ATTENTION! This story contains sexual content of a homosexual nature between consenting adults. Everyone in this is fictional, and if any of the activities in this story, namely sex between men (specifically between adult men in the mid-1800s), happen to offend you or are in violation of what your jurisdiction deems appropriate for you to read, you should probably not continue. Feedback, suggestions, and comments are more than welcome to be sent to shawndilf@proton.me , along with if you enjoyed it enough to get off (love hearing that I made you cum hard). And I will never turn down photographic proof of your erections or loads shot. ;)
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Copyright 2024, all rights reserved by the author.
Smith and Sheriff, Part II
"Damn you, no hitchhikers today!"
The words came with a laugh as Richard shook a small stone out of his boot that had been irritating him. He wasn't sure exactly how it had got down there, since he usually wore his trouser legs over the tops of his boots to keep any slag or such out while he worked, but there it was.
With a sigh of contentment, he slid his foot back into the worn leather boot, and gave it a quick stomp to make sure that there wasn't a second one lurking in between his stocking foot and the sole.
It had been a good day. Hell, it had been a good month. Things were becoming more steady, and he was starting to feel more at home in town. Richard had begun to chat more with the folks in the town, and even started to go out to the saloon every so often. Even though he usually found himself right exhausted from a hard day's work, the smith was finding his own spare time was being filled more and more with real diversions rather than just laying in his bed and feeling sorry for himself with booze.
The fact that the people of Highford were also starting to appreciate that he set fair prices for his services and wares also was helping. Turned out that folks in the area had been used to getting gouged six ways to Sunday if they didn't make do with their own fixes. Word had spread slowly but surely, and as long as he kept his work up to his usual quality, everyone came away happy. Richard was also pragmatic enough to take some work on the basis of trade, which had the knock-on effect to have him eating better than he had been since he had stepped off the train.
When he thought about how much his lot in life had improved, he felt immensely good about it. It had just taken a little push in the right direction, and a little bit of applying himself. And a lot of having someone that lit up his days pretty well.
The redhead could feel a foolish grin cross his face as he thought about Marcus. He was all alone in his own property, so there was nobody around that he needed to hide the truth from. Nobody to ask him why he had such a sappy and dreamy expression on his face, or what had caused it.
Richard had been right, recognizing that Sheriff Corbett was nothing but trouble. The crux of the matter was that he hadn't been expecting what sort of trouble or the depth of it. It wasn't that it was bad trouble, no nothing of the sort. Just the sort that had gotten him into severe problems in the past, and which had ended with him out in a frontier town in the New World. The sort of trouble that had brilliant eyes that he could lose himself in, and that caused his trousers to tighten like he was a lad still barely old enough to drink.
Still, all Richard could do was smile when he thought about the trouble that was Marcus, and how that man had turned his life upside. Those damned eyes of his, that threatened to take his senses every time he looked into them. That blasted smirk, cocksure and arrogant underneath that beautiful blond handlebar moustache. And that rough drawl that thrilled him every time Marcus whispered something, anything, into his ear.
If he hadn't been sitting down, Richard Fife would've needed to do so immediately. He quickly set his mind to other things, forcing himself to consider worldly matters. Anything, to help him keep his mind out of mischief.
"I should get a bigger box for the coal," he muttered to himself while keeping his eyes directly on the wall ahead of him. Yes, he thought, a bigger box would be better. He wouldn't need to have to put up with those ornery deliveries that always seemed to come at the worst time. Well, not so many at least.
A knock came from the door to the street, followed by a creaking voice. "All done for the day?"
Richard turned to see that he had one last customer. It was the old codger that probably should've retired from the trains about ten years prior, but had moved onto just taking tickets and the odd jobs reserved for those running out their years. "Mister Sutton," the smith said with a respectful nod of his head as he turned to acknowledge the bent man.
"I just wanted to know if you had the time to see if you could fix that piece of mine I brought you the other day," came the question.
The broad smile returned to Richard's face, though for a different reason this time. "Of course I did," he said pleasantly, and hopped up from the bench. Quickly, he crossed over to the desk he used to store his receipts and other documents, and pulled open a specific, easy to overlook compartment. Taking out a glittering string of silver, he crossed back to where old Will Sutton was standing in the door, and pressed it into the old lineworker's hand.
"All done," he added softly, as he saw the man's rheumy eyes get more watery than usual. He watched as the hands, half shaking with excitement and half with years, opened the locket that had been come to the smithy jammed shut. Inside, an intensely detailed image of a handsome woman in her fifties looked back once it sprung open.
"Oh, Grace," he breathed, and clasped the memento to his chest in a surprisingly quick motion. According to Will, it had been weeks since he had been able to open the locket and see the tiny ink portrait of his late wife. "You know," he said with a voice thick with emotion, "we sat for this young Frenchman for what felt like no time at all, and he did that with the finest brushes and pins I've ever seen. Pacific lost some of his baggage, back when we were still building out here, and because I helped him out with it, he said he'd pay me back. Grace didn't think there was anything finer once he was done, and she was the one that thought me a fool for taking his thanks rather than asking a bit of cash reward at first." He finished the statement with a trailing laugh that seemed like it had come from a much younger throat.
"I'm just glad I could help," Richard said quietly, looking down as the old man showed him both sides of the locket, the other side being a picture of Will over a decade ago.
"And I'll be glad to pay for such fine work. Not even a scratch on her," Will said with pleasure as he closed the locket and put it in his pocket. "What do I owe you, young man?"
"It's not necessary," Richard shook his head. "I said I'd look and see if it could be fixed, and it was simple enough with the right pick. I would feel poorly to take good coin for something that I fiddled with over lunch."
"You can't be serious," the old man said in disbelief. "I'm not paying for your time, I'm paying for the years you learned those skills." He pulled out some crumpled up bills out of his pocket. "I'll give you a dollar," he said forcefully as he separated them out.
"You'll give me your thanks, and not a penny more," the smith said, trying not let emotion into his voice. "I said I'd look to see if it was fixable, and that was all we agreed on. I'm not charging a man for work I performed without his say."
Old Will shook his head. "You're too kind, boy," he snorted. "Will you be at the saloon tonight for cards? If so, then a drink is on me tonight."
Knowing he was outmatched, Richard laughed and put out his hand. "I can live with that, but it will have to be another night," he agreed with a chuckle as the two men shook on the deal.
"And I can live again now that I can say goodnight to my Grace again," was the contented reply as the old man turned and seemed to be a little less broken in his steps as he headed back into the street.
