This is set during One Day Out West (if you hadn’t guessed). It was supposed to be a first time, and then it wasn’t. Oh, well. Thanks to ZR, Robin, and theamusedone for read-through; and thanks to Bone for a spectabulous and very patient beta. Disclaimer: you know they're not mine, because if they were... well, let's start with gratuitous nudity and work our way from there.
Soundtrack: Forbidden and Sleepwalking, Violent Femmes; Which Side Are You On and Heroes From Our Past, Dropkick Murphys; Language or the Kiss and Reunion, Indigo Girls.
©2008 AuKestrel
Vin gave it more’n five minutes; Josiah, Nathan and Buck had disappeared up the stairs to the livery before he got up, swiping the bottle off the table. It was half gone already, so he bought another, shoving one each into his coat pockets, before making his way to the rooming house.
Hadn’t got a room here himself - hardware store didn’t pay much, and he’d been sleeping out long ’fore he’d come to this particular little dusty town. But he knew this was where Chris’d be - not the hotel type and wasn’t taking up the on-offers in the saloon.
Took the stairs light-footed, two at a time. Halfway down the corridor he heard a tuneless whistle behind a door slightly ajar. His breath caught in his throat, but he slipped into the room anyway, breathing harder than the stairs warranted, closing and locking the door behind him without even looking.
Chris looked up and their eyes met, gazes more heated than level, or maybe it was just the half-light from the lamp next to the bed: Chris had the blinds drawn.
Up to now-
Up to now?
They’d known each other a little more than a week but it hadn’t taken seven days or even seven hours to go up like a spark to tinder-
Stolen moments; and a few hours one night at the Seminole village, Josiah on watch and Vin and Chris scouting the ridge a mile over, too far to be much use to the seven, far enough to be plenty useful to them two, fire burning low, bedrolls tangled up in their legs, hot press of flesh, hotter glide of tongue, and no words, only sounds.
Chris pulled off his undershirt, body whipcord tough beneath the stained woolens, the same small grin tugging at his lips as he’d had in the saloon.
“Room,” said Vin, pulling off his hat, not taking his eyes off Chris’.
“Bed,” said Chris, grin widening his mouth.
“More whiskey,” and Vin suited actions to words, putting both bottles on the washstand by the door.
“Knew you’d be good in a fight,” Chris said, suddenly next to Vin, like a wild cat in the mountains, his breath whiskey-warm on Vin’s cheek. “But I think I underestimated you.” He took a pull from the nearest bottle and then held it out to Vin, who pushed it aside and pulled Chris in closer, tasting the whiskey in his mouth, partly ’cause, well, why not? - and partly ’cause he was feeling a mite overdressed.
Chris took care of his coat, sliding it off his shoulders even as he moved against Vin, letting Vin feel every inch of of him. Vin pushed back, ducking his head just enough to taste the burr of stubble on Chris’ chin, chasing his tongue with teeth. Chris groaned low in Vin’s ear, one hand loosening Vin’s kerchief, one hand busy with Vin’s gun belt.
“You ever stop?” Vin breathed, licking up the curve of Chris’ ear, enjoying the tang of Chris’ skin.
“When I get what I want,” Chris said against Vin’s collarbone, dark warm voice sending dark warm thrills straight up Vin’s spine. Vin’s gun belt flopped down, leg strap sliding down and catching on the top of his boot under his pants. Chris breathed out, exasperated or maybe just impatient. Made Vin laugh, all of it, and Chris pulled back, a reluctant grin on his face. Gave Vin a chance to breathe, breathe again, look at Chris, wonder what the hell he was doing here and why the hell he was still dressed, thoughts tangled like yarn after a kitten got hold of it.
Damn gun belt, damn pants - damn boots. Indians had the right idea, everything Chris had ever seen, clothes that made sense, ties and wraps ’stead of all these damn buttons, layers, coats, boots. Upshot was Vin was still dressed and laughing at him instead of being naked on the damn bed, damn soft bed, real sheets, real damn mattress, no snakes, no scorpions, no fire to watch, no noises to watch out for.
