A/N: OKAY SO, offline activities and some mild depression/writer's block (they encourage each other the bastards) have been kicking my ass. But! I have finally managed to shake them off and actually fucking write this bitch out. Who! Yeah! Go me!

Also I must admit, this drabble is actually a snippet from a Western AU that I never got around to writing. I should write it one day- but that day is not today.

The sun was hot and high in the sky as Zack stared out over the dusty plains, waiting patiently for Vincent to arrive. Below him, a Paint Horse nickered quite a bit less patiently, prompting a crooked grin from her rider.

"I know girl," He said with a gentle pat. "But boss's always a bit late, old men like him sleep late." As if agreeing, Bottles the horse whickered in seeming amusement.

It was only a few minutes longer Zack waited, but it felt like so much longer with the heat hammering from the sun and the longing in his heart making him anxious. But finally, there was a telltale dust cloud of an approaching rider. Eagerly, Zack pressed Bottles' flanks and they began to trot in the opposite direction.

Hoof beats thundered closer, then Vincent passed up his lover and Bottles- never one to back down from the gunslinger's horse- whinnied in challenge and sped up. The mare easier caught up to them and the horses were neck and neck for much of the rest of the ride. Leaving Zack free to focus an affectionate gaze on Vincent.

Vincent, as usual, ignored him until their destination was reached; their rundown ranch house Zack bought as a surprise gift years ago. Since, they had often returned to fix up the main house and stables. Occasionally they brought furniture or some of the nick-knacks that weren't valuable enough to sell. And every time they did Zack would would they never needed to leave, h wanted this place to be where they retired together. That someday, against the odds, this would be their home- Forever.

For now however, their soon-to-be-home existed as their escape. When living amongst the outlaw crew, they had to be careful of showing their feelings. Some of them couldn't be trusted to know that their so-called 'Ghost Rider' was as human as they. So rarely did they get moments where they could simply be.

For example, when around the men (and women), Zack was forbbiden from throwing himself from the saddle and dragging Vincent down and into his arms for a searing kiss. They could not be seen throwing their clothes to the side, lips locking, and limbs twisting together in passion. (Not that Vincent would even begin to consider anyone seeing the latter- he would prefer to shoot the one that dared view him this way if that person was not Zack.)

So when he was allowed, Zack relished it. Indulged his senses in everything Vincent had to offer. Only settling when their shared needs were met, and they stumbled their way to a more comfortable bed.

"What too 'ya? Startin' to think you got lost." Zack murmured, smirking as he pressed kisses into the patches of skin he'd left dark hickeys on. For his snark, Vincent elbowed him (though not as hard as he might have) and grunted.

The sleepy Vincent grumbled under his breath, and it sounded a little like 'that would be you- beef-headed Zack'. Meaning he was currently too tired to be uppity about Zack's use of common slang.

Trying to hold in his amusement (and not entirely succeeding), Zack planted more kisses wherever he could reach, and trailed his fingers over places he knew caused the best kinds of shivers. Vincent rolled glared at him through slitted eyes and slapped his hands away.

"Later."

"We have to go back 'later'."

"Hn."

Obviously, that was about as much as Zack was going to get out of Vincent until he recovered from a nap. That was fine with Zack- maybe he could use this nap as an excuse to stay a little longer.