Truth be told, Richard had known that he wouldn't charge for the service the moment that the old man had told him why he wanted the locket opened. He may have been good at keeping the rails going, but based on the marks on the outside, Will had no clue on what he was doing with fine tools. If it had been something else, like a folded bill trapped deep inside the silver, then he would've taken a dollar in thanks without a second thought. Giving a man in the twilight of his life some joy back was worth more in the smith's books.
"Ol' bastard will probably forget once he's had a couple rounds in him," Richard muttered as he slid the bar on the door shut behind his last customer. He didn't want another guest when it was getting on time for him to clean up from the day.
His tools had already been put back into their places, and the apprentice had given the floors a good sweep before he had taken off, so it was more just a walkaround to make sure that everything was in its place before he headed upstairs.
Even though he realized he was on a tight schedule, Richard stripped bare before heading over to the barrel that he was lucky enough to collect rainwater in. A copper pipe linked it up to the roof, where it collected enough wetness for him not to need to head to the pumps for refilling too much. He wet his rag before lathering it up, and gave his torso a quick wipedown. One of the many things that his father had drilled into him when he had been taking up the trade was that while many men were happy to do business with a smith, far fewer were interested in standing downwind of one after a long day.
The smith let out a long groan of pleasure as he began to rub at his hairy muscles. It felt too good after a week of annoyances, to be putting pad to everything and beginning his Saturday evening proper. He made sure that he got all the nasty spots, then wrung out his washrag into the pot he kept for such a need. He gave himself a good rinse before wiping himself dry, and heading over to the window to toss the filthy washwater out behind his smithy.
Grabbing a slightly less worn shirt, he pulled it on quick enough, and added a fresh pair of drawers and his second best trousers to the mix. He shrugged his suspenders up onto his shoulders, the dark grey colour standing out against what had once been a white shirt. Richard adjusted himself to make sure that everything was settled properly, and then headed back downstairs with an eagerness in his step that hadn't been there a month ago.
He found himself whistling a tune as he headed out, locking up the shop more out of habit and caution than any real worry that he was going to be robbed. Unauthorized criminals tended to meet a bad end, being drug behind horses until they reached the county lines. And that was before someone sent out the notice that they would be dealt with legally. It made for a safe town, and the people of Highford liked a safe town, Richard included. Still, he slept better knowing that if one didn't have a clue of exactly where to take a sledge, that the average man wouldn't physically be able to find his stash.
The smithy had closed a little early that day, mainly because of why the redhead's walk was a touch brisker than usual. He quickly headed down the street, and made a beeline straight to the doorway.
"And there he is, my last customer of the day," came a jovial voice as the brass bell atop the door signalled Richard's entrance.
"Afternoon, Jack. Pardon my tardiness, but I was tied up at the shop." Richard pulled off his flat cap, and hung it on the rack by the door. The barbershop was a small establishment, and while Jack Forrester kept himself busy enough with taking care of the men of the town, he also sold the sorts of good that a man might want to take home. Some good shaving soap to replace the homemade ones for a busy man, a tin of pomade for when one needed to look the Sunday best, and such.
"You're not that late," was the reply as the older man looked up from his paper. Jack had planted himself in his barber's chair, and was reading through the weekly news. "Flip the sign over, could you? I don't need a horde all deciding to keep me here all night." The barber was a big, barrel chested man who filled out every seam in his shirts. He kept his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, displaying that even his forearms were thick and meaty, the legacy of a youth spent in hard labour. Jack sported a full beard that was at least three-quarters white at this point, with only hints of coal black where it merged into his hairline. He still had a full head of hair, but that was just as white as his beard.
Richard did as he was asked, painfully aware that Jack was doing him a favour. He had slowly watched his hair get bushier and bushier over the last couple weeks, and it was either make time for the barber, or do it himself. The smith had to suppress a shudder at the thought of the last time he had tried to trim his own hair. Somehow, he had managed to make it uneven all over, and he wasn't a fool enough to go around a second time with that sort of mistake.
The barber got up with a groan, and motioned for the smith to sit himself down. After complying, Richard's big chest was quickly covered with the old sheet that Jack kept on hand for his work. There didn't appear to be many bloodstains, he thought. But since nobody had run the older man out of town, Richard assumed that most customers came away happy enough and unmaimed.
"Alright, looks clean enough. Don't need to waste time washing out grease before I trim you," came a satisfied mutter from behind as the smith felt a strong hand go through his hair. "You're smart enough to wear a cap while you work."
"That's right," Richard replied. It was bad enough to deal with the stains caused by metalworking on an apron, he had no interest in taking any of that mess to his bed. Staring straight ahead, he was able to watch everything in the old mirror that Jack had mounted in his shop for his clients. It wasn't a great mirror, and had a bit of a brassy tint to it, but Richard appreciated being able to see what was going on.
"Shorter with a side part and slicked back a bit with some pomade work for you?"
"Yes, sir," the smith said respectfully. He wasn't particularly picky, but he also knew better than to be demanding to a man with sharp metal in his hands.
"Thank goodness," the barber said under his breath. "Too many men these days think they look better with longer hair, but even with a good beard like you've been blessed with, it just makes them look like they came from the asylum." Jack worked quickly with a comb in one hand and his scissors in the other, and Richard watched as inches of his rusty locks fell to the floor. "You sure have a lot of this red hair," the barber muttered as he continued at his task.
"It's been a while," Richard conceded as Jack adjusted his head, tilting it to one side so he could get better access. It felt strange for him to sit for a proper trim. Usually, he had just made do on his own, but this was far different. He did appreciate how skilled the man was at his trade, since soon enough, the sides and back were done, and he was already trimming down the mess on top.
"There," Jack said with a satisfied grunt. "Time for the beard." He tilted Richard's head back, and made a clicking noise with his tongue. "You really should forge yourself a better razor to clean up with. You leave a lot of rough edges."
The smith said nothing as the barber set down his tools and reached for a soap tin and brush. Quickly, he whipped up a lather and began to paint the younger man's neck with it. Once he was satisfied, he picked up a straight razor and got to work. Richard didn't dare move, knowing how sharp that blade had to be from the speed it moved.
"You don't do a bad job of things," Jack muttered as he continued under and around the smith's jaw, "but you need to pay attention to the edges. You have too much hair, and it looks like it goes straight onto your chest if you don't actually keep your neck under control."
"Yes, sir," again he said respectfully. For some reason, the entire thing made Richard feel like he was a youth being scolded by his master. It wasn't the only reason he was keeping a little quiet, however. The feeling of Jack's strong and skilled hands doing their thing was creating some very interesting pleasures.
