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The saloon was thick with smoke and the stench of booze. Oscar had polished the bar twice over, then twice again for good measure- watching the townsfolk filtering in after sunset. Nothing to do in a town like this but drink, gamble, and sin.
And Oscar, well, he’d always preferred the third one.
He leaned against the back counter, cloth in hand, eyes drifting over the room. Drunk cowhands, a couple of drifters, one red-faced preacher hunched over a lukewarm cider pretending he was above it all. Same crowd as every evening. Same stink of whiskey and sweat.
Nothing new. Nothing exciting.
That was until the saloon doors creaked open.
Oscar didn’t look up at first. The sound of those doors appeared in his sleep at this point- just a daily occurrence. Then came the rough voice that sent a shiver straight through Oscar’s spine.
“Your daddy own this place?”
He turned, polishing glass in hand, and nearly dropped it when he finally looked at the newcomer.
Standing there, leaning easily against the bar, was a man Oscar had only seen in crumpled wanted posters. Broad shoulders wrapped in dusty leather, a dark hat tipped low over his eyes, shadowing a face carved like it’d been sculpted by whatever fucking deity kept them on this godforsaken earth. The most wanted outlaw in the county- Carlos Sainz.
Oscar’s breath caught in his throat. Excitement bloomed fast and hot beneath his skin- Oscar smiled, almost uncontrollably.
The cowboy’s lips curled just enough to show teeth as he watched Oscar, head still tipped low.
Oscar set the glass he’d been polishing down carefully.
He crossed the short distance between them, resting his arms on the bar’s edge, feigning indifference like he wasn’t two heartbeats away from throwing a leg over the counter.
“What makes you say that?” Oscar asked, tilting his head.
Carlos tilted his chin toward a scowling man tucked in the back corner of the room- Billy. An old bastard who glared at everyone and hadn’t smiled since the war ended. Sick bastard probably missed all the death and destruction.
“Just figured that one was your papa, what with the way he’s glarin’ holes in my damn head. Like I’m tryna steal his precious princess from him.”
Oscar barked a laugh. “Billy? Nah. He’s a bit of a lapper, comes in here lookin’ for trouble. Thinks starin’ hard enough’ll keep folks honest,” Oscar said, waving a deliberate hand towards the old man who scoffed but averted his eyes at the attention. Oscar brought his own attention back to the outlaw in front of him who was looking back at him with a confident smirk.
“Doesn’t seem to be workin’,” Carlos drawled.
That smirk- God help him, it was sin in human form. Oscar knew a little about sin.
Oscar gave a slow, easy smile of his own and leaned just a little closer. “You must be thirsty, cowboy. Or is this just a social call?” He asked, tilting his head.
“Guess I came for a drink and a little somethin’ pretty to look at,” Carlos said as he raised his glass- half-empty whiskey neat. Classic cowboy.
Oscar’s cheeks flushed, but his mouth kept running. “Well, you got both in here.”
Their eyes held just a moment too long to be casual.
Carlos tipped his glass back again, his lips wrapping around the rim with slow deliberation. Oscar followed the movement shamelessly. His thighs tightened where he stood. Lord forgive him.
“You always this friendly with outlaws?” Carlos asked, voice smooth as honey.
“Only the handsome ones,” Oscar replied.
Carlos grinned. “Flattery’ll get you shot in most parts.”
Oscar shrugged. “Lucky for me, I’m in the business of takin’ risks.”
Their hands brushed on the bar. Carlos didn’t move his away. Instead, his fingers wandered deliberately toward Oscar’s, slow like a snake uncoiling. His tanned hand covered Oscar’s pale one, rough and warm. Oscar’s breath caught. He didn’t moveaway.
“Why’s a pretty thing like you stuck workin’ in this doggery?” Carlos asked, quirking a brow.
Oscar tilted his head, letting his cheek rest against the knuckles of his free hand. “Gotta earn a lay somehow,” He said. From this position, he was closer than he’d ever been to the cowboy- so close that he could count each individual hair in his stubble. He was so close that a sudden itch to trace along the man’s scars with his fingertips was working its way around his brain.
Carlos hummed. “And here I thought you were made for better things.”
“Like what? Robbin’ trains?” Oscar didn’t dare look away.
Carlos’ grin faltered. Something in his face darkened, but not with anger- more like regret.
“Ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Dangerous livin’,” Carlos said, his fingers tensing over Oscar’s.
Oscar didn’t flinch. “I ain’t afraid of death,” He said, making direct eye contact with the cowboy who seemed to be at least a little intrigued by Oscar’s attitude.
Carlos’ eyes narrowed slightly. “You should be. Death don’t play favorites.”
Their closeness was maddening. Every word felt heavier, slower, like the air itself had thickened between them.
