Fic: The Dreamer - Charlie Prince/Ben Wade - 3:10 to Yuma
Title: The Dreamer
Pairing: Charlie Prince/Ben Wade
Kinks and Warnings: Dubious Ethics, Misogynistic Language, Charlie is a bit of a creeper, Masturbation
Summary: Charlie watches Ben sleep.
On Ao3
Charlie shifts uncomfortably, unable to sleep. At this point, he's fairly certain the spare cot is stuffed with rocks. Maybe he'll shoot the inn keep after breakfast. The Boss gets mad if there's no breakfast.
Across the tiny room, Ben lays in bed, still unconscious after a shared night of women and heavy drinking. The girl from the grocery store is nestled under one arm, and the woman at the bank is under the other. All three of them are stark naked.
Ben's chest peeks out from the sheets. His raised scars shine a little, glossy and pale in the moonlight. Each serves as a ghostly reminder of some past altercation. A lawman in Mexico, a farm hand in California, the list goes on, but all of them are dead. Mostly by Ben's hand, but a lucky few are Charlie's. The Boss can be real generous sometimes.
Tonight is not one of those times.
Charlie barely drank at all, and cared even less for the women. Having girls in the room means he gets the cot.
He'd much rather be lying next to Ben.
Anger lumps up inside him, tightening his chest and furrowing his brow. He doesn't get Ben nearly as often as he wants. In the camps, the boys will see. In the towns he'd rather fuck women. Sometimes he feels so stupid for wanting Ben like he does. But he can't stop.
Ben Wade is a force of nature. Some men pray in churches, some men pray outdoors.
Charlie's prayer is the thundering of hoof beats and twang of bullets. His alter is made of dirt and gun powder. And his graveyard- His graveyard is endless.
Charlie stands up as quietly as he can, but the floors still creak beneath his weight. The grocery woman, her name is something pointless that starts with a D, rustles in response. When she adjusts her soft body against Ben's chest, Charlie gets that itching feeling in his fingers he knows so well. Shirtless and lean, he stands at the bedside, waiting.
Ben mumbles in his sleep. What does someone like Ben Wade dream about?
Women? Trains? Long rides and easy money?
He certainly doesn't dream about Charlie.
The gun at his side is heavy and inviting. He could kill the two whores right now if he wants, leaving Ben his and his alone.
He'd strangle each of them, quiet as a coyote, careful to not wake Ben. Of course, Ben just might kill him for that. The last time Charlie tried anything like that, the Hand of God had struck him across the face.
However, the burn of the pain, and Ben's fury is only an enticement. He wants Ben covered in blood and dirt, moaning low and soft in his ears. He wants Ben fresh after every kill. He wants Ben always.
Charlie extends his gun, as his left hand loosens his belt. He's only semi-erect no, but with each stroke this is quickly changing. He traces down Ben's chest with the gun's barrel. When he tugs at the sheet, Charlie bites his own lip.
The first hint of Ben's hips are the lean angles just above his stomach. The sharp lines where the bones stick out, draw Charlie's eyes lower. Charlie smiles playfully at the small bulge still hidden by the sheets. He considers, this idly. With a flick of the sheets he could... No, that might wake him.
So instead, Charlie holsters the gun, his left hand is always a little off anyway. He imagines the way he and Ben grapple each other in the dark of the desert. The way Ben smells. The way Ben tastes, bitter and salty.
The pulse in his hands pounds on, and he wiggles his pants a little further down. Charlie hisses slowly, careful not to moan too loud.
As Charlie moves his wrist faster, he begins to shake, Ben's name waiting to erupt from his lips. But it doesn't. Charlie climaxes in silence, just as he has in all the other towns.
Pairing: Charlie Prince/Ben Wade
Kinks and Warnings: Dubious Ethics, Misogynistic Language, Charlie is a bit of a creeper, Masturbation
Summary: Charlie watches Ben sleep.
On Ao3
Charlie shifts uncomfortably, unable to sleep. At this point, he's fairly certain the spare cot is stuffed with rocks. Maybe he'll shoot the inn keep after breakfast. The Boss gets mad if there's no breakfast.
Across the tiny room, Ben lays in bed, still unconscious after a shared night of women and heavy drinking. The girl from the grocery store is nestled under one arm, and the woman at the bank is under the other. All three of them are stark naked.
Ben's chest peeks out from the sheets. His raised scars shine a little, glossy and pale in the moonlight. Each serves as a ghostly reminder of some past altercation. A lawman in Mexico, a farm hand in California, the list goes on, but all of them are dead. Mostly by Ben's hand, but a lucky few are Charlie's. The Boss can be real generous sometimes.
Tonight is not one of those times.
Charlie barely drank at all, and cared even less for the women. Having girls in the room means he gets the cot.
He'd much rather be lying next to Ben.
Anger lumps up inside him, tightening his chest and furrowing his brow. He doesn't get Ben nearly as often as he wants. In the camps, the boys will see. In the towns he'd rather fuck women. Sometimes he feels so stupid for wanting Ben like he does. But he can't stop.
Ben Wade is a force of nature. Some men pray in churches, some men pray outdoors.
Charlie's prayer is the thundering of hoof beats and twang of bullets. His alter is made of dirt and gun powder. And his graveyard- His graveyard is endless.
Charlie stands up as quietly as he can, but the floors still creak beneath his weight. The grocery woman, her name is something pointless that starts with a D, rustles in response. When she adjusts her soft body against Ben's chest, Charlie gets that itching feeling in his fingers he knows so well. Shirtless and lean, he stands at the bedside, waiting.
Ben mumbles in his sleep. What does someone like Ben Wade dream about?
Women? Trains? Long rides and easy money?
He certainly doesn't dream about Charlie.
The gun at his side is heavy and inviting. He could kill the two whores right now if he wants, leaving Ben his and his alone.
He'd strangle each of them, quiet as a coyote, careful to not wake Ben. Of course, Ben just might kill him for that. The last time Charlie tried anything like that, the Hand of God had struck him across the face.
However, the burn of the pain, and Ben's fury is only an enticement. He wants Ben covered in blood and dirt, moaning low and soft in his ears. He wants Ben fresh after every kill. He wants Ben always.
Charlie extends his gun, as his left hand loosens his belt. He's only semi-erect no, but with each stroke this is quickly changing. He traces down Ben's chest with the gun's barrel. When he tugs at the sheet, Charlie bites his own lip.
The first hint of Ben's hips are the lean angles just above his stomach. The sharp lines where the bones stick out, draw Charlie's eyes lower. Charlie smiles playfully at the small bulge still hidden by the sheets. He considers, this idly. With a flick of the sheets he could... No, that might wake him.
So instead, Charlie holsters the gun, his left hand is always a little off anyway. He imagines the way he and Ben grapple each other in the dark of the desert. The way Ben smells. The way Ben tastes, bitter and salty.
The pulse in his hands pounds on, and he wiggles his pants a little further down. Charlie hisses slowly, careful not to moan too loud.
As Charlie moves his wrist faster, he begins to shake, Ben's name waiting to erupt from his lips. But it doesn't. Charlie climaxes in silence, just as he has in all the other towns.