Vin Tanner knocked on the door of the ranch house and waited. Then he knocked again. He knew Chris was home. His Dodge Ram was parked in the driveway, though this was odd; the man usually took the time to pull the truck into the garage, but tonight he either didn't care or was in too much of a hurry to get inside. Vin looked over the lousy parking job his team leader had done, but it gave him no indication of the man's intents.He knocked again.
Finally, he heard soft footsteps inside, and then the door was pulled wide open. Chris was standing there, his jacket and tie missing, his shirt untucked from his pants, with a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand. He glared at Vin for a moment, swaying slightly on his bare feet. "What?"
Vin shrugged as he walked inside, uninvited. Chris began to protest, but took another swallow of amber liquid instead. Vin heard the front door slam shut.
As he walked further into the house, Vin looked casually around the place, trying to figure out what was the matter. Chris had been in a volatile mood all day. And, without a word, he'd failed to show up to their weekly Friday night bender at The Saloon.
Even Buck didn't know what was the matter. He'd gone in to talk to Chris mid-afternoon but had only gotten yelled at for his efforts. He'd come out of the office looking a bit sheepish and just shrugged his shoulders at the questioning stares of everyone else in the office. The man hadn't told him a thing about what was wrong; hell, Chris'd even denied that there was anything wrong. It didn't make any sense to the team.
They could all see how upset Chris was, but over what? Things had been going well in the office. Their last assignment had gone down with no injuries and what looked to be all solid convictions. It wasn't Christmas time when Chris got quiet and depressed because he missed his family. It wasn't near his wedding anniversary, or anyone's birthday, according to Buck; it wasn't even near the date when Sarah and Adam had been murdered. It was just an ordinary day in May as far as anyone on the team could figure.
Buck knew when to leave Chris alone and that's what he'd done for the remainder of the day. At The Saloon, they'd all had a beer as they waited for Chris to show up. When it came time to order the second round, they were worried. Josiah called the office from his cell phone, but there was no answer. At the same time, Nathan called Chris's cell phone, but was met with the same result. They all suspected where their team leader was: the ranch. And why he wasn't answering his cell phone: he was probably drunk, or at least on his way to it. They just didn't know why or what to do about it.
"Go talk to him, Vin," JD had suggested. "You're the only one he didn't yell at today."
"Only 'cuz I knew enough ta stay clear of him!" Vin retorted, though, in his gut, he knew JD was right. Chris'd had one opportunity to cuss him out that day, but had just glared at him instead.
It had gone around the table, each one volunteering someone else and then that man giving good, solid reasons why Chris wouldn't want to be seeing him on his doorstep. It came back around to Vin again. He finally agreed to go.
Now he was sitting in Chris's living room. Watching the man glare at him again.
"Missed ya at The Saloon," Vin finally said, breaking the silence.
Chris just shrugged as he took another sip from his glass.
"So, ya gonna offer me a drink?" Vin asked.
Chris shook his head. "Wasn't planning on it."
"Fine. I'll just grab myself a beer then." Vin got up and headed toward the kitchen. He was surprised when Chris followed him. He pulled a bottle from the refrigerator, twisted off the top, and then took a good, healthy swallow. "Thanks, pard."
Chris had positioned himself on the other side of the bar, which separated the kitchen from the dining area; Vin could see that he was holding onto the edge for support. In front of Chris on the tile counter was an large, open bottle of Jack Daniel's — it was three-quarters full and Vin guessed that if Chris had just opened the bottle, he be a hell of a lot drunker than he presently was. Still, that only meant that Vin couldn't tell exactly how much Chris had downed between the time the man had reached home and he'd come knocking on his door.
Vin headed back out to the living room with his beer and Chris again followed him. After he sat down, he noticed that Chris had brought the bottle of whiskey with him. The man sat down on the far end of the couch, with the bottle possessively between his legs as he continued to drink from his glass.
"So, ya wanna tell me what's the matter?"
"No."
Vin nodded. He didn't think the man was going to make this easy. "Okay, ya wanna tell me what ya wanna do about it?"
Chris raised the bottle of whiskey.
