"Mobray." Mannix's voice was rough and thick, husked from his swollen throat as he settled back on his haunches and reached towards the other man's still hard length.
"Ah, ah." Grunting negation, Mobray caught wide wrists in the gloved fingers of one hand. "Impatient youth." His voice guttered harsh, all throaty gravel instead of precise head voice. His other hand lifted and traced the reddening marks that lined the sheriff's neck. He knew they'd darken into a string of fingertip bruises, deeper along the prominent jut of the man's Adam's apple. Mobray grinned, his eyebrows lifting in genuine pleasure.
Chris tilted his jaw into the touch, letting both hands fall palms up against his thighs as he held the other man's eyes. Mobray's smirk dimmed a bit under the scrutiny, the half cracked veneer of who he was and who this man thought he was pitching up a tempered pain in his chest. Because they were both dead men walking. One of them wasn't going to leave Minnie's breathing. Maybe neither of them would. Mannix was a wild card, he and the black major both, not accounted for in Jody's careful planning. Not accounted for in Mobray's own reckoning of acceptable losses. And camaraderie and fellowship aside, the younger outlaw would kill them all, gang and outsider alike, to save his sister.
"Oswaldo." Mobray blinked, aware of the fact that not only had the other man repeated a dead man's proper name several times but that he was a half breath away from correcting him. A heartbeat away from offering up English Pete and the entire goddamn plan. "We gonna finish this or what?"
"Cheeky little bastard." The Englishman spoke halfheartedly, accent caught somewhere in free fall between killers, half Mobray, half Hicox. Surprisingly, Mannix laughed, even teeth flashing in the windburned ruddy flush of his face.
"Seem to remember you knowin' how to shut me up." He'd obviously recovered from oxygen deprivation because he was all wide grin and wicked fingers, drawing the shorter man back to the matter at hand. Literally. Mannix teased one hand along Mobray's erection while the other scraped nails and pressure up under his shirt, spreading fingers into his stomach.
"Think it's time to make you scream, darling." Mobray's look went feral, his eyes narrowing even as he drew his lips away from his teeth in a hungry smile. Life was nasty, brutal, and short. Waiting out a blizzard in a room full of men you planned on killing proved it. But life was also life and had to be lived. And if having a warm, callused hand stroking on his cock while the storm raged just beyond a thin wall wasn't living, his definition of living was not nearly entertaining enough.
In one quick move, Mobray buried his fingers in Chris's springy dark hair and jerked him to his feet as he stepped their bodies together and back into the wall. He swallowed the grunted breath Chris let out with a kiss, teeth and tongue fighting for speed and depth and control. Life demanded to be lived. Twisting, he slipped his coat off, careful to shrug the fabric free while hiding the gun he'd held back from Ruth in one of the folds. It was a near practiced move, almost like he'd spent time perfecting it, like he'd perfected the affected accent. Cold air and warm skin met his fingers when he dropped his warmed leather gloves beside the coat. "Don't you concur, sheriff?"
"Fuck yeah." Eager teeth nipped salted blood between them and Mobray felt the sting in his lip translate to a throb in his groin. "Wall's pretty goddamn cold though."
"Consider it ambiance."
"Ambi-what?" Mannix pulled back long enough to shove his bare leg farther between Mobray's, using his knee and his greater height as leverage.
"Ambiance." The older man allowed the dominance, marginally. Shifting his shorter body to accommodate the move but purposefully squaring his hips and shoulders so that he was the steady one, the one in control. "Milieu, tenor, complexion."
"The fuck you talkin' about, Mobray?" Chris's lips were swollen when he pulled back from the kiss, his breath quick and loud.
"Fucking mood, you fucking hillbilly." Mobray bit off each word distinctly, the profanity as crisp and defined as the rill of red that trailed from his lip into his beard. "Consider it a test in thermo regulation."
"You talk too much." But Mannix's cheeks had flushed out bright with lust, body reacting to the words favorably.
