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The Smuggler, The Marshall, and The Prospector

Pairing: Joel Miller x Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x Ezra x F!Reader Fandoms: The Last of Us, Kingsman, Prospect Setting: Wild western AU, 1879, in gold miner country, California Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: Your Valentine's Day plans get derailed when Ezra doesn't turn up for his date with Jack.

Warnings: Polyamory, MMMF relationship, established relationship, alternate universe - western, canon-typical violence, crimes & criminals, prison, prison sex, blood and injury, guns, gunshot wounds, penis in vagina sex, dirty talking, deepthroating, cum swallowing, come sharing, oral sex, oral fixation, anal fingering, angst, fluff, happy ending.

Chapter Word Count: 15250

Authors Notes: I'm arriving over a week late with this, but HAPPY VALENTINES DAY @psychedelic-ink! when I was given the information about what you'd like, I saw that your three favorites were Ezra, Jack, and Joel and that you'd like smut, angst, and/or fluff. And this entire thing sprung fully formed into my head. It got away from me a few times, but I got it back on track, and I'm incredibly proud of it. It's written with a ton of help from my lovely girlfriend, who also beta-read it. Because I'm an absolute nerd, I've included only slang I could find proof existed in 1879, so I've made a glossary you can find [here] as well as linked at the end of the fic, for words and expressions that wouldn't be known to us modern-day folk. In it, for fun, I've also included a little list of words that are too new for me to use. The source for the age and definition of these words almost all come from The Oxford Dictionary of Slang from 1998.

[ AO3 ]

Bodie, California, February 14th, 1879.

Outside, it's snowing. It has been snowing consistently for the last three months. It's 5 degrees Fahrenheit out there, which is not rare in Mono County, but it's usually not this cold during the day, not this late in winter. But this winter was brutal and deadly. You had been alright, though. You were one of the fortunate ones and lucky enough to have plenty of things to keep you occupied if snowed in, as well as a fulfilling job, a warm home, warm clothes, and warm bodies to keep you company during the frigid nights when it hits -10 or lower.

A sharp snap of his hips sends you out of your line of thought and face-first into the mattress. You groan as he fills you, pistoning into you like those new jackhammers you've seen at the South Noonday mine; effective, relentless, seemingly effortless, and with pinpoint precision.

"Come back to me, darling," Joel says through clenched teeth, groaning, hands holding your hips with bruising strength.

"Feels so – good – Joel, please! I need –" you don't know what you need, actually, but he always does. Grabbing you by the neck and pulling you upright against him, he keeps his large hands firmly around your throat as he shoves two thick fingers in your mouth, locking you in place.

You whine at the change of angle, his cock hitting that spot inside you, and you're so wet you can feel liquid drip down your legs, cooling when a gust of frigid air from outside hits it. Only your own liquid for now, but even if Joel's were mixed in, it wouldn't matter.

Seven years of trying to have children with Jack had yielded no result, and neither Joel nor Ezra had succeeded in getting you pregnant either in the year since they'd joined your life and bed, so the conclusion was that you were barren.

"Shhh, Mrs. Daniels, your husband might hear you if you're so loud," Joel growls in your ear, biting at your earlobe and shoulder while pumping his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with the thrusts of his hips. You close your eyes and swirl your tongue around the fingers in your mouth, tasting yourself on them from when they were in your cunt not long ago.

You grasp at him behind you with your hands, finding his muscular thighs, and you feel them flex beneath your grip. You're anchored to the moment, and he surrounds you completely, inside and out. You've been feeling your climax building steadily for a while now, and at any moment, you'll be done for. Your vision and mind are going fuzzy at the edges.

You know Jack will be jealous when he sees the marks Joel is putting on you, on your hips and shoulder, and you moan loudly at both the feeling and the thought, a noise that is muffled by Joel's fingers.

The combination of fantasy and reality is what does it, and your orgasm washes over you, waves of it making its way through your body, and you moan contentedly as Joel slows down a bit, hips moving in circles behind you while you shake through the aftershocks, the delicious drag of his thick cock a delightful overstimulation.

You know he will not stop, not withdraw, not yet, and you love him for it. He always knows how to treat you right. A barely-there deep chuckle makes its way out of him, and he hugs you to his chest, sweat clinging to both of you.

It's like he's trying to fuse himself to you, holding you so tight, and you feel his warmth surround you, the afterglow of your climax, him and the fireplace keeping the outside cold at bay, despite the occasional draft. It's everything you'd hoped and expected your Valentine's Day date with Joel to be.

Coming to a stop, he keeps his cock in you and turns your head so he can kiss you, deep and all-consuming, groaning at the slight remains of the taste of your cunt still lingering in your spit and on your tongue.

To anyone who wasn't in your little family, if they looked at you and Joel, they'd think your relationship purely physical, but that is not the case in the slightest. He loves from first sight, falling fast, but showing emotion is difficult for him. A life of heavy losses — a sadly common experience among your partners — has led him to keep an arms distance from anyone, even or especially if he loves them, and cracking the code to understanding him had been a worthwhile challenge.

Now you and Ezra can read him like an open book.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement and hear someone clear their throat. You open your eyes to see Jack standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watches you and Joel, a smirk on his lips.

"My, my, what a pretty sight to come home to," he says before reaching down to adjust himself. "Please don't stop on my account," he comments, and you can see his denim trousers growing tighter. He has always loved to watch.

"Marshall Daniels, come here, our wife is a little slut who is craving a cock in her mouth, be a gentleman and oblige her," you can practically hear Joel leering before he suddenly manhandles you, pulling out of you, spinning you around and putting you on your back with your head hanging off the side of the bed, before thrusting his thick cock back into you, keeping everything slow now that another participant is getting situated.

"Now, who am I to deny such a polite request? Your manners are improving, Joel!" Jack says, grinning as he walks forward.

"Please, Jack, let me taste you," you whine pathetically, out of your mind and cock-drunk.

"Such a good girl, always ready for more, aren't you," Joel says, and his hips stutter a little, betraying how close he actually is, as you close your eyes briefly, nodding vigorously.

"Maybe when Ezra joins us later, we'll have you take all three of us again at the same time. Fuck, you're tight," Joel moans, adding a few rough snaps of his hips, making you bounce on the mattress.

You watch Jack from below as he unbuckles his ridiculous belt and unbuttons his jeans, approaching you with the speed of a man who has all the time in the world. He ensures the flask in the buckle is appropriately closed before letting the belt fall to the floor.

"Hurry the fuck up, Jack, she's too fucking tight, I don't know how much longer I can hold out," Joel growls, and you know that the two of them are trying to piss each other off intentionally. You don't mind; they always fuck you better when they're competing. They'd butted heads more times than you can count, but something like friendship had sprouted between them as of late. It warmed your heart to see.

When Jack's right behind you, his rapidly hardening cock appears in your line of sight, slapping your cheek once. "What a sweet little thing you are," he says and places the head of his cock on your lips. He's longer than Joel, and you know you'll feel him in your throat soon enough and probably for the rest of the day. It's bending slightly upwards, the head already an angry purple.

"Open up, gorgeous," Jack says, smearing some of his fluid on your lips. You open your mouth and lick at his tip, groaning at the salty taste. A few kitten-licks later, you're taking the head in your mouth, circling it once, twice with your tongue before letting your jaw and throat relax, urging him to thrust forward.

He starts moving slowly, going deeper with each stroke. You cough a few times while acclimatizing to the sensation. Soon enough, he's fucking your mouth, first gradually speeding up. You breathe through your nose to avoid choking, your hand caressing his balls, the rhythm quickly becoming second nature as you completely give yourself to these men you love. These men who love you.

The drag of the cock in your throat is a specific kind of uncomfortable feeling you love. You swear you can feel it hitting your breastbone on each thrust. The wet sounds of your mouth and cunt combine with the sounds of everyone's moans into the most beautiful music.

"Fuck, you're so damn good to us, such a good girl," Joel groans, as Jack rambles, "gosh, so hot, Sugar, watching the others fuck you, you look so good with a cock in you, we should keep you like that, always." You hum around the cock in your mouth, spit dripping from the corners of your mouth into your hairline, and you already feel his balls starting to tighten up.

Moans mingle as rhythms get irregular. In no time, you hear Joel growl out, "fuck, damn, fuck," as he slams back into you a few more times while spilling deep inside you. He's curled over you, and you can feel his warm breath on your neck as he kisses wherever he can reach on your body, briefly circling a nipple with his tongue.

Suddenly your mouth and hole are empty as Jack says, "Move over, Joel. My turn to make her scream."

Joel dutifully moves out of the way, knowing better than to be a bother as he makes room for your husband-by-law to take what he wants. "We'll also hear her better now that her mouth is free," Joel comments lazily as he lays down in his afterglow and watches Jack slide into you. Jack positions you on his lap, his heels digging into the mattress as he pounds into you hard and fast. He had discarded his jeans completely somewhere along the way, and you can feel — and hear the sound of — his thighs colliding with your ass repeatedly.

