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Doc had been sitting in the saloon for a few hours now. He was originally playing poker with a few others but by now they had all said fuck it and left because Doc kept winning. The only people left were him and Wyatt, who had kindly offered to clean the bartender's whiskey glasses knowing Doc was going to be here until his lungs gave out. A comfortable silence sat between the two men interrupted by Doc’s dry coughs every now and again as the beat of horse hooves and men slowly started to fade from the outside streets. The moon shone high out above the saloon as the oil lamp attempted to compete for brightness, to no avail.
“Come on Doc,” Wyatt looked up at the poor ghost of a man who had been staring into his whiskey glass for the past fifteen minutes. Wyatt knew that even if Doc didn’t look at him, he was always listening. “Let’s get out of here, go to sleep while the moon is still in the sky.” He stared at Doc for a few minutes waiting for a response, but alas, the man did not move a muscle. Wyatt’s fingers stopped rubbing the small, groove covered glass, set it down with the rest of the crystal, and swung the dirty dish rag over his shoulder. He stood with his hands on his hips feigning annoyance, because though he would never admit it, Wyatt was more than happy to share this silence with Doc for the rest of his days, if it meant they could stay together until the end.
With not even a single movement from Doc, Wyatt knew he had to put a little more effort into making the man at least look at him. Slowly, Wyatt started to move out from behind the bar. As he passed the lunger, he finally felt his eyes on him, tracking his every move. Once Wyatt found the dusty wooden piano in the corner of the room, he sat down on the bench and rested his fingers on the smooth ivorys that lay before him. This very piano had seen every bar fight, every sleight of hand trick during poker, and everytime Wyatt had let his eyes rest on Doc for the slightest time too long after a few drinks shared by the both of them. This piano had felt the very touch of Doc’s heavy fingers, just grazing its surface. For that, he was grateful.
Wyatt took a deep breath and let the movement of his shoulders calm him from the watchful gaze of the younger man that sat facing his backside just a few feet away. Then, slowly, he started to play the first measures of Frederic Chopin’s Nocturne No. 8 in D-Flat Major. Before Wyatt’s family had moved to the San Bernardino Valley, their quaint home in the Midwest housed a piano in the room past the dining hall. Every once in a while, soft music would float from that room and around the house, through every crack it could squeeze itself into. The music seemed to brighten everything and everyone within listening distance. Wyatt’s mother was the only one who ever let that old wooden piano sing the same tune as the rugged piano in the bar sang at this very moment. This was the only song Wyatt had ever been taught on the piano.
As Wyatt continued through the piece, a sudden scraping of a wooden chair sounded behind him. He didn't even have to turn around to guess who was striding toward him in tiredness, the thought tickled a small smile onto his lips. The heavy footsteps of darkened boots made its way to Wyatt's backside and stood there for a moment as if planning its next move. Suddenly, a hand rested on Wyatt’s shoulder, surprising him a bit, but not allowing it to render a turn from him. He was determined to finish the piece, for he had not in years. The hand slowly started to snake its way down Wyatt’s collarbones and to his chest where it staked its claim. The body the hand was attached to followed it until it pressed its chest to Wyatt’s back, the outside of the older man's thighs pressing on the innards of Doc’s. The warmth of Doc’s body pressed against his while his arm held him in place almost had Wyatt melting with joy. He had waited for this for too damn long.
As the piece ended, Doc rested his heavy head on Wyatt’s shoulder, allowing his arm to drop to the man’s waist, and closed his eyes. Wyatt sat back and put his hands in his lap again as he stared at the wall ahead of him, happiness washed through him with satisfaction right on its tail. “That was absolutely beautiful.” Doc muttered, a lopsided smile dancing on his lips as a landscape of ease was painted with his body. Wyatt sighed a content sigh in response before settling a hand on top of Doc’s that lay in his lap. In his sleep deprived, happy state, Doc threw every inhibition to the moon and planted a kiss to Wyatt’s trapezius, where his neck and shoulder met, then his head found its way back to its new found home. The action, surprising Wyatt, made his entire body tense up with shock. Doc noticed this and immediately sat up, recoiling his hand back into his own lap and ended sat, staring at the back of Wyatt’s head with wide eyes.
The two sat here for a silent moment of panic from both parties. Thoughts raced through Doc’s head, worried if he had just ruined his years of friendship with one single, not-thought-through action. Blood pumped through Wyatt’s veins like a racehorse competing for first place. His head swam with confusion before settling on the idea that this was happening. This was happening.
Doc slowly started to inch himself quietly off the old bench but before he could even get an inch of space between the two men, Wyatt whipped his body around to face the doctor head on. Wyatt stared in passion and excitement while Doc stared back, confusion and nervousness mixing itself into a mess on the man’s face. For a brief few seconds, Wyatt’s wild eyes attempted to scan the lunger’s of any regret and when the search amounted to nothing, he decided the moon can house his inhibitions for tonight.
Wyatt pressed his lips into Doc’s while simultaneously bringing his hands up to touch his face. At this point the man was desperate to be as close as he possibly could to him, after having held back for what felt like years. Doc immediately caught on and kissed back, matching the fervor of Wyatt’s initial contact. His hands found their home on Wyatt’s hips, which were twisted awkwardly to be able to reach Doc while still staying on the small piano bench. His calloused hands squeezed with just the slightest amount of pressure to show his gratitude for Wyatt’s braveness. Wyatt gave the kiss a small smile at the gesture.
“All this time,” Wyatt mumbled against Doc’s lips, giving him one final kiss before pulling away completely, chuckling at the small sound of feigned sadness that escaped the doctor. Still slightly out of breath, the two men rested their foreheads against one another, eyes closed, lips smiling. Dust particles flitted around them almost in a dance of happiness that was reflected between the two. Somehow, everything in the entire world felt at peace in this very moment, it almost felt as if nothing could harm them. Doc would live a normal healthy life, Wyatt wouldn't be killed while in a gunfight, everything would be just fine.
Cutting into the peace like a knife into a Gooseberry cake, Doc lifted his head and sat back, eyes half-lidded staring down at Wyatt like he was his wife of thirty years. (Of which Wyatt did not complain.) “You still want to compete for sleep with the moon?” The man asked with a smile toying at his lips. Wyatt chuckled under his breath in response, “Can’t we just live here, forever?” The older man questioned back. In all honesty Wyatt truly did not want this night to end. “Ego amo te.” Doc responded as he swooped in to kiss the small frown off of Wyatt’s mouth.
At that, Wyatt took one of Doc’s hands that was still resting on his hips and clasped it with his own. He then turned back to the piano and stood up, keeping their hands locked the entire time. Doc watched as his new found lover walked around him and slightly pulled on his arm to bring him to his full height. As soon as Doc was standing, he pushed the bench back to its home under the piano and started to walk towards the door. Doc brought Wyatt’s hand up to his lips and kissed it gently before turning the oil lamp off and following him into the moonlight.