“So. How does it work?“
All her life, Emma Cullen had been a brash woman – and with good reason. She was raised on a farm far away from the next town, by a father who taught her how to shoot a rifle when she had just turned four, and a botanist’s daughter for a mother, who spent her adolescence sneaking into her uncle’s library to read the works of Marco Polo, Georges Cuvier, Jean-Baptiste de Lamarck and Alexander von Humboldt. Every night she told Emma about those books, recounted adventures had by brave men she never knew but admired regardless, for their courage and the great risks they took to understand this world.
When Emma was older, her mother recounted her childhood in England: kings and raging storms and ruins so old only God himself knew when they had been built. Later came the terrifying journey across the Atlantic ocean towards a new future and a husband who understood the gnawing curiosity, the need to know.
They taught Emma to speak her mind, to follow her heart – and her nose – and to always trust her own eyes more than the words of a preacher. On Sundays, the people at church called her uncouth and ill-bred, her behavior unfitting for a girl. But Matthew Cullen – soft-spoken, honest Matt with a heart of gold – had appreciated her stories, so much he had married her, gleefully proclaiming that with a wife like Emma he would never get bored. They had moved to Rose Creek soon after: a sunny, peaceful place to raise their children. Only that it hadn’t stayed peaceful for long.
Emma squelched the painful memories. “Two men coupling, I mean.”
Goodnight Robicheaux – the one she’d been aiming the question at, figuring that she wouldn’t get an answer from his silent lover Billy Rocks anyway – choked on his mouthful of food. He leaned away to cough, turning crimson.
Billy shot her a dirty look and patted Goodnight’s back until he stopped wheezing. Interestingly enough, the “Oriental” hadn’t blushed at all, merely twisted his mouth into a moue of disapproval.
Once Goodnight could breathe again – thought still red in the face – he looked at Emma, but didn’t meet her eyes. “Mrs. Cullen, what you’re implying–”
“Do you do it like animals? Mount each other from behind?”
Another violent coughing fit followed, accompanied by an annoyed sigh from Billy. At least he didn’t go for the knives – but, Emma supposed, killing their employer was probably bad form even for an assassin. She signaled a waitress to fetch them some more beer.
When the girl came back Goodnight had calmed somewhat and was now staring at Emma with pink cheeks. “Mrs. Cullen, your questions are highly–”
“Inappropriate?” Emma finished, taking a sip of her beer, foam sticking to her lips.
“Specific,” Goodnight corrected. “But inappropriate too. How did you...?” He made a vague, encompassing gesture with his hand. “We’re usually very careful.”
Emma shrugged. “Woman’s intuition.” She wasn’t actually sure how she knew – she just did. Maybe because they reminded her of herself and Matt: silent glances, easy camaraderie, sharing everything, a quiet sort of intimacy in every interaction.
Billy and Goodnight exchanged an alarmed look.
“I don’t think anyone else noticed,” Emma said quickly. “You’re safe.”
“I hope so,” Goodnight mumbled, lifting his own mug. “I really do hope so.”
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, drinking and listening to the bustle of the saloon behind them: the clatter of cutlery and china, the gurgling of drinks, men coming and going, talk and laughter. Faraday was cheating his way through one card game after the other, Vasquez was telling tall tales to anyone who would listen, Horne snored blissfully into the edge of his table. Red Harvest was nowhere to be seen – no surprises there – and Sam had disappeared some time ago, a cigarette between his lips.
Emma licked the last drop of beer from the edge of her mug. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Goodnight, who had just been starting to relax again, hunched his shoulders like a startled deer. He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s not a question easily answered.”
“I fail to see the difficulty,” Emma said, arching an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a simple matter of... arranging body parts?”
There it was again, the blush. Up until now, she’d thought Goodnight Robicheaux a worldly man, because he certainly spoke that way, but now she felt the need to revise that statement. On the other hand, encountering open curiosity instead of hostility and disgust concerning this particular topic, from a woman no less, was probably a new experience for him.
“It’s not ‘simple’,” Billy said, opening his mouth for the first time since she’d arrived.
Goodnight nodded. “It’s kind of hard to explain... some would say impossible.”
“Even for an articulate man like yourself?” Emma challenged, chin raising. She had come here with a question and was determined to leave with an answer. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Especially for me.” Goodnight’s lips twitched. “I’m a gentleman, Mrs. Cullen, born and bred. Crudeness does not come as easy for me as it does for some other members of our... traveling party.” He glanced past her shoulder and she didn’t have to turn to know that he was looking at Faraday.
It made her smile. “Try harder, then.”
“We could show you.”
Both Emma and Billy gaped at him.
