ATTENTION! This story contains sexual content of a homosexual nature between consenting adults. Everyone in this is fictional, and if any of the activities in this story, namely sex between men (specifically between adult men in the mid-1800s), happen to offend you or are in violation of what your jurisdiction deems appropriate for you to read, you should probably not continue. Feedback, suggestions, and comments are more than welcome to be sent to shawndilf@proton.me , along with if you enjoyed it enough to get off (love hearing that I made you cum hard). And I will never turn down photographic proof of your erections or loads shot. ;)
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Copyright 2024, all rights reserved by the author.
Smith and Sheriff, Part III
"Oh would you shut up and let him hurt you already!"
The irritation was clear as the midday skies in Marcus Corbett's voice as he watched his half-naked deputy squirm with his leg across the anvil while holding him down in a chair by the shoulders.
"Here, bite down on this," Richard said helpfully offered a thick length of rope to the young man that was having to deal with the consequences of a pursuit gone awry. "He's very distracted," the smith said absently in his low voice as he checked over the young man's calf. It wasn't the first time that Richard had needed to set a broken leg in his life, but this time felt far stranger than any time he had done so before. For one thing, the young deputy wouldn't stop snivelling, which had made all of the smith's sympathy evaporate extremely quickly.
"Just set the goddamn leg already!" The sheriff sounded like he would rather empty his gun into his subordinate than be bothered with it any further. From what Marcus had said about the incident, it seemed like plugging a horse thief full of lead had bothered him a whole lot less than dealing with an injured greenhorn and that he wished he had been dragging the dead man away instead of listening to a live one sob.
For his part, Richard knew what he had to do. It probably didn't make it any easier for the young man, who looked like he might be eighteen if he was a day, but at least the smith wasn't going to make a mess of the situation. It felt like a clean break, and since he didn't see any bones showing or feel any other damage, it wasn't like the man needed to be turned away.
He grabbed the young man's limb with one hand, bracing his other just above the knee, and pulled with all his might until the offending part went straight. The deputy, for what it was worth, stopped crying and only made a sharp, surprised squeak of an inhalation as Richard used all his strength to realign the break.
The deputy went limp shortly after that, leaving a void of silence as consciousness deserted him. The smith began to probe at the leg gently with his fingers, checking the alignment of the bones now that they were in their typical position. It was one of those things that had been steadily working itself out of the trade since doctors had become more and more common as the world became civilized, but Richard's master had made sure he knew what to do since in a rural setting there might not be someone with medical training around. That rule applied to the frontier at least as much as it did to a sleepy herding village
"Very nicely done, Rich," Marcus said approvingly as the burly blacksmith found no faults with the procedure. "A solid splint, and that'll be it for today. Gareth can take over his care once he returns from his travels, and I'm sure that will give Joseph a fair bit of relief as he contemplates what he wants to do with his life once he wakes up." Marcus' tone was unmistakably appreciative of the sudden quiet now that his deputy had passed out from the pain.
The smith made a thoughtful sound as he picked up one of the planks that he'd been keeping around for fixing up the front stairs. "You're lucky I had a few spares still around. Between that and my ragsheet, you're definitely getting the full treatment today."
"I'll make sure that the county pays both of you for the service of fixing up this boy," Marcus interjected with an amused tone. "I'm thinking that I can give you thirteen dollars for setting the leg, and Gareth can figure out what he'll need for after care."
"That's-," Richard started to say before he was interrupted.
The sheriff nodded sagely as he continued to hold up the deputy in the chair. "You are very correct, my friend, in that I can get more. Thirteen for Rich for doing the hard work right on the first try," he said with an approving nod to himself, "maybe five or ten for the good physician to cover any morphine or other items he might need to dispense," he continued with a second nod, "and any remaining for me to cover my own inconvenience in this matter," he finished with immense satisfaction in his voice.
The smith grunted. The cost needed to be discussed further, but he got the feeling to revisit that point later and let Marcus keep his greed-inspired pleasure for a moment. With another snort of annoyance, he let the matter drop for the moment. "So are you going to just tie him like a pack and take him home, or do you need an actual conveyance?" To Richard's eyes, the old wooden cart he had chained in back of the shop had looked only fit for objects that couldn't take a splinter to travel in, and he shuddered to think how comfortable a ride in that would be for an injured man. But it was still better than the alternative.
Marcus chewed his lip and flicked his eyes heavensward for a moment of contemplation before making a counteroffer. "Tie your splints with some solid knots, and I'll have his father come and get him. I'm sure that the news has made its way to his storefront by now, but if it hasn't, I will be sure to inform him. That man is infuriating to deal with when I require him to order in certain sundries, but he is generally a decent enough man and possesses the equipment for transporting a burden," Marcus muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. His black hat was hanging up beside the door, almost forgotten in the excitement of the afternoon. "Speaking of infuriating," the sheriff continued in his lazy drawl, "where's that young apprentice of yours? It's bad enough that my subordinates are spread so tightly that even something like this required my attention, but where is the dullard anyways?"
