Begin the New

by Annie

Feedback: I'd be most appreciative.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't profit from 'em, don't belong to me...<sigh>

Vin Tanner made his way 'round from his wagon to the livery, breath steaming before him in the bitter cold air, and he blew on his hands to give them some added warmth. He took his time, no fears whatsoever about running into anyone who might actually feel inclined to stop him for help or, heaven forbid, conversation. No one was venturing much outdoors, the air too frigid to bear for any length of time, and the whole of town pretty much resembled more a deserted skeleton of itself.

Still, he kept to the back alleys, not relishing an unplanned meet with anyone who might be sauntering past. Nathan...or worse, Chris. But then, Vin wasn't really all that concerned, the former having left the day before on a trip to spend much-needed time with Rain at the Seminole village, and the latter not showing hide nor hair of himself around town for the past few days. Vin knew he probably wouldn't either.

He let out a sigh.

'Tis the Christmas season.

He glanced up the deserted street toward the church, knowing already from stopping by earlier that Josiah was knee-deep in the never ending repairs, even late as it was. Vin wasn't exactly sure why the man bothered to work so hard, the folks in town hadn't cared too much about the place to begin with, given how the thing was near to shambles when they'd all first come to town. Though after the crowd Josiah had pulled in for his sermon Christmas morning, maybe there was more interest there than Vin'd first guessed.

He'd stopped by the saloon as well, quietly letting Ezra know of his plans to take off for a bit. Ezra had merely nodded and then continued on with his game. Ezra felt more like he did about Christmas, Vin figured. Take it or leave it. Not that Ezra didn't have family to be with on that day, he did, Maude was his mother, after all, though they were a pair Vin couldn't figure out. If his mother had still been alive, he'd for sure be with her on Christmas day and not sitting in a card game trying to fleece one cowboy or another from his pay, which was pretty much the way Ezra spent his time. But Ezra and his mother seemed to enjoy one another's company most when they were separated. The biggest smiles on their faces were the ones shown on the day she would leave town. Then, you'd think them the closest of mother/son, with Maude fawning all over Ezra and Ezra grinning back at her, giving her the fondest of farewells.

Made no sense.

He'd stopped by the jail, too. Buck and JD already laughing when he'd entered--Vin didn't bother to ask. They were always laughing about something, and lately Buck had done his best to make sure JD wasn't left alone with his thoughts for too long, keeping him well entertained and distracted, what with Christmas coming and all.

Vin figured Buck was well aware of JD probably thinking on his ma. There was something about Christmas that set in an ache of longing, one Vin knew first hand, and Buck would sense JD's pain.

It would do no good for Vin to tell JD that memories of his ma would fade over time, fade to the point where you couldn't remember whether or not you actually remembered the person, or just remembered the memories. No, no use saying that to JD and making the kid miserable. Not this time of year. So, he'd said nothing, letting Buck ease the kid through the days one by one. VIn just watched the two of them feed off each other, building one another up with anticipation for the night of coming festivities, until the day of celebration finally arrived and the two cheerfully set into the spirit of Christmas; singing, laughing, carrying on...even handing out presents to all.

Presents. It never occurred to Vin to offer presents.

He smiled and fingered the new soft blue bandana around his neck that JD had presented to him with such a grin on his face. It had come wrapped in the brightest colored paper Vin had ever seen, and his name had been written over the top of the package. He was thankful that he'd learned to decipher the letters of his name at least, pretty much all the reading he could manage, true, but there it had been and he did read it himself, each letter written in some fancy gold ink.

God, how long had it been since anyone'd ever given him anything...had to be at least forever. It had stunned him, the present. The whole Christmas day celebration actually: food, drink, decorations draping the inside and outside of Josiah's church in such rich abundance. All had been organized by Mary Travis for the town, and Josiah's church filled that day with more people than Vin could almost stand, more than half the town showing for the sermon Josiah would give. But he stayed throughout, standing in the rear of the church and watching; more people, more kindness, more merriment--to use Ezra's description--than Vin had ever known.

It had unsettled him almost, to find he was so easily included in these festivities. Expected to attend, even. Expected to celebrate as though he belonged there. And he'd never really belonged anywhere.

So he stood in the back of that church that night, marveling to be there at all, and let Josiah's commanding yet gentle voice wash slowly over him as he listened to him deliver the true spirit and meaning of Christ's birth.

