Work Text:
Dried knives that used to be grass crunched under Simon’s feet, cutting his ankles at any given occasion. The land was yellow and burned as it seemed that not a single drop of rain touched it in months and even if it happened to rain right now, the air was so hot and dry he was sure it would evaporate before touching his tongue. It was so hot that the horizon was blurry, as if countless translucent devils were dancing in front of him, draped in this scorching sun.
Looking at the skin on his hands made them more painful and he was so thirsty that the blisters on them seemed appetizing. He could almost feel the water in them, could imagine how nice it would be to taste liquid against his dried gums. The idea to munch on them became so noisy he snapped his eyes on the horizon.
The fight was only one hour ago. One hour he was walking in the sand, listening to coyotes and praying to all gods that none of them would take notice of the blood dropping behind him. It was supposed to be a quick attack, stopping some outlaws and they would be home before his tea got cold. His dusted tongue ran painfully into his month, searching for humidity. If he still had tears, they would drown his cheeks. Between that and his tea, thinking made his eyes hurt.
Between the devils flourishing in that heat, an imposing wall of natural rock started to appear, darker and sharper as he was walking in its direction. A shadow under it let his hopes grow back. At this point he couldn’t wish for water, convinced to not taste it before his death, but he still could wish for a bit of shade, to appease the burn on his skin and scalp. Walking faster made his injured thigh cry in pain.
“ shut up.”
Speaking made his lips tear apart, joining the rest of his body in an endless lament. Deep down the man knew speaking to himself was useless and a terrible idea but he couldn’t care less. He was dying and he would do in some shadows, in a ghost’s natural environment.
If it wasn’t the shotgun that perforated his leg, he would die from the lack of water.
A coyote cried behind the horizon. Simon made a mental note to add them on the list.
Simon took his gun and looked inside it, the emptiness of the barrel laughed at him. He couldn’t drink those monsters' blood or even avoid being eaten alive by them, even a bullet through his head out of his reach. His eyes got back to the blissful shadow and now he could start to see some colors in it, a small form was there and the idea of it being some hidden goods made him walk even faster.
He could do a lot with almost nothing: burn his injury close, eat rancid food or if he was really lucky, drink his own pee with a container. He didn’t know if he still could in this state and didn’t want to try and lose some of the precious liquid. It was monstrous, disgusting, a little part of him tried to argue against the wild and careless one that wanted to live.
Somewhere he felt his consciousness leaving his grasp. He could still think clearly, feel the cozyness of his mind but the access to the external world was running away from him. Simon could swear his eyes were still open but he would get confused when forms or colors got back at him. He could swear his legs were still walking but the pain was pulsing without rhythm. From time to time, he would stop feeling it and it scared him so much. He knew that close to death, people would stop feeling it.
The noise of a gun’s firing mechanism in his ears followed by some words. Was he talking ? Was that his voice ? He stopped and his tongue licked painfully at his dried lips.
“ -Ht- … w- what ?” Talking was like throwing up needles, the tingle in his eyes came back. He blinked repeatedly without succeeding at focusing on anything. At this point the world was a mush of washed out colors.
“ Yer gun, on the ground.” Did he have a gun ? Simon looked down at his hand and there was a black goo of unfocused shininess. Was that a gun ?
“ Hurry, ye-.” His eyes got back to a colorful and moving form, was that talking ? Was that someone ? Was he the one talking to them ? Were they the one with a gun ? He was so confused and felt so tired.
The form grew rapidly, was that getting taller or was he falling ? “ Fuck-.” The pain in his thigh made him cry as his knees crushed on the ground.
And everything stopped. The pain, the feelings, the thirstiness and the consciousness.
The first thing that came back to him was wetness against his lips and the first thing that moved was his tongue reaching the precious liquid. When too much ran into his throat, making him cough some of it out, a voice talked to him. “ Slow down, Soldier.” That was soft and deep, so deep he could feel the ground growling back at it, but at the same time, it was so soft. As soft as the hand holding the back of his head. Wetness came back to him and he forgot everything again. The liquid burned his tongue and throat and if he didn’t know better he would have refused to drink with how painful it was.
It was like his meat was so dry, shriveled by dehydration and heat, that it couldn’t let the liquid in. When the water permeated it felt like tearing at his skin, too dry to move and accommodate.
After some more the voice came back at him. “ Ye can talk ?” Could he ? Simon tried to push a noise out of him, making him cough again. Rolling on his flank in a desperate attempt to free his airway, he made his thigh cry. Why would existing hurt so much ? How could after all these years it made him want to cry for his mother ? Why couldn’t he be with mommy? A hand came rubbing at his back until he stopped coughing and yelping.