Vin nodded again, as he brought his beer bottle over and clinked it against the glass of the whiskey bottle in a mock-toast. Then he took a drink. If Chris wanted to get shit-faced, well, who was he to try to stop him? As long as the man wasn't intent on driving, Vin figured there wasn't too much to worry about.
Chris took another drink from his glass, this time draining it. After that the man just sat there, staring at something beyond the far wall. His hands were slack in his lap and eventually the empty glass tumbled from his fingers onto the floor, rolling under the coffee table. He made no move to retrieve it; he didn't even seem to notice it missing. From then on, Chris drank straight from the bottle.
Vin finished his beer, but did not leave Chris to get another one. He shifted his position on the couch to stare over at his friend, wondering what he was thinking about, what was taking him so far away. Vin finally reached over and took the whiskey from him — Chris noticed and turned his stare on Vin. He blinked a few times as Vin took a long, slow pull, and when Vin was done Chris immediately reached over and retrieved the bottle, taking a large mouthful himself.
They exchanged the whiskey bottle a few more times before Vin started to feel the effects. His whole body felt looser than normal, his head was swimming just a bit, and he had trouble focusing both his mind and his vision on things. He quirked a half-smile as he allowed himself to slump further down on the couch.
Vin's mind seemed filled with a million thoughts — like little pieces of a large jigsaw puzzle. None of them seemed to fit together, but they all seemed to be about Chris. He stared over at the man and nearly drooled. He was so handsome, so confident, so strong. All the things Vin admired. All the things he didn't feel that he was.
This was the person Vin wanted to love — that he did love — but that he didn't see ever loving him. He was everything that a man like Chris would never want: practically illiterate, scrawny, ignorant, and, most importantly, male. Chris had had a wife and a son. He'd dated the beautiful Mary Travis. He could have practically any woman in the city of Denver, if not the state of Colorado. He'd have better luck landing Buck Wilmington, Vin scoffed silently to himself.
Chris gave him the whiskey again, and he drank, hoping the liquid would wash away these painful thoughts. But, as he handed the bottle back, Vin reached too far, over-balanced, and toppled into Chris's lap. The man didn't seem to notice and Vin forgot that he probably should at least try to sit up.
But neither man moved. Vin could hear Chris's slow, steady heartbeat, could feel the slight movement of his body with each breath. He expected Chris to shove him away at any moment, but he didn't, so Vin just stayed, his head resting easily on the man's thigh.
The most pleasant of feelings enveloped Vin and, as his eyes fluttered open, he realized he'd fallen asleep. As his mind cleared, he noticed Chris was stroking his hair and it scared him; the man's touch was so desired, yet so unexpected. It was then that he heard Chris mumble, "You have the most beautiful hair...."
Vin was afraid to move then. He didn't want the moment to end. He never wanted Chris to stop touching him.
"So soft...." Chris's fingers — strong, yet gentle — meandered from his hair to his shoulder; the man's touch was so soothing, yet it burned straight through the fabric of Vin's shirt.
Vin wanted more, enough to finally risk breaking the mood by rolling from his side onto his back. He held his breath, as he waited for Chris to come to his senses, but the man never did. Instead, his gentle fingertips wandered over to Vin's face, caressing his earlobe, tracing his cheekbone, his nose.
"I've waited so long for this..." Chris muttered and Vin couldn't believe his ears. "Too long...."
"Chris—" Vin whispered, but the man's fingertips found his lips and stopped his words.
"Tonight ... I want it to be special. Our first time...."
Oh, Chris! Vin wanted to leap up and hug the man to him. Never did he ever truly believe he'd hear those words. Never once did he hope he was worthy of this man's affections. Chris! Was this all really happening?
He sat up, only to be caught in Chris's strong arms, suspended in anticipation. A moment later, Chris leaned over and Vin turned his head so their lips would meet.
The kiss was hesitant at first — their mouths closed and merely pressed together, like two inexperienced teenagers. But a moment later, Vin felt Chris's tongue gliding over his lips, wetting them, encouraging them to part. Vin gently sucked on the man's lower lip, even as Chris returned the attentions. Soon their tongues were dancing together, gliding between their mouths, stroking, caressing.
