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 as I'm always happy to hear your thoughts, 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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Smith and Sheriff, Part VI
"I still cannot believe that the near to last time this day rolled around, I ended up nearly getting shot at meanwhile you were here getting stuffed like the fat turkey you strut around like," Marcus said idly in a quiet voice filled with playful rudeness as he was sitting on the edge of the railman's desk. There was more than a hint of his usual drawl to his words today, as tended to come out in two situations: when he was feeling extremely annoyed, or when he was in a particularly good mood. For a reason that was still unknown to the occupant of the desk, today was the latter.
"Don't you have anyone else to torment?" Zeke was rising quickly towards the level of exasperation. The stocky engineer was rubbing at his hedge-like beard out of habit, wishing mightily that something would happen and rid him of this troublesome sheriff.
"Not until the next train comes in," the blond said cheerily. First frosts had come, and while there wasn't much snow on the ground yet, it was unpleasant enough that he preferred to congregate somewhere that was served by a central heating system with plenty of coal heaped into it.
"You know, I have work I have to do," groused Zeke in reply. He stared at the ledger in front of him, doing his best to not rise to the bait.
"Lying is immoral," Marcus laughed with a click of his tongue. "I have known you many years, Ezekiel, and in that time I have learned very well that you keep yourself ahead of every single thing that happens in this yard. It's admirable, really, but it also means that if I was not here that there is a very good possibility that you would have that door locked and be reading something very different with but one hand above the desk."
"You are not wrong," the engineer sighed before continuing, "on either count."
"And I would normally be happy to join you for some old fashioned relief, but alas, I am actually here on business today and merely wanted to spend some time with a dear friend before the object of my attention rolls into the station."
"Please don't shoot anyone on the platform if at all possible," Zeke said in measured tones, his attention now completely focused on the lawman. Marcus Corbett was many things, and deliberate in his actions was one of them. Zeke had known that there had to be some reason that Marcus was haunting his office, and he had hoping that it wasn't going to be a violent one. "I cannot stress how much it dismays both the passengers and the rail staff when you do so."
"You will be happy to know that I have no interest in arresting anyone here today."
"No more botched hangings on the docket?" Now that his concerns had been assuaged on whether Marcus was going to create a bloody scene, Zeke's natural charm came out to meet the other man's remarks.
To his credit, Marcus managed to look somewhat contrite for a brief moment as he adjusted his handlebar moustache. "I have made sure that Mister Bennett will not be making the same mistakes with his noose twice." Somehow, it had taken a surprisingly long time for the man to die. Not that either Marcus or Ward really had a problem with a notorious horse thief suffering; but when it happened in front of a crowd, people had a tendency to talk. Thankfully, it usually meant that they watched their step a little more when the execution was a touch gruesome.
"But no, no hangings are currently in my schedule, to my great dismay," Marcus continued wearily. The lanky man liked hangings. They kept people in line and since he'd managed to get the county mostly under control, he didn't get to attend nearly enough of them. He could usually bill the crown a touch extra for anything that ended in a good hanging. They were also an excellent judge of character for whether one of his deputies could actually stomach being the agent of a man's death. Most sheriffs made the deputies do it for that very reason, as well as not wanting to have the blood on their hands. Marcus, on the other hand, had let Ward do the honours this time as a reward, denying himself the satisfaction of the act.
"Well then, I must assume that you are here to meet someone important, if not to arrest them."
Marcus tipped his head in acknowledgement, appreciating Zeke's deduction. "A good guess, and very correct. I am here to present the deed for old Morton's public house to its new owner." He pulled out the small journal he kept in his shirt pocket. "A..." The blond decided not to mangle the name he had written down out loud, after hearing how bad it sounded to his ear this morning, "-man who will most likely need some sort of freight delivery, if not today then in the near future if he wants to actually have a business."
"And what sort of addled fool buys an establishment at the end of the line sight unseen?" The engineer caught himself a moment too late, remembering that Marcus' lover had essentially done that. There were always incentives when it came to settling the frontier, especially for those that were willing to take property that had fallen into abandonment.
"The sort that I hope I can pick out of a crowd easily," came the reply with an insincere smile. "From the missive letting me know that our new townsman was coming to claim his property, it does sound like he's an Italian of some sort, so hopefully I can understand him."
"You mean hopefully he understands that he should pay a small token of appreciation to you on top of his tax burden. I believe I've heard Italians have a word for that," Zeke replied blandly.
Marcus shrugged. "All civilized men understand that their standing in societies comes with a cost. Unfortunately, a man with enough money to purchase property means a man that I have to at least give some consideration to. Even if I would rather be in my own office catching up on paperwork."
"With one hand under the desk, I assume? Or will you be making Mister Bennett take his mid-day meal there as penance?"
Marcus' smile didn't change, but his eyes narrowed at the implication that he would ever force a man to do such things for him. The sheriff had been slowly getting more and more familiar with his deputy since they had returned, and had introduced the man to the others in their circle that shared their proclivity. While he hadn't personally done any further corrupting of the man's morals, he had received a first-hand account that someone else had. Ward had taken up the offer of special pricing at the barber when offered at cards that first Saturday that he'd joined them, and afterwards had gone into intense detail on how happy he was with the services he received with his bath and shave.
