Appaloosa, Virgil/Everett, Unsaid
Unsaid
Fandom: Appaloosa
Pairing: Everett/Virgil
Written for the porn battle prompt "the things they don't say". Also, written for a film that has not yet been released and a book I have not read. So, you know, take that into consideration.
Once, in Boulder, Everett caught a bullet in his leg. Doc cut his pants up to the wound in his thigh and put Virgil's hands above where the blood seeped out, impossibly dark and copious, and told him to press, press hard, and hold there. Virgil did so, watching Everett's face so as not to see the blood which usually wouldn't bother him. Watching Everett clench his jaw through the pain, cry out at last when he could no longer keep it in inside him, and go limp with unconcsiouseness when even that would not suffice. And still he held, fingers aching and stiff, and watched, until the doc touched his hand and said "alright, son". When Everett finally woke and called Virgil by name, Virgil felt dizzy and could not stand, and only said "right here," from where he sat leaning back in a chair.
On the way to Appaloosa they spent a night on a ranch of some distant relation of Everett's not seen since childhood. They shared a room and a bed and Virgil woke in the night when a hand touched his arm. He didn't know what made him sure the touch was not meant to wake him, nor possibly even to be felt, but he only stared at the wall he faced, lit bright by a summer moon through a large window, and wondered about many things. After a short time the hand left him and Everett shifted behind him, but Virgil did not sleep again and at the first harsh shadow he put his feet on the floor. Over coffee the rancher asked if they slept well and Virgil said that they had.
In Appaloosa they stayed in the same hotel, rooms apart but within calling distance. When they had been there a week Everett came to Virgil's door in the late evening, his polite knock unmistakable, and Virgil called him in without looking up from his writing.
"Moon's bright," Everett said, hat in hand, waiting just inside the room for Virgil to look up at him.
Virgil could see the bright street outside the window near where he sat. He looked up and said, "It is."
"Good night for a ride," Everett said, a question beneath the statement.
The man at the livery seemed accustom to being woken so late. They rode their horses through town, the thouroughfare only sparsely peopled, then out of town on a well-used wagon road, and further until Everett spied a cattle trail and they followed it down a sloping valley and along the foothills, brush grown high but for where the cattle had tread it down or cropped it short, and stopped beneath an overhang, ground choked with indian grass and columbine.
Under shelter of the mountain the moon showed less bright, but on such an evening there was still light plenty for them to undress neatly, quietly, and for Virgil to see Everett place his hands against the rockface and look just slightly over his shoulder to where Virgil stood. The evening carried a chill but their bodies held warmth enough and to spare once they were together, enough so that Virgil's hands slipped on Everett's hip, with sweat and urgency. Neither man cried out, unheard by the world at large. Even their horses cropping grass nearby paid them no mind. They moved unacompanied and unwitnessed save by the crickets and other crawling life, and the ever watchful moon.
When they finished Virgil was reluctant to separate, his hand on Everett's arm a reminder of thoughts unvoiced and unacted upon in all their acquaintance. He leaned even closer and almost spoke. Instead he brushed lips over cheek and Everett made a sound that put him in mind of Boulder and turned so suddenly that Virgil was startled, and suprised again when Everett pulled them close together and crushed lips to his own and kissed him as no woman ever had nor ever would after.
Years before, crossing New Mexico, the two of them spent the night in the church of an abandoned pueblo high on a mesa. They swept a place by the door, remnants of clay bowls and the leavings of other squatters were pushed into a corner, and they spread their soogans on the packed dirt floor and lay their tired bodies down for the night. When they had eaten and settled Virgil smiled across the small fire and said he always had liked sleeping in church. But Everett only said that he'd sit up and watch. Virgil woke to find him squatting on an adobe roof, taking the sun as it rose, painting the grey world of night over with red and orange and a blue Virgil thought had not existed until then.
Before dawn they mounted and took the cattle trail back to the wagon road and on through the thoroughfare to their hotel and parted at Virgil's door. Virgil hesistated, hand on the knob, then entered the dawnlit room alone.