You had already been on the edge, and the feeling of Joel's seed being pushed out of your cunt by Jack's cock and landing on his lower stomach, combined with Jack reaching further into you than Joel, have you falling into your second climax of the day, a high-pitched noise that resembles a scream falling out of your mouth as you collapse boneless into Jack's arms.

He holds you upright, saying, "There you go, Sugar, there you go," his eyes squinting shut as he stills just a few moments later, adding his seed to Joel's inside you. He stays there for a few moments before laying you gingerly on your back next to Joel, pulling out with a wince and falling beside you on the other side.

Reaching up, you put your hands on both of their heads, affectionately threading your fingers through their sweaty hair. You are entirely unable to move or think, and it's not even noon yet. There's way more to come later, and you look forward to discovering how sore you'll be tomorrow, wondering if you'll be able to walk at all. You kinda hope not.

"Thank you, boys, that was amazing," you say, your throat slightly raspy from the abuse it has just suffered, and you clear your throat. You stop petting them a moment later as Joel sits up, looking at Jack.

"Ya know, Jack, you have to let me have her to myself sometimes, and we had a plan today," Joel says deadpan. Now that you're all past the playfulness of the moment and your afterglow, he seems annoyed at the presence of the other man. You roll your eyes before looking at Jack.

"Yeah, Honey, I thought you were seeing Ezra today, and you'd both join us here for dinner later?" Jack's half smile disappears then. The plan had been individual Valentine's Day dates first, then a collective date later. You'd acquired a big fat goose to make for dinner, which had been costly. You'd prefer not to have it go to waste.

"That's actually why I came by. I didn't actually mean to interrupt, honest, but I was supposed to meet him at the saloon on Main and Green, and he wasn't there. Joel, did you see him this morning when you returned from your trip?"

You've all gotten up at this point, you grabbing a semi-clean towel to wipe off most of the sperm from between your legs. You'll stain your combinations no matter what you do, but it's not like it's the first time. Some cold oxygenated water always does the trick.

Joel has pulled his heavy-duty stockings on and is in the progress of putting on his own pair of jeans.

"Yeah, he was at home. He's been having a pain flare-up recently, so as soon as I got in, I dropped off my swag from today, handed him the morphine I got him, and went over here."

You all exchange worried looks. Ezra didn't always know how to dose correctly, or he conveniently forgot. Given you a real scare on a few occasions.

"Do you think he simply forgot about your date?" You ask, hopeful, pulling on your stockings and tying them up with some lovely blue silk ribbons that Ezra got you for your six-month anniversary. Jack is putting his belt back on, which he was given on the same occasion. Of course, that was before Ezra's accident when he still had a little money to spare.

"I hope so. But he might also just be out of it, "Joel comments, grumbling under his breath, as he binds his neckerchief and tugs the ends under his shirt. His brow is deeply furrowed, clearly worried about your collective boyfriend now, his protector instinct showing.

"If he's passed out at your place, we should be there," you say with a deep sigh as you click your corset into place at the front, over your combinations. These new corsets with the busk fastenings were so much faster to get into, and the steel boning was finally starting to adjust to your shape.

"Jack, lace me up," you command.

"Yes, Ma'am," he says and moves behind you.

He dutifully laces it and helps you into your bustle as well. Less than ten minutes later, you're wearing your deep maroon day dress with a matching bonnet, half cape, and some sturdy black walking boots, which were a bit out of style. The dress's color fit a Valentine's Day that might have been momentarily interrupted, but you intended to get it back on track later – and until then, you might as well be a treat for the eyes, given that all the men loved you in red.

Extinguishing the fire in the fireplace, you all leave yours and Jack's house, the men in stetsons and heavy woolen coats, ready to brave the weather as you make your way from Mill Rd. to Main.

———

Joel's keys jingle as he unlocks the door to the stairwell leading up to his and Ezra's single-room apartment, which is barely bigger than a shoebox. The landlord, a brutish man named Johnny Colter, stares you down as you go up the steps from his stool by the entrance, sneering. If brains were leather, he couldn't saddle a flea.

A few of the kids in your Wednesday class live in this building, and as all kids do, they like to talk about what they see, even if they know nothing about what is happening. Of course, depending on which kid was speaking, Mr. Colter had all kinds of vices, but then again, so did most people in Bodie. You'd never used your insider knowledge for blackmail, but if you were to do so, you could probably put the entire town into disarray.

The floorboards creak under you as you approach the door, and instantly the hair on the back of your neck stands on edge. The door has been forced open, the cheap wood splintering around the destroyed lock.

Jack immediately takes the lead when he sees, forcing himself in front of you and Joel, resting his hand on the gun at his belt, pushing the door open slowly to unveil the carnage beyond.

The first thing you notice is the blood on the floor and the lack of Ezra. Jack moves through the room, walking gingerly between overturned and destroyed furniture. The room that had been sparsely furnished this morning looked cluttered now.

"What the fuck happened in here?!" Joel says from the doorway as he takes in what's become of his home, eyes wide, brow furrowed, and lips set in a thin line.

From his spot in the middle of the room, standing in the evidence of a crime committed against his lover, Jack turns slowly and stares at Joel.

"Joel, what the hell did you do," Jack says, ice in his tone, panic, and anger on his face. His eyes flicker from Joel to the blood splatter on the floor and the wall. There isn't a lot, not enough to be fatal, but any amount of blood is terrible and terrifying.

"I didn't do anything, I just got in from my trip this morning!" Joel shouts back at him as he moves through the room to the lumber below the floorboard, where he deposits his swag once he returns from his trips. You've seen the inside a few times. It's usually filled to the brim with everything from opium pills, morphine, and moonshine strong enough to walk into your cup on its own, to obscene books of either the erotic or the contraceptive medical kind, as well as tools for various medical procedures not approved of by the church and Washington legislators. But the floorboard has been thrown to the other side of the room, and the lumber is empty.

"You got sloppy. Pissed off the wrong people. You got our Sweetheart taken," Jack says, and in a single step, Jack is in Joel's face, crowding him against the corner of the room where the smuggling cache is lying open, and Joel has to carefully step to the side to avoid falling in.

"Where is Ezra! Who took him!" Jack shouts, waiting for only a split-second while staring at Joel's dumbfounded expression before Jack's fist flies, hitting Joel square in the jaw. You yelp at the sudden violent outburst and move up to them, grabbing Jack by the shoulder and pulling at him hard in the direction away from Joel. Jack doesn't sense you at all.

"You caused this; fix it. Where is he!" Jack shouts, a wild look in his eyes as Joel grabs his suddenly injured jaw, ducking away from him, blindsided by Jack's sudden aggression.

"Jack – fuck – I didn't do this, you ass, look! This is Sheriff's department caliber!" Joel retorts, pointing at the bullets stuck in the wall, which it seems neither you nor Jack had noticed until now. Their impact has splintered the wooden structure. You don't know anything about bullet calibers, but both men in this room are experts. "Your fucking people did this!"

"Fuck. I heard them talk about a raid –"Jack says. His posture instantly deflates as he realizes that he's the one who messed up, the one who was sloppy. His insider knowledge had always kept Joel in the clear.

"I didn't – FUCK!" Jack shouts as he twists out of your pathetic grasp, violently kicking a chair that had ended up lying on the floor during the raid, making it fly across the floor, dragging the blood splatter into a smear as it comes to a halt against the opposite wall.

Pushing you out of the way to get to Jack, Joel growls out, "Jack, if they've hurt him, I swear to God –" grabbing Jack by the throat.

"Joel!" you shout as you move between them, grabbing Joel's arm and pulling, forcing him to let go of Jack. Now it's Jack's turn to duck out of Joel's way.

"Joel, they wouldn't have done the raid without you getting sloppy." Jack practically spits venom as he looks at Joel, stepping back a few steps as he rubs his throat.

Moving between them, arms out, you sternly say, "Jack quit it!"

"But –" he starts, looking suddenly confused, clearly having been completely zeroed in on Joel, almost forgetting that you were there.

"No! This doesn't help Ezra!" you shout as you stare him down. You, too, are panicked about what has become of your missing lover, and you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He was arrested, probably injured, and you hadn't even known!

Ezra wasn't a smuggler, he was a charlatan, a weaver of tales short and tall, a charmer, and a cheat when playing cards, but smuggling was Joel's turf, and Ezra had clearly been taken in Joel's place.

"If I'd just – fuck, he'll hang!" Jack's expression shifts from anger back to panic, looking more like a scared little boy than a man in his 40s. You've never seen him like this before, and you're instantly rattled. Then you take a deep breath, assuming the firm but gentle expression you use to comfort scared little boys at work. You're a teacher, a nurturer, and a caretaker. You're good at de-escalating fights, you tell yourself. Except those fights are never about life and death situations, but you willfully ignore that fact.

