Chapter Text
Oh No!
by Jennie
Joe LaFiamma rolled over. Groaned.
//Saints preserve me// He thought to himself. // What in the name of all I hold holy have I done to myself?//
His head throbbed. He winced and adjusted his position, searching for relief. That only caused his stomach to lurch threateningly.
//I must be dead. Gotta be. *No One* could possibly feel this awful and be alive//
Then... A body - a warm body - moved. Wriggled closer and settled around the curve of him, spooning up to fit closely - *way* too closely - to his backside. Snorted in his ear. Sighed. Grunted.
Fuzzily, Joe realized that said body was male. No doubt about that. The snort, the grunt, not to mention the chin - the chin that sported the unmistakable rasp an early-morning (late-night?) growth of stubble - were male.
As was the hard cock nestled between his asscheeks.
Decidedly male.
Damn.
Double damn.
If only he could open his eyes. One eye, even. A protest. He *had* to protest this situation! And, he would. Just as soon as he recovered from... whatever the hell was wrong with him.
Sighing deeply, he yawned mightily and drifted back into sleep.
***
Some hours later, Joe reluctantly woke. Remembered the sick, twisted dream he'd experienced earlier. Conjured, he had no doubt, by his unconscious mind, just to punish him for the all-out drinking binge he'd apparently indulged in last night.
Eyes closed tightly against the sunlight pouring through the window he hoped against hope for the blessed relief of more sleep.
"Damn!" came the (not) duculet - and uncomfortably familiar - voice of his partner, one Levon Lundy.
*Shift*
*Shuffle*
*Pained groan*
"Fuck!"
Joe would have winced at the blue language if he wasn't absolutely sure that a bolting pain through his throbbing head wouldn't result. Instead, he pulled the covers over his head, hoping that Levon would take a hint for once in his sorry life. Speaking - rather, thinking - of Levon... What in holy *hell* was Lundy doing in his bed?
Unable to gather enough strength to pose that particular question - or any other - Joe could only hope that this once, the damned irritating cowboy would take pity on him. Would see his pain. Be silent and still. For *once*.
Wasn't too much to hope for. Was it?
"Ooooh," Levon moaned. "Oh nooo! What in blue blazes are you doin' in mah bed, boy?" Then: "Shitfuckdamn! 'M dyin' This here be *your fault*, LaFamma."
*HIS* fault?
Levon's bed?
Cautiously, Joe opened one eye. Viewed his surroundings. Heard the impatient whinny of Levon's horse, Twister, demanding her breakfast.
No. NonononononoNO!
Okay, time for some damage control. "How the *hell* do you figure it was my idea?"
Levon snorted. "Your birthday. Your idea. 'C'mon, partner,' ya said. 'A quick one,' ya said. 'In honor of my 34th.'"
Hell's bells.
"The second," he hazarded a guess, "was your idea, Lundy."
"Fuck you, LaFamma."
Suddenly, as Levon's words sunk in, a horrific thought occurred to Joe.
They couldn't have... Could they?
"Levon?"
"*What?*"
*Snicker*
*Loooong pause*
Death, Joe realized, just might be preferable to... this uncertainty. To Levon's smugly superior attitude. To the fact that his partner - the bastard - obviously remembered everything. And, just as obviously, had absolutely no intention of sharing his knowledge.
He was in hell, after all. And Levon was the devil.
Once upon a time, someone, somewhere, had mentioned that Bora Bora was lovely this time of year...
end
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