Nothing New Under The Sun
by Lumina~

Two Kisses

"Ten."

Ezra Standish's eyes swept the room around him distractedly. His mind idly registered the heat of the fire crackling at his back, the dancing interplay of warm light and cool shadows flickering over the rich furnishings of Orin Travis's library, and the whispering brush of snowflakes against the glass of the French doors.

"Nine."

Crossing his arms, he brought his gaze back to the man standing before him. Lifting a speculative eyebrow, he stated, "You're joking." Then, more hesitantly as his companion took a step towards him, "Aren't you?"

"Eight."

The din of the New Year's Eve party revelers was a distant backdrop, their countdown to midnight droning in time with his suddenly accelerating heartbeat as he took in the countenance of the taller man. The firelight cast a red glow across his skin creating a devilish effect that was heightened by the mischievous glint in his eyes and by the sly uptilt to his lips.

"Seven."

A low, throaty chuckle passed over those lips as he said, "It is New Year's, Ezra. What'd it hurt?"

"Six."

Ezra slid a step backwards as the other man advanced towards him, cursing inwardly as his shoulders came into contact with the mantelpiece behind him. A flash of irritation flared within him as the counting off of the last few seconds till the New Year suddenly became the marked rush allotted to him to make his decision.

"Five."

"There's a room full of women just down the hall. I'm quite sure any number of them would be overwhelmed at the prospect of being kissed by you at the stroke of midnight," Ezra drawled, infusing his voice with a sardonic bite in an attempt to distract, to deflect the other man from his intentions.

"Four."

It was an attempt doomed to failure as first one long arm snaked out, halting his surreptitious slide towards the door, then the other reached out, blocking his retreat. He found himself trapped within the circle of those arms as their hands rested on the mantelpiece on either side of his body.

"Three."

"I'm not down the hall. I'm here, now, with you. And it's your sweet mouth I want to taste. What'd it hurt?" he repeated, his whispered words caressing Ezra's skin as he brought his face within inches of Ezra's own.

"Two."

Ezra met the other man's eyes, hesitation and confusion warring with the sudden frisson of desire that shivered through him as his skin felt seared by the heat he saw igniting there, directed at him. And as a tingling trail of nerve endings was blazed across his cheek by a single finger lightly stroking his flesh.

"One."

"What'd it hurt?"

Ezra shuddered and closed his eyes, his face turning towards the warm rush of breath as Buck Wilmington uttered those words once more. He felt Buck's lips hover over his cheek a fraction of a second before lowering to his skin as the grandfather clock in the hall tolled the first stroke of midnight.

Buck's lips were warm and unaccountably soft as they pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to Ezra's face. Ezra opened his eyes, his confusion increasing at the tentativeness of that touch, only to find himself staring directly into the blue eyes roving over his face. The arrogant surety, the cockiness that he'd seen in their depths just moments ago had been replaced with a softening, a silent appeal when they met Ezra's gaze. And unexpectedly, Ezra found himself responding to that plea, to the uncertainty in the hands that hadn't yet come to rest on his shoulders. To the dichotomy in the man that allowed sweet hesitation to wage battle with his maddening natural conceit and produced this one moment of startling clarity, of stark honesty, when Ezra could see all that Buck wanted in his eyes.

Buck wanted him. For whatever reason, just him.

A breathless hush enfolded them, blocking out the laughter of the partygoers and the raucous strains of "Auld Lang Syne," filtering out the nearer sounds of logs snapping, of the quickening wind lifting snowflakes against the windows. Only one thing penetrated that barrier, one sound, one rhythm as his heart beat against Buck's, both in time with the dwindling count of midnight being struck by the clock.

Ezra felt the pull of those eyes and his body followed, almost of its own volition, as he moved towards Buck's warmth, as his face pressed up towards the lips that were so close he could feel the minute stream of breath flowing from between them.

Ezra's eyes drifted shut as Buck responded to that tacit permission by reclaiming with his mouth the skin he had so recently possessed.

Ezra found himself again taken with the softness, the lightness of Buck's touch as those lips placed another reverent kiss on his skin. They merely lay there a moment, as if savoring the spot as one would a delicacy, before Buck's tongue flicked out. Lips and tongue moved into action then, exploring his face, tasting of his skin, before travelling on to his mouth. The mere stroke of mouth over mouth, the brush of fine whiskers across his upper lip, sent a thoroughly unexpected shudder coursing through his body, the very simplicity of the touches an erotic thrill like none other he had ever felt.

The large hands that had finally gripped his shoulders as their mouths met tightened convulsively before one slid down his arm, smoothly unbuttoning his jacket before sliding under the cloth and around his back. That questing hand left a heated path down Ezra's back as it trailed down his rear applying enough firm pressure to bring their bodies into close, warm alignment before moving to rest on his hip. Buck's tongue slowly traced the outline of Ezra's mouth before laving the lips themselves as if seeking to assuage his spoken desire to taste what was there.

That tongue wanted everything though, plunging into the interior of Ezra's mouth, pushing past teeth and along the length of its mate as it swept along the roof and sides. Ezra's focus kept shifting from the fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulder to the searing heat radiating from where Buck's other hand rested on his hip to the firm length of the muscled body that seemed to be engulfing him with its touch, with its scent, with its feel. But most especially with its taste as Ezra's own tongue felt the cool burn of mint and the individual essence that flavored the warm moistness of Buck's mouth.

Just as Ezra realized the low moaning he'd been hearing was coming from his own lips, Buck pulled away from him. That same moaning ended abruptly on a note of disappointment as, dazed, Ezra blinked up at the taller man.

Buck smiled, Ezra noticing, for the first time, the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he did so. Ezra felt a pang pull at his heart as he saw the tenderness in those eyes and felt it in the finger idly flicking hair off his forehead.

As if in answer to the unspoken question in Ezra's mind, Buck said, "It's a new year, Ezra. Time for change. A new direction."

Buck stepped back as he spoke and as he did so, both men heard a throat clearing in the doorway. Startled, Ezra saw the form of Chris Larabee outlined against the light in the hallway, his face in shadow as he held open the door.

"Party's down the hall, boys."

Ezra glanced towards Buck, who was frowning at his oldest friend, even as one hand, still resting on Ezra's arm, squeezed reassuringly.

"Know that pard. Me and Ezra just wanted to get away from the crowd for a minute." A wide smile creasing his face, Buck tugged on Ezra's arm, shepherding him towards the door. "We can finish our talk later."

As Ezra allowed himself to be propelled past the stiff body of Chris and out of the room, he noted the hard stare their leader directed towards Buck and the falsely jovial smile that man sent in return. Already confused by Buck's desire to kiss him and by his own body's reactions to that touch, Ezra was further disconcerted by the interplay between the other two men, his mind already speculating as to its cause. One thought filled his mind as he strode down the hall and back to the party. 'Talk, later? You can bet on it, Mr. Wilmington.'

 

Ezra found himself back in the library hours later his forehead resting on his arm which, in turn, lay on the mantelpiece as he stared into the flames burning low and dying in the grate. He'd needed a few moments of privacy and quiet, away from the noise of the party that was still going strong, to sort through the tumult of conflicting thoughts roiling in his head.

Confusion remained as well as a strong determination to answer all the questions of why. Why did Buck want to kiss him? Why now, with no prelude or previous hint of desire on his part? Why did his own body react the way it had to a touch he'd never even considered before? Buck was assuredly most skilled in the art of kissing, but it was the emotions underlying the actions that were most affecting Ezra. The tenderness he'd seen in Buck's eyes and felt in that first touch of his lips; the urgency in the fingers gripping his shoulder and the possessiveness of the hand laying on his hip. Even now, Ezra could feel the tingle engendered by those long fingers splayed across his hip as if they belonged there.

Then there was the question of Chris. What was behind the penetrating stares he'd continued to throw at Buck as the other man discreetly hovered over Ezra at the party? Why did he seem angry, and at Buck, not Ezra? What caused the grim tightening of Chris's lips and the brittle cast that turned his eyes into glacial pools of ice? How much had he seen before announcing his presence in the library? And why did it disturb Ezra that, of all people, Chris should be the one to walk in on them?

Sighing, Ezra decided there would be no answers found tonight. Pushing himself away from the fireplace, he turned around only to find himself face to face with one of the two men occupying his thoughts.

Chris Larabee stood before him, arms crossed over his chest, his face again in shadows as the lowering flames in the fireplace failed to reach him.

"You like kissing men, Ezra?"

Chris's voice touched Ezra's ears in a low, husky drawl that wafted over his skin like a warm breeze, his senses, already heightened by Buck's kiss, surging with anticipation. There was no anger, no rancor in Chris's tone. Only a genuine questioning, a speculation, as well as a hint of a promise. A challenge. It was there to be seen, as he stepped into the circle of firelight, in his eyes, in the spark of amusement there, in the way they dropped to caress Ezra's lips before lifting to meet his eyes, one side of his mouth curving in a sultry smile.

Ezra met that challenge the only way he knew how: with one of his own. Arching an eyebrow before returning Chris's smile with a secretive one of his own, Ezra said, "I liked kissing Mr. Wilmington."

Chris's eyes dropped to his mouth again as he nodded. Then, tilting his head, he said, "Then maybe you'd like kissing me."

As Chris slowly raised his eyes to meet his again, Ezra felt their passage across his face as he would an actual touch, a touch that sent a wave of heat through his body. Ezra held Chris's gaze and asked, "Why should I kiss you, Mr. Larabee?"

"It is New Year's, Ezra. And you gave Buck a kiss. It's only fair," he finished mildly as he took another step closer to Ezra.

Ezra resisted the urge to take a step backwards and said, "Life, as you know, is rarely fair, Mr. Larabee."

"Life, no," Chris replied, his lips lifting again in an infuriatingly smug smile, "but you are, Ezra."

"Why do you want to?" Ezra asked doubting he would get any more of an answer from Chris than he had from Buck.

Chris took one more step, close enough now that Ezra could feel his breath on his face as he asked a question of his own. "Why do you want to kiss me, Ezra?"

And like Buck and Chris, he had no answer. He just knew he did. Unlike with Buck though, whose touch he didn't know he wanted until he had it, Ezra knew, without a doubt, that he craved Chris's touch with a burgeoning intensity that matched the fire lit by Buck. But with the perverseness natural born to his soul, he asked, "What makes you think I want to kiss you?"

Chris's lips quirked in one more grin before he whispered, "This."

Then his mouth was on Ezra's, his hands gripping his shoulders much like Buck's had done, but there they stayed, holding him steady as Chris let his mouth seduce. Where Buck's kiss had been tender, almost hesitant, yet passionate, sending a spark of electricity though him that had yet to die out, Chris's kiss was hard and fierce, his mouth devouring where Buck's had sought to taste.