Been hard since Vin sat down at the table with him, maybe even before then. Hard, off and on, whole way back from the village. Couldn’t really say it was aftereffects, not when it was happening every time he heard Vin’s rasp over his shoulder, quiet, like it was just the two of ’em riding.
Not that he didn’t want to go to Tascosa with Vin, and the longer it took ’em to get there the better satisfied he’d be, but what to do when they got there, that was the problem. Chris had lived longer than most by not riding into situations he didn’t know about, cannon or no cannon, and he had no idea how many cannon Vin was facing in Tascosa.
When all was said and done, bed and whiskey seemed like the best bet to buy some time. See what Buck might know, if there was anything of use to be had in the jail, information, maybe, if they were lucky.
Vin was watching him, one side of his mouth pulling up, and not making a move to get any more undressed.
Not for the first time Chris wondered what Vin’s story was. Hadn’t taken Vin more than five seconds when Chris had thrown his hat to the wind and pushed his hand a little further up Vin’s thigh than was strictly polite - seven seconds, maybe, all told - and Vin’s mouth was hot under his, hands reaching up in Chris’ hair before Chris even got Vin’s hat off.
Not exactly shy after that, either, but it wasn’t like they’d had more than the one night on the ridge together, that and stolen moments here and there, sometimes no more than a brush of fingers or a hand to a shoulder.
Yep, Chris had been looking forward to this damned bed some days now, and he said as much, putting a hand on Vin’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb up Vin’s jaw, Vin’s hand coming up to cover his.
He wasn’t expecting the heat in Vin’s eyes at that, the heat in his eyes, the heat on his skin, a flush Chris couldn’t see in the low light, but damn if he couldn’t feel it, feel it, smell it, practically taste it...
“You attached to that shirt?” he said when he had his voice under control again.
Vin frowned, hand on Chris’ wrist slacking its grip. “I reckon.”
Chris felt his mouth stretching in a smile he had no control over, the one he knew showed too many teeth. “Reckon you got about seven seconds to get it off ’fore I rip it off you.”
Vin sucked in a breath, his hand suddenly gripping Chris’ wrist a whole lot harder. “If you just cut it off,” he said after a few seconds, and it fired Chris up even more that Vin’s voice wasn’t quite steady, “reckon I can sew it back together.”
Took Chris a few seconds to realize the low rumble in the room was coming from him and not more than a few seconds after that to capture Vin’s mouth with his own again, slipping his tongue between Vin’s lips same way he slipped his hand down Vin’s pants. Vin, bracing himself on Chris’ shoulders, was pulling off his boots, first the left, then the right. Chris was enjoying the feel of Vin moving sideways against him, so much so that it took him almost a minute to realize he had a handful of buckskin along with Vin’s ass.
Shouldn’t surprise him that a buffalo hunter wore a breech clout, shouldn’t surprise him that Vin did, but it did, and he was, and he wanted to see Vin in buckskin, against the sheets, and then without anything between ’em-
“Boots,” Vin was saying in his ear, not so calm as he was like to be, struggling out of his suspenders without leaving go of Chris. Chris was so hard, pants so tight, he didn’t feel like he could move without spilling, spilling it all. He took a deep breath his own self and rocked back on his heels, dropping a hand to his waist to unfasten his pants.
The sight of Vin watching, watching like a hungry coyote eyeing an orphan lamb, nearly made Chris spill again, and he grabbed Vin’s chin with his other hand, pulled his face up and moved in close to kiss him again, bracing his hands on Vin this time while he chucked off his own boots. Had to take his hands off to push his pants, drawers, down and off; Vin’s pants, looser, already lay in a pile on the floor. When he looked up, Vin’s arms were crossed, pulling off both shirts at once. Chris grabbed the bundle of clothing and pulled it off Vin’s left arm while he kicked his own pants off the rest of the way.
Vin stood in the lamplight, and Chris knew without seeing, without touching, that he was blushing again, but he stood there, still and proud, letting Chris finally- finally - look him over.