He'd glanced around and noticed everyone enraptured by the words. And after, the celebration almost more than he could take, he slipped outside finally for some much needed quiet, standing in the chilly air and watching the stars in the clear evening sky.

He'd half hoped Chris would somehow come stand at his side, knowing truly the man wouldn't want to spend any more time than he in the thick crowd, but Larabee hadn't been one of those attending that night. In fact, was already long gone, Vin knew.

He figured he knew what was bothering that man. Christmas was just another reminder of how alone he was in this world, another reminder of all he had lost.

Chris had ridden out of town the morning of Christmas Eve, and hadn't been seen since. Initially, Vin figured the man to be holed up in his cabin, drinking himself to oblivion until enough days passed he could face himself and the world again. And since the man's disposition had deteriorated rapidly with each day nearing to Christmas, Vin couldn't say he was too upset to see him go.

Then yesterday, since Christmas was over and done with, Vin and Buck had ridden out to see if the man was alright, but all they'd found was an empty shack. And if Chris wasn't at his cabin, then it was a pretty good assumption he'd high-tailed it off for parts unknown to find a bed and a whore and a bottle or three to help wash down all that pain. Buck was convinced of it, Vin sure of it as well, hoping wherever Chris was he was all right.

Not that it mattered, though. He wouldn't go looking to find out.

He knew what wanting to be alone was about, was actually feeling that way himself and had been for a good few days, the urge to be out there in the wild too strong a pull to ignore.

The others could see to the town, he was leaving, too, for a while. Not that much was happening, anyway. Not that much had happened the past few days since Christmas, and Vin was pretty sure that not much would happen in days to come.

Hell, it was just too damned cold for anyone to muster up the energy to do much of anything.

But he'd had enough of celebration and Buck and JD's Christmas cheer, and the head cold he'd been plagued with the past few days was making him feel enough out of sorts that all he really wanted now was a little bit of quiet and a whole lot of solitude.

He rode slowly out of town, not in a hurry to get anywhere especially. It was enough just to be outside, cold night though it was.

He wrapped his coat a bit tighter, thankful for the extra shirt he'd decided on wearing, and nudged his horse out of town. The further from the town's perimeter he got, the better he began to feel.

Mentally, anyway.

The head cold was a nuisance. Not enough he thought he ought go see Nathan, even if the man had been in town, but enough to keep him feeling somewhat out-of-sorts: nose raw, throat sore and enough headache behind his eyes to keep him feeling a bit lightheaded. As if to drive the point home, he sneezed: loud, messy and all over his brand new bandanna.

Day's ride from town was an old shack he knew of, having stumbled across it some months ago right before he'd ridden into town, before he'd found himself befriended by six other men. He'd returned there a time or two since, finding that others had used the small place as well, most likely to get out of the weather, or grab a night's sleep while passing from one town to another.

But it seemed now a decent place to rest his head and brain for a bit, in the morning fish out of the nearby pond he hoped still held fish, and seek shelter should the weather take a turn in the next day or two. As much as Vin loved the outdoors, he was well aware the dangers a harsh winter season could wreak, and didn't fancy being left stranded out somewhere too exposed.

So he headed toward the place, looking forward to a few days of quiet to just fish, hunt and basically revel in the quiet.

His deciding to stay in that town had come as a surprise even to him, a decision he still couldn't believe he'd made. There was absolutely no planning there; five or ten dollars in his pocket had been as far as he'd thought the week through, the day he found himself sweeping the front porch of the small mercantile. But he was well aware how events in a man's life could change in the blink of an eye, and there had been Nathan--though he didn't know him at the time--about to be murdered, hanged right in front of him. He couldn't leave that to happen.

Then he'd caught those eyes of the man in black across the street, meeting and holding that gaze that sent with it a trust so intense it was almost overwhelming; a piece of him put right he hadn't known was bent.

That had been months ago and he was more a part of that dusty little town than ever--and it more a part of him than he was quite willing to admit.

He shook his head and hunched a bit lower down on his horse, trying in vain to escape the rising wind and the increased pounding inside his head. He sneezed hard.

What had Buck said? "Boy, you wake up an forget your brain this mornin'? You're nuts, and you're just gonna freeze your balls off out there ridin' in this cold."

The past hours' ride into the biting wind was making him think maybe Buck was right. The wind was slicing into him sideways. Maybe he was nuts to head out in weather like this.

Or....