Two kisses. Different, yet the same. Both demonstrated hunger, showed want. And both seduced.

Ezra was breathless when Chris broke off the kiss and said, his own breath coming heavily, "Buck made a choice. So have I. It's your turn, Ezra."

Two men. Two kisses. Two men who wanted him. Two men that he wanted. But only one could he have.

'Happy New Year, indeed.'

 

In the Light of the Day

For once in his life, Ezra Standish welcomed the morning sun. The lightening of the room on the other side of his eyelids filtered through and met a mind in a body eager to forget the night he had just passed.

It had been a night spent tossing fitfully, sleep failing him, as the events of the New Year's Eve party kept replaying over and over again in his mind's eye. Even the neutral surroundings of his own bedroom plotted against him as the smooth glide of his sheets across his naked flesh became the remembered feel of a large hand ghosting down his back. The firm pressure of his hip against the mattress as he lay on his side tickled nerve endings that had lain under the paths of long fingers that had possessed that same surface. His own sighing breath as he shifted restlessly became the hot rush from another man's mouth as it pressed against his own.

The distant, intermittent hum of traffic from the street below his window was but a backdrop to the whispered words echoing through his head in an endless loop.

What'd it hurt?

It's your sweet mouth I want to taste.

It's a New Year, Ezra.

You like kissing men, Ezra?

Ezra.

Ezra.

The sound of his own name haunted him, uttered in two different voices, yet both flavored with the same want, the same need and desire that turned a simple word into a caress of sound.

But morning came, and with it, Ezra's endless gratitude as he flung back the bedcovers, anxious to clear his mind of the images and words, and the confusion they conjured, that stormed through his mind.

Shivering slightly at the morning chill as he left the warm cocoon of his blankets, Ezra quickly moved to the bathroom and turned on the shower adjusting the temperature to as hot as his skin would allow. Waiting for the water to warm, Ezra turned to the mirror over the sink and surveyed his face. Running a hand along his jaw line, he took note of the paleness of his skin that accentuated the slight shadows underneath his eyes, both evidence of his sleepless night.

Sighing, Ezra turned away from his reflection and stepped into the shower. Letting the soothing cascade from the shower jets slowly bring his sleep deprived mind to alertness, he turned his thoughts to the morning at hand.

Morning. Of New Year's Day. A day of endless football games and dinner. At Chris Larabee's house. With Chris. And Buck. And the others.

"Oh, Lord," he groaned.

The idea of calling and begging off immediately occurred to Ezra and was just as quickly rejected. Calling Chris would mean having to talk with Chris, and Ezra was not prepared to do that now. Not until he knew for certain if he wanted to hear what Chris had to say. Of course, he could always send his regrets through a third party, possibly Vin, but that would only lead to questions and coaxing, and would, in fact, be the coward's way out. Ezra wasn't willing to admit to Chris or to Buck that their actions had rattled him. He didn't even want to admit it to himself.

No, the best thing for it would be to go to their New Year's celebration, to see and to be seen, but one of seven. Safety in numbers.

Gone was his urgent need of the night before to have answers to the myriad of questions chasing each other around his mind. That need had been tempered instead with the desire to understand first his own body's, his own heart's, reactions to the touches of two men he had previously only called friend. Until he understood that, Ezra wasn't ready to deal with what was behind the sultry words and the smoldering touches, the pair of hands that took possession of him or the mouth that laid claim to him. Nor was he ready to name all the emotions he'd seen shining in those two sets of eyes that had stroked over his skin with a touch as tangible as that of any hands. Touches that even the scalding hot water of the shower failed to wash away from his skin's memory.

Just twenty-four hours ago, Ezra Standish had been your average, everyday ATF undercover agent, going about his own business, allowing himself to be occasionally drawn in from the fringes to the core of their makeshift family of a team. Now, not content with that, two of their members had left that center to come to him. For him. Seemingly intent on having him in a way he'd never expected.

Ezra lightly thumped his head against the tiled wall of his shower and moaned, "Lord, I hate mornings."

 

Buck Wilmington, his skin still moist and warm from his shower, tendrils of hair curling damply around his face, slid into a pair of freshly laundered jeans. Zipping up the fly, he moved to his dresser and rummaged amongst the contents of one drawer. His fingers quickly found the object they were looking for and pulled it out. Shaking out the soft folds of the blue wool sweater, Buck slipped it over his head and down his naked torso appreciating the smooth glide of the knit against his skin.

It had nothing over the feel of Ezra Standish in his arms last night though. His hands had finally traced the sleek muscles of that lithe back, his finger the silky curve of cheek. He'd inhaled greedily of the unique scent that was Ezra's, an essence he'd only caught hints of before, a combination of a subtle aftershave and Ezra himself. And his own breath had caught as he'd shared Ezra's, as he'd tasted of that mouth that he'd craved for so long and found even more sweet than he'd imagined.

Buck had wanted that and more for so long, had dreamt of it, fantasized about it, and had not found the reality wanting.

It had not satisfied his craving, however. It had merely increased it tenfold.

Buck ran his fingers through his hair as he looked at his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Ezra had commented once on the quality of the garment he wore, the richness of the color, and had left a heated path that spread along the length of Buck's arm from the small spot where his fingers had felt its softness.

This sweater had been a gift from Chris. His friend.

Buck met his own eyes in the mirror and felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered the flare of anger in Chris's eyes the night before, the hardness that had set his mouth in grim lines. But he also remembered the soft touch of Ezra's lips, their supple grace over his own, and the fit of that body, warm and pliant, against his.

Buck turned his eyes away. Why should he feel guilty? He had a right.

 

Chris Larabee gently replaced the phone receiver in its cradle and slowly released his indrawn breath through his teeth as he exhaled in relief. The shrill ring had sliced through the peacefulness of the morning shooting a spike of anxiety into him as he rushed to answer, expecting to hear Ezra's voice, but finding Nathan on the other end instead, letting Chris know he'd be late for their gathering.

He had awakened that morning, surprisingly, with a sense of warm calm suffusing him and a smile on his lips as he showered and dressed. Now carrying his morning coffee out to the front porch, he settled against the porch railing and let the brisk coldness of the air try to prickle his skin to a greater sense of life than it had encountered last night. Nothing could rival that feeling though, that combination of sensations brewed by the reality of Ezra Standish in his arms. It was equal parts desire at the feel of that skin and the taste of that mouth, his heartbeat thudding wildly against its counterpart, and a sense of fulfillment that all was just as it should be. And the greater measure was the fierce tenderness and possessiveness surging through him at, once again, having and holding someone he loved.

Nothing could rival that. The sun needn't even try, with its dance of blue, pink and white-hot jewels across the newly fallen snow, to out-dazzle the flare of passion and desire sparkling in a pair of beautiful green eyes and directed at him.

An expression he'd also seen given to Buck. The unease that had been born with the ringing of his telephone grew as he recalled that sight, one he had never expected to see. Buck, with his body curled around Ezra's, gazing into those same passion clouded eyes as if the light found there belonged to him. And with that unease, his anger kindled anew at the subtle defiance he'd seen on Buck's face as it swiveled to face him in the library and heard in the seemingly innocuous words, "We can finish our talk later."

That anger flared into a conflagration as he looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle and saw Buck's pickup pulling off the road and bouncing over the ruts of his snow covered drive. The outline of his friend was clearly visible in the driver's seat, JD's dark head on the passenger side.

His friend. His betrayer.

 

Ezra unobtrusively let himself out onto the front porch of Chris's house, surprised at the success of his escape in light of the silent scrutiny he'd been the object of all day. Always a late arrival, he had made doubly sure today that it would be so, not wanting to spend any time alone in Chris's company. He had been relieved when he'd pulled into the drive to see the vehicles of all the others, save Nathan's, there ahead of him, but it was shortlived as the atmosphere inside the house had been rife with a palpable tension as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Chris and Buck were studiously avoiding talking to each other, JD's eyes, full of concern, darting back and forth between them. If the others noticed Chris's and Buck's uncharacteristic behavior, they were ignoring it in favor of making a concerted effort at normalcy, enjoying the football games with their usual boisterous enthusiasm and attacking the food laid out with typical gusto.

The day was anything but normal for Ezra though. Eyes followed him everywhere, watched his every move, sometimes one pair, sometimes the other, but more often than not both sets, warmed with emotions he didn't want to face. It was hard to ignore, however, hooded blue eyes boring into his as one long finger, the same one that had caressed his cheek the night before, languidly traced the water droplets, up and down, that dewed the neck of the beer bottle nestled between Buck's legs. Then there were Chris's eyes staring at him over the rim of the glass he had taken from Ezra's hand, forming his lips to rest over the same spot where Ezra's had been before slowly running his tongue over them as if savoring Ezra's flavor.

Staring out at the crimson shadows creeping over the snowy fields as the sun set, Ezra decided this was definitely not a normal day. Normal could not describe how he felt this day. Confused, yes.and twitchy.

Turning to face the house, he forced himself to refrain from jumping as he heard the door behind him opening then quietly closing. He was glad to see Vin Tanner approaching rather than either of the two strangers masquerading as Buck Wilmington and Chris Larabee.

Vin leaned against the porch railing beside him and said, humor tracing his voice, "'Ey, Ez. Ya' hidin' out?"

Ezra scanned Vin's face, seeing mirth dancing in his blue eyes. Raising a quizzical eyebrow, he asked, "What makes you think that, Mr. Tanner?"

Vin gave a short huff of laughter before tilting his head towards the window to the living room, its interior visible through the open curtains. "Ain't hard to figure, Ez. Ya' can cut the tension in that room with a knife. Wouldn't know anything about that, would ya'?"

Ezra turned towards the window watching his teammates as they moved about turning on lights against the encroaching darkness. Facing Vin again, he asked innocently, "What makes you think I'd know anything?"

Vin smiled, his eyes following the movements of their friends through the window. "Answerin' a question with a question, huh? Good defensive position there, pard."

"Mr. Tanner-" Ezra broke off as Vin raised a placating hand.

"Just mean, Ez, that it'd take a blind man to miss the looks Chris and Buck been throwin' ya' all day. That's not even mentionin' the looks they've been givin' each other. They been havin' whole conversations with each other, just with their eyes, and it don't look friendly."

Ezra granted the truth of that statement. He had seen the loaded looks passed between the two, the expressions from each warning the other to back off when he got too close to Ezra. But there was something else there, an anger, a mistrust that seemed to go beyond what two friends vying for the same lover might feel. Ezra didn't like it. He didn't understand it, and he found it disquieting.

"Something happened last night, didn't it? At the party? They finally tell ya'?"

Ezra looked at Vin in surprise, not sure what he might see on his friend's face, but all he saw was calm concern. And knowledge.

"You knew?" he asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

Vin smiled and nodded. "Chris told me."