The breech clout was tented and Chris noted that pridefully while his eyes swept up Vin’s chest, nearly hairless, broad and muscular, tanned at the edges like Chris’, medicine bag resting there, not like Chris’.
“Guess that explains why I can’t keep my hands off you,” Chris said, quiet, moving in closer to Vin, not touching.
“Not like it’s got elk teeth,” Vin said, quick smile flashing, a joke Chris didn’t get, didn’t care neither, not when Vin was looking like that. “What’s my excuse, cowboy?”
Chris in the lamplight, outlined in tawny gold, made him look more like something off a sunset than ever, and Vin knew now he wouldn’t rest ’til he had Chris naked on the red rocks when the summer sun was setting. Time enough for that later; the lamp would do for now, making Chris glow, practically giving him a halo. Laughed out loud at that thought: had the notion Chris wasn’t giving any of the better angels a run for their money.
“You think I’m funny?” Chris said, one side of his mouth pulling up.
No funnier’n me, Vin wanted to say, standing here a white man in Indian get-up, standing here with a white man, naked, when most white men didn’t do this, didn’t understand it from all accounts, and had plenty to say on the subject, specially if they thought you didn’t understand ’em.
“Yep,” he said instead, letting his eyes go south at last, dark thatch of hair glinting golden red in the light, and rising from it, tall and proud as Chris, was-
Took Chris by surprise, pushing him backwards, just about making it to the bed, straddling him while he untied the thong, flesh to flesh, finally.
Chris’d tumbled back with the same ease and grace he displayed everywhere, all the time, and it gave Vin a feeling inside he couldn’t put a name to that Chris trusted him to tumble him onto a bed. Sounded pretty funny, put that way, so he didn’t say that out loud neither, just rolled to one side, stripping off the loincloth the rest of the way and letting it drop to the floor.
Chris just looked at him a while, one hand working his flesh almost absently, the other rubbing across Vin’s chest. Vin stood it as long as he could, flushing under Chris’ steady gaze.
“Thought about this,” Chris said, somehow knowing when Vin was about to crack, say something just to break the silence, uncomfortable between them when up to now it never had been. “Seein’ you.”
Vin took a breath then, dropped his eyes, looked on Chris too. Already knew, from his fingers and hands, that Chris was long, lean, and hard just about everywhere, and thick too, least where it mattered.
Fingers, hands, and mouth, and he bent to Chris’ chest, lapping at a nipple, circling it with his tongue, then suckling. Chris’ hand stilled suddenly, intake of breath just as sudden, and then Vin’s hand joined Chris’ between his legs, not stroking so much as pulling, gentle, foreskin, shaft, then finally stroking down to his balls, cupping them, feeling their weight in his hand, stroking up behind them and pulling them down, gentle again, and Chris groaning loud, fingers like steel digging into Vin’s shoulder.
“Too much,” Chris rasped, pushing Vin’s hand away. “Too damn close, sorry, pard-”
Vin wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey, the bed, or the both of ’em and then some, but he took the swell of pride and ran with it, pushing Chris over onto his back again, bending his head to Chris’ chest again, tongue tracing around that same nipple, crinkling up into his mouth. Vin licked it with the flat of his tongue, pressing it back down, then around with the point of his tongue, feeling it crinkle up again. Chris was trying not to move, mostly not succeeding, and swearing under his breath.
Vin had the feeling Chris might spill just from this, and maybe that’d be something to try later, some winter night when-
Now that was taking liberties, and Vin chastised himself with a quick shake of his head, and his hair slid across Chris’ other nipple. Chris moaned out loud this time, quivering in Vin’s hand, and Vin let up fast. Wasn’t sure how far he could take this, starting out, but it seemed like he could go pretty far. Might knock Chris for a loop but, hell, wasn’t that part of the fun?
Licked fast down Chris’ chest to his belly, before he knew what was happening, and took Chris into his mouth before the goosebumps faded from the wet path on Chris’ skin.
