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In hindsight, Tuco really shouldn’t assume any gun pressed to the back of his head is Blondie’s. Especially given his history. It’s just been so easy to drift into an easygoing lifestyle of not checking behind his back every other minute.
They’ve been traveling together for at least a couple months now. Ever since that night, something’s snapped between the two of them. Dark evenings are spent drunk and pressed together, hands wandering, rutting against each other until they come with mutual groans, anything to get the other off as quickly as possible.
When morning rolls around, they’ve split apart already, bedrolls separated by the then-extinguished campfire. Going about their days in disregard for what happened the night before is the only way they can feign any kind of normalcy.
They’re still a powerful pair. With the two of them together, almost no one comes after Tuco’s too-high bounty. Those that dare try are drawn on by Blondie before Tuco can even raise his hands in surrender.
That’s why, hours after Blondie’s gone into town for supplies with a promise to return, Tuco presumes the metal pushed up against his skull is just payback for that first night they spent together.
“How original,” Tuco chides, turning to laugh at Blondie’s mimicry.
“Don’t move.”
The two words send a chill through his bones, immediately freezing Tuco in his movements. The voice that speaks them is low and far colder than Blondie’s infuriatingly constant unbothered tone. A shiver rolls down his back when the person standing behind him speaks again, “On your knees. Hands up.”
Tuco reluctantly moves from where he’d been sitting to kneel against the sand, slowly raising his arms high above his head. Strong hands roughly force them behind him, where they’re quickly tied together with coarse rope that cuts into his skin. Then another rope is looped around his ankles and knotted together so tightly he can’t dream of moving.
When Tuco’s completely bound, the person slowly walks in front of him, gun held between them in an all-too familiar way. It’s uglier here.
“So, we meet again, Tuco Ramirez,” he says.
“Do I know you?” Tuco blurts.
Sharp eyes pierce into him. The hand unoccupied with a gun rolls a pant leg up to reveal a criss-cross of scars up and down his calf that reach down into his boot. Tuco can’t help but ask, “How’d that happen?”
“You,” the response is icy, “Set that pack of feral dogs on me.”
“I did?”
“Yes,” he responds impatiently, “And now-”
“Why would I do that?”
The man frowns, “Because you robbed me and I chased after you with a gun.”
Tuco nods. That seems like something he would do.
“And now-”
“Oh shit,” Tuco realizes, “Was this over in El Paso?”
An eye twitch. “No.”
“Galisteo?”
Silence
“Oh, I see. Albuquerque, then.”
The man’s face hardens. His arm rears back and whips forward to slap him across the face with his revolver. The impact echoes through the small valley they’re in. Pain blooms across his cheekbone. When he shakes his head clear of the momentary fog, Tuco pulls himself together enough to indignantly spit blood at the man’s boots.
“Now I’m here for revenge. I saw your poster up in the Sheriff’s office. Worth a pretty penny, these days.”
It’s been a while since he’d run that scam with Blondie. They have more gold than either of them will ever need in a lifetime. Stashed somewhere other than in their horses’ saddlebags, just in case something like this happens. Clearly the law hadn’t given up on him just yet.
“Or I’ll just shoot you,” the bounty hunter continues, Jesus, is he really still talking? “Give you what you really deserve.”
“But you won’t,” Tuco babbles, “The money’s too good. I’m worth a lot.”
“Shut up! I oughta just-” he presses his gun against Tuco’s forehead in frustration, hard enough that it’ll leave an indent.
Tuco squeezes his eyes shut in panic. How shitty would it be if his head got blown through because some maniac can’t let go of the past?
A gunshot rings through the air.
Moments pass in silence. Tuco blinks his eyes open, squinting at the empty space before him. The bounty hunter’s no longer standing there. No, he’s sprawled out just inches in front of Tuco, a hole through his head and blood leaking onto the ground below, blank eyes staring into the heavens above.
It’s unnecessary to see who the culprit is, but Tuco looks around anyway. There, to his left. Blondie sits on his horse a few dozen feet away, cigarillo resting between his teeth, repeating rifle in hand, lowering now that he’s hit his target.
“Ay, Blondie!” he shouts, “Hurry up and get me outta these ropes!”
