It started with the dress. He hadn't seen it for what it was at the time, which was hardly a surprise; it hadn't been that long since the two of them could barely manage to be in the same room as one another, let alone Ezra considering the possibility of something more between himself and anyone else. And Nathan Jackson? Possibly last on the list of possible options, given all the history they didn't share, still standing between them like an impenetrable barrier. Later, it was a matter of putting the pieces together, turning them round in his head till they made some kind of pattern. The look on Nathan's face seeing Ezra in that dress - a look that would later make him wish he'd kept it - or fingers skating over the material of one of his waistcoats when he'd been shot, the slight pull of Nathan's roughened skin on the brocade before he popped each of the buttons, a medic's anxiety overruling everything. Later still, Nathan's hands undressing him, like he was some finely wrapped package, Christmas come early regardless of the time of year. Self-control now firmly back in place, no matter how much Ezra pleaded for him to hurry the hell up. "You, sir, are a hedonist," he'd said to Nathan once, making him frown. The robe was another example. He hadn't expected to ever hear from Li Pong, once safely on her way to San Francisco; regardless of what Nathan thought of his motives, a subject on which he'd much to say, little of it what Ezra wanted to hear, he'd tried to be selfless and where had it got him? When the package arrived, it contained unexpected wonders. The robe was the darkest of blues, cut to fit a man of Ezra's stature perfectly, elaborate embroideries across the shoulders and curling down one of the arms. It was silk, of course, raw silk. An extravagant gift, no less intriguing to a certain doctor of Ezra's acquaintance, whose long fingers slid effortlessly across the slubs of the material, in search of skin beneath. ------------------ This time, it was a spur of the moment thing. A trip to Denver and an unexpectedly open door to a storage room in his hotel had led him astray. He'd sized the garment up in a glance, the layer of dust across its shoulders telling Ezra just how long it had been hanging there - it would fit him perfectly, as far as he could tell. The item in question found its way into Ezra's saddlebags, along with a few other necessaries more easily explained away. At least he left a sizeable tip, mute recompense for his light-fingered habits. "I have something for you from Denver, Nathan," he said as they drank coffee two evenings later. "A book I'm certain you'll like, but I left it in my room." An innocent enough excuse; Nathan nodded, only his eyes betraying that he understood what it was Ezra was offering, understood and accepted. Beside him, Buck launched into one of his interminable stories, tales of conquest and fair ladies that surely had to be nine parts imagining for every part truth. Ezra finished his coffee, pushed back from the table with a companionable nod to the others. It was all he could do not to break into a run, even though he knew Nathan wouldn't rush. Once in his room, Ezra's fingers lost their usual certainty, fumbling the buttons of his waistcoat, the smaller ones of his shirt; he found himself half-dressed and staring into his wardrobe. He'd had the garment laundered, an additional fee guaranteeing the laundress' discretion; now it hung there, pushed into the darkness by his jackets, the more familiar items of his daily grind. Ezra's hands were uncertain still, as he lifted the hanger, fingers growing more sure as moments passed and Nathan's arrival neared. He'd been right about the size. If he'd had breasts, of course, it would have fitted even better; still the black material clung to his torso, the hang of the apron barely disguising his growing excitement. A knock at the door interrupted Ezra's thoughts. He opened it carefully, just in case, then wider to allow Nathan in. Ezra could tell the moment Nathan's eyes adjusted from the dim lighting in the corridor to the brighter illumination of his room, taking in just exactly what it was that Ezra was wearing. For his benefit, after all, well for both of them if Ezra was completely honest with himself - as much as Nathan loved undressing him, he enjoyed being undressed even more. "Ezra?" Nathan didn't move. "What are you wearing?" That wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Something more along the lines of Nathan throwing him onto the bed and stripping him slowly had been Ezra's plan all along. "You don't like it." For once, Ezra was lost for words; he felt his face heat, turning towards the wardrobe as he began to undo the buttons. "Never said that." Nathan moved quickly across the space between them, his hands settling over Ezra's, stilling their movement. "I was surprised, that's all." He could feel the length of Nathan's body, pressed against his back; his hands were steady on Ezra's, pulling the two of them together, to where he couldn't disguise his arousal even if he wanted to. "I shouldn't be surprised by anything you do, I guess," Nathan continued, one hand moving to Ezra's hip, then sliding down his thigh and curling in, calloused fingers across skin suddenly, making Ezra gasp as they reached their goal. "Much as you like getting dressed up any which way you like, I get to take it off you." "That is," Ezra said, "the general idea." He was getting harder now too, Nathan's hand as sure as ever, experience of what it was Ezra liked making him a veritable virtuoso. "But something different..." "Underneath," Nathan said, as Ezra's head dropped back against his shoulder. "It's always you, Ezra."

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