"I would have you kindly recall the sorts of luncheons that you would be taking if I did not intervene on your behalf many years ago," the lanky blond said in soft, chilled words that were suddenly strong with his accent, changing the cadence into a flowing, almost ominous, rhythm that promised brutality. Extortion and blackmail were nasty sorts of things, and there was a man in a shallow grave who was the debt that Zeke owed to a sheriff that had little use for criminals that opportunistically preyed on those with Spartan values.
"I recall," Zeke said numbly. The stocky man tried not to think about what had led Marcus to know his most criminal secret, nor that he had avoided a bad end through the grace of an nigh-endlessly corrupt young man who committed the same crime of the heart. The sheriff never brought it up, had never told another soul about it, was content to let it die in silence; but Zeke knew then and there he had crossed a line that he had known better to dance near.
The whistle of the incoming locomotive was faint but audible even inside the building, interrupting their conversation. Marcus stood up quickly, and checked his pocketwatch before fetching his coat and hat from the wooden tree. "On time, as expected," he said with all of the frost gone from his manner as if it had never been, with only a hint of genteel softness colouring his words from the typical continental fare.
He reached for the door, but hesitated a moment before looking back at Zeke. "I know that we are both coarse men at our heart, but you are a good friend and I thank you for this imposition on your company and time." A lazy smirk crossed his face, full of spite. "Tell your least favourite hand that their name came up on my visit. Put a little fear out there and shake the tree to see if anything falls out; you're too nice for your own good sometimes."
With that, Marcus left Zeke's office, leaving the man staring at the door. "Good Lord, am I ever glad I have him as a friend," he muttered, smoothing his massive dark beard once again. As usual, Marcus had him figured out, and he really did have no more work to get done for the day. He got up from his desk, and once he determined that his hands had stopped shaking, he headed out into the main office with an empty ceramic mug in hand.
"Is everything alright Mister Miller?" The young staff assistant was looking concernedly at him, while holding a folder of maps. Geoffrey was a particularly young man, seventeen if he recalled correctly, with a quick mind and slim build that made him look even younger than he really was when he let his shaggy brown hair fall from under his cap. He was one of those sorts that was very bright when it came to learning, but not entirely clever when it came to common sense. Zeke liked him, and not only because his fine features matched a somewhat earnest yet shy demeanour that Zeke privately felt made the operator adorable.
"The good sheriff is here to meet a new landowner," Zeke replied, wincing at how tired his voice sounded, "and he just wanted to pay his respects."
The young man smiled. "I'm glad, since I'd hate for us to trouble him in any way. He's always so very nice and polite. You know, he even helped Miss Johnson stage her trunk before he came in here, and he always remembers everyone's name when he greets them." Geoffrey was a born bootlicker, but it was hard to fault him for it when a consistent diet of shoe-polish had smoothed his career.
Zeke grunted. "Geoffrey," he said slowly, "Do me a favour and never cross that man." For all that he spent most of his days doing things for the people that ran the freight yard, Zeke knew full well that Geoffrey was also shouldering at least half of the yardmaster's responsibilities on top of that. Soon enough, he would have to have a talk with his superiors about clearing out some deadwood and giving Geoffrey a real position now that his balls had dropped. He was too valuable by far to keep running errands for much longer, the engineer figured. He was also too valuable to be as naive as he really was, which was going to be a problem if the boy would ever have a true conversation with the black-coated sheriff and want to walk away with unsoiled drawers.
The younger man blinked in surprise, not quite understanding what his superior was implying. The engineer shook his head, not wanting to dwell more on that before speaking again on the reason he really had come out. "Now, do you have a pot of tea on the go?"
At Geoffrey's affirmation, Zeke followed the thin man to the small stove that served the railway's workers when they needed to stay at their station but still take sustenance. Geoffrey poured him a cup into the vessel that was closer to being a tankard than a standard mug, which he favoured to prevent spills. Thanking his associate, Zeke took a sip and leaned back in his padded chair. It was rather strong, but he appreciated the deep flavour on a colder day.
"Hm, might as well," he mumbled to himself as he got up again, setting down his mug well away from the edge and in the middle of the desk. The stocky engineer padded over to the door and locked it in a quick motion, pleased that his regular oiling of the hardware when nobody was around had made it far less audible. He returned to his desk and began to loosen his vest and trousers. Since Marcus had put the idea in his mind, he might as well not disappoint the man by taking advantage of it.
Zeke's mind was filled with thoughts of the men he knew, and he was quickly at full mast. Spitting in his hand, he closed his eyes and let his memories drift. Jack's beautiful body came to mind first, in full silver-furred glory as Zeke thought about the last time he had bent the man over his barber's chair. All of the man's solid body had rippled each time he had invaded the sweet man's flesh. For all the Jack complained about his age, Zeke saw little difference to those ten years younger than him. Indeed, as he recalled how he raked his fingers across the man's back and found only healthy flesh and muscle to touch, he felt his prong jump with approval.
Next, he let his mind drift to when he had taken Richard the smith's arse for the first time. It had been a good evening, and all of the man's coppery hair came to mind. 'How does that man have such divine arms?' Zeke's mind recalled every hard curve of them as he had run his hands over the smith's form. His hand began to work his tool a bit quicker at that, remembering how fine it felt to make such a strong, virile man take his prick and moan for more.
The engineer bit his lip as his mind conjured the image of Marcus at his own desk, though sitting nude and with his deputy between his legs. He had not seen Ward in the natural state as of yet, but from Jack's description and the way the man filled out his shirt at poker, he could only imagine that he was even more statuesque than Richard. The idea of the dangerously handsome sheriff sitting back and letting his lean, beautiful body be serviced by a bull of a man was beginning to bring a familiar sensation to his heavy, hairy balls. With his other hand, Zeke began to squeeze his nuts softly even as he continued to milk himself, the Ward in his mind doing the same to Marcus' gold-trimmed sac.