"And Buck?"

Vin's smile widened. "Chris told me."

He really shouldn't have been surprised that their sharpshooter would know. Even if no one had told him, Vin's observational skills were such that he'd have no trouble sniffing it out on his own. But Ezra had thought his own skills in that regard were just as sharp, just as keen. And he hadn't seen it coming till it hit him in the face.

Shaking his head, Ezra asked, irritated at hearing the confused dismay in his own voice, "Vin, how did I miss this?"

Vin clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry about it, Ez. Ya' ain't the only one can play it close to the vest." Then, as Ezra continued to shake his head, Vin cocked his to the side and asked, "Whatcha more worried about, Ez? That you didn't see it happenin'? 'Cause it don't really matter why or how, does it? It just did." Vin shrugged and continued, "Or are ya' thinkin' on what you're gonna do about it? 'Cause I gotta say, I don't envy ya'. Can't be easy decidin' between two friends who're in love with ya'. 'Course maybe ya' might not want either. That'd be the hardest maybe."

Ezra froze, his further questions dying on his lips as Vin's words sank in. Specifically, two words.

"In love."

Chris was in love with him?

Buck was in love with him?

Ezra raised his eyes to Vin's, horror filling them, denial in his voice as he exclaimed, "Nobody said anything about love!"

 

You Burn

Chris Larabee quietly closed his front door against the rapidly falling darkness of night, the frigid air that had insinuated its way in less biting, less cutting to his skin than the pair of green eyes that had raked over his face as their owner made his retreat.

Controlled panic. That is what he had seen in those eyes. It was belied though by Ezra Standish's usual graceful gait as he crossed the living room and collected his coat. It was absent from his voice, smooth and placid, as he said his good-byes to his teammates and didn't touch his mouth as it lifted in that slow, easy smile that used to set Chris's teeth on edge with its seeming arrogance and smugness.

Now he knew that smile to be the self-directed irony that it was, aimed at a wary heart, that also struck pain into Chris's own now with its self-deprecation and hollow acceptance. Still that smile had not reflected the alarm, the need for flight, that he'd seen in Ezra's eyes as he'd brushed past on his way out the door and that was echoed in the grinding of the Jag's wheels spinning against the snow-covered drive as they sought purchase.

He'd seen something else in those eyes when they'd joined his as the panic there fragmented and produced a shard of anger in those green depths that stabbed into his own for that one instant. It was an anger Chris caught and felt, coiling and growing within, as he had watched the Jag's taillights recede beyond his sight.

Turning from the door, the last of his guests gone save one, Chris zeroed in on his selected target to receive that anger. He leaned back against the door, arms crossed and face lowered, his voice deceptively mild as he asked, "What did you say to him?"

When no answer was forthcoming, Chris raised his gaze and fixed the man sitting on his couch with a narrow-eyed glare. Vin Tanner slouched there, his feet on the coffee table. His relaxed posture, the calmness in Vin's eyes as they met his own sent a spark of his anger snapping through Chris as he bit out, "What the hell did you say to him?"

Vin took a swig from the beer bottle he held, his eyes never leaving Chris's as he tracked that man's slow approach towards him. Then cocking his head, his gaze held briefly by the label on his beer bottle before looking again at Chris, he replied, "What the hell did I say to him? What the hell didn't you say to him?" A rough snort of laughter issued from his mouth as he surveyed Chris's face. "You're outta luck usin' that glare on me, Larabee. Save it for someone it'll work on," he said wry amusement coloring his voice before he again lifted his beer to his lips.

Chris swiped Vin's booted feet off the table with one hand, his impatience mounting. "Vin-"

Vin chuckled as his feet hit the floor. Raising a placating hand, he said, "All right, all right. But sit down first 'fore I wear out my neck cranin' up at ya."

Lips tightening as he suppressed a low snarl, Chris sat down in the armchair across from the couch. Crossing his legs, he smoothed his pants with exaggerated calm before raising an expectant eyebrow and gesturing with his open hands for Vin to continue.

Vin quirked his own eyebrow, a slight smile forming as he settled back against the cushions. He waited a moment then, shrugging one shoulder, said, "I told Ezra you're in love with him."

As the simple statement touched his ears and filtered into his mind, Chris found understanding did not come with it. Of all the dire possibilities that had run scattershot through his head since he'd felt the scorching of Ezra's cold eyes, since his precipitous departure, that had never been one of them. He shook his head briefly in confusion and said, "He already knew that."

"Did he?" Vin questioned as he sat forward resting his elbows on his knees.

Chris nodded as Vin held his gaze with an intense blue stare. "Yes."

"You told him you're in love with him?"

His impatience, briefly tamped down, flashed anew as he ground out, "Yes."

"You said the words?"

Chris's next snappish affirmation died stillborn on his lips as the scene from the previous night, the memory of it that had warmed his day, played before his eyes with a clarity that sharpened the soft edges in a way that he hadn't seen till he'd heard Vin's words. He'd said it with his touch, with his tone. It had been in the way his arms held the other man and in the way his mouth caressed Ezra's own, but it had not been in his words. Dawning realization lit his eyes as his focus returned to Vin, and he saw the answering knowledge there.

"You're an ass, Larabee." Vin nodded as he leaned back stretching his arm across the back of the couch while pointing his beer bottle at Chris with the other. "Not only are you an ass, you're a stupid, sorry ass."

Chris's eyes narrowed at the other man's words, but he chose to ignore them for now as he asked, "How could Ezra-"

"That's it right there, pard. This is Ezra we're talkin' about." Leaning forward again, he continued, "Chris, you know Ezra doesn't trust easy, or believe. You though.. I think he trusted you almost from the get-go. You gave him a second chance. You don't play games with him. You talk to him straight. So when you say somethin' to him, he believes. And when you don't.." Vin trailed off with a shrug as Chris scrubbed at his chin and winced.

"When I don't say something, he believes that too."

Vin nodded and said ruefully, "He's learned he can take you at face value, Chris. Sounds like you showed him real good that you want to have sex with him. Think he believes that all right. Ya just left out one little thing, cowboy."

Chris sighed and ran his hands through his hair before saying, "So now I gotta fix this."

Vin shook his head regretfully. "Only you would be so arrogant to believe that all ya gotta do is touch Ezra, and he's yours for the taking." He paused a moment, then gave a short laugh before continuing. "Well, maybe not. Think Buck forgot, too, ta mention that one little thing."

Chris squinted at Vin through hooded eyes his voice a smooth growl as he asked, "You gonna get Buck all straightened out too?"

Vin met his lowering gaze with an impish smirk and said, "Might. If he asks. Buck is my friend too, after all."

Chris glowered at the man sitting opposite him and snarled, "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Vin touched his forehead with his beer bottle in a mock salute, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he answered.

"Ezra's."

 

Buck allowed his pickup to drift slowly along the curb down the road from Ezra's townhouse. He came to a gentle stop just without the bounds of the pool of light spread by the street lamp. Cutting the engine, his eyes sought but didn't find the sleek black form of Ezra's Jag along the lonely street. From his position, he was unable to tell if it was parked in the garage, but just as his hand reached for the pickup's door handle, a light switched on within the house casting a welcome yellow glow across the snow.

Buck breathed a heavy sigh of relief, his exhalation of air billowing in a small puff of frost. Eyes fixed on that warm square of light, Buck settled back in his seat allowing the tension that had knotted in his belly and that had tightened in his muscles to ease a little as he viewed Ezra's house through his windshield.

He had seen the unease in Ezra's eyes and the hard flint of anger, had seen them both grow as the New Year's celebration at Chris's ranch had worn on. He had seen the confusion, too, that flickered there and flared into the need for flight. Only the confusion could make Ezra run, not fear and not the anger, just the bewilderment that told Ezra not what face to put on his feelings, what fa�ade to hide behind.

And run Ezra had. How far he would go Buck didn't know. He had helped to cast those green eyes with that briefly seen veneer of disorder. Now he knew fear, born within himself as he watched Ezra's escape; it was an anxiety that sent restless energy coursing through him causing him to come here, to come to Ezra. To stop him or to follow him, to make him understand; whatever it took to be with him.

Opening the truck's door, Buck paused as his eyes shifted to the darkened window on the second floor. A dark shape moved there, a shadow against the blackness. It held his gaze for a moment falling back from the window as Buck stepped from his truck. His sense of determination increased as he saw that slipping shadow fade, and his stride matched it lengthening as he walked across the street to Ezra.

 

Ezra's hand stilled as he reached to draw the curtains over his bedroom window, his eye caught by the refraction of light off a metal surface. Glancing down into the street, he saw the outline of a familiar pickup truck, the interior light illuminating its owner's face with an amber glow as he stared up at Ezra's window. Ezra knew Buck couldn't possibly see his face in the darkness, yet it seemed as if Buck's eyes were staring directly into his, boring into his mind and telegraphing his intent.

Ezra turned away from the window as Buck got out of his truck his attention travelling down his dimly lit stairs towards the front door. He moved slowly down them standing at the foot of the staircase as he heard the sound of boots scuffing on his porch followed by a soft knock.

The arrival of Buck at his house, so soon after Vin's revelations, had set his nerve endings jangling and prickling along his skin, conjuring an embarrassing fluttering in his stomach as he contemplated the presence on the other side of his door. The chaos of emotions that had erupted during his talk with Vin were all still there: the confusion and anxiety, the anger all still running rampant. Stronger still was the desire, his need, to understand his unexpected reaction to the touch of two different men, but most of all he needed to know what these two men wanted from him. Until he knew that, Ezra wasn't sure if he'd be able to decipher the meanings within his own unforeseen wantings.

Taking a deep breath, he called upon his game face before opening his front door. He didn't look at Buck, allowing him to pass by silently before closing the door. Ezra could feel the touch of Buck's eyes roaming over his body leaving a trail of fire that was not extinguished even by the cold night air that had gained entrance with him. He suppressed a shiver and quelled the thrill that burst brighter in his belly before turning around. Ezra leaned back against the door, his eyes lifting to Buck's, finally, as he schooled his features to a neutral expression.

Ezra raised a quizzical eyebrow and asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night visit, Mr. Wilmington?"

Buck's lips curved in a rueful grin as he asked softly, "Ezra, don't you think, under the circumstances, that you could call me Buck?"

Ezra spoke equally as quietly as he replied, "And what 'circumstances' would those be, Mr. Wilmington?"

His slight emphasis on Buck's formal name caused that man's grin to widen briefly before it melted into a gentler smile. The eyes that had just charted his body now roved over his face in a questing search before meeting Ezra's gaze steadily.

With a small shrug, Buck said, "The circumstance of my loving you."