"Jack, focus. He would be in the lock-up, not the prison yet, right? Not the lock-up on Main for violent offenders; Ezra wouldn't have resisted, so the small one on King Road, right?" Jack nods, still visibly confused. "Then we go get him out before he's transferred to Bridgeport," you say, willing your voice to be confident as you step towards him, gently putting your hand on his shoulder.

"They'll never let him out," Joel says behind you, and you turn to look at him, where he's slumped against a wall, eyes squinted shut, breathing rapidly.

"I don't mean legally." You say, and Joel's eyes fly open, his hand instantly going to the gun on his belt as he starts moving for the door.

"Joel, stop. Take your hand off your fucking gun," you follow him and grab his arm before he can leave the room. Yanking his arm, you make him spin to look at your face. A similar panic to Jack's is painting Joel's features, and it's almost like you can see his heart, already fragile from a life of loss, shaking and threatening to buckle and break.

"I don't want to see Ezra on the noose, but I also don't wanna see you six feet under at Boot's hill — "you say, putting your hand gently on his cheek, looking him in the eyes. The good cheek, not the one Jack had just punched. He's afraid, terrified, actually, already visualizing losing his family again. He's almost vibrating, ready to act if only you'll tell him in which direction to point and shoot, but you feel him lean into your touch, eyes falling to the ground, landing on the blood smear. He takes a few deep breaths, which does little to calm him, but it gives him an action to focus on, something tangible.

"We can't go in guns blazing. So here's what's gonna happen now," you say as both men are finally standing still, staring at what must be Ezra's blood painting the room, adrenaline still very much coursing through them, but in times of crisis you take the lead, and so you do.

"First, Joel, you're gonna pack up everything you need from here," you gesture around the room. Joel looks at you, gaze unfocused.

"Then you two are going to go do the same at our house while I visit Ezra in jail," you say, and Jack looks at you incredulously.

"How are you gonna do that? They don't exactly let anyone talk to prisoners in that lock-up. It's for people who need questioning, visitors aren't permitted," he says. You shrug before crossing your arms over your chest, standing firm, radiating confidence and certainty as only a teacher can.

"I'll figure something out. Then, Ezra and I will plan what to do. He'll have ideas, I'm sure, and I'll meet you back at our house. Once we get him out, we're leaving Bodie," you look from man to man as you tell them your plan. In the end, they exchange a brief glance, something passing between them, and then they both nod.

"Yeah, it's that, or he's gone," Jack says mournfully. His fist has evidently started to hurt from his punch earlier, as he flexes it a few times. Joel scowls in his direction but doesn't remark on his macabre comment or injured fist.

"Good, we agree. Joel, get moving," you command, and you look at the man, jerking your head toward the dresser that escaped the police raid surprisingly none the worse for wear. You'll need as many warm clothes as you can carry for the road. You'll be braving the elements, and that's if everything up to that point goes well.

You did not anticipate that your Valentine's Day would include jailbreak, but you don't get to choose the hand you were dealt, only how you play your hand. And currently, your best gambler is in jail. If he is alive, that is.

The blood on the floor and wall are from gunshot wounds, going off the bullets in the wall, so there's no way of knowing if he is alive or has bled out in a ditch somewhere, an Ezra-shaped icicle already covered in snow.

You stop yourself from going down this line of thought, knowing that your boys need you clearheaded.

As Joel moves around the room methodically, collecting things, finding canvas and leather bags, and filling them, Jack stands, shifting from foot to foot.

"Sugar, can I talk to you while he does that?" he says quietly, moving towards you and reaching for your hand.

"Sure, Jack," you respond with a small, sad smile as he pulls you into the empty hallway, closing the door behind you. You're sure everyone has heard the shouting from earlier, the walls here are thin, but you can't find it in yourself to care right now.

He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair before placing the hat back in place. Bodie had made him more confident, a completely different man from the Deputy you'd met in Kentucky, but this nervous tick had never gone away, only gotten more infrequent. Shame is written on his face, clear as day.

"I wanted to apologize for that display back there, that wasn't…" Jack sighs, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding yours. You give his hand a squeeze.

"I know Jack. I'm worried too, and so is Joel. We all love him, so we'll do this, and it'll all be fine." You say, trying to convince yourself as much as Jack.

"That's just it; if I had just paid attention to what the boys down at the station were saying, Ezra wouldn't be in jail for something that Joel did," Jack says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

Jack realizes his mistake quickly, saying, "Not that Joel should be in jail either! Sorry, Sugar, you know I don't mean it like that. He just gets under my skin."

You nod, looking at him pleadingly, saying, "I know, Jack, but you need to bury that hatchet momentarily if we're gonna pull this off." He nods.

With a half smile and a nod, you assume that's the end of the conversation and turn your back on him to return to Joel and Ezra's room before you hear Jack quietly say, "I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise."

"What?" you say, as you stop and look back at him where he's standing and looking at the floor. Somehow this man, broad and tall as he is, seems so tiny despite physically taking up almost the entire narrow hallway.

He sighs and looks up at you, eyes shiny. "I promised you that we'd go to Bodie, keep safe as best we could, make some good money, and then go west. You'd have the life you deserved, want for nothing."

"Jack…" You know what he's getting at, and you grab his hand again to stop him from going down this road.

"No, Sugar, I messed up, and now we gotta run for our lives! How am I gonna take care of you when I've committed jailbreak and my professional reputation is gone? I'll be unable to work in law enforcement again," Jack says, and in the panic of the moment this hadn't occurred to you, but of course, it would to Jack. He's dedicated his life to the law, even managed to bring some to this lawless town, and now he'll be throwing that away. You pull him into a hug, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"Jack. Stop. Even if that's the case, which it might not be, it's not just you and I anymore. It's Ezra and Joel too. You're not alone, and we'll take care of each other, all of us," you reassure him.

"I don't…" Jack begins to say but falters.

"They need teachers everywhere. Ezra is smart as a whip, and Joel is resourceful. So we'll figure it out," you tell him, pulling away so you can look him in the eye.

"I don't want you to regret the man you married." Jack practically whispers. You respond by lightly pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering, chaste kiss.

"Not for an instant. Though I might if you keep punching my boyfriend," you say with a smile, and Jack chuckles awkwardly at your comment. Behind you, you hear the door open and turn to see Joel enter the hallway with several packed bags.

"When you speak of the devil. Are you ready to go?" you say.

"Yeah," he grunts out, thrusting a heavy-looking bag into Jack's hands before turning back towards the door as if he were to lock it, an unconscious movement that, of course, is useless now. There is no need to lock a door that protects nothing – and is also broken.

You nod at him as he turns back around, and you lead the way down the stairs, saying over the shoulder to your boys, "Okay, I'll meet you back at the house."

At the bottom of the landing, the sitting Mr. Colter stands as soon as he sees you descend, carrying almost everything that wasn't bolted down in the apartment. If he was a wild animal, you'd think he was about to bolt, clearly planning to go somewhere in a hurry. Which, depending on where he intends to hurry to, could be bad for you.

"Ah, Mr. Colter, what's the rush?" you say as he takes a few steps away from the building, moving briskly, not even bothering to ensure that you were locking the door to the stairwell behind you.

"I was just –" Mr. Colter says, turning around to look at you.

You flash him the most polite smile you can muster and say, "You were just… what?"

Looking around a little wild-eyed, Colter says, "I heard some commotion, that's all, Ma'am."

So he was gonna get someone to handle the commotion, which, as you suspected, wouldn't be advantageous for you and your boys on this specific day. Giving it a quick thought, you decided that since you'd be leaving town tonight, if there was any day to start using all the ridiculous rumors you'd heard from the children in your class for some good, today would be that day. What's a little bit of blackmail when you're planning a jailbreak.

Taking a quick breath to steel yourself, you say, "Yes, commotion does tend to happen at this establishment. Commotion and lost items, though usually they tend to disappear during the day, mainly people's undergarments. Do you know anything about that? Maybe I should help you file a formal report with my husband here?" you say, gesturing to Jack, standing right behind you with Joel, watching this show-down with rapt attention.

Mr. Colter's eyes go wide. You've got him.

"No, no, Ma'am, that won't be necessary. I'll get right on it myself. No reason to disturb the good folk down at the station. Have a lovely day, Ma'am, sirs." Colter says, bright red in the face, as he excuses himself and retreats back into the hallway where he came from, his proverbial tail between his legs. You exhale deeply.

"Seems like he won't go tattling on us looking like we're skipping town. Damn, good job, darling." Joel says, and when you look at him from where you'd been staring after Mr. Colter, you see that he's smirking, the first positive emotion displayed on his face since you all started worrying about Ezra.

You wink at him, "I have my uses."

"You certainly do." Joel's look is almost a little hungry as he gives you a once over, for the first time properly taking in what you look like in your red dress.

"Gosh, you're hot when you do that," Jack says, a dumb, sweet smile on his face, filled with love and adoration.