Blondie lazily urges his horse into a canter over to him. When he finally reaches him, Tuco rolls his eyes in exasperation, “C’mon, any day now.”
Green eyes rove over him, not-so-subtlety checking him for any injuries, lingering on his face before moving on. Their weight on him is heavy, unyielding. Tuco shuffles uncomfortably in his restraints. If Blondie’s sizing you up, he knows the only thing you can do is pray he thinks you’re worth less than his bullets.
Finally, he unmounts from his horse and comes to stand in front of Tuco. His eyes are no longer on him, instead they’re on the corpse laying there. It’s hard to see, but he thinks there’s a hint of fire in them, maybe even hatred. Like nothing he’s ever seen Blondie show before. A boot nudges the bounty hunter’s shoulder, almost disrespectfully, and flips him away over onto his stomach.
“Bastard,” he spits, then turns back to Tuco.
Heat runs through Tuco at the word. And alarm. A natural response, he thinks. If anybody else were to see Blondie’s expression right now, they’d surely piss themselves in fear.
“Yeah,” Tuco agrees, then nods down at his restraints, “Now how about it?”
A calculating stare.
“Think I prefer you like this,” Blondie says, slowly walking around until coming to a stop just behind him.
Tuco’s turning to face him, mouth open to reply a string of dirty insults, when something pushes against his back, roughly shoving him face-down against the ground. “Hey!” he protests, wiggling against his ropes.
The boot on top of his back retreats before it’s replaced with a hand. It slides up and pushes down on the nape of his neck, pressing his face deeper into the sand. All he can do is shift his head to the side so he doesn’t suffocate. Hot breath puffs against Tuco’s ear, “This time, I get my way with you.”
A shudder rolls down Tuco’s back. He’s suddenly glad he’s face-down, can’t even begin to imagine how smug Blondie would be if he saw how hard Tuco had just gotten with just a few words. It’s humiliating enough in this position, presenting like a dog in heat. There’s a brush of an erection against him before Blondie moves back.
Fingers teasingly trace over him, his legs, his hips, the button of his pants, suddenly popped open with the same deft fingers that drag his drawers and pants down past his knees, lifted momentarily, to gather at his ankles. Fuck, as if he wasn’t exposed like a common whore already. Like this, the sun shines hot and relentless against his hole.
The cigar from before drops onto the ground in the corner of his eye. Just laying there, still smoking, almost taunting him in its own freedom. It doesn’t occur to him what Blondie needs his mouth empty for until something wet and sticky drips down onto him. Oh, hell no.
“Blondie,” Tuco panics, “Don’t even think about it, I’m warning you.”
But it’s too late. Nothing changes the gunslinger’s mind once it’s made up. A finger circles his rim gently and pushes in, slick with saliva and nothing else. Short, quick breaths leave his lungs without being replaced with fresh air. Any attempt to calm down is no use, there’s a goddamned finger inside his asshole right now. If he’s cruel enough, it’ll soon be Blondie’s cock.
He’s not cruel about it, though. Blondie doesn’t thrust his trigger finger in roughly, just wiggles it around, almost experimentally. Once it’s completely buried inside Tuco, he nudges around, slowly curving knuckles against his walls. It’s not long before his middle finger is slipping inside next to the first.
Tuco’s breathing evens out. Calming isn’t the best way to describe Blondie, but the way he presses and scissors his fingers inside Tuco is almost reassuring. There’s no pain like he thought there’d be. But there’s no pleasure, either. And Tuco almost wishes that, if Blondie’s gonna use him like a bitch, he’d be able to get off, too.
That thought leaves his brain as soon as it had entered when a twitch of Blondie’s fingers sends a jolt through him. “Fuck,” he gasps, “What was that?”
No vocal response from Blondie. Only that his fingers prod insistently at where they poked before. Waves of pleasure crash through Tuco. He jerks with each press of fingers, dick steadily leaking a thin trail of precome onto the sand below. It’s so enjoyable, he doesn’t even feel the third finger go in.
