Pairing: Chris / Ezra
Author's Note: Thanks to Mog for creating the wonder that is ATF (and apologies if this one squicks you out!) and special thanks to Heather for the loan of Ryan. See, I said he'd come back to you in one piece. Oh, and Ranger? You ever throw a plot bunny like this one at me again, and I may have to shoot you!! Also thanks to Finn for the beta.
"He wants you to do what?"
JD's voice had risen two or three octaves in shock as Chris explained Travis' latest 'brainwave' to them.
Every year, certain departments of the ATF competed against each other to raise as much money as possible for one of the local children's charities. Last year Travis' department had come second, something that he was planning on bettering this time, so he had arranged for several fund-raising events throughout the week. He had also decided to approach local businessmen for pledges of donations, but one pledge he received came with a suggestion for an additional event - one that the anonymous donator wanted to see before he gave up his hard earned money.
Usually, Travis wouldn't have paid any attention, but this one person was offering $5000 - not an amount to be scoffed at. So he had no choice but to agree.
"Apparently, I have to compete in an ice cream wrestling contest with Ryan Kelly from Team Eight."
Chris was perched on the edge of Vin's desk, his hazel eyes as dark as storm clouds. The other six members of the infamous Team Seven were gathered around, all wearing suitably horrified looks, despite the fact that at least three of them were secretly thrilled to know that Chris was going to be making a fool of himself.
"Can't you just say no?"
Nathan. Ever the optimist.
"Apparently, refusal of this will constitute gross-misconduct and Travis will be forced to re-assign as a traffic cop."
"I'll find a way out of this. There is no way I am wrestling anyone in a paddling pool full of ice cream. Never. No way."
Still trying to figure out what the hell had happened, Chris changed into the outfit that Travis had provided. The lycra all-in-one wrestling suit was probably about a size too small and showed *everything*. He tugged at the back, trying to stop the black shiny material from wedging itself permanently where he most certainly did not want it.
He was still fiddling with the suit when he heard the door to the locker room open. With a resigned sigh, he turned around to see the remainder of his team standing there. JD's jaw had dropped open and the young man was clearly trying not to stare at Chris' rather prominent crotch.
"Ahem," coughed Ezra, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"I can't believe I'm doing this." Chris shook his head in disgust. He'd done nothing but think about ways out of this for days and nothing had come to him.
"Think about the money, Stud." Buck's voice had a slight chuckle to it. He and Chris had known each other for a long time, but he had never managed to get one up on his friend like this. There was no way he was going to let Chris get out of it. Hell, if he'd had the money, he would have pledged it himself to see this one.
"Yeah, the kids will really appreciate it," Nathan said, slightly more subdued, feeling a little embarrassed for his boss.
Suddenly, Buck reached around a slapped Chris on the ass. Hard.
"Time to get this show on the road."
Chris Larabee and Ryan Kelly stood behind a screen off to one side of the temporary arena. They were both dressed in identical black lycra suits, both equally as fidgety and miserable as each other.
"Someone's set us up," Ryan said. "If I didn't know he was broke, I'd assume it was Wilmington."
Chris nodded. He'd already discounted Buck as the culprit, but he knew that this could only have come from someone on either his team or Ryan's Team Eight. No one else knew that the two had once wrestled together in an amateur competition a few years back, before Teams Seven and Eight had even been formed.
"I'll figure it out," Chris said, with a determination that made Ryan shudder. There was one place you didn't want to be when Chris Larabee lost his temper - and that was on the receiving end.
"Ladies and Gentlemen."
Their thoughts were interrupted by the announcement from Travis.
"Thank you for gathering together for this, the first ever inter-team ice cream wrestling match."
And last ever, if I get my way, thought Chris.
"As you may be aware, we have been pledged a rather large sum to see two of our best agents wrestle with each other in this paddling pool, which has been filled with a selection of the finest ice creams, kindly provided at no cost by the local Seven-Eleven."
A cheer came from the crowd, which, from Chris' rather limited viewpoint behind the screen, seemed a little larger than he had anticipated.
"So, without further ado," Travis continued over the noise, "I give you Chris Larabee and Ryan Kelly."
Unidentified hands pushed the two agents out from behind the screen until they were standing in front of what appeared to be every agent within the ATF.