Ezra's breath hitched at those words. In spite of what Vin had told him, he really hadn't believed that it was possible, but now, in his own words, Buck had admitted the truth of it. The simple honesty of it was there in Buck's face. Ezra had seen the desire last night. It was there now too, but also there was a tenderness like none he'd ever seen directed at himself, as well as vulnerability and sweet hesitation.

Buck took a step towards Ezra than seemed to think twice about it as he stayed where he was his eyes resuming their reading of Ezra's own.

The silence extended between them for endless moments reminiscent of the still hush that had surrounded them in the Judge's library the night before. The quietude did not extend within Ezra, however, as his churning emotions expelled in a one word query.

"Why?"

Buck gave a short huff of laughter as he stepped towards Ezra. Placing one arm against the door, he caressed Ezra's face as he did the night before and smiled tenderly. "Why, I don't know, Ezra. I just do."

Ezra studied Buck's face, saw the love there and felt the desire in the long body pressing his against the door. He felt it, too, in his own body as it moved into Buck's of its own volition and as he rubbed his face along the hand now cupping his cheek. He saw one other thing though, in Buck's face, something that caused a hesitation of his own.

He had the ability to hurt this man.

"Buck, I-"

Long fingers trailed down his cheek and covered his lips as Buck whispered, "Shhh. I know you don't feel the same way, Ezra. Leastways not yet," he quipped with a cocky grin eliciting a slow smile from Ezra. His fingers moving off again in their exploration of Ezra's face, he said, "I'm just asking for a chance." Then, his eyes never leaving Ezra's, he lowered his face to within a hairsbreadth of Ezra's own and waited.

Ezra waited as well, and felt his need grow as he stared into Buck's eyes. It was no longer just the need to understand though he wasn't quite sure he was ready to put another name to it. He wasn't sure what that name would be, but he wanted a chance too. A chance to find out what it could be. When his eyes dropped to Buck's mouth, when their touch kissed those lips, he gave silent permission, and Buck took. Buck gave.

Soft kisses rained across his mouth and face cherishing and tasting at the same time before turning more ardent, more daring. Ezra sucked in his breath as warm hands slid under his sweater lifting his arms and sweeping it over his head all in one smooth motion. He looked at Buck through hooded eyes as that man's gaze caressed his naked chest. He could feel a warm flush stealing over his flesh as he saw Buck's eyes darken with want and as his hands traced his every muscle, his every bone with feather-light reverence.

He tangled his fingers in Buck's hair as his mouth joined his hands in their journey over Ezra's throat and chest, down to his belly. Ribbons of desire streaked through his body at Buck's every touch, but something unfamiliar unfurled in Ezra's chest as he watched Buck's eyes devour in his passion and as his hands stroked with his love. A matching tenderness had Ezra pulling the other man's body closer to his as Buck's refrain from the night before echoed in his mind.

What'd it hurt?

Would it hurt Chris Larabee? That man had offered him nothing save a fleeting passion.

Buck? He said he knew how Ezra felt, but was risking his own heart now with his words, with his touch, with his every look, for a chance.

Himself? Ezra cared for Buck. Now he knew he desired him as well. He wanted that chance, something that had never been given to him before.

"What'd it hurt?" he mouthed soundlessly his head dropping back against the door as Buck's hands and tongue reached his waist. Skilled fingers played at his waistband sliding his pants and underwear down over his hips almost before he realized it. Those fingers skimmed around to the curve of his backside pulling him closer to Buck's mouth, to the warm rush of breath streaming over his engorged flesh.

As those hands tightened their hold, Ezra reached for Buck's face and pulled him up level with his own. He took in the short panting exhalations from Buck's mouth, the flush on his cheekbones and the passion-laden eyes and, his voice a throaty whisper, breathed, "What if I say no?"

Buck closed his eyes for an instant and leaned his forehead against Ezra's. Raising a hand, he traced Ezra's face before replying softly, "I'll only take what you're willing to give." Then, with a last swipe of his thumb over Ezra's lower lip and a slow circling stroke over the spot on his hip that Buck had possessed the night before, he released his hold.

"I love you, Ezra."

Ezra closed his eyes on a sigh at those words and reached out blindly for Buck's hands. He saw the questioning, the waiting in Buck's eyes when he opened his again. Ezra drew those long fingers back to his skin, the hard length of Buck's body back against his own, and that hot mouth down to his throat.

Closing his eyes, he arched his neck for Buck to taste.

What'd it hurt?

 

Blue and black and silver shadows played across the snow as Chris watched the starlit night pass. Brittle frost formed around the fringes of the window, but colder still was the remembered edging of crystal chill in a pair of green eyes. Chris turned from that coldness and sought the warmth of the embers still kindling lowly in the fireplace. He felt their burning flames on his skin as he closed his eyes against their red and orange glow and called to mind a different fire from the night before.

In his arms he had held the quicksilver heat of his mercurial undercover agent. With the touch of his hands and of his mouth, he had made love to Ezra. It had felt so right, like coming home. Yet his lack of words had said more to Ezra than anything else had. The man who used words to deflect and to defend, to disguise real motives and emotions, yet counted on the basic truthfulness that was ever there in Chris's own would hear as much in what Chris didn't say as in what he did. The man whose most heartfelt honesty was expressed through his actions would not believe it so of Chris. He had been arrogant in assuming that Ezra would fall at his first touch, that he would feel that pull, that rightness, as he did himself.

Chris opened his eyes and as he watched the flickering firelight dying, he whispered, "I don't know what you're feeling, Ezra, but I'm gonna make damn sure you know I love you." Then, on a sigh, "You will believe me."

 

And You Burn

Supple warmth flowed along Buck's body. His mind drifted towards wakefulness and with that came giddy remembrance. He tightened his hold on Ezra, infinitely gratified because he could, and nuzzled his nose further into that man's neck, inhaling deeply of the essence he found there, at this moment. Sweat and soap and the faint reminder of shampoo, as well as the scent intrinsic to Ezra alone mingled with that of himself on Ezra's body, and his mouth smiled against that neck at the flavor that was headier to him than the richest of perfumes.

Ezra had lain beneath Buck last night, naked and wanting, his body arching upwards, towards Buck, his arms reaching, pulling him closer. He'd covered that body with his own, where they had dropped to the floor in front of Ezra's door, and blanketed it with his warmth, with his love. He'd memorized the feel of Ezra's skin molded to his hands and the taste of it on his tongue. His body knew the slide of muscle and bone against his, knew the heated and sinuous embrace of Ezra's limbs about him. His ears would never forget the moaning breath of his name from Ezra's mouth as he caught it with his kiss.

He'd moved back up the length of Ezra's body then, stroking quivering muscles as he went, licking the salty tang from the sleek skin, and tasting of the dusky flush conjured by his hands and by his mouth. He'd looked into Ezra's face, into his eyes, and sought the answer to the question he knew was in his own as his hand found its place on Ezra's hip.

Ezra had brought his own hand up to trace Buck's face with lightly skimming fingertips, his eyes following their path like a burning comet's tail across Buck's skin till they settled on his mouth. The tingle of aroused nerve endings had danced across his lips at the kiss of Ezra's hand, and his stomach muscles tensed, then jolted, as Ezra's gaze had raised again to his.

Green eyes, alive with desire yet keeping all their other secrets ever elusive, sought an answer of their own. That answer and his were at once heard in the passion-husky voice of Ezra's one word reply.

"Upstairs."

Buck had kissed Ezra's mouth, then, with passion and with love, before gripping his arms and pulling him up to stand within the circle of his own arms, Ezra's naked flesh against his own still fully clothed body. Wicked satisfaction coursed through him at that sensuous dichotomy, and his hands took advantage, outlining every sinew and bone, caressing every curve and plane they could reach, till they were grasped within Ezra's hands and he was pulled towards the stairs. That wickedness flared higher as his gaze had followed the length of Ezra's back, its muscles shadowed ripples, and been drawn to the rear swaying before his eyes, their heat following perfect roundness and devouring skin creamy in the twilight dimness of the stairwell.

Ezra had turned then, mischief lighting his green eyes as they met his and saw the blatant hunger Buck knew was brimming there. His lips lifting in a slow, sultry smile, Ezra had proceeded backwards up the stairs drawing Buck with him. And Buck had been drawn, by that mischief and by that body, by the light in those eyes, and by the wanting hands gripping his own.

Flash points from the night before flickered behind his closed eyelids now as he drew Ezra closer and as he gently stroked his sleep-warmed skin.

Deft fingers stripping Buck of his clothes baring his skin to the cool night air of the room only to be warmed instantly by softly demanding lips, by urgently arousing yet gentle hands, and by the rush of his own blood through his veins.

Ezra's skin, pale in the ambient light, his eyes green-brightness as he led Buck to his bed.

His own shuddering and sighing breath as he laid his body atop Ezra's, as he explored freely with the whole of himself, just as he himself was explored.

The strain of hard muscles beneath his hands, the arch of Ezra's back, the arch of his neck as he sucked and bit at the tender flesh there and left his mark.

The whispering glide of skin, the shift of entangled arms and legs as Ezra needed and as he gave.

Ezra's tightly closed eyes and breathy gasps that turned into ragged moans as Buck filled and moved within him.

His own groan of completion, at once satiated, at long last, yet still craving.

They'd wrapped their arms around each other as their sweat-slick skin cooled and as their racing breaths slowed.

And Buck had whispered, "I love you," as Ezra sighed and smiled before falling asleep.

He had lived a lifetime within the hours of that night, yet felt he had barely started to live at all.

Buck's smile widened now against Ezra's neck as he heard him sigh awake and murmur sleepily, "And just what has you so happy at this godforsaken time of the morning?"

Buck raised himself on one elbow and gazed down at Ezra his heart lifting in a light chuckle as he saw that mischief again tinging sleepy green eyes. He pressed a kiss between those eyes and said, "You," before brushing slightly twitching lips with another. "Me," he breathed, "and this.." His voice trailed off into a throaty whisper as his mouth moved to gently suckle at the mark of passion already adorning Ezra's neck.

Ezra's fingers flexed convulsively into his shoulders, and Buck felt the thrum of a purr as his lips traveled across that long, slender neck. Those elegantly strong fingers tangled in his hair and brought his face up to Ezra's before gently smoothing his hair back. Buck's heart lurched at the tender smile Ezra gave him as his fingers continued to stroke through his hair and as his eyes stared searchingly into Buck's. Then, Ezra pulled his head down, his own raising slightly as their mouths met, tasted and caressed.

Breaking away reluctantly from the softness of Ezra's lips, Buck glanced at the clock on the nightstand and said regretfully, "'Fraid I gotta get up now." As a slight frown creased Ezra's brow, he continued, "I don't want to." He soothed that brow with his fingertips before placing his forehead against it and whispering, "Lord, I don't want to." Sighing, he released his hold on the warm body in his arms and slipped out from under the covers and into the frigid morning air.

