AN: This fic was inspired by a gorgeous graphic on tumblr made by the talented nessismore. The summary for this fic is almost word-for-word the blurb that accompanies the graphic and I'm grateful to have her permission to use it here.
Endless thanks to my betas dhauren and Ella Greggs. Also, I would like it known that this is just a flashfic that got out of hand and had absolutely no pre-planning (oops).
The title is a Firefly quote, because if not for the Firefly fic I've written, I never would have been brave enough to try my hand at a western AU!
U.S. Marshal Steve Rogers dropped a couple of coins into the tin cup of the decrepit old man on the front step on his way into the saloon. By the time he'd walked the ten paces to an empty stool at the bar, he had his quarry in his sights.
Darcy Lewis and James "Bucky" Barnes, the most prolific bank robbers west of the Mississippi, sat at a corner table, a bottle of whiskey between them. As usual they were in high spirits, each a whirlwind of wanton energy spurred on by the other.
As Steve watched, Bucky made a grab for Darcy's bosom. She gasped in mock affront and slapped him lightly on the cheek. His head fell back as he laughed. She poked him in the chest and said something Rogers couldn't hear, smirking all the while.
For the sake of appearances, Steve took a seat and ordered a scotch and water. The proprietors of the establishment, a kindly-looking older couple, didn't need him waving a piece about in the middle of the afternoon and chasing away all their patrons. He would wait until Darcy and Bucky stepped outside, and then he'd get them at barrel's end and make his arrest. They'd slipped through his fingers twice already, he wasn't going to let it happen a third time.
It didn't take long for the pair to spot him. Barnes tipped his Stetson from across the room and smiled like the sly bastard he was, then took a pull straight from the whiskey bottle. A drop of liquor caught the light as it slid down his chin.
The two criminals were getting far too cocky. There was nothing subtle about the way Darcy leaned forward over the table, putting her ample cleavage on display and fixing Steve with her bedroom eyes. As Steve stared, the tip of her tongue traced the contour of her bottom lip. It felt like Steve's untouched scotch was already snaking through his veins as she bit down on the dampened lip with a twinkle in her eye.
He could feel Bucky's eyes on him as he watched Darcy. It heated his skin in ways that didn't make sense. For months they'd been playing this game of cat and mouse, except now he was starting to feel less and less like the cat.
He wrenched his gaze away and stared resolutely at the amber liquid in his glass as he pulled a steadying breath down deep into his lungs.
When he looked up again, they were gone.
Steve lunged to his feet and shoved his way through the batwing doors of the saloon, out onto the road. They were already tearing down the main street and out of town, their horses kicking up a cloud of dust behind them. Darcy even had the audacity to blow him a kiss over her shoulder before they disappeared from view around a corner.
The only other person paying any attention to the escaping fugitives was the beggar, now up on his bandy legs and whooping joyfully after the pair, his tin cup stuffed to the brim with cash.
Steve wasted no time getting to his own mount, yanking on the reins to release the slip knot from the hitching rail and vaulting up into the saddle. He kicked the gelding into a canter and took off after his quarry, dust and the western sun stinging his eyes.
He'd always known this was how he'd die, alone on the plains, life seeping out of him through some wound or other, no cross to mark his final place of rest.
Snowflakes swirled around him, the wind tugging them about in all directions, too sparse and restless to settle into drifts. Steve had been chilled to the bone long before he'd taken a Comanche arrow to the thigh. He grew colder still as his blood seeped through the makeshift bandages and slid down the saddle to sprinkle a trail behind him, but he'd stopped shivering some time ago.
His mount trudged diligently on, Lewis and Barnes' tracks laid out before them as a mocking invitation. Fresh, too, he must be so close, for all the good it would do him now.
The pounding throb of his wound had long since outgrown its point of origin. His whole body ached with every pulse beat. It was almost a relief when his fingers refused to grip the pummel any longer.
The world tipped sideways and the ground rushed up to meet him. Not long now and death would take him, leave his carcass to be picked clean by the crows, his bones to be carried off by the coyotes.
Steve was warm, warm in a way he never expected to be again. His eyelids were heavy and it was so tempting to leave them closed, to revel in the close and comforting warmth and the dawning realisation that he was still alive, but with concerted effort he forced his eyes open.