"Take your positions."
Chris looked around, hoping not to see any faces he recognised. Following his current pattern of luck, he saw the rest of his team sitting right on the front row, whooping and cheering louder than anyone else. He was slightly relieved to see that Team Eight was also sitting there, intending to make Ryan suffer as much as he was.
With a final look at Ryan, as if to say 'let's get this over with,' Chris walked over to the small round paddling pool. He stepped in, the ice cream coming up ankle deep and took an involuntary shiver. Ryan joined him, likewise shivering the moment his bare feet touched the now melting ice cream.
"On your marks..."
The faced each other on opposite sides of the paddling pool and crouched slightly, both men trying to pretend that this was just another amateur wrestling match and that they weren't standing in a combination of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry ice creams.
"... Get Set ..."
They both moved to the centre of the 'ring', shuffling rather than walking to avoid slipping over before they had even started.
"... And GO!!"
Chris reached for Ryan's shoulders and tried to pull the slightly larger man towards him. In return, Ryan's hands found Chris' shoulders and the two managed to off-balance each other, with Chris landing on his butt in the ice cream and Ryan landing across his legs. Landing with a splash, the ice cream went everywhere, covering the two of them. As Chris looked at his long-time friend, he smiled. This may actually be some fun. Just so long as they didn't end up breaking their necks.
Ryan smiled back and quickly reached under him for Chris' legs, causing him to flop unceremoniously onto his back. By now, the ice cream was everywhere and the crowd was cheering louder than any he had heard when wrestling before. Deciding to make the most of the ice cream, Chris scrambled up and grabbed a large handful of the mostly melted ice cream, tugging at the back of Ryan's lycra suit. He exposed a section of bare skin and quickly threw the ice cream, laughing as it slithered down Ryan's back and dripped out of the legs of his suit. The crowd cheered even harder and Chris was sure he could hear Buck's voice yelling further suggestions for places to shove the ice cream.
The wrestling continued for several minutes, with each of the two men getting the occasional one-up on the other one. Ryan managed to mash a handful of ice cream in Chris's face at one point; before Chris could move, Ryan then stuck his tongue out and licked a drip of it from Chris' cheek. A few more traditional wrestling moves later and Chris finally had Ryan pinned underneath him. Ryan was doing his best to squirm out from the grip - a job made easier by the slipperiness of the pool - but Chris held on tight, determined not to lose the match. Charity game or not, Chris hated to lose at anything.
Eventually, after allowing Ryan slightly longer than appropriate to wriggle, Travis called out that the match was over and Chris had won.
Team Seven went crazy, cheering and yelling, high-fiving each other. It was like a personal victory for every one of them. Team Eight was slightly more subdued, but still congratulated their colleagues and joined in the laughing and joking.
They were still busy congratulating each other when Chris and Ryan headed back to the locker room to change. Only one member of Team Seven noticed that Chris was limping.
The two teams would be talking about this for weeks to come. Ryan would never live down the fact that he had lost the match and the boys from Team Eight would be buying drinks for Team Seven for the next two weeks. As well as receiving the promised $5000 donation, Travis had discovered that monetary bets were being placed on the outcome of the match, so he had confiscated all the money and called it a donation.
In all, his department had managed to raise almost $3000 more than any other and was declared this year's winner. Travis was overjoyed and decided that, in honour of Chris and Ryan's 'dedication to the job,' he would allow both teams Friday off work, giving them all a long weekend.
Declining the offer of drinks at Inez's, Chris opted for the comforts of home. He was still stiff from the match and his ankle was hurting like hell. Not that he would ever tell anyone else - he could just imagine Buck's 'old man' comments. So instead, he went home, flipped on the stereo and started to run a bath.
Between the bedroom and the bathroom, he began stripping off, careful not to catch any of the bruises that were starting to appear all over his body. He pulled off his t-shirt and took a moment to view the damage in the mirror. Damn, he thought, maybe I am getting too old. There was a large green-yellow patch around his right shoulder, which explained why it hurt so much, and several smaller bruises around his ribs. He could only hope that Ryan hurt as much as he did.
Removing his pants, he threw them into the laundry basket as he entered the bathroom. He turned off the taps, relishing the steam that was starting to fill the small room. Just as he reached for his boxers, he heard a knock at the door.
