Many thanks to Ra for her beta-reading. Believe me, she makes all the difference.

Ezra Standish is holding court as usual.Cowhands, bored and with the illusion of monetary wealth in their pockets, are charmed into yet another game of poker. They do not always lose, but they sure never win. Not that it matters all that much, enchanted as they are. For a few hours they are part of something that is the closest thing to magic most of them will ever experience. They trade dollar notes for beauty and dreams that last them through more than a few lonely nights. Some players get angry because of the incomprehensible confusion deep down in their bodies. They accuse the gambler of being less than honest. If by chance Larebee's glare isn't enough to keep them in check, a night in custody will convince them to take their loss in a more gentlemanly fashion.

Vin knows Ezra to be honest to a fault. Not because the cardsharp has forgotten the dirty tricks of his half chosen profession; his fingers will remember long after the last dishonorable fact. No, he knows because his eyes never leave the gambler's hands. Every gesture, however subtle, is noticed by the tracker because he makes it his business to notice. Or perhaps it would be more honest to say that it is impossible for him not to. He is as enthralled as the men sitting at the table, but unlike them he knows the difference between dreams and reality.

Vin sits and watches and forgets his stale beer. There is nothing of any importance this night but a pair of green eyes, a wet tongue gliding over a gold tooth. A wicket grin. A Soutern drawl, dripping with honey. Ezra's hands.

Vin has to look.

He doesn't care who sees; he doesn't even know that he doesn't care. He is outside that kind of reality. After seven days he only knows about the hurt in his stomach and the need to not even once divert his eyes. He has to make sure Ezra is still there, and is still Ezra because his eyes are as green as Ezra's eyes, and his voice is Ezra's voice, and the hands...

Ezra never looks at Vin.

Vin wants to bite the fleshy pulp right under those thumbs. He wants to stuff the elegant fingers into his mouth because he is that famished. Strangely enough he doesn't think about how those same fingers know how to firmly grip just below the crown of his cock. He doesn't even think about the impossibility of writing a poem about Ezra's hands. It's been seven days and he just hates Ezra for holding court as per usual, entertaining strangers while Vin can do nothing but watch and wait.

He loves Ezra for being Ezra.

Then, all of a sudden, it's over. The gentlemen are thanked for a profitable evening. Ezra collects his winnings, tips his hat in acknowledgement of the others and, without looking at Vin even once, he climbs the stairs that lead to his room.

Vin knows that he's expected to follow, and so that is what he does. The simple movement of standing up and walking the same distance as the gambler is a cue for his prick to become hard enough to be a useful tool around a ranch in need of maintenance. He doesn't look around to see who notices the obvious. Still his eyes meet those of Chris. By the time he is at the top of the stairs, he has already forgotten if Larabee had anything to say about the fact that two of his teammates, of his family of choice, are about to have sex.

Ezra sits in the chair that faces the door. He sits straight like a true gentleman, still fully dressed in his fancy clothes. He has not even loosened a single button of his red jacket. Every frill of his white shirt is as frilly as it should be. Not a crease in his black dress pants creases in the wrong direction. The custom made boots shine like the moon. In this world ruled by manly, tough men Ezra's courage to stand out is almost reckless. The very sight makes Vin tremble, makes his mouth water. He wants this man so badly.

The single stride takes less than a second and without a moments thought Vin kneels down and reverently takes Ezra's hands in his suddenly awkward paws. Holding his breath, he bows his head and kisses the palms of those perfect hands so softly that it truly amazes him to feel the slight shudder that travels under the skin of his lover.

My most beloved...

My most beautiful...

My most wondrous...

Luckily the words do not know how to travel the distance between his brain and his lips. He doesn't understand how he came to think these silly words. -Ezra words, he calls them.- Because he doesn't know how to handle himself for a short moment, he starts to lick between the fingers. He licks slowly and methodical, almost afraid he will miss a single, delicious, slightly salty, spot. He is so taken by this self-appointed task that he almost misses the hitched sound Ezra makes, almost misses the strong smell of a male in heat. Then it all overwhelms him with a force that, once again, leaves him unable to take any action.

And in that moment Ezra places both his hands around Vin's head and looks him in the eye. Vin does not understand how any human being can love him this much, how this abundance ever came to be. He does not think himself undeserving of human affection, and while his need for solitude is too strong at certain days to be denied, he does not deny that other people like him being around. He understands the calm, silent friendship he shares with Chris; the happy banter with Buck and J.D; the deep talks with Josia and Nathan. He has very little trouble with the sexual attraction Ezra feels for him; the gambler is strong in his preference for men and Vin is happy to indulge him in just about every fancy. Plus he has been told by most of Bucks lady friends that he is pretty enough. But this look of profound love is so much harder for him to digest. It would have been much easier if Ezra had used those five-dollar words of his. That would have been just words, things he could deny with a raised eyebrow and a crooked grin.