The smith shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I won't pay that boy to just stand around," he said impassively in his heavy brogue. "He gets five days from me now, and he can be someone else's problem on the slowest of days."
Marcus chuckled at that. "I knew when we first met that I liked you, Rich," he said with a wink. "But, just out of professional curiosity, since you didn't object to my pricing, what would be the lowest rate you would be willing to accept for setting a busted leg?"
"Fifteen," the smith said without missing a breath. "You, or rather the county, owe Richard Fife, blacksmith, fifteen dollars for setting a leg on short notice now that you have decided to finally listen to someone else's voice for a moment."
"I don't know if we can be friends now," the tall blond said as he put one hand over his heart in a tone that was would've sounded sincere to someone that had never dealt with him before.
"Sixteen."
Making a disgusted sound, Marcus rolled his eyes. "I was hoping you might give me a discount on account of our amiability."
The bulky blacksmith moved close to the black-clad sheriff, and leaned in. Even standing on the points of his boots to gain a bit extra height, he whispered directly into Marcus' ear so that even if the poor deputy had been conscious, even he couldn't hear the words, "The county purse and I do not enjoy the same sort of familiarity as you and I enjoy, so I will be happy to deliver you a receipt for fifteen dollars that you can reimburse me for. Promptly."
"Were you always this way, or have I been a bad influence on you after all?" The whisper back came accompanied by Marcus running one hand up the redhead's heavy leather apron, idly pressing his fingers against the spot where the stocky smith's manhood sat behind it. Even though the thick skin absorbed almost all of the physical intention, the action still elicited an approving grunt from the target.
"Do not try to out-thrift a Scotsman, you worldly creature. My father drilled it into me before you even dreamed of leaving your mothers' teats." Richard smiled as he stood back, clear from the wiles of his favourite lawman. He loved Marcus with all his heart, but he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the thrill of a good haggle almost as much. Negotiating with Marcus over money that was coming out of neither of their pockets made it even more delightful than usual, and he couldn't resist tweaking his man's moustache at least once over this.
"It is bold of you to assume that I didn't just crawl out of a swamp fully formed," Marcus said with a smirk. "Even so, as much as I do enjoy listening to your voice, and believe me that I do, there is a limit to how much that I can justify. An emergency situation requiring travel to that hellhole Creekdale, yes I get to pay you both. But realistically, we both know that the crown values a green deputy far less than paying both a physician as well as the person that actually set his stupid leg back into place. 'Specially if I was an honest man and said that it happened right on the doorstep of where I live."
"All branches of government have deep pockets," replied Richard, unimpressed. 'Besides,' the smith thought, 'that's exactly the same price that Gareth charges for a break.'
"That young man won't think so when he finds out what sort of compensation he'll be receiving from this all." Marcus shook his head in what looked like defeat. "Fifteen it is, but you should know that I'll be unable to pay for your dinner this evening because of my sudden loss of income."
Richard's eyes narrowed with suspicion for a moment, before he extended his right hand. "Such is life," he said as they shook on the deal. He was sure that the sheriff was going to try and bring him down to fourteen at least, which meant that either Marcus was letting him win or that he been wrong about how much the county would be willing to pay.
The sheriff's eyes were warm and happy for just a moment before returning to his usual cool amusement, so Richard decided that it had to be the latter. 'At least I know he's not a pauper,' the smith sighed inside as he considered what a wonderfully frustrating man he had fallen in love with.
"Now that that's taken care of, I have reports to write out over what exactly happened today and why our thief can't be taken to trial after a quick jaunt to ensure that your guest leaves your premises promptly." The handsome blond's handlebar moustache twitched with annoyance as he spoke.
"It's a pity he bled out before he could rot in your cell and save you the work," Richard replied blandly.
Marcus just shrugged his shoulders, the action slightly magnified by his longcoat. "I always blame the criminal, then my deputies, for making me waste a bullet on a foolish head," he said nonchalantly as he turned and found his way out.
As the sheriff showed himself out, he missed seeing the poleaxed expression that his statement had inspired.
"I hate that I already knew that is his favourite place to shoot a man," Richard said to the closed door as he just stared at it. The deputy didn't have anything to add, having continued to be unconscious.
"That's a cold wind tonight," Zeke grumbled as he sat himself down at the table. As usual, they were seated in a private room, though the howling of the elements was making itself well known even with the windows closed. "Have you lot ordered yet?"
"Not yet," Jack replied, signalling for the engineer to sit beside him. This room had a rectangular table, meaning that the four of them could sit two to a side and maintain an even balance.
"Good," Zeke said with relish. "They seem to get here faster with the meals if we all order at once."
A girl came in to take their order almost as the engineer took his seat, most likely having been alerted from the one that had shown Zeke in that there were customers that needed to begin spending. All four of them chose the option for the creamed chicken and parsnips, with two orders of ale for one side and mixed drinks for the other.
"So what have I missed thus far?"
"A rousing debate on the virtues of silver coinage over paper," said Jack with disgust. He had little time for politics, outside of the merits of war.
"I just would rather prefer something with real value in it," Richard said with his arms folded.