Vin shifted his position, supporting his own weight now, allowing Chris's hands the freedom to touch his face and arms. His own hands found Chris's shirt and began undoing the buttons, to slip inside, to trace the firm muscles of the man's chest.
But Chris's hands stopped him. "Not here.... I wanna do this right..." he breathed so near to Vin's ear, nuzzling his face in Vin's hair. Chris tried to rise then, but he'd had too much alcohol. Vin hadn't had quiet as much and managed to stand without too much effort. He helped Chris to his feet and the pair tangled their arms together, supporting each other as they made their way toward the bedroom.
With each step that brought them nearer, Vin's heart rate increased. He was so afraid of what was going to happen. There had been so many other men, so many who never really cared about him, who only wanted him because he was there, convenient. Don't be like them, Chris, he pleaded silently as they entered the large, dark room at the back of the house. Don't let this just be sex.
Vin eased Chris down on the edge of the bed and the man immediately began to work his way out of his shirt. As always, Vin followed his lead. Chris then struggled with his pants and Vin kneeled in front of him to assist. He fell back onto the mattress as Vin tugged the fabric down over his hips, then off his legs. Vin stood again, pausing to regain his balance, then shucked his shoes and worked off his own pants.
Chris had managed to sit up again, and when Vin stepped out of his trousers, he used Chris's shoulder to steady himself. A moment later, he felt the man's arms around his waist, pulling him down on top of him, down onto the bed. Vin trembled in the man's embrace, terrified by what they were about to do. He wanted it so badly, he ached for it, and he had been dreaming about it for far too long.
"Don't be afraid...." Chris's hands were in his hair again, his green eyes looking at him, but drooping with intoxication and not entirely focused. "I'll try not to hurt you.... I don't ever wanna hurt you..." he said reassuringly.
Chris took Vin's hand then and placed it against his penis, encouraging him to stroke the less-than-stiff flesh. Vin's grip was firm, his fingers skilled, and he moved them deftly over the man's cock — up and down, kneading and pulling — until it was solid and throbbing with need.
He shifted his position, sitting up, and then leaned over Chris to take the hot shaft into his mouth. He felt the man's hands in his hair and on his back as he bobbed up and down his cock, teasing the glans with the tip of his tongue, sucking and humming, until Chris's hips began to thrust with his growing desire.
Vin's hand found Chris's balls, but only moments later, the man pushed him away, onto his back. Chris then leaned over him, staring down at him through the darkness of the room. "I want more for us tonight.... I want us to be together..." he said before pressing his lips to Vin's once more.
He shifted under the man as Chris altered his position, placing himself between Vin's legs. He drew up his knees as Chris pushed forward, his cock seeking first contact with Vin's entry. But then Chris stopped; he bent forward to place tender lips on Vin's forehead, then he trailed kissed down across his eyes and over his nose until he reached his mouth again.
When Chris spoke, his lips brushed lightly over Vin's. "I love you so much...."
Vin was stunned yet again by the man's words. This had to be a dream! This was far too good to actually be real. Yet it was real. "I love you, too," he breathed, wanting to scream the words, with all the air his lungs could hold.
He felt Chris push against him. Vin was ready. He was well practiced and didn't need much in the way of preparation, especially not when he was already so drunk, but he slathered spit over his fingers and then plied them between his legs. He coated them again, and reapplied more saliva to the man's cock.
Chris pushed forward again, just as Vin pulled his knees up a little further, just as he bore down. He felt the tip slip inside. Vin relaxed for a moment, before taking another deep breath.
Chris continued to push against him, into him, and Vin did his best to accommodate both the man's length and girth. Chris's wasn't the largest cock he'd ever accepted, but it was the only one he ever truly wanted.
He was now moving inside of Vin, each thrust far too shallow for Vin's liking, until Chris propped himself up on his outstretched arms. The next thrust was deep and it sent intense waves crashing over Vin's body. Each thrust following was deeper than the last, though the rhythm wasn't quite smooth.
Vin knew Chris was drunk, drunker than he was, and he worried the man would regret this in the morning, but he wanted it so badly himself, he just couldn't stop it. It felt so good to have Chris's hands on him, to hear his tender words, to feel him so deeply inside, pushing, thrusting, stroking the very fiber of his soul.