“ I ...”
“ What ?”
“ -alk … I … I can talk …” Why was his voice leaving him so pathetically ? Why did it sound so strange ? Was he sick ? He felt so disconnected from himself, couldn’t link how painful his throat felt with how harsh his voice sounded.
“ Okay Soldier, where are the others ?” The word soldier rubbed against his bones, commanding from him truth and obedience.
“ Who ?”
“ Yer company ?”
Where were they ? Oh, right. “ Died, in attack.”
“ Okay. Good, good.” Good ? What ? He tried to roll and after some more pain, his eyes locked in blue ones. They were so pretty and shiny, so full of water. Could he swim in them if he asked nicely ? A pinch deep behind his rib told him no, but his tongue came back licking his lips.
“ Water.” And more water got back to him, still no tears in his eyes to cry.
The blue eyes talked again. He couldn’t understand most of it, grabbing a word here and there but never enough to make a sentence out of it. Yet, it never really stopped or not enough to imply he was waiting for an answer.
The consciousness regularly got away from him, and falling asleep seemed less scary with liquid flowing again in his body. Was it really falling asleep ? He sure couldn’t tell. What he was sure of was that water was still coming at him when he could say the word, and that from time to time, he would ask only to feel the hand running through his hair.
If he had to die, eaten alive by coyotes, at least it would have been after discovering what a soft man's touch felt like. Would he still go to paradise ? Would that count even if he couldn’t say no ? Could he ? The idea that if he could say water, he still could say no made the pinch behind his ribs wake up. He still didn’t have enough time to think about it as his eyes closed again against his will.
When they opened again, every promise of hell was forgotten and all he did was ask for water to feel a hand go against his scalp.
But when he did this time, nothing happened. The Blue Eyes’ voice was still there but another came answering to it. Simon wasn’t sure if it was his own voice, but it sounded too far. It was still a man’s voice, so deep he felt a rumble into his belly. Was that really the ground trembling under him or was he shaking ?
Trying to move made his whole body cry, making him cry too. As soon as the sound left his lips, all the voices stopped. Was he in danger ? Where was his gun ? Did Blue Eyes take it from him ? Looking outside of the shadow, he realised the night was almost there, all the dancing devils had flown away and the world had stopped shining in yellow.
“ Can you move ?” The voice was the other man, a less colored form.
“ No …”
“ See ? no point taking him with us, he’ll die on us before we could even ask for money.”
“ Do ye often see a lieutenant of the US army drop by yer door ? We should try and he’s harmless like that, I took all his weapons” Did he ? His hand got to his belt and no knife was found. Why take it from him ? Wait, why was the other man talking about money ?
The two men continued to talk but with so much speed and accent he couldn’t grasp what they were talking about. Somehow he felt closer to the physical world, focusing on points and having them almost sharp. Feeling the harsh ground under him. He still couldn’t keep consciousness, feeling his eyes closed and not being able to tell how much time passed after they opened again.
It happened again two or three times before he tried to ask for water and this time, he got it. A small thanks escaped his lips this time and the hand behind his head squeezed a bit, getting another thank escaping him. Laugh was his reward this time, still deep and making him shudder.
A deep part of himself relished in those rewards, pushed for him to say ‘thanks’ again and again, until he was a trembling mess or the gratification stopped.
“ Ye like that, big man, eh ?” This time, his confused mind didn’t have to ask any question because he knew the answer, of course he knew.
“ yes ...” Did he answer out loud ? Another laugh answered him, louder this time, making him look up to blue eyes. They were warm and kind. He wanted them on him as that voice made him a mess.
“ I’ll need to carry ye on the wagon, okay ? No fight, ye won’t win.”
“ I won-” A gasp made him stop as two hands grabbed his arms, making him roll on his flank, chest against someone’s back. When Blue Eyes rolled off the ground to allow them to get up, another cry escaped him and this time he felt his eyes get wet. Simon’s arms tightened around wide shoulders as he was sobbing loudly.
“ Sorry Soldier, won’t take long.” and with that, blue eyes carried him as promised. Simon didn’t need to walk, but his feet, rubbing against the ground, made the pain vibrate deep into his bones. He could hear the two men talk about something, all deep voices and accents, he also could hear himself scream and beg for it to stop.
When he was pushed into the wagon, saliva covered half his face, the rest by tears that a calloused hand brushed away.
“ That’s what ye do with all the water I gave ye ?” He should say sorry, feel bad for the waste of water. He should be furious, offended by so little consideration. But his leg was still launching a tantrum at his nerves, locking his mind behind a smog of pain and rattles of agony.
