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John Marston came to Mexico with one goal: to find Javier Escuella, drag him out of whatever crumbling hacienda he was hiding in, and toss his sorry ass straight into the Pinkertons’ waiting arms.
He did not plan on waking up naked.
And not just naked, but clean. Skin scrubbed, blood gone, beard trimmed. He smells like fucking cinnamon.
He sits up with a groan, hands braced on what looks like red velvet carpet. No windows. No weapons. No dust, even. The walls are… padded? The lighting is soft and pinkish, casting everything in a warm, lurid glow.
This is Hell. It has to be.
Then he hears it: a sharp exhale. Someone clearing their throat.
John turns his head and sees him.
Javier Escuella is sprawled against the far wall, equally naked, equally clean, and looking equally pissed. “Qué carajo…?!” Javier mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”
John’s already halfway across the room. “What the fuck is this?!”
Javier stands, hands up, instantly combative. “You think I planned this? I was hiding in a cave, you asshole. Next thing I know, I’m here. With you. And your ugly-ass scowl.”
John stops just short of grabbing him by the shoulders. “You mean to tell me you don’t remember knockin’ me out cold and draggin’ me to some—some fuck dungeon?!”
Javier scowls. “You’re flatterin’ yourself, cabrón.”
They glare at each other. Javier’s chest rises with quick, agitated breaths. John’s fists clench.Their eyes snap to the only visible door as it makes a faint ding noise.
A paper flutters down from a slit in the top.
John grabs it.
“Dear Mr. John Marston and Javier Escuella,
You may not believe this, but I am a being from an alternate universe who's been transported to yours. For reasons I will not disclose for the sake of avoiding an existential crisis, I need you to have raw, rough sex.
Room will unlock upon my satisfaction. Don’t disappoint me. :)”
There’s a pause. The paper crinkles in John’s grip as he stares at it, unreadable.
“…What the fuck?” he mutters.
Javier leans over to read it. His face twists. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish.”
They both whip around and start checking the walls. No hidden seams, no vents, nothing. The floor is soft and padded. Everything reeks of roses and some kind of vanilla body spray. There’s a bed, big, plush, centered, a mirror above it, a shelf against one wall with… props?
John marches over and picks something up.“…What the hell is this? Some kind of collar?”
Javier squints. “That’s for choking, I think. And that…don’t touch that, you don’t want to know where that goes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Javier opens a drawer. “Ropes. Fuckin’ handcuffs. A…what is this, a plug?!”
John stares at it. “It’s glass. That’s… medical, right?”
“You wanna try it and find out?”
They stare at each other again, this time with less fury and more pure disbelief.
“Okay,” John says slowly. “Okay. So… we try the door.”
It doesn’t budge. No handle. No lock. Just smooth red velvet all the way around.
John slams his fist against it. “HEY! LET US OUT, YOU GODDAMN…! Fucking pervert alien!! You hear me?! We ain’t doin’ SHIT!”
Nothing.
They try yelling and kicking, pushing furniture around, even searching the bed for trapdoors. No dice.
Eventually they sit, breathing hard, sweat starting to bead on their bodies, because yeah, it’s hot in here. Not just sexually confusing. Literally warm.
“…This is like one of those wet dreams folk in the desert sufferin’ from fever used to have,” John mutters, wiping his brow.
Javier grunts. “Only with more mirrors.”
John doesn’t answer right away. He’s looking at Javier again, properly, now.
All this time, all that hate, and the bastard still looks good. Lean and strong. Black hair curling just above his shoulders, build fuller than it used to be, scars on his collarbone that John remembers biting once. His dick’s just lying there, soft but thick. It’d be easier if he didn’t remember exactly how it looked when it wasn’t soft.
He hates that it still does something to him.
Javier notices and his lip curls. “Don’t even think about it, cabrón.”
“You wish,” John snaps, eyes darting away.
The room dings again. This time, the mirror above the bed lights up.
“Just a reminder! Satisfaction level: 0%. You’ve barely touched each other. Very disappointing.”
“…Oh hell no.” John’s hand flies to his holster, except, of course, it isn’t there. “I swear, I’m gonna kill whoever’s watchin’ this.”
Javier sits back, arms crossed. “So what’s your plan, vaquero? Wait here till we die? Or bend over and get it over with?”
“…You volunteering to take it?”
“You couldn’t handle me.”
“You cried last time I fucked you!”
“I was drunk and hormonal, pendejo!”
They’re nose to nose again, breathing fast, angry, remembering. The air between them is electric.
John’s voice drops. “You’re not seriously thinkin’ about it.”
Javier shrugs, jaw tight. “I don’t know. Maybe. You always liked it rough.”
John’s dick twitches. So does Javier’s.
They both notice.
The room dings again.
“Satisfaction level: 5%. That’s more like it.”
The silence is unbearable.
The kind that presses in on both sides of your skull, thick and hot, like waiting for a gun to go off. John paces like a caged animal, jaw tight, fists clenched, still naked and still trying not to look at Javier’s stupid, smug, annoyingly fine body in the corner.
