TITLE: Serpent’s Strike
AUTHOR: TimberWolf
FANDOM: Magnificent 7
PAIRING: Ezra/Chris
RATING: NC17
STATUS: New, complete.
ARCHIVE: You bet ... if you want it =)
FEEDBACK: on or off list, I’d like to know what you thought ...
timberwolfcanada@hotmail.com
SERIES/SEQUEL: I don’t know yet ...
DISCLAIMERS: the usual ... I don’t own ‘em, I’m not making any money off
‘em, I just brought ‘em out to play ... you know the drill
NOTES: This story follows the events of the episode "Serpents" and so has
some spoilers for that episode ...
Oh and I’ve described Chris’ cabin as somewhat larger than in appeared to be
in canon ... fanfic writer’s perogative. When he had to rebuild after it
got all shot up in Vendetta, he added an extra room. <g>
SUMMARY: Ezra was a bad boy but Chris takes him in hand =)
WARNINGS: there be spankin’ here ... but only of the everyone has fun,
consensual kind <g>
Thanks go to Lumina and Sarel for the beta. I really appreciate all the
input.
SERPENTS’ STRIKE
by TimberWolf
Ezra Standish sighed as he eased the door to his room closed. It had been a
long, tiring day. The gambler was both physically and mentally exhausted.
Lifting his shoulder slightly, he shrugged out of his coat, testing the pain
in his left side and arm as he did so. The movement produced a sharp ache,
but was not so painful it would restrict his range of motion.
The ten thousand dollars he’d liberated, and secreted in the lining of his
coat really had saved his life.
He sighed again, it had saved his life, yes. But had it also cost him the
trust of the man he loved?
For what seemed like the thousandth time since Nathan had patched his
wounds, Ezra let his thoughts drift back over the events of the afternoon,
damning himself yet again for his avarice. How could he have been so
willing to throw away everything he’d found in Four Corners, the measure of
respectability he’d gained, the camaraderie of his associates, good honest
men? Worst of all, to toss aside the relationship he’d developed with Chris
Larabee. And for what? Money.
Tightness squeezed his chest, as Ezra remembered too, the pride in Chris’
face fading, being replaced by a cold mask of indifference as Nathan pulled
the first fistful of cash from inside the torn lining of his coat. Chris
had responded to Ezra’s small joke then, but the humour had never softened
his hard eyes. And other than a short exchange later, inquiring after his
health, Chris had not spoken to Ezra again for the remainder of the day.
With an explosive release of breath Ezra moved further into the room,
sinking onto his bed, flopping back to rest his head on the soft pillow.
Hearing the crinkle of heavy paper at the same moment as he felt the sharp
poke of a folded corner against his left ear, he reached behind his head,
pulling out a crumpled note. Carefully unfolding it, he quickly scanned the
hand-written words.
The message was short, terse, but it set Ezra’s belly aflutter as he read it
again.
"YOU’VE BEEN A BAD BOY. MY CABIN. MIDNIGHT." And it was
signed only, "LARABEE".
Ezra sucked in a breath, mind racing. What exactly did this portend?
Perhaps Chris was not as angry as he’d imagined. Did he intend to give the
gambler a chance to redeem himself? To return to Chris’ good graces?
He glanced over the note again. Or did he mean only to end their fledgling
relationship? To invite Ezra to leave Four Corners entirely? And the
family he’d found there along with it.
Steeling his nerve, Ezra stood tall. There was only one way to find out.
He reached to the inside pocket of the jacket he’d tossed casually across
his bed. Pulling out a small flask, he brought it to his lips, tossing his
head back, draining it in three long swallows. Wiping his wrist across his
lips, he tossed the now empty flask to the bed.
Slipping his left arm out of its makeshift sling, Ezra let out a small hiss.
He went to his closet and pulled out a clean shirt and vest. Easing his
injured arm into each in turn, he struggled with the vest’s buttons,
eventually settling for doing half of them. Picking up the black ribbon tie
from the chiffonier, he scowled, realising it unlikely he could manage it
alone and instead, just draped it around his neck.