He imagined what it would be like to have both of them bent over and at his disposal, how it would feel to be the man that broke in the big deputy's meaty arse. The long-haired man surely hadn't worked up the courage to be the passive partner yet, but Zeke's mind gave him the thrilling image of the bulky man bent over while the engineer's rod pistoned in and out of him. He imagined the soft-spoken deputy's back arched in ecstasy as Zeke pulled his tied hair to remind him who was in charge.
Finally, he felt his rocks begin to draw up and his climax near as the most forbidden of images graced his mind's eye. Zeke saw himself on his back with Marcus astride him, that tight backside that had never been offered to any of them riding his aching cock as if it was a rodeo bull. Over and over, Marcus' face was plastered with plaintive pleasure as his arse was being invaded by Zeke's rod. He could hear the sheriff begging for it, harder and faster even as he tugged at his own cock that was dripping all across Zeke's belly.
As Marcus shot his seed across Zeke's belly in his mind, Zeke's rod shot his own copious emissions into his hand that he had brought up in anticipation. When he opened his eyes, the engineer was breathing heavily as he looked down at the thick white liquid that filled his cupped palm. Quickly, he brought it to his lips to dispose of the evidence, savouring the heady taste of his own essence. He gave his hand a quick lick before reaching for the blotting rag that was at the corner of his desk. Taking the cleaner corner of it, he wiped all evidence of his depravity from his softening pole as well as his hand before doing his clothing back up. He went to toss it back onto his desk, but thought better of it and checked his facial hair for moistness before doing so. Finding none, he tossed it away and leaned back in his chair, chuckling at his private depravity.
Marcus cursed himself for not bringing a scarf to cover his face as the sudden gust cut at his face like a suddenly cold knife. The day hadn't been so bad to start with, but it seemed like the train had brought a chill wave with it. He kept an even smile on his face as he scanned the platform, looking for the mark. There was no other way for him to think of this sort of duty. The man was most likely just a mark, to be wrung dry by living in the back of beyond, and it was his solemn duty to deliver him the key that he had traded good coin for.
Usually, when folk had business with the county, they came to the courthouse. There were clerks and notaries to take care of that, and Marcus didn't particularly care to step on their toes usually. However, when someone was setting up shop in Highford itself, he took the initiative to be a little more personable. If they were just passing through, hiring a stage to head on to somewhere else, like Riviere de Sable or some other shithole, they could deal with the clerks. If they were were just coming out here to seek their fortune like the rest of the common man, then he'd find them sooner or later, but there was no hurry. But no, when a man purchases a building with the intent to set up shop in town, that meant they had the potential to become a fixture of the community. And Marcus Corbett made it a point to take the measure of such people, to determine if they were going to be problems or if he needed to
The trickle of passengers eventually tapered off, with most of them knowing where they were going. That left only a few standing out from the crowd. Marcus dismissed most of them automatically based off their attributes. Too old. Woman. Chinese. That narrowed it down to a shortish looking thing that seemed to have been swallowed by a light brown fur coat.
'Jesus Christ almighty, he might be broad as a bishop,' the sheriff swore in his mind. Looking down, Marcus wiped a flake of snow off of his gold badge and walked towards the lost looking soul. He hated wearing the badge visibly, but there was a certain sense to making his station visible for the moment. He waved one arm at the lump of coat and called to get his attention.
"Ah, signor?" The thickly-dressed man said politely in a musical accent as he came close, noticing the sheriff's star. "Do you know where I could find a man from the county?" He looked a little younger than what Marcus expected, though it was hard to tell since he had big round spectacles that were were lightly fogged, creating a distraction to the whole picture of his face.
"I believe you're looking for me," Marcus said with a big grin and a voice that sounded almost completely sincere. "Welcome to Highford. I am Marcus Corbett, your humble sheriff that serves this fine county, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to our fair town." He extended his gloved hand in a gesture of friendship.
The other man grasped it eagerly and gave it a powerful shake. "Niccolo Montebianchi," he said with a speed that promised that Marcus would either have to be calling the man by his given name or practise saying his surname for a good while before going into his establishment.
'Why can't everyone have a name like Rich? I can say 'Fife' easy enough.' The lanky blond didn't let his thoughts show on his face, instead letting his usual personable performance go on. Once he established that Niccolo had travelled with a significant amount of wares in addition to his luggage, he took the man over to the freight handlers to get it delivered. He noted that the man was carrying a surprising amount of bills, though his smooth movements were guarded in a way that unless someone was specifically looking from his right side and slightly above, they would've never known what he carried.
"As soon as you're done with the station, Mister Montebianchi, I can show you your property as it's not particularly far," he replied. Receiving no correction, the lanky blond led the way, pleased that he had managed to mimic the pronunciation on his first try. As much as he loathed playing the good official, he knew damn well that Highford needed the tax revenue more than he needed to sit at his desk and let people sort themselves out. After that pox, they were probably at least five years away from being where they were, and that included the boost that came from Rich setting up his shop. And if that meant that Marcus Corbett had to pretend that he cared about folk that had property owner rights on their first day in town, well, then he would smile through gritted teeth until it came time to let them know why this sheriff favoured wearing black.