"Think you're man enough to stop me, young Sheriff of Red Rock?" Mobray rubbed himself into the other man offering overheated body warmth and fabric against the full on chill at his back. The chill at both their backs. The storm was growing worse, colder, cold enough to have Mobray shaking with more than desire even though he was still mostly dressed. To match their height, the shorter man rose up onto the balls of his feet, his eyes widening, eyebrows lifting. "John Ruth seems to doubt your manhood."
"John Ruth is a crazy son of a bitch who probably expects an ambush every time he walks his pathetic ass to the outhouse." The sheriff scoffed, rolling his eyes and licking against his lips in anticipation as the other man leaned in and nuzzled against the turn of his chin.
"An ambush, you say?" Mobray bit an instant bruise against the underside of Mannix's jaw. "Can't say I can think of a better place for one than on the top of a mountain. In a blizzard. Perhaps John Ruth isn't so crazy after all." His tongue swept against the darkening mark before he closed his lips and teeth on it, sucking and nipping it even more brazenly bruised.
"Oh, no, he's crazy all right. I goddamn guarantee that." Mannix hissed at the sting of the bite and settled his grip against Mobray's tie, fingers fumbling as he figured the knot and hitched it tighter. The white fabric of the older man's shirt collar bunched as it tightened, making it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. Interested eyes watched the motion closely, the corners crinkling slightly when Chris smiled at the sight. "Any man hitches himself to a woman wanted dead or alive and proceeds to haul her backstabbing, murdering ass all over Wyoming instead of planting a bullet in her head on sight is crazier 'n a shithouse rat." He let the tie loosen, but wrapped the fabric securely around his palm. His other hand had found its way to the back of Mobray's head, fingers tugging and plaiting in the hair that tipped down over his collar.
"You'd deny me my vocation?" The Englishman's hips pressed forward, his stance stilted but steady even though his trousers and belt lingered somewhere around his knees. He wrapped himself around the bigger man, hands scratching and rubbing into cold skin. Mannix sighed into the skin to skin contact and levered himself off the wall, thrusting forward as much for the warmth as to press their erections together.
"You bet your pale English ass I would." Chris pinched his thumb and forefinger against the curve of the other man's ass as he spoke, smirking at the yipped grunt that guttered against the side of his head. Still grinning, he tugged at the tie, wrapping more of the fabric in his hand as he pulled upwards over the other man's shoulder.
"I don't believe my ass is the one in play, Christopher." Mobray's voice dipped with each motion the younger man made at his neck, the fabric of collar and tie choking off his air and graveling his tone. The grit suited him, made him sound like less of an English ponce. "Yours, on the other hand..." Letting his words trail away, the smaller man turned their jaws together hard, the point of his chin digging just below Mannix's ear. "is very much in play. And I aim to collect."
Ignoring the fact that his tie was an effective noose, Mobray pushed the younger man away, gripping his shoulder to turn him into the wall. The fabric tightened painfully at his neck and tugged him at an awkward angle even as he settled himself tighter into Mannix's back. When the other man moved to release the slip of fabric he hissed negation and lifted one hand to clench their fingers together, the tie caught between.
"Hang man likes to be hung, huh?" There was a smirk audible in the other man's voice. "Get off on dyin' a little?" Mannix laughed and tugged the tie playfully.
"We're all dying, Sheriff." He used up a fair bit of breath for a nearly inaudible whisper, barely forcing the words louder than the wind that whipped against the side of the barn. "It's the unspoken rule of the human condition." For the first time holding the voice he'd offered up as Mobray's, the stilted and pitched pronunciation, felt overly precise. The effort of holding character seemed almost as great as the effort to breathe despite the tug of fabric at his neck and the lust that coiled his muscles tight. "Now shut your mouth and hold that fucking tie." The more he spoke, the less he could breathe, the choked amount of air he could gather on an inhale not making up for what he expended. His pulse thudded hard in his temples, the throb of it wavering his vision.