He could feel that it was taking all of Chris's concentration, all of his strength, to hold himself in position and thrust, so Vin slipped his own hand down between them and grabbed his cock. As Chris moved inside of him, Vin worked his fingers over his own flesh, stroking forward and back in time as best he could.
He looked up at Chris as the man arched into him. He heard the faint groans of pleasure and effort with each thrust. His own breathing increased as he grew closer and closer to release. Each stroke over his cock, each drive into him, the feeling of Chris's body moving against his, just knowing that this man wanted him, loved him, and had told him so, after so much hoping, dreaming, and praying, spurred him on. Soon Vin felt the tensing, the tiny pin pricks like sparks in the darkness that grew, finally exploding in a fountain of white jizz that coated his hand and belly.
Chris never stopped thrusting, never stopped his quiet moans, though they had grown more rapid. Vin felt Chris's entire body tense and spasm against him. The man thrust hard and deep, again and again, as a low groan rumbled in his throat. He felt Chris's arms trembling from the continued effort to support himself, and, after he finally let out a ragged exhalation of breath, Vin wasn't surprised when Chris nearly collapsed on top of him.
He managed to roll off and onto his side, and then he pulled Vin close. Vin could hear the man's labored breathing as he nuzzled into his long hair. Chris then squeezed him tight, hugging him closer, and when he spoke, there was a tremor in his normally solid voice.
"Sarah...."
Vin's own heart stopped beating when those words reached his ears. His breath froze solid in his lungs. He did not move, not an inch, not a muscle — afraid to do so, even if he could. Sarah. God, not Sarah!
He waited for Chris to say more, but all Vin heard were the now-shallow intakes of air and all he felt was the slow rise of Chris's chest pressed up against his arm.
He knew Chris was asleep, finally overcome by the alcohol and the exertion. Vin could have moved then and not disturbed Chris, but his body wouldn't obey the hysterics of his mind, would not listen to the screams to bolt, to run, to never, ever look back.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed this to happen? How could he have let the whiskey get the best of him, to have over-ruled his better judgment?
Soon he began to shake, from the chill of the night air, the alcohol slowly working its way out of his system, and the realization that the man who held him in his arms was dreaming of someone else.
Finally, he forced himself from the bed. He tossed the edge of the comforter over Chris's naked form, and then bent to retrieve his clothes from the floor. Too many long moments later, Vin was dressed; he left the bedroom carrying his shoes. He dropped them beside the couch, and then continued on to the kitchen for a glass of water to mitigate the hangover that would surely accompany the dawn.
He retrieved a mug from the cupboard, and then turned the tap on to fill it. His limbs were shaking again and he knew he had to sit down before he collapsed, so he steadied the full mug with both hands and made his way to the dining table. There he sat down and, for the first time, noticed the photo album.
It was open to a page, but in the darkness, he couldn't discern the contents of the pictures. With a great deal of effort, he leveraged himself out of the chair and staggered to the wall where the light switch was located. When he flipped it on, he noticed other items on the table in addition to the large photo album. There was a shoebox with its lid askew, and a small pile of loose photos.
Vin sat back down and began to look over the items. The large album contained wedding photos of Chris and Sarah. Vin had seen pictures of the man's wife before. There weren't many that he kept out, but there was one of her and Chris and one of her and Adam still on the mantel above the fireplace, and Buck had several snapshots of them taken on some summer camping trip when they were all much younger.
Still, dressed in yards of white satin, Sarah was a vision. Her long, dark hair was pulled off her face to cascade in soft waves down her back. Her smile was radiant, like sunshine after a storm, like the moon on a crisp winter's night. With his fingertip, Vin traced a set of invisible wings, easily imagining her gracing Heaven with her angelic beauty.
He turned the pages, fascinated by her in each photo, sensing deep within him the emotions captured in her eyes as she gazed at her new husband; he had felt those same emotions earlier that night, in Chris's arms, when he thought the man was see him as they'd made love.