"And I much prefer how much more convenient a promissory note really is," Marcus said with smirk.
"You're both wrong," Zeke said, almost rising from his seat to lean over the table with an excited gleam in his eyes. "As the most useless of metals, it should be gold. The only thing gold is good at is looking pretty and being rare. Really, we should be able to hold a value of every sort of metal so easily. Iron is the backbone of everything, so I would enjoy if I could hold tender pegged to the price of iron as the demand rises with projects. A man could easily speculate with his wages alone and without the need to deal with an exchange or ownership shares if he chose to be paid in iron and was aware of oncoming demand from large projects. Copper too, and maybe even aluminum, though I hear that the French might be onto something new in making it more easily refined."
Unabated, the engineer continued to speak animatedly about the virtues of every sort of elemental metal as it related to its place in the modern world and its worth. Neither Marcus nor Richard had a chance to interject, as it seemed like the engineer didn't even need to pause for a breathe. Jack had leaned into his hand, covering his mouth so that nobody else could see whether he was smiling or scowling, though the cast of his eyes seemed to be that of a man being sentenced at trial.
It continued for what seemed like an interminable amount of time until a pair of Doreen's serving staff brought in their meals, with only no-nonsense attitude of a woman who knew how to interrupt a man finally silencing Zeke's tangent.
"We'll have your drinks up shortly," the girl said with a smile that was limned in barely veiled annoyance at the situation, before leaving.
"Finally," Jack sighed as he picked up a fork.
"Of course, you couldn't use truly use brass as a measure of worth, since it's far too difficult to determine whether it's a true ratio of red or yellow brass. Any alloy, really, would be-"
"I am very sorry, but I will shoot you in your drafting hand right here and now if you do not be quiet and partake in this delicious meal," the sheriff said in a voice that held all the warmth of a winter night. There were limits to Marcus Corbett's patience, and the incredibly long and in depth analysis of the uses of various metals was probing the borders of it.
The stumpy engineer's face fell at the threat, and he sunk down into his chair. "I thought it interesting," he lamented as he speared a chunk of parsnip.
"Perhaps you should write some high up banker about your ideas. The people that control it all do seem to be interested in bimetallic currency lately, so perhaps your ideas can influence someone if you put them to paper." Marcus' drawl was far more conciliatory now that Zeke's torrent of ideas had the floodgates slammed shut on them for the moment.
"Now, who had the gin?" The serving girl had returned with their drinks, and left again in short order after ensuring that they were delivered to the proper connoisseurs.
They ate in mostly silence, with what little conversation came up between bites thoroughly avoiding the topic of precious metals. Richard complained that the quality of coal that was being delivered lately was lacking, to which Zeke agreed as he had been hearing the same sorts of complaints coming from the railmen.
After finishing, they set their dishes aside on the side table, and Jack began dealing out the first hand of the night. More drinks came, and even a light platter of sliced sausage for them to enjoy as the evening marched on, but eventually, their wagers found themselves stacked in front of the barber for the most part as the glasses emptied.
"And that makes four of a kind," the grey-haired man said with smug satisfaction as he laid out his hand, the two threes on the river matching up with the two in his hand.
"Shit," Marcus said with disgust as he tossed his hand at the centre of the table.
"That's it for me too," Zeke added with resignation as he displayed that he had been bluffing.
"Four kings," Richard said flatly. He had been trying to keep his entire body from vibrating as he laid down a hand containing all each suit of that rank.
Marcus made a choking sound as Jack's jaw went slack with surprise. The barber inclined his head in defeat, and pushed the final pot towards Richard. With barely concealed glee, the smith scooped up the stakes with his big hands, and began to organize it.
"Well, well, well." There was playful malice mixed with a note of pride in the sheriff's tone as he watched his man pocket the winnings. He may have lost the battle this eve, but his lover had won the war for them.
"Fair's fair," Jack said, no disappointment colouring his words. "Nicely done, my friend."
"Now that that's settled, I assume that you gentlemen will be having a rousing discussion of philosophy once we quit this place?" Marcus delivered the words with a smile, aware that Jack and Zeke had been enjoying each other's company more often than not since they were forced into being honest to each other about their wishes.
Zeke flushed a deep red suddenly, owing not much to his ale consumption. "You would not be wrong," he mumbled shyly, looking down as if searching his bushy beard for stray crumbs.
Richard found himself smiling at that. He liked the change of attitude that had come over both the engineer and the barber. Both of them were more relaxed and happier with their lot in life as of late. Ever since he had begun to find his own solace in his sheriff's arms, the burly redhead found that his heart was gladdened to see others content in their lives.
Jack had a curious expression on his face, a mischievious look that wasn't usual for the plain-spoken man that had served in the naval forces before a change in careers. "Oh, things are well. But Zeke has had something on his mind over the last couple weeks," he said in a strangely sing-song tone.
The engineer seemed to flinch at the words, and darted a wild look back at the man who had become his paramour. Seeing this, Marcus decided to press his words. "Oh? Something that he hasn't felt fit to share?"