Both hands in his hair, Chris choking Vin’s name out somewhere above him; the taste of salt on his tongue; a few thrusts, a few sucks, and Chris’ whole body went stiff underneath him while Chris gasped his name and did his level best to choke Vin as his seed spurted, thick, slick on Vin’s tongue, down his throat. Vin sucked, swallowed, greedy noises matching Chris’ own even while he reached for himself, matching Chris’ rhythm stroke for stroke.
Chris knew he was floundering, gasping like a catfish on a riverbank. Never occurred to him, never in his wildest dreams, hell, wouldn’t have known to dream something like that, and his only regret was that he’d been so surprised, and so close, that he hadn’t gotten more than a glimpse of Vin bent over him, cheeks hollowed and mouth rounded, eyes closed and soft brown hair falling between them, before he’d tangled his hands into that hair and let go.
His whole chest was aching, muscles releasing tension too fast, his brain still spinning. Heard Vin moan, felt his movements speed up, and that got him up, finally, up on an elbow, pulling Vin up, fast and rough, hand covering Vin’s, stroking alongside, then taking over. “My turn,” he growled into Vin’s ear, finding the sharp edge of Vin’s jaw with his teeth. Want to see you, c’mon, Vin-”
Vin gasped, arching back against him, his belly going tense under Chris’ other hand, spread flat to hold him close, and then Vin threw his head back on Chris’ shoulder, eyes squeezed tight shut, cock jerking wildly in Chris’ grasp. Chris watched, avid: the tendons in Vin’s throat, the muscles in his chest, the ivory glint of Vin’s seed in the lamplight, shooting onto Vin’s chest, Chris’ arm, Vin’s belly, Chris’ hand, at the last, thick and sweet and the room redolent with the smell of his sex... their sex.
Vin looked up at him, head still on Chris’ shoulder, breathing hard, smiling just a little, and without thinking Chris leaned down to kiss him, just as hard as before, with maybe a little gratitude thrown in. Vin relaxed against him, turning as best he could, kissing back too. When they broke for breath, Chris rolled onto his back, letting himself breathe as hard as he felt. Vin came up on an elbow, lifting Chris’ hand when he did, the hand that was still covered in Vin’s seed.
Wicked grin, eyes glinting at Chris, a wink, and then Vin’s head was bent again, this time suckling Chris’ hand, finger by finger, web between his thumb and forefinger, and thumb last of all.
Chris suddenly wished he was eighteen again, watching Vin lick at his fingers, suck on ’em, all of it so far beyond what he’d expected he didn’t know if he was drunk and dreaming or awake. Had to settle for ’awake,’ being as he’d never known to dream of any of this, and he was half-aware he’d already thought that once in the past five minutes.
Vin licked further up Chris’ arm, a spatter or two there, then grinned at Chris again before flopping back down, rubbing the spatters on his own chest and belly into his skin almost absentmindedly, eyes closed and a small smile on his lips.
“Sweet Jesus,” Chris whispered after a while.
“Mmm.”
“Which of us left the whiskey across the room?”
“That’d be you,” said Vin, eyes still closed.
Well, hard tasks never got easier for the putting off of ’em, so Chris rolled up and out of bed, grabbed the open bottle and took a few swallows. Vin, still sideways across the bed, opened his eyes and looked at Chris upside down, and Chris wondered who had a more lopsided grin.
He walked back to the bed slow, taking in the sight of Vin naked on the quilt, just like he’d imagined. Couldn’t say what it was about Vin, just that the sight and sound of him, with clothes even, made him hot and cold all over. If - when - he ended up in hell wasn’t no way it could feel any better or worse than right now, hurting all the more ’cause he knew how it’d end, and not able to stop it this time any more than he’d been able to last time.
Vin twisted around, smile fading. “Larabee?”
Chris’ eyes had gone hard of a sudden, eyes and face, mouth in a thin, stern line. Vin’s first instinct, to roll off the bed and come up fighting, was stilled by a second look: Chris’ eyes were shadowed.
