2. Perfectly Safe

By Calico

“Heyes?”

“Uh huh?”

“Are you sure that door’s locked?”

“Uh huh.”

“Heyes!”

“What?”

“You’re not even lookin’ at the dang thing!”

This statement by a jittery Kid Curry was true. Heyes, flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, had not moved a muscle. Not even one of those finely honed muscles where the column of his throat met the first swell of his firm chest, giving rise to a nook of sweet, sweet flesh crying out to be kissed. Nor even one of the long lithe muscles in his inner thigh, where the dusting of fine hair began to thic…
Well you get the picture.

“You’ve not even opened your eyes,” protested the jittery one.

In the interests of fairness, your narrator would like to point out that Kid could not verify this second statement. For all he knew, Heyes was motionless yet squinting sideways at the allegedly locked door. Heyes’ eyes were obscured from his partner’s vision by the trademark black hat with silver trimmings. To be absolutely clear, Heyes’ entire face was covered by his trademark black hat with silver trimmings. The rest of Heyes was not covered. At all. By anything. Unless you count sweat. Which the narrator doesn’t. Count sweat that is. She does sweat. Well, as she is – coy look – a lady, let us rather say she glows. However, she does not count sweat as a covering? Why not? Well, for one very good reason. Sweat is transparent and so, whilst it formed a thin, shimmering layer over Heyes’ tanned skin, it did not obscure a single iota of his tautly muscled torso. Neither the smooth flanks, accentuated by Heyes having one knee slightly drawn up, foot flat against the golden-grained wood. Nor the lean hips …
Well, again, you get the picture. The narrator has better things to do than describe nekkid ex-outlaws all day.

Rewind. Strike that last sentence. That was just SILLY! The narrator does NOT have BETTER things to do than describe nekkid ex-outlaws all day. Unfortunately she does have OTHER – less appealing – things to do. Dang it! Don’t her employers understand proper priorities? Tchah!

Kid was not lying back at his ease. He sat upright. His face was NOT obscured. His hat – floppy, brown, preferred season two number – was in its correct position on the corn coloured curls. That would be about, what …? Four or five inches above the startlingly blue eyes. Startlingly blue eyes, which were fixed, warily, on the door.

Mind you – why eyes being blue should startle anyone is a mystery to this Heyes’ girl. I mean, if his eyes were fuchsia or plum, now THAT would be startling. Blue is not out of the way. That is by the by. Kid’s eyes are, by fanfic tradition – startlingly blue. I have no quarrel with that. I’m still looking at the other fella anyhow! On with the plot, such as it is.

A beat.

Kid wriggled. “Heyes, are you SURE that door is locked.”

“Kid,” Heyes said, tolerantly, “…I watched you lock it! Why you had to lock it… Why you had to embarrass me by askin’ for a key…is a mystery to me. But, I watched you lock it. I have faith in you Kid. I think locking a door is well within your capability.” A beat. “…Well, a simple wooden door like this anyhow. I wouldn’t like to leave you to your own devices in the vaults of Fort Worth.”

Kid glowered at his partner. Then, nekkid except for the hat and – forgive me Kidettes – a strategically clutched towel, slipped down from the warm wooden seat and padded over to the door. He checked it. Locked. He padded back.

“Satisfied?” asked Heyes.

“No!” growled Kid. “I’ve not been satisfied since we arrived at this dang hotel! I certainly haven’t been satisfied since that Mizz Cally Coe, out on reception, asked us to test out this new-fangled stor.. smor…” Kid floundered.

“Sauna,” supplied Heyes. “It’s the latest thing from Sweden. Just throw more water on the coals Kid an’ …” he demonstrated, “… breath deeply!”

A bronzed chest rose and fell. And again. A bead of sweat traced a graceful path over the finely sculpted…Oh! Another rise and fall! Missed that one! Ah, well. Must press on. Nah… one more rise and fall. As the sweat bead coursed its way over the satin flesh …
You know what, I reckon if you caught that sweat bead with your tongue, before it hit the pine bench – it’d taste real salty.
What?
Oh, okay.
Once more unto the plot, dear friends.

“I feel kinda vulnerable sitting here – without a stitch on,” complained Kid. His sun kissed cheeks flushed. His manly brow furrowed. Gosh – he did look adorable.

“You’ve got your hat! And – your gun! And a towel,” pointed out Heyes.

“Towel!” protested Kid. A grumble, “…Face cloth more like!”

Kid did have right on his side there. While delightfully soft and fluffy, the small piece of flannel Kid was clutching would only cover a small part of the blond gunslinger at a time. A hand, for instance. Or – most of a foot.

“…You can’t sit and sweat into your clothes in a sauna,” soothed Heyes. He settled himself still more comfortably on the sweet smelling pine. “…Have a little finesse, Kid!”

“The way Mizz Cally Coe was lookin’ at you, Heyes…AND me…”

“Me most,” smugged Heyes.

“…I reckon she knows who we are!” finished Kid. Another wriggle. Kid positioned his ‘towel’ more strategically. “She could be looking through the keyhole right now!”

“If you’re worried about bein’ recognised, Kid,” said Heyes, with a sidelong glance at his partner’s modest efforts, “…I’d cover your face. It’s generally considered to be the area with the most distinguishin’ features.”

Kid gave him another of ‘the looks’. Then, once again, he slid down to check the door.

“Kid!” exploded Heyes. He sat up. The black hat moved to the back of the silky – and tousled – and silky – did I mention tousled – dark hair. The deep brown eyes… Well, they did whatever deep brown eyes do. “Mizz Cally is a respectable middle-aged lady! Do you really expect that sweet, grey-haired, English-accented woman has nothing better to do than trick men young enough – well nearly – to be her sons into stripping nekkid, so she can watch ’em get all steamy and then take a dip in a cold plunge pool? Huh?”

Kid hung his head. Put like that, it did sound unlikely.

“…For Pete’s sake,” continued Heyes, aptly, “…get over yourself, Kid!”

“Guess you’re right,” agreed Kid, reluctantly.

“Sure I’m right,” confirmed Heyes. “…Besides, she told us she had the other ladies on the appreciation board comin’ round this afternoon. They’ll all be far too busy to think about us.”

“Yeah,” said Kid. A beat. “What do reckon these ladies appreciate, Heyes?”

His partner stretched himself back out on the bench, on his front this time. His cheeks displayed an enchanting set of dimples. The cheeks of his face! Sheesh! Talk about reading things into the simplest sentence. Prone – and delightfully undulating – as he was, Heyes managed a shrug.

“What do middle-aged ladies generally like? They probably get together to appreciate – patchwork, or tatting, or – or recipes.”

“Yeah,” said Kid, again. He thought for a moment. He gradually relaxed. After all, the door WAS fastened tight. He WAS perfectly safe. The blond ex-outlaw abandoned his ‘towel’ and, having thrown a little more water on the coals to make things steamier – stretched out his full length on the bench. He nestled his curly head on his arms and – drifted.

Contented silence.

Except – very, very faint from the other sound of the door – the sound of a dozen or so respectable ladies being very, very, very quiet. The sound of – was that lips being licked? The sound of – could that be a hairpin being inserted – oh so quietly – into a lock?

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