The dark-haired engineer ran his tongue over his teeth, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't find either the words nor the courage.
"Go on," Jack said, his smile influenced by his beer consumption.
"I... uh-" Zeke stammered for a moment, before swallowing and bringing his voice low, "I was wondering if perhaps you and Richard would be willing to join us for a drink in private."
"To discuss certain things," Jack said smoothly, casting his gaze across the other two men's faces as they wore inscrutable expressions.
"I think that we might well be served by continuing this conversation in a different venue, no matter what may come about," Marcus said slowly after a long silence in a very neutral manner.
"So my little friend, we've only the night for company now," said Marcus as he watched Jack bar his shop's back door. "What, pray tell, would you like to discuss with us, and please do not say copper dollars." There was a smooth, oily sheen to the words, the verbal equivalent to a pit of tar-slicked mud that threatened to draw in any foolish enough to brave it.
"I swear on my discipline, you are the rudest man alive." There was a snort of intense irritation that preceded Zeke's words. A flash from Jack's hand as he lit the oil-lamp he kept in the storeroom illuminated the engineer's frown.
"Only to friends," the sheriff conceded as they followed Jack into the main room and up the stairs.
"Please, take off your boots and sit." The older man gestured to the large chesterfield that dominated the big room. The living area of Jack's home was a single large room that was a far cry from either Richard's spartan quarters or Marcus' chaotic lair. Two lines were strung a the far end of the room that held his neatly held clothing, and the floor was covered in a multitude of carpets that looked to have been woven from knotted rags. In addition, there was a small, dark-stained table with a pair of matching chairs for dining, a simple desk that seemed to be where the man held his papers, and at the far end, a surprisingly large bed that seemed buried in quilts and pillows.
After hanging up their coats and hats on Jack's hat rack, three of them seated themselves with the sheriff taking the moment to hang up his holstered firearms as well. Marcus and Richard sat on the left side of the chesterfield, while Jack and Zeke took the other end. Zeke, the smith noted, was making a point not to meet either his or the sheriff's eyes.
"Rum?" Jack had picked up a bottle on the way up, and was working the cork out even as he offered.
"God, yes," Zeke muttered, looking to Marcus and Richard before taking the bottle and taking a quick swig. He handed it back to Jack, wiping his lips with the back of one hand, before speaking again. "I would appreciate it if I could ask you both a question, and whatever the answer is, that we can still be friends."
The lanky blond exhaled deeply through his nose as he accepted the glass bottle with his right hand. As he leaned back, he lay his left over Richard's shoulder in a gesture that was filled with both affection and protectiveness. "Yes to the latter, but I'll let the good Master Fife be the one to speak for us both for the former if it is what I think it is." Marcus took a sip quickly before handing the bottle to his lover, his eyes twinkling with mischief in the flickering oil-light.
Richard accepted the bottle and took his own share before handing it across to their host. "I think I'm a little lost here. Did you speak of something when I was relieving myself at Doreen's that I missed?"
"I was wondering," Zeke began slowly, his tongue wetting his lips nervously before he continued, "if you and Marcus would be interested to spend an evening with myself and Jack." The broad little engineer stroked his beard out of habit, almost without being conscious of it. "Well, a rollick moreso."
"A rollick," the redhead said almost as slowly. He wasn't sure what he had expected Zeke to have said, now that the man had actually said the words out loud, since it absolutely could have been nothing other than the neurotic worrying of a man feeling out another man in search of affection.
"I've known all three of you separately, of course," Marcus said pleasantly, "so I cannot claim prudishness when it comes to such a matter, but as I said, I will defer to Rich's discretion on whether he wishes to partake in such sport."
The smith's response was a lusty moan filled with unthinking desire, cut off as he turned his head to his beloved. It shamed him a touch to admit how many times he had wondered about Marcus' words on how skilled Jack's dexterous hands really were, or imagining what Zeke looked like when his thick clothing was shucked and he was wearing naught but his massive beard. "My heart belongs to you as ever," he said in his low voice, thick with desire, "but it would be natural for men such as us to share our bodies with each other."
"I do believe that Rich is amenable," Marcus said with a chuckle as he shifted to behold his lover. The sheriff lay a hand on his burly blacksmith's broad chest, letting it linger for a moment. The cockeyed smirk roofed by his immaculate handlebar moustache widened for a moment before he drew himself forward to deliver a long kiss. The tall man made sure that his tongue delved deep into Richard's mouth in that agonizingly long half-minute before withdrawing. He flicked his tongue out momentarily in an almost serpentine gesture, before turning to Zeke with a lazy, wicked expression on his handsome features. "And it might just be crass to refuse the hospitality of our dear friends," he added with a wink to Jack as he rose to his feet.
Richard stood up beside his lover, a silly smile on his face. His trousers felt tight as he stood beside the lanky blond, and felt the lawman's strong hand slide down his back and begin kneading his buttock. It caused the smith to arch his back instinctually from the feeling, thrusting forward his captive hardness in a manner that made his arousal unmistakable.