As he set about finding his clothes on the floor and shaking them out, he said, "Gotta get goin' now if I'm gonna get home and get changed in time for work." Slipping on his pants, he sat back down on the bed as he found his shoes, only to feel teasing hands whisk down his back and around his waist as sharp teeth nipped at his earlobe.

Ezra's silky voice coaxed, "You could call in sick."

Buck uttered a shivery chuckle as those fingers continued to taunt him. Turning towards Ezra in mock-surprise, he said, "Mr. Standish, now you know we must keep up appearances."

Ezra's movements stopped at Buck's words, and he pulled back slightly. "'Appearances,' Mr. Wilmington?"

Buck frowned at the wariness he saw shadowing Ezra's eyes, at the withdrawing of his hands and, shaking his head, quickly reassured, "I'm not gonna keep us a secret, Ezra. But we gotta handle this right. Chris.." His voice caught slightly as his best friend entered his mind for the first time since the night before began, and he let his words taper off as he saw a brief stillness, then understanding in Ezra's eyes.

Ezra gave a small smile and nodded. "Appearances, Mr. Wilmington."

Ezra settled back on the bed as Buck finished dressing then, arms braced on either side of the smaller man, he leaned over and, barely keeping the hesitation he felt from infusing his voice, asked, "Tonight, Mr. Standish?"

His uncertainty relaxed as smoldering eyes lingered on his mouth and a bolt of pure arousal shot through him as insistent arms pulled him down for a thorough kiss. "Oh yes," Ezra breathed. "Tonight, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck drew back slowly his own eyes now on Ezra's mouth as it curved into a smug smile. He returned that smile with a wry one of his own as he rose from the bed and said with a deep, yet decisive sigh, "I gotta get goin'." Then with a teasing note in his voice, he continued, "You know, you could get up and come into the office early."

One eyebrow raised askance, Ezra snorted delicately. "Really, Mr. Wilmington. Appearances, after all."

Laughing softly, Buck said quietly as he slowly backed out of the room, "I'll see you at the office, Ezra." A drowsy mumble his reply, Buck paused in the doorway and committed to memory the sight before him. Ezra, eyes closed as he drifted back to sleep, tumbled across the bed in naked abandonment, his skin glowing as much from Buck's touch as from the morning sunlight filtering through the window.

Buck slipped back towards the bed, treading lightly across the floor and, after surveying the disorder of the bedcovers with satisfaction, he tucked them snugly about Ezra's body. Then as his nose inhaled the musk of their sex in the air, and as his eyes dwelt on his love mark on Ezra's throat, he pushed away his persistently niggling questions about the hardness that had entered Ezra's eyes at Chris's name and about what it could mean.

 

The cheery ping of the elevator presaged his arrival on the floor housing Team 7's offices, for once its spirit reflected within Ezra as he swung through the doors, perhaps just a little earlier than was his norm. He exchanged typical and carefully neutral greetings with his co-workers not allowing the exhilaration skipping within him to seep through and mar his, carefully studied today, but usual morning bad mood. Nor did he allow his eyes to linger on Buck's as he passed that man's desk and settled in at his own.

As he switched on his computer and waited for it to boot up, his hands started sorting through already orderly files and paperwork as thoughts of the preceding night skittered through his mind. The still-felt touch of Buck's body wrapped around his, the consuming caresses of his hands and of his mouth, the whisper of his words across his skin.. He had felt wanted last night. He had felt loved, and as he remembered that, he allowed a small smile to grace his lips, and as he felt a pair of eyes on his face, he dared lift his to Buck's.

Ezra saw shared remembrance shining in those eyes as they also exchanged a brief, furtive smile before quickly turning away from each other. As Ezra fought to focus his attention back on his work, a corner of his mind held onto the passion of the night before and the promise of the night to come. Yet another recess chewed though on the frown that had formed on his face and on the spark of anger ignited as his eyes passed over the closed office door of their Team's leader.

 

Chris Larabee touched his hand to the doorbell of Ezra Standish's townhouse its distant ring echoing in the jangling jump of his nerve endings as he waited for a reply. As he stood on Ezra's porch, he barely felt the bitter coldness of the night air or smelled the advent of new snow carried on the wind. All his energy, all of his mind and his heart, were centered on the man on the other side of that door, on averting the storm he'd seen churning for a brief moment the night before in a pair of green eyes.

He didn't have to wait long as the door was yanked open and Ezra stood there at the point where the muted interior lighting met the soft glow of the porch lamp. His lips were curved in a warm smile, his dimples dancing, but just as Chris's own answering smile formed, Ezra's dimmed and the dimples winked out. Chris winced inwardly and his smile waned as he saw that coolness overtake the warmth, but he allowed himself no hesitation as he asked, "Ezra, can we talk?"

Ezra's lips twitched upwards again in a polite smile, the indifference of it more painful to Chris than its complete absence had been, as he replied, "Couldn't whatever it is wait till the morning, Mr. Larabee?"

With an exasperated sigh at the other man's intentional misunderstanding, Chris said, "It's not about work, Ezra. You know that." Then, more gently, "Please?"

Chris put into his eyes and into his expression all of the openness he knew Ezra needed now and all of the fervent pleading he felt building within himself as Ezra's stare seemed to bore right through his skin and into the core of his being. He hoped Ezra read rightly what was there - the honesty and the need and the love - but that man merely nodded shortly and stepped back, silently letting Chris in.

Chris stood in the foyer as Ezra closed the door then followed as he led him into the living room. He let his mind ignore, for the moment, the carefully controlled movements, the markedly neutral expression of the other man. He concentrated instead on the more natural aspects of the moment. The warmth of the room, heightened by the battering of the wind against the windows; the cheery fire crackling in the grate and spreading amber fingers of light to play amongst the shadows; the subtle aroma of spices wafting from the kitchen.

He drank in everything about the man whose home this was. The shimmer of light in his hair; the shifting caress of fire and shadow across his skin; the ease with which he wore the old jeans and pullover sweater that he'd never wear out in public; the noiseless padding of his stocking feet across the room. Ezra was at once sensuous and endearing. Chris felt the familiar, but long denied, burning itch of need to touch, to stroke, to embrace. He wanted to protect and cherish this man, to share with him, to love and be loved by him.

He wanted to come home to Ezra.

He prayed to God he wasn't too late.

Chris shook himself out of his momentary reverie to find Ezra's eyes locked on his, guarded yet gauging, before breaking away as he turned and sat down on the couch, saying, "If you wouldn't mind getting on with it, Mr. Larabee. I have plans for this evening."

Chris saw a tinge of defiance in Ezra's eyes, a hint of daring, before the cool fa�ade dropped back into place. Shutters against the storm only this time, Chris knew, the tempest was already within. He knew the barricades to be breached; he had to trust he knew the way.

Unbuttoning but not bothering to remove his coat, Chris dropped onto the sofa beside Ezra, deliberately close, and grinned inwardly, as Ezra, deliberately, did not move away. Studied detachment. Yet another barrier that was so very like Ezra. Where there were barriers there was something to protect. It gave him hope.

He kept quiet for a minute, just enjoying the nearness of Ezra, the fire reflected in the green of his eyes, and the way he refused to turn away from Chris' silent regard. Chris smiled fondly at his stubbornness, then said quietly, "Someone far wiser than I'll ever be called me a stupid ass yesterday."

Surprise sparked in Ezra's eyes at his words followed by a wryly-quirked eyebrow and a low huff of laughter. "And did this brave person, whose wisdom I would have to question, live to see today?"

Chris's grin widened as he replied, "You betcha. Can't go killin' off someone who cares as much about you as he does." As a small, confused frown formed on Ezra's face, he continued, "You see, Vin told me how badly I screwed up the other night - New Year's Eve."

Confusion was replaced swiftly with aloofness as Ezra said dryly, "Indeed?"

"Oh, indeed," Chris said, his voice silky and low. "Made me realize you didn't hear what I was trying to say."

He shifted closer to Ezra and lifted his hand to his face, but stilled and waited. When Ezra didn't move away, as his eyes stared intently into Chris's and seemed unaware of the hand hovering over his face, Chris let his fingers touch the skin they craved. Let them stroke lightly while the tingle they felt at the contact traveled to his palm, and then it too was caressing. And because he now knew that loving touch would not convey to this man what he meant, what he felt, he spoke the words and hoped to see the barricades fall.

With simplicity born of sincerity, he uttered lowly, "I love you."

Ezra continued to stare at him, his expression unchanging, till finally he blinked and turned his face away. Chris moved his hand to the back of Ezra's head stroking through his hair, his hope growing at Ezra's allowance, and waited with hard won patience until he turned back to face him. Gone was the indifference and the detachment, but still there, the guardedness, the shielding of himself.

His voice soft but strong, Ezra questioned, "You love me?"

"Yes, Ezra, I love you." So there could be no further doubt about his intentions, his tone steady and sure, he continued, "I love you, and I want to be with you for the rest of our lives."

'Please let me,' he silently prayed.

Ezra was silent, his eyes restless as they roamed over Chris's face as if trying to read his every thought, his every feeling. Chris remained still for that examination, but when Ezra's gaze finally met his again and stayed, the hunger barely demonstrated two nights ago surged. With a gentle pressure of his hand, he brought Ezra's face closer to his. He hesitated when they were a hair's breadth apart, Ezra's eyes wide in his vision, their breath commingling before he moved across the final distance and pressed his mouth to Ezra's.

His kiss turned to a smile as Ezra's eyes remained open and slightly crossed as he looked into Chris's. Intoxication surged through his veins and across his senses at finally having this man in his arms as he trailed a line of kisses down his cheek and jaw line and along his neck as he pushed aside the softly rolled collar of Ezra's sweater. But as he pulled that body closer, felt its stiffness, unresisting yet unresponsive, a frown formed on his lips and unease slowed his movements as he pulled back slightly. And as he did so, his gaze took in a bruise, livid against the pale skin of Ezra's throat. A mark of passion, of love. Someone else's love. Someone who'd been here first.

Buck.

Chris stared at that mark his fingers clenching into Ezra's arms possessively as anger replaced the pleasured excitement of a moment ago. Anger at Buck for taking what was his; anger at Ezra for giving it; most especially anger at himself for being such a stupid, sorry ass. He felt sadness mix with that rage, a profound sorrow for all three of them. That regret must have been reflected in his eyes, for as he raised them to Ezra's, he saw pride there, but a softening too. So, clamping down on his fury, he besieged that weakening of the barriers with a gentler stroke of his hands, with a matching caress of his eyes, and with a hoarse, earnest whisper.

"I'm just asking for a chance, Ezra."

Ezra froze at those words before his eyes glittered with a renewed storm, and he pulled back, struggling free of Chris's arms, distancing himself from his touch.

