Work Text:
Amidst the monotonous desert landscape with sprawling sand dunes, occasionally interrupted by the sight of cacti and rocks bleached by the sun's rays, obscured by the darkness of the night, illuminated only by the faint glow of stars, at the foot of one of the enormous rocks, five men sleep in a makeshift camp, surrounded by the warmth emanating from a small, smoldering fire.
The quiet sounds of the sleeping desert are interrupted by the shallow, steady breathing of the four criminals. At one point, Lucky Luke joins them, so exhausted that he doesn't even realize when he drifts off falls into a heavy, deep, and restless sleep, unusual for him, especially in the presence of others.
Cowboy hadn't slept in days, and it was taking its toll on his health, making him more distracted, absent-minded, and, above all, tired, with strange thoughts and images forming in his head.
Joe wakes up from a light, alert sleep in the middle of the night. He hates it. It's bad enough that he has trouble falling asleep; he doesn't need to have further sleep-related problems, and on top of that, it will make him unbearable in the morning. However, staying awake while sleeping is a useful skill when someone unwelcome tries to sneak in.
At first, he doesn't know why his body decides to shake him from his state of blissful unconsciousness. Joe, slightly groggy from the haze of sleep, looks around but sees no living soul beyond the five of them, nor any other threat.
He hears soft moans, groans, and the rustle of a body shifting, wrapped in a blanket. Instinctively, he glances at his brothers, wanting to check if any of them are having a nightmare and need comfort or a hug. He usually does this; it comes naturally to him when one of them needs uplifting, reassurance, or closeness after waking up from disturbing, dark visions from the darkest corners of their minds.
However, the three younger Daltons are snoring soundly, fully immersed in their dream fantasies, with quiet whistles of air and regular rises of their chests.
Joe shifts his gaze a little higher, and his eyes, squinting from the late hour and fatigue, see a groaning figure partially illuminated by the glow of the dying fire. The cause of his awakening.
"Cowboy must be having a really bad dream if he's acting so restless… maybe I should try to calm him down somehow?" Joe shakes his head, dismissing the strange twinge in his chest and the absurd thought on sight of seeing Luke like this. "What's wrong with me!? What am I even thinking!? Ugh…! Would that clown shut up and leave me alone to sleep!" With a weary sigh, he lies down, intending to go back to sleep, hoping that the man disturbing his sleep would finally calm down.
The outlaw listens to the whispering gusts of the cool night wind and the steady hiss of his brothers' breathing. He gazes at the starry sky, seeking solace and much-needed rest, but his weary mind keeps returning to the helplessly, squirming and moaning softly cowboy.
Joe rubs his face with his hands, unable to sleep again. "This jerk is driving me crazy! If this keeps up, I won't even sleep a wink, uh…" His thoughts race through his mind, unable to tear his attention away from the man shifting restlessly. Joe sits up, glaring at Lucky Luke irritably, pressing his lips into a thin line as he wrestles with his own thoughts.
Finally, the outlaw props himself up with his bound hands and stands. He silently moves in sluggish, hesitant motions toward him, lamenting his immense lucky fortune while cursing the cowboy and the cold wind, whose gusts are now far less pleasant than under the shelter of the warm blanket.
Standing directly in front of the cowboy, he looks at him, wondering what to do now, and what the hell he's doing!? He shouldn't be here right now!
Joe swallows, already beginning to regret his decision, but he kneels beside Luke, on the edge of his bedroll, and for a moment simply watches him lost in a fitful sleep. With slight hesitation, he extends his bound wrists toward the unconscious man.
His fingertips tremble, he doesn't know if it's more from euphoria or stupor, as the realization flashes through his mind how easy it would be to move his hands a little higher now. To tighten them around the soft, delicate skin of the defenseless, unaware cowboy's larynx and press them down with all his might, ignoring the strangled sounds or the helpless man's feeble attempts to free himself… and that's just one of the things he could do now to free him from all his worries and worldly problems, sending Luke to heaven, to the divine gates guarded by Saint Peter.
But he doesn't. This isn't the death he desires for his greatest enemy. It should be unique. He should be aware of every aspect of it, every wrong Joe has inflicted on him. …And that would be dishonorable. He could treat anyone like that, but Luke? He's not just anyone. He's his nemesis. His opposite. The only person capable of bringing him to the scales of Themis, to be judged. And despite their rather shaky and warped morality, the Daltons have principles they stick to, so even on such a tempting, provocative occasion, Joe doesn't take advantage of it. Not this time. Maybe next time, or maybe not. But one thing is certain: If Lucky Luke is to die, it will be because of Joe. It will be his hands that will bear the burden stained with Luke's blood, no matter when, and until then, he will make sure no one beats him to it.