He grimaced at the unkempt reflection staring back from his small mirror.
Not exactly the picture of attractiveness he would like to present to the
man waiting for him. But then again, he thought, perhaps earning a little
sympathy for his wounds couldn’t hurt in this instance either.
Pulling out the deep green coat that matched his vest and brought out the
colour in his eyes, Ezra shrugged slowly into it.
"All right, Mr. Larabee. I’m on my way," he muttered aloud, adding a silent
prayer to Lady Luck as he settled his hat firmly on his head. Please, give
me one more chance with Chris.
~~~
By the time the short ride to Chris’ small cabin was nearly over, Ezra had
lost count of how many times he’d repeated that prayer. His arm was
beginning to throb and his side ached with every small bounce.
He reined his horse to a stop at Chris’ front porch. As he eased down out
of the saddle, the cabin door opened. Chris stood, tall and dark, a
shadowed silhouette framed by the light spilling out the open door.
"Ezra." It was short, terse. A simple acknowledgement.
"Chris," Ezra returned, heart hammering in his chest.
"I’ll take care of your horse." Chris’ tone brooked no argument, making it
more of an order than an offer. "Wait for me inside. You remember where
the bedroom is." The light spilling out the door shone over Chris’ bare
torso, highlighting the gold in his sandy hair as he stepped down from the
porch, pulling the reins from Ezra’s suddenly nerveless fingers to lead the
horse away.
Ezra watched him walk away for a moment before stepping inside. Did he
remember? He might have thought the gunslinger was joking if he’d shown
even the slightest softening or hint of humour. Chris’ cabin had only two
rooms. The larger main room served as a combined kitchen, dining room and
living area with the second, slightly smaller adjoining room being the
bedroom.
He glanced around, easing the cabin door closed behind him. Everything
looked very much as it had the last time he was there. It was clean and
spartan, with very few personal belongings, not much there to proclaim this
cabin as belonging to Chris Larabee and no one else.
Hesitant, the gambler made his way to the doorway connecting this room to
the bedroom. The door was open, a pair of candles provided a soft,
flickering light to illuminate the heavy, hand-carved four poster bed that
dominated the room.
Ezra gasped in surprise, stepping farther into the room. Slipping off his
jacket, he tossed it over the back of the nearest chair, perching his hat
there as well. He moved closer to the bed, running reverent fingers over
the smooth, delicately carved details.
Chris spoke abruptly, "I warned you once about running out on me again."
Ezra jumped, startled by Chris’ sudden, silent return. The gunslinger stood
in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his bare chest
as he watched Ezra smooth his light gambler’s touch over the bed frame.
Ezra smiled at the other man, not able to hide the awe shining through his
words, "You finished it." He turned back to the bed, rubbing his hands up
and around the nearest post. "It’s a wonder."
The gunslinger stood straight, walking over to Ezra. Reaching forward to
work at opening his vest’s buttons, he growled, "Why did you do it?"
Ezra sighed, giving up the hope that he could somehow avoid this
conversation. "Do what, give in to the temptation, or decide to stay?" He
couldn’t meet Chris’ clear green gaze.
Chris searched Ezra’s face, seeking the truth, "Both."
"I don’t know." At Chris’ disbelieving look, he added, "I’ve asked myself
the same question all day. I don’t have a satisfying answer." He lowered
his eyes, hiding from Chris’ disappointment. "I suppose I came to the
conclusion that since my comrades-in-arms were unable to trust me, that I
need no longer endeavour to be worthy of their trust." He swallowed, trying
to loosen his suddenly tight throat, "I value your judgement, and if you
don’t believe I can be trusted ..."
"Ezra, stop. I didn’t mean ..." Chris’ words faded as Ezra lifted his
eyes, green eyes meeting green.
Smiling a wry grin, the gambler continued, "And, I suppose I was thinking
about what my dear mother might say."
Having slipped Ezra’s vest and shirt off, Chris picked up the bottle he’d
left sitting on the short bedside table, taking a long pull. "Then why did
you stay?"
