Sequel to: Recovery

Buck Wilmington threw the pillow across Ezra's living room in a fit of frustration. It was no use. With a snort of disgust he sat up. It simply wasn't possible to get comfortable on that overpriced art decoration pretending to be a couch. It was too short to stretch out on, too narrow to curl up on, and too clean and too hard for him to relax on. He much preferred his own old, stained, broken down and broken in couch. Sure Ezra might make fun of it, but at least a man could sleep on it without being some kind of masochistic contortionist. Actually even better than his own couch was his own big, soft bed. He could do all kinds of things in it. Buck grinned wolfishly.

So why then, he asked himself, had he stayed here all night? He could easily have gone home after pouring a very drunk Ezra into bed. Buck sighed and ran long fingers through thick hair. He already knew the answer. He hadn't wanted to leave. His sleeplessness could only partially be blamed on that torturous couch. He, Buck Wilmington, self-professed ladies man had spent the entire night wrestling with the kind of thoughts he'd never planned to admit to having.

There had been a few men before now. In college, but really, didn't everyone experiment in college? Hell, it was even a cliche. But none of those quick and reckless encounters had come close to the sweet torment of the thoughts that had plagued him last night. Vague memories stirred. Recollections of sweat and sex, laughter and wild times swam to the forefront of his mind. But those moments had all been about discovering the taste and feel of another man, quick release, and exploration. This...whatever it was with Ezra was somehow different. That much he knew at least.

Buck sighed. It would probably be best if he checked on Ezra while he was still asleep and then just left. He started to get up and then paused cocking his head in the direction of Ezra's bedroom. He heard noise. Yep, no doubt about it, Ezra was already awake in there. Well, he couldn't just leave then could he? No. No he couldn't do that. That would be rude, and the whole team knew how much Ezra hated rudeness. Besides the man had to have the mother of all hangovers. What if he needed someone to help take care of him because it wasn't like Ezra would ever ask for the help? And...Before Buck could finish his now hopelessly lost train of thought, he turned to see a freshly showered, shaved, and incredibly hung over Ezra Standish exit the bedroom.

Buck grinned. Leave it to Ezra to put personal appearance before anything else. He knew that Ezra had to feel truly awful, but there Ezra stood looking ready to model for the pages of GQ or something like always and without even a blink of surprise to see Buck standing in the middle of his living room. Dark shadows under his eyes and a hand lightly massaging his temple were the only clues to how Ezra must really be feeling. Buck wondered just how many times the undercover agent had pulled this particular con off.

"Something amuses you Mr. Wilmington?"

Buck's grin just widened. Ezra could be a bear on a good morning, on a bad one it was generally considered safest to run and hide whenever he was seen to approach. Even Chris, not that Chris would ever admit it, waited until after the noon hour to talk to the southerner. Buck however really did find grumpy Ezra amusing and this morning, for some inexplicable reason, downright cute. God, wouldn't Ezra hate that?

"Just didn't expect to see you up so early is all Ez. It's only eight. Don't you usually sleep 'til noon on a Sunday? Hell, on a Monday too. And that's when you didn't drink the night before," Buck answered at last.

"Yes, well Morpheus seems intent upon eluding me today. It would also seem that I find myself entirely without that wondrous substance known as aspirin. I'm afraid I'll shall be forced to abscond my domicile long enough to retrieve some more."

"There's some on your coffee table."

"Mr. Jackson is simply unable to stop himself I see," Ezra said as he headed towards his coffee table to claim those wonderful little white pills that promised to relieve some of the pounding in his head. Now if he could just do something about the rolling in his stomach he might even feel human again.

Ezra sank down on his couch and picked up the bottle doing his best to ignore the way his body screamed at him every time he moved. Good Lord his head hurt. It was one of those headaches that started in his neck and ran all the way across his skull to rest behind his eyes. Pain throbbed through his entire head with every pulse of his heart. Maybe his skull should just go ahead and explode already. That at least would end his current state of misery.

He looked down. He'd poured six pills into his hand. That sounded about right. Water. He was going to need water for this. Okay, he could do that. He just needed to get up and get it. Ezra willed his body to move. His body wasn't willing.

"Here ya go Ez."

Ezra, through some miracle he'd reason out later, turned his head. Buck silently handed him a glass of water which he gratefully accepted. He gulped down the pills and the water being careful to move his head as little as possible as he did so. Sighing he carefully leaned his head back and closed his eyes. After a moment he felt Buck sit down beside him.

Buck watched as Ezra rubbed the back of his neck for what had to be the fifth time. His head must really be killing him if he couldn't resist the temptation to try and soothe the pain away while Buck sat there watching. Normally the undercover agent refused to show any sign of 'weakness' while others were watching, even if the others were friends.