You giggle at the attention. "Easy boys, we have other things to focus on. Now, go grab everything valuable: Jewelry, silverware, the works. We'll need all the funds we can get. Joel, you know women's clothing, take everything you know is expensive or difficult for me to get again. We can sell the evening dresses." you say matter-of-factly. Joel nods curtly, but Jack's face instantly falls, and he looks almost heartbroken at the idea.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, it's just clothes. Clothes are getting cheaper every day anyway, and maybe I can get a sewing machine wherever we end up. But, until then, I can just borrow one of your pairs of jeans if I need to – I think I'd look good in those," you tease. Jack's eyes widen, and his mouth falls open briefly before closing again, the idea evidently intriguing.

"Aww, Jack, you're blushing," Joel chuckles.

"Shut up, Joel," Jack shoots back, but there's no bite in his words. He looks into the dirt, and if he's trying to hide his face behind his hat, he's doing an admirable – if futile – job.

Placing a gentle hand on your back to get your attention, Joel looks at you, saying, "We've got it, darling. Now, go see our Sweetheart."

———

As you enter through the door to one of the town's lock-ups, one of only a handful of stone buildings in Bodie, you're greeted by the sound of a voice saying, "Mrs. Daniels!" the voice cracking in the middle of your last name, hinting at the age of the person speaking to you. The person at the desk in the waiting area is a young man you've been used to receiving a polite little greeting from when he walked his younger brothers to your school every Tuesday morning, though lately, since he landed this job a few months ago, you've mainly seen him here, or at any of the other stations. He was not yet a deputy but well on his way to earning the title.

"Ah, Mr. Finnigan, how are you?" you say, smiling at the young man. He instantly blushes and looks at some papers on the desk. He has always been shy around you, and you couldn't blame him. You take pride in your appearance, and when you were his age, you, too, were looking favorably at people who were the age you are now. And today especially, you're quite the picture, so it wasn't exactly fair to the boy.

You would never be a person who'd pursue anything with a man more than ten years your junior, but his attraction to you might come in handy right now.

"I'm good, Ma'am, eh, what can I do you for?" Mr. Finnigan says, his thick Wyoming accent coming through as he tries to come off calm and collected, despite clearly being flustered at your presence. He's sporting a boyish grin and is doing his very best to keep his eyes on your face and your face only. You're sure his mama would be very proud.

"I need you to let me talk to the man that's been jailed today, and I'm afraid we have to talk under four eyes only," you say, as nonchalant as you can manage.

"Ma'am, I've heard nothing of this. I-I need to get approval –" Mr. Finnigan says, looking confused, and you have to commend whoever was training him up to be a good deputy who'd follow protocol. Such attention to the law is a sight beyond rare in Bodie, and right now, it's in the way.

You sigh audibly.

"Sonny, I'm acting on behalf of my husband. I cannot tell you why I must talk to him, but you can ask my husband later. Is that alright?" you ask, smiling sweetly, and if you're fluttering your eyelashes more than is strictly necessary, it doesn't matter because you can instantly see that it worked.

Getting up, Mr. Finnigan stammers as he says, "Y-yes, Ma'am, s-sorry, Ma'am," moving to the door behind him that leads into the hallway, and he starts going through his keys to find the right one.

You know this place well, having visited Jack at work many times. Behind this door is a hallway that contains the doors to the munitions storage, the tax collection coffer, and the lock-up for anyone who needed to be kept separate from the bar-fighters and wife-beaters who made up the majority of the lags filling up the lock-up on Main.

You know that there is technically supposed to be an officer on duty here to keep an eye on any prisoners, but damn near no one wants to work as a lawman in Bodie. Being a lawman in Goldminer Country pays amazingly, but it's a deadly occupation if you do it wrong.

You'd often cursed this city for being a dangerous place for your husband to ply his trade, being as understaffed as it is, but Jack had made friends with the Miners' Union quickly enough, which had kept him safe. While the sheriff, marshalls, constables, and deputies might officially be the ones with the right to punish criminals, the people who were actually dictating law and order were the Miners' Union. Being on their good side was the only way to survive in Bodie.

Right now, for the first time since you got here almost two years ago, the fact that Bodie's Sheriff's department was understaffed was a miracle. They could only afford to have one officer at this station at a time. The rest were needed to control the streets, the prison, and the other lock-up.

"Good, give me twenty minutes with him," you say, and Mr. Finnigan nods, finally finding the right key.

"I'll be right outside, Ma'am. Shout if you need anything, Ma'am," the thoroughly flustered Mr. Finnigan says as he unlocks and holds the door open for you.

"I will, thank you, Mr. Finnigan," you say politely, and he shuts the door behind you, keeping it unlocked. You take about three steps down the hallway, the sound of your boots hitting the stone floor echoing off the walls, before you hear a voice from down the hallway call out, "Ducky? Is that you?"

Sprinting down the hall in the direction of the voice, you see Ezra standing against the thick metal bars of his cell, face squished between them to see as much to the side as possible. You instantly notice his right ear split in half at the top, clearly from a bullet grace. One side of his dark green corduroy shirt is a forest of sickly brown bloodstains. This is accented by a dark bruise on his cheekbone, almost covering his scar. His right shoulder and stump are bandaged, but the blood from that seems to have been less, as there's still some white in the bandages. All in all, this paints an intensely upsetting picture, and tears appear in your eyes. You refuse to let them fall.

Yet, you cannot contain the sob in your voice as you gasp out, "oh, Sweetheart, gosh, look at you," while reaching for his face, and he winces when you make even the slightest bit of contact with his cheek.

Ezra, your sweet and intelligent man, always seems to have the worst luck.

He manages a cheeky smile, even if the tears in his eyes betray his relief at seeing you.

"I've looked worse. Also, I think it suits me, makes me look roguish," he jokes, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes on you sincere and filled with adoration.

"I think you're plenty roguish. I'd prefer it if you'd avoid getting more roguish in the future," you chuckle a bit through the sound of tears in your voice, a few making their way down your cheeks despite your best efforts.

You turn his head a bit to look at his ear, and both of you wince, though him from actual pain, and you say, "it went right through the cartilage. Looks like a needle and thread can handle most of this, so it should end up looking okay."

Ezra huffs, stepping away from your grasp, digging his boot into the dirt floor of the cell, and grumbles out, "Better spare the thread. It'd be wasted on a man who'll be dancing the hemp fandango in a few days."

"Ezra!" you exclaim, appalled.

"What! It's the god-honest truth!" he says, an intensity you rarely hear present in his voice. "Please, Ducky, we can't afford an attorney, and Jack wouldn't be able to swing it to get me out," he's begging for you to give up on him, you realize.

"You're not supposed to be in here, and also, that's not –" you start saying, but Ezra cuts you off.

"Joel would be in here if I weren't, and then I'd rather it be me," the self-sacrificial fool says, brows furrowed, eyes betraying that he's resigned himself to his fate. Like your other partners and many people on the frontier, this man is a killer. He's always fought so hard to survive, willing to do anything to do so. But this time, he's given up. He looks vulnerable, in a way.

"No one is gonna meet the hang-man anytime soon, Sweetheart, that's why I came – We're breaking you out." You say firmly, and his eyes widen in surprise.

"What? But –" he starts, and this time you cut him off.

"Ezra, like hell we were gonna abandon you, you big lunk. Joel has grabbed your stuff, Jack and he is gathering ours right now, and then we'll get you out tonight," you tell him, and as you speak, his eyes dart back and forth between your eyes, searching for something, deception maybe, but he clearly finds none as a smile blooms on his face.

This man is so loved by all of you and loves you so dearly in return that he always wants to take all the punches and thinks he should make all the sacrifices. You would give up your life in this town a thousand times to save him from execution. You know Jack and Joel would too. And Ezra would do it for you all as well. Such is love.

Ezra drags his hand down his face, wiping away a few tears of relief from his eyes from initially seeing you before his face quickly snaps to yours in realization.

"You'll have to hurry then; a blizzard is coming in. I can feel it in my stump. If we can get out of here before it rolls in, we're home free. We'll be gone before the flatties know. They'd be unable to pursue us through the snow, and we can be in Carson City in a few days," Ezra says, something bordering on excitement in his expression. As always, it's incredibly contagious.

You ponder his idea and say, "Right, that's potentially a complication if we don't make it out in time, but it should be doable. We just need to make it to the tree line, and then the worst of the blizzard won't affect us."

Ezra looks like he's doing some calculations in his head, thinking the plan over, nodding a few times before his brow furrows.

"But, Ducky, what about money? Being on the run is expensive, trust me, I know, so we need to think about our next moves carefully, " he mutters, sighing. Approaching the bars again, he leans on one, resting his head against it as he looks at you. You don't know when he was arrested, probably many hours ago. He must be exhausted, especially if the morphine is out of his system. Pain saps energy like nothing else.

"We'll grab what we can carry from our house and sell it once we get to Carson City," you reassure him as you reach up and put your hand on the nape of his neck, massaging the muscles with soft motions.