Soon his gaze wandered to Chris, so handsome in his black tuxedo and burgundy vest — smiling like Vin had never seen him smile before. There was a light and a happiness in his features that Vin didn't know the man was capable of expressing. There were no lines worn deep by years of grief and misery, no shadows concealed in the fire of his green eyes, no tension in his broad, strong shoulders. He didn't know this Chris, and never would. The groom in the photos was still happy, still idealistic, still unsoiled by the unfairness, the cruelty of an uncaring world, a world that would snatch his love and his life from him without a moment's thought or hesitation.
Vin pushed the wedding album aside, and then he reached for the pile of photos loose on the table. Chris was even younger in these. There was one of him in a football jersey, posing with the ball casually trapped between his arm and hip. Another was of him and a cheerleader — her hair was pulled up in two ponytails and it took Vin a moment to realize the girl was a young Sarah. He shuffled through more photos: Chris playing soccer, Chris on the baseball diamond, Chris with the swim team, the track team, a few more shots of him and Sarah and groups of their high school friends.
He set the loose pictures aside, on top of the wedding album, and then pulled the shoebox closer. He removed the lid and looked inside. There was a dry, shriveled boutonniere — a rose, which looked like it might have long ago been white, but was now brown like the pages of an old book. Beside it was a tiara covered in glitter — it still sparkled, even in the low light of the dining room. There were also two plastic, champagne glasses tied with purple ribbons; painted on the base of each, in gold letters, were the words "Senior Prom, Muncie High, Indiana, May 1980."
Under all of this, tucked inside a plastic sandwich bag, were more photos. Vin carefully pulled them out. The top picture was Chris and Sarah in their official prom pose — he was wearing a black tux, not nearly as nice as the one he'd worn in his wedding photos, with white sneakers on his feet. Sarah was dressed in a long gown that could have doubled for a bridesmaid dress. It was a pale pink color and almost looked white in the old photo. She was pretty, but couldn't match the beauty she'd achieve in her wedding photos.
Beneath this photo were more pictures of them on prom night: some shots just of Chris, at his home, several with his mother and one with his father; then more photos at what must be Sarah's house — some of her and Chris, some of her and her parents. The last few pictures were group shots, high school friends, even a few pictures with Buck and his date. The final picture was of Sarah wearing the crown Vin had found in the shoe box with Chris standing next to her on a stage, handing her a bouquet of red roses: Prom King and Queen.
No wonder Chris had been in a mood. It was the anniversary of his senior prom. And Vin now knew, right down to the bottom of his worthless soul, that it had also been the night Sarah had given herself to Chris, for the first time. "I want more for us tonight.... I want us to be together...." Chris had wanted it to be special, a night they would never forget.
Vin carefully tucked the photos back into the plastic bag and returned everything to the shoebox.
He got up from the table then. He wanted nothing more than to go home. He wanted this night to be over. He didn't know what he would do about it tomorrow, or Sunday, or, worse, Monday when he actually had to face Chris again. How could he ever look into that man's eyes again? How could he stare into those fiery spheres and not know that on this night, the night he'd waited for all his life, Chris had been looking back at someone else, a memory Vin could never compete with, could never compare to.
He wanted to go home, but knew he wouldn't make it — there was still too much alcohol in his system, too much whiskey and pain clouding his mind. He'd never make it past the long driveway without wrecking his Jeep. He had no choice but to stay. But he would not go back into that man's bedroom.
He couldn't.
Because he knew what would happen if he did. He'd wake Chris up; he'd grovel at the man's feet, begging him to love him, even one ounce as much as he loved Sarah. He wouldn't be able to hide his desperation and he wouldn't be able to stand it when Chris rejected him.
Vin sank down onto the couch, curling his knees up close. He pulled the afghan off the back and covered himself, praying that he would wake up before Chris did, sober enough to finally make the drive home.
Sarah.... Why'd you have to meet him first?
~ fade ~
April 2001Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website.
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, or CBS Worldwide, Inc. The M7-ATF universe was created by Mog, and extra thanks go to her for allowing other people to play within it. The story itself and any non-Magnificent Seven characters belong to the author. This story will not be sold for any reason.
Thanks to my beta reader for all of her help and encouragement!