[image of James West]


by Taliesin

[image of Artemus Gordon]

It was a mistake to tell Jim how much the sight of him in those tight black chaps arouses me.

Definitely a mistake.

It's highly unfair. How can I be expected to watch my traitorous tongue when my body's heavy with sated lassitude, still pleasantly aching with the fire of Jim's sweet possession? Any other man would have dropped off immediately after our strenuous loveplay, and be sleeping the sleep of the satisfied by the time I made my unfortunate confession. But not Jim.

A man should never be held accountable for anything he says in bed.

The day's been long and boring. The temperature inside the train car is just short of uncomfortably warm, the windows necessarily remaining closed to prevent soot from contaminating the passenger car. Just another lengthy trip from here to there. Fully half a government agent's life is spent in interminable boredom.

I've been reading in the parlor, an enormous stack of books, pamplets and reports next to me. Medical treatises, scientific journals, biographies, books, reports, files... the supply is endless. Every time we make it back to Washington there's another box of papers to read, and half the local offices have something they were told to pass on to me. I only keep abreast of current events by dint of using every extra moment afforded me by the quiet days we spend on the rails on our way from one place to another. Without the endless reading, and the time to actually accomplish it, I'd be unable to pull the informational rabbits out of my hat which Jim expects. I don't mind; the continual influx of information feeds my extensive curiosity and has spawned more than a few theories and inventions of my own.

Out of long habit, I look up every so often to check on my partner. Jim spent the morning lounging on the couch, staring out the window at the passing Arizona landscape. Though I know him better than any man, sometimes better than he knows himself, I'd be hard pressed to guess whether he was musing on the nature of man or counting left-handed cacti. At some point, my habitual glance comes up empty; Jim has silently vacated the room. Gone to snatch himself a snack or a nap, no doubt. I shrug and return to my reading, little knowing what lies in store.

When next some small sound interrupts my reading, I glance up to find Jim standing in the doorway. I couldn't form a coherent sentence just now if my life depended on it.

"Close your mouth, Artie."

My teeth rattle as I obey, and I can't peel my eyes away from my partner. He's wearing those tight black leather chaps about which I'd made that foolish confession. And nothing else.

"Oh God..." I make it to my feet somehow, only periferally noting the crash of the book I'd been reading hitting the floor. Likewise, I move closer, though I'm not particularly aware of doing so.

Jim's sun-bronzed skin gleams dully in the indirect light, the hard planes of his muscular chest softened only a little by the thin dusting of hair. A small neat navel breaks the regimentation of his smooth stomach perfectly, incidentally providing an anchor for the line of hair which arrows straight down to his groin, broken tantalizingly by the low-slung strap which secures his chaps around the waist. The black leather which encases his hips, strong thighs and well-shaped calves shines enticingly, molded tightly over his sculptured legs. The chaps only serve to augment what they leave bare, framing Jim's half-aroused genitals in a deep soft V of pale flesh.

When I finally manage to drag my eyes back up to his face, Jim smiles at me, strong white teeth bared half in amusement, half in the commanding sexuality in which he's positively seeped. Like a charmed snake, I sway toward him, and he kisses me possessively, only our mouths meeting. I can feel the heat of his body even through my clothes, and I moan, my cock so hard it's almost painful.

Jim draws back leisurely and starts down the hall, secure in the knowledge that I can do no other but follow. My cock gives a jump, straining at the too tight confines of my trousers, when I see him walking away from me, that perfect butt bare. Black leather stops just short of the crease where thigh meets buttock, lovingly bordering the tight round globes. My mouth runs dry at the dance of the firm spheres in response to the pull and shift of muscles at each step. My fingers lightly graze one soft cheek.

"Don't." His hand closes tightly around my wrist as he whirls, panther quick, to face me. His grip is powerful, bruising. "Just the leather, Artemus. Understand?"

As always, without even trying, he takes my voice away from me. Silently, I nod. When he releases me, I obediantly follow him into his room, keeping my hands to myself despite the provocation. The lamp is lit here, the curtains drawn. His skin and the second skin of slick black leather gleam in richer tones under the lamplight.

Jim stops with his back to me, and I'm quick to accept the silently commanding invitation. I step up to press myself against his back, dropping my hands to run over the warm leather, spreading my fingers to encompass as much of his thighs as I can. I press a kiss to the back of his neck and nibble delicately along the curve of his shoulder. Jim had said I couldn't touch, but he hadn't denied me my mouth.

He remains turned away from me as I lick slowly down his back, tracing the indented curve of his spine, running my tongue down the furrow made by the sleek swell of muscle to each side. I didn't shave this morning, and he shifts a little, murmuring, at the scrape of my beard. I make sure to rub my jaw against him again, following with the flat of my tongue. As my attentions fall lower, I kneel behind him, my hands still occupied with the feel of body-warm leather over hard muscle. The slick cool-warm feel of the leather is entrancing. My mouth encounters the silver ring at the small of Jim's back which is threaded with the straps holding all that sleek leather on his compact body. I take it in my teeth and draw it away from his skin, letting Jim's gasp as the leather is pulled more snugly into the crease of his thighs shiver through me. Reluctantly giving up on the tantalizing possibilities, I let the ring slide from my mouth and redirect my attention. I wrap my hands around his thighs, tightening my grip, my fingers burrowing hard into the black hide at inner thigh. I can just feel the brush of his shaft against my knuckles when it sways as he moves.