Maybe he was just letting himself get way too comfortable within the confines of that town. He was just getting soft--he'd never thought twice about the cold before. The past few days of too much celebration was wearing him down was what it was. Hell, too much anything couldn't be good for ya, and lately he'd had too much everything to even think straight.

Maybe it was just too much noise.

Maybe it was just too many people.

Maybe it was just Christmas.

Maybe it was just Chris.

He groaned inwardly.

Here it came....

Every time he found himself alone--which used to be most of the time, though now was hardly none of the time--he found his thoughts drifted to Larabee: where he was, what he was doing, who with....

Vin didn't understand it, didn't want to understand it: why Chris seemed to enter his thoughts so much of the time.

What did he care where Larabee was or what he was up to? The man would ride into town in a few days--hopefully less surly than he had been leaving--and then everything 'd be back to normal. Chris would return and Vin could think again.

He groaned again.

He really was nuts.

Lord, he needed to get the hell out of that town and get Larabee out of his head.

He camped out that night, the small fire barely emitting enough warmth to cut through the frigid night air, but it felt good to sleep on the ground again, the scent of the rich earth surrounding him, the crisp early morning air waking him.

By the time the sun rose fully that next morning though, his chest felt heavy and he knew the cold had settled there. He coughed up enough crud to wonder if maybe Buck really had been right, then shook free of the thought.

Goddamned soft.

After savoring a pot of the thickest sludge he could make, happily sharing it with no one but himself and having to listen to no complaints, he packed up and rode slowly through the day.

The sky darkened around him as the day lengthened, and the nearer he got to the shack, the stronger the urge he had to hurry, thinking once he got there he could somehow shake loose the mental trappings of a suddenly too confining town. He hoped like hell the place to be empty.

It wasn't.

He'd slid off his horse to check out the small pond before it got too dark and then froze, knowing before he even saw the shack that someone else had apparently the same idea as he. The wind shifted and he caught a faint whiff of smoke from a fire, realizing that if his nose hadn't been stopped up as much as it now was, he would've realized earlier that someone was where he wanted to be.

Aw hell.

"Lookin' for me?" A voice near him hissed sharply, and he cursed the cold damping down enough of his senses that he hadn't even realized someone was that close by.

'Course, Vin recognized that particular snarl.

"Wasn't lookin' fer nobody," he replied, evenly holding the fierce gaze the other man was throwing at him. Larabee. Here. Of all places.

Chris clearly wasn't thrilled to see someone he knew, and Vin was damned if he was going stay, not looking to make the man miserable. He wondered if Chris would even believe he wasn't out here looking for him. He moved to leave, no sense adding to the man's anger and misery--and he really wasn't looking for company himself. Though it was Chris....

"Wait, Vin."

He turned back, Chris standing there, his face unreadable yet his words soft enough to make Vin stop. Chris looked like hell: eyes red rimmed, dark beard half grown in and looking like he hadn't spent a day of the past week sober. Clearly not too sober now.

Vin neared him and for the first time since the cold had settled in his head, thanked the fact he couldn't smell much of anything.

"What the hell you doin' out here?" Chris asked him, words slurring enough Vin wondered how much the man had had to drink that day...though more like he'd never stopped from the days before.

"Lookin' for a little peace 'n' quiet is all," and that much was true, though it seemed this now wasn't the best of ideas. He hadn't expected anyone to be there, certainly not Chris, and it was taking him a bit to settle the idea that he was staring at the one man who could so unsettle him.

Chris nodded at him, not saying anything, then turned and motioned for Vin to follow him as he unsteadily paced back to the cabin.

"C'mon, get a drink," Chris finally said but Vin hesitated before following. He really wasn't sure being here with Chris was all that smart an idea. Not that he wasn't glad to see the man was all right, if you could call what looked like an obvious near-week drunk all right. Still, though, Chris may look worse for wear, but he was on his feet and walking, if not that steady. And Vin would have to admit, it felt good to be in the man's presence again.

So, Vin followed, taking time to settle his horse next to Chris's in the crude lean-to that offered at least some protection--the animals would be safe should the weather kick up--and hesitantly entered the small shack.

It only took a moment to take in the small room and the several empty whiskey bottles scattered on the floorboards. Vin was pretty sure if he could smell anything, he'd be hit smack in the face with the sour odor he was sure pervaded the cabin. He was actually grateful for his stopped up nose.

Chris half sat, half slouched in one of the place's two chairs, swinging out an arm and motioning for Vin to take the other. He grabbed the half-full bottle off the table and poured a sloppy shot into a tin cup. With a grin, he pushed the bottle to Vin.