Everything about the older man's gruff but good-natured professionalism was giving the smith a touch of arousal to deal with. He closed his eyes, thinking about how good it would feel to have the strong featured man reach under the cloth and milk his manhood with th same nimble fingers that had run across his chin. It had felt amazing to have the barber run his straight razor across his skin, and cleave off that slick mixture of soap and whiskers.
It brought to mind how clean Marcus kept his cheeks. He knew that the sheriff usually took a couple days to get around to a clean shave, but Richard hadn't seen anything less than perfection when it was fresh. Not that Richard cared in what state Marcus' shave was in, since he appreciated every form of it. A smooth cheek that rubbed against his neck was just as pleasurable as the feeling of coarse stubble making a raspy sound as the blond rubbed it against his chest.
It was taking more and more willpower not to make a sound as Jack continued his work. He had moved onto brushing out the smith's beard, and trimming the ends into a even taper that came to blunt point a couple inches beneath Richard's chin. "At least you keep your beard neat," the barber commented absently. "I can't understand a man that walks around with gravy keeping it all stuck together."
"Yes, sir." Richard was focused completely on the dingy planks that made up the ceiling. They looked far more weathered than he expected, making him wonder whether they had been repurposed from an old farmhouse or some such. Forcing himself to wonder about their origin wasn't nearly enough to make the smith stop his lusty thoughts. His mind flitted between thoughts of his blond lover, to fantasizing about what Jack's strong, mature form looked like when his clothes were shucked, and back again. It was all tremendously distracting to Richard, and the fact that he hadn't gotten around to spilling his seed for a couple days wasn't helping at all.
"All done," Jack stated as he brushed the trimmed locks off of his client and onto the grey wood of the floor.
"Oh!" Richard hadn't realized that things had proceeded so quickly. He looked into the mirror, and he liked what he saw. Jack had given him a narrower profile to his beard and it seemed like he was staring at himself maybe five years ago instead of that day. He craned his neck a bit, trying to see as much of the sides and back as he could, and there was no flaw he could find. Everything seemed nice and even, the mark of a true master.
"You sound like you haven't had a proper trim before," Jack chuckled as he watched the undisguised glee as he twisted back and forth in the mirror.
"It's been a long time," the smith admitted as he felt Jack's big hands untie the sheet from around his neck, and shake it onto the floor.
"A man deserves to look his best, even if it's only for himself and his-" The barber cut his words off abruptly as a curious expression darted across his face before continuing, "-clients he deals with during the day. You should visit me more often, and not just because I come into your shop."
Richard laughed at that. Jack had the right of it there, since if he hadn't come in asking about getting a new pin set into his favourite razor, then the smith probably would've tried cutting his own hair again. "You aren't wrong," he said as he dusted down his trousers.
"I think you just want an edge at cards tonight," Jack said with a sly smile. "Put the others off guard, so they think they don't know you at all."
The redhead shrugged nonchalantly. It was a good enough reason that he could pretend it was true. And as much as he appreciated being invited to the upstairs table for cards, with the connections it gave, it was secondary. Really, he only wanted to put one man off guard this evening. "I think I got a good return on the quarter that I have to give you now," Richard replied as he fished a coin out of his pocket.
"Good work costs good coin," the barber agreed as he took his rate. "Now, get out of here so I can clean up, and I even might let you win it back this evening." There was a sort of resigned sigh that ended his statement, as if he regretted having to give fair chance to someone that just paid.
Richard thanked him again, and as Jack began to sweep the floor, he took a quick last look at the barber. He had bent over to pick something up, and the thick rump in his pants was reminding the smith again of how randy he had really gotten at having another man's touch.
As he closed the door behind him, Richard looked up. The sky was slowly starting to shift to the ruddy colours of sunset. Evening was approaching more and more quickly even as the summer heat continued. That suited Richard fine, since he liked the night.
"Heart flush," said the barber with a wicked smile as he laid his hand down on the dark wood. Of the four men at the table, Jack was the only one smiling as the other three conceded defeat.
"Shit," muttered one of the other men with a shake of his head. Gareth, who served that town as both physician and apothecary, was a wiry man of middle age whose chestnut hair had left his scalp half his lifetime ago. He had grown out his beard to compensate, and it was a dense bush about an inch deep on the southern half of his face. Where it wasn't covered in hair, he had sharp and fine features, and was a genial sort despite his complex, academic manner of speaking. He tossed his hand down, not even bothering to declare that he had been bluffing. "Should've expected as much," he grumbled, his melodious baritone giving even his complaints a pleasing quality to listen to. His light grey eyes were closed in annoyance at the situation, narrow brows furrowed to further express his displeasure.
"Shit indeed," the next member of the table said as he shook his head. Zeke was a rail engineer who had transitioned into managing the local station. He was a little older than Richard, and reminded the smith of a dwarf out of some legendary tale. It wasn't just that he was short and possessed of a thick form, but the railman was also the sort that would argue just for the sake of it. He glared at the three deuces that he slammed onto the table in a furious motion. His bushy black eyebrows twitched momentarily with hate at the cards, and his light brown eyes flashed with rage. The expression was only physical, though, the deep bass of his voice never changing tone from its usual easy-going style. Zeke could keep his emotions out of his voice, but he was always betrayed by his eyes and even his massive, dark beard that threatened to bristle when he was riled.
"Just a pair for me too," Richard conceded as he tossed his cards onto the table. Unlike the others, he didn't really get wound up too much while playing. He thought it might be because they had a little too much energy now that the day of rest was coming and needed to burn off the excitement. And in a town like Highford, the options were limited unless you intended to spend good money getting plastered.
He liked their card group, though. When he had first come to town, he hadn't really known how to talk to the other fellows that gathered to drink at the saloon. He hadn't quite been rowdy enough to fit in there, and the townsfolk had taken a while to warm to his more reticent style. That had changed over the past month, but he still wasn't a fan of the raucous disorder that usually came about.
Thankfully, there was a second option. The madame kept her own taproom as part of her operations, and the establishment tended to be a little more civilized. It was a brilliant move from a very savvy businesswoman, he realized, as he considered how much money that she managed to extract out of just about every man in the town. The happily married could treat themselves to a nice meal with entertainment on occasion, the lonely men could have a few drinks before heading to the bordello to sate their urges, and the emphasis on order and decorum meant that there were a lot less fistfights and brawls, not to mention a lack of spat tobacco across the floors.
"Can I get you boys another round?" One of Doreen's girls gave a quick curtsy, flashing a neckline that went a little too deep for a moment, before giving a brilliant smile. Jack and Gareth said that they'd be happy with another beer, but Zeke wasn't sure if he wanted another one yet.
"Gin Buck," Richard replied helpfully, since she didn't seem to remember what he had been drinking.