The feeling of breathlessness charged his blood, making every sensation stronger. Mobray leaned farther forward, free hand forcing Mannix down so that their height was better matched. Mobray pressed their joined hands into the rough wood of the wall, rolling his wrist so that he could lever his weight on the turn of his knuckles. His free hand rubbed along the other man's stubbled jaw, fingers working against his lips. Chris obligingly sucked on them, his tongue sweeping along slightly swollen knuckles. "Brilliant." Mobray's voice was thick, strangled on an exhale. His guttered breathing was hot against the back of Mannix's skull, his nose pressed in dark hair as he licked wet lines at the nape of the younger man's neck. His dampened fingers ghosted touches down along cooling skin.
Mannix pulled a breath to speak but sent it out on a hiss when Mobray pressed one finger carefully but quickly into his body. It was a rushed preparation but more than Chris expected, skilled motions that loosened his muscles and kept his length hard at the same time. His forehead pressed into the freezing boards of the wall as he arched himself into the touch. Every move Mobray made tugged the fabric of the tie tighter between them and he tried to slouch even farther into the other man's shorter height to ease the almost gagged breaths that puffed unevenly against the back of his neck. The positioning was awkward and the air was cold but heat started to spread out from his stomach, a flush reddening at his cheeks.
"You gonna fuck me before you pass out back there, Ozzie?" There was no answer but that ragged breathing was still keeping time to the movement of fingers inside him. At least two. Possibly three. "Jesus Christ!" He banged his forehead against the wall again when Mobray pushed forward, once, fully, before withdrawing his hand completely.
"Impatient." But Mobray was beyond teasing, beyond languid motions and conversation. His entire body was shaking, the combined effects of the cold, lust, and lack of breath battering at his control. He nuzzled his cold lips into the side of Mannix's jaw, eyes fluttering closed as he lined their bodies together. Again, it was slower than Chris expected, an almost gentle press and stall that still burned and had him digging his teeth into his bottom lip. A pause and a final adjustment and Mobray pressed fully into him, thrusting Mannix forward into the wall. The younger man released his hold on the tie in order to brace himself against the rough wooden planks and the fabric at the Englishman's neck loosened slightly. Enough to pull back a half breath, the air burning down his throat and into his lungs. "Ready to yell my fine young sheriff?" His teeth gritted on Chris's earlobe, tongue swiping up against the shell of his ear.
"Mobray." It was a beg, a plea. And the sound of it battered the older man's control even more ragged, leading his hips into uneven thrusts. Mobray palmed over Mannix's mouth, rubbing the creased and crumpled fabric of his tie against thinned lips until clenching teeth caught against the material. He dropped both hands to dig into Chris's hips, leading the other man to meet each of his thrusts.
"You really are magnificent, love." Unseen, Mobray's face tightened with concentrated lust, his brows furrowing hard as he clenched his jaw. "So tight and young and bloody eager." As he spoke he slid one hand lower, long fingers rubbing heated lines on quivering skin before curling on the other man's erection. Chris's length had softened somewhat but a few strokes had him fully hard. Fully hard and trembling on the edge of release, actually. His entire body shivered as Mobray worked him with quick precision, filling him at exactly the angle and depth that sent pulses of pure pleasure spiraling out towards his limbs. "Come on, darling." Mobray kissed the words along the throbbing pulse point that ran Chris's neck, focusing on the taste of sweat and wood smoke, the feel of growing in stubble against his tongue. Focusing on anything that would forestall the pooling heat in his own groin. Because he wanted the other man over the edge and wrung out wasted before he let himself come.
"Fuck." Mannix curled his fingers harder into the wood he was leaned against, his nails scraping at the splintery surface as he growled through the dampened fabric still clenched in his teeth. A groan pitched off his chest, ringing into a half yell when Mobray shifted the tempo again. Short, hard thrusts aimed to nudge pleasure a touch closer to pain. It wasn't a yell, but Mobray's name keened out from between his lips on a repeating beg.
