Chess sighed. “Desertion it is, then.” Continuing, as Rook’s heart rose in his throat: “Listen — I’ve done most’ve these boys a service here and there, as you know, but they won’t listen to me, ’specially not shit-scared of the Lieut the way they are. Not like they would to you.”
“You want me to — incite a mutiny.”
“I want you to tell them it’s all right to leave while they still can, given the circumstances. You got that Book on your side; tell them God told you special. For all we’re privy, the damn War’s been over a sight longer than it took that bird to reach camp, and throwin’ yourself in the cannon’s mouth after Lee’s already kissed Grant’s ass ain’t honourable, just stupid.”
“So?” Rook shot back. “Best go on, then, if you’re goin’ — which I’m sure you aim to, considerin’ that’s how you feel. Go on, and good riddance.”
Yet here he saw Chess was biting his lip, a flush beginning to pink his face, for once.
“You really do care,” Rook realized, aloud. “Chess Pargeter actually cares what might happen to somebody, other than him — on occasion, anyhow.”
“You need to maybe just shut up with that Do-As-You-Would-Be-Done-By charity-school crap, Rev,” Chess said, between his teeth. “I really do mean it. ’Fore — ”
“’Fore what, little man?”
Chess looked up at him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Goddamnit, Asher Rook,” he said, low — then hove in and kissed him, same’s he’d kissed Hosteen.
Except this time it was Rook’s mouth that pink tongue was hard at work in, all rough and hot and silky. Rook’s lap taking Chess’s full weight, the delectable print of Chess’s ass cupping him through two pairs of pants at once, rendering him instantaneously hard. Before he quite knew what had happened, Rook had both hands dug deep in Chess’s fiery curls, just letting Chess keep on kissing him with never a word of protest, ’til they were both left gasping.
“Oh my,” Chess said at length, emerging, that devilish smile of his already back full force. “Oh my,
Reverend. Sure you don’t need some of my more — specialized — help? ’Cause from where I sit — ” (and here he ground his hips just a bit for emphasis, half trick-rider, half gaiety-hall girl) “ — it pretty much feels like you could pound nails with that thing.”
“Never said I didn’t want none of your stock in trade, you contentious tease,” Rook replied, hoarsely. “Just how I at least know that wanting it — let alone doin’ anything to get it — is wrong.”
Chess smirked.
“Wrong, huh? Well, let’s try it one more time, to be sure — maybe I ain’t brung out all my best tricks, just as yet.”
Now it was Rook’s turn to grind his teeth, ’til they fairly squeaked.
“I can’t,” was all he said.
Unconvinced, Chess went to kiss him again, but Rook grabbed him by both his wrists and bent them behind his back — not in a nasty way, not calculated to hurt, just to immobilize. Still, Chess must’ve felt the emotion that drove it, ’cause he slumped forward, suddenly boneless, to lay his passion-flushed brow against the hollow of Rook’s equally feverish throat.
“Maybe not,” he replied, quietly, right into Rook’s clavicle-skin, like he was trying to reach the Rev’s heart by sheer osmosis. “But you do know there’s nothin’ good gonna come of lettin’ the Lieut have his way, and that’s a damn fact. You know it, Ash.”
“No. I don’t.” Adding, as he shifted to deposit Chess safely back on the ground, with far more gentleness than many might have thought the situation merited: “And I never yet said you could use my Christian name, either. Did I?”
Chess turned his head away, and replied: “You did not.”
“You’re a dangerous man, Chess Pargeter.”
Another snort. “Bad, too. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
To which Rook simply shut his eyes and commenced to pray, not quitting ’til he finally heard Chess move away. Then opened them again, only to find himself once more alone.
The Lieut came out of the bushes, tucking himself away, just as Hosteen was pouring Rook a tin mug of coffee. He had a wilder look than usual in his eyes, and Rook perceived that both his pupils seemed blown, as pin-prick as any concussion case’s. Hell, he even had his hat on backwards.
“All right, boys!” he announced. “Due time for a last hurrah, don’t you think?”
“Sir?” Rook asked.
“I have received fresh intelligence, Reverend, and sent for reinforcements accordingly. We, along with Captain Coulson’s troop, are to immediately assault the local township of Farnham Ridge. We must then burn it to the ground and kill all within, so that the pernicious seeds of kiting Abolitionism shall flourish no more unchecked. Hallelujah!”
Hosteen spoke up: “But — that’s over the border, ain’t it?”
“What matter, if it is?”