"No," Ezra said his voice remarkably free of inflection in spite of the cutting swath of his gaze.

Chris shook his head in panic and confusion, denial sweeping through him at that unexpectedly stark refusal as he reached out a hand to quell Ezra's retreat.

"No," he repeated more firmly as he pushed away from Chris and up from the couch.

Chris determinedly followed. "Ezra-"

"Man said no."

Chris and Ezra turned at those deceptively quiet words, startled, to see Buck standing just within the entrance to the living room. Anger flared hotter within as Chris stared at the man who came into Ezra's house unannounced, as if he had a right. The man who returned his stare, challenging and proprietary. As if he had a right.

"No one ever teach you how to use a doorbell?" he growled as Buck advanced into the room, as Ezra moved farther away.

Buck's eyes narrowed, his own fury glinting there as he ground out, "Ezra and I-"

Buck's reply was cut short though as Ezra, his gaze fixed on the floor, said quietly, "I want you both to leave."

Chris and Buck both moved towards Ezra and, after exchanging twin glares, said simultaneously, "Ezra-"

Both men stopped as, with an ironic lift of his brow, Ezra's eyes fixed each, one after the other, with a flinty stare and with steel in his voice, he said, "Now."

With that, Ezra strode to his front door and, without looking behind him, opened it and waited. Chris moved first, stopping in front of Ezra, and with a desperate plea in his voice, said, "Ezra.." He trailed off, however, as the sadness he had felt himself moments ago increased tenfold as he saw it now mirrored in Ezra's eyes.

Buck followed him slowly out the door, and as they both turned back to him, Ezra said, in a deprecatory murmur, "I wish I'd understood two nights ago."

The door closed behind them with a decisive click that echoed hollowly through Chris and left a coldness within that rivaled the gusting night wind buffeting against him. Stunned disbelief froze him to the spot as he wondered how the evening could go so wrong, so fast.

Buck, still facing the door, reached out a hand as if to knock, but instead he gently laid his palm against it before withdrawing with trailing fingertips. He turned then and muttered in a hoarse growl, "God, I need a drink." Without a single glance at Chris, he stepped off the porch and, leaning into the wind, headed towards his pickup.

As he tilted his head back against Ezra's door, as his fingers and mouth still burned with the warmth he'd been so close to, Chris felt that brittle coldness within kindle into a white-hot rage. And as he watched Buck's retreating back, he found its focus and he followed.

 

Moorings

Remnants of the New Year's Eve snowfall rimmed the parking lot of The Saloon in blackened heaps, combining with the present gusting snow flurry to muffle the sound of Buck Wilmington being forcefully shoved against the side of his pickup. Chris Larabee's fingers flexed with tension, his knuckles whitened with rage as his hands clenched, and he gave his friend another smaller thrust against his truck. The thunk of that body meeting metal, as well as the abrupt exhalation of air from lungs a moment ago, registered with Chris Larabee then as he stared at his own hands curled tightly into the fabric of Buck's coat.

Buck. This was his friend, his oldest friend. Chris caught Buck's eyes then, saw the absence of anger there, the presence of understanding, a shared sorrow and compassion. The first shamed him as Buck allowed himself to be manhandled, unresisting. Trusting. The last was his undoing as his fingers relaxed and as the violence he'd felt curling within him since he'd left Ezra's dissipated.

His oldest friend. The urge to strike out physically was gone as years of kinship were remembered, but the anger driving it remained. The sight of Ezra in Buck's arms New Year's Eve leapt in front of his mind's eye as the words "Man said no" whispered a challenge in his ears.

He pushed away from Buck and stepped back, his gaze held by the steady blue eyes of his friend. Chris continued to glare at Buck where he still leaned against the pickup, the sting of snowflakes on his skin providing a staccato counterpoint as images of the past hour flashed through his mind.

The maelstrom of confusion and sadness mixing with his own anger and reflected in Ezra's eyes as he'd asked for his chance.

The endless echo of the word "No" in his ears as Ezra moved away from him.

The defiance in Buck's eyes as he stood in Ezra's living room.

Buck's touch on Ezra's skin.

Buck. His oldest friend. As Buck faced him, unwavering and calm, his own fury surged anew with the wind now beginning to pelt snow against metal and glass and flesh in its own furious rhythm. His heart rate matched that beat as he voiced hoarsely, "How could you do that to me?"

Buck stared at him for an instant before shaking his head and turning to his pickup, his shoulders lifting slightly in a mirthless laugh that ended on a sigh. Buck faced him again and, in a voice still quiet in the rising storm, asked, "Do what to you, Chris?"

Chris's eyes narrowed as he ground out, "You know what." Then, taking a step towards Buck, "You-" His breath hitched on an inward wince at his own feeling of Buck's betrayal, at his own loss before he hissed, "You slept with Ezra."

"Yeah, Chris, yeah I did," Buck said, his tone even and quiet, a marked contrast to Chris's own rough and broken words.

Chris squeezed his eyes shut as he shook his head against that affirmation, that matter-of-fact admittance. Slowly opening them again, his voice rose on his anger. "You knew I was in love with him, and yet you did this thing." His words formed a question, but his tone put an answer to it even before he heard Buck's reply.

Buck took a step closer to Chris as his own voice lowered. "Ezra doesn't belong to you, Chris. Just 'cause you want him that doesn't mean he's yours." Then, a slow emphasis on his next words, he said, "Ezra doesn't belong to you." Buck paused briefly before continuing as he swiped a hand through his hair. "Hell, Chris, he might belong with one of us, but Ezra won't ever belong to anybody. And that'll only be if he allows it. No one can own Ezra."

As much as he wanted to deny that truth, as much as he wanted to be able to claim that Ezra did belong to him, Chris knew he couldn't. A quiet but firm Southern accent uttering "No" flit through his mind and wouldn't let him. A calm and daring pride edging green eyes denied it for him. One thing proved it most of all.

Buck's touch on Ezra's skin.

A fierce, almost feral possessiveness swept through Chris at that evidence of Buck's mouth having tasted fully what his had only sipped at, of Buck's body having taken what his had never been offered. But he tamped down on that jealous need to claim, to hold Ezra as his own. Buck was right. One of the things he loved most about Ezra was his independence, his stubborn sense of self-determination. Ezra shouldn't and couldn't ever be owned by anyone. But Chris was damned if he wouldn't prove that Ezra did belong with him. With him. But doubt niggled at his heart with one thought, one sight, one remembrance.

Buck's touch on Ezra's skin.

Buck and Ezra had had sex. It didn't prove that Ezra had chosen Buck. It didn't. It did show a faithlessness in his friend, in Buck, that Chris would never have suspected, and with that thought, his anger strengthened like the storm around them. He returned his attention to the man opposite him, his friend, and asked again the question that had been a gnawing hurt within him for two days.

"How could you do this to me? How could you do this after I told you, after you've known for the past month that I love him?"

Buck gave the same hollow laugh he had moments ago and moved closer still to Chris. Chris held his ground, kept his gaze steady with the blue eyes staring into his with a now angry intensity, but was surprised to see there as well an earnest regret that seemed to match that he himself had felt earlier while still with Ezra. That sorrow and the anger mixed in Buck's voice, creating a riveting brew, as he started to speak.

"How could I do this to you? Lord, Chris, you don't have any idea, do you? You think you're the only one who loves Ezra? The only one who has a right to? The only one who has loved him so long that you can't remember not feeling this ache inside for want of him? That if it wasn't there, no matter how much it cuts, you'd miss it 'cause it just ain't life anymore without loving Ezra?" Buck's eyes flicked to the ground then, a deep breath filling his chest as if he was trying to ease an inner wound before he raised them again to Chris. The lines of his face hardened, even as his emotion-filled voice accentuated his soft drawl. "You stand there thinkin' 'cause you got this want for him, this need, got this feelin' for him that he's yours." His words firmed then, a match for his expression as he continued. "He does not belong to you."

"I do not want to own him!" Chris said, with quiet vehemence, before his tone gentled with an old longing. "I just want to love him."

Buck's eyes roamed his face with silent listening. The same wistfulness he'd heard in his own words tinged Buck's and laced his small smile as he replied, "So do I, pard." Chris saw the anger ease in Buck's face, heard it lessen in his voice as he asked, "How long you loved Ezra, Chris?"

Chris's anger simmered still, but Buck's yearning met his own. It was something they shared, and with that understanding he breathed, "Two years-" His reply was cut off, surprise flaring, as he heard Buck answering with him and without hesitation.

Buck's smile widened at Chris's unspoken question. "How'd I know?" Buck shrugged. "I know you, Chris. Didn't need you tellin' me last Thanksgiving when you felt so lost and lonely you got shit-faced drunk and told me about your achin'. Knew it the first time I saw you smiling with your eyes again since Sarah and Adam died, and you were lookin' at Ezra. Saw it in the way you fight with him, for the pure joy of it. Being challenged by him, you challenging him. You had that with Sarah; you have it with Ezra. You thrive on it. Makes you feel alive. And you ain't wanted to live since Sarah and Adam died." Buck nodded as if confirming the truth of his own words, then said softly, "I knew it. So I stood aside for you."

Chris moved over to Buck's pickup and slumped against it, his eyes sweeping the nearly empty parking lot sightlessly as Buck's words repeated themselves in his head. He'd known for two years that Chris loved Ezra. He himself had only just begun to suspect Buck's feelings for Ezra that same Thanksgiving, suspicions he'd shared only with Vin, but the implication was there that Buck had loved Ezra for just as long as he had. He'd seen that soft yearning he heard in Buck's voice now, in his eyes then, that night as he'd poured out his own longing for Ezra to his oldest friend, just as he'd tipped the whiskey bottle into his glass over and over again. It'd been an ephemeral flash, a look into Buck's heart in an unguarded moment. It was the same haunting he'd seen in his own eyes, in his reflection in the mirror, as his love for Ezra grew. He wondered how he'd missed it in Buck's for two years.

So I stood aside for you.

Chris closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the truck, his previous anger fading, cooling even as the biting wind of the storm was now felt through the layers of his clothes. That chill crept within, too, and spread into a pool of sorrow as he considered Buck's revelation.

So I stood aside. For you.

"God, Buck.. Why?" Chris shook his head as he opened his eyes and continued. "You've loved him for, what, two years?"

Chris did his own questing search of Buck's face as that man whispered, "Longer." He didn't find his answer there, in his friend's open features, so he asked his question again.

"Why, Buck? Why stand aside for me?"

"'Cause you asked me to, Chris." Buck waved his hand at the denial that rushed to Chris's lips. "I know. How could you ask me when you didn't even know I was in love with Ezra too? You did though. Every time I saw that light in your eyes, that life. Every time I remembered seeing you without that. You got a family in the Team now, but it isn't what you had with Sarah. You need that kind of anchor to keep you from drifting. Me, I had you and Sarah and Adam for my family. Now I have you and the Team. You. You've always been my family, what kept me grounded. So I stood aside."

