Vin hopped into the passenger seat of the pick-up truck, firmly shutting the door. "Thanks, Chris. I 'preciate this.""Hey, no problem. Just remember this favor when I have to take the Ram in for service," Chris commented, not taking his eyes from the road as he pulled out into the morning traffic. The pair then rode in silence the rest of the way to the office. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence — quiet times between them were hardly rare, and often preferred to mindless chatter, especially when their friends Buck and JD seemed to have a corner on that market — and Vin used the time to revel in the air around him. The cab was filled with smells: some subtle like gunpowder and soap, and occasionally Old Spice deodorant, while others were more pungent, like leather, alfalfa, and molasses from the horse feed, but all of them were distinct scents he associated with Chris Larabee and this truck.
Upstairs at the federal building, the day went slowly but steadily as all of ATF Team Seven hunkered down to finish the last of their paperwork on a case successfully cracked — another day saving a naive world from imminent disaster. Heroes-R-Us. One of them had joked about putting that moniker on their office door, but nothing could shake the name they'd earned early on, The Magnificent Seven. Vin didn't feel like he personally lived up to the honor, but, as a team, he knew he and his friends did — they'd proven it far too many times, pulling themselves out of seemingly impossible situations and hauling in the most despicable and elusive criminals.
Vin was proud of these people — proud to know them, work with them, and call them all his friends. Especially Chris Larabee; there wouldn't be a team without that man, and they all knew it, from young Agent Dunne right on up the ladder to A.D. Travis and beyond. Chris had formed the team and it was his leadership that kept them together, and alive.
So, was it really difficult to believe that Vin had a crush on the man? He glanced up from his desk to stare through the window into his team leader's office. Dark blond hair with a hint of red, which reminded him of a wild fire in the heat of summer, and eyes the color of cool spearmint, which held depths Vin could never even begin to hope he'd have the opportunity to explore.
Suddenly, Chris stood up from his desk. He'd seen Vin staring and he came over. "Did the mechanic call? You need a ride back there?" Chris asked as he leaned up against the desk, pressing the tight flesh of his ass enticingly against the edge. Vin looked away and tried to focus on his computer screen.
"Ah," he swallowed hard, searching for his voice. "No. I mean, yeah; he did call. But the Jeep won't be ready 'til tomorrow. Would ya be willin' ta drop me at my apartment tanight? ... I'll even buy ya a burger ... or a steak or ... somethin'," he stammered the last, feeling like a tongue-tied schoolboy for some reason — a reason which happened to be wearing jeans at least one size too small.
"I can't. I already promised Mary...."
Vin just nodded, waving Chris off. "That's okay. Don't worry about it. I'm sure one of the other fellers can drop me off. If not, I'll just hop the bus."
Chris then reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder, sucking the last of the air straight out of Vin's lungs. "Why don't you just borrow the Ram?" he offered. But Vin just looked at him. If he had the truck, how would Chris get home? Much to Vin's disappointment, Chris explained: "I doubt it'll be an early evening, so I'll just crash at Mary's."
That was the very last thing Vin wanted to hear: Chris spending the night in Mary's bed. Of course, he could hardly blame the man; Mary was a stunningly beautiful woman, and smart, and rich, with a cute kid that just had to fill an empty hole in Chris's heart. Vin supposed if he were straight, he'd be attracted to Mary as well. But he wasn't — either straight or attracted to her. Nope, he had his eyes — hell, maybe even his heart — set on Chris Larabee, though he knew what an impossible dream it was. And he'd never risk losing the man's friendship or jeopardizing the team itself by ever making a move on the man. "I may be a dumb ol' Texan," he'd often told himself, "but I ain't stupid." The fact that Mary's place had both a couch and a guest room never did occur to Vin.
"Thanks, Chris," he finally managed to choke out. "But I can just take the bus...."
"No, really, Vin, you'd be doing me a favor: I hate to leave the thing here overnight."
"And my neighborhood is an improvement in security how??"
