A/N: Setting: Deadwood, a few weeks after the 1879 fire. Having one of the few houses left standing by the fire, Alma Ellsworth has taken in some who were burned out, Sol Star and Trixie among them. Meant to be read after "Offerings and Acceptance", as part of the imagined "Season 4".
Late night at the Ellsworth house, Trixie and Sol are still in residence.
Under the Eves
Sol squirmed, trying to lie on his back, then his side. Finally he rolled over on his stomach and looked at the wooden plank walls, finished to a satiny gloss, punctuated by knotholes here and there.
Heat rising up to the second floor from the kitchen made the small room warm enough, but the slanted ceiling, following the pitch of the roof, made the space seem cramped and close. He glanced over at the half-finished cradle. The room was probably perfectly adequate for a baby and a nanny (if it was a small nanny), but for a full-grown man and several boxes of his and Trixie's rescued possessions, it felt as close to a coffin as he cared to get while still among the living.
Two soft knocks on the door got him up and out of the narrow bed, bumping his head on the sloped ceiling in the process. He quietly turned the doorknob, and there was his blond-headed sharp-tongued lover, finger to her lips before looking back to Sofia's door.
"Well, this is a pleasant surprise."
She shushed him louder than his words had been. Pushing him back with one hand, she silently closed the door with the other, and stood there, smile of triumph and mischief on her face.
"The little one is sound asleep and snoring like a milk-fed pup. I figure I could sneak out for a few minutes without her missing me."
"So, it's cute whenshesnores…"
She jabbed him with her elbow, lightly. "And if you were a little girl, your snoring would most likely be cute as well. But I most likely wouldn't be in your room if you was, Mr. Star."
"Well, consider me satisfied with being the man that I am, then." He smiled, moonlight from the two windows bathing his face in silvery light.
Trixie moved into his arms, hugging him tightly before pulling back and thoroughly kissing his lips, his mouth, playing her tongue against his. He tasted of salt and mint, a hint of ale from a late-night glass. His thin moustache abraded her lip just enough to make her shiver. She nipped his lower lip, then set her mouth next to his, taking slow sips of his breath as his hands grabbed her ass and pulled her up against him. He delighted in her unrehearsed kisses. When his mouth was under her lips, it was like the years spent servicing other men fell away, unimportant and unremembered.
Her small hands slipped past the snaps and under his long johns, moving up and down on his lean muscled back. At the first touch of her fingernails along his spine, he became the aggressor, now using his teeth against her lips, making his way into her mouth. She pulled away enough to take a quick deep breath, then fixed one hand deep into his shaggy curls, mouth back on him as she brought one leg around his calf.
His hands were busy ruching up her thin cotton nightgown to her hips, feeling goose bumps start along her flesh as his mouth moved from her lips to her cheek, breathing hard against her skin.
"I don't…the bed's awful narrow. Do you think this is a good idea?" His actions went against his words, knee between her thighs, one hand at her waist and one wrapped into her unbraided hair.
"Wasn't thinking on the bed, Mr. Star. That box nearest the wall seems a familiar height." She rocked her hips against him, her thigh pressing against his hardness.
He turned her, then, and moved with soft steps to the wooden box he had filled with documents and paperwork, supply catalogues and the like, on top of the more expensive tools he had managed to salvage. Boosting her up to face him, he felt for a moment like it was that afternoon so long ago, her begging him to take her in the back of the store, half-hidden by jumbled goods, barely thinking of the chance of discovery.
He bit at her throat and jaw while she stifled a groan, her eyes open and fixed on the half-moon outside the window, hands on his prick. It was his turn to whisper "Shhh" to her. The unexpectedness of it, the feeling of secret wickedness, made it sharper, keener than their more languid coupling in his would-be mayor's bed.
His head bumped lightly against the ceiling once again as he slid into her, wet and grasping. Her knees gripped his hips tight as he began smooth, steady strokes. He pulled at her ass until she was barely touching the big wooden box at all, her weight in his hands. Their eyes met in the frosty light. She no longer had to struggle to meet his eyes while he was inside her. There was nothing she had to fear, nothing to mock in his gaze anymore. He had peeled off her hard
shell layer by layer, every time he came into her with his heart showing through his eyes.
The box held steady, no movement betraying their quickening pace. Bracing himself with one hand, he lowered her more firmly onto the wooden surface and moved the other down to where they joined, slowing enough to touch and stroke her until she was gasping into his neck, trying to keep silent. As soon as she finished, biting her lip and holding his back while she trembled, her pulsing grip on him pushed him to his own completion. He took his turn at burying mouth in neck and shoulder as he gave way to fast hard thrusts, shuddering and emptying with a suppressed groan, her whispered shushes in his ear.
They stayed together for a few heartbeats, breath and pulse slowing, Sol kissing her temples and cheeks. Trixie was content to rest her hands on his.
"If you hold still, I think I can reach…there!" He handed her one of the washrags that had been on a small table. She felt the soft flannel surface as she waited for him to leave her heat. A pang ran through her as she suspected it had come from a beginning stack of diapers near the cradle. She rested her head against his shoulder as they both quickly cleaned up as best they could.
He hugged her after her gown was put right again. "This was crazy, but I'm glad you came over here."
"Oh, I think everybody under this roof, save the little one, knows about need coming over a person, making one do incautious things."
He pulled back, trying to see her in the thin moonlight. "And that's something we might should talk about, in the morning. There's an excess of incaution going around right now, and several certain parties might need a word from us cool-headed, rational types."
"Us cool-headed types who, in the middle of a crowded house, sneak a midnight fuck on a box in an attic? That's who you're speakin' of?"
He tugged her hair. "It's not an attic. It's an under-the-eves nursery room. And we're rational enough to value discretion, as otherwise I'd talk you into trying to sleep in that tiny narrow bed with me until morning."
"And I guess I'm rational enough to forgo takin' that chance, although you do make a tempting offer, Mr. Star." He could feel her smiling against his neck.
She kissed him a last time, quick and deep, then quietly opened the door, looked around the hall, and crossed to the little one's room. Sofia still snuffled in her sleep, curled up in a ball under her quilts. Trixie carefully lowered herself to the small trundle bed beside Sofia's higher one, trying to get herself under the covers as quietly as possible. She hugged the down-filled pillow and thought about living next to Sol again so she could spend her nights curled up with his warmth after lovemaking.
Sol opened the wooden box and checked the contents before climbing back into his uncomfortable bed. Too dark to actually see the blueprints, he took comfort from touching the rolled-up cylinder of plans that would give them the discretion they needed, and the closeness they deserved. He avoided bumping his head this time as he moved to the bed.
He looked at the half-moon and imagined her smile when he showed her the plans in the morning. He'd carry that thought as he tried to help Seth navigate the murky roiling waters around Swearengen and the widow. Sol expected he'd need all the peaceful mental images he could muster, for that.