"I saw Stutz in the crowd. I just ... I had to warn you. I kept
remembering your disappointed expression, how I’d failed you so miserably
earlier." He looked away, "I wanted to make it up to you ... to do
*something* right."
Chris closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "And what about this?" he
asked, pointing to Ezra’s side and bandage-wrapped left arm, "dammit Ezra,
you could’ve been killed. What in hell were you thinking?"
"I didn’t need to think. Stutz was pointing that gun. He could’ve killed
you. The hero or the swindler?" Ezra snorted a harsh, derisive laugh. "It
wasn’t even a choice. The world would likely have been better off had he
succeeded."
Glass shattered as Chris threw the bottle against the wall. "Damn you, Ezra
Standish! Don’t you *ever* say that again. The world would not be better
off without you! I wouldn’t ..." Unable to say more, Chris pulled Ezra
into a ferocious, crushing embrace.
"I’m sorry Chris, I’m so sorry." Ezra murmured over and over into the
sandy-haired man’s neck, squeezing his own arms desperately around the other
man. He held the embrace for several heartbeats, savouring the feel of the
gunslinger’s lean strength against him, bare chest to bare chest.
Eventually, Chris pulled back, "Don’t move," he muttered, "let me clean up
the glass."
~~~
Glass swept up, Chris walked slowly over to where Ezra still stood, visibly
nervous, shifting slightly. He wanted, he *needed* to know that Ezra was
staying, but was too afraid of the gambler’s answer to speak the question
out loud. "We need to deal with this tonight," was all he could manage.
Ezra swallowed sharply, nodding.
"I need ..." Chris swallowed, "I need your surrender tonight Ezra. I need
to feel your fire." He wanted Ezra’s commitment, but having come so close
to losing him, Chris was leery of rushing the gambler, of crowding him into
flight. He knew it was much easier for the gambler to accept passion than
to believe in love.
"Anything you want, whatever you need, it’s yours ... Mr. Larabee," Ezra
whispered, lowering his eyes.
Chris could see the gambler’s breathing quicken, shared the anticipation he
was hoping the gambler felt. But he only asked, "How’s your arm?"
He felt Ezra’s close scrutiny as the gambler answered softly, "The arm is
fine, Mr. Larabee."
"Can you raise them over your head? Does it pull on your side too much?"
In answer, the gambler simply lifted both hands up over his head, holding
them there. Chris noticed the slight wince the movement produced. He
waited a moment, but Ezra made no complaint.
Nodding his acknowledgement of Ezra’s willingness to proceed, Chris asked,
"Can you hold them out in front of you?"
Once again, Ezra simply complied with the request in lieu of a verbal
response, holding his arms out toward the gunslinger.
With the barest smile of approval, Chris reached back, pulling out the long
coil of braided rawhide rope he’d tucked into the back of his belt. Pulling
Ezra’s wrists forward, Chris’ hands were a blur of motion and in less than a
minute, the gambler’s hands were tied securely together, with the remainder
of the rope hanging in a low loop before eventually leading up to Chris’
hand.
Chris dropped the rope, letting it trail to the floor. He extended his
hand, reaching to brush the backs of his fingers across Ezra’s left nipple,
watching it pucker and tighten at the barest touch. He knew every inch of
the gambler’s body, knew where the slightest touch could buckle Ezra’s
knees, and he relished drawing each quiet moan, each panting gasp, from the
Southerner’s throat.
Ezra sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes drifting closed. Chris grinned as
the gambler arched into his rough hands with a whimper.
Chris chuckled. The gambler’s ‘tactile sensitivity’ that he’d so often
bragged about clearly extended beyond his fingers. In all his years, he’d
never had a more responsive lover than Ezra.
He let his fingers slide down Ezra’s ribs, savouring the Southerner’s
breathy moans. Turning his attention to Ezra’s remaining clothing, he made
quick work of it, leaving the gambler standing naked and panting, while he
quickly stripped out of his own pants.
Lifting the rope again, Chris gave it a short tug, leading Ezra to the wide
bed. Laying Ezra out on its quilted cover, he secured the gambler’s bound
wrists tightly to the post crossing the head of the bedframe.