“I’m just saying it’s probably better if she knows what’s going on instead of having to rely on assumptions,” Goodnight added hastily, before either of them had a chance to recover. “You know? Demystify. Might help a poor chap one day.”
Billy considered that and nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“That alright with you, Mrs. Emma?”
She could hear the unspoken ‘last chance to back out’ in his tone and squared her shoulders. “Of course. When did you have in mind?”
Goodnight smirked. “How about right now?”
They ended up in Goodnight and Billy’s shared room, with door firmly locked behind them and the world dark outside the dirty window. Neither of them bothered with lighting more than the small lamp they had brought with them.
In the flicker of that one flame Emma could make out two beds, one devoid of anything but the mattress, its blankets and pillows piled on the second one. There was also a desk, beside the window, with a jug of water and two sets of saddle-bags.
Billy walked over to open his as Goodnight gestured at the empty bed. “Make yourself at home, Mrs. Emma.” He grabbed one of the blankets and handed it to her. “And get comfortable. This might take a while.”
She pulled the cloth around her shoulders and slid backwards accross the mattress until she could lean against the wall. Goodnight shrugged off his jacket and vest and placed both over the back of a chair, then got to work on his boots.
At the window, Billy was turning a small flask in his hands. The golden fluid inside sloshed lazily, coating the glass. Pleased, he placed it on the desk and started disrobing.
Goodnight, only in shirt and slacks now, walked over and hugged Billy, leaning in until their noses touched – and then their lips.
Emma had never seen two men kiss before, and it felt weird watching this, but only in the same way it would feel weird and inappropriate to watch a married friend kiss her husband, no matter how well they knew each other. Such things were not meant for other people’s eyes, were not done in public. But this wasn’t the “public” she reminded herself, this was a secluded room in which two men were about to have sex while she watched.
The thought, spelled out like this, made her shudder, a wave of heat brushing over her. She pressed her lips together and focused on Goodnight and Billy. They had moved towards the bed, kissing and nuzzling, falling into each others presence with well-practiced ease.
Emma’s eyes widened as she watched Goodnight lie down. She’d assumed that Billy would be the one to be... taken; he was the follower, always complying with everything Goodnight said, yielding and obeying. And he was, well, an “Oriental.” But instead, it was Goodnight who twitched off his pants and spread his legs in invitation. He had a nice cock, half-hard and cut, not as lean as Matt’s but as long, it would fill Emma up nicely were she the one over there.
Billy hummed in appreciation and crawled onto the bed, pushing Goodnight’s thighs apart to get a better view, hand reaching out to touch, acquaint – or more likely reacquaint – himself with the feel of another man’s genitals in his hand. He spend some time just stroking, helping Goodnight’s rising cock along, transfixed by the pulsing hardness.
Matt had liked to do this too, Emma remembered, he could spend what felt like hours looking at her, watching her go mad while he smirked, his eyes incandescently blue in the moonlight that fell in through their small bedroom window. By the time he finally touched her she was squeezing her eyes shut, shuddering at the warmth of his body, vaguely thinking that this was what they were here for, the joining and feeling and fire. For the first time she realized that it might not have been Matt but a general man-trait, this need for a visual.
Once Billy had looked his fill – or just got impatient, judging by the way he absentmindedly cupped the bulge in his pants – he stood up again, shucked off his remaining clothes and grabbed the bottle off the desk. “Pillow,” he instructed and Goodnight nodded, stuffing one beneath his ass.
Drizzling the golden liquid – Emma just then realized that it was oil – over his fingers, Billy crawled back in between Goodnight’s legs and brought his greasy fingers to –
“What are you doing?” Emma blurted before she could stop it.
Neither man startled, reminding her that while they seemed completely absorbed in what they were doing to each other, they were men of the road, always sleeping with one eye open, and more than aware that they were not alone in the room.
“Creating space,” Goodnight explained, voice rough with what she knew was desire as Billy circled a finger around his... his hole. “Women’s... insides are spacey and just slick themselves, lucky for you.”
Emma shuddered at the word “slick” because yes, she could feel it, wetness gushing between her legs at the sight of them, a dull arousal pooling in her lower belly. She shifted slightly. “It’s a different cavity.”
“That as well,” Goodnight agreed, breathless, and sighed deeply as Billy’s finger disappeared inside, and god, Emma could feel herself clench, suddenly wishing she had something inside her too. Slowly, as to not alert the others, she moved her hand beneath the blanket, pressing down on her pubic mound. It didn’t cool the flames, but it allowed her to focus on something else beside the emptiness.
Across from her, Billy pressed a kiss to Goodnight’s hip, cheek brushing Goodnight’s cock. “Breathe,” he whispered.