"Damn," he muttered. If this was a door-to-door salesman, he was likely to get shot.
He walked out of the bathroom and went to the front door, opening it.
"Ezra?" What the hell was he doing here now? "Something up?"
"Nice outfit," Ezra commented in reply, letting his gaze drift from Chris' mussed hair down to his still-bare chest.
"Shit. Get in here," Chris ushered Ezra in, wanting to shut the door and possibly grab some more clothes. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was wearing only his boxers.
Chris wasn't blind. He'd noticed Ezra looking at him on more than one occasion. If he was honest with himself, he'd looked at Ezra in a similar way once or twice. Despite having been crazy in love with Sarah, Chris had always known that he was attracted to people, rather than one specific gender. He tended to keep that part of himself hidden from others, not because he was ashamed, but simply because he felt it was none of their business.
Recently, however, he had started to notice little things about Ezra that he would never have thought twice about before. Such as the way he twirled pens around between his fingers. Or that he always made sure he picked up a decaf latte for Chris whenever he stopped at Starbucks. Or his habit of tipping his chair back on two legs when he was talking on the 'phone.
He'd also noticed how good Ezra smelled when they hunched over a computer monitor together. And how his clothes seemed to fit perfectly, accentuating every muscle. More importantly, he noticed how often he thought about Ezra.
"What are you doing here?" He tried his best to sound intimidating, but he felt his voice catch when he noticed Ezra looking him up and down.
"I simply came to reassure myself that you were unharmed after your activities this afternoon."
Chris shook his head. "I'm fine, Ez. Can I get back to my bath now?"
Ezra smiled. "Don't let me stop you."
Chris's stomach churned. "Ezra!"
"How's your ankle?" Ezra's demeanour changed from his usual teasing to one of concern.
"Please allow me to perform a cursory examination. I can tell it's hurting."
Sighing, Chris sat himself down on the sofa, knowing from experience that if he didn't allow Ezra to do what he intended it would take hours of battling and he would still lose.
Ezra knelt on the floor in front of Chris and gently picked up the injured ankle. It had definitely swollen and it was starting to show signs of bruising. With more tenderness than Chris would have expected, Ezra started to softly massage around the painful area. His fingers were smooth and soft, actually easing the pain rather than enhancing it as Chris had managed to do when he tried to massage it himself.
As the pain started to leave, Chris found himself relaxing. He let his head drop back and closed his eyes, enjoying the caresses. All too soon, Ezra released his foot and placed it back on the floor. Unthinkingly, Chris let out a small moan, not wanting the warmth from Ezra's hands to leave.
"I will assume that my ministrations were effective?"
"Are there any other parts of your anatomy that you might need help with?"
Without acknowledging the feelings that Ezra's question caused, Chris thought for a moment and then held out his hand.
Shuffling closer to the sofa, Ezra nudged Chris' legs apart and settled himself down, his back resting against one of Chris's thighs. He reached out for the hand Chris was offering and began his massage again, this time extending it to Chris' fingers. As he gently pressed and pulled against each of the long, slim fingers, Ezra could feel Chris relaxing more. Since relaxation was not the reaction he wanted, Ezra decided it was time for something more drastic.
Bringing Chris' hand closer to his mouth, Ezra placed a tiny kiss on the inside of his palm, causing Chris to jerk his hand back slightly in surprise. The two looked at each other for a moment, neither speaking, their eyes locked in silence as Ezra kissed again, this time on the tender flesh on the inside of Chris' wrist. Chris inhaled sharply, his stomach churning and his boxers beginning to get a little uncomfortable. Ezra continued to kiss Chris' hand, his wrist, his fingers, until finally he slipped the tip of one finger into his mouth.
"Oh God. Ezra."
Ezra slid the finger deeper into his mouth, his tongue caressing while one hand gripped Chris' wrist gently, ensuring he wasn't going anywhere. The other hand dropped casually onto Chris' bare thigh and Ezra was unconsciously running his fingernails up and down, causing Chris' breath to hitch.
Unable to take any more, Chris pulled his hand out of Ezra's mouth and pulled the other man up towards him. Ezra, not expecting such a sudden reaction, lost his balance and instead of sitting next to Chris, he landed astride him, their faces mere inches apart. Chris leaned closer until their lips met. It took no prompting for Ezra to respond, both men needing the other more than they had known. Their kiss was an exploration and Chris threaded his fingers into Ezra's hair, discovering both the softness of the curls and the fact that Ezra seemed to melt into the caress.
