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By the time they made it back to the train, both of them were dog-tired and keyed up - the adrenaline rush was quite usual for the end of missions and it was something both Jim and Artie were well-accustomed to. It was all they could do to nod at one another, the unspoken emotions surrounding another mission survived at the forefront of both their minds, even as the two of them headed to their separate compartments. Artie sat in front of the small mirror in his compartment and began to methodically remove the make-up, peeling off his false nose with careful fingers. Good work like that was hard to find and he didn't want to have to make another - it was far easier if he could have such things ready for use when he needed them, without the need to create more. Last time he'd used that particular nose, he reflected, was when it, along with other artifices, had allowed him to infiltrate the would-be sovereign state of Panhandle. He'd been the advance party on that mission, the one who went in to scout out the lay of the land, and taking point like that always made him feel more useful to the partnership he'd created with the famous James West. It was about him doing something Jim couldn't, using his own particular skills to lay the foundations for a successful mission in his own inimitable fashion. Not that Artie felt at all insecure about his partnership with James West, quite the opposite. Though Jim wasn't the most demonstrative of men, Artie was under no illusion about the way his partner felt towards him - in recent months they'd grown closer, physically at least, turning to one another for solace after a difficult mission in a way that had seemed almost a natural progression for both of them. They were both veterans, both accustomed to the ways men found release in the company of other men, with nothing more attached to the act than mutual convenience. Jim had always been a great hit with the ladies, and he clearly enjoyed their company as much as they did his, but as time had passed Artie began to wonder at his partner's inability to settle down. That he couldn't seem to make any kind of commitment to one of the women he met, but seemed more than happy to live some kind of peripatetic lifestyle with Artie, content to drop everything and head for the other side of the country at their government's call. For himself, Artie had always known that he preferred the company of men. His chosen profession had merely given him opportunity to hone the instincts and behaviours he felt nature had marked him out for, as well as providing an environment more tolerant than most. Not that he was like some of the people he'd grown to know in the theater - he'd chosen to hide his instincts behind a façade, rather than face the scorn directed even by other actors to the 'fairy' among them. When he'd found himself considering the idea of working for the government, Artie had to admit that he didn't expect to be able to be himself, even if some people might wonder just who the real Artemus Gordon was anyway. Not that most of the people he'd worked with in the past had cared much to know. Being partnered with James West, who already had a reputation for achieving the impossible even before Artie met him, was a dream come true in one way and his worst nightmare in another. He'd been instantly attracted to his new partner, almost mesmerised by the sight of Jim's ass, so perfectly shown off in the tight pants and monkey jackets he favored. If a part of Artie wondered whether Jim knew the effect he was having, both on men and women, his partner didn't seem to act as if it mattered at all. The down side was that Artie found himself in an almost constant state of semi-arousal. He'd be fine, then he'd catch a glimpse of his partner's assets, or Jim would appear in the parlor without his shirt, and everything would just spiral from there. That mission, the one to Panhandle, had been a case in point. Jim had spent a good chunk of time after they'd returned to the train wandering about with no shirt on, as casual as if he did that every day. Which sometimes he did. He'd never even bothered to thank Artie for the rescue, though this time round it had taken a degree of fast talking to get both of them into a situation where they could escape. And he'd never got that fifty bucks back either. Artie paused, the false nose clammy between his fingers as his own body heat leached away from the rubber. He'd handed over the money without a second thought, prepared to do just about anything to get Jim out of the scrape he'd managed to get himself into, and considered it money well spent. After that mission they'd barely had time to catch their breath before being sent off somewhere else - Artie had pushed the thought of those fifty bucks he'd paid for Jim to the back of his mind. It wasn't as if he'd managed to get a receipt for the payment, so it wasn't at all that likely Richmond would agree to him being reimbursed. Not that he wanted to try and explain that whole scenario to their boss