Vin brushed the dirt off his pants as he exited the barn. Across the yard, he saw lights behind the curtained windows of the house, lights he hadn't turned on. It meant that Chris was finally home. He quickened his pace, wondering what mood Chris would be in after his long day at work.

When Vin opened the sliding glass door at the back of the house, Chris was only just pulling off his suit jacket; Vin watched him drop it across the back of one of the recliners in the living room.

"Hey," Vin said, not quite breathless from his jog across the yard. Chris looked tired, beat, worn. And he probably felt even worse. "These long days at work are killing you," Vin said as he detoured into the kitchen to grab Chris a beer.

"Yeah, but hopefully they won't last much longer."

"Really?" Vin headed out into the living room. He handed Chris the beer and offered him his lips; Chris pecked them briefly, and then took a long, slow pull from the bottle.

Chris swallowed and then let out a long sigh. "Yeah, really." He then headed toward the back of the house, toward the master bedroom. Vin followed him, picking up the suit jacket and the tie that had joined it. "They're adding a new team."

"Wow. After what happened last time ... I didn't think they'd ever get around to formin' another one."

"Well, Raphael Martinez is not Donald Paulo," Chris said. "I don't think anyone could have fucked up as badly as Paulo did."

Chris peeled off his shirt and stepped out of his pants. Vin stood and watched, wondering if he should be doing the same.

"So, Raphael's getting the team leader position? Good for him," Vin said.

"Yeah, it is. If he likes more responsibility, long hours, and too much paperwork." Chris dropped his clothes on the floor and headed for the bathroom. A moment later, Vin heard the water shoot on in the shower.

Vin picked up the clothes Chris had discarded. He sniffed at the material of the suit: it smelled a bit, like Chris had worn it too many days in a row. Vin hung it up on the left side of the closet, beside the other suits that needed dry cleaning. If Chris didn't remember to take them in the morning — and Vin knew his team leader probably wouldn't — then he would drop them off on his way into the office. Vin shifted his one suit from his side of the closet to Chris's, hanging it next to the ones earmarked for dry cleaning, even though he'd only worn it once since the last time it had been cleaned.

When Vin stepped back into the bedroom, he noticed the bathroom door; he hadn't heard it close. Chris would have left it open if he'd wanted company, so Vin headed out to the kitchen. He washed his hands in the sink, and then reached into the sparsely filled cabinet. He knew they didn't have much, so he'd stopped quickly at the store on the way home. Vin didn't want to be late, didn't want to arrive home after Chris, so he hadn't taken the time to buy much; he figured they could go shopping another night, or maybe even out to eat, though they hadn't done that in a while. Vin opened a can and emptied its contents into a pot he placed on the stove, and then he filled another pot with water and set it on to boil.

While he waited, he pulled out flatware, dishes, napkins and placemats, and then set the table. He wondered if Chris would just want to finish his beer with dinner, or if he'd want something like coffee. Vin wasn't sure, but didn't want to waste the coffee if it wasn't wanted, so he didn't make any. He filled a glass of water from the container in the fridge and set it beside his own place at the table.

When the water on the stove finally boiled, Vin dumped in the contents of the package he pulled from the fridge and watched the water return to a rolling boil. He used a large spoon to stir the other pot while he waited.

He heard the water in the shower, which had been echoing faintly through the walls of the house, shut off. Vin knew Chris would be out in just a few minutes, so he pulled the plates over to the stove and began dishing out the food.

Chris came down the hall with a towel in his hands, still drying his hair. He was wearing a pair of dark blue, ATF sweatpants and nothing else. Vin stood and stared for a moment. Despite the years and the hard work and the scars, Chris was still a handsome, fit man. Vin couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

"You made dinner?" Chris asked. He sounded surprised, even though Vin had been the only one to cook anything for the last few weeks now. "Man, I'm starving," Chris said, tossing the towel over one of the chairs before taking his seat at the head of the table. "I'm so hungry, I'd even eat hotdogs and beans."

Vin came to a sudden stop in the middle of the kitchen, each hand carrying a full plate.

"Vin? What's the matter?"

Vin forced himself to walk out to the dining table and set one of the plates in front of Chris. Two hotdogs sat atop a steaming pile of baked beans.