Then Carlos did something that made Oscar’s heart flatline for a beat.
He reached up, slow as a prayer, and tilted his own cowboy hat back off his brow, revealing warm brown eyes and a sun-cut face that no poster ever did justice. His eyes weren’t that of a predator- they were big and wide and a endless pool of brown. Oscar could barely breathe.
He held Oscar’s gaze. Then, without breaking it, he took the hat off completely and set it gently- deliberately, on the bar in front of Oscar.
Oscar stared at it.
Everyone in this town knew what that meant.
If a cowboy put his hat on you, or offered it, it wasn’t just flirting. It was as good as a public brand. Possession. Claim. Sex.
Love…maybe.
Carlos didn’t say a word. He just waited. Eyebrow raised in challenge.
Oscar slowly picked up the hat, turning it in his hands. His fingers ran along the brim.
“I take this,” he said softly, “and you gonna make me yours tonight?”
Carlos’ smirk deepened, but there was something real behind it. Something dangerous. “Ain’t nobody else I’d wanna wear it.”
Oscar glanced around the bar. Billy was gone. The preacher was passed out. The piano man was long since drunk. The rest of the drunks didn’t give a damn what he did with his time or who he did it with.
So he placed the hat, Carlos’ hat, on his own head.
And Carlos’ eyes went dark with something primal.
Oscar felt it all the way to his knees.
Carlos stood, not bothering to finish his whiskey. “When’s your break?” He asked, almost hurriedly.
Oscar barely managed to find his voice. “Right now, I reckon.”
Carlos turned and headed for the back hallway, not looking to see if Oscar would follow.
Oscar didn’t hesitate.
-
Oscar followed without thinking, heart rattling in his chest. He wasnt nervous, not really- just excited. The narrow hallway behind the bar was lit by one flickering oil lamp, casting gold across the walls. Strangely, if reminded him of when his father used to make shadow puppets to help him sleep. The back room wasn’t much, more of a storeroom.
Carlos ushered Oscar inside with a soft touch to his lower back before he stepped inside himself and turned. He shut the door behind Oscar with a soft click.
Oscar barely had time to blink before he was pressed up against it.
Carlos’ hands were on either side of his head, his face close enough that Oscar could count the lines around his eyes.
“You sure you wanna wear that hat?” Carlos murmured. His warm breath ghosting along Oscar’s jaw.
Oscar swallowed. “Didn’t put it on just for decoration,” He said.
A low, dangerous chuckle left Carlos’ throat. “I figured. But seein’ you in it?” He ran one hand down Oscar’s side, slow- teasing. “Might not be able to control myself.”
Oscar tilted his head, lips parting. “Try me.”
Carlos’ mouth crashed into his like a man tasting sin for the first time. It was rough, hungry, all teeth and lust.
Oscar moaned, letting Carlos take control- take him. Hands gripped Oscar’s hips tight enough to bruise, and Oscar arched into him, already drunk on him. Already addicted to this sin.
Carlos broke the kiss, panting. “You keep wearin’ that hat and I’m gonna ruin you,” He grunted.
Oscar’s voice was a whisper. “Is that the plan, then?”
Carlos pulled back just enough to look him over- Oscar’s flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen mouth, that damned hat still perched on his head.
“Keep it on,” Carlos said, a grin spreading across his face. It would have felt dangerous if Oscar wasn't so turned on.
Oscar had never been kissed like that. Had never been claimed like that.
Carlos spun him around gently, pressing him into the door- his back against Carlos’ chest. One hand came up and adjusted the hat on Oscar’s head like he was placing a crown. The gesture was so controlled, so deliberate that it made Oscar’s knees shake.
“You look real pretty wearin’ that,” Carlos rasped behind him, fingers already working at the buttons on Oscar’s vest.
Oscar pressed his cheek to the door, breathing heavy as he let the cool wood ground him. “Ain’t it just a hat?”
Carlos nipped at his ear. “That’s a fuckin’ vow.”
Oscar let out a laugh that turned into a whimper when Carlos’ hand slipped under his shirt. Warm palms roamed over his back, rough and controlling.
“Take what you want,” Oscar whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
Carlos froze for half a second behind him. Then he spoke, voice low and deadly certain. “Don’t offer a man like me everything unless you mean it.”
Oscar turned his head, locking eyes with him. “What if I do?”
Carlos growled low, and then there were no more words left to say.
Carlos pulled Oscar’s pants down to mid-thigh in one swift move. The cowboy crouched behind him, hands gripping Oscar’s hips, thumbs digging in like he was claiming territory. Like Oscar was the loot he was stealing from the bank, or the mare he’d hijacked from the sheriff.
Oscar’s head dropped forward, one hand clutching the doorframe for support, the other steadying the brim of Carlos’s hat still perched proudly on his head.
