He knew it was hopeless but he had to try anyway - Ezra strained against his bonds experimentally, finding them just as secure as he'd expected they would be. His captor had done a thorough job, tying his hands behind his back as well as gagging him so Ezra couldn't try to talk his way out of this. Not that, for once in his life, Ezra was certain he could have found the words. He was out of his depth. Ezra could feel the fine trembling that currently wracked his body, despite the relative warmth of the day, and he was sure his captor was aware of it. His face reddened at the thought, at the interpretation that would be placed upon it. "Hush now," the quiet voice said, the words breathed in Ezra's ear. He froze at the sound of them, conscious only now of the hands that roamed freely across his body, the hands of his captor taking full advantage of his captive state to explore. Ezra closed his eyes and listened to the rasping sound of his own breath. Even then he couldn't help a convulsive shudder as one of his captor's hands insinuated itself beneath his shirt, cool and calloused fingers trailing across his skin. He was helpless, trapped; he should be fighting this examination, Ezra knew that. Then those self-same fingers flicked across one of his nipples, wakening it to immediate hardness, and only the gag in his mouth prevented Ezra from crying out at the sensation. The weight of his captor's body was pressed against his back and thighs, pressing Ezra down into the unyielding surface on which he lay. Ezra knew then what would happen next, even as he felt his captor's hands move confidently to his belt buckle, felt his pants and underclothes slide over his hips, leaving his ass exposed. He was half-hard already, the adrenaline running through his system causing the usual response, the one he'd had walking into a hundred gunfights, a thousand card games. Ezra mumbled into the gag, then tongued the cloth till he could grip it between his teeth just as the first touch of his captor's palm slid across his naked ass. He'd beg, if he could speak, Ezra knew that. But for what? The weight lifted momentarily from his back, letting him breathe a little easier - Ezra turned his head to see his captor crouched over his purloined saddlebags, his back to his prisoner as he searched their contents. After a moment he turned back to where Ezra lay, a mere shape in the gloom of their surrounding, large and dark and menacing. Ezra closed his eyes once more. As he'd anticipated, he felt the brush of the rough material of his captor's pants across the skin of his naked ass, as he returned to his former position. The familiar pressure, but not so heavy this time. Ezra felt one arm wrap around his hips, the coarse material of his captor's jacket sleeve brushing the head of Ezra's half-hard cock and making him shudder once more. He felt the muscles of that arm tighten, pulling him up to his knees, even as his legs were shoved further apart by a knee between them. The oiled finger that penetrated him was almost a surprise, the rough preparation making Ezra's cock harden even more, despite himself. One thrust of the finger brushed across something deep inside, making Ezra whimper into the gag. His captor chuckled, the low quiet sound carrying easily. Ezra felt his face redden once more, suddenly grateful for the gloom. Before he could think about it any more, the finger was removed, replaced almost immediately by a larger presence, a dull pressure that was followed by the sharpness of pain. This time the sound he made, dulled as it was by the gag, was more of a hiss. His captor's body blanketed him, one arm still holding him up onto his knees, the other wrapped across his chest now, hand reaching up to Ezra's shoulder as he forced himself deep into Ezra's body. Ezra bucked against the pressure, realising all too late that his movement only allowed a fuller penetration, shifting his body slightly and moving him into his captor's embrace. Along with his own rasping breath, he could hear that of his captor, warm along the side of his face, the breath whistling by Ezra's ear as he drove himself into Ezra's body. Ezra felt himself harden at the continued stimulation, hating himself for the response but unable to stop it, glad for the gag which at least muffled the noise he'd otherwise have made. The only reality that existed for Ezra now was the sensations running through his body, the roughness of wood even through the knees of his pants, the friction of cloth against his still-clothed back, the driving rhythm of his captor's body against and within his own. He felt that rhythm break then, falter, take up once more, before the convulsive shudders of his captor told him he had reached his climax. The hand that had gripped Ezra's shoulder slid down, after a moment, to take hold of his cock, a few practiced strokes of those calloused fingers bringing him to a sticky satiation as well. Ezra groaned into his gag, breathing heavily, his captor still wrapped around him. Moments later they rolled together onto their sides, Ezra's abused knees tingling with the sudden lack of sensation. His captor didn't let go, didn't loose his hold in the least or slide free from Ezra's body, even as he freed the gag, pulling it away. Ezra had to work his jaw a couple of times before he could speak. "I am lost for words," he said, smiling to himself as the arms of his captor tightened around him. "That was what you wanted?" Nathan asked, a sudden influx of worry in his voice. "It was," Ezra said. "And was the experience sufficient for you as well?" Ezra heard the snort as laughter replaced the concern, felt the passing of it in the short hairs above his ear. "Sufficient?" Nathan echoed. "Ezra, I came so hard I thought I'd died and gone to heaven." Ezra's arms were growing a little stiff, the bonds threatening to cut off his circulation, but he couldn't bring himself to ask Nathan to move. It had taken a lot to persuade him to go through with this scenario, even though Ezra had seen the desire in Nathan's eyes as he described it in loving detail. Hidden depths. That was the best way to describe Nathan Jackson, Ezra had decided long ago. He was a man of strong passions, both in and out of the bedroom, and Ezra had tapped into those passions, finding they met and mingled with his own. He hadn't guessed Nathan was the one when they first met, his own prejudices and Nathan's combining together to make their meeting tempestuous at least. Afterwards, Ezra freely admitted to himself that he'd been a fool, that he'd almost missed the signs that here, at last, was someone who was amenable to the same kind of things he liked. It had taken that encounter in the saloon to make Ezra think. The anger Nathan had shown, the words he'd all but spat in Ezra's face, the obvious air of disappointment they were laced with. When he'd given it some thought, later that night in the solitude of his own hotel room, Ezra had seen that encounter for what it was. He understood what Nathan was doing; Ezra understood it all too well. Who else but someone skilled in the art of misdirection would see what Nathan Jackson tried so hard to hide? Hide passion with anger, mask desire with harsh words. It was the oldest trick in the book, and it was a book Ezra himself knew from cover to cover. He'd never before suspected Nathan to be anything other than what he seemed. Now Ezra knew that suspicion to be an utter impossibility. There was more to Nathan Jackson than met the eye, and Ezra Standish had decided at that moment he had every intention of finding out exactly who and what Nathan really was. ~fin~

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