It took surprisingly little time for them to get everything settled, and then Marcus escorted the jovial man to his property. By the time they arrived, he had decided that if the man could actually make a profit, he might very well fit into the town well. His English was surprisingly excellent, something that the lawman hadn't expected but was thoroughly grateful for. He opened the door, which was unlocked, and made a gesture for his new acquaintance to enter.
"Ah, warmth!" There was a naked pleasure in the man's voice as they stepped inside and the blazing heat of a coal-fired heater greeted them. Marcus set his hat down on the edge of one of the tables, but managed to knock it down onto the floor. He quickly retrieved it, setting it next to where he'd lain his coat.
"Yes, I took the liberty of making sure that you wouldn't be coming home to a cold shop." The liberty did not extend to dusting or any other sort of cleaning, however. There were chairs pushed up against the walls messily, with old stains and patina evident on the table tops beneath a layer of fine grey. What glassware remained behind the bar looked old and chipped, to be considerate in one's words. A black parlor stove dominated the centre of the room, a cheery glow coming from behind a grate.
"Signor sheriff, I could kiss you for that kindness," Niccolo said happily as he pulled off his spectacles and set them on the bar. The sudden warmth had made them completely opaque, but now Marcus got a better look at the man's face as he had shed both glasses and hat. He had noted that Niccolo had a bushy moustache set above a neat fringe of beard just on his chin, but he hadn't realized that the man was not the rotund figure that his cloak made him out to be. Indeed, it seemed like he was literally half the man that Marcus figured. He had dark brown hair that seemed to be but a shade off from being coal black, and bushy brows set over warm eyes of a muddy greenish-brown mix. High cheekbones, rouged from the cold, gave him a bit of a rakish look that made the man seem instantly personable in conjunction with his speech. He looked to be about thirty at the eldest, but Marcus was having trouble pinning anything definite down based on how animated Niccolo's face had been.
From behind the bar, there was a loud clearing of the throat, and the two men looked over to see the source. "I've brought over enough coal for a few days, but you'll need to arrange with Henson for regular deliveries," came a familiar brogue in a tone that sounded suspiciously flat.
"Ah, Richard," Marcus said with genuine pleasure at seeing his paramour, "I didn't expect you to be here. I do believe you said you would be sending your apprentice to set him up,"
Rich folded his arms as he stood by a big, black coal-fired monstrousity of a range, covered in all sorts of baroque scrollwork across the flat surfaces that weren't intended for cooking. "Aye, I did," he said slowly, looking between Marcus and the other man. Niccolo was squinting to try and get a better look at who was speaking. "The boy did not understand how to set up this beastie entirely, and after taking a look at it myself, I don't blame him for running to get me. It's a beautiful piece, but you'll be at wit's end yourself if we don't show you where they hid the damper controls." Beside the smith, the young apprentice was looking down at his feet, as if he was trying to hide from the damning words of his master.
To his credit, Niccolo seemed to have no trouble following Rich's words and was pleased by what he was hearing. "Bene," he said with enthusiasm before introducing himself to the broad-chested blacksmith and his helper. Now that his specs had returned to clarity from being white, the man retrieved them from the bar and returned them to his face. He looked around with obvious excitement at the establishment. "I have a lot of cleaning to do, but perhaps by next week, I hope to see both of you when I will be ready," he said quickly in with a sigh of pleasure.
"We do have a saloon already, as I'm sure you expected," Marcus said carefully, "as well as a fairly fine dining establishment next to our-" he cleared his throat before continuing, "-house for wayward ladies."
The Italian gentleman was nonplussed. He simply waved his hand at that and made a fussy sort of snort, "Ah, but I am not competing with whores and drunks. This is a new town, still lacking in the sort of culture that it takes a city many years to birth and grow. I will give you good food, a place to read the current newspapers, and most importantly, the best caffè that you will find west of Milan." He delivered that statement with a confidence that almost shook Marcus since there seemed to be no arrogance to his words, only the force of truth behind them.
"You're opening a coffee house in Highford?" There was a distinct hunger to Marcus' words. Tea remained the dominant beverage for people in this town that didn't involve intoxication, which did not delight the sheriff. He was forced to brew his own drink of choice alone most of the time, and rarely had it offered by others when they were visited. Only trailhands and ranchers seemed to really appreciate the dark brew, leaving only his most favoured deputy to join him in a pot if he didn't want to go order it special at the saloon or Doreen's. 'Tax revenues be damned,' Marcus swore inside, 'if he can give me decent coffee, I'll let him pay the actual rates.'
"Si. Yes." The slender man's smile had grown even wider at hearing the question. He had obviously recognized that the sheriff was a man of culture as well.
"I will definitely be taking you up on that once you have your feet under you," Marcus returned the smile with one that was completely genuine. "Until then, I'm afraid the only service I can offer you is this," he said as he pulled a wad of papers from inside his shirt along with a swaddled fountain pen and tightly sealed inkpot.
He waited for the ink to dry after Niccolo signed both copies before pocketing the county's record of the transaction and returning his scribing tools to their home. The sheriff tipped his hat towards the new landlord after buttoning up his greatcoat. "If you have any troubles that require my professional assistance, please do not hesitate to seek me out. I cannot say that I will always be at my desk, but I will ensure that you are taken care of as well as anyone else in town." With that, Marcus took the man's hand once more to bid him good day, and turned to leave.
"Boy, show our new friend how to work his equipment," Marcus heard Rich say as he began to leave. "I'd like to speak with our good sheriff before he heads off on his rounds."
