The card game had been going on for hours at the same plodding pace. Hannibal Heyes, reformed bank and train robber, shifted on the hardwood chair and wondered why he had even stayed in the game. Of the couple hundred dollars on the table, he'd succeeded in winning more than half while playing a very conservative game. He and the Kid could always use the extra money, but they weren't particularly strapped for cash at the moment.
It was Saturday night in Trinidad, Colorado, and the saloon was moderately busy. A small cattle–country town, the pickings were nowhere as rich as they would be in a mining area. Heyes and Curry were trying to keep a low profile and this backwater burg fit in nicely with their plans.
Except it was boring as hell here.
Heyes sipped sparingly from his shot of whisky and picked up the new hand that had been dealt to him. Peeking at the cards one at a time, he counted three twos, a five and an ace. Three of a kind meant he could continue in the game, but he couldn't muster much enthusiasm for it. He just didn't feel like playing this hand. He was tempted to fold, but instead he tossed out the two he didn't need, placed his bet and let his gaze wander about the saloon.
Rough wooden floors and white–washed walls stained yellow by the thick cloud of tobacco smoke were like countless other saloons he'd been in. Dull–eyed whores worked methodically through the crowd as a tinny player piano endlessly played the same dozen tunes over and over and Heyes thought he'd go mad if he heard 'Buffalo Gal' one more time.
His eyes settled on the one thing that sparked any interest in him: Jed Curry. The Kid sat across from him, his attention seemingly focused on his cards, his neutral expression betraying no hint about their quality. The lantern light picked out the highlights in the Kid's curly hair, freshly washed and giving off a burnished glow. To Heyes' benumb eyes, it was seemingly the only color in an otherwise dull and gray room. Hannibal bet the hair would smell of cologne — the Kid liked to rub aftershave lightly through his curls before going out for a night on the town.
The Kid lifted his head up, suck deeply from his cigar and stared straight at Heyes. "It's your turn."
Heyes knew he should feel guilty for being caught at not paying attention, but he found he didn't really care. He picked up the new cards and found he now had a pair of jacks to go with the twos. A full house and a guaranteed winner with this crowd. He called the bet and raised it by a modest amount. Two players folded and the rest called.
"Full house," he announced as he displayed the cards. "Jacks high." Even winning was boring in this game.
Three other players tossed their hands in, including the Kid. The seventh player wasn't going to go down so easy, though.
"That just ain't natural, you winnin' all the time," he whined. He was not a happy cowboy.
"I must be having a lucky streak tonight," Heyes said, flashing a disarming smile that he didn't feel. The guy was a poor loser and an even poorer poker player.
"I think you're cheatin'," the cowboy accused, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Heyes' smile dropped a few degrees in magnitude. Why did there always have to be one in every crowd? Even though Heyes had gone out of his way to lose a fair number of hands, this guy hadn't even noticed. Seemed like trouble just dogged him around some days no matter how hard he tried to dodge it.
"Cheatin'. Does anybody else here think I'm cheatin'?"
A young fella that looked and acted as if he'd been dropped on his head way too often seemed to consider the question. "If I say that I think you is cheatin', does that mean I get my money back?"
Disbelievingly, Heyes stared at the man. "No. No, you don't," he said, quite irritated. "You don't go accusing a man of cheatin' just to get back money you lost in a fair game of poker."
The idiot cast a longing glance at Heyes' pile of chips. "But if I did, would I get my money back?"
Okay, so he was wrong. This time there had to be two in the crowd. The situation was so ridiculous; he was at a loss to deal with it.
The cowboy leaped to his feet and pushed back his chair. "That's good enough for me!" he cried as drew his revolver.
Kid Curry's gun was pointing straight for the cowboy's heart. "Hold it right there," he threatened, his blue eyes cold and deadly as he leaned forward in his chair.
The cowboy froze with his gun just clearing the holster, his eyes darting fearfully between the Kid and Heyes.