"Sorry, Chris," Vin said as he set the other plate down on his own placemat. "I wasn't thinking. I can make something else. There's not much, but ... I don't know. I could make spaghetti?"

"No. This is fine, Vin. Really," Chris said. He then picked up his fork and began to swirl the tines in the reddish brown sauce of the beans. "I was just joking."

Vin stared at Chris. He couldn't tell if Chris really had been joking or not.

"I knew what you were cooking as soon as I stepped out of the shower. So, come on, Vin. Eat up." Chris shoveled a forkful of beans into his mouth. "Mmm, best reheating job I've ever tasted."

Vin gave a half laugh; this he knew was a joke. "Where's your beer?" he asked.

"Finished it," Chris said before taking another mouthful of dinner.

"You want another?" Vin asked. He didn't wait for an answer; he just got up and headed into the kitchen. Vin decided that he could use a beer himself. As he pulled two bottles from the fridge, he wondered where Chris had left his empty one. "Here," he said, setting the beer down beside Chris as he took his seat again.

There was silence for a few minutes as all they did was eat. Vin felt shitty about having made hotdogs and beans. The truth was, though, he wasn't much of a cook. He could sit in a ditch for days on end, not even moving to take a leak, and yet he had no patience for chopping little slivers of carrots or sprinkling minute amounts of this spice and that, or for beating egg whites until they were soft or stiff or whatever they were supposed to be. Ezra had told him once that chefs were artists, not laborers; it took a certain amount of imagination to create a spectacular dish. Vin knew he wasn't creative; he knew it didn't take any amount of imagination to snipe some shit of a bad guy, which was the one thing he did better than anything else.

"So, where were you?" Chris finally asked.

Startled from his reverie, Vin nearly dropped his fork. "What?"

"You were outside when I came in. Where were you?"

"Oh. Barn. Checkin' on the horses."

"Is Yosemite taking good care of them?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. I still feel bad that we had to hire someone, though. I thought I could handle it...."

"Hey, we've both been busy, Vin." Chris took another mouthful of beans. He chewed and then swallowed before asking, "When's the last time you went out riding, anyway?"

"Been a long while."

"It's been even longer for me. It wasn't fair to the horses, not when we're this busy with work," Chris said. "As long as Yosemite is doing a good job, then don't worry. The horses are being tended and exercised—"

Vin nodded. He still felt bad. That was the one chore he'd promised Chris he'd do and it was the one that ended up taking far more time than Vin had.

"—once this new team is formed," Chris was saying, "I shouldn't be so damn busy."

"Guess we'll all have more time, with another team to take some of the caseload," Vin speculated.

"That's what we're hoping. But, Travis has me so busy right now, reading applications, holding interviews—"

"You're pickin' the people? Why isn't Raphael doin' that?"

"Oh, he's in on it, too. But, after the team Paulo put together, none of the brass are letting anyone have that much of a free hand again. Looks like our team will remain the exception to the rule. Travis blames it on the men Paulo chose, but I have to blame it on Paulo. They followed him, like they would have followed any team leader; they did what he told them to do. Paulo was the bad egg, and I knew it from the start, only no one asked my opinion. So, when Travis tapped me for this, I couldn't very well say no."

Vin nodded. It made sense. He had only to look at the men on his own team to know it was true. Apart they had done what they could, but too often it was never enough, or simply, never good enough. But together, under Chris's leadership, they'd done more than anyone had expected or hoped. Chris and Travis were the only ones who hadn't seemed surprised by their repeated successes.

Chris grabbed his beer and headed into the living room. "You coming?" he asked, pulling Vin from his thoughts.

"Yeah." Vin stood, but instead of following Chris, he took the empty dinner plates into the kitchen. He heard the television come on just before he began rinsing the dishes in the sink.

"Vin!" Chris shouted. Vin turned off the water and grabbed the towel that hung from the handle on the refrigerator door. He dried his hands as he made his way toward the living room. He wondered if Chris was going to ask for another beer.

"Hey, Vin, where are you?"

"Here," Vin replied as he came to stand at the foot of the couch were Chris was sprawled with a half-empty beer bottle in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked. Even though he looked at Vin when he spoke, he continued to flip channels with the television's remote control.

"Dishes." Someone had to do them, Vin silently reasoned.