The engineer scrambled to his own rise, his stocking feet nearly slipping on the rug as he approached the two. A boyish grin was plastered wide across the short man's face, his coal-black hair nearly becoming a void in the flame light as he reached out and began slowly began to stroke Richard's root through the fabric. "Oh my," he said in surprise at feeling the engorged root that was trapped behind two layers of cloth.
Jack joined them not a moment later, the silver-haired barber slipping an arm around Zeke on his left and Marcus to his right, drawing them together as he leaned in to put his face near that of the blond. His breath was hot with rum-laced anticipation, as opened his mouth in a wordless invitation for Marcus to match.
Zeke and Richard followed suit almost immediately after, the four of them all being appreciative of the pleasures that could be found in two tongues seeking dominance of each other. Hands roamed across bodies as their natural urges overtook them, encouraging them to feel the sinewy heft of arms and chests.
Richard felt a hand slip the buttons on his trousers, and a set of thick fingers begin exploring against his hairy flesh. The digits were surprisingly dexterous as they wrapped around his length, and he leaned back in bliss. A hearty moan issued from his throat as he expressed his pleasure at the unfamiliar hand's ministrations. "You feel nearly as covered as me," the engineer said in a wondrous tone as he continued exploring.
"I'm glad to hear it, since a man that can keep himself warm in his own pelt in the winter has always appealed to me as well," the smith replied huskily. Richard gazed down into Zeke's eyes and found himself looking into the engineer's soul. There was a surprising warmth to those eyes that verged in hue between freshly cut wood and amber, with flecks of brilliance and pride intertwined with a profound sadness. From beneath bushy brows of black did they give the smith a look over, and there was only a honest camaraderie and respect that was undimmed by the smoulder of desire.
Richard ran an approving hand down the engineer's chest and across the slight swell of his belly, before lingering on the man's buckle. He deftly defeated it and slid his hand into the loosened fabric. He found the shorter man's drawers to be of a sheer, almost slick fabric as he grasped at the turgid prize buried beneath.
"My one conceit," Zeke chuckled bashfully as Richard's hand slid across the silken fabric before finding an entrance and settling on the engineer's heavy orbs.
"I would not call taking any pleasure in this cold world a conceit," Richard murmurred as they stood brow to brow, absorbed in each other. "Aye, when each day may be our last, who is fit to judge how a man takes solace and succor from the cruelty?" They rejoined their lips at that, passion burning their veins as their right hands continued to reciprocate stimulation.
"Perhaps," Jack gasped as he felt Marcus's teeth nip at the lump of his vocal cords as the lawman worked his way down the older man's neck, "we should make ourselves comfortable rather than stand here." The sheriff had managed to undo the barber's trousers completely, and the man was standing in a puddle of cloth, his underthings hooked beneath his testicles while Marcus milked his erection in teasingly slow motions.
There was no dissent as they untangled, and soon all four were beside the wide bed of Jack's. They quickly shed their raiments and clambored up onto the padded stage to resume their prior states. Red hair rubbed against black, while blond mixed with grey as the four of them continued their activities.
Richard looked down the engineer's body and marvelled at what he saw. Zeke was blessed by a thick coat of soft, black hair across his chest and belly that fanned out in a dramatic contrast to his fair skin. Tracing the nearly unbroken trail from his neck down to his groin was the centre of attention, a thick and veiny tower that rose proudly from among a dark nest. For a man that stood only five and a half feet high, the engineer made up for it in spades as seven and a half proud inches jutted forth with an almost arrogant ferocity. The shorter man's girth nearly matched that of Richard's own rod, as he found himself struggling to close his fist around it. He licked his hand, giving additional lubrication before continuing his ministrations, his eyes drawn to the pale scar of the engineer's circumcision and being mindful to ensure that there was more than enough wetness for his hand to slide freely across the hardened piece. Luckily, it seemed that Zeke was as randy as the smith was, as both of them were producing a copious amount of fluid that was slicking their hands.
"Your arms are so thick," Zeke said softly in between their quick pecks. "Hardened from your forge, and so strong." His massive beard tangled with the shorter crop of the other man, coal and copper mixing together with each embrace. Multiple times already, Richard's hand had run through Zeke's facial hair, appreciating the daily attention that the engineer spent with a brush and keeping it clean. It fell between them like a warm blanket, seeming to cover more area than the two handspans of length would.
"And you are like a bear, ferocious and solid," Richard responded as the shorter man rolled upon him and he found himself pressed down against the bed by the stocky form. Their hair mingled with every movement as Zeke's trapped prong slid against Richard, leaving wet trails through the red hair with each pass. Richard's thick piece was nestled behind the engineer's heavy balls, his foreskin tugged by the grinding movements as Zeke continued to stimulate himself against Richard.
The burly smith was distracted for a moment as a flash of motion caught the corner of his eye, and what he saw made his manhood spew forth even more liquid. There was Marcus, in all his blond, lanky glory, sitting astraddle Jack's chest and letting the grey-haired barber suckle tenderly at his length.