Goodnight let out a small, whiny noise and shifted on the pillow. “Yeah, sorry. I just–” He bit his lip and exhaled, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Can you–”
“Of course,” Billy said and leaned in to lick the swollen flesh, laving the head. If what they had been doing before was just wicked, this was positively depraved, and a hot thrill ran down Emma’s spine because she knew what this felt like. The warm heaviness on her tongue, filling her whole mouth; the most dangerous and at the same time most vulnerable part of a man, delicate skin stretched over thick hardness.
Emma shuddered beneath her blanket, suddenly feeling much too hot. She pushed it off her shoulders, opening her own legs, not caring that they could see her now should they turn their heads.
Neither of them was likely to. Billy sucked down half of Goodnight’s cock and pushed in a second finger, causing him to gasp and hiss at the same time, squirming instinctively but without a direction to go.
Billy drew off with a popping sound, curling his free hand around Goodnight’s prick. “Let me in,” he murmured, and finally there was an inflection to his voice, something husky, a wisp of arousal.
Goodnight moaned, far more expressive, and rocked down onto Billy’s fingers a few times, undulating his hips until he suddenly jerked, shuddering. “Oh fuck, yes, there.”
Billy frowned in concentration and thrust his fingers in again, this time with more force, and Goodnight almost squealed with delight. His dazed, feverish blue eyes focused on Emma, who was furrowing her brow in confusion, and he leered. “There’s at least one soft spot inside every man.”
Emma arched an eyebrow at that, and Billy snorted. “Don’t listen to him,” he told her. “From here on, his jokes just get worse.”
That was probably the most she had heard him talk ever since they met, Emma thought, but couldn’t suppress the grin when Goodnight started to protest and didn’t get further than “I resent that!” because Billy hit that “spot” again and he had to bite his hand to keep from shouting, pre-cum spurting from the tip of his cock.
When he regained his breath, Goodnight tugged at Billy’s hair, pin slipping out and falling to the floor. “I’m ready, c’mon. We can’t keep the lady waiting.”
Billy pulled out his fingers, now shining in the lamplight, and opened the bottle again, this time dribbling the oil right onto his cock. So far, Emma had been busy watching Goodnight, but now she took a moment to appreciate Billy. She had never seen a cock before that didn’t belong to a white man. Though, to her credit, Billy’s was only the third she saw in her life. He was uncut but smooth, beautifully age-less, like his face. The hood had slid back a bit, revealing a glistening wet tip underneath, red with blood. It curved upwards slightly and Emma could just imagine how it would feel inside her, hitting her own spot of pleasure, the one that was so terribly elusive that some days she doubted its existence.
Her hand was moving between her legs now, the tips of her middle and index finger squeezing around her pearl, making her shudder and clench and throb.
Billy hooked his arms under Goodnight’s knees and pulled him up, Goodnight helping him along by wrapping his legs around Billy and steadying himself on the mattress. Emma couldn’t help but marvel at how perfect her position was, because from her perch on the bed, she could see everything: how Billy lined himself up and slid in, agonizingly slow, how Goodnight clawed at the sheets, riding out pleasure or pain or both; the rapid rise and fall of both their chests.
So they don’t do it like animals, she mused, watching closely, and then Billy’s control slipped and his hips jerked, sheathing himself with one clean thrust.
Goodnight mewled, tensing up like a bowstring, and Billy loosened his grip to lean forward and crush their mouths together, tongues meeting a moment before their lips did and Emma gasped because suddenly, she knew.
This was what they had meant, the difference. She had been wondering if it had just been modesty, or maybe shame, that kept them from talking openly about it, but now she could see it clearly. This was more than just a pleasant fitting of limbs. The way they looked at each other, touched each other... this was more. It required trust, the kind that was not easily given, and patience, and a gentleness which, in a man, seemed almost as outrageous as the act itself.
Goodnight relaxed beneath Billy’s hands and lips, accepting, getting used to the intrusion. They were still kissing when Billy started rocking them together, and by now Emma’s fingers were working frantically between her legs. The whole room smelled of sex, she felt high on it, and on the sounds they made, she had missed this, the closeness and intimacy, even if she wasn’t directly involved.
“My, my, Mrs. Emma...,” Goodnight gasped suddenly, and Emma blinked at him. She truly hadn’t noticed her skirt falling open enough for them to see. Now both men were watching her closely.
Emma could feel her cheeks heat up, but there was nothing she could do but face it. She made a ‘don’t mind me, carry on’ gesture. “Just enjoying the show.”
Billy smirked. “Obviously.”
“You know,” Goodnight began, then had to pant through another wave of pleasure as Billy thrust in. He beckoned her closer.