"Have a drink, Tanner."

Vin shook his head, though actually he was feeling poorly enough and chilled enough from the outdoors to want one, want more than one. But he was feeling lightheaded enough not to want to add whiskey on top of it. "Naw, I'm good."

Chris grinned at him then, looking like he might just laugh out loud and saying something that sounded like, "yeahyouare," but it came out soft enough and slurred enough Vin wasn't sure he heard him right. And then Chris sat back, glass in hand and just stared: at Vin, at the shack, at nothing.

His eyes focused in and out and Vin almost left right then to leave Chris to the rest of his drunk. But he couldn't. That feeling came over him again, the one that worried about Larabee, the one that wanted to be next to Chris, the one he wished he could shake free.

"You slept at all?" he asked him and got another of Chris's hard stares and then that grin again. That grin that he'd seen Chris use before. It was unnerving to Vin to be on its receiving end. He contemplated leaving again.

"It over?"

"What?" though he was pretty sure what Chris was asking. He nodded. "Yeah, Christmas is over."

Chris nodded, too, then sipped at the whiskey in his hand and looked up, suddenly haunted looking eyes finding Vin's and then Vin couldn't imagine why he'd ever thought Chris had been about to laugh.

"Good." Chris said softly, ever softly, and then drained his glass. He leaned over to grab the bottle, Vin unsure if he should pull it from him or push it toward him, and he pushed it anyway. Chris couldn't get any more drunk than he was, he figured, and one more might just allow the man to pass out. By the look of him that wasn't a too distant possibility.

Vin shivered, the small stove in the shack not providing near enough heat to warm the cabin, though he knew Chris wasn't feeling it as much drink he had ingested.

Vin's chest hurt, it ached to breathe, and his headache had turned into one insistant pulse behind his eyes. He sniffled.

"You sick?" Chris asked.

It surprised Vin Chris had noticed. He shook his head. "Nah." But Chris had already forgotten, was busy staring again into the swirling liquid in the bottom of his cup.

"Hungry?" Vin asked him, his own stomach clenching at the thought of food, but Chris looked as though he hadn't eaten in a while and could surely use something besides whiskey for nourishment.

And then Chris did laugh.

"You cook?"

"I can," Vin told him, "rustle up a mean steak 'n' eggs."

"Ain't got steak or eggs."

"Beans 'll do."

"Not hungry," Chris stated flatly.

"Y' need t' eat something, Chris. It ain't no bother t' me to cook whatever--"

Chris snarled at him, "You fuckin' hard of hearing? Said I ain't hungry."

Vin sat back in his chair. "I heard ya." Vin felt like smacking him. What the hell was he doing here sitting in this freezing shack with a mean, surly drunk who on a good day spoke fewer words than he did himself.

Hell. He knew why. It was Larabee.

"Well, I ain't much hungry, neither, but you look like you could use somethin' in your stomach asides that rot-gut you been livin' on."

Chris sneered at him. "You tellin' me what to do?'

Vin let the man have the best version of his own glare he could muster and braced himself for the blast of temper sure to come. "Looks that way."

"Who fuckin' asked you in here?"

Vin glanced away for a minute, then turned back. "Fuckin' you," he said. He moved to the small table and gathered some beans and salt pork together from the supplies strewn all over.

"Hell." Chris slumped down more in his chair.

"Ain't it, though?"

Chris glared at him with narrowed eyes, then seemed to deflate even more, and Vin suddenly felt tired to the core as well. Maybe this cold was taking more out of him than he thought, but he couldn't leave the man to himself now. Not now.

"It is over."

Vin nodded at the stated question. "Yeah, Chris," he told him again, turning back to the pan of beans he'd begun cooking, "Christmas is over."

"She loved it, y' know."

Vin didn't have to ask who. He wasn't being asked to answer either, but he nodded just the same.

"Never happy with the first tree she'd fine. Had to search for just the right one."

Sarah, Vin knew.

"Took goddamn hours sometimes."

Vin nodded again.

"Had this little angel I made for her the Christmas she was preg--" the words stopped so abruptly and with such a hitch that Vin turned. Chris was just staring at the bottle on the table. He'd stopped drinking, though, at least for the moment. It was a heavy beat before the words continued, and Vin ached for him.

"I found it in all that--after--just that fuckin' angel."