Then, you see the light go off in Ezra's mind, and a positively wicked smile spreads across his face. "I have a better idea," he says.

"Oh?" you reply, intrigued. His ideas were always brilliant, if often also a little unorthodox.

"Since we're already committing jailbreak, how would you feel about a little bit of thievery? Requisition of government funds, as it were?" Ezra says, twisting his body slightly, and he points to the tax coffer standing against the wall on the far side of the hallway in the direction you just entered from. It's a large wooden chest with heavy-duty metal mountings, large enough to fit a grown man lying flat on his back.

"You mean?" you say, looking at the man like he's lost his mind. Maybe he hit his head when he was arrested. Or perhaps he was always a few pickles short of a barrel. It could be both.

"Yes. That thing is full to bursting, saw them add to it earlier, and it's not like it'd go to the people anyway. It's basically a slush fund. So we might as well. Joel knows this guy in Carson, Bill, he'll be able to fence it for us," Ezra says, looking insanely proud of himself. And you had to admit, he has a point. The coffer would be filled with pure gold dust and nuggets, as well as some silver.

The only going tender in Bodie was gold and silver. Processed or unprocessed didn't matter. A pinch of gold dust for a beer, a decently sized nugget for a horse. Unprocessed, it was challenging to spend outside of Bodie, but with Joel's contacts, that wouldn't matter. You'd have paper dollars in hand soon enough.

"That would be better than silverware," you finally agree.

"Much better than silverware," Ezra replies, looking vaguely like the cat who caught the canary.

Thinking about it a bit more, you say, "It's heavy, though, and we only have two horses, and they're already carrying four people." Ezra sighs and walks in circles around his tiny cell a few times, thinking.

"So we're leaving everything, right? You know the Forresters? They need a place; their old can't keep up with the cold. Their little girl's got pneumonia, talked about it at the Union Hall yesterday," Ezra says after a bit, coming to a halt. He might not be a miner anymore, but he was still a card-carrying union member, keeping an ear to the ground on all goings on in Bodie.

"They need a warm house much more than they need that old horse of theirs. Go seek out James; he's probably at the hall. Tell him I sent you. You can trust him." he says, reaching out and touching your cheek, caressing you with his thumb. You're a bit scared of going to the Miners' Union Hall.

When you first moved to Bodie, you'd had a few uncomfortable experiences there. One of these experiences led to you meeting Ezra when he interrupted the perpetrators in their unsavory endeavors. Unfortunately, some men cannot accept a no from a lady, only listening to another man's words. Ezra's hand on your cheek centers you a little, and you lean into it, enjoying the warmth of his rough palm.

"Okay, okay, Ezra. We can do this," you say after a bit because he's right. You won't need anything in that house anymore, an extra horse is worth all of it, and you can go to the hall to get one.

You lean forward to rest your forehead against his through the bars. His head is technically small enough to get through the gap between the bars, but they'd skim his injured ear if he tried, so he hasn't.

"We can do this," he agrees, eyes closed, enjoying the intimacy of just resting against you.

Your eyes are closed, and for a minute, you relish in the relief of knowing that he's here, alive, fine (more or less), and you'll all be alright.

"I'm not gonna miss Bodie," you say with a breathy chuckle.

"Neither am I. I came to see the elephant, I saw it, and now I'd like to leave," he replies with a similar chuckle, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck, keeping you in place against him.

"Me too, but first, we're gonna get you out of this cell," you say and open your eyes to look at him, his lashes splayed against his cheeks right before you.

"If Joel grabbed my pack, there's a twirl in there, should be good enough," he says, blinking once and looking at you with his big brown eyes. They're almost black in the dim light of the lock-up.

"Okay, that's good," you reply. The standard instruments of a thief are not known to you, but you've heard the word 'twirl' mentioned in passing a few times, and where your two other partners know guns, whips, lassos, laws, and smuggling techniques, your partner in front of you knows every other unsavory skill in the book. A scoundrel, but you love him.

Knowing that if you don't get going soon, you'll end up staying here for longer than you agreed with Mr. Finnigan, and you reluctantly pull away from Ezra, taking a step back and smiling at him before saying, "well, I'll go see a man about a horse then. I'll see you later, I promise."

You rapidly start walking back the way you came, and this time you only manage two steps before you hear, "Ducky, wait!"

"What?" you say, turning around to look at Ezra.

"Come back here," he says slowly, all of a sudden looking you up and down like he hadn't looked at you at all, and he's leering.

"Alright…" you say tentatively, eyes narrowed as you take a few steps back toward him. He's up to shenanigans, you can feel it.

When you're within reach, he takes your hand and starts massaging your palm with long, sweeping, pressing, pleasurable movements, looking at it as he says, "If something happens, and you don't get me out,"

"We will –" you try to say, but he keeps going.

"If you don't, if I hang, you know what I'd miss a lot about being alive?" he says, a purr entering his voice. He's a tomcat made human form sometimes.

"Nooo?" you respond, eyes narrowed, trying to steel yourself against whatever he's about to say next. But, unfortunately, as always, he has the upper hand.

Dragging you forward smoothly, he catches you around the waist and says, "Your sweet cunt." You could never have prepared yourself for that, not in this situation, and you gasp as you're swept up against him, the cold feeling of the iron bars radiating through your clothes.

"Can I have it as my last meal, Ducky? Please?" he begs, hungry eyes inspecting your face, eyes half-lidded.

"Ezra, we don't have time –" you protest weakly, the idea already settling in you, and you feel your face flush. Of all the boys, Ezra was the one who was always able to make you feel comfortable as he dragged you out of your element. You could never resist him. You try anyway.

"I reckon I can make you come on my tongue in two minutes, flat," he whispers out, his tongue coming out to lick a few tiny licks at your lips and a longer one up your cheek, teasing you with his dexterous tongue.

"But –" you try, a last-ditch effort to deny the temptation.

Kissing and licking his way down your neck, pulling you all the way up against the bars, he whispers, "The cop won't know if you're quiet. Come on. Dying man's wish?"

Damn him. Damn him and his silver tongue. His talented, tempting, silver tongue. Damn it all to hell.

"You ain't fucking dying, you ass," you breathe out, and he chuckles, knowing he's won, and the fuckster drops to his knees, pressing his face between the bars as close as he can get without agitating his ear.

"We're all dying a little all the time. Now hop on!" Ezra says with a wink, and he opens his mouth, letting a little saliva drip down the side of his mouth as he does, and you know it's on purpose, but it gets to you instantly, and you nod, your face warm.

You glance down the hallway to ensure it's still empty, and then you hitch up your skirts, parting your combinations, and you press yourself up against the bars, a leg on either side of one as you grab hold of them to keep you steady.

"Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous," Ezra breathes out as he brings his hand up to drag two fingers through your lips. When they return wet, he brings them to his mouth and groans loud enough that you worry Mr. Finnegan will hear.

"Fucking hell, this tastes – is this – did they both spend in you, Ducky? Did they fill up this pretty cunt, leaving you dripping?" his filthy tongue licks at his fingers like a lollipop as he speaks, eyes closed as he savors it.

You whimper in response, a pathetic noise, and you nod.

"Such a filthy thing you are. Didn't even clean yourself properly. So I guess I must do it for you," he says, smirking up at you before leaning forward and dragging his tongue through as much of you as he can reach, from your entrance to your clit, practically scooping the seed out of you.

The angle makes it impossible for him to fuck you with his tongue as he prefers, so he roughly plunges three fingers into you, possible only because of your activities earlier in the day, and one of your hands flies to cover your mouth, keeping in the noises escaping you, as the other holds on to a cell bar for dear life, your eyes firmly shut, unable to keep them open from the sensations moving through you.

He laps at you, drinking from you, practically eating at you like a man starved. Worshipping at your altar, this is how this man prays.

Capturing your clit between his lips, he sucks, almost bobbing his head like he does when sucking cock, even if the motions are tiny in comparison. The rough texture of his tongue drags against your clit, already sensitive from earlier, and you know he was right. He would make you come in two minutes flat.

His fingers inside you curl, and he twists his wrist while pumping in and out of you at a speed that makes you dizzy. You hear him moaning like he's drinking a fine wine or eating a delicious cake. It's not a noise he would ever be able to hold back, no matter the circumstances, altogether lost in you, in the feeling and taste of you.

As quickly as was promised, you jerk and thrash, twitching violently as you start coming on his tongue and hand, the noises wet, and your clit twitching lightly in his mouth as you shake against him. It's a miracle that you manage to stay standing. He withdraws his hand.

Opening your eyes, you look down at him just in time to see him dragging his hand across his mouth to collect your fluid. He licks at what is on his fingers a few times before wiping the rest off on his trousers as he says, "That was beautiful. Thank you for the meal, Ducky, thoroughly nourishing and delicious as always."

Your breathing still labored, you breathe out, "You are a pest. An inebriated pest, drunk on larking."