"Leave 'em," Chris said. He smiled devilishly, and then the television set went dark and silent. Vin watched as Chris took a small sip of beer, then lowered the bottle to his crotch and began to rub. "They'll keep 'til later."

But that won't, Vin thought, staring at the obvious bulge in Chris's sweatpants. Vin dropped the towel onto a nearby chair as he came to stand in front of his better half. Chris reached up with a bare foot, pressing it against Vin's crotch, and began to rub in time with the movement of the beer bottle over his own crotch.

Vin couldn't deny that it felt good. His dick began to swell, and his tongue slipped out to lick his suddenly dry lips. He watched as Chris slipped a hand into his sweatpants. The string at the front was loose and the material gaped, exposing Chris's hard length, which he was stroking slowly.

With a hitch in his breath, Vin dropped to his knees, settling between Chris's legs. Vin lowered his head into Chris's crotch, using his hand to gently move Chris's balls forward until they rested on his outstretched tongue. He then slowly licked upward, over the thick, wrinkly skin of the ball-sac to the bare base of the underside of the penis, and then up ever so slowly to the tip. With his tongue gently supporting the head, Vin kissed the slit and then eased his moist lips down until his could close them just beneath the corona. Then he wrapped his fingers around the shaft and began slowly moving his hand up and down while he worked his mouth in a circular motion, sharing with Chris the delights of his tongue, cheeks, and palate.

Vin couldn't help but think how clean Chris tasted, without a hint of the sweat that must have been coating him prior to his shower. He smelled clean, too, like they'd been caught out in a rainstorm — something that hadn't happened to them in a long time, something that would probably just annoy Chris with the inconvenience these days. He was so damn busy with work....

Vin felt Chris's hand in his hair, carding through the long strands. He wondered if he'd be given the lecture any time soon about getting it trimmed. It was 'Bureau regulations' and his team leader would only let it slide for so long; Chris would say that if were up to him, he'd let Vin grow his hair down to his butt, but the brass felt different; he'd say the team had some amount of leeway with the Suits, but that it would be a shame to waste it on something as trivial as this. Vin would understand — and he did, in a way — and he'd go and get a haircut. Hell, he'd do it, without waiting to be asked; he'd do it in the morning, after dropping Chris's suits off at the dry cleaners; he'd do it, for Chris.

Just like he did a lot of things for Chris. Everything, in fact. This was for Chris, this touching and tasting and sucking; it was for Chris as much as it was for himself and for them. And he knew Chris was enjoying it, despite being tired, or maybe because he was tired, too tired to do any of the work himself. Vin had quickly learned what Chris enjoyed; in fact, the man was fairly easy to satisfy, unlike a lot of the men Vin had dated over the years.

He wondered if this ease between them was why he never tired of pleasing Chris, never tired of feeling the man's sure hands rubbing over his skin or through his hair, never tired of tasting him or being filled by him. It was like nothing else, because Chris was like no one else. And Vin knew it had to be too good to be true, or at least, too good to last. Nothing ever lasted, especially when it was something Vin wanted.

Chris groaned loudly, and Vin realized he was rapidly approaching climax. There were so many little clues: the sheen of sweat that suddenly appeared over his skin and slicked up Vin's palm as he ran it over the muscled plain of Chris's stomach; the rapid, almost-erratic heartbeat that Vin could feel against his lips when he tightened them over the head that had swelled just a little larger; the sweet drop or two of fluid that leak from his slit and added to the hot moisture of Vin's mouth; but mostly it was the little sounds Chris made, the hitches in his breathing, the small gasps, the tight-lipped moans as if he were fighting to contain something louder, something far more primal, and the long, slow sighs as Vin slowly and gently ran his tongue along the underside of the supple head.

Vin pressed his thumb against the underside of Chris's dick, just at the base, a moment before he felt the hands on his shoulders tighten. Then Chris began to thrust and Vin tightened his lips around the head, sucking, though no semen escaped for several moments; then, suddenly, it came, hot and fast into his mouth, the slick liquid made sweet and tangy by Chris's diet of beer and whiskey. Vin liked the taste of Chris's cum — he always had — and he'd live off of it, if he could.