Fandom: Appaloosa
Pairing: Everett/Virgil
Written for the porn battle prompt "the things they don't say". Also, written for a film that has not yet been released and a book I have not read. So, you know, take that into consideration.
Once, in Boulder, Everett caught a bullet in his leg. Doc cut his pants up to the wound in his thigh and put Virgil's hands above where the blood seeped out, impossibly dark and copious, and told him to press, press hard, and hold there. Virgil did so, watching Everett's face so as not to see the blood which usually wouldn't bother him. Watching Everett clench his jaw through the pain, cry out at last when he could no longer keep it in inside him, and go limp with unconcsiouseness when even that would not suffice. And still he held, fingers aching and stiff, and watched, until the doc touched his hand and said "alright, son". When Everett finally woke and called Virgil by name, Virgil felt dizzy and could not stand, and only said "right here," from where he sat leaning back in a chair.
On the way to Appaloosa they spent a night on a ranch of some distant relation of Everett's not seen since childhood. They shared a room and a bed and Virgil woke in the night when a hand touched his arm. He didn't know what made him sure the touch was not meant to wake him, nor possibly even to be felt, but he only stared at the wall he faced, lit bright by a summer moon through a large window, and wondered about many things. After a short time the hand left him and Everett shifted behind him, but Virgil did not sleep again and at the first harsh shadow he put his feet on the floor. Over coffee the rancher asked if they slept well and Virgil said that they had.
In Appaloosa they stayed in the same hotel, rooms apart but within calling distance. When they had been there a week Everett came to Virgil's door in the late evening, his polite knock unmistakable, and Virgil called him in without looking up from his writing.
"Moon's bright," Everett said, hat in hand, waiting just inside the room for Virgil to look up at him.
Virgil could see the bright street outside the window near where he sat. He looked up and said, "It is."
"Good night for a ride," Everett said, a question beneath the statement.
The man at the livery seemed accustom to being woken so late. They rode their horses through town, the thouroughfare only sparsely peopled, then out of town on a well-used wagon road, and further until Everett spied a cattle trail and they followed it down a sloping valley and along the foothills, brush grown high but for where the cattle had tread it down or cropped it short, and stopped beneath an overhang, ground choked with indian grass and columbine.
Under shelter of the mountain the moon showed less bright, but on such an evening there was still light plenty for them to undress neatly, quietly, and for Virgil to see Everett place his hands against the rockface and look just slightly over his shoulder to where Virgil stood. The evening carried a chill but their bodies held warmth enough and to spare once they were together, enough so that Virgil's hands slipped on Everett's hip, with sweat and urgency. Neither man cried out, unheard by the world at large. Even their horses cropping grass nearby paid them no mind. They moved unacompanied and unwitnessed save by the crickets and other crawling life, and the ever watchful moon.
When they finished Virgil was reluctant to separate, his hand on Everett's arm a reminder of thoughts unvoiced and unacted upon in all their acquaintance. He leaned even closer and almost spoke. Instead he brushed lips over cheek and Everett made a sound that put him in mind of Boulder and turned so suddenly that Virgil was startled, and suprised again when Everett pulled them close together and crushed lips to his own and kissed him as no woman ever had nor ever would after.
Years before, crossing New Mexico, the two of them spent the night in the church of an abandoned pueblo high on a mesa. They swept a place by the door, remnants of clay bowls and the leavings of other squatters were pushed into a corner, and they spread their soogans on the packed dirt floor and lay their tired bodies down for the night. When they had eaten and settled Virgil smiled across the small fire and said he always had liked sleeping in church. But Everett only said that he'd sit up and watch. Virgil woke to find him squatting on an adobe roof, taking the sun as it rose, painting the grey world of night over with red and orange and a blue Virgil thought had not existed until then.
Before dawn they mounted and took the cattle trail back to the wagon road and on through the thoroughfare to their hotel and parted at Virgil's door. Virgil hesistated, hand on the knob, then entered the dawnlit room alone.