Keeping Watch

by Laura H.

Pairings: C/Raphael, E/Raphael, C/E/Raphael (Raphael is from "Love & Honor")

Disclaimer: The characters of "Magnificent Seven" belong to MGM, Trinity, and whoever else has their hand in that delectable cookie-jar. I am merely borrowing them to soothe my muses and let them have a little fun. This story is rated NC-17/Slash for explicit sexual acts between consenting adults of the male persuasian. (Sheesh, ya know you’ve been writing Ezra to long when even your disclaimer gets wordy! LOL) If you’re underage or not partial to this type of fic, use that magic little "Delete" key and amscray! :)

Notes: This story was inspired and pushed for by the LitD Queen, Miss Chiquita. ;) It all started when she mentioned Chris, Ezra, and Raphael together, and I just let my imagination take it from there. This story has been a long time in coming, but I hope it was worth the wait. For those of you that remember, I did leave in that little tid-bit about them having roast rabbit (glares at plot-bunny again). g Any and all comments, good or bad, are wanted, desired, yearned, and begged for! Enjoy!

"And just how long will our esteemed colleague be under Mr. Jackson’s proficient care?" Ezra brushed slightly at a spot of dust on the sleeve of his red jacket, only looking up to meet the pair of hazel eyes that watched him when he was satisfied his appearance was presentable again.

"Nathan said he was gonna try and keep Vin down at least one more day. Maybe more if possible. I reckon by tonight he’ll either let Vin go on out or he’ll be dead." There was a slight smirk that covered Larabee’s face as he answered Ezra’s question. The gunman continued on with the task he had started before answering, arranging four different sticks inside his palm so that equal lengths of each stick stuck out of his hand when he made a fist.

"I thought Vin just had the flu?" Ezra turned to see JD coming up, concern at hearing Chris’ last words obvious on his face. The southerner resisted the urge to sigh. JD had a good heart and who was he to criticize or ridicule someone who had managed to keep that level of hope and naivity. Just because he had been jaded long before he’d reached JD’s age didn’t mean he should try and bring the younger man down from his youthful exuberance.

"He does, JD," Chris soothed, seeing the smiles on Buck and Josiah’s faces as they joined the small group around him. "The reason he’d be dead is because Nathan shoots him. Vin ain’t exactly a model patient." Not that any of them were, really. But that was just the problems one encountered when working with a group of men that were as wild and stubborn as most of the outlaws they went up against. Seeing that the remaining men were gathered around him, Chris stood up.

"Alright. I got a letter this morning from the sheriff in Red Fork. ‘Pears there has been some rustling going on at old man Harvey’s place. He’s got his hands full with that hanging next week, so he asked if a couple of us wouldn’t mind going and checking ‘round." The others immediately saw the problem. It was a given whom Chris would have chosen in normal circumstances. After all, besides seeming to share a connection that was almost spooky, Vin was almost like a dog to a scent when it came to tracking.

However, considering that Tanner had been found collapsed by his horse four days ago, drenched in a feverish sweat, it was obvious he wouldn’t be doing much. Since then, he’d been improving steadily, but there was no way Vin, no matter how stubborn he was, would make the ride to the Harvey place, much less be in any condition to help in case they came in contact with the rustlers. Or anyone else, Ezra thought to himself. This group seemed to have an uncanny way of being in the right place at the wrong time.

"So who’s gonna go with ya?" JD asked, his grin eager. Chris gave the boy the quirky half-smile that the gunman seemed to prefer to the real thing.

"That’s what these sticks are for, JD. Each of ya take one and then hold ‘em up. The shortest stick goes." Each man nodded his agreement and reached in, taking the tip of one stick. Ezra tried not to let his hands shake. He was a gambler by profession, yes, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed letting Lady Luck decide everything. She had too many grudges against him.

Chris let his hand drop and stepped back as the four men presented their sticks. A slow smile lit the gunman’s face as the man across from him turned a sickened shade of green. The other three tried not to laugh as Chris walked to the saloon door, calling out his last order over his shoulder.

"Meet me at the livery in five minutes ready to go." The others shuffled away leaving Ezra to stare at the cursed stick that Lady Luck had delightedly let him have.