The blond waited for his lover to pull on his own discarded coat and the shapeless woolen cap he favoured in cold weather before stepping out into the street. He had been planning on returning to his office to continue dealing with the ever expanding mountains of forms that kept crossing his path, but as Rich seemed to require his attention, he was content to delay that.
"He's an energetic one," Richard said calmly as they headed down the street towards the smithy.
"Isn't he?" Marcus laughed. "I do believe that that I am pleasantly surprised that Morton's shack will be taken over by something other than an old drunk looking to cater to barflies." They made idle small talk until Rich pulled a key from inside his coat to unlock his door and ushered them into a space where they could speak freely once it was barred.
"I caught him staring at your arse when you took dropped your hat," Richard said in an amused tone.
The tall man chuckled at that. "I am not surprised. Our new friend is rather exuberant, isn't he? If he turns out to be a decent sort, we might have a replacement for Gareth at our gatherings." The physician was more and more absent as of late, having settled into a hermit-like reticence that none of them had been able to break.
"I'm sure that people will chalk it up to him being a continental rather than assuming that he sports a taste for the finer things." Richard said with a smirk.
"I don't think that anyone would assume your tastes with you being from Europe," Marcus agreed. Or at least he thought it was agreement until he saw Richard's eyes turn hard as flint.
"Do not confuse Mother Britain with that morass of cowards filled with snail-eaters," he said darkly, a sudden deep heat colouring each deliberate word.
Marcus moved in close and took the burly smith in an embrace. "Never would I," he promised, planting a deep kiss upon his love's lips. The dark-toned words had caused a heat to rise in the sheriff's groin, making him require physical contact to help quench it for the moment. The violence implicit in Rich's words always thrilled him when the man's blood rose with his indignation, a welcome reminder of the strength that lay just under the surface of the normally even temper. "God save the Queen," he added for good measure after his tongue was freed from its desirous duty.
"He's a pretty one, that's for sure, but just don't forget that you're mine," Richard whispered back.
"Is that what was biting your backside?" Marcus was genuinely warmed by that possessive statement. He knew in his heart that neither him nor Rich would ever be parted from each other in their love, but the reminder that this strong, beautiful man valued him that much was always welcome.
"Not entirely," Richard admitted. "That man was a little too friendly."
As they stood apart, Marcus shrugged. "I am aware of that. I know he is hiding something, but can you say that you were any different?"
Rich broke off looking into Marcus' green eyes at that. "You're right," he sighed. "I should not think the worst of a man I have only just met, and I'm sure if he seemed ill-suited for our town you'd already be crowing about how soon you were going to run him."
The blond nodded soberly. "Indeed. I will keep a close eye on Mister-" Marcus paused before continuing, sagely changing how he was going continue that sentence, "Nick." The sheriff decided then and there that he was not going to try and say that family name again if he could help it. "Though hopefully whatever his reasons are, they are benign rather than pernicious. We could use a place to get the news that isn't the train station, and from our little chat this morning, he does seem a gentleman."
Richard returned the nod. "If you don't see fit to deal with him, then I'll welcome him in unless it turns out that he cheats at cards."
"If I don't have to put that man back on a train to whence he came from, perhaps we can give him the sort of friendship that was extended to you by our friends Zeke and Jack the past week," Marcus said slyly. "If our new friend turns out to be the amenable sort of man we suspect him to be, I think it would be rude of us not to extend a hand of friendship to him. After all, winter is a cold time of year on the prairies even with our fair winds, and it would be unseemly of us to leave a stranger to be friendless."
"And if he turns out to be a donkey or worse?"
Marcus' smile sharpened at Richard's words. "Then his feed better be worth the trouble of keeping him around, since I will not suffer a fool simply because we have certain tastes in common."
The smith chuckled at that, covering his mouth with one hand before bringing it down to stroke his beard. "Alright, we can both take his measure. Perhaps we should let the others know our suspicions at cards tomorrow eve, and we can proceed from there."
The blond gave Richard a kiss on the cheek, inciting a rise of colour in the man's cheeks. "Don't charge the county too much for your little service this morn," he said as he turned to leave.
"How did you know that I was going to give you the bill for that man's range?"
Lifting the bar, Marcus didn't even turn to respond as he opened the door. "I have met you," he said cheerily as he opened the door and slipped back out into the cold.
The week passed fairly quickly for Marcus with little incidence. As expected, the weather tamped down many of his usual problems. The local police in each town were handling their share without issue, and his days were letting him focus more on permitting and the like. Their gathering continued as usual, though there was still some gentle ribbing of Ward since the last time when he found out that they had few secrets between them.
"I still never would've thought that someone like Mister Reddington would've done such things," Ward admitted as they sat down for cards. The two lawmen were the first to arrive this eve, having walked together after locking up the office and hoosegow. Unlike most of his other subordinates throughout the county, Ward spent most of his day working entirely for the county as well, and he usually ended up close at hand when the day finished up. Though he usually returned home soon after he finished working to spend time with his boy, he had been convinced by multiple folks that spending one evening to lighten his own mood was healthy as well.
Marcus looked a little closer at Ward's face and hair. "How many baths have you taken this week that weren't just out of a basin?"
The deputy flushed slightly, not meeting his superior's gaze. "A man has needs, boss," he said sheepishly, "and the girl that the other barber has washing clothes has some very soft hands, though she isn't nearly as good as Mister Reddington." For all his appreciation of being included in their group, Ward was still having some trouble being more personal with his new friends.