When Chris's hips stopped moving, when Vin felt the man's hands relax on top of his shoulders, he knew Chris was spent and it was only a moment before no more cum could be coaxed from him. A hand moved briefly to Vin's hair, stroking it gently, playing with an odd strand, before sliding down limp at his side. Vin maneuvered himself onto the couch, trying to disturb his partner as little as possible. He leaned up and kissed Chris, passing to him with the tip of his tongue the last drops of jizz he'd stolen. An instant later, the fluid was pushed back into Vin's mouth and Chris pulled away. Chris's brows were furrowed, but Vin smiled wickedly as he swallowed the slick cum before snuggling down into the crook of Chris's arm.

A moment later, Vin heard a small laugh deep in Chris's chest and then felt the man relax beside him. Vin snaked his arm across Chris's stomach. He loved this man. And he felt that love returned when Chris gave his back an idle rub.

Vin wanted to kiss some more; most guys that he'd been with, though, didn't care for it. They either didn't like it or it simply didn't occur to them. Chris never did it after sex unless Vin initiated it, but sometimes he really got into it. Not tonight, though. Vin knew that Chris was tired, knew that all Chris wanted to do now was nap, so Vin contented himself the contact of their warm bodies and waited for him to drift off.

But lying there, Vin's mind began to drift and wander, taking him against his will to places he never liked to dwell. He wondered why Chris wanted him, why he wanted him here at the ranch, here in his life; why he wanted to fuck him. He'd asked Chris, only a couple of times, and while he understood, he didn't really comprehend. He didn't get how a man who had been married, who'd been a father, would not want that again. Why he'd take up with some guy. Sure, the sex was great, but ... wouldn't it be great for Chris with a woman as well? Hadn't it been between him and Sarah?

It just didn't make sense, like a lot of things. Love, for one; no one had ever explained it well enough for Vin to understand what it really was. He knew it was more than sex, even mind-blowing sex. He knew it was more than caring what happened to the other person, because he felt that for the five men who made up the rest of their ATF team. But what was it, what caused it, and what kept it from going away?

Because, for Vin, it always seemed to go away.

Vin wished he had the answers, but he didn't, so he got up from the couch, being careful not to disturb Chris, and headed into the kitchen to finish the dishes. He turned on the tap, letting the water slowly fill the sink. He could have just loaded up the dishwasher, but he didn't want to wake Chris, so he quietly soaped up the sponge, plunged his hands into the hot water, and wiped each plate clean of the dinner Chris had eaten, though Vin knew that he would have preferred something else.

He wondered when Chris would prefer someone else as well.

When all the dishes, flatware, and pots were finally drying in the rack, Vin made his way into the bedroom. On the way he grabbed the towel Chris had left hanging over one of the spare dining room chairs and now he dropped it onto the floor in the bedroom. Inside the closet, he dug into Chris's hamper and began sorting, tossing each article into a pile of whites, a pile of lights, or a pile of darks. Then he scooped up the pile of darks and returned them to the now-empty hamper.

He carried the clothes down the hall to the laundry room, which he knew was far enough away from where Chris slept not to wake him if he started a load. As he passed, Vin glanced over at the couch, but couldn't see more than the tops of Chris's bare feet, propped up on the coffee table.

In the laundry room, he loaded up the washer and started the cycle for cottons. Then he opened the drier and found it full of clothes. He reached in, relieved to find the contents dry, and pulled out a towel, which he tossed over the drier door. Next he found a tee-shirt, which he folded and placed on the top of the washer. He threw socks and underwear into the hamper as he found them. When the drier was finally empty, Vin tossed the towels over his shoulder, placed the folded tee-shirts in the hamper, grabbed it, and headed back to the bedroom.

He dropped the towels onto the bed and the hamper onto the floor, then grabbed the tee-shirts and tucked them into Chris's dresser drawer. Then he took the clean towels and headed into the bathroom to exchange them for the ones that hadn't been washed in nearly two weeks.

When he finally returned to the bedroom, Vin was surprised to find Chris sitting on the edge of the bed. Chris was staring down at a sock he was holding.

"Hey," Vin said. He dumped the used towels onto the floor with all the other clothes that still needed washing.

"This one doesn't have a partner," Chris remarked as he turned the long tube of material over in his hands.