anyway. Artie put the false nose away carefully, then wiped off the last of the gum arabic. The action was habitual by now, the self-imposed solitude of the time when he removed his disguises giving him a chance to reflect on their success or otherwise, some much needed breathing space. Particularly if things had gone wrong, if Jim had been injured or imperilled in some way, in which case Artie would usually have to try to regain his equilibrium where his partner was concerned. Fifty bucks. That kind of money was hardly chicken feed. Most of the people they met worked all day for barely enough to keep body and soul together, so that kind of money was a princely sum. And Artie had been in that situation, not too long ago, so in some ways it puzzled him greatly that he'd been able to forget that kind of expenditure so easily. Except that he wasn't sure he saw it as anything other than necessary. Those fifty bucks could have bought him a lot of things. If Artie was so inclined, fifty bucks could have bought him some talented company, for just about as long and in whatever way he wanted it. And the more he thought about it, the more Artie knew that a little company was just what he craved at the moment. He didn't just want the short-lived satiation his experiences with Jim brought him. For some reason Artie didn't want to be obliged, didn't want to reciprocate, not this time round. He wanted to spend himself, to burn out the adrenaline still rushing through his system, and to take his pleasure in an utterly selfish way for once. Fortunately they were in a big city, the kind of place a variety of entertainment could be purchased without too many eyebrows being raised, if you knew the right places to go or the right people to ask. The only problem in this case was shortage of the necessary. It wasn't as if Artie could ask his partner for a loan, though essentially it was Jim's fault he was short in the first place. Jim would be bound to ask what it was for and if there was one thing he wasn't good at, Artie had discovered, it was lying to his partner. And he couldn't tell him the truth, not without causing a rift between them which would be impossible to heal. Normally he wouldn't look outside the train for some kind of solace, but this time Artie knew his partner couldn't possibly offer what he needed. And the thought of spending another night on the train, in close proximity to James West while this unanswered need burned inside him, was more than Artie could bear. He dressed hastily, knowing he'd barely cleaned away the traces of makeup from his face before shoving his arms into the first clean shirt he laid his hands on. A pair of pants followed, then Artie was forced to slow his frantic hands a little, as he tied his tie slowly enough to ensure its tidiness, concentrating on his appearance despite the way his hands were starting to shake. Not with fear or adrenaline now, but more with anticipation than anything else. He could almost picture in his mind what would happen next, the kind of company he was looking for, the perfect template already in his imagination. Artie moved carefully down the narrow corridor towards the parlor, his jacket in his hand. If Jim was there he'd invent some kind of excuse, a sudden need to get some air before retiring to bed, and hope that for the first time in what seemed like forever he could lie convincingly to his partner. He listened for a moment at the door, his hand resting on the handle, but could hear nothing. The parlor was empty. That meant that Jim was probably in his own room - perhaps he'd been tired enough to sleep? The train was quiet, as Artie listened once more to try and establish his partner's whereabouts. Nothing. He took the opportunity, left the car and moved as quietly as he could down the metal steps. He had a rough idea where he was headed, the most likely place to acquire the kind of companionship he needed, or at least the version he could currently afford to pay for. With a last backward glance at the still-silent train, Artie headed out of the darkness of the railway yard towards the beckoning city. ----------------- This was a potentially dangerous game he was playing. All he could rely on was the anonymity of being in a large city far from home, and the knowledge he could get himself out of any trouble his being there might get himself into. He knew what he wanted, though, and there wasn't any other way he could think of getting it. This time had been too close, one of those occasions when he'd wondered if he'd survive, which wasn't a thought that troubled his mind too often. He couldn't allow that kind of pessimism house room too often, or he'd lose his nerve, leave things undone or second guess himself, and that would risk the lives of both him and his partner. Thinking of his partner steeled his reserve to find what he needed here, among people he'd never see again, people who wouldn't know his name or expect anything further from him. The two of them had shared some intimacy, a mutual turning to one another in times of stress, but he couldn't ask his