Marcus sighed silently. Ward needed to learn that there were certain signs that you were close enough to speak familiarly of someone, such as after you had known them in the Biblical sense. "So twice, then," the blond drummed his fingers on the tabletop as a cruel smirk crossed his face. "And you can use a man's proper name when you're friends with him and not in a professional setting."
To his credit, Ward raised his eyes back and returned the smirk. "One visit to each, but Jack gave me twice the service," he paused a moment before adding another word, "Marcus." He said the last bit in a tone that bordered on insolence.
'Yes,' the blond thought as he looked at how pleased his greying deputy was with himself, 'He's developing nicely. Maybe by the time I'm bothering Saint Peter to let me in, he can run this sideshow.'
The click of the door opening cut their conversation short for a moment, as Richard was the next to join them. Before he even had a chance to seat himself, Zeke and Jack joined them to complete their table of five. They gave their orders to the serving girl the next time that they were checked up on, and then began to shuffle up the deck.
They made idle conversation over the course of the first hand, more interested in their incoming food. Eventually, Marcus decided to bring up what their reconnaissance had wrought on the town's newest resident.
"He's wonderful," Zeke said far too enthusiastically for a man being forced to present a pair of twos. "He paid in advance to get copies of all the major papers delivered to him when they come on the train, even if they're a few days old by the time they get here. Said it helps keep people coming back and buying his fare."
Jack laughed as he presented a full house to the rest of the table. "Zeke fancies his biscuits, if you haven't guessed." The two had sampled what was being sold and come away pleased with what they had consumed.
"They are rather good," Richard admitted as he tossed a dead hand away. "And he does make a fine bread during the day to go with that bacon he's always cooking." The smith had visited the other day and been surprised to see that word had spread quickly through the town and the establishment had already seemed busy so soon after opening its doors.
"I do like the bacon," Zeke agreed fervently. "It makes me tired to watch him work, though; the man never stops moving."
'Bacon and biscuits,' Marcus thought smugly. That explained so much of the engineer's enthusiasm for a person that was neither a theory nor an state of the art feat of construction. Though he did have to admit that the little man served better baked goods than he'd had in a very long time.
"Boss likes going there for his drink," Ward added, having noticed a distinct change in the sheriff's behaviour once everything had come together.
Marcus was silent as he listened to their opinions. It seemed that they were generally agreed that Nick seemed a positive for the town, but he was still reserving his own judgment. There were more than a few things that just didn't fit right together. Not the part of his liking men, of course. It was obvious to Marcus that Nick would rather suckle on a pole than a teat, as he'd found he had a knack for seeing it in others. Rich had stood out to him immediately, despite seeming as regular as a block of wood, as did Jack. Zeke had stumped him for a while, though he figured that had more to do with Zeke being an obsessive engineer that had barely recognized that other people existed until forced out from under his cloak.
The man carried around a pistol at all times, and it looked like more than a showpiece. But that wasn't unusual for a shopkeep, though it was a little odd for a man engaged around an oven so much. He'd paid in bills until he received enough change, though it could've just been what he purchased from a bank in exchange from his old currency to start with before setting up here. And he'd never mentioned exactly what had given him the seed money to actually buy his storefront, only given vague answers that drifted into speaking about the drive to start somewhere new without hundreds of years of competition established.
More than anything, the sheriff had watched the way that the man looked at other men. Despite Rich catching him in that unguarded moment, the man was careful as any of them in looking at the male form. Though he did look, it was discreet and reminded Marcus of some of the same things he'd done in earlier days. Not the way that a man looked at a man to be interested in his form, but the way a man looked at another man and was interested in whether he held a knife or gun.
He closed his eyes, having made up his mind to give the newcomer the benefit of the doubt. Whatever sins lay in Nick's past didn't yet seem grievous enough for him to judge from what he knew yet, and as he had been given forgiveness by the Lord, he would extend that same kindness to another that would be considered an outcast lest his true colours be shown.
"I think we can give him a little more time to settle in, but it's looking like we might just have a sixth for our evenings," the sheriff said with authority.
The morning greeted Marcus with a cool air that made him grateful for the snoring bulk that was next to him in his bed. Cursing beneath his breath, he grabbed for his coat. Wincing at the change in temperature, he quickly but quietly made his way to the stairs and pulled on his boots. He headed down to the main floor, and then opened the door to the basement.
There was enough early light coming down the stairs with him that he didn't feel the need to take a lamp, so the blond man hurried towards the furnace. With practised haste, he quickly opened the ash door and started to rake it down to prepare for a new load of fuel. Thankfully, it hadn't quite burned completely down overnight, so there was minimal preparation before he was ready to begin shovelling in the new fuel.
As soon as he was sure that the initial load was sufficiently ignited, Marcus heaped some more in and closed the grate. The fire rarely went out overnight since the blond was well versed in how to bank it properly, but it was always less than ideal until he got downstairs and began to stir the coals again. He waited for a moment to ensure that everything was put back as it should, and then rushed back upstairs after wiping his hands on the rag that he left down here for such a purpose.
A trip to the stall was next, since his bladder had been telling him that now that the most important things had been taken care of, it was time for him to relieve himself. He finished up quickly, and headed back upstairs, wishing that the heat would get back to his preferred temperatures already. There was still a little water left in his washjug, so he gave his hands a quick rinse, and then slid back under the covers once he was back in just his long underwear. Richard had rolled over and was taking up most of the bed, blissfully snoring away.