In return, Ezra's hands, as dextrous with Chris' body as they were with a pack of cards, made their way over any patch of skin they could find. The kiss continued as Ezra's hands found their way between them, his thumbs rubbing over Chris' nipple. Chris moaned deeply into their kiss, pleading with Ezra not to stop.
Finally Ezra pulled away, wincing slightly as Chris' grip tightened, not wanting them to break apart. Chris looked at him questioningly.
"I have a small confession to make."
"If you're about to tell me you like men, Ez, I think I figured it out."
Ezra smiled. "I always knew you were perceptive," he replied, bending closer to drop a quick kiss on the tip of Chris' nose. "Alas, I have reason to believe that what I am about to reveal may hinder our budding relationship."
Chris gave Ezra one of his infamous Larabee Glares. While it was true that no one except Buck was completely immune, the trademarked look had slightly less effect when the recipient was sitting across his semi-naked body.
"It concerns your recent ... ahem ... charity donation."
"You mean the damn wrestling?"
"Indeed. I must inform you that I am aware of who suggested the event."
Foregoing the Larabee Glare, Chris simply looked at Ezra, wondering if what he thought Ezra was about to tell him was what Ezra was about to tell him.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
Ezra's look of guilt was enough of an answer. Chris jumped up, pushing Ezra away from him as if he'd been burned. He reached down the side of the sofa and pulled out a gun, pointing it at the man who, less than a minute ago, had been devouring his mouth.
Ezra was stunned. Although he had anticipated many different reactions to his confession, this was one that had never even crossed his mind. Chris wouldn't really shoot him. Would he?
"Move." Chris pointed with the gun and pushed Ezra out of the room. Unnerved and without any kind of plan, Ezra went where he was being herded, which turned out to be Chris's bedroom.
Confused, Ezra turned to ask Chris what was happening, but was rewarded with a sharp jab to the ribs with the barrel of the gun.
Ezra looked around but there were no chairs in the room. With a shrug, he sat himself on the end of the bed, shuffling farther back towards the head when the gun was waved in that direction.
Before he knew it, Chris had reached into the sidetable drawer and pulled out a set of handcuffs. In any other situation, Ezra would have thought up some smart-alec comment, but his current predicament was leaving him with an inability to think of anything except the fact that a very pissed off Chris Larabee was pointing a gun at him. Chris reached over and snapped the handcuffs onto one of Ezra's wrists, passed them through the metal frame of the bed and snapped the other one closed over Ezra's other wrist.
Still pointing the gun at Ezra, Chris sat on the bed, close enough for Ezra to feel the heat coming from his body, but far enough away that there was no physical contact between them.
Ezra looked at Chris and saw that there was more to the question than had been voiced. He waited patiently for the conclusion of the query.
"Why ice cream? Why me? Why now?"
If there was one thing Chris knew about Ezra, it was that the man never lied. Sure, sometimes he may 'forget' to mention something important, but if you asked him a straight question, you would get a straight answer. As Josiah once said, you just have to know the right question to ask him.
When Ezra spoke, it was quieter than usual; his soft southern voice filled with a sadness that Chris couldn't quite understand.
"I just wanted to see you. See if you looked as good as you did in my dreams."
Chris looked puzzled.
"On more than one occasion recently, I found myself waking up having dreamt of the unobtainable. Of having you in my arms. Of touching your body and having you touch mine. I learned to keep these desires hidden, buried deep inside where no-one would ever suspect the truth. I couldn't bear for you to find out and reject me. Last week, the dream changed. All I could think about was the taste of your body as I licked ice cream from it. I knew there was no way I would ever be able to know if my imagination had enhanced or dulled the dream, but I could at least get part way there. When I saw you covered from head to toe in that ice cream, I was so hard I could barely think. I needed to taste you. I still need to."
Ezra finally finished speaking, closing his eyes so he couldn't see the look of disappointment the he expected coming from the man he desired.
Without another word, Chris stood and left the room.