"Trust an Imperial to find the gin," came a low, sarcastic drawl from the stairs, and Richard turned to see a very welcome face coming to see them. "I'll have a Stone Fence," Marcus said helpfully as he pulled a chair up to the table next to the smith. The upper level was a lot smaller than the main floor, and generally only regulars got to enjoy the privacy. The other two tables were completely empty, as usual, due to the understanding that management had with Marcus over casual entertainment. It was one thing for the law to turn a blind eye to some of the enterprises going on here, but even the man who some considered to be part snake wasn't going to openly flaunt his own presence here by playing games of chance for the sake of a public audience. Not without good reason, and definitely not on his own time.
"I thought you were a Scot," Zeke said with a raised brow. The stumpy engineer had seen the twitch at the corner of the smith's eye when Marcus had made the comment. For all that Zeke was good with making numbers dance across a sheet, some things flew right over his head.
"I am," he said evenly. "But this good man likes to have his fun with those he calls friend," and then looking Marcus right in the eye and without even a smug smile, said, "bless his heart."
For his part, the sheriff chuckled. "I haven't heard someone say that as a curse since I was a boy. Who told you how to poison those words?"
"You did," he said bluntly, expecting the question. For all that Marcus had the gift of a silver tongue, strong liquor brought out strong opinions. And there were a few turns of phrase that he had used when speaking uncharitably about certain individuals while drunk that had let Richard figure out the real meanings.
"Rich," he said as he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair, "I feel I should apologize for my speech, since I did not intend any offence." His words may have been oily, but the sheepish grin he flashed was sincere enough.
"As least you didn't call me an Englishman straight up," Richard conceded. "I'd be taking my leave if you did so." As much as the threat was an idle one, the smith was determined to give as well as he got in any banter with the lean blond.
Raising his hand, the sheriff gave a defeated sigh. "Alright, I'm sorry for teasing. We're all still friends here," he said with a smirk that raised one side of his bushy handlebar as he put a bit extra emphasis on the word 'friends'. The tall man reached up and adjusted his moustache once he had taken a seat, a gesture that was more habit than anything else to him.
"Of course," the redhead replied with a smile. While he hadn't really been insulted, something had riled him up to show that he did have a spine. Not that he really would have left, as there was still an evening to be had, and he had looked forward to each gathering after Marcus had invited him to the first one a few weeks back.
As the serving girl came back with a pitcher of beer and some spirits on her tray, they each took their drinks. "To friendship," Marcus said heartily, raised the tall glass to the middle of the table. The rest returned the toast, and they each took a healthy sip of their preferred poisons.
"Jack won the last hand, so it's his deal," Gareth added as he took a long swig of the beer. Richard had tried it before, and found it a little on the lacking side. He preferred something darker and stronger when it came to ale, but the deep gold brew suited everyone else fine so the smith kept his opinion to himself.
"Who's winning?"
"I am," the barber responded to Marcus' question. "Doesn't matter, though, since we don't play for real stakes." He gave a long look at Zeke, as the engineer's reluctance to ever engage in what he considered a risk being one of the main reasons that they didn't play for much more than who got their drinks paid for that evening.
As Jack tossed out cards to the expanded table, all five of them had some sort of smirk on their faces at that last statement. Thrift may have been the main reason that they didn't try and empty each other's pockets, but there was another unspoken reason. The four of them, now five, had kept each other company many nights this way, as unmarried men with little want for a woman did. There was no need to speak the words, especially for those who had guarded their tongues for decades now.
And while their baser urges were a commonality among them, they had grown fond of the simple pleasures of company and good conversation. As long as they were upstanding citizens, there was no gossip about why Jack had never remarried after his young wife's passing, nor about Gareth's extended bachelorhood. Richard had heard the idle joke that only the most desperate of spinsters would end up with Zeke, and that it would be a strange woman indeed that could replace the compass and pencil as a true love.
Still, they did get lonely on occasion, and Marcus had admitted that he had engaged in carnal pursuits with each of them at one point or another. The smith hadn't judged him for the confession, having known multiple men in the past, but he had very much appreciated when the sheriff had turned down a less than subtle invitation the last week.
It had amused the other three mightily at how possessive Marcus had gotten over the newcomer. Actions spoke far louder than words, and when the sheriff sat himself right beside Richard for a third time in a row, well, that spoke clearly enough. And they had been very welcoming of the smith into their circle of secrecy, appreciating his usually gentle words.
They continued at the table for a couple hours, changing topics about as often as each round took its course. Still, even though all five of them found it refreshing to have like company, the night wore itself away.
Gareth was the first to take his leave, deciding that he had drunk enough that night and wanted to be able to find his own bed before needing to be carried to it. He settled up with them, leaving enough coin on the table to cover his debts to the establishment as well as whoever won their game. Cards had never been the medicine man's strong suit, meaning he was rarely surprised about having to pay up.
"I reckon he falls asleep without even taking off his boots," Zeke muttered as he tossed his own dues onto the table. The stumpy engineer sighed as he rose to his feet, and gave the remaining three a mock bow. "This was fun, but I think I should head home too."
Marcus tipped his head at the comment. "To your own bed, unless I'm mistaken."
The response to that was an amused snort. "He's already too far gone to rise to the occasion and I doubt either of you are going to help me check if my pressure valve still releases, so I think that answers that." He shot the barber a look that couldn't quite be deciphered, before giving his own nod back to Marcus after a quick glance to make sure that no one else had come around. "Don't stay up too late corrupting your new friend, my good sheriff. Mischief and crime don't sleep in just because it's God's day, after all."
As he trundled down the stairs, Richard heard the barber make a low sigh that the other two almost missed. "Something wrong?"
"No, it's just-"
Jack's reply was quickly cut off by the tall blond. "We can talk more outside," he said shortly, pulling out his own coins. "Let's find our girl and settle up."
For the second time since waking, Richard found himself in Jack's barbershop. This time, however, they were sitting in the back room, waiting for Jack to open a bottle.
"What got up your arse that you wanted to leave so fast?" The words came through strained, as the greying barber struggled to uncork his personal stash.
"Two reasons," Marcus said as he kicked his feet up onto on old crate from his seat. "One, the rest of town can't chance onto hearing us here, not when your tongue has started to become obviously loose. And two, since I refuse to have as much drink poured as you will probably want in a public house, we might as well go to a place where I can at least take a real share."
"I feel as if I'm missing something," the redhead said slightly confused at the way things had gone.
Jack took a swig from the bottle, then passed it over to the smith. "He's just one of those sorts that thinks he knows it all, and wants to lord it over the rest of us."