Against silence, against a single look he has no defense whatsoever.

He is not even sure he likes this sudden realization that Ezra loves him at least as much as he loves Ezra. Things were fine as they were: Ezra liking Vin, because Vin is likable; Vin worshipping Ezra for the obvious reasons. Why, in the name of the spirits, had the player decided to become this serious?

It is only natural Vin had missed the gambler like crazy during the week he and Buck took to transport the prisoner and come back home, if only because his body reminded him just about every minute of the day and night that certain activities with a certain person were sorely missed. He had not even touched himself. Not that Ezra would not blame him, or consider it being unfaithful. He just couldn't. His own hand had suddenly felt strange and wrong on his heated flesh and he had decided to wait.

Vin absolutely hadn't expected Ezra to be faithful during the days he wasn't near the saloon. He didn't expect it on any given day, even though he never saw Ezra take another man to his bed since the first day they discovered they had something more in common besides protecting Four Corners.

But Ezra surely hadn't...

He couldn't...

But something in the way he looks at Vin tells him Ezra indeed had. It was highly unlikely Ezra could not have found another willing partner. And his hands are just fine. No need to be without gratification for seven whole days.

No, this isn't how it is supposed to happen. Before, in the saloon, Vin had it all worked out: they would go to Ezra's room, undress, stumble on the bed and kiss, he would give Ezra oral pleasure until the moment Ezra was ready to fuck him; after an hour or so of sleep he would get up and, well before dawn, he would be in his wagon again. Some nights Vin stayed a little longer and while he was lying on his stomach, Ezra would use his fingers to write words on his back and tell him little stories. He was never able to guess what Ezra wrote.

It was wonderful enough as it was, with Ezra's cock buried deep inside Vin's ass, his fingers stroking Vin's dick until they both found their pleasure. He always told himself not to get greedy and expect more than Ezra had to offer.

But here love is offered to him without questions asked and without any conditions and for a strange, fleeting moment the sadness about this overwhelms him. Because now Ezra is truly vulnerable. Even though Vin will try the impossible to keep his lover from harm and grief, some things simply are not within a man's control.

But his thoughts and worries disappear when a thumb gently strokes his lower lip. He eagerly takes the smooth pad in and bobs his head a few times up and down in a crude imitation of what he is about to do very soon, swirling his tongue around the digit. This is familiar ground. This he can handle just fine. In fact, he can handle a lot more. He knows what is straining behind the crotch seam of those fancy trousers and he wants it so much he all but drools.

He silently says a little prayer of thanks to whatever kind spirit is taking pity on horny trackers with teasing gamblers for a mate, because Ezra opens his pants almost as fast as Vin needs him to do. A gorgeous cock of perfect proportion stretches to full erection. He wants to touch it, give it a few loving licks before he seriously goes to work on the most delicious flesh he can ever hope to taste. But Ezra's hands, again, tenderly cup around his face and gently tilt Vin's head a few degrees backwards. Almost on instinct Vin opens his mouth and the head of Ezra's cock glides past his lips and mouth and into his throat.

Velvet stretches almost too tight around iron. This is what a week of doing without does to a man. Vin sorely missed Ezra every second of every minute, but he loves how his mouth fills with the result of one week of abstinence. The pungent taste and scent make him swoon. There is nothing sweet about this man's flesh, and still he is better tasting to Vin than all candy and cakes put together.

Ezra fucks Vin's throat with slow and deliberate strokes. It is as much a demonstration of tenderness as it is of staking his claim. What else for Vin to do, than to surrender? He doesn't even try to touch the heavy filled sacs that slap against his chin with every inward move of Ezra's pelvis, nor does he purposely try to narrow his throat to give Ezra the tightness around his cock that he so very much appreciates. He wills himself to stay passive and receptive.

There is hardly a sound between them. Vin's breathing is noticeable, but he doesn't moan his deep pleasure of being owned this thouroughly. Ezra doesn't say a word, even though Vin knows from experience that his love finds great enjoyment in voicing his satisfaction about their intimate activities in terms that sound in equal measures stately as lascivious. But then, Ezra could recite a wanted poster and bring Vin to an orgasm without even touching him.

No matter how great the control, Vin notices the small changes that prelude Ezra's release: his breathing is harsher, his thrusts marginally faster and his fingers tug almost cruelly at Vin's hair. With noticeable effort, because his body demands him he goes as deep as he is able, Ezra withdraws until only the head of his cock rests inside Vin's mouth. He comes in several thick, bitter and salt spurts.

Vin swallows, but still a trickle of seminal fluid escapes the side of his mouth. Ezra smiles at him, sweeps some of it with his finger and offers a shiny pearl.