Memory stabbed at Vin's own heart. Something he hadn't thought of in too many years to count.

"Thing'd melted some around the wings, but there it goddamned was."

Vin was nodding again, but picturing another angel. One made mostly from straw and scraps of cloth with painted blue wings 'cause it was her favorite color. How had he forgotten that?

Chris was back to drinking, finished the contents in his cup with one deep swallow. "Buried it with--" he stopped for a moment, Vin turned to watch him. "Anyway, she loved that stupid thing."

"My ma--" Vin started , surprised at his own hitched breath, his voice sounding unusually loud in the quiet of the cabin. "She liked angels." He turned back to find Chris face down on the table, one hand still wrapped around the bottle and snoring lightly.

Probably just as well the man passed out, though Vin wished he'd been able to get Chris to eat something first. He couldn't himself stomach the idea of food, his throat sore enough to want to drain all the water in the pond outside. He sniffled again which made his head pound. Fuckin' cold.

All in all the bed looked inviting. But it was small and filled with Larabee once Vin wrestled him over to it, and Vin wasn't sure how well the man'd take to waking up beside another man in the morning, anyway. Leastways, he didn't have much desire to find out. A drunk Larabee was bad, a hung-over one was worse.

He laid out his bedroll on the rough wood floor, grateful there was a floor and not just hard dirt to sleep on tonight because the temperature outside had dropped considerably during the past few hours, and the little stove in the shack wasn't doing much to keep pace.

He checked on the animals then gathered some more wood from outside and glanced up at the sky. Weather was turning colder, he could feel it.

Chris was still sprawled where he'd landed on the small straw mattress and Vin threw the light blanket over him, taking a long few minutes to just stare at the man's peaceful features. He then took the beans from the fire, glad he couldn't smell them cooking, not sure his stomach could take it, and moved to stretch out on the floor.

In a matter of seconds he was asleep.

+ + + + + + +

A slap in the face woke him.

He was on his knees in an instant, gun in hand and staring down a suddenly very wide awake Chris who apparently had shifted enough off the end of the bed to hit him in the face. On purpose.

"Shit, Chris."

"What day is it?"

Chris's eyes were wide open, but Vin actually convinced the man was awake. He shook his head and placed his gun back before he actually used it on the man, tempting though it was. "Christmas is over, Chris."

"What day?"

Vin sighed. "Go back to sleep, Larabee." He pushed Chris down onto his back.

Chris sat up again and peered blearily up at Vin. "What day?"

"Shit, Chris. It's been over and done for near a week now, I reckon. Lay down."

"Week." Chris looked out the small window for a moment. "What...what time is it?"

Damn the man was an exasperating drunk. "Night time."

"Vin..."

Vin turned to the man, one side of Chris's features outlined with the moon's silvery light. He was beautiful he thought...and that thought made Vin cringe. He didn't need to have these thoughts right now. "It's late. Time fer you to go to sleep, an' t' shut up an' let me sleep, Cowboy."

Cowboy. Only Vin would use that word even knowing--especially knowing--how much it irritated him. Chris stared at him through the shadows of the small room. He whispered to himself. "Almost a week past."

Vin was shuffling around on the floor somewhere out of his sight, Chris could here him trying to get comfortable. "Vin," he called softly, familiar thoughts entering his head about the man on the floor. He wondered just how drunk he really was.

"Huh?" Vin sounded tired. Stuffy.

"What day is it?'

Lord, not again. "Over. It's all over."

"No, I mean," Chris explained and now really did need to know, "what day of the week?"

Vin had to think about that. He wasn't one to keep track of such things, one day pretty much meant the same as any other. But Christmas had been on a Wednesday he knew, and that had been... "Oh, I reckon it must be Monday or T uesday by now."

"Which?"

"Shit, I don't know. What difference does it make?" He thought about the day he left. Folks had come to out to Josiah's church that morning for services, so that must've been Sunday which meant.... "Guessin' it must be Tuesday. Late Tuesday. Real late. That okay with you?"

"Yeah," Chris answered and settled back down. His head was thick still, but his brain felt relatively clear considering the drunk he'd been on the past week. Too drunk. But if it was Tuesday night....

"Cold down there, ain't it?" And even as he said it, knowing why he said it, Chris began thinking maybe not drunk enough after all.

"It's fine." And it was, really. Vin was tired and a bit achy and really wanted to just go to sleep now and forget it was Chris up there on the bed and just the two of them alone here in this room. He sneezed.