Fighting back tears, Ezra vowed that by Monday morning his resignation would be on Travis's desk and he would be gone from Denver. He was sure that Chris was not only disgusted, but probably hated him, too.
Moments later, Chris returned. The gun had been replaced by a tub of what looked like vanilla ice cream. Still without speaking, Chris sat next to Ezra and opened the tub. Dipping his finger into the ice cream, he pulled out a small amount and placed it on the tip of Ezra's nose. He leant over and gently kissed it into his mouth.
"What...?" For once, Ezra was almost completely incoherent.
"I wanted to see if you taste as good as you sound."
"But I was under the distinct impression that...."
"Ezra, for once, would you just shut up."
Chris moved his hands to the buttons on Ezra's shirt and started unbuttoning. Ezra's heart was beating so hard that Chris could feel it pulsing through the thin fabric of the shirt. Unable to remove the shirt due to the handcuffs, Chris simply pushed it back, exposing the smooth flawless skin of Ezra's chest. Dipping his finger into the ice cream once more, he traced a line from Ezra's collar bone to his abdomen.
Ezra hissed at the sensation on his too-warm body and felt himself harden at the thought of what was going to happen. Sure enough, Chris bent his head down and used his tongue to follow the line of ice cream. The warmth of Chris's tongue against the icy cold felt better than Ezra could possibly have imagined. In all of his dreams, he could picture this moment, but he had never been able to feel it.
Another dip in the ice cream and this time Chris headed for the hardened nipples. Chris ran his tongue around each nipple in turn, removing any trace of the ice cream, but still he continued. Sucking gently on one and then the other, he was rewarded with a moan from Ezra, a deep throaty moan that echoed throughout his body. Chris allowed himself a small smile and concluded that Ezra tasted even better than that silken honeyed voice promised.
Chris lifted his head and brought his lips to Ezra's, his hands automatically threading themselves back into Ezra's hair. He couldn't get enough of touching and feeling Ezra; every sensation of pleasure seemingly tripled. The kiss deepened and Chris moved until he was lying almost on top of Ezra, their bodies against each other almost from chest to toe. Through the thin material of his boxer shorts, Chris could feel Ezra's erection, hard as his own, and began moving against it, eliciting a deeper moan.
"I think you might be a little overdressed here, Ez," Chris murmured against Ezra's ear.
"Uh-huh," was the only reply.
Chris slid further down the bed, unbuttoning the denim pants Ezra was wearing and tugging them over his hips. He pulled them to his ankles and left them there, restricting Ezra's movements even further. Between the handcuffs and the pants, Ezra was virtually trapped - exactly how Chris wanted him.
"Going commando?" Chris enquired, pleasantly surprised that Ezra had gone without underwear for the occasion.
Ezra shrugged. "I like the feel of denim."
"Oh god," Chris whispered, more aroused by that one sentence than he had thought possible. He reached for the ice cream, causing Ezra to buck when it was spread along the top of his thighs. Teasing, tantalising, Chris licked at the sweetness, tasting the slight saltiness of Ezra's sweat. His tongue brushed against the coarse hair but deliberately avoided the one place that he wanted to taste more than any other.
Chris had never believed that he would ever hear Ezra beg for anything, least of all him, least of all this. Unable to deny either of them what they clearly both wanted, he moved his head, tracing his tongue towards the tip of Ezra's erection. With a groan from both of them, his tongue circled the tip before he opened his mouth and tasted what he had only dreamt of.
As he licked and sucked, his tongue caressing the warm smoothness, he felt Ezra's hands in his own hair. Looking up, he saw Ezra smiling at him, his hands released from the handcuffs. Seeing that smile, directed at him, only for him, he increased the pace, sensing when Ezra was close to release. Moments later, with a shudder and a sigh of relief, Ezra came, spilling into Chris's mouth.
Exhausted, Ezra collapsed back onto the bed as Chris moved up for a kiss, the taste of Ezra combined with the vanilla. As they broke apart, Chris looked at the handcuffs, now lying draped over the headboard.
"You didn't honestly believe they could hold me, did you?"
Chris simply shook his head. Ezra reached his arms around Chris, pulling him closer, until he suddenly rolled the two of them over and snapped the handcuffs closed over Chris's wrists.
"My turn," he said seductively. "I still need to know if you taste as good as I think you do."
THE END... For Now
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