Colorado- nuit 2005/pirates_cove13
*Subject: It is a story concerning Joe Byrne, and an OC called Sarah (and no, her middle name is not Mary Sue ;-)) It is set in the American West around 1885
*Rating: It is NC17 by the end
*Disclaimer: Did some one mention money? Well we don't have any, though if anyone wants to pay us to write please form an orderly queue..heehhe. Seriously Joe Byrne was obviously a real man, this is a work of fiction inspired by Orlando Blooms portrayal of him in the film Ned Kelly, and takes place in a time after those events which in reality led to his death. We have enormous respect for history and no harm is intended to the real Joe Byrne nor any one connected with him
*Feedback: Any comments, criticism, professions of undying love are acceptable and welcome. It is not beta'd, so please look upon mistakes as local colour..
Hope you like it.
Mirk icon beauty today
It had been a jagged cold ride down to the town, not made any better by the fact that having been thoroughly warmed through, his body was complaining about riding again. Joe smiled, his hand resting on his hip to hold the reins and well he could almost feel quite how warm she had made him, she’d fed his belly, his imagination and his eyes and now he wasn’t with her he didn’t feel quite so guilty about that last one. See now there was a word he didn’t like, but she’d had him feel guilty for looking at her without the right to, not that she said anything of the sort, and he hoped to Christ she hadn’t seen him looking when she bent over that fire, or followed his gaze when she had been swinging that axe and there was just a glimpse of soft skin, Joe shut his eyes for a second ‘clearly been in them mountains too long ol’ man’ he muttered out loud.
And then to add to it then she had told him where to go to find some relief but now come to think of it, the appeal of whiskey and a woman, some cards and perhaps another woman- things he had allowed his mind to wander to only last night while he tried to stop the icy fingers of the ground sneaking under his blanket, all those things had lost a bit of their luster. Fuck.
The town looked like any other, wide hard dirt streets and an array of mismatched wooden buildings either side; he could hear the honky tonk piano already. With something of a sigh he slipped down from Chuchip’s back and tied her rein to the post outside the wooden building.
A bed for the night anyhow, that would do the trick and having secured stabling for his horse and a bottle of whiskey Joe took the stairs two at a time to a small room with barely more than a bed and a chest of draws. Jesus he was tired, with a thunk his boots hit the floor and he laid down, the covers underneath him and the ceiling above, flat space at last. It must have been several minutes before he moved again, all that rush and mix and tension he had felt, just about subsiding enough for his mind to think again. A glance over to his jacket hanging on the back of the door and Joe reached up slowly, his long body stretching to feel inside his pocket for her book, a slug of whiskey before his head hit the pillow and he held it up in front of his eyes.
Just for a few minutes, he would read for a few minutes before he went back down stairs to the bar. The waters of a floating city though took him back to her room and to a warm coziness where his body just sunk into the bed, this was good, and Joe pulled the covers up around himself almost without thinking. Through the thin wood of the door he could hear the piano and voices raised in laughter, the scrapes of chairs over the floor and the shouts of men finding themselves in proud possession of a few dollars more. But it all faded in and out some how like the tide splashing against the walls of buildings that had withstood storms and still refused to submit to the sea. Venice.
He could almost feel the tide come to think of it, ah Jesus, this bed creaked. So much for not keeping the neighbours awake once he got back down stairs to find a woman to pass the time with, a quick seconds glance had identified a couple in the bar. Hang on one second now, the bed had creaked and Joe’s eyes rolled a bit when he got it, he hadn’t been lying so still afterall.
Joe let his memory of her sneak back in to the front of his mind, she had nearly said yes, he would have been there now, in amoungst all those covers and furs, a flash of his hand over her ass made him catch his breath and he shifted on the bed. Shaking his head he let the book close on his chest, it wasn’t just her ass, that was the problem- she had let him in her house, she had given him blackberries, and his horse tea, shared his poor excuse for a cigarette, Christ it was beginning to sound a little too homey, be dreaming of darning socks next, oh but what’s the betting her fingers would look good doing that too, strong, she had strong fingers, and his cock was really starting to complain now.
Joe reached down to pull at the material. Shuffle around a bit, he would go downstairs soon, just finish this thought, but it felt good to have some pressure, so he left his hand there.