Javier sits on the edge of the bed, legs apart, elbows on his knees, watching John like a man watching a powder keg spark. Calm. Amused. Dangerous.
“You keep makin’ that face,” Javier says eventually, “you’re gonna get stuck that way.”
“You keep talkin’, I will make sure you get stuck somewhere worse.”
Javier rolls his eyes. “Real clever. No wonder Dutch liked you so much, he always liked the dumb ones for his stupid little cult.”
John rounds on him. “And you’re the one to talk? Coward, traitor, little bitch hiding in Mexico with your thumb up your ass and your name scratched off every wanted poster north of the border—”
“You don’t know shit about what happened.”
“I know enough.”
Javier stands suddenly and John doesn’t step back.
“Go on then,” Javier says, stepping into his space. “Tell me what you know. Tell me I ran. Tell me I let you and Arthur down. Look me in the eye and lie about how you didn’t do the same damn thing.”
“You don’t get to talk about what I did,” John snaps. “You chose Dutch. You also ran off. You never looked back.”
“I looked back, cabrón. I just didn’t see anyone worth dying for anymore.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
John shoves him. Javier shoves back.
The room dings. Neither of them notice.
They’re chest to chest now, hot breath between them, bodies flushed from more than just the heat in the room. Muscles tense. Hands twitching.
John’s voice is low, growling. “You ever think about it? All that time in that little shack behind camp? When you used to ride me until I couldn’t think straight?”
Javier’s mouth twitches, lips parted. “You mean before you left Arthur bleeding in the dirt?”
John flinches. It’s so fast it’s almost invisible, but Javier sees it.
“Go ahead,” Javier murmurs, eyes locked on his mouth now. “Tell me I didn’t mean anything, tell me you didn’t mean it when you said you loved me.”
“Fuck off,” John breathes, but it comes out weak. Like he’s choking on it.
Then he moves. It’s sudden and violent, John grabbing Javier by the jaw, shoving him back into the nearest wall, slamming their mouths together so hard their teeth knock.
Javier grunts against him but doesn’t stop it, doesn’t fight it, just opens up, groaning into John’s mouth, tongue sliding rough and messy against his like they’re trying to bite more than kiss.
It’s desperate, unpracticed, uncoordinated, like two wild animals figuring out how to fuck again after too long in separate cages.
John grips Javier’s sides hard, pulling him closer, and then his hands slide up—too fast—and his nails rake down Javier’s back.
“Fuck!” Javier hisses, flinching.
John freezes. “Shit. Shit, I—”
“No, it’s fine,” Javier growls, panting against his lips. “Muscle memory, huh?”
John scowls. “Fuck off.”
But his voice is hoarse, his hand stays right there, splayed across Javier’s ribs.
They stare at each other, close enough to feel every heartbeat. Javier’s lips are red and wet. John’s pupils blown wide.
The room dings again.
“Satisfaction level: 20%. Now we’re talkin’.”
Neither of them say a word, and when John’s hand slides down to Javier’s ass, Javier doesn’t complain.
Javier yelps as his back suddenly hits the mattress with a bounce, arms spread, lips bitten red. He half-smirks like he’s won something, like John slamming him down is some kind of concession.
It’s not.
John follows, looming over him, shoulders taut and jaw clenched. “Don’t move,” he growls, voice low and ragged.
Javier’s eyes flash with something wicked. “Or what?”
John reaches back and grabs a fistful of Javier’s dark curls, yanking his head back enough to expose the line of his throat. Javier moans, low and throaty, and John’s voice drops to something dark and final.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”
The smugness fades, replaced with a throb of heat and anticipation. Javier stays still.
Good.
John doesn’t kiss him again, he just presses his weight between Javier’s legs, not grinding, not yet. Hands wandering, slow and deliberate now, until they settle on Javier’s face, thumb brushing his lip, just for a moment…Then he slides two fingers between Javier’s lips.
Javier makes a muffled, startled sound, but opens up around them. Warm, wet and obedient for once. His tongue flicks against the pads. John watches him, expression unreadable.
“Still got a good mouth on you,” John murmurs. “Least that hasn’t changed.”
Javier glares up at him but sucks slow and deliberate. His hands twitch against the mattress, like he wants to grab John's hips and drag him down. But he doesn’t move.
“Good boy.”
John’s fingers pull back, slick with spit. Javier breathes hard, watching John’s hand trail down—not to him, but to John’s own entrance.
He stills. “…Wait,” Javier mutters, throat dry. “What the hell’re you—”
But John’s already there, sitting up on his knees, braced over Javier’s thighs, spreading his own with practiced ease. He reaches behind himself with those same wet fingers and presses in, slow but determined.
Javier’s eyes go wide. “You--you’re gonna ride me?”
John doesn’t answer at first. His brows are furrowed, face tight with effort as he starts stretching himself out, fingers working slick circles just beneath his tailbone. It’s not exactly graceful, more like stubborn.
Javier watches, stunned, dick twitching helplessly hard between them.