partner for this. He couldn't see how his partner could possibly understand the urges he currently experienced, the need to be something other than what he was, always in control and in charge. For once he didn't want to be in charge, he wanted to be controlled. A feeling, a need he couldn't quite explain and didn't want to have to try, least of all to his perceptive partner. So he'd left the sanctuary of the train, slipping into the night like a hunter in search of prey. Except that what he wanted more than anything was to be the prey himself. He'd deliberately dressed down, worn the least showy clothing he could find in his closet, knowing the kind of attention he'd get round here wearing the style of jacket he normally favoured. He could do little about his pants but he'd found one of his partner's old jackets shoved at the back, one he'd ended up wearing a while back when he'd been rescued. As he pulled it on, he remembered the solicitous way his partner had made him wear it, and the way he'd clucked his tongue at the paleness of his skin in the cold of the cell where he'd been kept. He'd never quite got round to giving that jacket back, even though it was clearly just a little too large for him to wear normally, and his partner had never asked. Now it was a comfort to him, hiding the lines of his body, disguising the things his clothing was usually designed to flaunt as he studied the crowd in search of the right person to give him what he needed. Somehow he knew he'd know that person when he saw him, as he considered himself a good judge of character - he had to be, in his line of work. ----------------- Ever conscious of the limited amount of money in his pockets, Artie passed by the one place he knew he could have acquired the kind of company he desired, if only he'd been better off. He didn't have enough to get what he wanted there, and second best just wouldn't do, not tonight - not when his nerves were almost singing with the need for something more, something special. He was heading into the seedier side of town now, the streets narrower and not so well lit, a variety of men and women selling both goods and themselves, with varying degrees of success. Artie sidestepped one brash young woman, her breasts almost falling out of the top of her gown as she planted herself in his path. That wasn't what he needed tonight, though another night he might not have been so particular. Tonight he wanted muscle beneath his hands, muscle and sinew, rather than the ample curves of a woman. She tossed her head scornfully at him as he passed, then turned her attention to the next person she saw heading her way. There were men here too, but most of them weren't what Artie was looking for and he didn't even give them a second glance. It was early still, he supposed, there was still time for him to find what he sought, if only he could be patient. Even if patience was the last virtue Artie felt capable of exercising right now, as he studied and discarded each new person he came across in turn. Too tall, too thin, too nondescript, too pretty; whatever the reason, none of them were quite what Artie was looking for, so he continued on. There, in the shadows, Artie saw movement. When the man turned, as if looking down the street, he saw the outline of lower legs in tight pants and the over-large coat that the stranger wore. It gave him the look of someone wearing his older brother's cast-offs, an air of vulnerability that was unusual in this place. Maybe, just maybe, Artie told himself as he drew nearer, he'd found what he was looking for? His boot struck a loose piece of rock, the unexpected noise making the other man's head whip round in his direction, one hand falling with practised ease towards his hip in search of a gunbelt that clearly wasn't there for once. As the light struck his face for the first time, Artie found himself stopping suddenly. "Jim?" Artie almost embarrassed himself, as he croaked his partner's name. "I... " The words ground to a halt. He couldn't explain his presence away, not in this part of town at this time of night - people only came here for one reason and to pretend otherwise would only make himself look foolish. ----------------- In the time he'd been out there, Jim had received and turned down a number of invitations, subtle and otherwise. He hadn't been convinced of the intent of some of those who propositioned him, while he'd seen things he didn't like in the eyes of others. He had no intention of putting himself at risk to get what he wanted, there had to be a better way. The night was getting a little chillier and Jim found himself pulling Artie's borrowed jacket closer around him, the familiar smell of his partner as much a comfort as the warmth it gave. Would it be so bad to head back to the train? Artie might still be awake, might well be prepared to offer his partner some assistance with his current need, even if it wasn't quite what he was in the mood for. He'd almost made up his mind to call it a night when the sound of stone on stone drew his attention. Jim's hand fell to his