The sheriff gave the barber a flat look, not moving his eyes from the older man's face even as he reached for the amber bottle. "Jack here has his eye on someone, but he can't be bothered to actually take his shot."
"Marcus," warned Jack, his voice low and angry.
The blond chose to ignore the violent tone that he had provoked. "You know that the train has to get signals to pull into the station, don't you? Otherwise, it just pulls past and moves onto the next one." That comment earned the sheriff an even dirtier glare, one not dulled one bit by the bottle being sent over.
Richard felt like one of those Chinese-style fireworks went off suddenly in his head, as he realized exactly who needed to be signalled. "You like Zeke?"
Jack threw up his hands in disgust, almost knocking over the bourbon from where he had set it. "Do you have to let the entire world know about the secrets that your cleverness susses out?"
The blond lawman closed his eyes, and shook his head slowly. "Jack, I doubt that anybody outside of this room knows that. That's the problem, my friend, since you can't even be bothered to ask Zeke if he'd like more than just a furtive time once in a while. You can't just wait for him to decide to come your way, since we both know that there are sheep that can solve puzzles faster than that man can pick up information not handed directly to him."
"So that gives you license to laugh at me?" The anger was hard in the greying man's voice now, crackling with the effort of keeping himself still.
"I never have laughed at you, not for a scant moment. You have done nothing that I find amusing, and I take no pleasure in having to explain to this man about the torment that you have decided to put yourself through for at least a year of my reckoning."
Jack's face stayed hard for a moment, then crumbled as he looked over at Richard with an almost pleading look on his face. "It's not the same," all the flame and fury suddenly gone. "I'm not like either of you, still in the prime of my life and finding that my heart draws another near like a lodestone."
"You're not in the grave either," Marcus said gently.
"I just don't want him to laugh at me," Jack said quietly, hanging his head. It stung for him to say the words out loud, even as they rushed out. "I could listen to him prattle on for hours about those designs of his. I know he thinks that everyone else thinks they're silly, but I like how fired up he gets about them. And he's like a little boy with a special treat when he finally figures out something that's been stumping him."
"Then why didn't you offer to walk with him when he left?" Richard just blurted out the words, his mind running a little off kilter from the bourbon mixing with the gin in his system. The barber looked up, his face wooden. "He said he wanted relief, and it was if he wanted someone to challenge him that he would be getting it alone."
The sheriff winced slightly at his lover's unintended bluntness. He hadn't intended to point out that Zeke wasn't the only one that needed a better signal manual, but now that it was said, it needed to be dealt with. "He seemed to be casting his rod looking for a bite," Marcus added softly. "And I don't think he expected to reel in either me or Rich."
Realization slowly crept through the older man's mind, and he looked almost like he wanted to retch. "If there is a man in this town dumber than me..." The words trailed off in disgust.
"Oh, Jack." Marcus got up, and put a hand on the barber's broad shoulder. "You're not stupid, but you are a good match to Zeke when it comes to missing the fork in the road."
Jack didn't know what to say to sympathy given from a man that could freeze a river with how cold his blood sometimes ran. It turned out that he didn't have to figure it out, since as they sat in the wordless moment, a racket came from the front.
At the unexpected pounding on the door, Marcus' gun was in hand before anyone could blink. His face had gone from that of a concerned friend to a mask harder than steel rails. He straightened instantly, and jutted his chin towards the front of the shop.
Wordlessly, the barber followed, then called out, "Who is it?" The sheriff raised his gun towards the locked door, obviously ready for anything.
A familiar voice came back. "I knew you were still up. Let me in."
Marcus' expression didn't change one bit at hearing the engineer's voice. "Ask him why," he growled low enough so that only the men inside could hear. There were many things that Marcus Corbett was, but an optimist or blindly trusting was not on that list.
"Why are you here?" The words sounded stupid to Jack, but he wanted to know as well.
"Just let me in, you old drunk. Half the town doesn't need to wake because I forgot to restock." There was an annoyance in the words that rang true to their ears.
"Do it," the sheriff said in that deadly flat tone. Richard had heard that his lover speak that way before, and it scared him. It was the voice of a man who could and would do anything if he judged it necessary. It wasn't Marcus Corbett that stood at the ready, it was like Death himself was there to perform his grim duty in perfect efficiency. Even as Jack unbolted the door, the barrel of the gun stayed level with where an average man's head would be.
"I-" Zeke didn't have a chance to say much more before Jack pulled him in bodily. Nobody else was there, so the barber quickly slammed the bolt back home. The engineer tried to finish his sentence, but then saw that a revolver was aimed directly where he had just been standing. His mouth moved but didn't produce any sound, not until Marcus slowly brought down his hands. He had been ready to empty all six shots as quickly as the weapon would allow.
"Oh, put that away." Jack was filled with a flash of bravado now as he felt the stocky man tremble against him in fear.
With a snort of disgust, Marcus slammed his gun back into its holster, and stomped back to where they had left the bottle of bourbon. He had no words at that moment that could be considered civil, not for a man that had made several worst case scenarios spin through his mind at breakneck speed.
"Come on," the barber said to the new arrival, not trusting Marcus to be alone at the moment, and not wanting to stay in stunned silence with both Zeke and Richard.
"You better have a good reason for nearly needing a closed casket, Ezekiel Miller." The words had a bitter sort of humour to them, but Richard had seen the mixed expression that was on Marcus' face before. The slight smile was completely mismatched to the chill of his eyes, the deep blue-green turning so hard that he could've sworn they were made of sea ice. It terrified him that a man so sweet in private could turn so cold at the drop of a hat, but it also thrilled his soul to know that this dangerous, beautiful force of nature wearing a man's skin was his.
"I just wanted some company and his drink," the engineer said lamely as Jack recovered the bottle of corn spirit. The barber handed it to Zeke after taking a quick swig, and the dark-haired man instantly downed nearly more than he could swallow. He passed the bourbon back to its owner, then swayed on his feet for a moment.
"Be truthful," Marcus said, the anger quickly fading from his voice. He wasn't really angry at anyone except his own razor-sharp reactions to danger, and was dealing with coming down from the frenzy of confrontation. Even so, there was still a bite to the words that made them sound more like a command.
The blunt engineer's usual manner returned, now that the danger had calmed. "I wanted to see if maybe my friend would like some company this evening." As he slowly looked at Jack, then at Marcus, then at Richard, and then back to Jack, he couldn't resist a jibe. "I hope you'll be able to walk without a cane to morning service."
Zeke held his face dead serious as he said the words, but it was Richard that cracked first, unable to contain a snort of amusement. Then the engineer began to laugh, and soon all four of them were trying to contain themselves.