The hand came back on his cheek and started to pet it. Another one got to one of his hands and squeezed it, shushing him to stop crying. The sound of reins and horses announced the start of his hardship. Simon could feel every rock under the wheels straight in his thigh, tearing screams and sobs out of him. All the small changes in speed was torture, rubbing painfully his body on the wood.
The sky above him was beautiful, a light blue tinged with purple and dotted with small pinkish clouds. It felt weird how he could acknowledge it through the blur of tears and his screams. He felt so empty, his body getting rid of everything in a desperate attempt to stop this assault without any success. He was so desperate for sleep, for losing consciousness and letting his body suffer in silence, but now that there was nothing to enjoy, he had to live through it all, unable to get any sleep. The time stretched indefinitely and if it wasn’t for the night growing in front of him, he would have sworn it took years to stop.
He felt like shit. Simon stopped screaming at some point to just sob softly, not that he was feeling any better but he was running out of energy, as if his body couldn’t care anymore, just waiting to bleed out. He wanted to die, to stop being in pain, to stop that static in his brain.
Looking down, the vision of his blue pants, now black and stiff, made him dizzy. Was he bleeding that much from the beginning ? How was he still alive ? Was he still alive ? Why ? The pain of four hands grabbing him and carrying him made him regret he was. Another cry of pain left his mouth and his eyes shut.
Brown fabric was the first thing Simon saw when he opened his eyes. He felt better, the sharp pain frying his nerves was now replaced by a soft, constant one. He could get a better control of his senses, not feeling flooded by his own screams and tears. But pain was still there. Pushing on his elbow and taking the sheet off him, he could see that his pants were gone, his underwear were gone and the sheet was mostly there to cover the most private parts of his anatomy. Where the wound was supposed to be, some rough bandages were rolled around him. No blood to see but the omnipresent smell of iron didn’t let any doubt of what happened.
He was still wearing a shirt but it wasn’t his. The bed he was on was one of those terrible things made to protect you from the ground, and destroy your back on the way. Every move made springs squeak under him.
On his right was a huge wood post and on his left, a little night stand full of trinkets. A basin half full of pinkish water, a piece of dirted fabric, scissors, a needle inserted into a spool of thread and a small oil lamp. The rest of the tent was empty, the flaps were tied close, and some yellowish light came from it.
Simon couldn’t make sense of what his memory kept of the last day. Maybe he slept more than one day ? The pieces were blurry on what happened after the fight. He could remember clearly the bullet going through his thigh, the pain, then the absence of pain. He ran away, but why ? And after ? The heat, the coyotes, and then … Then water and a hand at the back of his head. He pressed his own finger where the stranger’s ones were. He frowned. No soldier would have done that, nobody was delicate and kind like that in that type of work. So who ? And why ? He wasn’t sure what he wanted to know when asking himself why, maybe why the man helped him ? Why was he so kind ? Why could he feel his skin burn where he was touched ?
As his fingertips squeezed his head, a noise from outside made him raise his head. A silhouette, black against the light, was slowly walking in front of the tent. He held his breath and slowly but surely, got back down on the bed. When he heard the door opening, he closed his eyes. The years made him perfect at this strange game. Focusing his vision on something invisible to avoid them flinching. Breathing in slowly, stop, breathing out, stop. Years after years of being caught fake sleeping developed in him this strange knowledge of what to do. Not moving the eyes even closed, not breathing too quickly but breathing deep, no expression, no startle.
He could still focus on the movements around him, what each sound he heard could mean. The water gets dumped on the grassy ground. The basin got filled back. A hand got on his forehead.
Breath in, stop, breath out, stop, repeat.
It stayed there a second before slowly going down to his neck, two fingers stopping on his pulse.
Breath in, stop, breath out, stop, repeat.
The hand got away but the shape didn’t move away from him. At first, Simon thought that was basically it, the shadow would go away after finishing whatever and it would be it.
Suddenly the sheet moved away from him, cold air hitting his thighs and he couldn’t stop himself from holding his breath.
The shadow stopped at that. He was caught.
“ Dannae worry, looking at the bandages and am gone.” Opening his eyes, he could see blue ones. A tall, large and masculine figure, black hairs cut in a strange fashion had his hands on his injured thigh. Close, so close. His eyes snapped at the shameful part of himself and could feel a life in it blossoming. Without another thought, he quickly grabbed the sheet and threw it back on him. Making him wince in pain.
“ I’m alright.” Simon’s voice felt too hard, in a way he would wince about later.
“ I didn-”
“ I said I’m alright.”
Raising his hands slowly in front of him, Blue Eyes turned around to face Simon, kindness in the eyes. “ All right, all right… If ye bleed again, you must tell me.”