Heyes stilled as he felt the familiar thrill of adrenaline rush right down to his toes and back as he watched the potentially deadly scene play out with him stuck in the middle again. Astounded that the situation had deteriorated so fast, he glanced carefully about, watching the poor loser while trying to scan the suddenly quiet saloon for any of his possible allies, paying particular attention to the area behind the Kid.
Seconds passed and the cowboy still hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Curry helped him out.
"Take your hand away from your gun. Slowly. Good. Now, you got any proof that he was cheatin'?"
The question left the cowboy just as dumfounded as if the Kid had just asked him to name all the state capitals. "Proof?" he echoed. "Why, he was winning more games than was natural," he said as if that explained it all.
The answer threw Curry. "That's it? You'd draw on a man for that?" he asked incredulously.
"That and the fact that he has most of my money."
Curry was exasperated. "Just git. Pick up the rest of your cash and leave now before I show you why you don't go drawing on folks for things like that." The Kid sounded angry and he included the idiot in his pronouncement. "You, too. Grab your stuff and go."
Hannibal sat perfectly still as the Kid easily brought the situation under control. Within one minute, Curry had sent the trouble–makers packin' while Heyes watched, a slight smile on his lips. He took a perverse pleasure in these events, too well aware that he found it gloriously exciting every time Kid Curry was forced to use his fast draw to pull him out of trouble. He never sought it out, but he could not deny the thrill of seeing Curry in action. With a draw faster than you could see and a physical presence both solid and strong, the Kid faced down all comers fearlessly with skill and calmness.
And Hannibal Heyes found it an irresistible turn–on of powerful proportions.
With the immediate danger safely gone, Heyes could feel his groin swell and throb as his cock tried to engorge while still imprisoned within his tight jeans. He suddenly wanted no part in playing poker any further tonight.
"Well, gentlemen. I'm afraid that I'm going to call it a night after that little display." With a gesture of finality, he tossed back the remainder of his whisky.
A selection of affirmative sounding grunts echoed around the table as the other players gathered up their belongings. It appeared no one was unduly upset about the game ending.
Heyes tucked his winnings in his pocket. He could feel his heart beat quickening. The music from the piano was no longer annoying, but cheerful and vibrant. The dresses of the saloon girls caught the lantern light with little sparkles and glitters as the ladies glided across the room. Heyes felt wondrously alive, excited. There was nothing like a dance with Lady Fortune to make a man feel invigorated, particularly when the risk involved was sudden death. Heyes had made that bet countless times, but with the Kid as his hole card, Heyes was always sure he held a winning hand.
Heyes and the Kid stood up from the table in graceful unison. Not a word nor look past between them, and they moved across the saloon floor, each aware of the other and in harmony with the moment. Heyes started up the stairs to their room on the second floor, well aware that the Kid would be watching his ass in his skin–tight jeans. It was another thrill for Heyes and he could feel tingling across his skin as his anticipation increased.
Wordlessly, he unlocked the door, leaving it open for the Kid behind him. Curry entered, turned and locked it as Heyes stood in the center of the room slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Curry swiveled and leaned against the door, watching as the shirt came off, his eyes intent and hungry.
He slowly shook his head as Heyes came forward to start on Curry's shirt. "It never fails to get you up, does it?" He lifted an arm slightly to facilitate the shirt's removal.
Heyes paused. "A full house of jacks and deuces?" he said, deadpan. "I hadn't noticed, to tell you the truth."
Curry smiled. "No," he corrected gently. "Danger. And your attraction to it." The shirt was off and Heyes' fingers were working at his belt now. "Do you remember the first time you nearly gave me heart failure?" He put his hands on Hannibal's shoulders and softly rubbed at his neck with his thumbs.
The memory made Heyes grin. "Yes. Outside of Wichita. The McGregor Gang."
Curry snorted. "Oh, yeah. I had forgotten about that. Wasn't no nearly about it that time. My heart did stop when you up and walked right into their camp."