Chris stepped back, a feral gleam lighting his eyes as he took in Ezra’s
vulnerable form. Arms stretched taut above his head, the gambler’s back
arched slightly to ease the strain, accentuating the lean lines of his
chest. His shaft lay against his belly, flushed and erect.
Ezra shifted slightly under Chris’ hot gaze.
Chris urged him over to rest on widespread knees, his ass lifted high in
offering. He let his hand trail over Ezra’s smooth flanks, eliciting
another sharp groan from the gambler.
The gunslinger leaned close to whisper directly into Ezra’s ear, "You look
so perfect like this. Naked and tied to my bed. I wish I could keep you
like this forever."
~~~
Ezra closed his eyes, shivering at the heated breath teasing against his
ears and neck. God, he thought, I would stay forever if he’d ask me to.
"There’s only one thing wrong with this picture," Chris continued softly,
smoothing his hands over Ezra’s exposed ass. "There’s just not enough
colour in these lily-white cheeks." Tugging and lifting, Chris shifted
their positions until Ezra lay, ass lifted high, perched across the blond
man’s lap, his shaft hanging unencumbered in the open space between Chris’
thighs.
Ezra groaned, trying to shift enough to provide some stimulation against his
aching cock.
"Stop that," Chris muttered sharply, adding a quick slap against the
gambler’s wriggling buttocks to punctuate the order.
*SMACK*
Ezra gasped as the sharp sting was soothed away by gentle strokes, as Chris
massaged the angry red mark. The blows continued to fall, varying in timing
and location to keep the gambler off balance and unprepared. And tempered
often with soothing, fondling strokes, fanning the flames of Ezra’s arousal.
*SMACK*
*SMACK*
Ezra muffled his groans against his arms, the growing heat in his ass being
matched by the throbbing pulse in his groin, as each blow reverberated
through his entire body. He squirmed, as the pain and pleasure began to
meld, his desire burning more and more brightly, his body straining, hungry
for more.
The gambler was fast approaching his peak, as he felt Chris slow his pace,
alternating the sharp slaps with more smooth strokes of his heated flesh,
teasing strong fingers between Ezra’s thighs to nudge against his hanging
sac and up his crease to his tight opening.
The blows continued to fall, and Ezra could no longer mask his gasping
moans, or the tears pricking at his lids, spiking his long dark lashes.
Chris shifted his thigh to brush up against the gambler’s throbbing shaft as
he rained a quick succession of blows over the brightly glowing ass.
Ezra gasped, thrusting against the gunslinger’s leg as his climax shuddered
through him, until he lay limp and panting across Chris’ lap.
Chris held the gambler, soothing his shaking body with long tender strokes
through his wet tangled hair.
"thank you," Ezra whispered between panting breaths, smiling, exhausted.
Chris lifted the gambler, shifting their positions until Ezra was once again
stretched out, wrists still bound to the bed frame, resting on his elbows
and widespread knees.
"Thank *you*, Ezra," the gunslinger breathed in Ezra’s ear before kissing a
warm wet trail down the arched line of the Southerner’s spine.
Ezra moaned softly when Chris’ rough stubbled cheeks brushed across his
squirming red ass as the sandy-haired man planted soothing kisses over his
heated flesh. His eyes drifted shut, fingers clenching spasmodically on
empty air.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he whispered in his soft Southern drawl, feeling
Chris’ pointed tongue snaking a teasing wet trail down his cleft. He
gasped, feeling a warm suction surrounding his sac. Eyes wide, he ducked
his head to see Chris laying on his back with his head between Ezra’s open
thighs.
Ezra groaned softly when that same warm wet haven moved on, latching around
his burgeoning shaft, and the stubbled chin tickled his sensitive inner
thighs.
~~~
Chris moaned around the cock he held in his mouth, needing to feel it deeper
inside. Using one hand to finger his own opening, preparing himself, Chris
continued to tease at the gambler’s growing shaft, enjoying the soft breathy
cries he was wringing from the Southerner.