Chris's lips opened, mouthing wordlessly for a moment as he shook his head before he met Buck's eyes again. "Buck, I didn't know. If I had-"

Buck cut in, his voice gentle. "Weren't supposed to know, pard."

The need to understand Buck's actions of the last two days fired another question. "What changed?" At Buck's quizzical expression, Chris continued, "What made you change your mind about standing aside?"

Buck took a deep intake of breath, letting it out slowly, as he tilted his head back to meet the rushing snowflakes. He looked back at Chris then and answered. "I've changed, Chris. Ezra is my anchor now."

He shivered then and hunched his shoulders against the wind. Cocking his head towards The Saloon, he asked, "What say we get out of this weather and get that drink?"

Chris nodded silently, his mind still running over Buck's words. As he followed Buck towards the entrance to The Saloon, he stopped abruptly and called, "Buck?"

As Buck turned, Chris hesitated, not sure if he knew his own answer to his next question, not sure if he wanted to know Buck's. He couldn't not ask it though, so he said, "If I had known you loved Ezra all this time, I would never have asked, never have expected you to stand aside for me. You know that don't you, Buck?"

Buck's eyes met his steadily, a trace of warmth, of a familiar kinship lightening their depths as he said, "I know."

 

Ezra left the kitchen, the untouched dinner he'd cooked to share with Buck now in the refrigerator, and moved across the living room towards the window, extinguishing the one lone lamp casting a soft glow as he passed. He leaned his head against the pane, his eyes on the reflection of the flickering embers of the fire behind him before lifting to the storm beyond. A sigh escaped him, a small puff of warmth against the cold glass, a meeting of opposites just as the reality of this night was contrary to the expectations he'd held for it just this morning.

I wish I'd understood two nights ago.

A heartfelt truth, but a feeble apology for the hurt he'd seen in two pairs of eyes and heard in two different voices speaking his name. Pain he had caused.

Two nights ago he'd believed two men desired him. One night later he knew one of those men loved him. And because he wanted what no one had given him before, needed that love that Buck offered, he'd taken a chance.

What'd it hurt?

Now he knew. He'd taken a reckless chance that had wounded two men who loved him.

If he had known two nights ago that two men loved him, Ezra would not have taken that chance. Not until he knew his own heart.

The anger he'd felt at the arrogance of one man who thought he could have him with a touch had kindled anew at the sight of Chris on his doorstep. He still felt its heat sparking through him, but it was offset now by regret and sorrow for that pain caused and that hurt felt.

Ezra still wanted a chance, but now he knew, so did two men. He knew also what it could hurt now. He'd not take that chance again.

Not till he knew his heart.

 

"Senor Wilmington?"

Buck slowly pulled his eyes away from the amber liquid swirling, untasted, in the glass he held. He raised them instead to Inez, hovering over their table a frown creasing her brow, and wondered distractedly how long she'd been trying to gain his attention.

Shifting upright from his slouched position, he asked, "Yeah, Inez?"

Throwing a pointed glance towards the front of the saloon, Inez said, "The roads, Senor. They are getting bad." As Buck continued to gaze at her blankly, she rolled her eyes and said with exaggerated patience, "The snow, Senor." As she briefly watched Chris Larabee staring unseeingly into his own drink, she said more gently, "You and Senor Larabee should go home now." Then, sweeping their glasses from unresisting fingers and depositing them on her tray, she patted Buck lightly on the shoulder as she moved past and repeated, "Go home."

Buck swiveled in his seat, his own eyes registering the truth of Inez's words. The earlier promise given in the sting of flakes on his cheek was now fulfilled as snow, carried on a driving wind, fell steadily even as it lightened the night sky. Several inches building a miniature snowdrift on the window ledge and a quick look at his watch confirmed that it'd been over three hours since he and Chris had arrived at The Saloon. Over three hours since harsh and bitter truths had been exchanged and brought understanding.

Over three hours since he'd left Ezra.

I wish I'd understood two nights ago.

Ezra's softly spoken words of apology wafted through his mind, like a snowflake borne on a gentle breeze, yet speaking still of a sadness and an anger raging like a storm behind a pair of green eyes. They had found their mark as they'd been spoken and as their echo lingered in the twisting in Buck's belly and in the pang in his heart. The reflection of his own storm was seen in Chris's eyes as he turned back to that man and found himself now the object of his intent focus.

Sighing, Buck said quietly, "C'mon, Chris. Let's go home. You can stay with me and JD tonight. It's too far to drive out to your place in this mess.." He trailed off as his attempt to rise was halted by a firm grip on his arm, by a pair of eyes continuing to bore into his, and by hoarsely whispered words that set the tumult within him surging like a gale of renewed force.

"What'll you do if Ezra picks me?"

Buck tried to pull away from that hand, from the ache brought on by that one question, only to feel Chris's fingers tighten and to hear him ask again, more insistently, "What would you do, Buck?"

He heard his own words come back to him then, words he'd offered as a promise.

I'll only take what you're willing to give.

He'd meant those words that night. He still held them as a vow. They were his touchstone. To contradict them would be to deny his love for Ezra.

Buck faced Chris then, saw his curiosity, his understanding, saw his fear, and with quiet conviction replied, "I'll do whatever Ezra wants."

Chris held his gaze for a moment, scanning Buck's face as if looking for the truth there, before he released his hold and sat back, a slight smile accompanying his short nod. Buck sought an answer of his own and asked, "What will you do if Ezra picks me?"

Chris' smile slowly withdrew as he continued to steadily meet Buck's eyes before answering. Then he said, "I'll drift."

 

At the End of the Day

Ezra Standish pulled the collar of his coat closer about his neck and hunched his shoulders in a futile attempt to stave off the bitter night air that stole his breath, yet at the same time stung his skin to expectant life. A wash of blue and red swept the facades of the warehouses surrounding him, a frenetically constant swirl of light from ATF vehicles and ambulances that picked out the almost undifferentiated shadings of gray concrete and old snow. It reflected off scattered patches of black ice, casting the melee of men and women before him into a mad dance around them, accompanied by the beat of shrill sirens and strident voices.

It was a scene that crackled with urgency and excitement, and as Ezra watched, he felt that same current of energy within himself, born of a different source, grow and burn brighter.

Ezra had been under for two weeks, a last minute addition impersonating an out-of-town buyer for Team 6's operation to bring down a local arms dealer. It could have been two weeks respite from two sets of hands that wanted to know his body and from the probing of two pairs of eyes that sought his very soul. He had thought to leave Ezra Standish behind for those two weeks, left with the wantings and seekings of two men, but insistent whisperings, entreating and promising, had followed him instead.

I'm just asking for a chance, Ezra.

The same words uttered by two different men. Two different men with the same wantings and the same seekings. Both voices called to him and spoke to his heart. But one was stronger, and he found its reverberation in his own wantings and in his own seekings.

A simple truth had been revealed to Ezra Standish, even as he was living the life of Eric Stern, gun merchant. It was a truth of such fundamental clarity that it could not be left behind, that would follow him always, no matter what persona he assumed.

Now, with the cleanup all that was left of this assignment, as he watched Buck Wilmington emerge from the surveillance van and as he saw Chris Larabee striding towards him, Ezra felt an inner prickle of warm anticipation that matched the heightened tingle on his cold flesh.

He was ready to be Ezra Standish again.

 

Chris Larabee approached his undercover agent, his eyes catching and holding Ezra's own as he drew nearer and stopped at his side. He let his gaze roam over Ezra's face, content for the moment to just look, to just be near. A kaleidoscope of artificial light played over those features, as shifting and changeable as the many masks worn by the man himself, but it could not camouflage the paleness there or the fatigue now circling Ezra's green eyes. An ever-present reminder of the toll each assignment, each disguise took on Ezra, Chris was certain he'd see their likeness, on this night, in his own reflection.

His look, steady and searching, met Ezra's again as he quietly asked, "Are you all right?" It was the first question Chris always asked of his undercover operative when he came back in. Never before had it held more meaning for Chris. Never before had the answer.

Ezra leaned against the building behind him, his eyes leaving Chris and drifting over the swarm of activity before them. And in the same smooth drawl Chris always waited to hear, with the same jaunty grin he always needed to see, Ezra gave his usual reply. "Nothing wrong that a night spent in my own bed with my own down pillow won't fix."

An answering smile curved his own mouth with the lifting of Ezra's lips, as those words brought relief and reassurance. But Chris craved more and so took a step closer to Ezra. Placing his shoulder against the chill wall beside him, Chris studied the profile so near to him, watched Ezra's eyes, alert and calm, alive as they roved, and felt that long-refused pull tug him closer still.

His attention never leaving Ezra's face, Chris said softly, "I missed you." It was a statement, wistful and true. It was a question, yearning and hopeful.

That face swiveled back to his then, studying Chris as intently as he had studied, before the smile that had disappeared at his words returned, smaller but warmer, and touching Ezra's eyes with its glow.

Chris took another step closer and continued. "Ezra," he said as he threw a glance around them, "I know this isn't the best time, but I gotta say this now. I've been doing a lot of thinking the last two weeks. Maybe I wasn't ready New Year's Eve to say what I needed to. Maybe I didn't have the right words then. Maybe you weren't ready to hear them if I had. But I- I think I do now, and I'm ready to speak them." Chris paused and as Ezra's gaze held steady, silently, thoughtfully considering him, as Ezra's body held still and relaxed, he breathed deeply and asked, "Will you listen?"

His eyes, his stance revealed nothing as Ezra gave a slight nod.

Chris shifted his shoulder against the hard concrete and moved closer yet to Ezra, an inner warmth forming at the nearness of the other man's body. He saw Ezra's green eyes darken as their focus followed his movements, just as he knew their owner's mind was listening to his words. Chris prayed Ezra's heart was hearing too.

Quietly, Chris spoke. "I've been afraid, Ezra." And with those words, Chris saw a small fissure form in the smooth veneer shrouding Ezra in the quizzical frown creasing his brow. Chris smiled ruefully and nodded. "Yeah. Afraid. I've lost a lot in my life. It hurt me so bad that I never wanted to feel that kind of loss again. I thought the hollowness in me was something I could live with. Better than the risk. Better than the loss."

Chris' smile lightened then as his eyes caressed Ezra's face even as he shoved his hands, wishing to follow, deep into his coat pockets. "Then you came along. And before I even knew it, you'd started filling up all those empty places inside of me. So I got afraid. Afraid of you, afraid of risking, of losing you. Thought if I denied my want, denied you, I wouldn't feel that hurt again."