For a moment, I pause, panting, letting my cheek rest against one softly downed buttock. Then I turn my head and bite the perfect curve, hard enough that he yelps.

Jim turns in my hands, presenting me with the demand of his fully erect cock. I ignore it in favor of mouthing over the chaps, beginning high on the hip and slowly making my way down his thigh, knowing he can barely feel it through the thick leather. One of his hands fists in the collar of my jacket, pushing my head toward his erection. I feel the warm brush of it against my cheek and instead bend to bite his inner thigh: hard, so he feels it through the leather. He growls and grabs my hair at the nape of the neck to pull me away.

I turn my head to feel how tightly he has me, and surrender immediately at the insistant pull. I love the feel of it: his fist buried in my hair, tight up against the base of my skull, the way you'd restrain some half-wild animal you weren't certain of.

His cock demands entrance to my mouth. For a moment only I deny him, enjoying the feel of the velvet head, smooth like sun-warmed marble against my lips. Finally, I surrender and take him in, pausing momentarily to feel the weight of the head resting just in the center of my tongue, before swiftly engulfing his entire length. His musk, entwined with the curly hair, tickles my nose as the thick shaft fills my throat. Both his hands are tangled in my hair now, holding my head just so as he thrusts into my open mouth.

The bulk of him fills my mouth and throat, stopping my moans. His soft cries drift down to my ears, seeming to speak for me. For us both. I wiggle my tongue against the underside of his cock as he pushes in, and lightly scrape my teeth against the top as he pulls out. It only takes a few minutes. He growls low in his throat and pushes in hard as the hot waves fountain out of him, almost choking me despite my experience. I swallow greedily, sucking hungrily on him even once I know he's done.

His fist tugs at my hair, drawing me to my feet, and he pulls me to him, imprisoning me in the tight cage of his arms. His mouth is hot and hungry, plundering mine for the faint taste of himself in me. Remembering his edict, I'm careful not to touch his back. I let my hands caress only the black leather clad thighs, grabbing them, pulling his groin hard against mine.

Jim's hands are on my clothes now, pulling urgently at the buttons, stripping me with a minimum of finesse. My hands refuse to release him, so he leaves my shirt and jacket and vest hanging from my arms, and my pants unfastened but intact. His hand slides into my trousers and strokes authoritatively down my aching length, just once. The shock of pleasure loosens my grip and he slips lithely away. He grins at me from just out of arm's reach, baring his teeth in a smile at once boyish and commanding. Always in control, my Jim.

From somewhere, I gather the presence of mind to strip off my hanging clothing, leaving it negligently wherever it falls. When I finally glance up again after winning the battle with my boots, Jim once again steals the breath from my lungs. On hands and knees on the bed, he silently offers. Orders. Black leather leaves that most intimate part of him vulnerable, somehow more so than if he were completely naked.

I can count on one hand the number of times he's allowed this. Jim controls. He takes. And I submit, finding the deepest and most abiding pleasure in doing so. In how completely he can master and pleasure me. For all that I know this is just another way to control, the shock of it is irresistably sweet.

Fingers slightly clumsy with impatience, I grab the jar he keeps at the bedside. The cream is cool on my fingers, a shock of cold reality on my aching cock. I climb up on the bed behind him and slide a finger in with no preliminaries. His muscles tighten briefly around me, then loosen as he consciously relaxes. Slowly, I add another finger, and another, thrusting them in and out of his body in an age-old rhythm. I find the small nub inside which offers so much pleasure and stroke it mercilessly, until he groans and pushes back against my hand.

I kneel between his knees and grab his hips. Even now I obey, and touch only the black leather which seems to pulse with his heat. I put the head of my cock against Jim and pull him back onto me, watching as I slide steadily into him. When I'm fully buried in him, as deep as I can go, I stop a moment. I rock my hips, rolling my cock around inside his tight heat, dragging a cry from his throat. Savoring the feel of him, I pull out slowly and thrust back gently, whimpering at how the soft slick passage cleaves before me.

"Harder," he grunts, straining back against me. The smell of warm leather almost drowns out the hot musk of arousal. I can feel the smooth sweep of it against my thighs and calves where his legs bracket mine. Jim commands.

I pull entirely out and pierce him again in one swift stroke, which is quickly followed by another, and another. Moaning, I impale him again and again on the hot fire of my need. He moves with me, shoving back onto my cock as I pound into him, driving me harder and faster. In the last moments, my desperate pleasure breaks the chain of his will, and I let myself touch him. I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him hard against my chest, my body straining to make us one. The hot muscular length of him against me, around me, brings climax flooding over the dam of my self-control, spilling my pleasure into him. My head pillowed on his back, I'm vaguely aware of his body shuddering in the grip of his own release, his soft hoarse cries audible only to the ear pressed against him.

Exhausted, I slide to the side, collapsing us in a tangle of limbs. After a moment, he extracts himself and rises. I lie quietly, trying to get my breathing back under control. Though I can hear him moving around, I don't feel capable of lifting my head yet to see what he's doing. After a bit, he returns, completely nude now, and applies a wet cloth to my hot sticky flesh. Jim tosses the rag aside when he's through, and settles comfortably on the bed. He gathers me into his arms and I lay my head on his chest, sighing softly with contentment.

It's too early to turn in, but a short nap wouldn't come amiss. For a moment before I fall asleep, I consider the consequences of my mistaken confession.

Someday I'll have to remember to tell him how much I like that red velvet smoking jacket of his.


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