Buck had never met anyone so determined to keep such emotional and physical distance from the rest of the world. It was such a part of Buck's nature to pull people close, to revel in the simple comfort of another's touch, that Ezra's need for distance was almost incomprehensible to him. It made the man before him a mystery, a mystery Buck was slowly becoming determined to solve. And, as everyone who knew Buck had learned, once Buck made up his mind to do something, he never, ever gave up. Buck reached over and removed Ezra's hand from the smaller man's neck and replaced it with his own.

"Buck, what are you doing?" Ezra drawled slowly the surprise evident in his voice.

"Oh, relax Ezra. I ain't gonna impugn your virtue or nuthin'." 'Not that it hasn't occurred to me,' Buck added silently.

'Impugn? Good Lord did Buck Wilmington really just say impugn? Never mind how he used it. Impugn.' Ezra wasn't sure he'd woken up in the correct universe. He found himself relaxing into the hands that caressed his sore muscles in spite of himself however.

Skilled fingers moved in a circular motion at the base of his neck. The pressure caused a burning, grateful pain to spread through his neck. The fingers moved to his shoulders kneading the flesh there, lifting it and releasing to soothe tired and tense muscles. The magic hands moved again pressing lightly on the sides of his spine and then working their way back up in tight circles. Palms slid down his shoulder blades in a smooth, sliding motion working out the last of the stiffness in his back.

Ezra leaned forward and away from those expert hands. It was starting to feel a little too good, and he had learned at a very young age that it was never good to be too relaxed around anyone. Sooner or later you would regret letting your guard down because sooner or later they would come back and use your vulnerability to hurt you. It was simply the way the world worked. He blinked, surprised to find that his head did indeed hurt a little less than it had.

"All that medicine on an empty stomach is just going to make you sicker."

Ezra's stomach, which had been content to simply roll around, began doing full somersaults at Buck's words. "I'm afraid, Mr. Wilmington, that food is out of the question. Should you wish it, there is coffee in the kitchen."

Buck reluctantly shook his head no. He wanted to stay, but the feel of Ezra under his fingers was stirring up emotions he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with yet. "I had best get goin' anyway. You feeling okay and everything?" He rose to walk to the door, and Ezra mirrored his actions.

"I assure you that I am quite capable of taking care of myself and that your concern is appreciated but most unnecessary Mr. Mynameisbuck." Ezra flashed that patented devil on your left shoulder angel on your right grin of his, and Buck's breath caught. What was it Marilyn Monroe once said? That 'what the hell' was never the wrong answer?

"Self analysis never was my strong suit anyway," Buck mumbled and, before Ezra had even had time to raise his eyebrows, Buck grabbed the smaller man and laid claim to his mouth. Ezra's mouth had opened in shock, and Buck took merciless advantage. He plundered the sweetness inside with his tongue tasting as much of Ezra as he could. With one hand, he cupped the back of Ezra's head and the other he snaked across the southerner's back and pulled Ezra closer to him. He felt Ezra suddenly tense up and unwillingly released the other man's mouth.

"Mr. Wilming... Buck...What? I..." Buck grinned in spite of the situation. A speechless Ezra Standish. Who would ever have taken the odds on that happening? Probably not even Ezra himself. Buck tried not to be too wildly pleased with himself for accomplishing the impossible and failed miserably. "Whatever are you doing?" Ezra finally managed to spit out.

Buck lightly traced the other man's jaw with his finger. "Kissing you," he whispered and bent down to savor the feel of Ezra's perfect mouth once more. The kiss was soft this time, the lightest of caresses before he released the undercover agent. Ezra stood there and gaped at him in complete shock. "Rest up Ez. I'll see ya on Monday." And with that, Buck turned and let himself out leaving a speechless Ezra behind him.

Buck leaned against the outside of Ezra's door and thudded his head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What the hell had he been thinking? Ezra was probably never going to speak to him again. Thud. When it came to emotion, the man scared easier than a jackrabbit and everybody knew it. Thud. The others would certainly notice and want to know why. Thud. Chris was gonna kill him. Thud and thud again just for good measure. Oh, and then there was that whole heterosexuality habit he'd been so fond of until yesterday. Thud. He didn't have anything else to beat himself up for, but kept banging his head anyway. It was comforting after awhile. He barely caught himself in time to keep from falling headfirst into Ezra's condo when the door opened.

"If you're that desperate for a headache, you're more than welcome to mine," Ezra drawled. Buck stared into those impossibly green eyes, finding that this time, he was the one who couldn't speak. "Or you could come in for that breakfast you mentioned."

Buck's grin split his face. "Think I might like that Ez. Think I'd like that a lot." Buck walked back in and shut the door behind him, leaving the world out, and he and Ezra inside.