he
fancied he was bleeding something terrible from it all, but nothing
mattered. Everything was secondary. Nothing was real anymore.
"Ezra?" It was Chris' voice. It made Ezra laugh. Even while
the undertaker's son raped him with gusto, he laughed. It was just too
ridiculous that he would finally hear Chris now, that Chris would
finally care enough to-- "Ezra?" Chris' voice came again but
it wasn't that of a dead man, it was warm, close and full of promise.
Confused, Ezra pushed the undertaker's son away and, in that moment,
the scene melted away and he opened his eyes to find Chris' concerned
gaze just inches from his own. His heart froze in his mouth as Chris
smiled a little and thumbed his right cheek.
"Chris?" Ezra blinked. "You're all right?"
Chris frowned a moment before replying, "I'm not the one who got
up close and personal with a stable post and ended up flat out in
Nathan's clinic for most of the day." He brushed his fingers
lightly over the hair behind Ezra's right ear.
Before Chris could stop him, Ezra moved his hand up to feel the
large, pulpy bump on his skull -- with immediate results. "Oh
hell," he howled. "I should have just let that nag kick
me."
"It's not that bad." Chris gave him one of his rare, warm
smiles. "Just remember to--" the rest of his words were
muffled in a fierce hug.
Moving so quickly may have set off his aching head something terrible
and made the entire room pitch and yaw, but Ezra knew it was worth it to
feel Chris' heat, feel that familiar strength hugging him back.
"Are you--" Chris began when Ezra loosened his hold but
then his words were lost in a demanding kiss that almost dislodged him
from his chair at the bedside.
When Chris began kissing him back, tightening the embrace while
plundering Ezra's mouth, Ezra was sure at least one of them had died and
gone to heaven. At least, that was, until Chris accidentally touched
that monstrosity of a lump sticking out from behind his ear.
"Hell in a cheap suit!" Ezra pulled away, trying not to
touch his throbbing head but wishing to soothe it nonetheless.
"Sorry." Chris watched Ezra settle back on the pillows with
a look that wasn't wholly penitent. "Nathan did say you should rest
up, spend the night up here in bed. Maybe most of tomorrow too until the
dizziness clears."
"What about the trial?" Ezra tried not to shudder.
"Doesn't Judge Travis want me to testify?"
Chris shook his head. "That's where Nathan is now." He
pulled up the bedcovers but didn't go so far as attempting to tuck them
in. "We thought that the judge might need his medical testimony to
back up Buck's evidence since you aren't able to make it. I told Nathan
I'd watch you."
"That was very magnanimous of you, Mr Larabee." Ezra
grinned.
Chris smiled as he stood up to tuck his chair away. "I'd best be
heading downstairs and you should get some rest before Buck comes up to
pester you."
Ezra nodded as much as his tender skull would allow. "Can you
ask Mr Wilmington to bring something readable along with him? Sleep
isn't exactly an appealing prospect at the moment and Mr Jackson's
medical volumes aren't quite to my taste," he added ruefully.
"I'll tell him." Chris nodded and headed for the door.
His hand had barely reached the handle when Ezra asked, "Eh,
Chris, Buck's horse doesn't like peppermints, does he?"
"Don't know." Chris turned back with a frown. "Buck's
got too much of a sweet tooth to pass them around but most horses are
partial, I guess. Why?"
"Nothing." Ezra settled back onto the pillows with a shrug.
"Just an errant thought."