"I didn't know I'd be interrupting your Roman evening," Zeke choked out the words between laughs, "I promise!"
Any chance of the laughter dying down was dead for the next few minutes as they tried to respond. Finally, after all four of them gave up speaking for a bit, they just sat in the back room, trying to catch their breath.
Jack was first to break the quiet. "I don't think I would mind some company this evening, my friend. I would've been alone this eve, but these two were concerned for me and just wanted to share a drink while we discussed the world."
"Oh? What's the topic?" As soon as the words were out of Zeke's mouth, Jack's face flushed red, clearly visible even in the low light of a flickering lamp. Richard shifted his eyes rather than meet his gaze, while Marcus had leaned back and folded his eyes with a smirk of amusement.
"Well, I-" The barber stammered a bit, not wanting to admit his inadvertent cowardice.
"I think we'll just let Jack tell you without an audience," Marcus said softly, the tone in his voice full with amusement. "I really shouldn't drink much more without it being close to my own bed." He stood up, and dusted his trousers idly, before putting a hand on Richard's arm.
The redhead suppressed a chuckle at how smoothly the sheriff had managed his words. If Jack's eyes could speak, they would've been shouting thanks from the rafters for the oncoming extrication of the third and fourth wheels.
"Right," the smith said simply, giving a quick nod to the other two as they gathered their gear. They let Jack lead them to the back door so they could leave quietly enough.
"Gentlemen," Marcus said cordially, "it's been an informative, yet pleasant, night." As he tipped his hat in thanks to their host, Richard could hear a sharp intake of breath from the barber. It was probably a good thing that Marcus had his own razor for shaving, the smith considered. Not for the first time, he wondered if the sheriff's skill with firearms had come from natural gifts or simply a development of necessity from possessing such a smart mouth.
They exchanged pleasantries, and then stalked silently back to the courthouse. The night was dark, with few enough lanterns, so they relied on the waning moon and her pale light to guide their path. Nothing obstructed their path, and even the sounds of night were muted. A heated conversation drifting down from a window followed the muted notes of someone singing to himself down the lane, were the only things of note for them.
Marcus pulled his key from the inner pocket of his coat, and quickly unlocked the way. They hurried in, and the sheriff slammed the bar across the door to ensure that none could blunder in, even if he hadn't just turned the bolt.
"Roman evening, indeed," the blond snorted as they clomped up the stairs. He pulled off his longcoat and hat and hung them on the hooks by the door, along with the loop of rope he kept the key on. As Richard did the same, he idly noticed that the thin rope had been tied as a noose to choke the key's metal hoop, and willed himself not to comment on that bit of dark humour.
"I didn't take Jack the type to host a gathering of the flesh," Richard said as he followed the sheriff deeper into his lair. Even though he was devoted to his rangy sheriff, the redhead had to admit that the idea had teased his lusty mind a couple times on their walk back.
"He's too chickenshit to even tell a man looking for a poke that he wants the same," the sheriff muttered, "you really think he would know what to do with things if both of us took off our belts at the same time?"
"Besides bend over?" Richard couldn't keep the words in his mouth, the evening's booze having loosened his tongue enough that he would say the thoughts he would normally keep quiet.
The sheriff's back trembled a bit as he made a choking sound, trying to stifle his laughter. As they sat down on the bed, he pulled the smith's broad shoulders into him, and growled into his ear, "You're starting to sound like me, Rich."
Richard groaned softly as his lover began to nibble at his ear, slowly kissing his way down the man's neck.
"You didn't have to get all fancied up, but I appreciate it mightily," Marcus rumbled as he slowly began to unbutton the other man's shirt. "I noticed that you cut your hair, makes you look like you're ready to sit for a portrait."
Any reply that the smith could've thought of was drowned out by the feelings surging through his veins. "The honourable enforcer of the law deserves only my best," he whispered as Marcus leaned in to relieve him of his shirt and give him a long, slow kiss.
"You're the only one I'll take compensation from this way, my good blacksmith." His rough hands worked their way leisurely across Richard's thick pelt, before pulling him close and making sure that the blacksmith could feel the unyielding hardness that was within his trousers.
"Are you saying that the good sheriff can be bought with something else?" Rich smiled as he looked up at the man he loved, even as he brought his meaty right mitt to bear on Marcus' backside and gave it a hard squeeze through the fabric.
"The good sheriff," Marcus growled into Rich's ear as he nibbled on it, "has taken lesser bribes from worse men."
The smith groaned as he felt his lover's hand reach down and slowly milk him through his trousers. With a deep sigh, he let Marcus lean into him until he was trapped against the linens by a dangerously randy lawman. It wasn't long until Marcus had them both stripped naked in an efficient, if fervent, manner. His turgid meat leaking excitement as it was trapped against the nest of soft blond hair at the base of the other man's shaft, slowly matting it down with every movement.
"You have no idea how beautiful you are, Rich," the blond muttered as he ground himself against the thick body beneath him. "Every single part of you is perfect, your thick chest, those massive shoulders and arms, that damned handsome face of yours." He punctuated every other word with a rough thrust against the man he had claimed, his rod sliding easily against sweat-slicked skin and leaving trails of his own lubrication behind as his urges rose higher.
Richard could only groan in pleasure, watching his lover loom over him in the dim light of a single guttering lamp. The dark golden hair that covered Marcus' lean form glittered with every movement, highlighting every hard muscle as his body continued to writhe against him. Marcus' hands had clamped down on his wrists, pinning him there as the warm evening air became sticky with the scent of their continued arousal and sweat.
The redhead gasped as he felt the thick bristles of the lawman's moustache begin to merge with his beard while Marcus nipped at his neck. The movement had been so sudden, Richard had barely any warning to his lover's intentions. The only constant had been the iron grip of Marcus' hands on his arms. His mind flashed with the idea of breaking free of the restraint, and flipping the taller man onto the bed in order to ravage that body with his own tongue. It thrilled him, but at the same time, was inferior to the reality of submitting to this wonderfully dangerous man.
"I've thought about this all week," the sheriff growled hotly as he released Richard's wrists in order to trace the burly man's hairy flesh as he worked his face down in an agonizingly slow passage. "Thought about you when I lay down to sleep," he muttered lustily, "Cursed you for not being there when I woke with my morning need."
The tip of Richard's member dragged under the blond's chin, the day's stubble dragging against the sensitive flesh in a way that made the older man hiss with need as he watched the blond's chin slide to the side and release it for a second before the tip disappeared beneath the only slightly disheveled moustache.