Chris inched forward, his eyes refusing to let go of Ezra's, his voice hitching on his next words. "Seeing you in Buck's arms though.. That was a different kind of hurt. But just as bad." He shook his head, hesitating as he closed his eyes briefly against that remembered sight and as he fought back the flare of that remembered pain. He sighed as he returned his gaze to Ezra's and saw that man's had never wavered; it was strong and fixed, even if his expression and his feelings behind it remained impenetrable.

"Seeing you like that with Buck tore right through me. Showed me false everything I thought was protecting me. I've been thinking since, and more while you've been gone. I realized some other things, Ezra. I realized I already suffered the loss of you if I never even tried to have you. And there's no point fearing risk if you aren't living. And you aren't living if you're not even trying to get what you want."

Chris closed the remaining distance between them and whispered against Ezra's ear. "I'm ready to risk again, Ezra. I'm ready to live now, and I want to live with you. I want you. I love you. That's not going away. I'm not going away. And I'm not going to stop trying to get what I want."

Chris slowly drew back then and was again facing Ezra's profile as he turned away. Ezra remained silent, no words, no movement betraying his reaction, and Chris tamped down on the disappointment that kindled within him at that lack. He continued to regard Ezra quietly and, after a minute of silence fraught with nervous uncertainty, he sucked in a gulp of the sharp night air and said, "Don't expect you to say anything tonight. You just think on it. I know you're tired now. I'll drive you home."

Those green eyes that were turned from him seemed to fix then on one point and, as Chris followed their line of vision, Ezra softly said, "Buck's driving me home."

The words were quietly spoken, but as Chris saw Buck Wilmington standing by his pickup truck, watching and waiting, as he looked back at Ezra's eyes resting on that man, those words cut as cleanly and as sharply as any blade.

Ezra pushed away from the wall and faced Chris, for one moment, as his mouth opened briefly to speak then closed. Chris held his breath and willed those green eyes to stay, to hold with his, but they slipped away, returning to Buck as Ezra said, "I'll- I'll see you at the office in the morning, Chris."

Chris slumped against the wall of the warehouse, its surface as unyielding as the armor guarding Ezra's emotions, his intent, at this moment. And as Ezra wove his way around people and ice and vehicles, all Chris could see in that departing form was Ezra's approach towards Buck and his retreat from him.

"Don't mean what you think it does."

Chris turned as Vin came up beside him, and he saw that man's gaze on Ezra as he neared Buck. Vin Tanner's words were certain, his tone sure, but they could not dispel the image that haunted Chris and rose up once more in his mind's eye.

Buck's touch on Ezra's skin.

Chris turned away from Vin, even as he could not escape that niggling, taunting memory, and he watched as Ezra climbed into Buck's pickup. "It doesn't, huh?" As Buck's truck came to life and started easing slowly through the crowd of personnel and vehicles, Chris continued, his voice a matter-of-fact rasp, "They slept together."

Vin said nothing then, and Chris smiled in self-derision, that silence seeming to negate the conviction in Vin's words. But as Chris watched Buck's pickup fade from view, he heard the same confidence in Vin's next words that was absent in himself.

"It still don't have to mean what you think it does."

As he looked back at Vin, that man, with quiet assurance, said, "It don't."

 

Buck Wilmington stood waiting as Ezra knelt and touched a match to the logs that had been lying cold in the grate for two weeks. As fire caught and took hold, Buck reached out a hand, his fingers tracing its light, tracking its warmth as it glimmered in Ezra's hair. As Ezra turned and looked up at him, his face cast with a molten amber sheen, Buck let his hand trail to that heated skin, his thumb gently skimming the shadow underlying one green eye.

Softly, his voice a murmuring accent to the muted lighting flickering across the room, Buck said, "You look tired."

Ezra's gaze traveled over his own face, questing, questioning, then he said, just as quietly, "So do you."

Ezra rose then, and as he moved, Buck's fingers slipped and lost their hold. They itched with that loss, so he touched them again to that face and whispered, "I been missing you."

At that hushed admission, Ezra's eyes faltered and turned away, now seemingly looking inward, even as they'd earlier followed the shrinking shape of Chris Larabee as they'd driven away from the warehouse district. And as that green gaze returned to him, as Ezra faced him, mouth opening to speak, then hesitating, Buck closed his own eyes against the regret and sorrow he saw there, against his own memory of Ezra's eyes as Chris had brushed his ear with his words that night.

Gentle fingers laced with his own as they still cupped Ezra's cheek, pulling his hand away, hugging it with a tender clasp as Ezra whispered, "Buck, I-"

Buck shook his head and his eyes snapped open. "Don't. Please," he said, his voice hoarse, "just don't." He lifted the fingers of his free hand and lightly skimmed them over the surface of Ezra's mouth. He kissed those lips with his trailing fingertips; it was a weak imitation of the kiss of his own mouth against those lips on that night two weeks ago.

Buck knew it was all Ezra would give him now.

Buck tugged on the hand still held in Ezra's, pulling that man towards him until he felt that body stiffen, saw the wariness in Ezra's eyes and heard it in his voice as he spoke his name. "Buck.."

He gentled his touch then and said, "I just want to hold you, Ezra." It was a plea, a last appeal, a dying hope.

Ezra answered it with a small nod and troubled eyes, and with a sigh of breath as Buck's arms encircled him. Ezra's voice was muffled remorse against Buck's chest as he said, "I never wanted to hurt you, Buck."

Buck tightened his arms around the body held close against him and shut his eyes again. He stroked one hand through Ezra's hair, let it trace his face as it had one night two weeks ago. He'd made a vow that night, to himself, to Ezra. He'd renewed it the following night to Chris.

I'll only take what you're willing to give.

It was his touchstone. Unchanging. Constant.

So he replied, more evenly than he would have believed possible, "You never promised me anything, Ezra. I meant what I said that night. I'll only ever take what you're willing to give me. Just know that I'll always- I'll always want it. I'll always want you. I'll always love you. That won't ever change."

And as Buck saw again Ezra's eyes following Chris's form as they left him this night, as he felt again the sadness, Ezra's and his own, as that gaze had touched him, he kept his promise.

"I won't try to hold you."

 

Chris Larabee extinguished the lights in his office and slowly drifted back to the windows behind his desk. Beyond them, another night colored the cityscape with velvet blackness overlaid with the glitter of red, blue and yellow sparkling from cars and buildings and street lamps. It was one more day fallen to yet another night, seemingly serene and tranquil as darkness buffered Chris's eyes from the harsh edges of city life and as the soundproof glass provided an artificial hush to the noise of the street below.

Another night of illusory peace just as false as the air of calm stillness that had hung about Chris that day, hiding as it did the storm of want and love, need and uncertainty that brewed just under that surface. It was another day with barely a glimpse of Ezra as that man spent his time debriefing with Team 6, preparing his formal report before meeting with AD Travis. And now it was to be another night without Ezra, as well, as the silence in the offices around Chris echoed the growing ache within him.

With a whispering sigh of frustration, Chris turned from the window then stopped as his eyes met those of the man occupying all his thoughts this day, just as he had come to fill all his dreams at night. Ezra stood on the other side of the desk, arms crossed, his gaze holding Chris's for one heartbeat before those green eyes were traveling over the skin of his face with a touch Chris felt as palpably as he would the heated stroke of Ezra's hand. And as he watched those eyes, as their spark danced across his flesh, Chris's breath held when they rested on his mouth before lifting to meet his own again.

Cocking his head slightly, Ezra asked, "You like kissing men, Chris?"

It was a murmur of words, low and sultry, that sent a pulse of excitement through his body. And it was a memory, resonant and distinct, that had hesitant hope arising as Chris cautiously circled the desk.

You like kissing men, Ezra?

Chris held Ezra's eyes as he came to a stop in front of him and, with a soft, small smile that matched the one now flirting with Ezra's mouth, his voice a husky endearment, he replied, "I love kissing you, Ezra."

Ezra's smile warmed at that reply, and his answer was a remembrance of his own. "Then maybe you'd like kissing me again."

Chris let his hand reach out and skim the planes of Ezra's cheek then. He felt a tiny tremor pass through that man's body as his fingers caressed and shivered with his own as Ezra turned his face more fully against his palm. The desire to meet that mouth, so close to his, in a kiss was an insistent hunger that swept through him, but as Ezra had on another night over two weeks ago, Chris responded with a question of his own. It was a need, an urgent wanting and now, as Ezra's warmth flowed against the skin of his hand, his hope grew.

"Ezra, does this mean that you're going to give me a chance?"

Ezra held his eyes, stroking his hand with his cheek for a moment before he twined his fingers amongst Chris's and pulled them away, smoothing the back of that hand with his thumb as he licked his lips and spoke.

"I realized some things myself these last two weeks." Dropping his gaze to their joined hands, he paused a moment before continuing. "I'm not going to lie to you, Chris. I am attracted to Buck. I care more for him than I ever knew I could if you'd asked me before New Year's.."

Jealousy stabbed through Chris as Ezra's voice trailed off, as the knowledge of what Buck had held, what he himself had not was hammered home by Ezra's words and by the unspoken beseeching for understanding he saw in Ezra's eyes. But as Ezra sighed, Chris saw a wave of sadness sweep across their green depths that was heard, as well, in Ezra's voice with his next words.

"Buck said something to me that I wish I'd really heard, really understood sooner. Maybe I wouldn't have handled all of this so badly if I had." Ezra shook his head and released his breath in a self-contemptuous rush. "He told me he'd never take anything I wasn't willing to give. But it wasn't like that between us, not at all. Buck was the one doing all the giving, and if there wasn't you, I would've taken everything he offered without even knowing if I could return it. Buck deserves better than that."

Ezra raised his hand then, a slow half-smile forming as his fingers brushed Chris's face. "But then there is you.. While I was gone, at the end of the day when my thoughts were my own again, I realized you'd already crept so far inside of me that there wasn't any question of letting you in. You're already here. And everything I am, everything I have to offer, I want to give. I want to give to you. And at the end of the day, I want to come home to you."

As Chris felt the tender glide of that hand across his skin, as he heard the perfect reflection of his own hopes in Ezra's words, he pulled that man into his arms and squeezed his eyes shut as a maelstrom of emotions coursed through him. Sorrow and guilt for a friend. Relief and happiness for himself. And, more than anything, love for this man he was holding.

Gently stroking Ezra's hair, he said, "You're not the only one who handled this badly, Ezra. Buck and I both did too, right from the beginning and for a lot longer than you did." And with the truth of his own words, a new realization and a new hope came to Chris. "But you and I, Ezra, we know better now. We'll do better now. And at the end of the day, that's all that matters."

And as Ezra's arms tightened around him and as their mouths met, Chris knew that, at the end of this day, they'd both be coming home.

 

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