Notes: Like I said, this is my first baby. I've never finished a fanfic before, but hopefully this'll kick my Muse in her little butt and she'll come back from her seemingly endless vacation in Haiti. This is also the first time I've posted anything like this to the lists so if I did anything wrong please tell me. Oh, this is for Lumina, as a sort of bribe for more of all of her fiction, and cause she's the most vocal about liking B/E.<g> Also for MAC just because she's an inspiration. And BK cause she collaborated with me on another story, and disappeared. Hopefully she'll come out of hiding with a little bait...it's not E/V but it's the best I could do on short notice (one day). Oh, this is self-betaed, so all mistakes belong to me!

Ezra Standish was lurking. He would have, of course, used other terms to describe this behavior, maybe even more than a few, something like: "simply reclining in the vicinity of this urn," pointing at the wheelbarrow, with an excuse at the ready, something about "enjoying the nightly constellations". However, anyone else, seeing the man crouching in the alley between the newspaper office and a boarding house, would become slightly suspicious and the term that would most likely come to mind, would indeed be "lurking".

In fact, Ezra was skulking across from the saloon, peering crosswise the deserted street in to the brightly lit window. At first glance, except for his clandestine actions, there wasn't anything else especially memorable about the man. His usually bright attire had been exchanged for a brown jacket, a black shirt and black trousers, the make of the clothing indistinguishable in the surrounding shadows. At second glance, however, the sketchbook propped on that same wheelbarrow would become apparent to an attentive observer, pencils and chalk explaining the smudges on the man's otherwise clean and pale face.

Ezra was sketching. Lurking and sketching, peering from time to time into the window and around himself making sure he remained unmolested in his hiding spot. The scene he was so diligently capturing was of 5 men, seated at their usual table. One was missing, holding vigil at the jail, waiting another hour before he would be relieved. This was, usually, Ezra's shift but he had been released from duty for the week, having taken a plunge off a small hill during a gunfight. In Ezra's view, bruises and a couple of fractured ribs weren't serious enough to keep him in doors, but this view was not shared by his distraught comrades, and he had been bundled away, up to his room, to rest. In Ezra's view, this was rest as good as any.

Art had long been Ezra's secret hobby, taught to him by a kindly aunt, a one of a kind relative to be sure, back when he had been a quiet lad of no more than 10.

"If one cannot express emotion physically," she would say, frowning kindly at Maude's teachings, "one must find another way. What better way than from the heart into a work of art?"

He had sketchbooks by the box, stored safely in secret hideout places, as precious as any treasure and as well hidden. This particular notebook, was filling up alarmingly fast, all with sketches of his co-workers, done in moments like these, when he wasn't expected anywhere but to be by himself. He never thought to reveal this hobby to the other men, knowing it would be brushed off or worse, mocked as another pastime for a spoiled rich brat. He chose to avoid such humiliation at the hands of men he had come to regard as something more than mere coworkers. Maybe something like friends.

In this sketchbook, there was one reoccurring character, a man drawn more than any of the others, tall, mustached, with mischievous blue eyes and a generous mouth. This man occupied innumerable pages in the pad, drawn in every position possible, resting, laughing, riding, walking, sitting, drinking, even kissing, once. The sketch of the kiss was in the middle, the paper smudged at the edges from overuse, as if careful fingers had lingered there many times. The man, Buck, was leaning down, eyes closed, lips pulled into a grin as they pressed against his partner...who wasn't the original participant of that particular affair at all. Ezra had sketched himself into the scene, face turned up as if to receive benediction, lips parted, just touching to Buck's welcoming mouth. While Buck's face was detailed, Ezra's own was rough, unfinished, as if sudden realization and subsequent guilt had stayed his hand and he had not returned to finish the drawing since. He had returned to look at it many times, however.

The scene that appeared on paper now didn't include Buck, who was on patrol and would not be back until an hour later. Why all the men were awake at such a late hour was beyond Ezra, who cared only to finish his drawing and return to his room above said saloon. Ezra wasn't one for thinking much on what he could not have. Such thoughts were within the realm of physical emotion and were always transferred into some sketchbook, finished and packed away with care but no wistfulness.

Somehow, with this group of men, the usually foolproof tactic refused to work, much to Ezra's consternation. Buck kept coming to the forefront of his mind anytime he wasn't completely vigilant with his thoughts. The man had invaded his dreams, his emotions, his mind, and what Ezra feared most of all, his heart.