Marcus gripped the base of his pole with one hand, idly milking it as he began to devour the head. He kept his eyes locked upwards, keeping Richard dead in his sights as he greedily suckled at the sap that was filling his hungry maw, flicking his tongue around the ridge and into the bunched skin like a ravenous snake.
The burly blacksmith shifted his weight and leaned up. Marcus had managed to slide down onto his knees to give himself better access to the object of his hunger, his head bobbing lower and lower as he gorged himself on the thick prong. Unbidden, the smith set his right hand on the blond's head, feeling the rise and fall as Marcus let the thick, veiny flesh slide over his eager tongue.
Richard's breath caught again and again as he felt that hot, wet mouth continue to lavish attention on his aching manhood. His groans of pleasure mixed with the furtive gulping as the tall blond continued to devour him to the root. The smith gripped Marcus' hair roughly as he felt his body's signals get stronger. "Marcus," he warned, "I'm-" He barely found the breath to say the words, knowing how close his lover was getting him towards eruption.
With an almost instantaneous motion, the sheriff let the thick piece escape from his lips as he brought his head up to lock sights with the smith. There was a wild look in those blue-green eyes, matching the eager and rakish grin that the blond bore. "My thanks for the warning," he growled as he stood up. As he did, Richard noticed exactly how erect Marcus' cock had become from servicing him. Even in the low light, he could see every vein standing in relief, his hood pulled back and the head swollen with the angry shades of engorged lust. A thick glob of his clear, wet sap threatened to drop from the tip even as Marcus reached down and swiped it away with a thumb. He licked it off his digit with a smirk, and made a contented sound. "I do believe that I prefer yours," he said huskily, "but it would be a lie to say that I don't enjoy my own brew."
Richard smiled at that statement. If there was one thing that he knew of Marcus, it was that the man hated to see hot seed wasted. There had been many times where the blond had eagerly lapped up the evidence of Richard's release as it pooled across his belly, sharing the dregs with the smith after savoring his fill in a long kiss. As if by instinct, Richard found himself shifting back further onto the bed, his legs slightly spreading in anticipation.
"Am I so predictable that you've already trained yourself," Marcus said with a low chuckle even as he reached for his oil. He slathered his hands deeply then returned the bottle to the stand even as he closed the distance between them. The lawman's slick fingers quickly found a willing passage, almost eager for the thickness that it craved. He didn't break his gaze with Richard once, not once while his dexterous hands did their work, and the smith found himself captivated as always.
"Marcus," Richard breathed. He didn't know what else to say as the other man prepared him for what they both were craving. There was nothing else to say, since at that moment his world consisted solely of the two of them and the aching release that both of them needed from each other.
Red mixed with blond as Marcus leaned in for a passionate kiss and forced Richard's head back against the bed. The smith found his face momentarily mashed up against the thick blond hair of his love's chest as the sheriff quickly straddled him, and gasped as he felt a slick hand grasp him by the root. He looked up, almost paralyzed by the moment as he felt his tip rest against hot flesh.
"Like I said," the sheriff said in a lewd tone, his heavy drawl made deeper from desire, "you are the only one I shall take." Marcus bit his lip even as he exhaled sharply, allowing himself to slowly let the blunt tool into his eager arse. His breath caught for a moment as it slid past his ring, but he regained his composure quickly.
Richard felt the bedding twist in his grip, his hands turning to fists as he willed himself to not thrust his body upwards. Instead, he lay there open-mouthed as he watched that damned cocky smile of Marcus' be overlaid with flickers of agonizing pleasure as the blond lowered his rangy, tall frame down inch by inch. He hadn't expected this, and from the satisfied look on Marcus' face, he was sure that the pleasure of this surprise was writ large across his own features.
The handsome man gave a groan of satisfaction as he felt the hard pole slide deeper into him, and began to slowly rock himself on it. He brought his hands down to knead the thick, damp chest, savoring the solidity beneath his fingers even as he drove himself deeper onto the heavy thickness that sent shocks through his body as it rubbed his deepest recesses.
There was little to be said as words deserted them both. There was only the guttural sounds of their pleasure mixing with air made steamy with their musk. Marcus' body shone in the lamplight as his sweaty form bucked harder and harder against his lover's body. Again and again, he brought himself down, the bed creaking with the force created by two strong men giving each other what they needed.
Over and over, Marcus drove that turgid prong deep into himself, letting his mouth hang slack in unthinking pleasure. He didn't dare touch his own tool as it drooled copiously onto Richard, streams that slowly leaked across hairy flesh as more and more fluid dripped out with every motion.
As their coupling continued with more and more frenzy, Richard felt a familiar sensation begin to build within his core. "Marcus," he warned in a choked tone, "I'm close." There was little more that he could do as he felt his body heading towards release, driven by the motion of the lawman's body as it engulfed his rod.
A wicked grin flickered across the blond's visage as he felt the hardness within his backside thicken further, and he thrust himself down in a quick and hard motion to take Richard to the hilt. He grasped his own seven and a half inches even as he ground himself further down, determined to take the smith as deeply as possible, before his eyes rolled upwards with a primal groan. Marcus had held off on stroking himself, knowing that he was riding a hair trigger, but recognized the signs when his lover had reached the point of no return and quickly rose to meet him there. He unloaded across Richard's form, it spurting so forcefully that it managed to catch the smith's mouth on the first volley, before the next shots stained long paths across the thick red hair of the man's beard and chest. Gasping, he felt his flesh tighten on the invader that had brought him this release, driving more and more volume from his body to prove the depths of his pleasure.
Richard could feel his hairy balls rise up even as Marcus' hole milked his prick. His own sounds were low and wordless as he drove himself deep to completion. The hot velvet pulsed with Marcus' own release, becoming almost vicelike as Richard filled it with his thick seed. The smith grabbed at the other man's waist, pulling him down and shuddering as he bucked himself over and over into that tightened passage. Only after he could feel the last spurts oozing from his buried tool did Richard collapse back onto the bed, his body satisfied having bred the object of his desires.
They remained coupled for a moment, chest heaving from exertion, before Marcus raised himself up with a wince. He lowered himself back down and began to lap up the streams of his milky spunk, catching as much as he could before he reached his destination and shared it with Richard.
Richard grasped the leaner man in his arms, and they lay there a while, savoring the taste while their tongues explored the familiar caverns of each other's mouths. It was only as their sweat began to become uncomfortably cool that Richard pulled back so that they could draw themselves under the covers.