"Well, okay, you have a point, but ... at least if it gets stolen from your place I'll have a chance of recovering the insurance on it. Who's ever going to believe the thing would get stolen out of a federal building parking structure, though we know that's happened before."
Vin just nodded. Sure. What the hell? If he couldn't have the guy, at least he could have the guy's truck. Oh, baby. "Thanks," he finally said, and Chris handed him the key.
Vin was still working on his reports when his co-workers began to trickle out. It was mid-week and no one was really in the mood to gather for beers after work. The case had been an arduous one, and they all really just wanted to get out of there. Vin included, except he was far slower writing and typing than the others. It was unfortunate because it meant he was still in the office when Mary Travis came by to pick up her date. She was dressed beautifully in a long, shimmering black gown, with her pale blonde hair twisted up on her head like an ice sculpture of some exotic flower.Chris must have dressed in the bathroom because he stepped out wearing a suit that was almost elegant enough to pass as a tux. He looked incredible. His hair was brushed back off his face, neat for once, and the too-small jeans were replaced with black trousers, looking like they'd been tailored especially for him. Vin nearly drooled. But, he caught himself in time, clamping his mouth shut and focusing his eyes on his computer keyboard as he tried to find all the right letters in order to type the word "nitroglycerin." He wasn't having much luck.
"Vin!" Chris called from the door, Mary hanging elegantly on his arm. "Hit the lights when you leave? And don't stay too late."
Vin nodded, but Chris hadn't waited for a reply.
After that, there was no concentrating on the keyboard, on the form he'd been desperately trying to complete. He'd be here all night and still be no further along when all the guys came in the next morning. "Screw it," he finally decided, grabbing the key to the Ram off the desk and heading out, diligently turning off the lights as he'd been told.
Downstairs, he hopped into the over-sized pick-up — "A damn semi compared to the Jeep," he thought to himself — and turned the engine over. The truck purred like a wild cat and Vin could feel the vibration right up through the bench seat; he'd never noticed that before. Of course, he'd never driven Chris's truck before, either. He carefully pulled the monster out of the parking garage, waving goodnight to the lone security guard, and then headed off toward his side of the tracks.
But he didn't much feel like going home. What he really wanted to do was drive out to Chris's ranch, find that Chris had ditched Mary, somehow reaching the house before he did, and fuck the man until they were both so sore they'd have to call in sick tomorrow.
But that wasn't going to happen, not if Vin lived to be a hundred years old. Who really wanted to live that long anyway? he asked himself.
Instead, Vin just drove around for a while. He thought about grabbing some food, but that just made him think of Chris again. He'd offered to buy the man dinner, and Chris had turned him down. Vin now had to wonder if Mary had merely been a convenient excuse; if Chris was maybe sensing something and, therefore, didn't want to put himself in a situation with Vin that could, by any casual observer, be misconstrued as a date. But, honestly, he had no interest in watching Chris eat steak, not unless it was Vin's own tube steak.
He shook his head sharply to clear it. For some reason, he could no longer keep these thoughts at bay, though he used to be pretty good at it. Hell, he'd had enough practice. But, lately, his conscious mind seemed as active and disobedient as his unconscious mind. Too often, his head was filled with thoughts and dreams of Chris in various states of undress and affection. If that man kissed in real life as good as Vin imagined he did, well ... he was getting a throbbing hard-on just thinking about it.
Without too much effort, and little real conscious thought, Vin found himself steering the pick-up down Broadway, one of the main city streets, past the clubs — the predominately gay clubs — conveniently located within view of the capital building, much to the embarrassment of the politicians (whether or not they were regular customers). He pulled down a side street, knowing better than to park a vehicle owned by a government employee (let alone an ATF team leader) where it might be spotted by someone looking to use the information for his own gain, and found a relatively safe, secluded slot. He killed the engine, then took the long way around the block, past the coffee houses and closed bookstores, to a small door marked simply, "The Library." It was a popular gay bar, with some music, but not a lot of dancing. It was the place to go if you wanted to quietly study the other patrons, not to wildly put yourself on display. No, the Club Merengue just down the street was the place for that — platform dancing, impromptu stripteases, and blowjobs under the tables — but Vin was rarely into that raucous scene.
