Couldn't roll me a seven if you gave me loaded dice

[assassinwithahairpin]

They arrived in Reno in the early evening, the sun glinting gold and red on the Sierra Nevadas to the west. The last time Billy had seen those mountains, he had been young, and it had been from the western side looking east. Not long after, his family and he had headed north to Oregon, then Washington, until he was sold into his indenture.

To consider the mountains from this angle was to consider his traveling companion. Goodnight had already gone in to get them a room at one of the various hotels while Billy saw the horses tended to in a stable near the common. It was better to house them there, Billy knew. Reno had a reputation for thieves, and he'd prefer they not encounter that with their horses.

He made his way back to the hotel, contemplating the makeup of the city. There were more blacks and asians here than in most places they'd stopped over the past months. Billy felt considerably less out of place.

When he reached the hotel, he found Goodnight sitting out on the front porch, contemplating the street. Billy did not walk up the steps yet. He considered Goodnight from that angle, the line of his jaw and the sweep of his hair around his ear. Billy had known he was in trouble about this for weeks, at least. He just didn't know what else to do. But these past few days, working their way toward Reno, he'd been feeling it more and more.

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[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy took the key, made sure his face was calm and placid as their fingers brushed for a moment. He looked at Goodnight quietly, and nodded briefly and headed up to their room without a word. It was hardly unusual, after all, for him to be quiet. And he didn't want the water to go cold in the bath.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Goodnight took his turn in a fresh bath once Billy was through and he lingered until the water cooled. He was still a bit miffed that they only had one bed, but apparently that was all this place had. They would make due - at least it wasn't overly narrow.

After his bath, Goodnight put on enough to sleep in. Though he hadn't had any further nightmares, he hadn't slept particularly well, either. Rather than immediately trying to sleep, though, he pulled a worn book out of his saddlebags to read, at least until Billy turned up again.

[assassinwithahairpin]

When Billy returned, he was carrying a tray of food from the hotel's restaurant. He hadn't asked if Goodnight had eaten in their brief exchange after his bath, but he figured it was safe to assume that he hadn't; and if he had, Billy had been sure to grab food that would keep overnight.

He set the tray on the draw sink, looking over at Goodnight lounging on the bed in his shirt and underpants and socks. Billy was impressed that he didn't flush.

"Are you going to stay on that side of the bed?"

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"That for me? Or have you started hoarding food now?" He offered a lopsided grin and sat up a bit more when he saw the tray of food. "Hm?"

Goodnight didn't care which side he slept on as long as it was in a bed. Though he realized, after a moment of thinking, he tended to put his bedroll out on Billy's right side and he was currently on the left. "I see your point," he said and, easily as he could, he moved to the other side of the bed, careful not to lose his place in his book along the way.

[assassinwithahairpin]

"Wasn't sure if you ate." Billy brought the tray over then and set it down, and then set about stripping himself down to his socks and underthings. While they camped, they both tended to just keeps their clothes on, for better warmth in the cool nights. In towns, though, it was variable, depending on their exhaustion.

Billy sat down on the edge of the bed and untied the cord from his hair, letting it fall.

"There's soup and bread," he said, as if Goodnight didn't have eyes of his own.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"I don't think bourbon counts as eating," he sighed. "But the bath was calling and that's a siren song I will not resist." Goodnight tucked the faded piece of paper he'd been using as a bookmark back into the book and set it aside, then sat up more so he could take advantage of the dinner Billy brought while the soup was still hot.

He got distracted, watching as Billy took down his hair. He felt a rush of warmth and made himself look down at his food.

[assassinwithahairpin]

This time, Billy noticed the look. He looked back at Goodnight, a quiet, contemplative glance for a moment, before he settled back with his own bowl of soup.

"I know all about you love affair with baths," he deadpanned. "What are you reading?"

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"Frankenstein," he answered, picking up the book to offer it to Billy. Goodnight had a few books he traveled with - small ones that didn't take up too much room in his saddle bags. Before Billy they had been his company.

[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy waved it off with his spoon. He could read well enough to get by in shops, but nothing so complex as a novel. Not in English, at least. His reading in Korean was only slightly better, and had probably worsened in recent years form lack of practice.

Instead, he settled back with his bowl, digging bread into it, his shoulder right up against Goodnight. He glanced at him again, curious, soft.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Goodnight shrugged and put the book back on the nightstand. It felt nice having Billy against his side; nice in a way he didn't want to think too hard about. But when he glanced up there was Billy looking at him and Goodnight felt the heat creep into his face he almost said something but he had no idea the words he needed. He was sure he was fooling himself, reading something into nothing.

He broke the spell - or tried to save himself from it - by putting his bowl back onto the tray, forcing himself to look elsewhere. "Thank you for bringing this up. You're a peach."

[assassinwithahairpin]

Goodnight had to lean over Billy to reach the tray. He smelled of soap and shaving cream. Billy set his bowl aside as well. Neither of them had eaten very much.

"You're welcome," he murmured, because there was no need to speak up when they were terribly close together.

There was a line here. Billy was contemplating it, weighing the pros and cons here in a quick calculation of the cost-benefits of crossing that line. It was the sort of swift thinking that made him an excellent quick draw.