gun even as he turned to face the newcomer, instinctive reaction kicking in before he realised that he'd come out unarmed, other than his derringer rig. "Jim?" It was probably the voice as much as anything that made him stop where he was, one hand still slightly above his hip and fingers outstretched in search of his missing gun. How could he explain his presence here? The half-light showed confusion and concern warring for pre-eminence on Artie's face, as Jim fumbled for an explanation that would suffice. Then his partner seemed to gather himself together, the reality of their being here falling into place like the mechanism of one of Dr. Loveless' cunningly-crafted machines, and his face changed subtly. Perhaps there didn't need to be an explanation after all. "You looking for something?" he asked, his voice barely loud enough to carry to where Artie stood. There was silence for a moment, and Jim wondered if he'd misjudged the situation after all. "Maybe." The word was quiet, but steel ran through it. Jim felt an itch at the base of his spine, cold fingers trailing upwards despite the relative warmth of the night air. This was Artemus Gordon, after all, the one man he knew as well as himself, but at the same time it wasn't, in subtle ways. Artie's eyes, usually warm, were colder, appraising. Jim stood a little straighter, letting the borrowed coat fall open, all pretense of hiding his own incipient arousal a thing of memory. "You got somewhere to go?" his almost-partner asked. Jim nodded. He'd scouted out the area before he took up his position on this street corner, watching the others who plied their trade head for one particular hotel across the way. And then return, shortly afterwards, to repeat the whole cycle once more. "Well?" Was this such a good idea? Instinct told him no, but the conscious part of his mind reminded Jim that this was Artie he was dealing with, no matter what role he was playing. He'd just have to keep reminding himself of that fact, and along the way he might get just what he was looking for. ----------------- He followed Jim across the street, all the time wondering if this was wise. All Artie knew was that he needed something, something he'd been loath to approach his partner for, and had come out here searching for the chance to fulfill that need. Only to find his partner here too, unexpectedly, clearly in search of something else. If there was a chance they could both get what they wanted... He ruthlessly quashed that line of thought. The important thing now was to stay in role, keep reminding himself that this was a one-off performance, rather than something that would create a foundation for change between them. He couldn't bring himself to believe that was possible; Jim had given no indication before that he needed more and he himself hadn't dared to ask. A situation like this, however, could fulfill both their needs, free from the risk of blackmail. The hotel itself was dingy, poorly lit, the clerk behind the splintered counter surly. Artie made no offer to pay for the room, and Jim hesitated only a moment before passing over a couple of coins. The clerk shoved a key into Jim's hand in response, not even bothering to glance at the patently-false names he knew they must be adding to the battered register. He followed Jim up the stairs, forced by their unevenness to concentrate on where he placed his feet, rather than to think about what might happen when they got upstairs. A further dingy corridor lay above, punctuated by rough-hewn doors, each with a scrawled number on them - hardly the kind of place Artie was used to staying in, unless he was acting a role that meant he had no choice. At least the room itself seemed relatively clean, considering the condition of the hallway and the rest of what they'd seen. Artie crossed to the window and pulled down the blind, using that movement to try and disguise his nervousness - he could hear Jim locking the door, as if that sound sealed their decision forever. "What's the usual rate?" he said, falling back into the role he'd chosen to play. Pushing Jim back into the role he'd chosen too, selling himself on the dusty street. "Depends." So, Jim had decided taciturn was the way to play this, had he? "I've already paid for the room." "You already owe me," Artie said, smiling to himself though he knew his face remained implacable. "A small matter of fifty bucks." "Fifty bucks?" Jim whistled quietly. "That's a lot of money. You sure it was worth it?" Artie smiled, making that smile as cold as he could manage. "I plan to get my money's worth," he said, closing the distance between them quickly. His hands fisted in Jim's borrowed coat - Artie remembered it now, remembered wondering what he'd done with it but not bothering to look for it, the warm material familiar under his hands as he pushed Jim back against the door. Jim's eyes widened a little, a response he couldn't miss in such close proximity, but he didn't resist. He said nothing, did nothing, just went with the movement until he found himself sandwiched against the rough