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Ezra had always considered fencing to be the closest thing to two
men dancing together that could be accepted by polite society. Or was
it closer to a chess game, careful strategy enacted as you tested
your opponent and sought out their weaknesses? He couldn't decide.
Fencing with Nathan was something Ezra enjoyed, something he'd even enjoyed long before when their weapons had been words, not blades. The risk of harm had still been real. Ezra knew he had an epee for a tongue, pricking where least expected. Nathan's wit more closely resembled the rapier, carrying all before it. Both equally deadly when wielded by someone with the desire to use them. He'd been more than a little surprised when Nathan agreed to fence with him. The expression Ezra was certain he'd seen on Nathan's face when forced to instruct Buck in the noble art of fencing had told Ezra this was one set of past experiences Nathan wished had stayed in the past. Yet he'd agreed to pick up the blade once more, at Ezra's request. Their regular liaison had begun in the livery, till Yosemite claimed it put the horses off their feed. Ezra wasn't convinced, but he couldn't see any point in arguing the matter. He also wasn't convinced he liked being in town either - there was too much chance of an audience, that one of their compatriots would turn up unannounced, and Ezra found he resented the thought of such an intrusion. This time belonged to him and Nathan alone. He refused to share it. He'd grown rusty as the years had passed, his once hard-earned experience wasting away with disuse, and Nathan's unexpected expertise had given Ezra the chance to rectify that. As time went by, their sessions enlivened Ezra's otherwise routine days. The town had fallen into a kind of lassitude, a quiet patch between the periods of turmoil they were more accustomed to. He hoped Nathan enjoyed himself too, though he gave little away. The fact he'd even agreed to the arrangement continuing gave Ezra hope. They circled each other now, warily, their booted feet raising dust from the floor of the abandoned barn to which they'd moved. Nathan's eyes were dark, unreadable, the mottled light falling across his face and almost turning him into someone else, someone Ezra didn't recognise. He looked for an opening and took it when it presented itself, pressing Nathan to defend. Slowly they backed towards the wall, the flickering steel weaving between them as Ezra moved relentlessly onward. Ezra feinted to the left, then moved swiftly enough to trap Nathan's sword, his own blade skittering down the length of Nathan's so the hilts clashed. He used his weight to press the advantage for once, their swords caught between them. "Do you yield?" Nathan tried to press back, to use the height difference between them to his benefit, but Ezra was ready for him. "Yield, sir," he growled, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he felt the warm length of Nathan's body pressed against his own. Something else too, a greater heat, something that spoke of unexpected possibilities. Close up, Nathan's eyes were even darker than usual, though certainly no longer unreadable. This close, face to face and mere inches separating them, Ezra could recognise every emotion he saw there, the majority of them utterly unexpected. Not just the physical manifestations of the rush of a well-fought bout, it seemed? He took a step back, his sword hand dropping as he did so. The point of Nathan's sword flew up, to rest lightly in the hollow of Ezra's throat. With every breath he took, Ezra could feel the sharp metal pricking against his neck, but not quite breaking the skin. "Why did you agree to this?" Somehow being at this disadvantage gave him more of an upper hand in other ways. "You're the one did the asking," Nathan replied. His hand didn't waver as he spoke, the sharp blade still poised to do Ezra a fatal injury should he so much as twitch. Nathan was breathing hard, as if he'd run a race, more heavily than the duel they'd just fought should have caused him to. "Weren't none of this my idea." What would it take for Nathan to run him through? To drive that sharp point mere inches into his throat, spilling Ezra's life-blood all across the dusty barn floor? He couldn't know where danger might lie, what words might trigger a fatal move, and Nathan's face was inscrutable once more. "You agreed so readily," Ezra pointed out. "I'd expected to have to work hard to persuade you, but you went along with the suggestion with minimal effort on my part." Nathan frowned at his words and Ezra braced himself. Then he felt the warm trickle of blood as it ran down his neck; it could only be from the slightest of nicks. Nathan's eyes widened at the injury, minor though it doubtless was, his sword hand dropping to his side, the point now dragging in the dirt. "I never meant for this to happen," Nathan said. Idly, Ezra wondered just what he was referring to - the injury, or something more? "It's nothing," Ezra replied, pulling a handkerchief from his trouser pocket to staunch the flow. "I appreciate this, you know?" It wasn't hard to say the words - easier than he'd expected them to be. The truth was liberating, if not dispensed too freely. "You appreciate me almost skewering you?" Nathan laughed, bitterly. "Well, not that part of it," Ezra agreed. He hated that sound, the coldness of Nathan's laughter when it turned self-deprecating. "All this." Ezra gestured, the movement of the hand holding a bloody handkerchief encompassing the barn and more besides. "It can't be easy for you." He saw Nathan's face close down even as his eyes followed the piece of white cloth. "Get out of my way," Nathan said, dropping the sword as if it was a snake before heading for the door. "I'm done with