Vin claims the finger and sucks greedily. He tastes Ezra's loneliness because even a week without Vin was a week too much. He tastes Ezra's frustration, because his body had kept demanding the fulfillment of a need that could not be met by being with another man or using his own hand. He tastes Ezra's confusion and anger, because he knows he is not supposed to feel this way about another human being, about another man, and he feels it anyway. Being at a safe distance from real closeness is very much needed in his line of work, even if he hadn't some very personal reasons to keep love at an arm's length from his heart.

Vin knows he is no longer his own man in the way he used to be. Ezra will never forbid him to do anything, even if that anything includes leaving Four Corners permanently or taking another lover. Vin is free to ride wherever and with whomever he pleases. No, his freedom has taken another meaning because in his hands he holds the heart of the man he treasures above all else, and he is not the kind of man to be careless with such a precious gift.

"Ah, Vin..." Ezra breathes the words softly against Vin's face, their foreheads resting against each other.

Vin wants to tell him how much he loves him, how his life has changed simply because Ezra exists, and how all of a sudden his life has become this storm of wonders and fears. Being infatuated with a handsome and well-spoken gentleman from the South is one thing, but being needed by a man whose heart is just as fragile, if not even more so, than his own is something he simply has no language for. He doesn't know how to put it into words, even if he calls himself a poet of sorts.

So he says: "Ya still hard, Ez. Let's fuck." He knows it's not what he needs or means to say, but it has to be enough for the moment.

He takes off his buckskins, walks to the bed and kneels down with his ass sticking out in blatant invitation. His body trembles in fear. He knows Ezra will treat him with care and respect, but he is very afraid that what he offers will not be understood. The same thing he has done dozens of times before, during their almost daily encounters, has changed its meaning. Just like Ezra's eyes, his own body tells a different story and he can only hope that his beloved will not turn away from him in hurt and disgust. Ezra has offered the purest of love, because it comes from a heart that knows the darkness all too well. He deserves more than a casual fuck. Vin knows his own intentions, but he is not sure he is showing them in the right way. He still wants to give Ezra a way out: a chance to pretend it's all about scratching an itch; a chance to pretend love has nothing to do with it.

He hides his head between his arms and waits in anguish

The hand on his flank is warm and gentle, and the feeling of it against his burning skin somehow calms him; he knows he is safe. Many words still need to be spoken and he understands that love will not feed on itself, but he is no longer afraid. Even if by simply handing Ezra a mug of coffee when Chris once again sends him on early patrol. Ezra will be shown in no uncertain way that Vin loves and treasures him.

Without a trace of hurry, the fingers travel over his ass. Vin likes Ezra's touch on his ass. He enjoys it when Ezra, pokerface in perfect working order, brushes his hand, -very much by accident of course-, against his backside. It's so subtle, so almost nonexistent, that he hardly feels it. But he always knows what Ezra is doing and it makes him swallow his whiskey way too fast. He is kind of proud that someone as perfect as the gambler takes a liking to his scrawny ass, -seems to like it enough to not once invite another man to his room or go someplace else for it.

Here, in this room, on this bed, there is no doubt about what Ezra's hand is doing. One finger glides between Vin's cheeks and touches the clenched muscle. It makes small circles, over and over again. Not pressing in, not even the fraction of an inch. Just those small, maddening circles until Vin opens his legs even more and his hips start to do their own little dance.

Without even the slightest warning a dry finger enters him till past the second knuckle. For a moment he forgets to breathe. Then a soothing voice is telling him to breathe easy because everything will be fine, and he knows this to be the truth. His lover has never done anything to hurt him and always makes sure that Vin does not leave his bed without being thoroughly satisfied. Without looking he recognizes the movement Ezra makes: he is reaching for the tin of salve they always use.

"Please, don't." He has no idea why he says this. He honestly has no idea.

"Sorry, Vin. I'm not sure what you need me to refrain from."

"Don't use the grease."

"You want this without the aid of lubrication?"

"Take me dry."

Ezra tries to talk him out of it, reminding him of the serious discomfort expected when two men couple without something to ease the way. Vin knows, and he doesn't understand why he still wants this or why he isn't able to tell Ezra that pain is welcome this one time. He needs to mark the transition between being friends who just happen to fuck on most days, and being whatever you call such a thing between two men. He needs the pain to give concrete form to his deep-seated realization of the brittle structure of human life, of the only inevitable ending of their love. There is no way of knowing if they will be blessed with many years of great happiness. But death will find them. Perhaps death is the only righteous thing on this world, because it visits rich and poor alike, but it makes the sharp pain of realising he will lose Ezra or, and that's much worse, he will be forced to leave Ezra, almost unbearable.

"I'll never ask this of ya again." His voice is small and he is very near begging.

Ezra sighs."I understand."