"Me? A pest? Perish the thought," Ezra says and winks up at you, his smile dumb and happy. The ghost of satisfaction from a job well done makes him look like he just finished as well. Which, for all you know, he might have. He's spent in his pants once or twice in the year you've been together, made possible by the man's oral obsession. He considers larking an obscure and underrated art form and one he has spent many hours perfecting.

After a few minutes, you manage to calm yourself, your breathing slows, and you say, chuckling, "As much as I'd like to stay longer, Sweetheart, I do actually have to go see a man about a horse now." You ruffle his hair a bit, which is now stuck against his forehead from sweat.

"I know, Ducky. I will see you at sundown," He says, a soft smile lighting up his face. He gets up from the ground as you get your skirts in order.

With one last quick kiss to his soft, sticky lips, you leave the lock-up, saying a polite farewell to the young man at the desk, one of many in this town you will never see again, and you make your way to the Miners' Union Hall.

———

Sneaking with three fully loaded horses is surprisingly tricky, but you, Jack, and Joel have collectively decided it would be best if you weren't seen by anyone. The sun has set a bit ago, and it's about eight in the evening, so there's still a tiny bit of light left. It'll disappear soon enough as twilight becomes nighttime, granting you the total cover of darkness.

You stable your horses behind a nearby building, as much out of the wind as possible. Unfortunately for you, the wind has gained speed, and the snow on the ground has collected against the walls of houses, in some cases piled so high it would be near impossible to open the doors. You brace yourself against the wind and snow as you walk.

There's only one way into the building: Through the front door. Jack didn't know who was on duty this evening and hadn't had the opportunity to check. The hope was that it was someone nice who'd let you go about your business, or someone crooked that you could pay off, or someone dumb that you could deceive. Anyone else, and they'd have a problem, one that would probably get violent, and you'd all had enough violence for one day.

Jack takes the lead, given that it's his place of work, and so he is the first to enter. You can't see who's sitting at the desk with Jack in the way, but you hear Jack say, "Ah, Constable Feeny, how are you this fine evening?".

Constable Feeny is such an ass. He'd beat you senseless and tell God you fell off a horse. He is mean to everyone except those whose ass he is currently kissing, and he is not a good kisser, so those people don't like him much either.

As all three of you pile in through the door, Feeny gets to his feet and approaches, crowding all of you back against the entrance.

With a scowl and narrowed eyes, he grunts a lowly "What are you doing here?" and you see his right hand, which is already resting on the gun at his belt, start twitching. Your boys are on edge already today, so you need to try to take this in a direction that avoids further bloodshed. Feeny isn't nice, and he isn't bribeable, but he is a little dumb. You'll have to try to trick him, make him leave somehow.

"Right to the point then, Constable, we came because I have it on good authority that someone has caught wind of your affair with the baker's wife from the bakery down on Main, and that this person has left a letter for your wife at your house. So you should go there instantly if you want to prevent her from reading it," you tell him quickly, rattling on, and you definitely do not sound as confident as you want to. It wouldn't take much to realize that you're just making stuff up, but if he believes you, he'd leave and be gone for a fair bit before returning here, after which you'd be gone.

Feeny looks at you as you start talking, and you see his face get incrementally redder until he suddenly launches himself at you, grabbing you by the jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he shouts, "You little bitch, you wrote it, didn't you?"

"Hey! Hands off!" Joel roars and grabs Feeny, hauling him away from you. You stretch your jaw after Feeny is forced to let go, and for a beat, you and Feeny stare each other down.

"Constable, she might be reading it right now, tick-tock," you say, steely-eyed as you rub your cheek. You watch as the man goes from agitated to anxious, and the next thing you see is him running out the door faster than a prairie fire with a tailwind.

His stance relaxing a little, Joel says, "You know, for a moment there, I thought he was actually gonna choose to stay and pick a fight instead of going home."

"Damn him, trying to shoot the messenger like that. In what world is that anything but unnecessary? Some people are so low they gotta look up to see hell, I guess," Jack comments with a furrowed brow as he looks in the direction Feeny just disappeared.

"I also wondered for a moment there." You murmur with a shrug, continuing, "There is no letter, of course, and it wouldn't matter anyway; she already knows about his affair. She told me last Independence Day while drunk. Also, she's shagging the butcher's wife."

Breaking into a grin, Jack exclaims, "Ahh, Anna! Yeah, she's nice. So much nicer than Feeny, so I get it!"

Bumping your shoulder playfully against Jack's, you wink and say, "Not all women can get as lucky as I in the husbands' department."

With a loud sigh, Joel goes to the hallway door, saying, "Come on, this way," not waiting for Jack and you to join him before he runs down to Ezra's cell, but you're right behind him.

Sprinting down the hallway, Joel shouts, "Ezra!" and a second later, the two are face to face, and Joel instantly reaches through the bars, grabbing Ezra and pulling him into a bruising kiss.

Only after Joel pulls away does he look at him properly, saying, "Fuck Baby, you look godawful," emotion heavy in his voice.

"Aww, Joel, I love you too," Ezra says, beaming, laughter in his speech. Joel and Ezra's relationship brings out something unique in both of them, a softness that neither Jack nor you have managed to enable. You know it bothers Jack that he can't be that to Ezra because Jack is a man who wants to provide for those around him in all parts of life. You, on the other hand, are okay with it. We cannot be everything to everyone, and you just enjoyed knowing that they had this with each other.

Stepping slowly up to the bars, Jack reaches in and caresses Ezra's face with a gentle hand, his thumb scarcely touching the bruise on his cheek, lightly tracing his scar in a habitual motion. It's barely more than a whisper, but the fire in his voice is apparent as Jack says through gritted teeth, "Who did this to you, Ezra? I want names. I wanna know who I should shoot if I see them on the way out."

Placing his hand on Jack's to calm him, Ezra replies, "The sheriff, but Jack, does it fucking matter? We're out of here soon anyway."

Ezra smiles, looking between you, and no, it doesn't matter. What matters is that all of you are here together, as you're supposed to be. Choosing to be the one to break the moment, Ezra says, "Joel, hand me my twirl."

Joel starts digging through the bag he had slung over his shoulder, filled with folded satchels intended for the gold, and within a few seconds, Joel finds the little piece of metal, holding it out to Ezra with a curt, "Here."

Taking it, Ezra says, "Thank you kindly. Give me a moment," and gets to work on the door, plunging the little tool into the keyhole, and he starts moving it with practiced motions, his lower lip caught between his teeth in an expression of intense concentration.

About a minute later, Ezra drawls out, "Aaaaaand there we go," and the lock makes an audible click as the door swings open, your lover free once again.

Putting the twirl back in the bag, Joel slings it back over his shoulder, saying, "Okay, so now we need to –"

From down the hallway, you all hear a loud shout of "HALT!"

"Fuck," Joel exclaims, wide-eyed, as the Sheriff of Bodie, Thomas Walker, starts approaching you. You all exchange glances as you're caught red-handed. None of you have been keeping an ear or eye out for potential interruptions, and now you might darn well all be fucked.

Making his way down the hallway, Sheriff Walker stumbles once, twice, before he's close enough to make out distinct features and calls out, "Daniels, is that you?"

Putting on an authoritative stance and a charming and disarming smile, Jack cheerily replies, "Hello, Sheriff, what brings you here at this time of day, or should I say night?"

Finally noticing the remaining people in the hallway and the open cell, Sheriff Walker exclaims, "What are you –" but is cut off by Jack, who, gesturing at what is in the Sheriff's hand, says, "Taking from the tax coffer again, I see?"

Only then do you notice that the Sheriff is still holding his keys, which one would typically put away after entering a building unless one were to use them again. It would appear that Jack, too, has been party to other people's secrets here in Bodie.

Folding his arms over his chest, Jack chastises his superior, saying, "What is it this time? Drink? Gambling? Sir, we've talked about this –"

Taking a few steps closer, the Sheriff gestures at the cell door, roaring, "Are you fucking breaking this guy out of jail?"

Jack just shrugs, replying, "Well, I guess, but you have the wrong guy anyway. See, this here is the man you were looking for, Joel Miller." Jack blatantly admits to the Sheriff that he is committing a crime while indicating the man he should have arrested. You stare at him. He's lost the plot.

He keeps going, saying, "The man you've kept locked up all day is Ezra Haywood. I gotta say, I weep for the competency of my esteemed colleagues, that they can't tell a one-armed man from one with two, and that's the least of it; these two gentlemen don't exactly look alike to me," Jack gestures to both of your partners, and at this point, you're starting to think that maybe he's just decided that there's probably no way out of this without violence.

He could give the man he's worked for two years for some cheek he's been bottling up. He's complained about him often enough, and you know he has plenty he'd want to say.

His disrespect is the last drop for the Sheriff, who rapidly draws his gun and points it at your little group, shouting, "Hands where I can see them! All of you!"

