Tequila Sunrise | Eagle | PG-13
Title: Tequila Sunrise
Series: The Eagle AU
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~560
Summary: It’s a rodeo AU. Yeehaw!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Written for riventhorn’s Happy Gay Farmers Fic Fest.
“Nice work out there,” Marcus said as Esca vaulted from a dark pony and landed in a plume of sand.
“I know,” Esca said. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of a black Stetson filmed with dust. Unlike other pony riders who dressed in eye-catching colours, Esca always wore black from head to toe. He looked more the cowboy part than Marcus supposed he did in his own white tee, worn-down jeans and old tan hat.
Marcus leaned against a paddock rail, ankles hooked and arms folded as he watched Esca murmur something in his pony’s ear. Esca’s hand looped around the thin reigns, and he looked about ready to turn and head back to the stables.
“Hey.” Marcus tipped the edge of his Stetson up with a thumb. “You gonna wish me luck?”
Esca paused before Marcus and turned on his heel. The faintest slice of a smirk cut across the grime clinging to his sun-freckled face. When he angled his chin to meet Marcus’ eyes, Esca’s expression was cool and thoughtful.
“Do you still count on luck to do your job, Tequila?”
“Aquila.”
“Aquila.”
“I reckon it wouldn’t hurt any.”
“What?”
“Some luck.” Marcus slung his elbows back over the bar. His hips arced forward slightly, and his large, brass bull buckle glinted dully in the searing midday light. “Bet you’d feel awfully poor if that bronco bucked me off ‘n broke my neck.”
“I… reckon you’re assuming a bit much,” Esca said with a flash of teeth.
A roar rose up from the crowd in the near distance, and the smell of churros - cinnamon and fried dough - wafted through and stingy, sticky breeze. Marcus almost missed Esca’s lips forming the word luck, before Esca’s free hand fisted in Marcus’ collar and he leaned up to capture Marcus’ mouth.
Esca tasted like he always did; earth and smoke and amber whiskey. Marcus didn’t move, didn’t grab for Esca, even when every nerve in his hands burned to touch. Marcus enjoyed this - letting Esca methodically devour him with nips and licks, strong swipes of tongue and nonsense murmurs of things Esca would never say without Marcus’ mouth there to muffle the words.
Esca’s fingers, nimble and sure, slid to Marcus’ waist to delve low and quick and dirty at the thick leather of Marcus’ belt. Fire fanned and flamed with each press and push of palms and fingerpads against the thin cotton that hugged Marcus’ stomach. The brim of Esca’s hat bumped Marcus’ brow, and he didn’t notice. Esca’s nose brushed Marcus’, and the scent of sweet suntan lotion and clean sweat swam through Marcus’ senses, heady and familiar.
Esca’s lips were fever-hot and bruising for a second longer than usual - than what was safe in such an open area, with only a pony and some cowboy hats to hide behind. Still, when Esca pulled back with fingers lingering in the loops of Marcus’ jeans, it was too soon.
All night would be too soon.
Esca’s gaze was nailed to Marcus, all sharp steel and blown pupils as he wet his swollen mouth with a pink flick of tongue. Marcus was breathing through his mouth; shallow, heavy huffs.
Then Esca took a step back and tipped his hat with a steady hand.
“Don’t get yourself killed, Tequila.”
Marcus managed a grin.
“’Cause you asked so kindly.”
Series: The Eagle AU
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~560
Summary: It’s a rodeo AU. Yeehaw!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Written for riventhorn’s Happy Gay Farmers Fic Fest.
“Nice work out there,” Marcus said as Esca vaulted from a dark pony and landed in a plume of sand.
“I know,” Esca said. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of a black Stetson filmed with dust. Unlike other pony riders who dressed in eye-catching colours, Esca always wore black from head to toe. He looked more the cowboy part than Marcus supposed he did in his own white tee, worn-down jeans and old tan hat.
Marcus leaned against a paddock rail, ankles hooked and arms folded as he watched Esca murmur something in his pony’s ear. Esca’s hand looped around the thin reigns, and he looked about ready to turn and head back to the stables.
“Hey.” Marcus tipped the edge of his Stetson up with a thumb. “You gonna wish me luck?”
Esca paused before Marcus and turned on his heel. The faintest slice of a smirk cut across the grime clinging to his sun-freckled face. When he angled his chin to meet Marcus’ eyes, Esca’s expression was cool and thoughtful.
“Do you still count on luck to do your job, Tequila?”
“Aquila.”
“Aquila.”
“I reckon it wouldn’t hurt any.”
“What?”
“Some luck.” Marcus slung his elbows back over the bar. His hips arced forward slightly, and his large, brass bull buckle glinted dully in the searing midday light. “Bet you’d feel awfully poor if that bronco bucked me off ‘n broke my neck.”
“I… reckon you’re assuming a bit much,” Esca said with a flash of teeth.
A roar rose up from the crowd in the near distance, and the smell of churros - cinnamon and fried dough - wafted through and stingy, sticky breeze. Marcus almost missed Esca’s lips forming the word luck, before Esca’s free hand fisted in Marcus’ collar and he leaned up to capture Marcus’ mouth.
Esca tasted like he always did; earth and smoke and amber whiskey. Marcus didn’t move, didn’t grab for Esca, even when every nerve in his hands burned to touch. Marcus enjoyed this - letting Esca methodically devour him with nips and licks, strong swipes of tongue and nonsense murmurs of things Esca would never say without Marcus’ mouth there to muffle the words.
Esca’s fingers, nimble and sure, slid to Marcus’ waist to delve low and quick and dirty at the thick leather of Marcus’ belt. Fire fanned and flamed with each press and push of palms and fingerpads against the thin cotton that hugged Marcus’ stomach. The brim of Esca’s hat bumped Marcus’ brow, and he didn’t notice. Esca’s nose brushed Marcus’, and the scent of sweet suntan lotion and clean sweat swam through Marcus’ senses, heady and familiar.
Esca’s lips were fever-hot and bruising for a second longer than usual - than what was safe in such an open area, with only a pony and some cowboy hats to hide behind. Still, when Esca pulled back with fingers lingering in the loops of Marcus’ jeans, it was too soon.
All night would be too soon.
Esca’s gaze was nailed to Marcus, all sharp steel and blown pupils as he wet his swollen mouth with a pink flick of tongue. Marcus was breathing through his mouth; shallow, heavy huffs.
Then Esca took a step back and tipped his hat with a steady hand.
“Don’t get yourself killed, Tequila.”
Marcus managed a grin.
“’Cause you asked so kindly.”