The sheriff's head was thrown back in pleasure, his mouth slightly opened with his eyes shut and his hands slowly guiding Jack's head as he engulfed the veiny shaft again and again. The flicker of the flame made it look like Marcus was covered in spun gold, his pale muscles accentuated by the thick dusting that covered them in a soft glitter. His strong legs where tense with the maintenance of his position, astride the barber's thick form.
Jack's eyes were also shut, his attention focused on working the sheriff's manhood in his maw. His thick, tattooed arm reached down past Marcus' leg, stroking his own flagstaff in fast, regular strokes. The skin bunched over the head with each hurried motion, dividing Richard's focus between that turgid proof of his sex and the faded, dark ink that stood testament to when Jack had sailed the high seas in his youth. His greying hair was splayed across his thick form, in what would've been a hearty amount for a regular man and would only be considered light in the company of the other men that were there that night.
"Magnificent," breathed the smith without thinking as he gazed at the pale rider.
"Yes," Zeke agreed with a soft smile, running his hand to the side of Richard's face and caressing the smith's beard. "You both are, as is sweet Jack."
"And you as well," Richard breathed as he returned the expression. "A lesser man would not have me hard as steel right now." He shifted his position out of his body's natural tendencies, opening his legs slightly and letting the stocky engineer's form to dip deeper into him.
Zeke's dark brows rose in surprise. "Do not give an invitation that you are not willing to honour," he rumbled playfully. "It would be cruel to taunt the bait of such a thick arse without intention."
Richard only nodded, and raised his head so that he could once more explore Zeke's mouth. As their lips parted again, he whispered his will in a single word. "Please."
The embers that had been smouldering in Zeke's eyes were ablaze now, and he almost leapt from the bed. On a small table was a tin of grease, and engineer grabbed it greedily before returning. He took a generous glob and began working it onto his piston, replacing this cover and setting the tin down by Richard's head before spreading it to his other hand and probing at the smith's hairy opening.
"Christ, you want it," he swore as Richard's backside accepted his digit without issue.
Richard writhed in pleasure as the nimble appendage found the knob of pleasure within his depths, and then gasped again as a second finger began to stroke him from within. He knew what was to come, and raised his legs up, letting Zeke adjust his placement so that the shorter man was able to kneel at the source of his intentions. The redhead held himself under the knees, ensuring that there were no obstacles for his friend.
"Marcus is a lucky man," Zeke said under his breath as he worked the grease further in. His grin was wide and open-mouthed, displaying his full set of widely spaced teeth in a feral show. "And tonight," he said lustily, a string of saliva dripping down into his beard from the side of his mouth as he withdrew his fingers and placed the blunt head of his penis against Richard's pucker, "so am I."
As Zeke pushed into him, Richard groaned at the sensation even as his legs found purchase against Zeke's shoulders. The sound was almost that of a wounded stag, yet also filled with the longing and need of a man that required physical satiation. There was no yield to Zeke's pole, the smith found, but rather a surprising solidness that was more akin to being impaled on a rod of steel as opposed to a rod of flesh and blood. Indeed, Richard swore he could almost feel the definitions of his flesh drag against his inner walls as Zeke continued in implacable motion. It wasn't until the smith felt the dark thicket at the base of Zeke's shaft rub against his skin that he remembered to breathe again.
The engineer grabbed at Richard's hips with a swift motion, and drew him close to adjust their position. Then, with a hiss of pleasure, Zeke began to piston himself in and out of the red-haired man.
It was not a gentle rhythm that the engineer favored, and it was not meant to be one. It was like that of the rail engine, the steady stroke that forced wheels to move hundreds of tons of freight over cold steel. It was a heavy pounding that seemed to be fueled by the combustion of solid coal into an unimaginable heat, the byproducts steaming from the engine's core. It was so very different from the love that Richard had become used to, but at the same time, he found on every heavy pound that just as much of his fluids erupted from a tool that was almost painfully hard from arousal.
Richard's eyes wanted to roll back in his head from the sensation, but he forced himself to look up at Zeke. The engineer had pinned him almost in half, his arms finding purchase against the bed. There was a violent heat in those light brown eyes now, made more acute from the sweat of effort that was almost dripping from the stocky engineer as he continued his heavy thrusting. Again and again, Zeke's hips thrust into Richard's backside, forcing shocks of sensation through the muscular man as the stocky little engineer drove his rod of iron directly into the seat of a man's pleasure.
Words deserted the smith as he tried to say anything, but only noise came forth. Only low grunts and moans as Zeke continued that steady pace that owed more to a mechanical engine than it did to nature. Both of them were lost in their lust, held in stasis by the regular actions of their coupling. As Zeke drove himself deep, Richard's flesh tightened in response, enhancing the pleasure on Zeke's withdrawal stroke until he was almost ready to emerge. Then, on the forethrust, Richard's flesh eagerly accepted the herald of incoming pleasure, giving it easy passage until it can no further within him. Again and again, they continue, their breathing heavy and ragged from exertion.
Beside the them, Jack was moaning his own pleasure at being invaded by hard manflesh. The broad-shouldered barber was laying low to the bed, and had his hands bracing against the base of the bed's headboard as the rangy blond was hunched over his raised rump.