Joe's hands slowly tighten on Luke's shirt, just below his collar. The man seems too deeply asleep to even be aware of his presence. The outlaw feels an overwhelming urge to aggressively shake the cowboy and yell at him, to express his displeasure at being woken in the middle of the night and to vent his rage.
Joe takes a deep breath and exhales slowly to dispel his wicked fantasies and calm down. He doesn't want to wake his brothers, after all. It's bad enough that he'll be sleep-deprived when dawn breaks. He gently grips the fabric of his yellow shirt, intending to gently shake the cowboy, trying to wake him from his nightmare without panicking or causing him to go into a major shock.
Before he can do anything, Luke overtakes him. The cowboy, with his heart pounding like hummer, suddenly widens his terrified eyes, and his body becoming more aware and tense. He jerks upright, propping himself up on one hand. His other hand suddenly reaches for his heart, which trying to escape the cage of his ribs, to grasp it tightly. But he doesn't encounter the fabric of his shirt, much less feel the pounding of his heart beneath his fingertips. Instead, they encounter warm, rough skin and scratchy rope.
After a second of sleep-dazed stupor, his blurry vision clears, revealing Joe Dalton, separated from his face by only a few millimeters. His heart skips a beat in his chest. He's surprised, and a faint sense of relief, mixed with suspicion and apprehension, washes over him at the sight, the effect intensified by the nightmare, sowing the seeds of fear and dread in his mind.
Joe, startled by the cowboy's unexpected awakening, inhales sharply and flinches at the sight of his face, illuminated by the faint glow of the fire, right in front of him. As he feels the cowboy's firm and tightly grip on his wrists, his heart quickens, beating as fast as the one beneath his knuckles. He clenches his jaw to avoid insulting the cowboy, which might wake the others, and curses him profusely inwardly, because for a how reason, when he decides to approach him, does he wake up and scare him!?
An awkward silence falls, during which they maintain intense eye contact. Joe slowly pulls his hands away from Luke, or rather tries to, because the cowboy tightens his grip on his bound wrists, holding them against his racing heart. He swallows hard, feeling the hot, labored breaths of the man, disoriented after waking, on his lips, and a faint blush of abashment creeps onto his cheeks.
This isn't the first time they've been this close, but this… This feels much more personal, confidential, maybe even intimate than ever before, enveloped in the darkness of night, revealing the constellations of stars above them, partially lit by the flames of a barely smoldering fire.
"…What are you doing, Joe?" After a brief moment filled with a strange, intense tension, Luke breaks the silence, despite his constant anxiety and the overwhelming feeling of the nightmare. "You try… You tried to kill me again?" Luke adds with faint amusement, hoping to lighten the thick atmosphere, but the tension doesn't dissipate, not even a little.
"The hell! What am I doing!? What are you doing!?" Joe growls in a whisper, looking at the cowboy with confused eyes. "Don't you think that if I wanted to kill you, I would have grabbed your neck or taken your revolver? Do you think I'm so stupid and naive that instead of pressing my hands against your throat and strangling you in your sleep, I'd have grabbed your shirt!?" Irritated and petulant, more than usual by exhaustion, he raises his voice slightly.
A shiver of anxiety runs through the cowboy, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins, induced by the nightmare, jumps slightly at the thought of how easily Joe could have killed him a few seconds ago. How easily he could have walked up to him, clamped his hard-worked hands around his throat, and, without further ado, knocked the breath out of him forever. How easily he couldhave taken the gun - in one swift movement, drawn it out from the holster and bring him even faster to the Savior, without any effort, firing one accurate shot.
But the outlaw is indeed right. He didn't do it. He's not even close. His gun is still safely holstered, and his hands, though disturbingly close, pose no threat. A strange sense of relief and contentment spreads through his chest, and his heart rate quickens slightly.
Joe can clearly see the cowboy's larynx working as he swallows, the pulse he feels under his fingers picking up speed.
"Of course not." Luke whispers back, as if it were the most obvious fact, in this cruel vale of tears where only death and taxes are certain. The conviction with which he says it flatters Joe somewhat. For once, the cowboy is doing the right thing, not thinking he's a fool. "So... what are you doing?"