Then came the kiss- hot and open-mouthed to the small of Oscar’s back. A trail of lips down the line of his spine. Carlos’s mouth was worshipful, like he was memorizing every curve and dip of Oscar’s body with his tongue.
“I ever tell you what I like more than whiskey?” Carlos muttered against his skin.
Oscar could barely breathe. “What?” He muttered, breathless.
“A mouthy little thing wearing my hat, beggin’ for me.”
“I ain’t beggin’,” Oscar whimpered.
“You will,” Carlos chuckled darkly.
He rose to his feet, undoing his belt slow enough to make Oscar squirm. The jingle of the buckle, the sound of leather slipping through loops- was enough to make Oscar’s cock twitch against the wood. Oscar could barely stop himself from grinding against the door.
Carlos lined himself up behind him, hand guiding his cock towards Oscar’s hole, the other pressed against Oscar’s spine, holding him steady. Holding him down- kept in place.
“You ready?” Carlos asked, voice softer now- gentler. If Oscar tried hard enough, he could pretend Carlos actually cared.
Oscar nodded, then moaned out a pathetic, “Please.”
That was all Carlos needed.
The stretch burned, slow and thick, Carlos pushing in slowly- cautious almost. Oscar bit his lip, forehead pressed to the door, fingers trembling where they gripped the frame. He could barely hear himself think over the sound of his heart thumpting in his chest.
Carlos filled him inch by inch, pushing in until his hips were flush against Oscar’s ass- fully sheathed inside of him.
“Goddamn,” Carlos whispered. “You’re- fuck, you’re tight.”
Oscar whimpered, hips rocking back just enough to make Carlos grunt. “Move. Don’t you dare tease me, cowboy.”
Carlos pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, sharp and deep.
Oscar cried out, hands scrambling for purchase, that damn cowboy hat sliding a little on his head, but not falling. Carlos reached up with one hand and adjusted it again, grinning.
“Keep that hat on, cariño. I want you wearin’ it while I fuck you through this goddamn wall,” He grunted. And fuck him he did.
Carlos set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping forward, fingers bruising into Oscar’s hips as he drove in deep, over and over, using Oscar’s body like it was made for him. Every thrust knocked a ragged sound from Oscar’s lips, high and wrecked and desperate for more.
Oscar could barely see straight. His vision blurred, mouth open, moaning like a whore behind the bar door while the saloon outside buzzed on.
“You gonna come for me?” Carlos growled in his ear, reaching around to fist Oscar’s cock in time with his thrusts.
That did it.
Oscar cried out, back arching, his orgasm ripping through him with Carlos’ name on his tongue. He spilled across Carlos’s hand, legs shaking, body clenching tight around him.
Carlos cursed loud, grip tightening.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”
With a final hard thrust, Carlos came inside him, hips jerking, head dropped to Oscar’s shoulder as he emptied himself.
They stood there after, sweat-slicked and panting, Oscar still pinned to the door, Carlos wrapped around him like he was afraid to let go.
After a moment, Carlos kissed his neck. “Still think you ain’t trouble?”
Oscar gave a wrecked little laugh. “I think I’m startin’ to like it.”
Carlos helped him straighten, adjusting his clothes with surprising care. He took his hat back, only to set it gently on Oscar’s head again.
Oscar raised an eyebrow.
“Ain’t no mistakin’ now,” Carlos said with a wink.
Oscar licked his lips. “You always mark your territory like that?”
Carlos leaned in. “Only when I find somethin’ worth claimin’.”
-
Oscar blinked awake, head fogged with whiskey and want. His limbs ached in the best way- sore from being held down, bent, used. He was still half-dressed, shirt open, trousers barely clinging to his hips. His lips were swollen. His skin smelled like salt and dust and Carlos.
Oscar sat up slowly. His thighs ached when he moved, a sharp little reminder of the night before. On the crate beside him sat a glass of water, a folded scrap of paper, and Carlos’s hat.
His chest seized at the sight of it.
Oscar quickly read the note, written in a messy scrawl
You wear this again, I’ll come back and give you another reason to.
Don’t wait too long.
He didn’t sign his name. Didn’t attach anything personal to it.
Oscar stared at the handwriting. His stomach twisted with something warm and stupid and reckless. He pressed the brim of the hat to his face and laughed, quiet and shaky.
He had no idea how long he sat there, but eventually the clatter of boots and voices beyond the back door forced him to pull himself together. He snuck out the back, splashed water on his face at the pump, and dragged himself back into the saloon like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
-
The morning shift was slow. Oscar tried to act normal while his body still buzzed from being fucked into a door.
Billy was already at his usual seat. He didn’t order a drink- just glared.
“You look like hell,” he said gruffly.