He’d been able to avoid getting tangled, for the most part, but once he’d run across a man who’d gone for blood, after. Hadn’t - didn’t - figure Chris for one of those, but could be he’d gotten too comfortable too fast.
Other hand, could be Chris had too.
“Chris?” he said, quiet, not making any fast moves, just stretching his hand out slow.
“Drink?” Chris held out the bottle, then raised it to his own lips again, not waiting for an answer. Vin felt a sympathetic tingle at the back of his eyes, the way Chris was drinking.
Maybe just plumb overstayed his welcome, but that didn’t sit with earlier, that wicked voice in his ear talking ’bout he wanted to see Vin, made Vin’s face heat up just remembering. He glanced at Chris, but Chris wasn’t looking at nothing in particular, staring at the bed and holding onto the bottle almost like he’d forgot about everything else.
Vin rolled over and off the other side, looking for his clothes. Found his loincloth, thong alongside it, tied it back on almost without thinking . Sat down in the chair to pull on his stockings and britches, going over the ride to Tascosa come morning. Realized he was thinking out loud when he heard Chris say, “Early?”
Vin thought a few more seconds, more about honesty than anything else. “Best get an early start,” he said finally, looking over at Chris.
“Going somewhere?” Chris said ’stead of answering, his voice low and quiet.
Vin stared at him, nigh forgetting the sock he was turning right ways out: Chris didn’t sound mad but he didn’t sound like he was taking ‘yes’ for an answer neither.
“Room and a bed,” Chris said, holding Vin’s eyes with his own, pulling the quilt down off the sheets.
Vin felt like he was facing off with a rattlesnake and no way to tell which way to jump. “Thought you was feelin’ a mite crowded.” Didn’t know what else to say, how else to say it.
“Get over here,” Chris said, not sure whether he should be irritated or amused, or both, or maybe something else entirely. “I’m not of a mind to go chasing anyone through the streets, not unless they take my whiskey.”
“Think you could catch me?” Vin was still holding the sock, and his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Chris set the bottle down harder than he meant, but Vin didn’t flinch, just watched him. Watched him, with those eyes bluer than any Chris had ever seen, watched Chris come round the bed, watched Chris even when Chris reached for him, not taking his eyes off Chris’ while Chris pulled the thong off him, while Chris took the sock out of his hand and dropped it on the floor.
Chris tried to think the last time he’d met a man wasn’t afraid of him.
“I ain’t feeling crowded,” he said finally, but that was a lie, and he had a feeling Vin knew it. Still, there was no way to tell Vin it wasn’t him. “More whiskey?”
He pulled Vin back down onto the bed with him, not giving Vin a chance to say no, not giving him a chance to up and leave. Vin relaxed against him, even took a swallow of whiskey, but Chris could still feel the tension in him. He stood it as long as he could, stood it through another quarter bottle.
“I had a mind not to worry about scorpions and such tonight,” he said at last.
“We ain’t spent a lot of time with other people,” Vin said right off, like he’d been rehearsing it in his head, and Chris could see where it was going. “I ain’t the kind to take it personal, cowboy.”
Look, God damn it, Chris wanted to say, you got me riding to Tascosa with you, you got me riding after you to see you put your damn neck in a noose. What the hell more do you want?
Instead he said, calm as he could, “I’m the kind to take it personal, Vin.”
He knew Vin was frowning, and he took another swig of whiskey, figured what the hell and finished off the bottle, dropped it on the floor, then pulled Vin’s face toward him and kissed him again, deep and dirty as he could.
“I ain’t getting more whiskey,” Vin said, his voice back to husky. “You finish off that other bottle you’re on your own.”
“You catch me sleepwalking, you know where I’m headed,” and Chris didn’t give Vin much of a chance to catch his breath, just kissed him again, and again, until Vin was relaxed, until Vin was right up against him, until Vin didn’t so much as stir when Chris rolled over to blow out the lamp.
He’d heard Vin lock the door, he remembered after a few drowsy minutes. His gun was in reach; so was Vin’s.
They had time to sleep.