"Tch, you woke me up with your fidgeting and pathetic whining." Joe rolls his eyes. He can clearly see the flustered blush on his face, despite the fading glow of the flames, but the embarrassed expression is quickly replaced by a suspicious frown, along with an intense gaze that clearly tells him this isn't an answer to his question.
Joe looks away, furious that his partial answer wasn't enough, and the cowboy won't let up until the outlaw gives a full answer. He feels his cheeks heat up even more under Luke's unwavering gaze, and his stomach twists even more, in a strange way.
"...I came to wake you up so you'd calm down and let me finally sleep, but as you can see, you beat me to it." He replies acerbity and reluctantly, not moving away from the tense and still sleep-deprived cowboy, but his voice lacks the familiar acrimonious remark, replaced by flustered.
"Oh." Luke, for a second, can't help but smile fondly. Could Joe Dalton care about him—about Lucky Luke? Counterarguments immediately spring to his mind—he probably wanted peace and quiet, and to scold him for waking him, for interrupting his sleep—but the euphoria and warm feeling push them aside, effectively drowning them out. He shakes his head slightly, returning his thoughts to earth, and his mind is once again flooded with the nightmarish visions from his dream.
Joe, feeling the grip on his wrists tighten, returns his gaze to the cowboy, who is pressing his lips together.
"…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Luke bites his lip, clearly struggling with his own thoughts, and his cheeks involuntarily take on a much deeper shade. His racing heart and uncertainty clearly indicate he's stressed about something.
The outlaw looks at him from under heavy eyelids. "You already can let go of me, you know that?" He fidgets slightly. Unsure of what to do with himself, he stays in the same place.
"Um, I... I know." The cowboy seems agitated, self-conscious and constrained, even though he's not the one tied up in the rope. His grip hasn't loosened even a bit, still incessantly gripping Joe's wrists.
"So maybe you'll let me go, hmm?" The cowboy's strange behavior is starting to irritate him. Why isn't he letting go yet? What else could he possibly want from him? To ridiculed him for his equally strange behavior? To scold him for approaching him at night? To punish him for even thinking about taking the cowboy's life? Or maybe he's just wondering what to do with him now?
Joe waits a moment, but receiving no response, he pulls his hands away from the cowboy—or rather, tries to, because the grip tightens suddenly, relentlessly holding his wrists in place, pressing them against his beating chest.
"Can I cuddle with you?" Luke, feeling under pressured, quickly blurts out timid words, looking at him pleadingly, not even noticing that he's drawing the outlaw's hands, stained by all manner of crimes, even closer to himself, unconsciously leaning into him, clinging to his warmth.
Joe looks at Luke with even greater surprise at his absurd plead. Astonished, he opens his mouth, but the words got stuck in his throat. Completely toungue-tied, he doesn't know what to say, and furthermore, he's distracted by, impossible to ignore, the cowboy's heart pounding beneath his hands and the indecent proximity between the outlaw and the man holding him.
"...What?" The outlaw gasps with faint amusement and slight disbelief.
Luke begins to regret ever opening his mouth. Why did he think it would be so easy? Hang it all, what a damn nightmare! And now an even greater wave of heat hits him, and he's suffocating in his own embarrassment with cheeks burning red. "I, uh... could you hug me?" Abashed, he repeats the plead quietly, mumbling, and looks away, unable to maintain eye contact any longer.
Joe blinks sluggishly, processing the plead, with heart pounding faster. What should he do? Should he grant his peculiar plead? Or, what seems more rational, more appropriate, should he push him away and insult him or laugh at him? But his mind, clouded by fatigue, hasn't been thinking clearly, and, tempted by the prospect of pleasant warmth, he leans more towards the former.
Before he can say anything, a flustered Luke interrupts again. "Of course I'm not forcing you! If you don't want to, nothing will happen, just, just - or never mind... Forget I even asked." His words are even more slurred than before, and the shamefaced that is overwhelming him is stabbing in the eyes.
A deafening silence descends, neither of them moving a muscle. Cowboy's eyes dart away from him, yet simultaneously yearn to stare at him, and his throat goes dry. His mind fills with various nightmare scenarios of what Joe will do once the initial shock wears off. He'll push him away, maybe even hit him. He'll look at him with disgust. He'll pull away as if he's touched something infected. He'll call him a freak, or worse, laugh at him. He'll mock him, call him names at every imposible opportunity for the rest of their lives, and taunt him, debasind and humbling, bringing him deeper and deeper! A shiver runs down his spine!