"You sick?" Chris asked him for the second time.

"Nah," Vin answered again. In truth, he was feeling poorly, but he'd never admit that out loud.

"You're sick." Chris stated firmly.

"Yeah, well...you're drunk." Vin countered, though Chris sounded a lot more coherent than he had earlier.

Neither of them said anything then, each just breathing heavily in the silence of the cabin, because Chris really was drunk and Vin really was sick, and what did it matter except they both needed to get to sleep.

After a while Vin began to doze off once more.

A hand hit him in the head.

"Swear to God, Larabee, you got a death wish?"

"What time is it?"

"What?"

"Come up here."

"*What?*"

"I said," Chris was saying and Vin watched as his head appeared over the side of the small bed, his hair a silvery halo around the shadows of his face, "come up here."

Vin was frozen to the floor, and in the brief silent pause in-between Chris asking and Vin freezing, his was just damn sure his heart just stopped cold.

A hand reached down and grasped his upper arm, and he began to rise very slowly. "Ain't takin' yer bed, Chris."

"You don't need t' be sleepin' on the floor when you're sick and besides, ain't even my bed." He pulled harder, not releasing his hold on Vin until the man sat up. On one hand he was relieved Vin was taking him up on the offer: Vin did sound awful. On the other, he was scared shitless that Vin was taking him up on the offer.

Christ, maybe he really was drunk as a skunk for what he was thinking. Hoping.

Vin slid onto the bed, wanting yet not wanting to get too close. Not understanding what he was doing up there in the first place. Chris was half-reclined on the edge of the small cot, and Vin found the urge to touch him almost breathtakingly overpowering. It scared the shit out of him.

"Might wanna take the side by the wall, Vin," Chris began, shifting slightly to make a bit more room.

Vin nodded and used his foot to pull the bucket he'd seen on the floor closer to the bed. "'Case y' need to puke," he finished for Chris.

Moonlight streamed into the window, bright and clear as it cut a horizontal path over the two men.

"Got a new bandanna?" Chris reached a hand out to brush slowly over the cloth knotted at Vin's neck.

Vin felt a rash of goosebumps spread over his skin, and the rush of heat filled his body at Chris's light touch. How the hell would he ever *sleep* next to the man? He nodded, not sure of what might come out his mouth should he attempt to speak.

"Blue. Like your eyes." Chris said it, couldn't believe he'd said it. He took a deep breath.

Vin knew he was going insane. RIght there, losing his mind like nobody's business. Chris had noticed he had blue eyes and was now staring right him, just inches away.

Yep, insane, that's what.

"Y' know what tonight is, Vin?"

He shook his head, no...and he didn't much care at this point, either. The fingers of Chris's hand ran a light trail over Vin's shirt buttons, and Vin half retreated from the touch, half hoping, not understanding. How drunk was Chris, anyway? He grabbed Chris's wrist, holding tight and pushing his hand away. None of this was making any sense.

"Chris. What--"

Chris looked at that hand around his, then sighed and fell back to the bed. "I'm sorry, Vin. I thought..." and he had thought but clearly he was wrong. "Guess I am stinkin' drunk is all."

In the next second the weight of a warm body settled atop his and a hand was cupping his cheek at the same time full lips descended, a probing tongue seeking and gaining delicious entry. He swallowed, half-gasping from the unexpected, but not unwelcome, intrusion, and began to roll to his side, his own hands burying themselves in a wealth of the softest hair.

They pulled apart, Vin shifting to his side as well and catching Chris's eyes, half afraid of the chance he just took but not able to prevent himself from sampling that incredible mouth, and knowing he couldn't say what he wanted, would just have to show his desires. His eyes drifted to the slight vee in the man's bottom lip, and before Chris could move, before Chris could strike him dead--and oh, Lord, let him not have this all wrong--he grabbed the man's head and pulled hard, bringing that mouth, that body, that much closer.

Chris's mind was reeling. He knew he wanted Vin in this way, had known that for some time now, but never did he think the feeling would be reciprocated. He'd watched Vin these past few months, not seeing any interest from the man for woman or man. Vin hadn't so much as blinked at any of the few working girls in town, nor the ones that had come to seek refuge those few days. In fact, Vin hadn't shown interest in anyone at all that Chris could see. He wondered if he now knew the reason...wondered if *he* was the reason. Hoped.