And, tonight especially, he wanted quiet. He wanted whiskey, not beer or margatinis. He wanted low lights, not colored strobes, he wanted to be approached, whispered to, pulled away to fuck in private, not in plain view of half the patrons.
Inside, he took a seat at the bar; uncharacteristically, he presented his back to the room, not really caring to know who might approach him in here. The bartender poured him a shot, then left him alone. Vin sipped at his drink. He didn't know what he was expecting, what he was hoping for, what might happen. He didn't care, as long as it ended with something a bit on the mind-numbing side — even if that was just getting plastered and sleeping it off in the truck.
But he wasn't even halfway through his second tumbler of Jack Daniels when a man slid up beside him. "Hi," he said in a hushed voice, barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the background. Vin gave the man a nod, but did not look at him as he took another sip from his drink. "My name's—"
"No names," Vin cut him off. He didn't want to be reminded he was about to spend another night thinking about Chris Larabee while in the arms of some stranger.
"Okay," the guy nodded, giving in easily. "Ya wanna—?" he began, but Vin cut him off again.
"Yeah," he said, and then quickly gulped the last swallow of his drink, nearly gagging as the amber liquid burned his throat. "Where?"
The guy shrugged, and Vin barely caught the movement, since he still hadn't looked over at him. "Ya gotta car?" the guy asked and now it was Vin's turn to nod.
Vin got up and headed out of the club, with his 'new friend' hot on his heels. They walked casually down the street, as if they didn't know each other — which, ironically, Vin thought, was actually the truth. Vin turned the corner, and then waited at the edge of the shadows until the guy caught up to him. He took the guy's hand and led him into the darkness, to where he'd parked the truck.
But before he could pull the key from his pocket, the guy shoved him back against the hood. Vin was startled for a second, but relaxed as soon as warm, moist lips were pressed against his neck. The guy moved his hands beneath Vin's jacket, caressing the muscles along his sides. Vin then did some caressing of his own, slipping his hands over the guy's hips to grab his ass cheeks, pulling him forward until their pelvises were grinding against one another.
Then he heard quietly in his ear, "Top or bottom?"
Vin paused for a moment, his mind wrapping itself around this question. He'd done it both ways over the years and had never really been inclined one way or the other. It was rare that he didn't defer to his partner, because his partners usually did have a preference, but the fact that this guy was asking.... It was up to Vin tonight, this was his game, and this guy seemed to realize that, at least on some level.
As Vin's hands wandered over the guy's ass, slipping between his cheeks as much as the fabric of the pants would allow, Vin thought again about Chris. What would be his choice? The man was straight, so he'd only ever been a top, but that didn't mean he wouldn't love being a bottom. Many gay men convinced themselves of this early on — that they could do it, but they'd just really rather it not be done to them. But when they finally got a taste of it, of having a long, thick cock thrust in and out of their ass, most quickly changed their minds. Bottoms were, by far, the most common commodities in the gay world.
Vin had met a guy once, a Persian guy, when he was in the army. The guy told him the Islamic religion did not forbid homosexuality, just sodomy. The fear was, if a man were to take it up the ass, he would learn true pleasure and then would never again want a woman; women would then be forsaken, children would not be bred and born, and their tribes would begin to die out. Vin didn't have a hard time believing it. He was eighteen when he'd lost his virginity — with another guy. He'd never had the opportunity to do it with a woman, nor the desire; even so, he had a hard time believing sex could feel any better any other way. He wondered if Chris Larabee would find it just as incredible, just as mind-blowingly addictive.