Regardless that Ezra's cock is still a bit wet, there is no way Vin can call this burning even remotely pleasurable. His own prick, hard as wood just seconds ago, wanes in understandable protest. It is certainly not the wisest thing to encourage Ezra to go all the way, to almost forbid him to stop until his balls are pressed against Vin's ass. But he says it all in no uncertain words and so Ezra worms his way in by the power of sheer perseverance. He knows that Ezra loves a tight ass, but this can't be good for him either. Through his own discomfort he hears the labored breathing of his lover, he hears the struggle that comes from doing something that is far from easy.

He surely never wants to repeat this experience. Not even once.

He is still grateful that his lover gives him this gift that is as beautiful and dangerous as a rose, but he doesn't believe he knows how to make a poem out of this. He stays motionless and silent and his body moves surprisingly easily with Ezra's until they are both lying on their sides, Ezra behind Vin of course, still connected to the full.

At first Vin thinks he knows why Ezra takes his hand and moves it towards his groin: he wants to feel how Vin brings himself to pleasure while he, Ezra Standish, controls his movements. The man sure is inventive in his ways to bring a lover to the point of no return.

Instead of what Vin thinks Ezra will do, his hand is pressed hard against the lower part of his belly.

"Feel," Ezra whispers in his ear.

Vin feels, and the realization of what he is feeling under the flat palm of his hand brings tears, shed seldom enough to be remembered, to his eyes. It's only a vague sensation, and only because he is so thin and Ezra's cock is somewhat thicker than average, but he feels that Ezra is inside him by having his hand pressed against his belly.

They are silent for minutes. Ezra doesn't move, and Vin doesn't ask him to. Perhaps it is their way of coming to terms with what is happening to them. They know they will not leave each other voluntary, nor will they ever share this intimacy with other men without each other's knowledge and consent. They do not know how to name this. No one will stand up and proclaim to the community of Four Corners that these two men are bonded as mates, even if they dare hope that their friends will look upon them in benevolent support. But the truth of it all cannot be undone. A border has been crossed and from now on there can only be the illusion that they can turn back to how things were. And while Vin can not speak for the other man, he knows where he stands.

"This was not supposed to happen," Ezra says. There is concern in his voice, but mostly he just seems to need a few words to break the silence, Vin knows he can almost taste.

"I suppose not." More than anything, Vin is astonished his voice sounds almost normal. His hand, covered with Ezra's hand, is still pressed against his belly. He looks down and sees how the gambler wraps his other hand firmly around his cock and within seconds he's as hard as a nail. "Move," he says.

"That, my dear Vin, I will not do until you have found your completion. Please also refrain from any movements unless I tell you otherwise."

Ezra is true to his word. He lies plastered against Vin's back, his hand opening and closing around the slick cock, his lips touching Vin's ear while he weaves a web of words around the tracker. But he does not move, nor does he allow Vin to move.

"I missed the wondrous landscape of your body when you were gone.

"I thought a week would be nothing. I was sorely mistaken.

"I missed the agreeable quietness of your company.

"I missed the scent on my hands that lingers after you have gone to your wagon.

"I missed you.

"I missed you so much I could not even look at you this evening, afraid that I might shame myself, and you, in public.

"I find myself in a dire situation, because I know I should be able to live without you, but I no longer have the wish nor inclination to do so. I do not doubt that it is all by accident, but you have captured this damaged heart that I once used to call my own.

"Do not think it is my intention to keep you imprisoned inside the walls of my affection, but if you have to leave, please be kind enough to allow me to ride with you."

Vin does not make the mistake of thinking that Ezra's habit to use more words than is strictly needed is his way of disguising the ugly truth. He wears his words like he wears his clothes: they make him and his life more beautiful. So his heart beats violently against his ribs while he answers: "I'm not riding anywhere without ya, Ez."

This has to be sufficient as marriage vow, though his mind still has to find a way around it. He trusts Ezra will understand. All the rest will sort itself out in time.

A more urgent, visceral, issue needs their full attention.

Ezra grants him one strong push with his pelvis, one firm tug with his hand, and Vin comes so hard he wants it to stop because the tremors make his bones and muscles hurt. He clenches his jaw and claws at his own belly, where he can still feel his lover embedded deep inside. The last contractions of his bowels, when he almost stops feeling anything, are enough to trigger a blood-warm flow of release from his lover.

Their bodies do not separate for a long time after that. They sleep a few moments, talk a few words, and kiss whatever parts of each other's body they can reach.

In the morning, Ezra asks to be taken for the first time. After that he tells Vin about the house he is going to built for them, with a bit of ground, a few horses and whatever Vin needs to be happy.

"And if..." Vin starts all the questions he cannot finish. Questions about the need to go somewhere else for all the good and bad reasons.

"I'd ride with you wherever you want or need to be."

Again, Ezra writes words on Vin's body. And suddenly Vin understands.

"I love ya too."