+ + + + + + +

I will never understand how that man can endure wearing such attire in this accursed heat. Ezra felt the sweat trickle down his face as he watched Chris riding beside him. Ezra had long ago discarded his red jacket, his desire for propriety losing out to his desire to survive the desert sun. Chris, however, seemed as comfortable as you please in his black wardrobe, his hat, pulled down so that it hid the piercing gaze Ezra knew lurked in those green eyes. The gambler let his gaze drop to the way the black shirt covered him from his neck to his wrists to his stomach. It was pulled tight there, almost as if struggling to contain the raw power of the man that Ezra knew existed inside. He’d seen it more than once. Ezra moved still lower until his sidelong glance covered the tight black material that surrounded Larabee’s hips and thighs before moving down his long legs to surround the black boots.

Ezra quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere as his mind brought up the imagined sensation of being any piece of that cloth, or a bead of sweat that rolled beneath it across the gunman’s skin. Standish had long known that his attentions ran on both sides of the fence, but he wasn’t sure exactly how the others of his group of colleagues felt about that. The gambler was almost certain that Buck had probably had some experience with men, as well as Vin. The younger man was too damned sensual to not have had offers from more than his share of the male persuasion.

But the one Ezra found himself drawing a blank on was the man who rode beside him now, Chris Larabee. It was almost ironic considering how he was also the same man that held Ezra’s attention most of the time. The gambler couldn’t help himself. Larabee had something wild inside that was like a pull to him. Hell, to anyone that meets him! Ezra thought. It hadn’t taken Mary Travis very long to try and pull herself into the gunman’s world. That pull was what kept the seven men together. It was a power, and Ezra couldn’t help but imagine what that power would feel like to touch.

It wasn’t until a week ago that he’d begun to have the dreams. Until then, he’d been content to just watch from afar, not going too close for fear of being drawn into the man completely. However, when he’d heard the conversation between two of the saloon girls in Red Fork, Ezra lost all control about what he thought, imagined, dreamed, and desired about the gunman. Bits of that conversation had stuck in his mind, influencing his dreams.

+ + + + + + +

"Lucky thing, she is." Ezra glanced up from his game of solitaire in the saloon to see what had sparked the comment from the woman standing not far from him. Another joined her and Ezra followed their gaze until it settled on a woman who was pulling a man up the stairs playfully by his coat tails. Ezra quickly recognized Larabee’s form and felt a twinge pass through him as the gunman grabbed the woman he was with and gave her a searing kiss. Ezra would have swore he could feel the heat on his flesh from across the room.

"Why? Is he good?" Ezra made sure he heightened every amount of his hearing that he could, not wanting to miss the other woman’s answer for the world. A small part of him rebelled against eavesdropping, but Ezra pictured Larabee’s lean form once again and shoved the part down into his brain.

"Good? He fucks like some kind of dark angel, ya know, those ones that are demon and angel together? He gives it to you sweet and tender until you’re so close you about lose your mind... And then, then he swoops down and tears you apart. He doesn’t even think of himself until you are merely a puddle underneath him, then he moves into you. And the size of him, good God! I never came so hard in my life when I had him. He’s one of those that I would pay to have again."

+ + + + + + +

Ezra snapped back to the present as he felt his body respond, much in the same way that it had then. ‘Like some kind of dark angel....’ Ezra knew that phrase had done it. His dreams were constantly plagued now with images of a dark form, sweeping towards him as he lay in his bed. Green eyes, holding him to the spot as he was ravaged, crying out again and again until he came. That was one reason he’d been so disgusted at drawing the short stick. It really didn’t have to do with the fact that he would be out in the elements that much. There were occasions when he actually enjoyed being out of town, although he would never admit it. The real reason was that Ezra knew he had a bad habit of getting somewhat vocal in his dreams. If he were to ever call out the gunman’s name before he...

Ezra paled at the mere thought of what that might do to his current relationship with the gunman. While it wasn’t much, it did allow him to be close to his desire. Ezra wasn’t sure what would happen if Chris ever found out how he felt about him. But he knew that it was one gamble he didn’t think he was ready to take.

TWO

Chris glanced over at the gambler as they crested the last hill that stood between them and the Harvey place. The sun was almost down and Chris was looking forward to getting down to business. All day, the two men had said hardly a word to each other. The only thing that Ezra had given him was looks. Long looks that made Chris’ stomach tighten. He felt almost like something to be devoured under the hungry gaze of the southerner. He’d suspected for sometime that Ezra had a past with both men and women. Watching how he baited and drew in sucker after sucker at the poker table was almost proof of how well he could seduce anyone.