Chest to back, Mobray curled them tighter together into the frost scrummed cold of the wall, rocking up onto his toes for height and leverage. His chin dug hard into the muscled slope of Chris's shoulder and the fingers of one hand curved possessively at his neck. They weren't digging in or cutting off his breathing, but they were stroking a heated promise of breathlessness from his lower jaw to the notched cut of his collarbone. Chris nudged his head sideways into the hold, his profile all tensed lines and bitten lips, his voice snapping higher, mixed sighs breaking the rote repetition of Mobray's name. The Englishman studied the angle of his jaw, the crinkled lines that spread out from the corners of his eyes. His paler skin was flushed with lust, a roughened run of windburn along his cheeks and the flat rise of his forehead, lips swollen and chapped.
"A smidgen louder, mate." Chris's eyes were dark and hazed, more pupil than color as he sought out the other man's look, muddled hazel finding gray and green ringed amber. Biting against his bottom lip, Mobray tensed his fingers and watched the way the sheriff's eyes widened slightly and then fluttered closed. The older man barely tightened his grip, lack of control keeping him cautious as he let his hips run out a ragged rhythm, still watching the play of pleasure and pain on Mannix's features. "Louder, I said!" And Mannix yelped, shamelessly yelling the older man's name before letting his head drop forward against his arm and arching his body even more agreeably back into Mobray's. "Bloody lovely."
Now Mobray did clamp down with his fingers, feeling the thrum of the other man's pulse against his skin, feeling it against his entire body. He curled his palm around Chris's erection, tightening the grip of both hands, at neck and cock, with each thrust of shivering hips. The other man was close, Mobray could feel it, taste it, as he nuzzled into sweat stroked hair. "You, dear boy, are exquisite." He offered the words on a soft breath, caging his own panted fight for oxygen deep in his chest. His tongue ran the curve of the other man's ear before he sucked on the lobe. "Fall for me, Christoper." Teeth scraped as he sucked and spoke against hot skin. "Fall apart for me." Chris jolted beneath him, body shaking and swaying as he came with a muffled groan, teeth biting into the skin of his arm.
"Goddamn!" Mannix groaned. He curled his shoulders forward, head settling hard on the bracing stretch of his arm as cold air finally filled his throat. He was so focused on breathing he barely noticed when both of Mobray's hands caught at his waist hard enough to bruise. The snap and press of the other man's hips became uncomfortable, driving him forward in an awkward angle into the wall. His head thumped against the boards as Mobray planted one hand in the middle of his back and shifted him lower, driving his legs apart and his shoulders down. "Jesus, Ozzie." He tried to accommodate the ragged and nearly painful motions, teeth clenched hard on his lip as he reached back with one hand. His fingernails dug under the sweated fabric of the other man's shirt and left bright red scratches against the pale skin of Mobray's waist.
"Bloody fucking hell!" Heat burned at the Englishman's hips, his entire body shivering uncontrollably as he chased his own release, thrusts ragged and uneven. His face flushed with effort and the constriction of his clothing had him growling on each panted breath. His muscles ached and the slick sweat that beaded at his hairline and dampened his clothes quickly turned clammy against the scald of his skin. He could feel Mannix sinking from pleasure to pain, could feel himself doing the same, his body aching and frustrated.
With a guttered sigh Mobray pulled the other man up until they were back to chest again, one hand iron gripped at Mannix's stubbled jaw, angling the turn of his neck. He led their lips together in a hard kiss, all mashed lips and nipping teeth, the taste of strong coffee and stronger liquor mixing and mingling between them. Sturdy teeth closed on his bottom lip and the pain sent him winging over a razors edge into orgasm, a whined and hurt sound battering at copper tasting lips.