Had he been that blind all this time? Or was Vin just that good at turning off his own desires and wants, keeping himself distant in that regard.

He sure wasn't acting distant now.

Chris kissed him back, head reeling from the whiskey, reeling from the almost smothering way Vin's tongue filled his mouth; probing, playing, dancing with Chris's tongue in a way that was almost eerily natural.

Vin rolled them again, Chris once more on his back while Vin shifted over him, one knee bent and pressing down, his body close and touching all along Chris's side. Although clothing separated the flesh of their bodies, Chris could feel the heat coming through to meld with that from his body; an intense fire.

Vin was lightheaded, fevered. Not just from the cold, he knew, but from the heady sensations filling him from just the touch of Chris's body. All along his side he was pressing into Chris, the man's shoulder at his shoulder, thigh at his thigh...groin at his groin. He felt the stirrings inside his own pants--inside his now too tight pants--and thrust as hard as he could against Chris's groin, knowing just one quick touch would have him spurting hard in his underwear. Wondering if he might even come without that touch, without any direct touch but the press alone of the man next to him.

Chris could feel Vin hard against him, his own cock pressing gloriously inside the crotch of his denim pants, the seam biting against tender skin, and he shifted to ease up that pressure, grinning at the soft moan escaping Vin from that slight movement. He shifted again, on purpose this time, just to see if he could get that sound from Vin again. And he did.

Vin was almost climbing on him, grinding his hips and groin in a sweet firm rhythm, and letting loose faint gasps with every move Chris made. Chris thought how fun it might be some time to explore how many other noises he could get Vin to make, and how...but for now, he was content to let Vin grind into him.

He pulled back, taking a breath, letting Vin take a breath and the young man was panting for air. Some from the pleasure, Chris knew, some from the cold plaguing him.

He wanted more, wanted Vin to do more than just kiss him--how had he stayed away from this man for so long?--and ran a hand lightly over Vin's shirt, then slipped it inside to brush over the already erect nubs on Vin's chest.

Vin sucked in a breath at the touch, shivers coursing down his spine as Chris's hand swept again into his shirt, moaning loudly at the fingers playing his nipples.

"Vin?"

He opened his eyes to find Chris looking at him, that wicked grin back. "Tell me you ain't just drunk," Vin whispered, pleaded.

"Nah," Chris assured him, shifting closer and grasping Vin's hand. He pulled it to his mouth and ran his tongue down each long finger, laving over the tender flesh of each valley. "Nah, I wanted this--wanted you, God, wanted you--for long enough."

Vin was a bit stunned. "That right?" It seemed to good to be true. Lord, please let it be true.

Chris slipped Vin's pinky into his mouth, tongue swirling slowly over the salty flesh. He sucked lightly, grinning again as Vin's eyes closed in pleasure. He drew it from his mouth slow as molasses to answer Vin. "Yeah, that's right."

Vin opened his eyes, fingers again seeking Chris's face. "This is real," he said softly, almost afraid to blink lest Chris just disappear

"Know what day it is?" Chris asked him and Vin sat up straighter. Not this again. "It's New Year's Eve," Chris continued to explain. Vin had forgotten it was about to be a new year.

Chris turned to him, reaching out and twining fingers into Vin's until their hands were tightly clasped.

"I think I'm gonna like what this new year might bring," Vin said softly, tired and lightheaded, and feeling a bit dizzy from it all. Wanting more, wanting Chris. And then he sneezed.

Chris smiled. "I know I like what it's brought me already."

"My cold?"

Chris reached down and let his hand grip Vin through his pants as he brushed the man's lips. "That too. Plus...little of this...lot of that, maybe"

Vin smiled at the touch, curling some as he let loose a harsh cough. "Lots more of that, definitely," he choked out, curling his hips toward that hand, then sneezed again.

He coughed once more and Chris frowned. "Maybe later. You really are sick."

"And you really are drunk."

Vin looked tired. Chris knew he looked even more so.

"Not so drunk."

Vin nodded. "Not so sick."

Chris ran his hand over Vin's forehead, brushing back hair and pressing his lips to the warm forehead. They'd shifted onto their sides, facing one another, and he rubbed a light hand over Vin's shoulder while Vin draped an arm around Chris's waist, each pulling the other closer.

In the distance some miles away, most likely from some neighboring homestead, the sound of firecrackers and cheers split the still of the night. Chris knew what that meant.

"Happy New Year, Vin."

"Yeah, it is. Ain't it."

end

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