"Damn if I didn't have to pick the thickest stallion in the stable to break me in," the sheriff said softly as he let himself be held tightly after they cleaned themselves up with a rag. There was an unfamiliar softness to his words, even to his own ears. For so long, Marcus Corbett had let the world dash itself against his gates. Even now, knowing that Richard was his in a way that nobody else could be, he found himself surprised when the usual cold distance just wasn't there.
"You didn't need to do that just for me," Richard murmured as they adjusted themselves to better fill the bed.
"I didn't," came the reply with the usual blunt candor. "I wanted it too." The quiet filled their ears for a long moment before Marcus continued, "I love you, you know."
As always, Richard's heart nearly skipped a beat when hearing those words. They weren't words that came easily to a man that the world had forged into a cold-blooded bastard, but they always were spoken with such deep honesty that they made the world stop for a moment every single time heard them.
"I do, because I love you too," he said with a chuckle, as he felt Marcus shift in his arms in an awkward motion.
The blond shifted again before pulling away. "I really need to relieve myself," he muttered in an almost embarrassed tone as he extricated his long limbs from Richard's embrace. There was a certain urgency to the man's actions as he scrambled for his boots without even bothering to put on his stockings. Since the courthouse had an attached outbuilding with both an entrance from within and without, Marcus rarely bothered relying on a chamberpot when he could make sure that the exterior door was latched shut and the inner access was available at his requirement.
Sighing at ceiling, Richard laughed to himself as he considered his existence. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, and certainly hadn't imagined the route thus far, but he was content for the first time in a very long time. He let his thoughts spin around in his head rather than listen to the sounds of his beloved slamming open the lock on the outhouse's door on the lower level and making a muffled sound of extreme relief.
When he returned and had washed up, they settled into their regular positioning this time, with Marcus holding the smith, his usual brash dominance having returned to usual. As much as Richard had enjoyed the turnabout, he knew that he preferred it this way, his body cradled protectively by the lawman. He felt his sheriff's fingers idly brush away a stray lock of hair from his brow before giving him a quick smooch on the nose, and smiled contently
Neither of them were particularly ready to sleep yet, so after a while of their contentment, Marcus got up again and returned with his favourite whiskey and they traded off taking pulls from the bottle until they were comfortably drunk.
"You're a bad influence on me, Richard Fife," Marcus laughed as they sat swaddled in the thick blankets that he favored. They were heavy, and of surprisingly good quality. "I never used to be the sort to get drunk where another man could see it. And even then, I used to at least keep my boots on." A sharp laugh punctuated their reverie. "Boots and trousers," he amended.
"At least you can hold your liquor," the smith retorted. "I might like the drink, but having to take care of someone that can't handle it is worse than none at all." They both laughed at that, and Richard politely refused one last swig when offered.
"I can't stand a sloppy drunk either," Marcus agreed after recorking the bottle and setting it aside. "Though that bourbon we shared with Jack did have its uses when we got back here," he added slyly.
Richard made an agreeing sound. A bit of hooch had always made it easier to take Marcus' length until his body had learned to start craving that fullness, so it made sense that the sheriff might have the same reaction. "Do you think that Jack ended up needing any liquid courage for some mischief?" The smith wasn't sure exactly why he said that out loud, but his mind had connected the thought of bourbon to their earlier time that evening.
The blond snorted good-naturedly. "Jack wakes up ready to be mounted," he said with obvious amusement. Marcus had never claimed to be anywhere close towards being a saint, and he respected Richard too much to pretend that he hadn't known any of their friends carnally.
"I'm sure you exaggerate," the smith retorted.
"I do not," came the reply with a note of authority. "That man always offers for me to come see him for a trim, but only when he's ready to close up for the day. After he was done, the time before last, he made sure the door was locked and took me into the back to receive his payment."
Even so close after their coupling, Richard felt his flesh harden a bit at the thought. Part of him felt excited at the thought of Marcus taking his pleasure from another man roughly, and wanted to watch. The other half wanted to engage in punitive action to remind their friend of the claim that the two had staked on each other. Both ideas excited him more than he wanted to admit.
"He charged me full rate," Richard mock-grumbled, before adding, "but I also didn't offer him any other coin."
"Did he make you stiff when he was working?" The question was abrupt, though not accusatory. "I always have to make sure that there's not going to be a wet spot on my trousers from his hands, so I usually take them off before getting in his chair. I think that's why he was so out of sorts after last time, since I declined due to wanting to save it for someone else."
Richard felt his face flush a bit at that. "He did, but I didn't want to be less than faithful with my attentions."
Marcus shrugged. "That randy bugger was probably too scared of me to put his hands where he really wanted to. I had the barrel pressed up against his forehead the first time he tried to catch a feel off me without telling me 'forehand, but we reached an understanding real fast after that. You can let him know I won't shoot him if you really want to try out the full service package next time."
The burly redhead didn't know what to say to that. Every time he thought he was starting to get Marcus figured out, it was like that man knew exactly where to dig in his spurs to give him a start. He made a non-committal sort of vocalization rather than admit his confusion.
"It's worth it," the blond continued. "Jack has very talented hands. Talented everything, really. That's almost certainly why he was so despondent until Zeke showed up tonight. That man needs affection, even the fleeting kind that men like us give so cautiously when nobody's watching. Most crave it, can't live without it." The blond's words paused for a moment before adding, in an almost inaudible deep whisper as if he was speaking just to himself, "I know I thought I could bear it."
Richard let that sentence sink in, not responding directly to it. He had learned much about his cruel-tempered sheriff over the weeks they'd gotten to know each other better, and he knew better than to push at certain spots. He knew that Marcus wasn't looking for some sort of validation from him, but rather himself when he trailed off like that. And he knew that just by sliding his hand under Marcus' blanket and giving his fuzzy thigh a little squeeze was all the acknowledgement that he would ever have to give.
The smith was rewarded by that soft smile that he was certain that he was the only man alive able to witness, as his lawman closed his eyes for a moment of contemplation, before opening them and looking at him with a warmth that seemed as pure as a mountain lake with those blue-green depths. He never got tired of how brilliantly beautiful they were even in the faintest of light, and leaned in to take advantage of the man's closeness.
"I hope those two had a happy night as well," Richard said after a long kiss.
"I hope that they were discreet enough that nobody heard what went on," Marcus said in agreement before getting up to extinguish the lamp.
As he climbed back into bed, they settled under the warm blankets and listened to the steady rhythm of each other's breathing. Richard felt sleep begin to slowly take him away, the warmth and security of his sheriff's embrace being too relaxing to resist. As he drifted off, he wondered when exactly Marcus had gone from being the sheriff to become his sheriff, his lawman, his everything. It didn't matter, he decided, since the knowledge that they both had carved out a place in their hearts for each other was more than he could ever ask for.