“Y’think I was gonna let you top me in a room you didn’t even pay rent for?” John growls, breath hitching as he adds a second finger. “Ain’t happenin’.”
“You—fuck—since when do you do this?” Javier’s voice cracks.
John finally looks at him. Sweat beads on his brow, and there's a wildness in his eyes that sends heat down Javier’s spine.
“Since I started thinkin’ about how good it’d feel to use you for once.”
Javier’s breath punches out of him.
John pulls his fingers free with a low grunt and shifts forward, grabbing Javier’s cock, already flushed, hard and leaking, and aligning himself without ceremony.
Javier braces himself, hands fisting the sheets, barely breathing as John lowers himself slow, careful, a grimace etched across his face as the blunt head of Javier’s cock breaches him.
Both of them groan—deep and low. John's thighs tremble with restraint, but he doesn’t stop until he’s seated fully, his ass resting against Javier’s hips, breath shaking.
“Mierda,” Javier gasps, wide-eyed. “You’re—so tight. Fuck.”
John leans over him, braced on one arm, his free hand gripping Javier’s throat, not choking, not yet, but firm. “I told you not to move,” he pants, hips shifting just slightly to grind down. “So you’re gonna stay right there while I fuck myself stupid on your cock.”
Javier can’t speak. Just nods.
John doesn’t ease into it—once he's fully seated, stretched to the edge of burning, hands braced against Javier’s chest, he starts moving—no, pouncing--, not with grace, but with purpose, like he’s trying to force every last drop of anger and betrayal and lust out of his body, straight through the way Javier stretches him open.
He rides him hard, no rhythm at first, just grinding down with furious, broken gasps, hips slapping wet and loud against Javier’s thighs. His fingers dig into Javier’s chest, scraping through chest hair, anchoring himself like he needs something to hurt.
Javier’s head tips back, mouth open, a choked-off groan ripping free from his throat. “Fuck—Hnghaah…!~ John—!!”
“Shut the fuck up,” John pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Don’t even talk.”
Javier doesn’t, and not because he’s being obedient. Because he can’t. He’s a fucking mess.
Every time John bounces down, it knocks the breath from his lungs. His hands clutch the sheets, white-knuckled, trying not to move like he was told. But his hips twitch up anyway—tiny, helpless bucks. His cock’s buried deep and John is taking it like a fucking threat.
“Goddamn--!!” John’s voice is hoarse, cracking. “Why the hell do you still feel this good?”
Javier shudders. “You think I don’t—Hnghh…! Don’t dream about this? Even now? Even when I hate you?”
John snarls, teeth bared, and slaps his palm against Javier’s cheek, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to shock. Then he leans down and bites his shoulder, hard, not playfully, like he’s trying to leave something behind.
Javier arches under him with a sharp cry. “¡Coño! John—!”
“You still like that, huh?” John growls in his ear. “Still like it when I break you?”
He straightens back up, thighs burning, and starts riding again, faster now, rough enough that the mirror above them starts to shake in its frame. Every bounce punches a desperate moan out of one of them—most of the time both.
John’s cock is leaking against his own belly, untouched, twitching every time Javier grinds up into that spot that makes him see stars. He’s close and he knows it, but he refuses to stop. “You gonna come first?” he taunts, breath ragged. “That what you want? Me milkin’ your cock like a fuckin’ prize stud?”
Javier bucks up, eyes wild. “Keep—Ahhn…!~ Keep talkin’ like that and I will!”
John’s pace falters just for a second, because he’s feeling it too. The heat in his belly winding tighter, the pressure building behind his spine. His head drops back, a guttural sound tearing loose from his throat.
They’re both soaked in sweat now, bodies slick, hair stuck to skin. Javier’s got red marks all over his chest, scratches, bites, bruises. His hands finally snap, flying up to grip John’s hips hard.
John doesn’t stop him.
Can’t.
Because he’s about to—
“Javi—!!”
“John,” Javier groans, voice wrecked, “come on, baby—ride me, that’s good…!”
That’s it.
John snaps his hips down one last time and cries out, head thrown back, cock pulsing between them as he comes, hard, spilling across his stomach in hot, messy stripes.
His thighs shake and he’s gasping, almost sobbing from the intensity, but he doesn’t stop.
He grits his teeth and keeps going, even as his hole flutters from the aftershocks. Even as Javier curses in Spanish under his breath, his hands digging in—
And then Javier comes, suddenly and violently, jerking up with a stuttering growl, grinding deep and spilling inside him. Heat floods John’s guts, and he groans again, quieter now, his whole body shivering.
Silence falls, broken only by their panting.
John collapses forward, catching himself on trembling arms above Javier’s chest, the sweat of their bodies sticking them together.
He doesn’t say anything.
Neither does Javier.
The mirror above them flashes bright.
“Satisfaction level: 100%.
Door unlocking in 3… 2… 1…”
A soft click sounds from across the room.
Neither of them move.
Javier finally speaks, voice hoarse. “You gonna tell me this didn’t mean anything, too?”
John presses his forehead to Javier’s collarbone.
“…Fuck.”