this." "I'm fine," Ezra said, moving to intercept the other man before he could take more than a couple of steps. He tilted his head, allowing Nathan a clear view of the scratch on his throat, all the while ensuring that he never blinked, that his gaze never wavered. This was no time to show any kind of weakness. "But you, my friend..." He let the words trail off, more conscious than ever before of Nathan's closeness, watching the other man's face as he'd watched it when they fenced. Nathan's hand moved, as if of its own accord, raised to check the truth of Ezra's statement, long fingers moving lightly over the damaged skin. Ezra was inordinately proud of himself when he didn't flinch. Then again, he wasn't even sure he was still breathing. "I saw a man lose his life from a wound not much bigger than this," Nathan said. "We couldn't get to him and his heart just kept on pumping his lifeblood away." "I assure you," Ezra said, though it was an effort to keep his voice from shaking, "I have every intention of continuing to aggravate both Mr Larabee and yourself for a good many years to come." Nathan frowned at that, his hand dropping to his side. Ezra felt oddly bereft. Strange how intimacy could be so desperately missed after such a short space of time. Even when it had been so utterly unexpected. "You don't ag-grav-ate me none, Ezra," Nathan said, emphasising the unfamiliar word even as he spelled it out. "Leastwise, not so much as you did." "That, at least, is progress," Ezra agreed, sensing the tide had turned in this conversation. Nathan looked more relaxed now, not so ready to bolt. That expression was there once more, the one Ezra had seen on his opponent's face when they'd been pressed together against the barn wall. "I fear, however," he continued, wondering if he wanted to pursue that particular line of thought, "that our peerless leader has yet to change his opinion of me." Nathan snorted at that. "For someone who makes his living reading folks, you sure can be clueless sometimes, Ezra." "Not always," Ezra said, steeling himself. He took a step forward and deliberately pressed himself against the other man, his hands coming up to grasp Nathan's upper arms before he could think to move away. Just as deliberately, Ezra placed his foot between Nathan's feet, finding the expected heat high against his hip as a result, his own burgeoning erection against Nathan's solid thigh. "Sometimes I know exactly what's going on." Nathan's eyes burned with desire, his hands seeming to find their own way to Ezra's ass, capable fingers curling to pull the two of them even closer. Ezra closed his eyes, not wanting to see that desire burn out when Nathan came to his senses. "Too slow," Nathan said, his voice rumbling in the quiet of the abandoned barn. Ezra felt his erection harden even more - Nathan's voice always had that effect on him, except usually he was forced to disguise it. He let out a shuddering breath when Nathan's mouth latched onto his neck, as Nathan nuzzled his way round to the small injury he'd caused. "Like this," he continued, breath hot on Ezra's throat. "Careless." Ezra wasn't sure how they found themselves on the floor, heedless for once of the damage the dust was likely doing to the fine cotton lawn of his formerly white shirt. All he was conscious of was the press of Nathan's body, the curl of his own hands now clutching the rough material of Nathan's shirt, Nathan's mouth doing utterly sinful things to Ezra's throat that he was sure made his eyes roll up in his head. He heard himself groan then, the noise oddly echoing in the rafters of the barn, even as one of Nathan's capable hands freed his erection from the imprisoning cloth. At some point in the intervening time Nathan had freed himself too, rough wool chafing against Ezra's skin as the two of them moved together. Then the callouses on that self- same hand made him buck under Nathan's weight just once, crying out as his former opponent's teeth latched onto the curve of his shoulder. When he could breathe again, Ezra found they hadn't moved at all. Nathan's eyes were closed, his breathing as ragged as Ezra's own, the sticky mess between them cooling as their ardour abated. "Nathan." It took a moment before Nathan reacted, eyes opening sluggishly and taking a moment to focus. The smile he gave Ezra was slight, tentative, as if he was unsure of his reception. "We should get back to town," Ezra continued. "Before our associates come looking for us." Nathan's smile disappeared then, as if he'd imagined it. He nodded, then frowned as he began to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs and clothing their actions had created. Ezra felt his heart sink. He'd never expected this, even when he'd seen Nathan's reaction, when he'd made his choices in the hope that something more than friendship, some greater intimacy he'd been searching for longer than he cared to admit to himself, might be found in this unconsidered location. He watched from his prone position as Nathan tried to straighten his clothing, turning every effort to make it look less like he'd recently been debauched on the floor of an abandoned building. Then Ezra stood and did likewise, brushing as much dust from his clothes as he could, even as he surreptitiously watched Nathan's movements. Nathan picked up the abandoned swords. Even his posture looked defeated - there was little about him that spoke of desire or abandon now. "Besides which, Nathan," Ezra said. "I have a feather bed back in town." Nathan had turned back to him at the words, and it took a moment for their meaning to sink in. Ezra smiled to himself, seeing the realisation hit, pleased to see the light return to Nathan's eyes. "If you would be interested in a re-match..."
~ fin ~
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