"Ezra??!!", as if invoked by mere thought alone, the man was standing in front of him, hands on hips, glaring down at the squatting gambler. Ezra, like a guilty little boy with his hand caught in a cookie jar, jerked back, clutching the sketchpad to his chest as he toppled backwards, landing in the middle of the alley on his behind. Buck was instantly there helping him up, dusting him off. "What the hell are you doing out here, Ez??" Buck was still holding him close, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other dusting Ezra's back and going lower patting him down to make sure he wasn't hurt, again. The hand on him traveled lower, and all of a sudden Ezra felt a slap to him bottom. He made an undignified squeak, and struggled to get out of what was quickly becoming too much like an embrace.

"Mr. Wilmington! Let go of my person immediately! I was merely out for a breath of fresh air! It isn't any of your business what I do with my free hours."

Buck grinned down at the squirming man, thinking thoughts of "cute, big green eyes and slender body and hard..." <Hard?> Buck's grin widened until he realized the proportions of this hardness didn't fit into what he'd been thinking.

"What's this?" Buck reached between them, withdrawing the book that Ez had clutched as he sprawled backwards on the ground. The mustached man let go of Ezra for a moment to look at the book, squinting at it in the murky light, bringing it forward, out into the street and the saloon's illumination.

"NO!" Ezra sprang forward, wrestling his most prized and hidden possession from Buck's surprised grasp, sending it flying in his haste. The two men stood frozen staring as the fluttering thing arched across the night sky and landed, lying open on the boardwalk. Buck rushed across the street, Ezra in pursuit. It was however, much too late. As any book is won't to do when tossed carelessly through the air, it had fallen open to the page most used. The sketch of Buck and Ezra kissing lay in the brightness of saloon lanterns, mockingly serene, paper shivering slightly in the pleasant night breeze. The tableau was frozen for long seconds before Ezra snatched the sketchbook up, clutching it once again tightly against his chest, praying Buck hadn't had time to see...to realize.

Buck, of course, had very good eye sight. The grin now threatened to split his face in two.

"Ez?" Slowly Ezra straightened, prepared to face whatever retribution Buck would strike him with, prepared to fight. Fractured ribs be damned, he wasn't about to give up the last trace of honor he had, not even to the man he worshipped in his thoughts and dreams.

The kiss was unexpected. The heat of it rivaled any shade simple chalk could produce. There were no timid touches of lips, no closed eyes. Blue met green, flowing, mixing, heating. Strong fingers curled into the base of Ezra's skull, tugging on his short curly hair until the gambler tilted his head back, opening more to the sensory assault on his mouth, beginning the battle for dominance and giving it up just as quickly, letting himself, for once become the sketch, become emotion. It was over too quickly, and still caught up in the moment, Ezra moaned his protests. As soon as the sound left his lips, Ezra clamped down, eyes huge with shock at his own reaction. Buck laughed, pulling the smaller man in again, licking his lips and slipping his tongue into the smartest mouth he'd ever encountered. Sweetest, too. Ezra struggled a little, but Buck had a lot of experience with these matters, and it took but a minute of exploring Ezra's mouth with his agile tongue to get the gambler relaxed once again. When he was done, Ezra stared up at him with dazed eyes, pupil dilated and pale skin blushing around smudges of charcoal.

"B.Buck.Mr. Wilmington! We are in a public avenue!"

"How about we take this somewhere less public then, darling? And you can tell me exactly what you're doing disobeying Nathan out here." Buck took Ezra by the elbow, fingers caressing through the jacket, and led him to the back stairs and up into the saloon to his residence.

Once in the room, Buck locked the door behind them and turned to observe Ezra as the other man stared at him. Buck grinned at the thought that he'd finally found something that would quiet the man. He would just have to make sure he made Ezra loud when he wanted him to be.

"Mr. Wilmington, what, may I ask, are you doing in my humble abode?" Ezra was pulling himself together visibly, straightening, squaring his shoulders, picking up pieces of his armor and trying valiantly to clobber it back together.

"Well, Ez, I just had a thought. Seeing as you like to draw people so much, I was thinking I'd give you a better model than staring through a window. And in return, I get a preview of the work. What do ya say?" That grin again, all even white teeth, seemingly way more abundant than completely necessary. A predatory smile.

Ezra, always a businessman even when drowning, raised one eyebrow, upraising. The time for doubt was past. Ezra was prudent and sharp enough to realize when he was being outmaneuvered. This was not going to be a loss, no matter what.

"And how, Mr. Wilmington do you propose to do that? I never took you for a connoisseur of the arts."

"That's where you're wrong, pard. I've got a fine eye for art when it's standing right in front of me." Buck advanced, pressing Ezra backward until the man could be lowered gently onto his bed. "And this is one piece I aim to know intimately."

After that, there was no need to argue any further clauses to their deal. Ezra was already sold on it.