Heyes' smile broadened. "It worked, didn't it? With all their guns and attention on me, it gave you a great opportunity to get the drop on them. Worked like a charm, too."
Curry swung his foot out to let Heyes grab his boot. He steadied himself as Hannibal pulled. "You could have told me what you were gonna do."
"There wasn't time. Plus, there was only one thing you could have done."
"I could have ridden away and wrote you off as a loon."
Heyes set the boot down and straightened up, looking Curry deep in the eye. "'Fraid not, partner. You were already hooked by then," he said, then covered the Kid's mouth with a penetrating, intimate kiss of some length. A small tremble flitted down the Kid's legs as their lips parted.
"You weren't gonna ride anywhere except into their camp to cover me. I bet my life on that."
"Hmm," the Kid said, clearing his throat as he attempted to collect his thoughts. He licked his lips and shifted his weight to give Heyes access to his other boot. "You were that sure of yourself?"
Heyes shrugged. "I was that sure of you." He tossed the second boot away as he walked to the bed. He leaned back on the mattress and positioned himself to let the Kid get at his boots.
As Curry tugged away, Heyes asked, "When was the first time then?"
Curry stopped and started at Heyes, disbelieving. "You don't remember?"
An easy smile lit Heyes' face. "Oh, no. That's not what I meant. Of course I remember that," he beamed. "No, what I meant was when was the first time I gave you a fright if it wasn't Wichita?"
Both boots off, Curry flipped open Heyes' buckle and unbuttoned his jeans. "Denver. March 1879. The Merchant's Bank." He pulled the trousers off with one smooth and practiced move.
"Well, how else were we gonna waste forty minutes until the putty dried?"
On his hands and knees, Curry climbed on the bed. He stopped, hovering above Heyes and gave him one of his long–suffering stares. "But on the bank president's desk? There were deputies roaming the streets! There was a bottle of nitro not ten feet away!"
"Yeah. It was great, wasn't it," Heyes said with awe.
The Kid sighed.
"You know, I exhibited a great deal of self restraint that night," Hannibal said earnestly.
"Heyes. Get a good look at who you're talking to here. I was there that night, remember?"
"Who could forget? I had to sit and watch you work that pump. Hardest twenty minutes of my life, I might add."
"Hard? I was the one working."
Heyes shook his head. "Don't remind me. Watching you pump away, bent over like that. Up and down, up and down. You bet your ass I was hard!"
Curry stared open–mouthed, then busted out laughing. "Well, I guess I owe you an apology, Heyes! I had no idea you suffered so."
"Yes. People don't understand how difficult bank robbing can be," he said seriously, with just a tad of martyred nobleness. "Sacrifices must be made."
"Yeah. And your just the one to do it," Curry said, settling down on top of Heyes. There was another long kiss that tasted of whisky and cigars. When it ended, Curry asked, "I gotta ask. If we had just finished having sex, how could you have been ready to go again so soon?"
Heyes smiled. Affection and love shone from his eyes as he rubbed his hands through the Kid's curls. "You have no idea how great you looked, my friend. It would have been easier to stop breathing than to ignore you when you looked like that."
"Really?"
"Really."
The Kid was thoughtful. "Heyes, next time we do a Pierce and Hamilton—"
"Which hopefully won't be too soon," Heyes interrupted.
"Yeah, but if we do have to do another, would you mind working the pump? I gotta feeling I'm missing something important here."
"That's almost tempting enough to fall off the straight and narrow for," Hannibal said, a gleam in his eye.
Curry snorted. "Heyes, you ain't been straight for years."
Hannibal wiggled about, pressing himself up against Curry. "You know that, and I know that. Thank God that's not what the Governor meant when he said we had to go straight. We might of had to disappoint him."
Curry gave a wicked grin and settled down to give his lover some serious attention. "No doubt about it, Heyes."
END