He makes a particular point out of pointing at Ezra, who has his arm dutifully in the air, and Ezra, spurred on by Jack's cheekiness, rolls his eyes and says, "Sheriff, this is the second time we have had this conversation today; I only have one. So please don't shoot me again."

All of you except Jack have your hands in the air, and you've backed away, placing yourself behind all three men. Whatever is about to go down, they cannot worry about you being caught in the middle.

Jack is standing firm, his hands on his hips, and you see his right hand slowly drift to the whip he always keeps on the right side of his belt, next to his gun. "Sheriff, you've been drinking, is this really necessary?" Jack inquires, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face. You have an inkling as to what he's about to do, and at a quick glance, so do Joel and Ezra, hopeful looks on both of their faces. The Sheriff should never have allowed Jack to get his hand on his whip.

The Sheriff seems exasperated and impatient as he shouts, "Yes, Jack! In the air!"

Then, a flurry of movement happens.

Jack suddenly unfurls his whip in a graceful movement, and with a yelp from the Sheriff and the crack of Jack's whip, the Sheriff's gun flies through the air, landing a few feet behind the man, skittering across the stone floor.

The gun is still sliding along the floor as Jack drops the whip to the ground, instead grabbing his lasso from where it's holstered on the left side of his belt and swinging it quickly to get momentum. The Sheriff is dumbfounded as he watches the loop fly past him, catching its target.

With a warning shout of "Ezra!", Jack pulls the rope to him, the injured man catching the gun midair. In the commotion, Joel has drawn his weapon and is joining Ezra in holding the now unarmed Sheriff at gunpoint. The tables have turned completely, and Jack hasn't even broken a sweat.

Only a moment later, the lasso has been put back on Jack's belt, and Jack has joined the rest of the men, three guns now trained at the Sheriff, who, realizing his predicament, raises his hands in defeat, eyes wide.

"Now that that is out of the way, let's be more civilized, shall we?" Jack says, casually bending down to pick up his whip, holding it in his hand, his gun still holding steady, aimed at Sheriff Walker.

Looking over the Sheriff like one would when appraising a horse, Jack shakes his head and levels him with a disappointed stare. "You know, I've been politely trying to get you to contain your vices, but I cannot approve of your misappropriation of town funds anymore, Sheriff, so I'm afraid I'm gonna have to liberate you of the key for the coffer since you evidently cannot be trusted with it," Jack grins as he talks, and doesn't even react to Sheriff Walkers disbelieving whisper of "What?", walking over to the man who is now solidly his former boss, gingerly plucking the keys out of his hand, throwing them to Ezra.

With a quick look, Joel and Ezra rush toward the tax coffer at the end of the hallway, but not before Joel hands you his gun and gives you a quick squeeze on your shoulder.

You point the gun at the Sheriff.

Sauntering toward the Sheriff, Jack gets up in his face. On occasion, the man is more dramatic than the rest of you combined, and you love when you get to see him like this, this confident. Of course, he's always been attractive, but you don't think you've ever seen him like this. He is completely in his element, protecting his loved ones, calling out wrongdoing, and getting to be entirely himself. To call it hot is the understatement of the century.

Jack makes a show of smelling the air, saying, "Oh, and I'm guessing you rode here? You should not be riding in your condition, Sir, you're drunk as a skunk and reek of alcohol, so I'll be taking your horse. I'll take good care of it, promise."

He's taking everything from this man. His dignity, his vices, and now his horse. You've never been prouder.

Jack walks over to you and takes your hand, walking you straight past the Sheriff, who seems stuck in place in the middle of the hallway. You ignore him entirely as you join Ezra and Joel, who's been busy pulling out pouch after pouch of gold from the city tax coffer.

It's safe to say that you've never seen this much gold in your life. You crouch down next to the two of them and look on in awe as Joel ties knots on the pouches of gold dust, Ezra putting gold nuggets he assesses as high carat into the bottom of the leather satchels Joel had brought, before adding the dust pouches on top, trying his best to distribute the weight evenly.

Astounded, you ask, "How much do you think there is?" and Ezra waves his hand over the pile of pouches in front of you, a gigantic smile on his face, as he laughs out, "A thousand centuries, at least!" and in his excitement he leans over and plants a kiss on your cheek, making you giggle.

The Sheriff finally seems to have caught up to what is happening, and from where he's still standing, he turns towards you and barks out at Jack as well as the rest of you, "You won't get away with this! I'll fucking come after you, you sods, and your fucking whore!"

Turning to look at Sheriff Walker, Jack tuts and says, "Now, is that any way to talk to a lady, Moonshine?" and in the blink of an eye, Jack's whip is flying. You hear a loud snapping sound, instead of a crack like you would expect, as you see the Sheriff's suspenders snap cleanly, Jack's whip having caught just the two pieces of fabric, breaking them. And then you get to see the horror on the Sheriff's face as his trousers fall to the floor.

Jack grins wickedly as he says, "Good luck chasing us like that, Sir."

That seems to sap the last fight out of the man, and he bends down to pick up his trousers, his decency nowhere to be found. He doesn't even look at you anymore as he leans again the wall of the lock-up, resigned to his fate.

Joel and Ezra are finishing up, having taken as much as they've deemed possible for the horses to carry, and you grab a few of the pouches in your arms, noting the weight. Ezra drops the key to the floor beside the coffer and looks at Jack, jerking his head at the door, saying, "Let's not overstay our welcome. Whiskey, let's go."

You all make for the door, and just before exiting, Jack stops and looks at the defeated man, saying, "Oh, and a piece of advice: Maybe you should think about getting out of town. I'm the only reason the Miners' Union hasn't ousted you, and they'll want what's theirs soon enough."

Finally, he tips his hat at him and says, "Now, all I've got left to say is good riddance to all of y'all here at the station, and have a nice life."

With that, you all leave the lock-up the way you came, Jack grabbing the Sheriff's horse that was tied up out front on the way. You quickly find your other horses and deposit pounds and pounds of gold as evenly as possible in the saddlebags.

Once you're done, you jump on the same horse as Ezra, him being the lightest of the three men, hoisted up by a helping hand from a beaming Jack, and you can't help but bend down and kiss him before he moves out of reach. You can feel him smile against your mouth, and you chuckle as you say, "I bet that felt real nice to finally say, huh, Honey?"

Chuckling as well, a noise of disbelief and relief, Jack replies, "Sugar, you have no idea."

Only a few minutes later, everything is packed, and everyone is saddled as you ride west out of Bodie, leaving the town you'd called home for two years behind. A city that has given you more downs than ups, and none of you look back as you follow Joel's lead. This is his territory, and you trust him completely to get you to safety.

———

About six hours later, you arrive at the foot of Eagle Peak, southwest of Bridgeport, where the Buckeye and Eagle Creek meet – a spot Joel regularly uses to camp when the weather gets as bad as it is tonight and he can't make it any further.

Amid snow-covered sagebrush and pines, you find shelter from most of the winds and set up your tent, tying the reigns of the horses to trees, constructing some cover for them from waxed cloth you'd brought.

You're exhausted, you're chilled to the bone, but you're free, and you're together.

In the comfort of the tent, you all sit down, your snow-covered boots left at the entrance. The warm light of a mining lamp grants you visibility, and though the tent is small, none of you care. With some of the whiskey from the flask in Jack's belt, a high proof procured by Joel against regulations, you disinfect Ezra's ear and shoulder wound. He winces.

"Don't be a baby, I need to sew it up fast, or it'll heal weirdly!" you scold him as he jerks away from you on instinct. Jack is cradled around him from behind, holding him against his chest.

Joel holds Ezra's head still as you stitch his ear together with neat strokes. Ezra isn't actually moving anymore, Joel just wants to touch him.

You've all had an intense scare today. It's not the first time you all thought you'd lost Ezra, and none of you would be able to handle it if you did. But life is fragile and something that should be treasured on the frontier.

Ezra knows you're all flocking around him like this because you can't help yourself, and he rubs a soothing hand over Joel's back while you work. You're all silent. There's nothing to be said, nothing that needs saying.

With a soft but cheery exclaim of "Done!" you pack away your first aid kit.

A wiggle of Ezra's foot against you gets your attention, and he says, "Hey, Ducky?"

You move to lay against him, as much as you can in the tight space, putting your head on his lap, and hum out, "Mhm?"

He grins, shaking his head at himself, before saying, "Happy Valentine's Day," and you balk out a laugh, the others joining in, even Joel. What a ridiculous thing to focus on. Seems so unimportant now. And it's not even actually Valentine's Day anymore, it's well past midnight.

You lie there for a bit before you sit up, and look at Ezra, and say, "Despite the day's chaos, all of you boys managed to take good care of me. The only one who has yet to be taken care of as planned is you, Ezra. May we please take care of you?"

Instantly you see his pupils dilate, eyes wide, and he nods, swallowing hard, excitement blooming on his face.