She moved quietly and with purpose, yes that was it, she was herself, real and on the ground, not some flighty giggling thing, a little smile though as he remembered her a bit flustered. “I have thought of something, if your willing” IF he was willing? That wasn’t the issue here, oh that felt good, just a rub, and his eyes closed. Willing indeed, he’d have let her sit on top of him on the bare earth there and then.
Jesus he had to stop that, where the fuck were those flashes coming from of her thighs on top of his hips, his hands on her skin? Ok just go with that a minute or two, and his hand moved over the cloth of his pants, his cock didn’t seem to mind too much one way or the other, pressing up, Jesus he was going to have a stain on these pants, oh that would look impressive “hey Sarah, here’s yer book, oh don’t mind me, I just wanked thinking about yer last night.”
Alright so better to undo the buttons, his fingers not doing exactly what he wanted, shit, she was doing him in, a rip of metal through cloth and with something like surprise he had his cock in his hand. What the fuck was he doing? There were women downstairs who as likely would do it for free if he asked them, not that he would, but well, out in the mountains was one thing, right here when there was women within a few feet, if yer went straight down that was..his hand slid down and he just held it there. More of those effin' flashes, her legs open over his and a patch of dark hair, and Joe closed his eyes, dark nipples and soft breasts moving as she did on top of him, and he was bloody panting now. No, it would be too much of an effort not to call one of them ‘Sarah’, better this right now, and he let his hand move faster his thumb squeezing to catch the head of his cock.
And another thing, they didn’t wear pants..those women, and they didn’t have hair like her, and nor did they make him so hard he couldn’t concentrate, and Joe Byrne gave up trying not to let flashes of her body take him over, he let her breasts and her hips and her legs and her mouth and her eyes and that ass pull him along. His strong hand doing exactly what he needed now, his head back, Jesus, I want her, and he held in the cry as his come spattered out, shakes of it rolling through his tense body. He reached out to pull her mouth to his, Christ that was good Sarah, a deep sigh as it took him by surprise; it was only air his fingers could feel.
She woke as she always did at 4:00, but not as wide-awake as usual after a curious night of dreams and restlessness. Still she didn’t have to think yet, tea and bread and butter for her first breakfast while she pulled on clothes, heading out to the barn mug in hand to let the goats out and give Saji her morning oats, break the ice on the trough. Wouldn’t be long before she’d have milking to add to her list of morning chores, Ninny’s belly was round as could be but she should have another week or two yet.
Cheetie gave her that forlorn look he always did after she’d been home for a day.
‘I thought you had finished with all that work nonsense.’ He got a good scritch in recompense but he could catch his own breakfast if he was hungry. She would bring him home his usual treats later – Cheetie was the best fed cat West of the Mississippi most likely…Sarah looked at him out of he corner of her eye as he sat on Joe’s chair – hmph. Ridiculous. “Well you were no help” she told the cat, ‘throwing yourself at him like that,” a swish of the tail and turn of the head said clearly ‘don’t be absurd’ and Cheetie at least was done with the conversation.
It went on in her mind however. Her hands saddling Saji but her brain having a long chat with herself. He had thrown her off stride completely. Well no, not totally. Sometimes she felt totally herself talking to him and relaxed and simple. Just simple. There were things she didn’t have to explain. He knew the book was a kind of miracle – she’d given him her book! What an idiot – well on the other hand it meant he had to bring it back….
He’d loved her food – well they always loved her food, but she could see how hungry he’d been and she knew he had been truly grateful. She’d seen that in his face. It was a good face. And gratitude wasn’t all he’d shown. She was back in that doorway now, feeling him more than seeing him, feeling her own heart beat way too fast, “if you’re willing’ her lips had spoken and she knew how much he wanted to answer her…could felt the heat of how much he’d wanted to answer her with his body and she flushed down to the toes inside her boots.
She could have done it. Would never have had to say a word, just leaned in a little and tilted her head and his mouth would have been on hers, tasting of cigarettes and her tea with a hint of blackberry sweetness she would want more of, wanting the weight of him pressed up against her, to feel the muscles of his thighs and his flat belly and his chest up against her own, and her body knew, palaces and sweet words aside, that he would be very good at that.