wood. ----------------- His every instinct was to push back, and it took an effort of will for Jim not to resist Artie, not to plant his feet and shove back as his partner advanced on him. This was what he'd wanted, after all, so there was no point cavilling now when his wish was granted. He was glad of his borrowed coat, the weight of the material protecting him from the splinters he would otherwise have acquired from the cheap wood of the door. Artie's grip was relentless, holding him in place. "Fifty bucks?" He tried to think what Artie was talking about, but it wasn't familiar. Was this just part of the charade they were playing? "Bought and paid for." Artie eased the heavy coat from Jim's shoulders as he spoke. "Back in Panhandle." One of Artie's hands loosened its grip, slipped along Jim's shoulder and down his side. He remembered now. Remembered the feeling of being cornered, his back literally against the wall, just like now, only for his partner to stroll in a seemingly casual manner right into the middle of things. Jim remembered the money changing hands now, Artie's request for 'just five minutes' with him and the exorbitant fee he'd handed over to get his wish. "For five minutes of my time?" he asked, trying to ignore the sensations Artie's wandering hand was stirring up. "That hardly sounds reasonable." "On the contrary," Artie said, his hand coming to rest on Jim's hip, "I consider it a bargain." The other hand, unnoticed, had moved to cup the back of Jim's neck, fingers now curling round to pull the two of them even closer, till they were molded together as if Artie was attempting to merge the two of them. They were pressed together from chest to groin, the weight and warmth of his partner keeping Jim pushed back against the door, heat pooling where the evidence of Artie's arousal brushed against his own. His partner's movements where they connected were slow, sinuous, and utterly unlike anything he could ever have imagined Artie doing. They'd come together before, driven by their mutual need for release, but it had never been like this. He had, Jim realized, never allowed it to be like this. It had been important to him that he never let himself need someone, even his partner, this way - it was intoxicating, spiralling out of his control. And he loved every moment of it, solely because of the absolute trust he felt for the man who was currently pressed hard against him. "I guess," he said, concentrating till he was able to form words again, ignoring the sensations singing in his every nerve, "I ought to make sure you get your money's worth." This time he pushed, and Artie went with him, the coat dropping unheeded to the floor as soon as they moved away from the door. When they hit the bed, though, the tables were turned once more. For once Artie used his superior weight, rolling the two of them over till he was on top, Jim's roaming hands trapped in an inexorable grip. "Don't forget who's in charge here," Artie growled, leaning forward so those quietly-spoken words were in no danger of being misheard. "And it isn't you." He punctuated the sentence with a slight squeeze of his hands, until Jim was almost certain he could hear the bones in his wrists grinding against one another. Jim forced himself to relax, letting himself go limp where he lay, pressed by Artie's weight into the dingy covers on the bed. He didn't want to think about who had used this room before, and all thoughts were driven from his mind when Artie began to move once more. "I decide," Artie muttered, shifting his weight a little until his leg was insinuated between Jim's thighs, pressing against his groin. "Me." Another movement, stoking the fire even more. "Not you." Again, till Jim could hear his own breath hiss out. "Me." Once more, an almost inaudible moan, a sound Jim could hardly believe he'd made, if he hadn't heard it for himself. "Got that?" Jim nodded, wondering just how he looked, his eyes screwed tight shut as he tried to retain some control - he didn't dare look at his partner, see the desire he knew those dark eyes would contain, the mirror for his own. He was close, so close... ----------------- His hands had slid under the waistband of Jim's pants by now, one working to the front to try and release the buttons there, an exercise made all the more difficult by their current positions. Jim's eyes were closed, his breathing unsteady, as if he tried to master himself, to control the emotions Artie knew were a match for his own. "Roll over," he said quietly, letting go of Jim's hands. His partner's eyes opened at this, all the things unspoken, all the future possibilities there in Jim's face, tinged with uncertainty. "Do it," he pressed, pulling out the performance once more, taking control. Jim swallowed once, closed his eyes, and began to move. Artie's hands moved with him, his groin throbbing with anticipation as Jim's perfect ass pressed against it, still encased in that familiar almost skin-tight material. He moved back a little, his right hand sliding from Jim's waistband to caress the curve of Jim's ass, thumb trailing