“ And who are you ? Where am I ?” His voice was cold, and seeing the sadness in those eyes made him feel uncomfortable. He was still unable to adopt a friendlier tone, too scared at how easily his body answered to the touch.
“ Am John, ye’re in our camp, with my group, I saved ye, remember ? The water.” A small smile appeared, a desperate attempt for friendliness.
“ The wagon.”
John swallowed loudly, seeming even more uncomfortable. “ Yeah... That too… Sorry, we needed to. The … We were scared the guys that put ye in this situation would come back.”
Simon frowned even more. “ What was the money talk ? With your … group.”
“ Heh … Ye heard that.”
“ I heard indeed.”
“ Ye seem to hear a lot while screaming ye lungs out.” The dark look the soldier threw at him seemed enough to shut him for a second. “ All right, all right, sorry.” Not a second long enough.
“ So ? The Money ?”
“ Right, the money… Well… We’re not in a great situation ye see, so … If the army could give us a bit of something for saving ye.”
“ I see…” They were so naive it was almost painful. The US army, giving anything for some cannon fodder ? “ You won’t have any money from them, not for me.”
“ But … Aren’t ye graded ? I saw your coat.”
“ I am, but not enough for them to give you money.”
“ I… All right buddy, I’ll need ye to not talk about it.”
“ What ?”
His voice got low and quiet, throwing a quick look to the door. “ If the others learn, they won’t accept me treating ye and feeding ye and ye need it. Even with a horse you won’t survive until you reach civilization.”
Simon’s voice got instinctively quiet too. “ You want me to lie to your friends to save me ? Why ?”
John’s face showed the whole world's surprise, his voice raised in offense. “ What do ye mean why ?!” His voice got back to quiet again. “ I’m saving ye, ye should be grateful !”
“ I am, but … Why ? I’m nobody.” Licking stressfully his lips, he couldn’t wrap his head around that. With every second, his mind thought about a reason worse than the previous one. Selling him ? Killing him ?
“ Look, it’s like finding a puppy. I won’t put the puppy back in the desert, all right ?!” Oh. That sounded too stupid to be false.
“ All right … Thank you … I won’t bark for you though.”
Blue eyes got bigger and John threw his head back, laughing loud and bright, making Simon jump and wince. Was that joke worth this kind of laugh ?
“ So …” John calmed down as Simon’s voice was low again. “ What’s your plan then ? Healing me until I can run away ? Won’t they be after me? Or you ?”
“ Ye ask too many questions. I don’t know. I’ll deal with it when time comes.”
Days were slow and peaceful. Stuck in that tent he could only evaluate the group’s size by the number of voices he could hear. There was John’s voice, of course, bubbly and laughing outside; but also the man he heard in the Wagon, called him Money as he couldn’t know who’s name belonged to whom. Money had a deep authoritarian voice, every one seemed to listen to him religiously. He had a thick english accent Simon had difficulties to understand, especially when he talked fast or angrily, which happened often. A third voice, still masculine, was the highest of the three, making it sound almost feminine in comparison. It was a calm, peaceful one that he didn’t hear often.
It was weird. Most groups were composed of families with women and kids to do the little work while the men worked in large plantations. No voice sounded old enough to be the other’s father. What men would travel alone like that ? They weren’t military, their accents not that thick all the time to think they were immigrants. John wasn’t dressing nicely enough to be some rich artist; he wasn’t talking with enough respect to the others to be a servant. The few remaining possibilities were upsetting, all of them could be summarized in a single word.
Outlaws.
It made sense with everything. They saved him to get money from the army, be it reward or ransom, that’s why John wanted it to be a secret. Who knew what could happen to him if they knew how useless he was, that they couldn’t get a payback for all the food and time he was costing them. The tent he was in was not made for a long period of time and with the weeks needed to heal his leg, it would be a mess. What would happen to him when the brown fabric would inevitably rip or be torn away by the wind.
He needed to find a way out, to get John to trust him enough he would betray his group. But every time he tried, it was a hot mess. If he wasn’t acting like a puppy eager to please, he was acting on pure spite and anger; always flustered by those blue eyes and warm hands. He would come every two hours during the day to the point Simon didn’t need a watch. Most of the time it would be to help him : eating, cleaning, walking. It was like everything needed for them to touch in some way and when John would come without any particular reason, he would still sit on the bed next to Simon, talking about his day or how tired he was.
Sometimes he was scared of himself, that if he wanted his trust or care it was to feed the lust burning in him.