"Top," Vin finally decided, and he could feel the puckered lips on his neck turn into a smile, but it was Chris's face, Chris's smile, that flashed before his mind's eye. He wanted Chris to want him like this, so badly. Never in his life had he wanted a man this much, not one he could never have. And there wasn't anything Vin could do to get Chris Larabee. He couldn't seduce him or woo him. He couldn't win him over with gifts, flattery, or the best damn blowjob the man had ever had. He couldn't even subjugate himself to the man. Not Chris Larabee — Indiana's favorite son — the all-American, red-blooded, straight-as-a-summer-day-is-long, boy-next-door.
Vin dug into his pocket then and removed the key to the truck. He fumbled with the passenger-side door as his partner slid behind him, moving his hand urgently over Vin's ass and between his legs. Vin was growing harder by the moment. He needed this, now. He pulled the door open, then turned around in his companion's arms, undoing he guy's pants and pushing them, along with his boxers, just off his hip. His hand pulled the guy's cock free, then slipped under to massage his balls, making certain he was ready.
He guided the guy into the cab before fumbling with his own jeans. The guy reached up and flicked off the switch next to the light on the roof, then began pulling his pants low. Vin climbed into the cab, shutting the door behind him.
"I don't have anything," Vin suddenly realized. He didn't care in that moment, but he knew his partner might — had the right to care, anyway.
The guy sat up a bit, pushing Vin back with his ass, and then fumbled with his pants. A moment later, he pressed a foiled disk into Vin's hand.
"Lube?" Vin asked, hopeful that the guy had a stash of that as well.
"Don't worry about it," he replied, repositioning himself along the bench. Vin just shrugged; the man should know his own body: what he liked, what he wanted, what he could endure. It really wouldn't matter much to Vin, sheathed in a condom. Vin pushed his pants further down, and then carefully tore the edge of the foil. He slipped the disk out, feeling the slick lubrication already coating it, now realizing why the guy hadn't care about having extra. He rolled it over the length of his cock, as his partner began insisting, "Come on, do it."
Vin reached forward, between the man's legs to grasp his penis. He pumped the long organ several times in quick, desperate jerks, while his other hand began probing the guy's asshole, which was surprisingly relaxed. Vin hoped the guy wasn't going to be loose after all this. He wanted virgin-tight; he wanted Chris Larabee-tight. He wanted the guy to cry out at being stretched as Vin roughly filled him with his cock....
Impatient, the guy then shoved his ass back, impaling himself on Vin's probing fingers, and Vin took that as a hint. He quickly shrugged out of his jacket, stuffing it beneath the guy so he wouldn't get jizz on the bench seat, and then he grabbed the guy's hips and pressed the tip of his cock up against his asshole.
He moved the tip around, savoring the moment, wondering what Chris might be feeling were it him kneeling before Vin in this pick-up. The tingles of anticipation mixed with the fear of the unknown, the wanting to be with Vin, to feel him inside, to know that in a moment they would be as one, bound by something more significant than friendship, more tangible than love—
His partner chose that instant to shove himself backwards, pinning Vin up against the door as he shoved Vin's hard shaft deep. The guy then started moving, slowly at first, back and forth, keeping Vin pinned firm against the door with his thrusts. Vin was startled for a moment, torn from his fantasy, knowing Chris would never be this aggressive with him ... well, not at first. At first it would be gentle, as Chris became accustomed to Vin filling him, moving his cock inside of him; then, as the feelings began to overwhelm Chris, as the pleasure of their act, their consummation, began flooding over him, that's when Vin would begin to push things.
He did so now, shoving his partner forward with a forceful thrust, again taking control of the situation. He grabbed the guy's hips and pounded hard into him, moving him forward an inch at a time with each thrust, until the guy was pressed to the driver-side door, his hands up against the glass bracing himself against Vin's continuing assault on his ass. Vin could hear his moans and groans, the whimpers of pain mixed fully with pleasure and desire. He pounded even harder into the guy, finally reaching around to grab his cock, squeezing and stroking it until his partner began to thrust into his hand, in a rhythm opposite to his own. Vin's hips slapped loud and hard against the guy's ass. He pulled out until only the head of his penis was trapped inside the man's now-tight channel; then, again, they drove together. Vin was now squeezing the guy's cock, trying to milk an orgasm from his thick organ.