“Thanks, Billy. That your way of flirtin’?” Pscar said as he wiped down the counter.
Billy snorted. “Boy, I ain’t flirtin’. I’m wonderin’ if you realize what the fuck you’ve gone and done.”
Oscar stilled, rag frozen in his hand.
Billy leaned in, dropping his voice. “You think folks ain’t talkin’? Carlos Sainz walks in here like he owns the damn place, and you go disappearin’ with him? You think we didn’t notice?”
Oscar raised his chin. “What I do ain’t your business.”
Billy’s mouth twisted. “It is when you’re makin’ eyes at a man with a bounty bigger than a damn cattle herd. You know what’ll happen if the law thinks you’re helpin’ him?”
Oscar looked him dead in the eye. “Then maybe they oughta mind their own.”
Billy stood abruptly, chair scraping loud against the floor. “You better think real hard, boy. That man’s got blood on his hands.”
Oscar didn’t flinch. “Don’t we all?”
Billy stormed out, slamming the saloon doors behind him.
Oscar exhaled, hands shaking.
-
By midday, the whispers had become more like soft spoken words.
Men eyed him differently- not just with suspicion, but like he was tainted. A saloon boy always carried a certain kind of reputation, but now it was worse. Like he was owned by the outlaw.
He didn’t help things when he came downstairs wearing Carlos’s hat.
It was a stupid move. Reckless. But something in him wanted to own it- not just the hat, but the claim. The wildness of it.
He poured a drink for a ranch hand who wouldn’t meet his eyes and muttered something about “whorin’ for bandits.”
Oscar slammed the bottle down. “You got somethin’ to say, say it with your chest.”
The man stood abruptly, eyes wide- but he didn’t respond.
Oscar didn’t wait for him to. He turned on his heels and stalked into the back, heart pounding.
-
He found himself up in his room above the saloon, pacing. The hat sat on his dresser. He stared at it for a long time, then picked it up, held it like it was a fucking bible. Every fiber of him ached to see Carlos again.
He hadn’t even realised he’d made a decision until he found himself packing a satchel. A change of clothes. A knife. The little roll of coins he’d been stashing under the floorboards.
He’d leave.
He’d find Carlos.
The knock came fast. Urgent.
Oscar spun, heart racing.
“Sheriff’s lookin’ for you,” came a voice through the door.
Oscar froze.
Shit.
He opened it to find the barkeep’s daughter, breathless. “They’re sayin’ he’s still in the county. They think you’re hidin’ him.”
“I ain’t seen him since last night,” Oscar said truthfully. “Not that it’s any of their goddamn business.”
She stared at him, then at the packed bag. “You run now, they’ll think you’re guilty.”
Oscar exhaled. “I am.”
She didn’t try to stop him.
-
He slipped out after dark, hat low on his brow, coat pulled tight. He avoided the main road, cutting through the brush, past the edge of town.
He didn’t know where Carlos would be, but he felt it. That strange pull in his gut, like a compass in his chest.
And sure enough- just a short treck from the town’s outskirts, he saw the firelight.
Carlos was waiting for him.
-
Oscar crept close, hands raised. “You always make it this easy to find you?”
Carlos stood from where he’d been crouched by the fire, eyes narrowing, then widening in surprise. “Shit. I thought you’d be halfway to jail by now.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “Thought about it. But I reckon I’d rather be halfway to hell with you.”
Carlos’ expression darkened. He crossed the space between them and grabbed Oscar by the coat, pulling him in.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I want to be.”
Carlos looked at him hard. “You understand what that means? This ain’t a life you walk into for fun. It’s runnin’ and shootin’ and prayin’ you don’t die like a bitch.”
Oscar reached up, pulled the hat off his head, and set it firmly on Carlos’ head.
“I know exactly what it means.”
Carlos stared at him, jaw clenched. Then he exhaled like he was losing a fight. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Oscar smiled
Carlos kissed him again, harder this time, more desperate. Like maybe he’d been afraid Oscar wouldn’t come.
They lay together near the fire, the desert wind cool against their sweat. Carlos pulled a blanket around them both, curling his body around Oscar’s. Protective. Possessive.
Oscar nuzzled against his chest. “You gonna teach me to shoot?”
Carlos laughed, low in his throat. “Hell. You sure?”
Oscar nodded. “If I’m gonna ride with you, I wanna earn it.”
Carlos was quiet a moment, then whispered into his hair, “You already did.”
Oscar felt something tighten in his chest. Something that might’ve been love. Or danger. Or the two tangled together.
Carlos’ hand came up to put the hat back on Oscar’s head. A stake- a claim. A promise to protect.
And that’s how they fell asleep.
With firelight flickering low, the wild West stretching endlessly ahead of them, and the outlaw’s hat resting like a crown on the boy who chose him.