It’s almost embarrassing how fast and willingly he opens up for Blondie. The stretch becomes easy enough for the drag to completely disappear. A bit more spit and Tuco thinks they can skip the fourth finger and go straight for five. Cheeks burn red with shame and arousal, heat spreading up to his ears and down his chest. He’ll blame it on the sun later, will definitely yell at Blondie for leaving him to sit here for so long. If he can even look him in the eye after this.
For now, he’ll settle for pushing his hips back against Blondie’s fingers as best he can in this position. The rope around his ankles makes it hard for him to do anything but spread his knees, and the position just arches his back and raises his ass.
Abruptly, the fingers in his ass withdraw. The sudden drop in stimulation makes Tuco gasp in surprise, his hole clenching around nothing. A hand comes up to grab at the side of Tuco’s hip. “Admit it,” Blondie says nonchalantly, “You just want someone to fuck you.”
Tuco’s head was already swirling before, but now Blondie’s not making any sense. “Huh?” he says eloquently.
“The way you looked at that scum. You would’ve offered yourself to him for your freedom.”
“To him?” Tuco’s lip curls at the thought. He knows he’s no looker, but the thought of the bounty hunter touching him fills him with disgust.
“Or would you have waited for me to save you again? Like always,” Blondie taunts.
Tuco may be tied up and at Blondie’s mercy, but he’s not incompetent. “Ha! Like I’d need your help. I would’ve killed him myse-”
A resounding smack cuts Tuco off. The sound is loud enough to echo around the opening they’re in. His right cheek stings with pain. Like Blondie had just spanked him.
“What the-”
Another slap, harder this time. This time, it’s enough to stun him into silence. “You need me,” Blondie growls, “In fact, you practically belong to me.”
And suddenly it all makes sense.
There’s no way Blondie’s jealous…right? He’s not the type. Especially not for someone like Tuco. But there’s no other way to explain it. His hatred for the bounty hunter, the way he’d looked Tuco over for any injuries once he’d saved him. The fact that he keeps saving him, after everything.
Why not test him? A smirk grows over Tuco’s face and he’s giggling like a little kid on the inside. “You know, the way you treat me, Blondie, I would’ve been better off joining him,” he starts, “He’d probably fuck me better than you could.”
It’s quiet behind him. There’s a brief moment where Tuco’s scared that maybe he pissed Blondie off to the point of no return. Then something presses up against him, and it’s thicker than the fingers he’s come to know. It’s the only warning Blondie gives him before he’s sliding inside with a stifled groan.
If he thought the fingers were a lot, they’re nothing compared to Blondie’s girth inside him. The glide is wet, smoothed with what must be more of his saliva. Time to accommodate isn’t gifted to him, though. Once Blondie’s fully sheathed inside him, he pulls back until only the head’s still inside, then slowly pushes back in, lowly moaning.
Adjusting to the intrusion comes easily enough, at least. Blondie thrusts shallowly into him, slow and gentle. It’s not until Tuco pushes back against each thrust that he finally gets the hint to move faster.
Tuco’s eyes roll back in pleasure. Finally. He can’t believe he’d been scared before. The shove of Blondie’s cock inside him is so good. His dick weeps gratefully with his soul, dripping down like it had before, begging to be touched. If only he could. The restraints on him feel like they’ve tightened since they were tied.
Something pulls him back, Blondie yanking on the rope around his wrists, so his back’s pressed up against his chest. A breath in his ear, “This good enough for you?”
Blondie’s never sounded so cocky before. Not that Tuco’s never seen him act it, he just usually doesn’t let any emotion slip into his tone like it had just now. The facade he’s putting up must be enough to get to the other man, Tuco thinks gleefully. Just a little bit more.
“Is that as hard as you can go?” He teases, as calmly as he can with a dick thrusting into him, forcing himself to breathe steadily so as to not let his voice break.
A growl rumbles from Blondie’s throat, as if Tuco wasn’t turned on enough already, and he knows the man’s snapped. The hand holding his rope lets go and he’s gasping, free-falling, wind rushing against his face. Then there’s a hand around his neck, fingers squeezing just so against the tendons on the side and palm keeping him steady against the torso behind him.
If Tuco thought the pace was fine before, it’s nothing compared to how Blondie speeds up, fucking him without abandon. Something about the new position, too. Pressed tight together, heavy pants in his ear, cock relentlessly pushed up against that spot with each thrust.