Joe lets out a quiet breath, unsure of his answer, which twists his insides even more, and his heart leaps into his throat. "Will you untie me?"
"Huh?" Luke's eyes flicker to the outlaw in a split second, studying him intently. Joe snaps him out of his amoks of inventing increasingly, humiliating situations, caused by his pathetic plead, leaving him confused because he doesn't know what the outlaw is talking about.
"Uh... so I can hug you?" He hesitates, explaining embarrassed and uncertain himself, and presses his lips together.
Luke's breath catches, and his eyes light up, sparkling with a glow of euphoria mixed with relief. "Sure." He cursory replies, but his heart pounds painfully against his ribs. Without a moment's delay, he quickly but deftly untangles the tight knots and, tossing the rough rope aside, looks at Joe with unconcealed joy.
The enthusiasm with which Luke unties his wrists leaves him slightly surprised. He hadn't expected such eagerness, and certainly hadn't expected it to be done so easily, so trustingly. It makes him feel as if something in his heart is melting and softening. It's a funny and weird feeling, one he doesn't remember ever feeling before, but it's quite pleasant.
Luke is filled with excitement as he wraps his arms tightly around him, pulling him closer. Feeling the softness, warmth, and light weight of his body in his hands, the realness, the timelessness, the permanence of his presence, it makes all worries, fears, and anxieties fade into blissful solace. He rests his face on the outlaw's shoulder, and a quiet, shaky sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Thank you."
Being hugged by Luke is a truly comfortable experience, which pleasantly surprises him. Apart from his brothers and Ma, he's not particularly fond of physical contact, especially cuddling with others, but he feels exceptionally comfortable and at ease in Luke's embrace. He didn't think hugging him would be so pleasant, not that he'd ever considered cuddling with Luke.
"Huh, why did you want to cuddle up to me? I mean, there are friendlier people than me, like Averell." Joe asks in a sleepy voice, unsuccessfully suppressing a yawn as he slowly wraps his arms around Luke's back, the warmth of his body making him want to sleep even more.
"It's just that this nightmare was... very disturbing and realistic." The cowboy snuggles closer to the outlaw, glad to be able to hold him so close.
"What nightmare was it?" Joe tentatively, cautiously, tightened his grip on the cowboy a little.
"I dreamed... that, uh, you disappeared... and I couldn't find you anywhere and everyone around was speculating about what could have happened." He shudders at the memory of the nightmare, which, while not gruesome or chilling, is actually the very concept of the dream terrifies the cowboy, and these people, speaking without remorse about a multitude of terrible things that could have happened, were horrifying, awakening a deep-seated fear and apprehension within him.
Despite his awkwardness and reluctance, Luke responds honestly. The reciprocated embrance comforts and strengthens him, simultaneously banishing all his worries.
"Oh... Did it bother you that much?" Joe scoffs, his tone unusually gentle for him, slightly amused, surprised by Luke's response. He gently traces a rough hand along the curve of his spine, rubbing slow circles, and, growing increasingly sleepy, rests his cheek against Luke's head, feeling the soft texture of his thick hair.
"I, um, actually, yes, I do." Luke swallows and, slightly distracted, responds, melting into Joe's incredibly tender touch, surrounded by his familiar scent, much more intense than ever before. "Will you stay like this with me?"
"Let it be, but don't be surprised if I fall asleep soon." The outlaw tries to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids grow heavier and heavier until he closes them slightly, yawning again.
"It's no problem... The important thing is that you're here." Luke pulls Joe even closer. He covers him and himself with a blanket and lies down with Joe wrapped tightly in his hands, snuggling into his warm arms.
Joe is too sleepy and tired to resist sleeping with the cowboy clinging to him, under the same blanket, tempted by the lure of blissful rest.
"And I thought I was your liability ball and chain." He mumbles sleepily, chuckling softly, enveloped in the warmth of the blanket and the cowboy's body. His mind is somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, his limbs growing heavier, more flaccid and limp.
Luke laughs heartily, touched by his biting remark. Slowly and gently, he threads his hand through the short strands of Joe's black hair. A few seconds later, lulled to sleep by Joe's shallow, steady breathing, he closes his eyes too, and exhaustion begins to take over him.
On the edge of consciousness, Joe hears the cowboy's last soft whisper.
"Thank you, Joe..."
They fall asleep exceptionally easily in each other's arms, sleeping peacefully through the rest of the night. Neither of them has slept as well as they do now in far too long.