She wondered when - and Saji’s good morning greeting to her friends feeling their oats and loping about paddock brought her back to where and when. She was here already without having really seen a thing outside herself the whole way here.. She swore at herself.“Impressive. Very impressive. Infamous Indian tracking skills - Would have trotted right up to a Grizzly and said good morning with all the attention you were paying…” She took Saji’s tack to hang on the wall and thanked her with a pat. ‘Good thing I have a smart horse at least’ a kiss on the nose before Saji spun to run with the others and Sara stood in the quiet of the barn, taking a deep breath, gathering herself in to get to work.
She made the rounds of her stores before anything else – the creamery first – plenty of buttermilk – there was a thought; the smokehouse - three slabs of bacon but still what must be two hundred pounds of sausage from when the rumor hit of some kind of swine sickness and they’d butchered two pigs, and she unconsciously grabbed her forearm remembering how her wrist had hurt for a week from grinding and grinding till her arm about fell off. She’d make some this morning but time for a trip to town to do some trading before they got too sick of it not that a hungry cowboy ever complained really, but she liked to think of these things ahead of time.
She’d sweeten it up with buttermilk pancakes though and the family could have some of those later too but with some bacon. And of course Jacob would have both breakfasts.
He was there already waiting for her in the kitchen when she wheeled her little wagon inside, a big gap-toothed grin a new addition from Saturday, “Jacob you’ve lost a tooth!” she proclaimed as he hopped up to hug her – there being no one else around yet so he didn’t have to look bigger and proudly displayed both mouth and basket for her examination.
“I’m sure it won’t slow you down though when it comes to eating – ah one of those teeth…no doubt it will grow in long and pointy like the little wolf cub you are…”
He growled appropriately and laughed and told her “52! I counted them myself. Most yet ever” He looked as perfectly puffed with pride as if he’d been personally responsible for the number of eggs the hens laid, and perhaps it wasn’t just the Spring that did it but also his lovely way with the creatures. He was a natural the way he moved with all the animals and the ranch would be in fine hands indeed when it came to him, though that should be a very long way away, his father being a robust and hearty man and Jacob only 6.
He watched her crack the eggs and add flour and buttermilk into the huge mixing bowl and she let him be the one to fling the water on the griddle to see if it was hot. His face lit up as the drops of water danced and leaped and then she shooed him off to the rest of his chores before the men arrived. Nine cowboys to feed as the sky got light plus Mr. Evans the headman and Mrs. Evans who did for the family. Depending on the day, Mr. Mac might eat with the men or a bit later with his family though she suspected he was often glad of a “Got to be getting an early start” excuse to avoid breakfast with his wife and four daughters, plus his youngest boy. There was no doubt in her mind he loved them dearly, but the two eldest were just getting to that age, at 12 and 14, to be becoming alternately silly and sullen more and more frequently. Still, their mother was not a silly woman, she could never have worked there otherwise, and Sarah thought they’d pass through it well enough.
So, 9 plus 1 – she thought Jacob could give most of the men a run for their money in the pancake department plus 2 plus 6 oh round it off to 20 meals a day times three. Many would have found it a chore, but she was just grateful that she found it to be work and work she loved doing like no other.
Considerably later than 4 but still early for him on a morning he would have expected to wake up with a hangover, somewhat lighter in his pocket, and with the residual scent of cheap perfume on his body, Joe opened one eye and stretched out on the creaky bed. Well that woman appeared to have done what years of bible bashing and lectures on temperance and morality hadn’t achieved, Joe Byrne arriving in town and waking up positively sprightly. He would make her laugh telling her that, that and about the Basillica in Venice.
Still fully clothed if not quite buttoned up he grinned to himself, well maybe the preacher might have something to say about that bit of it. Fuck, he only had to think about her and his cock filled, a swell of desire passing through him before resolute fingers found the buttons, his hips lifting from the bed to pull his pants together and he spoke to himself a little sternly. Bath, shave, blacksmith, find some work. In that order. A man couldn’t sit around or in this case lie around touching his own cock and dreaming about her ass all morning, it just wasn’t right. Although now that he thought about doing just that it would be some minutes before he could go down the hall in search of a bathroom, Christ he would just have to stop thinking about her. That was the key.
It was a considerably younger faced Joe Byrne that stepped out on to the main street of Durango, his over grown beard all but lines along his jaw now, his hair still damp curls at his neck and a clean linen shirt, with the sun a pleasant warmth on his skin and Joe took a deep breath, he was going to like it here.