Angel Falling
"Isn't this a little beneath you? Following a woman around? Spying on her?" Chris Larabee asked.
The Mexican turned to face the man seated in front of the saloon.
Chris' legs were casually stretched out on the table in front of him, and a smug grin played around his lips.
"I serve the house of Madera. Sometimes, serving the son is not the same as serving the father."
"We make our own beds."
Raphael sighed. "I owe Don Paulo's father my life."
"Does that mean doing everything his boy tells you to?" Larabee's voice was dripping sarcasm.
"It means... I do what is required." Raphael gave a slight smile, then continued onwards after Inez and towards the church.
Chris Larabee grinned, his eyes following the Mexican. He watched Raphael walk down the street, into the moonlit parts and back into the shadows, from where he was to watch Inez, in case she decided to try and skip out.
While Raphael stood there, observing her trying to talk the americano - Buck - out of fighting with his patron's son, Raphael continued to feel Chris Larabee's eyes on him. He felt the blue gaze as surely as Chris' unfortunate but noble amigo would feel Don Paulo's sword enter his heart the following day.
Those eyes on him didn't make him uncomfortable, but they did make his skin tingle. It was a feeling he was almost beginning to get used to since his arrival earlier that day. Had it begun at Chris' house? Or when he had gone to tell him that he was to kill him. Raphael smiled wistfully. Kill him... it was not what he truly wanted to do to this man, to this magician with the gun.
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Chris Larabee's gaze traveled up and down Raphael's body, not sure whether the Mexican could tell and not really caring. It had been a long time since he'd felt so exhilarated. So alive.
While Inez and Buck were talking, Chris came to a decision.
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When Chris saw Inez leave Buck and make her way back towards her room, he waited to see what Raphael would do. A satisfied smile curled his lips when the Mexican slowly turned, his eyes following her briefly, before he swore something in Spanish under his breath and lit a cheroot, not moving from his spot in the shadows where he was leaning against a wooden beam.
Chris continued to wait until Buck returned to the Church and met up with Josiah and Nathan, before the three of them left and made their separate ways home. Then Chris slowly stood and approached Raphael, glad for the sound of his spurs for the Mexican would surely kill him if he surprised him.
Without turning, Raphael said, "Seņor, do you think it is safe to approach a man in the dark? Especially a man who has threatened to kill you?"
Chris smirked. "Probably not." He came to stand next to the Mexican and took the cheroot from his hand. The tips of their fingers brushed lightly.
Raphael raised one eyebrow, watching as Chris drew on his cheroot before returning it to his own grasp.
"When are you planning on killing me?" Chris asked, then added with a smile, "Seņor?"
Raphael returned the smile. "Should it not be a surprise? What kind of assassin would I be if I told you?"
"You got a point there." Chris leaned against the beam next to Raphael, facing him. Their arms brushed - the leather of Chris' jacket against the soft velvet of Raphael's bolero. "You weren't planning on doin' it tonight, were you?" the American inquired, watching as Raphael placed the cheroot between his lips and drew. When long fingers retrieved it and held it up, squeezing it briefly before letting it fall to the ground, he smiled.
"It can wait, Seņor."
Chris motioned with a quick sideways movement of his head. Then he turned his back on the Mexican and began to walk towards the church, the rhythmic clicks of his spurs drowning out the soft sounds of Raphael's boots on the dusty ground. But he knew the other man was following him.
Opening the portal to the small church soundlessly - Josiah took care of such things - Chris entered, finding that as always, the Preacher had left a few small candles burning. To light the way for any lost souls entering the church at night, no doubt. He turned, smiling.
The Mexican stood in the entrance way, holding both doors wide open. His silhouette was outlined by the soft glow of the fires outside and the candle light reflecting off the metal studs on his belt and the outside legs of his trousers.
Chris leaned back against one of the wooden benches, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Raphael moved forward, letting go off the heavy doors which fell shut with a soft clank, cutting the two men off from the outside, from Four Corners, from Don Paulo and from whatever the morning might bring.
With slow, languorous movements, Raphael approached Chris. They were exactly at eye level with Chris supporting himself against the pew. A hint of a smile playing around his lips, Raphael lifted his hand and removed Chris' hat, letting it glide to the floor. Then his fingers moved into the sandy hair, softly sliding through it.
Chris closed his eyes for a moment. The Mexican's fingers brushing against his scalp sent ripples of pleasure over his skin. Ripples which coaxed a soft sob from him so surprisingly, he opened his eyes again. It had been too long since someone had touched him without getting paid for it.
Uncrossing his arms, he reached back to steady himself, grasping the brittle wood and parting his legs slightly.
Raphael closed the short distance, moving in between the American's outstretched legs. His other hand joined the first as he grasped Chris' head and turned it slightly to one side before his mouth descended on those cruel yet inviting lips.