Confused, she got up and walked over, standing beside the bed. Goodnight’s fingers tangled in her skirt and pulled it off, then he pushed Billy away and out of him, turning onto his hands and knees. He patted the pillow. “Sit down.”
Emma crawled onto the bed, understanding dawning, and she was proven right when Goodnight spread her legs, open admiration in his gaze. “You’re beautiful.”
“And never at a loss for words, even like this,” Goodnight added, smiling fondly. “Have you ever been kissed by a man down there?”
“I had a husband, Mr. Robicheaux.”
“Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”
Before she got a chance to reply, Goodnight shuddered, and when she looked up she saw that Billy had pushed in again, and god, from this angle, the view was even better. Goodnight arched his back and she could see how they were joined, soft pucker stretching to accommodate Billy’s full cock, glistening with oil.
Emma felt the scrape of a beard on her inner thigh. Goodnight was nuzzling her, rubbing his nose into her hair. “You’ll have to excuse me, it’s been a long time since I last...” His tongue darted out, tracing between her folds until he found her pearl and she moaned, pressing against him. Lord, it felt so good.
Goodnight echoed the sound, hot breath ghosting over the swollen lips surrounding her vulva, and maybe there was something to staring after all because from here she could watch every single one of Billy’s thrusts, how Goodnight clenched around him and trembled, his hands twitching on her thighs. Billy himself was a sight to behold as well, his sweat-glistening chest, muscles rolling as he moved, all raw power, a coiled viper ready to strike.
He met her eyes just then, and Emma saw all the heated lust boiling inside him, everything he kept bottled up and carefully hidden during the day and maybe that was for the best, because it felt so intense: sizzling across her skin and down her spine, sparks turning into fire. She whimpered, using her fingers to rub her pearl when Goodnight moved down to thrust his tongue inside her and god, this was too much. Emma gasped, shuddering, and felt herself convulse around him as her orgasm pulsed through her, a hot rush spreading out from her lower belly. She grasped Goodnight’s hair and held him down, keeping him inside her as the pleasure claimed her whole.
Lost in her own bliss, she almost didn’t notice him jerking, his nose bumping her as Billy thrust in hard, tipping Goodnight off the edge. His scream was muffled against her skin, dissolving into curses as he slipped from her hands, pressing his forehead to her leg. “Give it to me, Bill, come on. All of it, now.”
Billy rutted into him a few more times, then bit his lip and came too, much quieter than both of them, with only a whispered “Damn, Goody.”
He slipped out almost immediately, followed by a gush of white semen. It send another shudder through Emma, because this was proof, it had really happened. She’d watched and shared the pleasure of two men, one of the dirtiest taboos... only, it wasn’t bad.
There was a tap on her knee. “You all right?”
It was Goodnight, ever the gentleman, peering up at her from where he was sprawled on the bed, mouth still smeared with her juices while Billy rubbed Goodnight’s swollen entrance with his fingers, spreading the leaking seed between the cheeks. Goodnight looked absolutely debauched, thoroughly fucked, sleepy and satisfied and very, very happy about it.
Emma wondered if she made a similar picture. She certainly felt like it. Stretching like a contented cat in front of a hearth, she leaned back against the headboard, idly watching as Billy got up and pulled on his pants again. He fetched the jug of water, poured some over a piece of cloth and began to wipe Goodnight clean.
“You might want to make yourself presentable again.”
Emma needed a moment to realize that these words were meant for her. She sighed. “Do I have to?”
“Unless you want to be found here tomorrow morning, I’d strongly advise it,” Goodnight laughed, lazily pushing his ass up into Billy’s hands. “But I appreciate the view.”
Chuckling and giddy from her release and how easy everything felt now, Emma stood and drew up her skirt, fastening it loosely around her hips. She was just about to say something when there was a rap on the door.
“Goody? Billy? Has one of you seen Mrs. Cullen?”
Emma’s eyes widened as she recognized Sam Chisolm’s voice. Frantically, she pointed at the floor. Goodnight raised an eyebrow at her. “No, we haven’t. Did you look downstairs?”
“Twice,” Sam grumbled. “But thanks.”
They listened to the clank of his boots as he walked away and only relaxed when they heard the stairs creaking.
“Well,” Emma said, “I should go.”
She didn’t want to, not really. Not when those two gorgeous men were looking at her like they didn’t want her to leave, like they liked her being here. But she knew she had to, not only because she really didn’t want anyone to find her here.
“I should probably thank you for this very educational... discussion?” she tried, walking over and opening the door.
“Not at all, Mrs. Emma,” Goodnight laughed. “You’re very welcome back here any time you need... clarification.”
Emma shot him one last dirty smirk over her shoulder. “I might take you up on that, Mr. Robicheaux. After all, your performance was quite adequate.”