Recovery

It wasn't a deep undercover assignment. It didn't even take a long, drawn out engagement to get to these particular bad guys. But it was very tense. They were twitchy bad guys who had a habit of killing anyone who caused them to twitch, and it took much more care than usual for Ezra to get what he needed and keep them from twitching.

The bust was ugly, two bad guys were killed, and the chaos of the whole thing made Ezra twitch. Nothing he could do about that until the reports were filed and the debriefings done, so he gritted his teeth and simply kept moving.

Day's end and the simple "Go home, everyone" from Larabee eased the tension in Ezra's jaw, but only minimally. So he went home, tossed back a shot of bourbon and stood in his shower until the water ran cold. That helped more, and most of his tension transformed into exhaustion. Now his bed beckoned, and he sprawled, face down, arms curled around his feather pillow, letting the comfort draw him to that place of relaxed but not quite asleep.

He had no idea how long he drifted in that place, but the solid thunk of his front door closing brought him instantly wide awake, hand ready to grip the weapon on his nightstand. Waiting, listening, Ezra heard the faint beeps as his alarm code was entered. It was all he needed to be able to relax again.

A moment or two later, the savory aroma of some of his favorite Chinese foods wafted into the room, but still Ezra didn't move.

He tracked the sound of his visitor from the kitchen into his bedroom, listened as clothes were shed, smelled the clinging scent of sweat and oil and gunpowder.

The bed dipped as Vin knelt on it, moving to sit astride Ezra's buttocks, naked flesh against naked flesh. Calloused hands stroked up Ezra's back to his shoulders where they dug in deep, working out the knots in his muscles.

"You brought Chinese."

"Course I did. Got that bean curd you like and some of that spicy soup."

"Have I told you lately--"

"No," Vin interrupted him, "and you know I don't need to hear it." The words were harsh, but Vin's tone tempered the effect, as did the kiss placed between Ezra's shoulder blades.

Ezra nodded into his pillow. Rule number one -- don't say it unless you really mean it. He did really mean it, but he could never say it when it mattered, only in glib moments.

"Now you've done it," Vin murmured, "you're all tense again." Strong hands once more worked into Ezra's shoulders. "Stop thinking so damned much and let it go."

Ezra made a noise deep in his throat. Vin called it purring, but Ezra refused to admit to anything as mundane as that.

"That's better."

Vin's hands stroked down his arms and linked fingers with his. Lips brushed his ear. Slowly, he was blanketed by Vin's weight, warm and comforting, pressing him into the bed. After a few minutes, Vin's voice whispered past his ear, soft words in Comanche repeating a prayer to drive away evil spirits.

The first time Vin had done it, Ezra stopped him. In spite of his disbelief in exorcism rituals, he had an unreasonable fear that if it worked, he'd never again be able to call on the characters he used to do his undercover work. Vin had smiled and assured him that the spirits could be called back any time Ezra needed them. Since then, the prayer had become a necessary part of their post-mission winding down.

As Vin continued the prayer, his voice was soft, lulling Ezra further away from the tension he brought home, easing him into a warm sense of relaxation. When it was complete, they lay there for long moments, not moving, not speaking. Ezra particularly enjoyed the security and warmth he felt being with Vin this way. Vin, on the other hand, seemed to get more than relaxation out of it, judging from the hard dick he felt pressing against his ass.

Wriggling his ass against Vin, Ezra smiled when Vin moaned softly and gripped his hands tighter. "Get the slick," Ezra whispered.

"No," Vin sighed into his ear, "I don't need to. You're not--"

"It's for you. You'll be happy, and that will make me happy."

As Vin shifted to reach to the nightstand, Ezra pressed upward, chuckling deep in his chest as Vin's breath caught. "You're a bastard, Ezra Standish." Vin nipped him on the shoulder. "And I'm really happy about that."

And a happy Vin was exactly what he wanted. Ezra knew their relationship was odd by anyone's standards, but it worked. Each had something the other needed, and it pleased them to share.

Cold fingers against his ass brought him out of his reverie. Vin was careful as he prepared them both, then slow and easy as he pressed in. The filling and caring were what Ezra needed, and he arched his back, pushing up to meet Vin, to encourage his thrusts. Hard dick, warm body, sweat dripping on him, it was all good. Vin held onto him as he thrust, reaching for Ezra's dick, but Ezra stopped him. He knew he wasn't hard, wasn't going to be hard; he was happy being the instrument of Vin's pleasure.

The slap of Vin's body against him, the hard length filling him, the soft grunts from Vin were all part of what he needed. It felt good, right, and was that needed reminder that he was alive and wanted, even loved.

As Vin's thrusts increased in tempo, Ezra tensed his body, holding them both solidly, reveling in the feel of being possessed, feeling the tingle in his skin, the grip of Vin's fingers, the moans as Vin got closer and closer to coming.

"Ezra..." Vin held on harder, driving into him, letting his pleasure take over as he came hard, clinging to Ezra when it was done.

It was so good to be needed this way, to give what he could while he took comfort in return. Ezra gripped Vin's arms and hands, wanting to keep them together as long as he could, but it never lasted forever. Eventually Vin softened and had to pull out.

"Ezra."

He didn't want to open his eyes.

"Ezra, come on."

He gave in and looked up. Vin had moved off the bed and was standing there with his hand outstretched. He reached out in turn and gripped Vin's wrist, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

"Shower, then dinner." Vin guided them both into the shower and they washed, bumping elbows and knees and asses in the too small space, and Ezra stopped it all for a moment and grabbed Vin and kissed him, letting it express everything he was feeling. Vin embraced him gently, kissing him back. "Hey, easy. You're fine. We're fine."

"I know." Ezra stood in the spray, holding on to Vin. "I know." After a few moments, he reached over to turn off the water, pulled a towel off the rack to hand to Vin and another for himself.

Dry and dressed, he followed Vin to the kitchen where Vin took the take-out cartons and emptied them into pots to heat on the stove. Then Vin turned to look at him, staring hard for a long moment. With a sharp nod, Vin opened Ezra's liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch and poured some into a glass. From the fridge, he got ice and soda and added those, then handed it to Ezra.

"That bad?" Ezra asked.

"Nothin' this won't cure."

Ezra sipped the drink, noting the edge of the blended scotch barely tempered by soda and cold. No, this wasn't a night for smooth, aged single malts. This was a night for harsh reality.

"And you?" he asked Vin.

Vin's glass held bourbon, neat. "Desk duty till the reports are filed."

Not a surprise. One of the dead was at Vin's hands. "And Chris?"

"The same." Vin tossed back his drink. "Buck's with him."

Ezra nodded. No one would be relaxed tonight, but no one would be alone, either. At least, not the ones of them who had caused death. "I keep wondering--"

"No." Vin stopped him, putting two fingers on his lips. "It is what it is. Everybody did what they could to keep it clean, but those bastards were nuts. The only thing that could have changed is that we might not have walked away."

He gripped Vin's hand, pulling it away from his mouth. "You're right. In here," he tapped his head, "I know that. Here," he tapped his chest, "it isn't as clear."

It never was, when death was involved. But, as always, they'd get through it.

Now, they'd drink too much, eat too little, and hold on to each other. Come morning, they'd drive up to the mountain and Vin would lead their other ritual, asking forgiveness for having killed, praying for the souls of their victims.

After, they would come down from the mountain and go back to their jobs, hoping against hope that it had been their last trip up the mountain.