Jack and Joel smile at you. This was what all of you needed, you needed to feel him, to hold him close and hear his heartbeat. Slowly, six hands start stripping the man, the tent now warm from the lamp and the body heat of four people.

Gently, Ezra's shirt is pulled over his head, and some water from a canister is poured on a piece of cloth as Joel starts cleaning off Ezra's shoulder, removing the blood that had soaked through his shirt. From his spot behind him, Jack kisses Ezra's neck, and you see a shiver run through him as you remove his trousers and socks, caressing his thighs as you do.

Once Ezra is entirely bare, his slowly hardening cock lying against his belly, you take turns touching him, switching between you as you undress. Your red dress becomes a red pile of fabric in the corner of the tent. Eventually, Jack has to unfurl himself from around Ezra to get his jeans off, and you take the opportunity to slide onto Ezra's lap, to grind slowly against him, drawing small groans out of him as he leans forward to kiss your neck, nibbling at your shoulder.

You slide off his lap as Jack returns to his spot, pulling Ezra against him, so he can rub himself against his ass, and both of them moan at the sensation. It might look like a promise for more, but there is a limit to what can be done in a tiny tent in the middle of nowhere without proper preparation, so grinding will have to do.

From either side of Ezra, you and Joel shower him in kisses everywhere you can reach as Joel's hand finds itself on top of Ezra's cock, yours finding his balls, and both of you apply light pressure as Ezra gasps and bucks up against you, chasing your touch, his body already begging for more. Wrapping his hand around him, Joel moves slowly. Deliberate movements and a tight grip make Ezra whine out high-pitched noises of pleasure, sending shivers down your spine. You massage his balls in your hand with practiced movements, just as you know he likes it.

Shifting so he can grind against Ezra's thigh, Joel kisses Ezra's jaw as his hand moves on him, saying, "Please, Ezra, let us hear you, we need to hear you, don't hold back."

Bringing your hand to your cunt, you gather some of your fluid and rub against your clit, joining the slow rhythm of this dance of naked bodies, moving to the music of the sounds of stimulation. You look at Ezra and see a desperate, pleading look in his eyes, so you lean in and kiss him deeply, tongues gliding against each other slowly, tasting and feeling each other, while Joel moves down Ezra's body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

Jack holds on to Ezra's hip with a hand, dragging him against his cock, as his other hand caresses Ezra's back, feeling the scars of a hard life.

You swallow a loud moan emanating from Ezra, and you know that if you look down, you'll find Joel with his mouth on him. Pulling away to look at him, pleasured sounds are able to escape Ezra, high-pitched "ah!"'s and strained breaths come out in a rapid pattern.

You pinch at one of Ezra's nipples, lapping at the other with your tongue. His nipples aren't as sensitive as yours, but they're more sensitive than the other men, and he savors the feeling, his brow furrowed, drowning in stimulation from every angle. He's been training up the sensitivity of his nipples through regular stimulation, and they're now able to leave him writhing without anything else being touched on his body.

Looking down at Joel, you see that he has Ezra's cock down his throat, keeping it there and only withdrawing slightly as he bobs, barely moving an inch as he sucks.

Then, suddenly removing his mouth from Ezra's cock, Joel looks up at you, eyes flickering to your glistening cunt as he wipes some spit from his mouth, and he asks, "May I?" and you nod.

With two thick fingers, he pushes into you, and you gasp loudly. He gathers as much of your fluid as he can, quickly withdrawing the fingers again, and you whine at the loss, but then you see Joel's wet fingers disappear beneath Ezra, Joel pushing up one of his legs with his other hand to gain access to his hole, rubbing the fluid against it as lubrication.

He only pushes a single finger into Ezra, and then in a quick motion, he sucks Ezra's cock back in his mouth, timing the thrusts of his hand with his mouth's movements on his cock.

The change in position has made it so Jack cannot grind against Ezra's ass anymore. He instead moves so he gains access to his own cock, content to let his chest serve as a pillow for Ezra to lean against as he looks at his love being pleasured. Jack pulls at his cock with one hand, the other taking over from Joel, holding up Ezra's leg.

With his hand now free, Joel tugs at his cock as he pleases Ezra, making contented humming noises around the cock in his throat, Ezra's hand finding its way to Joel's hair, pulling tightly, earning him a deep groan from Joel. Ezra's eyes are closed, and he looks positively drunk on pleasure.

Everyone is moaning, groaning, and grinding against their hands. This is what you all needed. To feel alive together, drown in each other's bodies and pleasure. There are no free hands; all of them are occupied with providing themselves or someone else with pleasure.

Dazed and bordering on delirious, Ezra turns his head to look at Jack, pleading, begging, "Jack, please, I need you in my mouth, please."

Jack kisses his nose, and with a reply of "Of course, love," he moves from under him to kneel beside him, Ezra sits up as much as he can with Joel between his legs. Your hand that isn't pumping in and out of your cunt takes over for Jack, holding Ezra's leg up, so Joel can continue his ministrations. When everyone has finished moving around, Jack finally guides his cock into Ezra's hungry mouth, his fingers moving softly through his hair.

You watch your partners. Just watch them. You never thought you'd have this. This closeness, this comfort, this warmth. Your mind is becoming hazy, and you let yourself get lost in the moment.

Some would call you degenerates, sodomites, but how could this ever be a sin? The love and care you're bearing witness to, you wish everyone had this in their life, whether they have one partner or several. Whether sexual or platonic, everyone deserves to experience love as intense as this.

Your orgasm is building, and you watch the erotic display of Jack's cock being sucked with vigorous movements, Ezra moaning around it, sucking like his life depends on it, hollowing his cheeks, and you can see the bulge in his throat. Ezra's cock is not even visible, fully concealed down Joel's throat. You've always liked to look.

Finally, with a high-pitched gasp, your fingers clenching tight around Ezra's leg, you come, drenching your hand in your own fluids, the wet sounds filling the tent.

Jack is the only one with a free mouth, and he smiles at you and drags you forward into a kiss, your tongues moving against each other with languid motions. Then, pulling away, he looks at you fondly, asking, "Did that feel good, Sugar?"

All you've left in you is to nod and hum an "Mhm!" as you press as much of yourself against Ezra as you can, hugging an arm around him, the other still holding his leg up as you feel spent, enjoying your afterglow.

Only moments later, Ezra lets out a loud, high-pitched noise, and you see his eyes roll back. Ezra is coming, his seed shooting down Joel's throat, some of the milky liquid escaping the corners of his mouth and running down into Ezra's pubic hair, but most is being swallowed by Joel in big, audible gulps.

Jack pulls out of Ezra's mouth, letting him catch his breath, and instead, he does something you've never thought you'd see. He looks at Joel, a pleading look on his face, and he looks vulnerable as he stutters out, "Joel – may I – can we – please?"

You're unsure what he's asking for until Joel nods and shuffles on his knees up to Jack, diving in and kissing him deeply, trading Ezra's seed back and forth between them, their hands working their cocks as they groan at the taste.

If you hadn't just come, you would have finished on the spot, and a quick look at Ezra's wide-eyed expression tells you that he's in the same situation, mouth agape.

Blinking a few times, Ezra snaps out of it and looks at you wickedly. You follow his lead as he bats away Jack's hand, sucking his cock back into his mouth, and you do the same with Joel.

They both release sounds of surprise, briefly breaking the kiss to look down at the sight of you and Ezra sucking their cocks before their lips and tongues once again find each other. You guide Joel's hands to your hair, Jack mirroring the movement with Ezra as they start fucking your mouths for real.

The men had been close, very close, and near simultaneously, you hear Jack gasp loudly, followed by a deep growl from Joel, and the cock in your mouth twitches, seed starting to fill your mouth, and you swallow, the salty liquid gliding down your throat.

Once Jack and Joel are completely spent, you release the cocks from your mouths, and you and Ezra lock eyes before moving closer, kissing, tongues swapping the remaining seed around in your mouths, and you can taste the difference, knowing Joel's from Jack's. The combination is nothing short of delicious, being evidence of their satisfaction.

A few moments later, you break apart, swallowing what seed remains, and you look around at your messy and spent partners, adoration and love painted on every face.

Nothing needs to be said. You all know. Even Joel and Jack are starting to come together as well, it seems. Your ordeal from the day might have been more than you'd like to handle ever again, but it has made you all get that much closer.

With few movements, you collapse on top of each other, limbs tangled together, seven arms and eight legs holding tightly, grasping at as much skin as you can find. It's like all that matters in this world is being close, like the physical contact is your only possible salvation, like your worlds might end if you don't get to keep touching each other.

You lie there, the exhaustion of the day finally hitting you. It has been simultaneously the worst and the best Valentine's Day you have ever had.

You're safe, you're alive, and you couldn't be happier. Tomorrow is a new day and a new life, and you're ready to meet it. There's nothing the world can throw at you that you and your family cannot handle. So if it has to take a swing at you again, it better watch out.

[Glossary]

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