You shall not waste your seed. Whatever. He didn’t remember how it was said, by who, but he did remember how shameful it was, how everything surrounding his pleasure was. He wasn’t supposed to touch himself, wasn’t supposed to go to the end, why or who commanded it wasn’t important, driven by obedience.
When it was too much, when he was burning for blue eyes and hands on his skin, he had to let some steam out, just enough to stay calm and thoughtful. Ashamed of how many times he did that in so little time.
He rolled on his belly and instantly felt better, the pressure around his cock a welcomed feeling. He couldn’t rut properly, couldn’t wave his whole back without opening his wound and drowning all his desire in pain. He had to take it slow, just pushing his hips against the mattress for insignificant friction. The springs, cold and hard, were a torture against his back and a gift against his cock. He could feel them pressing, pushing, squeaking with the lightest move.
His arms were gathered under him, locked by his weight with the palm of his hands against his heart. He could control his facial expressions, his voice and even his breath, but not this. The thunder against his ribcage; the flow of his blood making his skin shiver, his member thickening.
He wanted John, his eyes on his overheated skin, his hands to make him burn. The pleasure he felt wasn’t even a feather against his nerves, it wouldn’t be enough for most to notice, but for him, it was overwhelming. Used to pain and exhaustion, just the action of gravity was enough. He forgot his leg, the roll of his hips more pressing for a peak he wouldn’t allow himself.
Simon didn’t know when he had closed his eyes, when the world around him disappeared behind a fog. As he was still chasing his pleasure, panic took control of him. Did he allow himself to whimper ? To breathe too deep ? Could someone have heard him ? He brushed his lips and cheeks with his hand in an attempt to calm himself. His breathing was still slow and deep, his hips still rubbing himself, and as he opened his eyes, everything was the same.
The wooden pillar, the trinkets, the closed doors, John standing in front of them.
John standing in front of them ? His ass stopped mid-air, and the panic grew as wide as his eyes. Simon couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, he didn’t have any excuse, what was he supposed to do ? Those blue eyes, locked on him were everything he dreamed of and noticing how they weren’t on his face did something to him. His thigh made itself known but he didn’t care. He never felt so much pleasure, felt so turned on, his ecstasy feeding on his shame.
“ Dannae stop.”
Simon whined. That voice was too much, he felt himself getting wet just from it, and the first movement tore a sob out of him. The hand on his face pressed against his mouth. Teasing himself for some minutes in a desperate attempt to calm himself was a thing, doing it in front of John was another. It felt easier to rut, his own precum allowing the mattress’s springs to rub against his skin quicker, to press against the most sensitive part of his cock. He was used to smooth beds, no difference in shape or warmth, easy to turn him on and off.
His hips lost their rhythm. He wanted to come, felt the pressure in his core, knew he was near. So he stopped.
“ Simon, continue…” He couldn’t look at his blue eyes, could find his climax just from them. He pushed his nose against the cushion. Who cared about breathing anyway ?
“ I- … I can’t, I’ll- .“ The word wouldn’t come, stuck behind a wall of shame in his throat. His voice was high-pitched and he couldn’t hide how out of breath he was.
He wished for John to leave, let him calm down and forget. He wished for John to tear him apart, to take the decision out of his hands and push him over the cliff.
Boots against dirt then the weight of another body on the bed. John pressed a hand on his hip, the other came just below his ass, grabbing tightly the meat of his healthy thigh.
“ Come on.” His voice was so deep, and that close, he could hear how short John’s breath was. “ Ye can do it.”
Simon moved again, couldn’t tell if the noise that came out of his mouth was a moan or a sob. The hands around him were burning hot, he wished for them to leave an indelible mark. John didn’t push at first, simply encouraging him with caresses and strokes. The pressure came after, as Simon was losing his rhythm. He was doing great at keeping quiet, muffling himself in his hand as John was now using a punishing pace, seeming desperate to feel the orgasm breaking Simon’s body.
All of a sudden, everything stopped. Simon forgot to breathe, the world and his body crushed into the overwhelming ecstasy. Pressing himself deeper against the springs, pushed by an instinct to give his seed, to breed. He breathed again in a loud moan turning into a louder sob. It felt like John destroyed him and rebuilt him in a new shape that couldn’t accept to not live this again.
“ Ye did so good.” A kiss on his cheek, as a deep shiver ran along his spine, as tears started to stream. “ Simon, look at me.” He did. “ Oh, poor love… Why are ye crying ? Too good ?” He nodded and John laughed, so pretty and caring. “ It’s okay, I’m here, so pretty for me.” He started kissing Simon’s face everywhere he could, cheek, nose, chin, forehead and temple.
“ On the lips… Please…”
“ Everything for ye.” John pressed his lips against Simon’s.