Elder '03: Preparation

A glance at the clock tells me we're right on schedule. I'm already dressed and ready to go - doesn't take too much for me. Ezra's about halfway through his routine, so I've settled into my favorite chair in our room to watch the proceedings.

I do love to watch him in action.

He knows what he wants to wear, had it picked out ever since we got the invite to show up to the Saloon for Christmas Dinner. Now it's just a matter of him getting it all together and on in the proper order.

I settle back further into the rocker, letting my eyes half-close as I watch him move around our room. He's nearly naked, all pink and clean from the bath we've just shared. Ez is damn good looking no matter how you cut it; this way he could distract me right outta my mind.

Never had so many baths in all my life until moving in with Ez. Not that I'm complaining. Couldn't ever afford them as often before; didn't see the need to bother either. But now I look forward to 'em much as Ez does. Makes my skin good and soft, makes me clean for him to taste and touch, soothes my aches and my stupid crooked back. Something I used to see as a necessary chore I now see as Ez once explained. "A true pleasure, rather simplistic in method but wonderful as indulgence, especially when done right."

Can't stop my smile. Ez glances over at me as he finishes his shave and smiles back. My smile grows then his does. Finally he shakes his head and looks away.

For Ez a bath done right is a good thing indeed. Nice smelling salts, several buckets worth instead of just one tepid measure to splash in and so hot it almost feels it'll scald ya as you sink into it. Plus we never take one alone unless we hafta. Think that's the best part of all.

Next come his layers. Starts with his underthings, all silky and flowing, nothing like my union suits. Love the feel of them under my hands, folding and rippling as my fingers chase themselves around, the firmness of Ez underneath.

Like peeling them offa him even more than I like feeling him through 'em.

Ez finishes with the buttons then looks up at me, chin still down, eyes slanting. Ez has perfect hands. They're capable and strong, broad and neat and it kills me what he can do to me with them. His manicured fingers fan out where they'd been hovering at his collarbone, just at that last button. Then they run then length of his torso, over his hips then down his thighs, as if he's smoothing the underwear to get it in place, though I know what he's doing.

He enjoys the feel almost as much as I do - enjoys reminding me what it feels like to do that to him even more.

His lips curl; they're so full and ripe looking, just waiting for me to taste. Plunder, Ez once said… damn right. I hafta shift in the chair and he laughs, that warm velvet sound rolling across our room to enfold me. I curse him and he knows what I mean. Satisfied green eyes tell me so.

With a wink he turns away, reaching into his closet for his dress pants.

I watch with fascination as his creamy skin is hidden from my view as he dresses. Would never have thought it would be almost as good to see my lover dress as getting undressed for me. But Ez takes looking his best seriously, dressing to him is an art form. Watching him is like a dance.

Knowing that when we get back home I can rip all those layers away to have my way with what makes it all look so good - the man wearing it - is what keeps me balanced and sane.

With a teasing look Ez holds up one of his work shirts, laying it against himself as if measuring how it'd look for the evening. He casts a sly look my direction and I laugh. Ez laughs too then returns the muted plaid flannel to the closet, exchanging it for a crisp white dress shirt with fine emerald threads striping it.

He didn't always have work clothes, least none like that flannel. Before living here with me Ez's idea of work clothes was his finery, all part and parcel of the image of a gambler on top of his game. But this place he got us to share takes a different kind of work, tending our horses and keeping us in wood and making the whole place clean and livable and going. He ain't never complained, just undertook it all like it was natural, learning from me the things he didn't know, showing me better ways to do what I'd figured out long ago.

I helped him pick out the flannel. And all his other work clothes too. I like those near as much as I do his fancies. He's just as beautiful all sweaty and smelling of the earth after we've cut down and split a dead tree into burnable sizes, my fingers just as urgent on the thick, capable buttons holding that flannel together. He just laughs, saying it's a good thing he's got work clothes now - he don't mind when I make 'em all muddy from knocking him to the ground so we can make love on it. He don't mind knocking me to the ground either.

I remember the first time the boys came out to the house. They stood gaping for a minute at Ez, amazed at him in his dungarees, plaid shirt and canvas coat. He'd shaken his head. "Now really, Gentleman, do you expect I would ruin perfectly good clothing? I do know better than that." His tone - teasing but with a bit of an edge - had snapped 'em all right out of it. Josiah had rumbled with laughter and hauled Ez in for a crushing hug, saying Ez couldn't complain that he was mussing his good clothes. Ez hadn't even blinked, just stepped back and said 'indeed,' then ordered them all to get cleaned up before they set foot in our house for dinner.

His gorgeous feet are disappearing into silk socks now, one after the other as he balances, one-handed, against the dresser. Then he steps into his dress shoes, lifting his pants and letting them fall back over his shoes. Ez makes a quiet noise, one that tells me he likes the results.

A scarf that I bought him one time when I had to go to Eagle Bend without him is selected next. He knots it just so, looking at himself with serene concentration in the mirror on his dresser. I knew when I saw that scarf it'd be perfect for him, thought it could remind him of me when he wore it. It's emerald like his eyes, but down deep swirling with ambers and golds depending on the light that hits it. The scarf looks nearly alive with all them threads and colors shimmering, though it pales in comparison next to Ez.

His jacket is last. It's not his favorite red, but this one is just as fine. It's so dark green it looks almost black, the lapels and pockets in richly colored suede. He shrugs into it, tugging at the shoulders then the cuffs until it rests against him just as it should. Then he gives the ends a snap and I know he's about ready to go.

I stretch out of the chair, then by habit smooth my clothes back to where they should be. Ez ain't the only one whose wardrobe expanded when we moved out here together. I asked him to help me decide what to wear for tonight. He knows I don't need the help, but it always makes him grin when I ask 'cause he loves to. I love having him help me too.

I've got on my white linen with blue and burgundy stripes. Never thought linen would be so comfortable. Never thought I'd learn to keep the wrinkles from getting the better of me either. With that I put on a bandana Ez had gotten for me, burgundy and blue paisleys. Perfect. 'Course I'm in my best buckskins and my boots wink up at me, newly shined.

I'd linger here, not getting out of the chair until told to, wanting to just watch Ez. But we still have our coats to get, the presents we bought and wrapped for the boys to gather. We've already saddled up - did that before the bath. Wouldn't do to get ourselves dirty after working this hard to look so good.

And Ez and me don't like to be late. I always want to watch who comes in after me from somewhere secure in the room. Ez has the same survival instincts, but he also just despises making that kinda show of bad manners.

Ez hates being late, that is unless I give him good reason, like the times I stop him mid-point from dressing and take him hard 'gainst the closet door. 'Course he has to change then, but we always arrive and he's got this smug smile on his face and he never even offers an apology like usual, just murmurs hello and finds us a drink and a place to sit. Damn, I love it when we're late 'cause of that. So does he.

But that ain't gonna be today. A flush of heat spins my insides and teases my groin when I imagine Ez whispering in my ear to say, "Not for right now, no, but let's amend that to say it's definitely going to be today."

I stand up fully and close the distance between us. Ez has turned in place and his eyes are sparking at mine, full of love and mischievousness and laughter. My eyes close when I lean in for a kiss. He tastes fresh, all peppermint and Ez from having just cleaned his teeth. Makes me glad I remembered to brush mine too.

When we pull away he smiles.

"Are we ready then?"

"After you," I say, holding the door and motioning with my hand.

Ez kisses me again, short but sweet, then he takes my hand and leads me downstairs to where Chaucer and Peso are waiting.