'Poor bastard should never have started mixing drinks,' he thought as he managed to shift the big bulk over enough to make enough space for himself. As they stumbled back through the night, Marcus found that he had to put a hand on Richard's arm more than not and his love had fallen into a deep sleep quickly after they were home.
"Home," he said the word out loud, a wry smile twisting his lips. He'd never really thought of Highford as home, just a means to an end. It was like so many stops along the way, places for him to hang his hat and make his way. While it was true that he had done more for his lot here than anywhere else, it still felt like just another station along the tracks for him.
It still did, truth be told, because in his heart he knew that he would not be living over the courthouse forever. It was reality, since one day, he would either have to hand over the badge to Ward or whoever else got appointed to replace him, or he would be face down in a ditch somewhere feeding the crows. The former was far preferable, since even when it was time to vacate these premeses, he'd still have a home. Highford was home now because Highford was where Rich was, same reason that the bed was home.
He hoped that Rich had heaped enough coal in his heater to keep his shop warm overnight. The man had some sort of clever feeder that Zeke had dreamed up that the smith said meant that he never had to watch it as long as he kept the ash buildup taken care of. Well, now it was going to be put to the test since if Zeke's design failed, Rich was probably going to be out at least a quenching barrel, if not anything else filled with water.
He dozed for a while as the air steadily warmed up, enjoying the feeling of Richard's warm body against him. Indeed, he could feel a familiar hardness pressing up against his leg, which was bringing his own body to a response. Reaching down, he slipped his hand between them and deftly began to undo buttons. Once he had undid his rear flap, he got to work on Rich's front, the taut fabric making it slightly more challenging but eventually done.
The blond slid himself back against his smith, letting the man's thick prod nestle against his hairy buttocks. Instinctually, Richard began to hump his hardness against the furry arse, bringing a smile to Marcus' face as he sank further beneath the covers to enjoy the warmth of his man. A strong hand soon reached over him, sleepily groping at the buttons on the front of his underthings.
"Mmmm, good morning," Rich slurred, still half asleep as he continued to slowly press his thickly-built body against the lean sheriff.
"With you, always," Marcus said into the pillow, letting Richard's strong arms pull him closer.
"Do you ever have words that aren't honeyed?" Without looking, the blond could tell that Marcus was smiling even as he feigned his usual gruffness.
"When you cease being a ruby strewn amongst coal and chaff, I shall."
A heavy thrust against Marcus' rump was the response to that statement. "And shall I tell our friends that you think of them as coal and chaff?" There was amusement deep within the smith's soft words.
"I think the world of them," Marcus laughed, moving his arms to break free of the smith's grasp. Had Rich's grip remained firm rather than comforting, he would've had no chance at all to overpower the man, but he took advantage of the moment and flipped around suddenly. Surprising the burly man, he slipped an arm beneath him and in a quick slide, was laying on top of Rich. "They have their own shines, for certain. Aquamarine for dear Jack and so forth, but none of them compare to the brilliant hue of my ruby-red blacksmith." He planted a long kiss on the delighted man's face, letting his dishevelled blond moustache mix with Rich's thick copper.
When they finally broke for air, Rich found himself still grinning. "If I were to go down to Finn's and tell all there that their sheriff was a romantic deep in his soul, I would be laughed out of town. And yet, here you are, with words better suited to a more stately era for my ears alone."
"You've roused more than words in my soul that I'd give you this morning, Rich," Marcus said with a leer as he braced himself on his palms to better drive his groin against Richard's fabric-covered body, their freed members sliding against each other to spread the slick leakage on the shallow passes.
"And yet I am not the one with my arse hanging out between us," the redhead parried as he slid one hand up to squeeze a handful of furry buttock.
"I fail to see why either of us are still in our natural state," Marcus said hungrily, diving down for a quick peck as he slid himself back beside Richard. He reached over and began to unbutton the man's suit, enjoying the thrill of disrobing him. When he had reached the already loosed section, he gave his love's hardened rod a quick tug. As his hand came back damp and sticky, the lawman brought it to his mouth and licked it clean before proceeding to undo his own garment while Rich struggled his way out.
Soon, both of their garments were on the floor, and there was naught between them but their hair as they proceeded to writhe against each other. As Richard ran his bearded face down the tall man's neck, he murmured his wishes.
"Fill me," he spoke.
"With an invitation such as that, how can I refuse," the blond replied with obvious relish. Braving the cold to stoke the furnace had paid off, all cursing forgotten as he slid the covers back. The air was noticeably warmer now, though when he retrieved his oil, the sheriff did make sure to keep it in his hands a touch longer than usual before he greased his turgid prick with it.
Rich watched enthusiastically, milking himself slowly as the handsome blond prepared. He licked his lips hungrily as he moved towards the edge of the bed, turning around so that he was bent over and face down against the sheet. As Marcus' fingers began to probe him, working the slickness into his orifice so that he would be able to take the man's measure easily, he sighed at the familiar touch. The burly man was almost surprised at how eagerly his body relaxed now, desiring that fullness that his lawman gave him so well.
Soon, Marcus placed the blunt head of his cock against Rich's seat. He dragged it up and down his hairy trench, teasing the blacksmith with gentle nudges against his entrance yet not going further. The blond repeated his motions again, this time pushing a touch further against the flesh that wanted to yield easily to the intrusion, but instead remained just without.