Tuco goes completely boneless with pleasure, head dropping back against Blondie’s shoulder. Neither of them can badger the other anymore, too focused on chasing completion, so addictingly different than what they’ve been doing all these nights.
“Fuck, Tuco,” Blondie groans, and the use of his name is enough punch arousal through Tuco’s gut, so rarely spoken by him, “You’re mine. Only mine.”
And what can he do besides nod? Short, jerky bobs of his head as best he can, laid back against Blondie. There’s no competition anymore, he can only agree. Blondie’s free hand moves from where he’d been gripping Tuco’s hip, grabs onto his dick instead, and jacks him off with quick movements.
A tongue presses against his neck, licking a trail of sweat just to the side of Blondie’s fingers, down, down to the junction where it connects to his shoulder, and Blondie drawls, “Say it. Say you’re mine,” before biting down.
Tuco comes. “Fuck- yours, I’m all yours!” he whines, clenching down on Blondie’s cock, spit dripping out of his mouth and down to his chin. Come splatters up and everywhere, his chest, the hand still gripped tight around him, down onto the sand below.
Blondie lets out a small gasp at the words, as if he hadn’t actually expected Tuco to say them, and he pounds harder into him, abusing his prostate just beyond its limit, grasps slightly harder around his neck, and then stills as he buries himself deep inside Tuco and comes with a loud moan into his ear.
The downtime is short. Tuco wants them to ride out their release together, but it’s getting hard to breathe and his vision’s going blurry at the edges. He wiggles his fingers and taps rapidly against Blondie’s thigh, hoping he gets the message.
He does, thankfully. Unfortunately, the response comes in the form of letting Tuco go so he drops face-first onto the ground. He splutters indignantly, spitting sand out of his mouth, “God, thanks. I give you the best fuck of your life and this is what I get in return? Shit deal.”
A chuckle from behind him. Then, the familiar sound of knife against rope and his feet are free, then his wrists. Tuco pushes himself up so he can twist around and sit on his ass, still sore and stinging from before. Leaking, too. Reaching around to touch himself confirms that Blondie did, in fact, come inside him.
“You pig!” he turns around to stare at Blondie, now squatting beside him. He’s getting ready to curse at him some more when a hand on his cheek stops him.
Tuco’s mouth slams shut in surprise. It’s unlike Blondie to look at him so softly, let alone touch him without wanting to leave marks. The palm of his hand cups Tuco’s jaw and a thumb comes up to rub at the bruise on his cheekbone.
“I should’ve been there,” Blondie mutters.
Tuco scoffs, “You’re just upset someone else would’ve gotten my money.”
Blondie looks away, hand leaving Tuco’s face to fidget with his poncho, “I mean it. We’re partners.”
He slips the poncho off and offers it up to Tuco. A blank stare is all he gets in return. Nodding down, he pushes it closer to him, “To clean up.”
“Oh,” Tuco takes the poncho from his hands, “Thanks, I guess.”
Silence stretches between them. The air between them is still. Yet, somehow, it’s still all they could want. The sun sets before them, casting an orange-pink hue over the valley.
“Would you set up for the night while I do this?” Tuco asks awkwardly, fidgeting with the poncho like Blondie had done before.
Blondie simply nods and moves to where their horses have gathered. His back never turns to Tuco, though, keeps an eye on him the whole time. Tuco sighs and turns around to clean up.
When he’s finished, he turns back to where Blondie’s set up the camp. A somewhat familiar scene greets him. Fire crackles peacefully in the center, warming the area, which is now corpse-free. Blondie sits on his bedroll, whiskey in hand. The only difference is Tuco’s own bedroll, usually placed across the campfire. This time, it’s sat right beside Blondie’s.
Tuco raises an eyebrow at Blondie, who unflinchingly meets his eye and drinks from the bottle. A challenge, then.
Never one to back down, Tuco sits next to Blondie and grabs the bottle from his hand. He raises it in acknowledgement and takes a sip.
Hours after the sun completely dips below the horizon, Tuco’s eyes drift closed, breathing evening out to match the rise and fall of Blondie’s chest. He’s had softer pillows before, but this one will do just fine.