The taste of the shared cheroot mingled with their breaths, creating its own intoxicating flavor, as their tongues touched and rubbed together, intensifying the taste further.
Chris released his hold on the bench behind him and grasped Raphael's hips, pulling him in closer still, wanting him to feel the heat flooding his own body and needing to feel Raphael's in turn. He ran his fingers over the metal studs of the Mexican's black pants, tracing them halfway down his thighs and back up, moving on to explore the gunbelt and touching the soft silkiness of the sash wrapped around Raphael's hips. As an idea formed in Chris' mind, he smiled into the kiss.
He moved forward, without breaking contact, turning them around 180 degrees until Raphael's back was to the bench. The Mexican didn't resist but Chris decided to distract him further by sliding one leg in between his and pushing gently against the other's arousal. The shudder which went through Raphael's body at the contact gave Chris the chance to find the knot in the scarf riding on the other's hips. He fingered it until it came undone. Tugging at the fabric, he removed it completely and with a particularly intense assault on the Mexican's mouth, he moved his arms around his body and behind his back, taking the other's hands along with him.
Before he realized what was happening, Raphael found his hands tied together and to the bench behind with his own scarf, facing Larabee's blinding, triumphant smile.
With narrowed dark eyes, Raphael looked for any trace of danger in that blue gaze, but all he saw was desire. Barely controlled desire. He smiled very slightly. "You are fast not only with the gun."
"Just in case you decide to kill me after all," Chris explained, his voice rough and husky. He slowly moved around the other man, examining his handywork by tracing the tight knot with his fingers. Then he let them slide up one stretched back arm, feeling a faint quiver through the layers of clothing. As he moved back in front of Raphael, his hand made its way up to the other's shoulder and forward, tracing the black bow around his neck and the crisp white cotton of his shirt as it moved underneath the warmth of the loose bolero and around his back.
Raphael withstood Chris' blue eyes. He watched them darken as the American drew him close with that one arm while grasping the back of his neck with his free hand.
Chris leaned forward, his lips a hairwidth away from Raphael's ear. He didn't speak, but his hot, sweet breath traveling over the Mexican's skin sent shudders through the receptive body in his embrace.
Raphael breathed in the musky scent of the other man, sliding his smooth cheek against Larabee's stubbled one. He traced the roughness with his mouth until it was covered by a hungry pair of lips, forcing it open and entering it hungrily.
When they eventually parted, it was only because they needed to breathe. They smiled, almost embarrassed at the desperation with which they were clinging to each other.
Chris continued to hold Raphael close with one arm while he traced the bronze features of his face, lit by the slowly dying candles. "I wish my Spanish was better," Chris whispered unexpectedly. "There are a few things I'd like to say to you, and they'd sound so much better that way."
"Seņor," Raphael said with a smile, his voice like warm honey, "Tengo ganas de tu te cuando veo."
Chris traced the Mexican's jawline with his thumb, looking into his eyes to find the meaning of the words there.
But Raphael was only too happy to translate. "I have desired you from the moment I first saw you."
Those words were like a catalyst for Chris, and he pulled the other man hard against him, kissing him wildly before bending him backwards to expose his neck to his searching mouth.
Raphael moaned when he felt the other's need wash over him. Unable to use his arms, he was helplessly exposed to the American's assault. He felt a tongue burning a trail down his neck while hot hands were on his back, drawing him into the desperate embrace.
Trembling fingers moved to untie the bow around his neck, letting it fall to the wooden floor. Then they went to work on his shirt, sliding open every tiny white button until his smooth chest was exposed to Larabee's kisses.
The Mexican moved against his captor, reminding him how much he needed release.
But Chris knew this could be their only time, and he wanted it to last. For as long as humanly possible. His hands moved to undo the closure of Raphael's tight pants, sliding under the fabric and traveling around his hips, baring them slowly to his gaze. He drank in the way the candlelight softened his skin, making him look like a bronze statue. But he was nothing like a statue. Everything about the Mexican was warm - his eyes, the tone of his skin, his voice, the way his body felt in his arms...
Raphael looked up at Chris Larabee pleadingly. He searched the cool blue eyes, tried to connect with Chris. There was something about their way of communicating far beyond words. He had felt it from the start. When he had told the American that he was going to kill him, they had both known he was lying. It had been so clear that it was hardly even a lie. All they needed to say to each other they could say with a gaze, with a flicker in their eyes, a tilt of their heads, a smile. It was... overwhelming.
Chris' hands were still moving over Raphael's torso, sliding underneath his shirt, inside his trousers, just to where he felt the thin trail of hair leading downwards from his navel. He kissed him tenderly, then moved his hands around to cup his cheeks, stroking him gently.
Unexpectedly, Raphael whispered, "Why here?"
"Do you mind?" Chris pulled him in closer.