"Shall I take you now, my red-maned beast?" Marcus' voice was thick with desire as he guided the dark head of his prick to its home, sinking easily into it but pausing when the ridge of his glans was within.
"Yes! Rut me hard, you golden lion of a man!" The smith's brogue was strong as he nearly shouted the words in his desperate desire.
With a low laugh, Marcus slid himself forward in the most achingly slow manner that he could stand. He tried to suppress a groan, but the feeling of sensation gripping his almost painfully erect pole was impossible not give into. "Patience," he commanded, tightening his grasp on Richard's hips even as he continued his inexorable progress.
The sheriff focused his attention on the ruddy trail of hair that ran up Richard's broad back, admiring the manner in which the muscles reflected the small movements that came in tandem with his agonous pleading for his desire to be met. With a quick motion, Marcus decided to sate both of their desires and sink himself seven and a half inches deep.
Throwing his earlier tack to the wind, Marcus began to take fast, long strokes into the smith's meaty arse, eliciting exactly the reaction that he wished. Richard bellowed like a wild animal being gored on a stake, and for how his arse had tightened in reaction yet still accepted the invasion, it seemed like that was exactly how he wished to exist in that moment.
"Yes, take me harder!" The confirmation was hissed between harsh breaths as Richard's face was forced against the bedding over and over again from the near-violent force of the lanky lawman's thrusts. One hand gripped the edge of the bed as if for dear life, while the other was nearly a blur below them, working Rich's thick cock that was leaking almost as if it was a leaky spigot. His hand was wet with the products of his arousal, adding a soft counterpoint to the sound of Marcus' hairy balls slapping against his arse as the heavy pounding continued.
Even as he felt the sweet liquid become more and more copious within his grip, the smith was unable to coherently express himself. Most of what came from his mouth were gasps, which outnumbered the interjections that begged for more, for it to be harder, and for it to be faster.
"You! Are! Mine!" Marcus snarled the words as he felt his release approaching, the abandon being unleashed on Richard's quickly tightening passage quickly driving him towards his climax. "My smith! My man!" Even as his heavy balls tightened in preparation for the impending release, Marcus' mouth spewed forth more of his frenzied declarations of lust. "Mine!" He said the last word in a triumphant howl as he hilted himself deep as could be within Richard, driving the man into the bed even as his buried cock pulsed forth mighty jets of seed.
With a strangled groan, Richard's own torrent was released onto the floor as the feeling of the hot warmth flooding his bowels was far too exhilarating for him to endure. As Marcus' cock shuddered with each shot deep in his guts, the smith's own veiny prod spewed forth seven ropes of thick whiteness to pool on the varnished boards.
Marcus collapsed onto Richard's back even as he kept himself buried within the wet velvet gripping his length, gasping for air in his near mindless reverie even as the animal part of his mind had him slavering at man's neck. "Mine," he panted again, this time barely above a whisper as he nipped at the corner of the smith's ear.
The sheriff pulled himself to his feet with a laboured grunt before collapsing on his back across the bed. His chest still heaving from their frolic, he let his head sink into the wadded and forgotten blanket, with not enough energy left to consider the pillows just beside him.
Richard met him with a kiss as the solidly built smith crawled up to match his position. "My word," he rumbled in a tone that could only be described as extremely content, "I liked that." Indeed, Richard's body and soul felt glutted with satisfaction at both the rutting he'd received as well as the declaration of possessiveness. He could feel the seed that had marked him trying to seep out of him, and was clenching himself to keep it within.
"It pleases me that I may be of service to you, Master Fife," Marcus said as he reached up and smoothed his moustache as well as he could. He could feel that it was dishevelled from a lack of morning grooming in addition to the exertions from their fornication, but proper attention could wait. Being with Rich was more important that being pristine.
"So formal, my good sheriff. Were you not the one that told me to be friendly and not afraid to say a name?" The smith said the words even as his right hand traced circles in the blond hair of Marcus' chest. With his arm against the man, though their hides were both pale and fine, the contrast of rust to gold was stark and attractive to him.
"If there is a way for me to be more friendly to you than stoking your forge, then I'm afraid you will have to wait until I am able to rise to the occasion to try it," came a reply that dripped with Marcus' exhausted satisfaction.
Richard grabbed at the blanket, pulling it from under his lawman's head and draped it across them. "I wouldn't want you to catch chill, not since you've laid claim to me this morning."
"My dear blacksmith," Marcus said as he leaned in to nuzzle his cheek against Richard's heavy beard, "You laid claim to my heart months ago, even before you embraced me in our natural states, and as such I was only happy that you were gladdened to accept my own claim upon you that same night."
Richard let a deep rumble of pleasure echo through his chest. "I love you too," he whispered. There was no manner in which he would be able to match the ease of Marcus' way with words, so he opted for the simple method.
They adjusted themselves in the bed to be more comfortable, the steely light of winter playing brightly across the room. Coppery locks were barely all that could be seen above the quilted cover as Rich had buried his head deep against his love, happy to doze in the safe embrace of the most important person to his life.
Eventually, it would be time for them to rise, to eat and get ready to return to society, the sheriff thought idly. Until then, there was only the warmth of now, where they were both marked by the heady scent of their lusty sweat upon each other. He tightened his arm around Rich momentarily, as if daring the whole of existence to dare try and steal this singular treasure from his grasp.
From the author:
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/smith-and-sheriff/
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/griff-and-drew/
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/hard-working-brothers/
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/dads-hot-tub