Larabee pulled up to allow Ezra to come alongside him before starting down to the lonely homestead. He, himself, was not completely in-experienced in that regard, although it had been a long time. Chris hadn’t really felt the need for the company of another man in his bed until just recently. The Mexican, Raphael, had sparked something inside his body. There was an exotic flair to the other man, and Chris wished they’d had more time to try and see if that spark could be fanned into flame. However, it had not been meant to be as Raphael had ridden off to escape the price on his head that he was sure Don Paolo’s father would be making.

As such, he’d been forced to find other ways of dimming that spark. He supposed Ezra had been surprised to see him show up at the livery a little over a week ago when the gambler had announced he was going to Red Fork. Chris knew one or two of the working girls there and was sure they would be more than happy to help him. And so they had. He’d come back to Four Corners more relaxed than he’d been in a long while. Ezra, however, had seemed more tense than before. Now that he thought about it, that was when he’d first begun to notice the hungry looks the gambler was trying so hard to conceal.

Chris felt that spark inside him again as they began to descend the small rise, heading down to the house below. He suppressed a shudder at the imagined feel of Ezra’s pale skin under his fingers, or the sound of that southern drawl, deep with need as he called out his name. A sly smile covered Larabee’s face as they reached the ground. Perhaps this trip could serve more than just one purpose.

The two men stopped short as they reached the house, the silence echoing around them. They glanced at one another before each drawing their guns and riding in opposite directions. There were several bullet holes in the barn and notches in the corral. The house had faired no better, with the precious glass panes having been shattered. Tracks were scattered everywhere. Ezra reached the front of the house first, soon meeting up with Chris as the man rode up from the other side. A slight fluttering caught Chris’ eye and he got down from his horse to grab a small note that was tied to the front gate. Just as he was about to turn, he heard Ezra’s voice.

"Mr. Larabee? I do believe we are too late." The gunman swivelled to where Ezra was pointing and quickly set his senses to high alert as his eyes took in what the gambler had found. There, underneath a withering, old tree, lay four fresh mounds of dirt, each topped with a crude wooden cross.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra quietly shuffled his cards, one leg curled up under his body. His emerald gaze swung longingly towards the house that sat about a hundred fee away. Chris had vetoed the idea of their staying inside it for the night, claiming that just because they’d found the note on the gate and four fresh graves it didn’t mean the rustlers were the ones in those graves. Ezra had grudgingly acknowledged the gunman’s way of thinking, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed being out on the ground when there was a perfectly good feather bed inside. At least he had been able to talk the man into using the small stove inside the home to prepare their meager supper. Ezra had always found rabbit hard to eat, but it was better roasted in a pan than over an open flame where it grew black and crusty.

The gambler let his gaze slide away from the tempting house to the tempting body of the gunman, instead. Ezra watched as Larabee stared hard at the note they had found. The gunman had been enthralled with it for quite some time now. Try as he might, Standish could not figure out why. A chill passed through him as he remembered what the note had said.

If anyone ever comes to help with these damned rustlers, you can go home. Problem’s been taken care of. Didn’t know their names, so there ain’t none on the graves. Also, whoever it is that’s readin’ this note, you just got yourself a piece of land. I’m too old to keep fightin’ off these young punks. I’m skinnin’ out. The land, 25 acres, is yours. Do what ya like.

Leopold Harvey Witnessed by: Raphael Cordova de Martinez

That note meant Chris was now the owner of a 25 acre spread. Ezra licked a spot of cold sweat from his top lip. Would the gunman leave Four Corners to come and try and make a go out of the small homestead? It would take a lot of work, but the gambler knew that Larabee was not one that would ever back away from a challenge, especially if it was something that he wanted. What would he, Ezra, do if Chris left the town?

Ezra shook his head to dispel the sudden bout of panic and self-pity. It’s not like you have a wonderful rapport with him, now is it? Ezra told himself. If he left, you would go on, as you have always done. Ezra settled more comfortably against the saddle behind his back. He had more than his fair share of practice at going on with his life when someone left him. He could go on again. Ezra tried desperately to ignore the small voice inside his head that mocked his firm belief in his abilities to continue on without seeing the black clad gunman.