The Mexican looked around, only now considering their location. The plain, curtained windows, the altar with the crucified Christ, the fresh flowers everywhere, the candles... Raphael knew he should have felt blasphemous, but he felt pure. More so than he ever had since working for his master's impudent son. Purer even than he had since he'd been a child.
"No," he said truthfully. But there was still a question in his eyes when he looked at Chris.
"I'm not good at this," the American began to explain, "But there's an angel... one of the Archangels, I think, called Raphael."
Feeling a lump rising in his throat, the Mexican smiled warmly, understanding even though he knew he was far from being an angel. "So I have managed to deceive you with my name..." he joked.
But Chris shook his head. "Deceived? No. I'm quite sure of who you are." Then he decided it was time to stop talking.
He kissed the Mexican softly, nipping at his lips, before slowly becoming more demanding. His tongue sought out the other's, dueling with it until his senses were filled with Raphael's taste, with all of him.
Chris sank down on his knees, sliding his hands sensuously down Raphael's legs before he pulled his trousers open, baring his arousal to him. He tasted him some more, his tongue trailing up and down the slim bronze shaft, before allowing Raphael to push himself into his mouth. Closing his eyes, Chris let the taste overwhelm him while imagining the Mexican entering his body, and not just like this. His own arousal responded wildly to the fantasy, causing him to groan with pleasure, which sent ripples of sensation through Raphael's body.
"Querido!" the Mexican called out, his head falling back in blissful surrender.
Chris drew him in as hard as he could now, suckling and licking until he felt the first drops of pearly fluid roll over his tongue.
"Untie me, please!" Raphael pleaded in an unsteady voice.
Chris looked up and stood, embracing the other man to untie the scarf.
Raphael's arms flew around him, trembling from having been restrained, but eagerly holding him close, roaming up and down his back while Chris pressed kisses all along his strong jawline and down his neck. Raphael grasped at him, reaching, stroking, touching every bit of skin he managed to expose.
But he didn't dare ask. The americano was proud.
Chris felt the anticipation and withdrew, looking into the Mexican's eyes. "Si," he simply said.
Raphael nodded with a gulp, watching as Larabee moved forward, sliding his trousers down over his slim hips and leaning over the bench, supporting himself on his arms. He waited, a little nervously. He hadn't done this in such a long time, it was almost certainly going to be painful. But his need outweighed his anxiety many times over, and he took a deep breath, waiting.
The Mexican soothed his back, running his hands down over the smooth line of Larabee's spine. The he moved downwards, stroking and massaging the firm buttocks, parting them slowly to allow first one finger, then two to enter. He felt the instinctive tightening around them, drawing him in, causing his erection to pulse in anticipation. But he did not want to hurt this man. So he knelt, parting the tender flesh with his thumbs. And then he used his tongue to tease the American open.
The gasp of surprise changed into a low moan and Raphael felt that it took all of the American's restraint to keep still. But he did. Just like he was most certainly able to will himself to do anything. Dipping his tongue inside, Raphael reached underneath Chris and forward, cupping him in his warm open palm, squeezing gently.
Biting his lips, Chris fought for control. He grasped the bench tight and let his head fall forward, trying to stay on his legs and let Raphael do whatever he wanted to do to him. When the teasing, scorching tongue finally left his body and the hand moved around to his front, Chris knew it was time.
Raphael entered him slowly, using the moisture in Chris' opening and his own spent seed to ease the way. And he felt Chris push back, ignoring any pain he might have been feeling. His arms went around the other's lean middle, pulling him back so his lips could touch the base of his neck, his earlobe, the soft spot behind his ear. He wanted to taste and smell his skin, flushed with arousal and glowing so differently to his previous palor.
Chris moved back against Raphael, urging him on, his body reaching out for each deep touch within him, greeting it with a shudder every time. He moved into those wonderful fingers, so tight around him, and then back into his warm embrace.
And finally, with one last thrust, he felt himself filled with Raphael's essence, warming him on the inside while dropping him into an abyss of sensation as his own seed ran through his lover's stroking fingers.
"Querido..." Raphael whispered to the exhausted, spent man in his arms, turning him around slowly.
For a moment, he saw a Chris Larabee no one ever saw anymore. The vulnerable, open face of a life full of too much hurt and loneliness. But then, for an equally rare and beautiful moment in time, that face lit up. And he, Raphael Cordova de Martinez, had lit that light. He smiled proudly, repeating that first intimate touch from before - the tender movement of his fingers combing through the American's hair.
"Muchos gracias," Chris said huskily. His throat was dry, he was exhausted, and if he wasn't careful, he thought he might actually ask the Mexican to end the night in his bed. But he stopped himself just in time, instead smiling gratefully and bending down to pick up his hat. When he stood again, Raphael reached for him and tucked his clothes back into place before doing the same with his own.
"Will I have to watch my back tomorrow?" Chris asked, slowly regaining control of his voice.
Raphael smiled, a little sadly. "Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"
Continues in Solace