over the tightness of his pants where they stretched across between his buttocks. If only... How many nights had he dreamt of this? Imagined the moment when his partner would give him this, knowing all along it would never happen, that this moment would never happen. He hadn't come prepared. Not for this. After all, if he'd found what he was looking for, Artie wouldn't have expected that to be his responsibility. Still, there were other possibilities here, other things they could do - there, at least, was a reason to thank his past experiences, checkered at times though they'd been. Maneuvering Jim's pants low enough for any kind of access was an exercise in patience. The material was tight, he knew that from sheer observation, and the erection Jim sported, a match to this own, made life even more difficult. If they'd been on the train, Artie would have been tempted to take a knife to the recalcitrant fabric, but reality and their location intervened, even as his body cried out for release. "Jim?" He had to be sure, after all. "Please," Jim replied, even though the question itself had been ambiguous in many ways. There was a moment's silence between them. "Artie, please." The use of his name for the first time shattered all their pretenses, the roles they'd chosen to play, as Jim probably intended. There, that had to be far enough - there was no way, not in their current positions, that Artie could make the material of Jim's pants move any further down his thighs. His partner was effectively trapped by them, the tightness of the cloth holding his legs together even as Artie shoved between them, into that close and heated embrace. ----------------- He had to keep reminding himself this was Artie, not some nameless someone he'd happened across in a part of town he just shouldn't be visiting. That those were Artie's hands on his hips, fingers splayed across his skin as he pushed between Jim's thighs, Artie's hot breath warming the skin between his shoulders as the length of his body pressed against Jim's back. He could feel himself edging closer to completion, even as one of Artie's hands slid across his belly to take him in his grasp. Jim arched his back, hissing with pleasure as his partner's talented fingers brought him to the brink and then pulled him back, feeling the head of Artie's cock as it slid hotly against his perineum. The only thing better than this would be if Artie were inside him, but that was almost too much to imagine. Almost, but not quite. The thought of it haunted him, teasing his imagination even as Artie brought him to release, the hot spurts of his own release spraying between them as his weight pressed Jim into the bed. Next time, maybe... Jim brought his imagination under control with a start. There wasn't going to be a next time. No matter how much he'd enjoyed this, no matter how much it had been all that he could want and more, he'd betrayed himself, made himself vulnerable. Artie's body was warm and heavy, pushing him down into the disreputable bed, now made even more disreputable by their own actions. Jim moved his hands underneath himself, pushing up - he felt Artie move, stirring himself until he was only supporting his own weight on his hands. He didn't move very far, though, the hand that had brought Jim such pleasure taking hold of the bedcover to wipe the worst of their combined release from Jim's stomach and legs. Sure, steady strokes, quite unexpected control from someone who had just hurtled over into the abyss alongside his partner. "We should get back to the train," Jim said, pushing himself a little further back off the bed until he was able to stand. He didn't look at Artie, making himself concentrate on straightening his clothes. It wouldn't do for either of them to look like they'd just been doing exactly what they had just been doing when they left the hotel, despite the fact it probably already had a justly-deserved reputation. "Jim." Artie's voice was quiet, stopping him in his tracks even as he picked up the discarded coat from where it lay. Jim straightened up, the coat warm and heavy in his hands, but didn't look round. "What we did..." Did he regret it? Was that what this was? He couldn't tell from his partner's voice, didn't want to try and get some clues from his expression, even if Artie was inclined to tell him anything he wanted to know. And what if Artie did regret it all, did think it was a mistake? Why should that matter to him now? "You still owe me." The words were matter of fact. Jim looked down at the coat, watched his fingers tighten in the wool for a moment, then release once more. Artie was right, as usual - he owed his partner in more ways than he could count. At least, this way, he could start to repay the debt. "I won't forget," he said, turning this time. Artie's face was inscrutable, as he'd expected, but that was fine. "But you'll need to keep a tally." Artie nodded, the movement minute, as if he didn't dare do more. "That way you'll know when you've had your money's worth."
~ fin ~
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