Goodnight was already leaning back to his side of the bed. Billy tilted after him, and slid his hand up Goodnight's thigh, bold and intentional.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

The hand on his thigh was warm and bold and familiar, and the intention so clear it made Goodnight freeze a moment. He looked into Billy's face, hopeful and uncertain and wanting in the same moment. He touched Billy's cheek; the gesture seemed entirely insufficient but it was all the courage he could muster.

[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy sighed out a long breath, like he'd been smoking. He put his free hand to Goodnight's shoulder, pushing him back gently until he was lounged a bit more. He moved with a deftness, a certainty, that spoke of some practice in this. It was easy to sink down over Goodnight's lap, to draw his shirt up and his pants down. To lean all the way in and put his mouth against Goodnight's cock like he'd been thinking of doing for weeks.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Goodnight was half hard before Billy moved, his body eager to realize the fantasy he'd been living with for months. His breath caught and a soft moan escaped at the touch of Billy's mouth. He couldn't remember ever getting so hard so fast in his adult life. Goodnight's hand pushed into Billy's dark hair, soft and clean from his bath; he didn't try to stop him, just wanted to touch him. Maybe encourage him.

[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy hid a smile against the press of Goodnight's cock, the thickening weight of it brushing against his lips and cheek. He stroked him, slowly, and then pulled back just enough to lick the head. He wanted to watch Goodnight while he did this--but that hadn't gone well, in his previous experiences.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Goodnight dropped his head back, not even caring about the thud it made against the headboard, as he rubbed across Billy's cheek. His fingers tightened and he couldn't help the slight lift of his hips toward the wet heat of Billy's mouth. He wanted to see his face, his eyes, but he didn't want to break the moment, didn't want to break some unspoken rule that would end this. Instead he smoothed his free hand over Billy's shoulder and back, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt.

[assassinwithahairpin]

The shift of Goodnight's body was an easy, quick encouragement. Billy bobbed his head, a lingering touch, slow and intent despite wanting to hurry. His mouth was already wet, a shameful need for this working through him, heat chasing after every touch that Goodnight slid over his skin and his shirt.

He bobbed his head and sank his mouth down, making a soft noise of want and contentment.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

The sound escaping Billy made his cock throb. Or maybe it had something to do with the way his tongue moved as his mouth slid down. Goodnight's fingers curled, bunching Billy's shirt. He slouched more but only to get better leverage to push up, to gently meet every bob of Billy's head when he sank down. He tried to stifle his moans; couldn't quite. How many times had he thought of this? Dreamt of it when they slept in separate beds?

[assassinwithahairpin]

Goodnight shifted, lifted to meet him, and Billy adjusted a little. As with all things, so with this, they fell into each others strides easily. Billy felt impossibly hard behind the protective cotton of his own under garments. His hips shifted against the bed, just a little. Then, he had to lift his hips up off the bed, tuck his knees beneath himself, so that he didn't end up thrusting against the mattress like some overworked teenager.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

His leg slid, bending for more stability as they found a pace, a rhythm. Billy moved next to him and Goodnight's hand slid over the curve of his ass. He moved his touch somewhere safer - nowhere actually felt safe - and ended up gripping Billy's shoulder. He murmured something in breathless French and managed to translate himself: "Don't stop," he pleaded.

[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy had no intention of stopping until Goodnight came. He gripped Goodnight's thigh, swallowed and hummed around him, as Goodnight's hands roamed and his body shifted with need. He popped off, just for a moment, to slide his mouth in a lewd track across the vein on Goodnight's cock, down to his balls. He looked up at Goodnight, briefly, aware of the filthy image he must make.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Goodnight almost lost it when Billy looked up at him. His mouth was wet and soft and looked like he's been thoroughly kisses but it was from sucking his cock, not bashful, hurried kissing. Heat sank through him and let go of Billy's hair to brush his thumb just beneath his bottom lip. This was dangerous. Goodnight's breath caught and he stroked his hand back into Billy's hair, making sure it wouldn't block his face. Seeing him, and the lingering touch on his cock as he subtly rocked into the circle of Billy's fingers, proved too much. Goodnight cursed, startled and gasping as he came. Just looking at him.

[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy inhaled, a little startled at the streak of come that hit him. He moved back up swiftly, closing his mouth over the head, sucking down instantly. The taste of him flooded Billy's mouth, and he moaned, hips shifting needfully. This was Goodnight. This was it, this was him, the overwhelming taste and feel.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Billy's rush back onto his cock earned a louder, more urgent moan. Goodnight lifted his hips, pushing as deep as Billy allowed before he was spent and sinking back to the bed. His grip went slack as he tried to catch his breath, fingers rubbing tenderly against Billy's scalp, down his neck.

[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy took everything Goodnight gave. He lingered a moment, until Goodnight began to soften in his mouth, and then he eased back. He didn't make any conscious effort to dislodge Goodnight's touch. He was so hard he couldn't think straight.

Gently, he righted Goodnight's clothes. There was no evidence of what they'd just done, like that, except for the streak still on his cheek. But that was Billy's problem to deal with, and not Goodnight's.

He eased away from the touch, too warm, too tempting, to be anything but consolation.