Shifting and wriggling, Chris started clambering, climbing farther and
farther toward the head of the bed, causing a delicious rubbing friction as
he slid against Ezra. The gambler’s aching shaft trailed down Chris’ chest
and over his groin as he continued working his way under Ezra until they
rested, aroused and panting, face to face.
Chris reached between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around the
gambler’s aching shaft. "Give me your fire, Ezra," he whispered, staring
into the Southerner’s wide green eyes. "I need you deep inside, where only
you have ever been."
"Untie me?" Ezra whispered.
"Soon," Chris shifted, pulling his knee back with one hand while the other
held Ezra’s cock, guiding it to his waiting opening.
Ezra’s groan was echoed by Chris’ as the gambler pushed with a slow steady
pressure into Chris’ tight passage.
"God, Ezra," Chris gritted his teeth, wrapping his left leg around the
Southerner’s back to pull him in closer.
Ezra sighed as he slid in the last few inches, tight sac coming to rest
against Chris’ ass, his full length sheathed inside the gunslinger. "Chris,
please, I want to touch you, to hold you," Ezra pleaded.
Chris grinned. Sliding his hands from Ezra’s waist, up his sides, over
ribs, along tautly stretched arms, he untied the rope binding the gambler’s
wrists.
Chuckling, Ezra took immediate advantage of his freedom. Taking firm hold
of his partner’s stubbled chin, Ezra brushed his lips across Chris’.
Nibbling gently at the gunslinger’s lower lip, he traced soothing licks
across the swollen lips, fighting a teasing duel with Chris’ questing
tongue.
Sliding his hands lower, Ezra took Chris’ hips in a firm grip, initiating a
slow, pumping rhythm.
Chris gasped, as each driving thrust scraped across his prostate, pushing
him closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the tension in Ezra’s
frame, the fine trembling beginning in the gambler’s limbs, the heavy
panting breaths, all served to signal how close the gambler was getting to
his own climax. With a grin, Chris pulled Ezra tight, clenching his ass
around the gambler’s aching erection as he did so.
Ezra shouted his climax, shuddering as he thrust wildly into the
gunslinger’s heat.
Chris arched, gasping, as Ezra’s climax triggered his own. Collapsing into
a quivering, lethargic heap, Chris pulled the gambler close, wrapping Ezra
in a tight embrace.
What could have been mere moments, or hours later, Chris shifted with a
slight groan, smiling at the tender aching the small stretch produced. He
smiled at Ezra’s lazy grin, brushing his fingers idly through the gambler’s
chestnut locks.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Hmmmmm," Ezra sighed, stretching, "marvellous," he grinned.
"Good." Chris smiled, a sharp, feral grin, "Now, Ezra, about your
punishment," Chris let his voice trail off, smiling at Ezra’s suddenly
wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression.
"What?" The slightest edge of panic raised the Southerner’s voice a little,
exaggerating his accent. "Chris, you already ..."
"I’m sorry Ezra," the gunslinger struggled to keep his expression sombre and
earnest, "but you’ve left me no choice."
"But you ..."
"Punishment is something you suffer through Ezra, something unpleasant to be
endured and remembered the next time temptation arises." Chris let his hand
slide around, smoothing it across the gambler’s still heated ass, "not
something you enjoy," he added at Ezra’s sharply indrawn breath.
"Chris, I stepped into the path of a bullet for you, without thought, I
might add, as to the hazard to my own life and limb."
"And you were ready to leave me ..."
"Chris, no ..."
"And take the money ..."
"Chris, please,"
"I’m sorry Ezra,"
"No, please."
"No cards Ezra. For two weeks."
Ezra chuckled softly, "You, sir, are a hard man."
Chris looked at the man in his arms. This scoundrel, this rogue who had
dragged his worn, wounded soul back into the light, who’d brought the joy
and the love back, this man who’s brightness had burned away the melancholy
he’d used to shield his heart, layer by dark festering layer.
"Yes," the gunslinger smiled, pressing his burgeoning erection against
Ezra’s thigh, "I am."
And Chris Larabee threw back his head, and laughed.
END