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Sunlight, Sun bright
She almost gasped out loud at the picture she was presented with.
They stood close together; in fact, so close that not a piece of paper would have fit between their bodies. The taller man sat on the edge of the sturdy wooden table, a bit slouched down, incredibly relaxed and, for once, not on guard. His blond hair shone like a beacon in the bright rays of sun falling through the window. His companion was standing directly in front of him, between his slightly spread legs. The smaller man wore a red coat, the color even more vibrant in the patch of sunlight around the table. The red also made an interesting contrast to the somber black attire of his partner. One of the men appeared to perpetually be enclosed in darkness, a part of the shadows of the room save his hair, the other as conspicuous as a robin. In the in-falling light, his brown hair shone with auburn highlights, his eyes lightened up to a startling green. Dust motes glittered in the air near the window like specks of molten gold.
This image alone was radiant enough, would have been more than sufficient to cause anyone to stop in mid-stride, to pause and look in wonder, just for a moment. A heartbeat of incomparable beauty, a living work of art. Jewels -- ruby, sapphire -- and gold. But it wasn't the overall picture that made her draw in a sharp breath, the beauty of the sight inevitably lost upon her.
It was the impression of the shorter man's hands buried in his friend's shining blond hair, knotted in the sunny strands. The hair was long enough to completely hide the high forehead and tumbled halfway into the man's eyes, bright, beautiful, like a part of the sun itself. But as much as the hair obscured his features, showing just the proud line of eyebrows, nose and cheekbones, something else, pressed against his face, hid even more. The other man was kissing him, long, involved, deeply, all the while fisting the golden hair, using it to pull his lover even closer. Soft wet sounds floated on the warm breeze coming through the open window; sounds of kissing. Mouths devouring, lips drinking the other in. Tongues touching, throats moving. Lost in passion, oblivious.
She swallowed dryly, standing frozen in the open door. The dark-clad man's hands had also found purchase, now slowly slipping down his partner's back, coming to rest on his buttocks. Drawing him nearer. Rhythmically kneading the firm flesh. And while she couldn't see it from where she was standing, the men's reactions made it apparent enough that they were both aroused heavily, bumping and grinding against each other now, moaning low, clutching even harder. Shining hair and muscular backside; hands on scratchy red wool warmed by the sun, fingers entwined in sun-warmed, sun-bleached strands. Bodies straining closer, closer, closer, soft words now heard, words of passion, of love -- words she'd never have imagined to come from either man's lips...
She pressed her hand to her mouth and fled, oblivious to the beauty highlighted in the rectangle of light around the table in her son's room above the Standish Tavern. Her darling son and, of all people, Chris Larabee. Maude should have known. Summer had never been her favorite time of the year. Too hot, too... well, hot. Undignified.
"The Magnificent Seven" (TV series) ficlet by allaire mikháil, OW, 563 words, Chris/Ezra, other POV, rated PG-13
Inspired by a) Michael Biehn's hair, b) the 5th season finale kiss in "Oz" and c) summer.
Read-through by Lumina~ and declared fit to make it on its own -- thank you, honey! <g>
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