She was always touching his hair. Django figured that was her maternal side coming out, what with Doc still so weak but it was bothering him. Nudging his nerves like a loose molar. It might be curiosity, he'd never touched a white person's hair before. Hilde had, braiding her mistress's hair so long ago but before Schultz he'd never been close to a white person at all and even then hats, coats and the space between men kept the sensation a mystery. He thought about asking at first but instead he decided to sneak it into a favor for Hilde. She usually helped Schultz comb his hair in the morning because of his destroyed shoulder. Today, Django butted in.
"You go stir the eggs, Missy," he said and took the comb. She raised her eyebrow sardonically and then looked to Schultz who shrugged, eyes still shut. He was always quiet in the mornings now. The medicine didn't really kick in until the sun was up.
"You be gentle now. Don't tug."
"I got it, woman," Django said and snuck a kiss to soften the words. She rolled her eyes and went to shift the eggs about, watching him from behind the heavy frame of her hair.
He hefted the brush awkwardly. Then he reached out and touched his friend's temple. The hair there was very soft, downy like the underbelly of a kitten, getting coarser farther away from his ear. A patch here where the hair wouldn't grow back. Metal from the sawed off had scraped deep here.
He didn't want to remember the tension in that room. That shift from hate to defeat when Schultz had given his hand and dignity for Django and Hilde. The moment when Candie had pushed up his gray sleeve and seized the gun. The moment when Django had seized Butch's gun, plugged him in the chest too late. Schultz's shoulder was sprayed apart like meat, askew for the sake of Candie. Even with one arm, Schultz had killed Candie while Django got Stephen. Django still didn't know how theyd gotten out, stepping over white and black help alike but Hilde had covered them with a long rifle (poorly) as the partners painted the house red.
Theyd killed them all. Even Lorelei, even the moonshiners. Even their dogs. Then theyd ran. With Schultz bleeding all over Fritz's flank and Hilde bolstering him from the back of the palamino. Django scoping ahead and behind with a rifle: theyd escaped. Held up in a cabin, theyd seen (kidnapped) a physician . Schultz had managed to keep the arm but barely, it was useless now. Theyd ended up in North Dakota, in a small house that Hilde loved. Schultz said he would relearn with his left hand, but Django knew it was only to teach Hilde. Giving up his hand to Candie had cost more than the arm. He'd never been the gray wolf who'd saved Django, ever again. But now it was late fall and while they could still travel, Django didn't see the point. Schultz was rarely fully conscious and when he was, he was clearly depressed. Hilde was still a raw nerve, jumping at loud noises. They had enough money to be comfortable for a few months, so they had taken the time.
But in the peace, this thing was growing between them. This loose tooth feeling. He couldn't tell if it was moving Hilde too. But she was touching Schultz now when before she had shrunken from him, like he might suddenly erupt like Candie in a wave of frothing sadism. Django stirred at a questioning noise from Schultz and curled a strand of hair behind his ear.
Schultz's eyes were open, staring him down, flatly, like they had before his near death. Hilde had taken the eggs off the fire, was standing behind him, breathing against the nape of his neck. She curled her arms around them both, settling on the bed. Schultz shifted back as best he could. Django took the offered space, bracing himself close on one knee. The air between the three of them was very warm.
Hilde kissed Django's cheek. Schultz's eyes were heavy, watching. He parted his lips. Django kissed the corner of them. They were thinner than Hilde's, not soft but pleasure lanced through him all the same, throbbing. He felt high and hot like he did behind a gun's barrel. Hilde made a soft noise of pleasure that made him ache. Django pulled away with a wet click to find her mouth. She tasted so good, like triumph. And tea. She pulled away and pressed her full lips to Schultz's.
Their lashes were equally long, dashed down their cheeks. Any man right in the head would feel jealousy, anger, seeing his wife kiss someone else. Especially with her past, the way she'd been taken apart. But when she broke the kiss her eyes were soft. Schultz said something rich in German. She chortled softly and pushed the hand that wasn't on Django's neck deep into that soft hair. Django did the same, so they were literally holding his head between them, massaging his skull with their long thin fingers. He closed his eyes and let out a little breath. Django was starting to see the appeal; it was soft, warm. If it made him feel good, he'd pet Schultz.
"Lay him down" Hilde said under her breath, withdrawing her hand. Schultz's eyes snapped open and locked onto Django. Laying down was hard for Schultz. The wounds to his back had made it hard for him to lower himself gracefully and falling was agony on his arm. Django put an arm around his shoulders and lowered them both down, faces close. He remembered his first time with Hilde, the fluttering of her eyelashes. On his back, the German's eyes hooded and he moistened his lips. A flush spread across his high cheekbones. During the fever, the other doctor had shaved off his beard. Without it he looked so young. To cut the tension, Django took that sharp chin in between his fingers and tugged it gently.
"No wonder your beard was so big. Doc's got a bulldog jaw."
Schultz face contorted in mock offense and Hilde laughed till she snorted.
Then her face went serious. "Kiss him" she said. "Really kiss him".
"What do you say Django?" asked Schultz, his face turned up in complete vulnerability. "For the lady."
"Some lady" snicked Django who got twin German curses in response. Schultz's face was cringed in smothering laughter. He could kiss a mouth that laughed like that, even if it were on a man. He pressed their mouths together. Schultz went still, his lips slack. Django pushed his tongue inside him. The body underneath his, writhed and undulated with the rythmn of Django's tongue. He moaned with pleasure and then jerked painfully when Django settled too heavily on him.
"Sorry, sorry" he whispered and looked up at Hilde. Color was high around her cheeks.
Django could get used to this.
(Next chapter will be hot'n heavy...le wink)