Everything seemed to stop, his breathing, his brain, his heart, all at once as pain burned pleasure into sated numbness. The both of them stumbled forward into the wall, Mobray's weight laxed into Chris's back even as his hips twitched in diminishing thrusts. "Brilliant, beautiful, boy." He mumbled, his own voice dull and distant to his own ears. Mobray rubbed his jaw into the sweated skin of Mannix's back, offering comfort as he dropped flatfooted and his softening erection slipped from the other man's body. "Sorry, love." There was very little of Mobray in his gruffed voice, his pitch a full measure lower in his muttering.
His throat clenched on a swallow and he tried to draw the tattered remnants of the dead executioner's persona back over his own. It was harder than he expected and for the first time he wished he'd never started down this path in the first place. Never agreed to follow Jody up this godforsaken mountain. Never decided to follow the man beneath him to the barn. He had a feeling that, lifetime of bad choices aside, one of these decisions would be the one to end him. He could already taste the blood on his lips.
"Ozzie?" The taller man was shivering underneath him, a rash of goosebumps fleshing out across his entire body. Mobray rubbed his fingertips into the nearly welted texture, but the sweat damp warmth of his smaller body was only making the other man shiver harder.
"A moment, if you please." But there weren't many more moments and they both knew it. They'd have both been missed by now. Both of them equally suspect in John Ruth's paranoid mind. Maybe a liability in Jody's. Mobray tipped his head to one side, clearing his sweat stroked hair off his forehead and sighed. He couldn't resist licking a final swipe up between Chris's muscled shoulder blades and planting just one more kiss into the hair at the nape of his neck. It's all he could offer, a final touch of affection, maybe even a charm so that he, please god, didn't have to kill this man before all was said and done. Salt mixed with the coppered taste from his bitten lip as he straightened, leaning them apart.
"We're apt to get a bullet just for bein' outta Ruth's sight this long. That man'd shoot his own mother, she came up on him unannounced." Mannix turned himself right back into Mobray's chest, smirking a bit into the realization that the Englishman was still mostly fully dressed. Tie tight but trousers wadded at his knees, hair damp with sweat and childishly swirled and cowlicked.
"Oh, no doubt." Mobray allowed Mannix to finger comb at his hair, the younger man's long fingers carding at the lank strands and tugging at the knots. "He does appear a bit high strung." Mannix just nodded agreement, his eyes bright and clear as he sorted the long hair back behind the older man's ears. "To that end, we should probably return."
"Probably." The younger man sighed and pushed away, fingers lingering for a second on the other man's jaw. "You figure you'll stay long in Red Rock?"
"The life of a public executioner is often unsure, Christopher." Mobray tugged a handkerchief from his vest pocket and cleaned himself before tugging his trousers up and closing the flies. He left the belt ends dangling and offered the square of fabric to the other man. "But I wager the amount of time I spend in Red Rock would be proportional to the amount of time you spend apprehending vile criminals in need of hanging."
"Got a feeling I'm gonna be a good sheriff." Mannix grinned wide, the laugh lines that bracketed his nose and eyes crinkling as he accepted the handkerchief.
"Indeed." One more kiss. He had to have one more, in case. Mobray leaned forward, hands purposely kept busy working his belt closed, and gentled a kiss between them. Lips and tongue and scraping, not biting teeth. "I'll return first. Follow along once you've righted yourself." He glanced the length of the other man's still naked body, eyebrows lifted high before grabbing at his coat, remembering at the last minute the gun folded into the thick fabric.
"Hey, Ozzie?"
"Yes?" Mobray turned, not wanting to look back, but like Lot's wife, unable to stop.
"You really think I'da fucked one of the horses?" Mannix was still grinning, his lips swollen and neck red with beard burn.
"Luckily, dear boy, we'll never know." Mobray clapped his hat on his head and pulled his coat tighter before shoving open the outside door and stepping into the wind swirled snow.