Marcus' hands were pressed deep in their grasp of the barber's waist, giving him amble leverage to deliver as much force as his body would allow in each motion. He slammed him seven inches deep into Jack's hairy arse over and over again in what could only be described as a selfish fornication. A stream of profanity, quiet and low, spewed forth from the lawman's lips as he degraded the man under him as but a vessel to be used for pleasure. It was wicked and punitive, an act born of fury and speed from the knowledge that Jack welcomed such attention.
Indeed, the grey-haired man was begging for more as his face was pressed against the covers. Untouched, his own length was stiff between his legs, quivering more with every assault to his inner passage. "Harder," Jack begged as he kept his arms locked in order to not be forced forward by the intensity of Marcus's attentions. "Please, use me harder."
"You spread your legs for anyone, won't you? Did you leave the navy because they ran out of men to plow you?" There was a harshness to Marcus' words that even criminals rarely got to hear, a vicious cruelty that seemed honed like a knife sharpened to the finest edge.
"Yes. I need more. Fill me, sir."
The words only spurred Marcus further. His eyes were wild, wide and almost explosive in how they refused to focus on a single target. Sweat dripped down his flesh, shining bright amongst the blond hair of his chest, occasionally spraying droplets on a particularly vicious thrust. And yet, somehow, even with his lips curled in a feral snarl, his thick moustache still retained its shape. The light provided by a single flame cast long shadows over them all, and to any that would see Marcus at that moment, they would see that handsome, perfect man in the throes of all his dark urges.
He threw back his head in an almost leonine action, roaring his dominance as his cock erupted in climax deep within Jack's battered hole. Again and again, Marcus attempted to drive himself deeper into the older man, ensuring that all nine pulses of his seed were deposited as deeply as possible within.
With shuddering breaths, the blond nearly collapsed on top of Jack's broad back, his strength temporarily spent, and he let himself lay there for a moment before sliding down to his knees and letting his softening length slip easily from the battered passage.
Spurred on from the actions, Zeke's own piece began to thicken further, and his thrusts increased in urgency. The engineer's gaze had remained locked on Richard's face through it all, but the sounds of the sheriff's bestial mating with his submissive partner had nearly multiplied the arousal of the situation. As he felt himself near the point of no return, the dark-haired engineer bucked himself deep into the smith and invaded the man's mouth with his tongue one last time even as his swollen meat began to erupt.
He held himself still in the rapture of it all, moaning into Richard's mouth even as his body pumped a flood of white hot essence deep into the smith's reservoir. The redhead responded with his own squeals of pleasure, his body welcoming the warmth that he could feel spread within him even as he embraced the thick tongue that played against his own.
They stayed there for a moment, until Zeke straightened up and leaned back on his heels. There was a very satisfied look on the engineer's face as he withdrew to lay next to Richard. "That was nice," he said in understatement, giving the redhead a quick peck before grasping the man's untouched prick. It was soaked in its juices from the heavy plowing that Richard had endured, and looked nearly ready to burst.
"May I?" Jack's words were hungry as moved to straddle the smith. At the almost immediate nod, he positioned himself to take the smith's girth. The barber winced slightly as the blunt thickness touched against his battered hole, then willed himself to accept it. Even after taking Marcus' prick deep so recently, the sheer thickness that was Richard's manhood still stretched Jack to his limits. When the fat head breached through the ring and began to slide home easily, the silver-haired man sighed in pleasure, and began to rock and raise himself up and down.
For his part, Richard was almost insensible from it all. The way that Zeke had taken him had nearly driven the senses from his body, and now Jack's service was bringing him to an edge that had teased and eluded him. "Yes," was all he could say as he pawed hungrily at the chest covered in silvery hair. He grasped at the man's flesh, finding purchase on his sides, and forcing him down in an acceleration of the established rhythm. Through it all, the awareness of that the warm wetness that was coating his eager prong had been freshly deposited by the love of his life in this useful vessel played at the front of Richard's mind, furthering his excitement.
"I'm-" he choked out, unable to finish the words as his balls tightened up and delivered the first blast of his milk to mix with Marcus' deep inside that hot abyss. Again and again, Richard felt himself unload until after the sixth it seemed to reduce to a mere trickle.
Shudders of sudden tightness milked even more from Richard's cock as Jack's own release came. Even as Richard began to use Jack for his own pleasure, Zeke had reached over and began pumping Jack's prick. There was no loud exultation like how Marcus or Zeke had expressed their completion, or even the wordless groan that was only an expression of pleasure through the changes of pitch like what Richard had just done. Instead, it was almost like a sigh of relief as the barber was allowed to release and feel his own pleasure.
Seven large shots spewed out across the ruddy expanse of the smith's chest, the first of which catching him on the bottom of his beard. Even as Jack continued to shudder in his aftershocks, Marcus leaned down and began to lap up the milky trails. He paused to lick at Zeke's hand when presented, the last dregs having dripped over the engineer's fist before he released Jack's flesh, then continued up Richard's chest. It wasn't until the last drops were sucked from the red beard that Marcus gave his lover a long kiss and they shared the taste of Jack between them.