"It's probably in that pile there somewhere," Vin said, pointing at the loose pile of whites in the middle of the room.

"It's mine, though."

Vin nodded. He knew it was Chris's. Vin didn't wear that style of sock; the kind that was half Lycra and half wool; the kind scientifically designed to decrease fatigue as well as blisters and foot odor; the kind that cost more than the last pair of running shoes Vin had bought at PayLess.

"It's all mine," Chris said, finally looking up at Vin.

"I know."

"Why are you doing my laundry?"

Vin shrugged. "Needs to be done." And no one else had been doing it, not for weeks now.

"But it's mine."

"I know."

"Vin...." Chris stopped and stood, dropping the sock on the bed. He crossed over to stand in front of Vin. "You don't have to do my laundry."

"But you've been so busy and...." Vin wasn't sure what he wanted to say, so he just stopped until the words came. Finally he said, "I have time, now that we hired Yosemite."

"Is that what this is about?"

Vin didn't know Chris meant.

"Vin, you promised to do that, you promised to take care of the horses," Chris said, and it was true. Vin had broken his promise to Chris, the first promise he'd made when agreeing to live at the ranch.

Vin just nodded at Chris, ashamed that he hadn't been able to keep his word.

"Vin." Chris hands were now on Vin's upper arms, fingers curling around his biceps. "Vin, you didn't have to make that promise. And you don't have to make up for it. You don't have to do ... this." Chris gestured at the piles of dirty laundry.

"I know," Vin said, but it was a lie. He did feel that he had to make up for it, to somehow make it up to Chris, so Chris would want him to stay, so that Chris would continue to love him. "But Sarah did this stuff for you—"

"You're not Sarah!" Chris suddenly turned away.

Vin knew he wasn't Sarah and could never be Sarah, no matter how many meals he cooked or dishes he washed or loads of laundry he cleaned. He could never replace Sarah, and he could never hope for Chris to love him like he loved her.

Chris turned around again, but Vin was afraid to meet his eyes. He wondered if he should just leave. If this was the signal that things were over, or at least, heading inevitably down that familiar, painful road.

"I don't want you to be Sarah," Chris said quietly. "I'm not that guy anymore, Vin. Not after everything that's happened."

Vin was confused. Was Chris saying that he'd changed, that everyone changes, that he'd changed his mind about Vin?

"You're not second best. Don't think you have to do what she did, Vin, because you don't. You're not her replacement."

But Vin's clothes still hung where hers had, and he slept on her side of the bed, and used her drawers in the dresser. And Vin knew that he was here, in her house, because she wasn't. He knew that if she were still alive that he wouldn't have any of this with Chris.

"Leave the laundry," Chris said. He took Vin's hand. "I'll help you do it tomorrow."

Vin's eyes went wide. He didn't mean to act surprised, but he was.

"And you can kick my ass clear into next Tuesday if I don't. Deal?"

Vin nodded in agreement. Even though he wouldn't kick Chris's ass, even if he could, even if Chris didn't follow through. Vin understood how busy he was and how Chris's job as a team leader was always more demanding than his own job as a mere agent. Still, he appreciated the gesture.

"Come here," Chris breathed.

Vin didn't resist when Chris slipped his arms around Vin's waist, drawing them together. Vin rested his head on Chris's shoulder, loving the feel of the arms holding him tight, of their bodies pressed together.

"I'm sorry," Chris said softly. "I'm sorry for not pulling my weight around here. I'm sorry for making you think that you needed to pick up my slack." Chris fell silent for a few moments and they just stood there in the middle of the bedroom, surrounded by piles of dirty laundry, holding each other. "I want you here, Vin, because I love you."

Vin nodded. He loved Chris, too. More than anything, more than life itself, and Vin didn't want this to end. He could never go back to being alone. He wouldn't.

~ fade ~

Series Index

April 2004

Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website.

Thanks to my beta reader for all her helpful suggestions!

Characters from "The Magnificent Seven" were used without permission and this story in no way signifies support of, or affiliation with, The Mirisch Group, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment, CBS Worldwide, Inc., or their affiliates. The M7-ATF universe was created by Mog, and extra thanks go to her for allowing other people to play so liberally within it. The story itself and any non-Magnificent Seven characters belong to the author. This story will not be sold for any reason.