Doubt was never something Ezra enjoyed feeling, but he couldn’t shake it this time. He tried to figure out why he was having such a hard time convincing himself he would be able to go on with Chris in his life. Perhaps it was because that all of his experience had been achieved when people who had no care for him at all had left. He hadn’t needed to try hard to go on without them because they had never offered him a fair chance, a smile, or the companionship he had found he was now craving since joining these six other men. But now, if Chris left...

Forgetting about the cards in his hand completely now, Ezra stared hard at the ground, willing himself to not look at the gunman. A small idea was worming its way into his thoughts. What if Lady Luck had not been the spiteful little wench he had been cursing her for since he had drawn that short stick. Perhaps she had been giving him his one chance. He snuck a glance at Chris, who was staring off in the opposite direction, the note now folded up and peaking out of a pocket in his shirt.

Being without words was not something Ezra was used to, but he was quickly becoming accustomed to it. Larabee seemed to have that effect on him when they were alone together. But now, there was a whole new reason for not speaking. There simply were no words. How did one man tell another that he was consumed with the desire to throw him to the ground and not let him come up for air until both of them could no longer move? That he was constantly plagued by dreams and thoughts of tracing his fingers slowly over the gunman’s skin until he thrashed with need?

Then again, maybe that was it right there. No fancy words, no lengthy discussions. Larabee was one that was straight-forward and quick to the point. Ezra openly stared at the profile of Chris’ face against the coming darkness, the light from the small fire they had built making his pale green eyes glint with a light that Ezra almost talked himself into believing was the flames of passion and action that lay inside the other man. Oh, yes, Ezra knew Chris was a passionate soul. It was hard not to notice. The gunman attacked everything he had to do with the force of a wild storm, never holding anything back. Perhaps he could spark that passion... Another plus, the ever-cynical side of Ezra’s brain continued, if you tell him quick, he’ll just shoot you and you won’t have given him any extra time to think of a more painful way to kill you.

"Chris," he ventured quietly. Larabee swung his head around and stared hard at the gambler. Ezra almost lost his nerve as he locked eyes with the other, the intensity of the gaze searing into his soul. He opened his mouth to speak again when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Ezra caught it again. A small movement in the dark that had no reason to be there. A small tip of glowing light pointed out to the gambler the glowing end of a cigarette. Without thinking, he dove at Chris and knocked the larger man flat to the ground. Ezra couldn’t resist the urge to take a deep breath as he rolled over and off the other man, inhaling deeply of the subtle scent of the other man’s skin.

"Ezra?" Chris asked, laying quietly beside the gambler who had drawn his pistol and was focusing on something in the dark. Ezra risked a glance at the gunman, feeling his body tighten at the thought that this time, having the man in black laying beside him, was no dream. He even almost conned himself into believing that there was a slight flush of arousal on Larabee’s cheeks. Instead, he retreated back into his civility to keep from spilling his guts to the gunman.

"Excuse my rough behaviour, Mr. Larabee... I do believe we have some company that is a bit reluctant to come to the fire." Chris sat up and kneeled next to the gambler, feeling the warmth of his body through their clothes. Ezra desperately controlled his breathing. The two men waited for a moment before Chris slowly stood.

"C’mon. Whoever it was is probably gone now." Ezra nodded and moved to lead the way to about where he had seen the intruder, neither man holstering their guns. Chris knelt down and picked up a still-warm cheroot, scanning about the area with his eyes. Ezra watched as Chris carefully put the half-smoked small cigar down and ran his fingers lightly around the impression in the dirt that represented where someone had rested on his knee. The gambler tried to understand the myriad of emotions that crossed Larabee’s face.

Standing, Chris cast one last look about the area before focusing his eyes on Ezra again. And once again, the gambler was drawn in by the intensity and fire in that gaze. Chris’ look was fairly smoldering and Ezra wondered briefly about whether or not that fire could be felt through the gunman’s skin. Chris’ voice was soft when it broke the silence between them.

"Go ahead and get some sleep. I’ll take first watch." Ezra watched as the man walked away, picking up his rifle and moving to stand beside the old corral that they had used to hold their horses. Ezra moved slowly back to his bedroll, not taking his eyes off the back of the gunman for a moment. He remembered the quickness Larabee’s breath had taken when he’d tackled him. The gambler didn’t even stop himself from letting his imagination create a new ending to the events of the night as he lay down, always staring at the dark form that represented his desire.

A smile flitted over his lips as his dreams took control of him, picking up with Chris lying beneath him, body taut with need, and aching for Ezra to relieve him.

Continue

Comments to NMGambler@aol.com