The barber withdrew himself with a grunt, and walked over to his clotheslines to retrieve a large washcloth. After wiping his front and backside with it, he passed it to Zeke. Richard and Marcus took their turn after, and once all four were satisfied with the removal of fluids and grease, Jack took back the towel. He returned with the bottle of rum as the other three had climbed under the covers already.
Marcus was at the far end of the bed with Richard was huddled against him. He took the bottle with a quick thanks, and happily took a swig. For the first time that night, there was a peaceful expression on the sheriff's face. There was no hard cast to his features, nor the sharpness to his eyes that was usually paired with a mocking smile. Instead, there was only contentment and happiness as he had one arm around his burly blacksmith while the other held a bottle of somewhat acceptable rum.
"My thanks," the sheriff said softly after he took a share, and nudged the bottle against Richard's shoulder.
The redhead took his own swallow before handing it to Zeke, who decided to have two swigs before returning it to its owner.
"I thought you preferred bourbon," Richard said as he curled up against Marcus' chest.
"I do," Jack replied, all traces of his previous submission having completely vanished. "Rum is Zeke's favourite."
"Jack's had enough rum for a lifetime, but he puts up with it for me," the engineer replied as he traced a finger along the fading lines of Jack's thick, tattooed arm. It had been a crest at one point, though a scar across it and the passage of time had faded it badly.
"It's the least I can do," came the reply in an unmistakably affectionate tone.
"I do believe that Hell may have frozen over for you two to be so honest to each other," Marcus chuckled.
Jack's eyes narrowed as he turned his head to respond. "Perhaps you should visit and find out. I don't believe that you've been home for a while."
The blond's smile froze for a moment, before returning a touch more wooden than it had been. "I have no interest in retracing my steps in life," he said quietly. "Not when I have all that I desire right here."
"Oh, that just sounds wrong," Zeke said with a snort. "When you are genuinely happy for something that does not involve suffering or greed, it's-" He cut himself off, deciding better than to antagonize Marcus, "-nice to hear." For all the engineer found the sheriff frustrating, he knew that that damned arrogant jackass of man had been a true friend over the years. Indeed, Marcus had protected him on one occasion from his own foolishness, and prevented his entire life derailing in a spiral that would have started with blackmail. He had never shared that information with anyone else, and had not once brought it up to hold it against him for favours or as a threat.
They sat there a while, enjoying each other's company and the freedom that came from the privacy of a night together, though even the breadth of Jack's bed was strained by the mass of four healthy adult men. After more laughter and good talk, Richard and Marcus retrieved their clothes and slipped out the back of the shop to find their way to their own bed. It gave them a touch of amusement as Jack forced himself to be the better man to escort them and set the lock and let Zeke stay warm.
The night was darker than usual, as the moon was barely a sliver as it began its slow recovery towards being full once more. There were a couple sounds in the night, usually fleeting as they were quickly passed in the familiar route. Yet aside from the two, there were few others about and those that were did not cross their path.
When they finally arrived at their destination, Marcus undid his pants and gave a mighty sigh as he unloaded on the side of the courthouse. The smith joined him, adding his own to the growing puddle that was steaming in the cool air as it pooled below the wooden wall.
"You really take pleasure in doing this here, don't you?"
A low laugh preceded the lawman's response. "I do," he said heartily. "There are few things in life more satisfactory than to haul oneself out and take a long piss on a cold day and make a record of where one has stood." He shook out the last few droplets before tucking himself back in and moving to unlock the door.
"Is it because you're marking your territory, or because you enjoy marking this building specifically?" Richard closed the door after entering, sliding the bar shut and engaging the lock before following the blond up the stairs. Even without light, he was able to easily navigate his way up into the living space.
"Well, I suppose I am a bit of a dog," he said in a satisfied drawl, not giving a definitive answer. "Though I was not the only one that slipped his leash this night."
The smith sighed at that, the intoxicating memories of their earlier debauchery coming to the front of his thoughts for a second. As the sheriff indicated for him to sit down next to him on the man's bed, he did so and found their hands quickly entwined. "It was unexpected but good," he admitted, "though neither of them could ever match you."
Marcus kissed him the cheek for that. "From anyone else, I'd call that flattery. But you, my plain-spoken Scot, are true in your words each day so I have never have cause to wonder if you exaggerate."
"You make it easy to say so, when you are the best man I have ever known," the redhead said, his strong hand squeezing Marcus' in possessive reminder.
"I am not a good man," Marcus laughed with a touch of bitterness. "That is common knowledge and the path I chose."
"I never said you were. Yet for all that, somehow you have found a way to make your virtues outweigh your vices and you make my heart lighter every time we are close. And that makes you the best of men for me, as you know who you are and make no apologies any part of yourself."
They sat there in the darkness, still clothed but holding each other for a long moment, with only their breaths to break the silence. Words were not necessary, only the companionship that they were able to provide each other to stave off what had come before.