Canvas, a ridge pole: the inside of a tent. Now that his eyes were open, his other senses were awakening too. The smell of someone else's hair on the pillow next to him, the smooth press of bare skin against his side, the weight of several blankets spread over him.
"Well, hey there, Marshal," a female voice near his ear whispered. "Nice to see those baby blues again."
He knew that voice even before he turned his head to look at her. He wanted to tell Darcy that her own big blue eyes were a welcome sight, but his throat felt rusted through.
He tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but gave up almost instantly when the movement set off a spike of pain through his thigh.
"Easy there, law man," came a deeper voice from his other side. Bucky. "You're in no fit state to be going anywhere."
Had they found him, half-frozen and bleeding out, and taken him in?
He was aware of the fabric of his drawers, but nothing else, between him and the blankets. His saviours (or were they his captors?) must have been similarly dressed, judging by the bare legs and sides he could feel against his own. A cautious wiggle of his toes told him that their attempts to keep frostbite at bay using the heat of their own bodies had been successful.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue was stuck to his teeth.
"Get the water, darlin'," Bucky said to Darcy. He slid an arm underneath Steve's shoulders, exerting a gentle pull to help him sit up while Darcy held the canteen to his lips.
He swallowed greedily, tongue loosening as it moistened, heedless of the trickle escaping the corner of his mouth.
"You saved me?" he asked hoarsely, once they had all settled back down onto the bedroll.
"You were cold as a corpse when we found you, but I think we've just about thawed you out." Bucky gently rubbed Steve's cool fingers between warm, dry palms. The motion felt vaguely familiar. He must have been doing it while Steve was asleep as well. "I wanted to leave you in the dirt, but she insisted we go back for you," Bucky said, though the glint in his eye said differently.
"Liar," Darcy said blithely, propping her head up on her hand. "You should've seen him fretting over that leg wound of yours," she said to Steve. "He cleaned it up good, though, stitched it up nice and neat." She leaned close to his ear and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He's very good with his hands."
Steve felt as much as heard Bucky's quiet chuckle.
Aside from a few tendrils curling around her face, Darcy's long dark hair hung over her bare shoulder in a loose braid. She wasn't wearing a shift and he was suddenly very aware of the soft press of her breasts against his arm every time she took a breath. His mouth dry again, Steve swallowed hard and shifted his gaze to Bucky's muscular frame against his other side, only to find it similarly distracting. He forced his mind back to the issue that seemed the most pressing.
"Thought you'd be glad to be rid of me," he ventured, voice smoother now.
"Only as glad as you'd be to see us behind bars," Bucky said. He also propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Steve, brown bangs falling over clear blue-grey eyes. "You could have arrested us half a dozen times in the last month. Why didn't you?"
"It was more fun to watch you make fools of all those money-grubbing bankers?" Steve tried. He couldn't even articulate to himself why he felt so drawn to this pair.
Darcy's lips twitched with a smile. She nudged her way under Steve's arm and pillowed her head on his shoulder.
"The way I see it, the three of us have been travelling companions for a good while now." Bucky stopped rubbing Steve's fingers and cradled his hand loosely against his chest, thumb drifting absently over Steve's palm. It was as if the motion of rubbing life back into Steve's extremities was now so ingrained he did it without thinking. "You may have been shadowing us like a stray wolf cub instead of travelling beside us, but we've gotten used to seeing your silhouette on the horizon."
"What Bucky's trying to say is we've grown quite fond of you, Marshal," Darcy said, hooking a leg over the hip of his uninjured side. "And I think maybe you're rather fond of us too, what do you think?" she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. It sent a delicious shiver across his skin.
It had been a long time since he'd been in a bed with a woman, and never with a man. Not like this, at least. Not in a way that felt like this, with Bucky's gentle touches and firm body just as seductive as Darcy's soft curves and more obvious advances.
He was warm and alive, and it was a heady feeling to finally be with them after watching them from afar for weeks on end. Being the focus of the affection he'd seen them lavish on each other was overwhelming, so perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him when his cock twitched against Darcy's thigh.
She chuckled. "Hold your horses, Marshal. We're gonna let you recover some first. You'll be needing your strength back if you're gonna keep up with the both of us."