The guy's own hand came back, trying to push Vin's hand aside, but Vin would not release him. They both kept thrusting, as Vin continued to pump away at the meat, as the guy's fingers clawed at Vin's, but Vin was determined to be the means of this guy's release, just as he would be if it were Chris he had a hold of. Then, when Vin felt a shudder run through his partner's body, felt the muscles of his ass clench even more firmly around his cock, he pumped harder until the guy let out a groan which filled the king cab. Thick, slimy jizz spurted into his hand as he continued to stroke back and forth over the guy's cock. He continued to pump the guy's dick, long after the cum, even when he could milk no more jizz from him. He did not stop until he felt the man beneath him convulse from the over-stimulation.
He eased his hand back, concentrating fully again on thrusting in and out of this guy, running his hands over his ass, knowing Chris's would be smaller, tighter, knowing the muscles surrounding his cock would be tighter as well, the over all temperature hotter. And he would make Chris come just by thrusting into him, somehow instinctively knowing where that elusive spot inside of him would be, until Chris would moan out his name, associating it with this moment of release, this...
Vin clenched his partner's hips hard as his groin spasmed, shoving his cock deep. The muscles eased and Vin slipped back, but the stimulation along his shaft caused another spasm, this time driving his cock even deeper into the man, then again, and again, until the muscles in his legs began to tremble from the continued effort. His eyes were shut tight as he felt the jizz jetting up his length, filling the inside of the condom. Then, he slumped forward against his partner.
As they both lay panting, Vin realized the cab was filled with the scent of their act: their sweat, intermingled with this guy's jizz. Vin pushed himself up on his arms, sniffing the air. The aroma of soap and Old Spice deodorant was gone, the smell of horses and leather and gunpowder were masked by the musky odor of sex. Vin pushed himself off the guy then, carefully pulling his condom-sheathed cock out of the man's once-again relaxed ass. He reached down to the floorboards, fishing for the box of tissues he'd seen there earlier, then, finding one, he wrapped the condom in it. He reached down again, grabbing the entire box this time, pulling out tissue after tissue in order to wipe his penis clean, but still feeling like it was sticky with semen. He shoved the box at his partner, who merely rolled over, then ran his hand down to his stomach, swirling a finger around in the remains of his own jizz before bringing it back up to his mouth to lick the residue away. He smiled. "Can I fuck you now?" he asked, his smile now a leering grin.
Vin shook his head.
"Come on, dude. I'll come in your ass like no one ever has," he promised, but they were just words to Vin at this point — words that meant nothing to him, that didn't even seem to belong in the same sentence with each other, words that were just filling the air in the cab, squeezing out more and more of whatever hint of Chris might still remain.
"Get out," Vin finally demanded, and he repeated the order when the guy failed to move. Vin fiddled with his jeans and the guy finally seemed to realize what Vin had just told him to do. He sat up awkwardly, fumbling with the pants still tangled around his knees, but Vin couldn't wait any longer. He reached over the guy, the stranger, and unlocked the door, pushing it wide. The guy grabbed onto the steering wheel to prevent himself from tumbling out.
"Get out," Vin repeated. "Now. Get out now." No other words would come to him, so he just kept repeating these few over and over until the man finally complied, stumbling into the street before pulling his pants up over his hips.
"What is your damage, dude?" the guy asked, but Vin didn't hear him as the engine roared to life. He had to get out of there. He'd ruined everything. Everything! Now, every time he saw this truck, he wouldn't think of Chris; instead, he would be reminded of the man he'd just fucked, the stranger who didn't look or sound or smell anything like Chris Larabee.
He just hoped to God he could get the smell of sex out of the cab before morning. He pulled the truck to a hasty stop outside the auto parts store, idly wondering, pine or orange? Which would be most effective, but least noticeable to Chris? At that moment, it seemed like the most important decision he would ever have to make.
~ fade ~
January 2002Please 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!