At first Chris is unsure of what to do. It’s not as if he expected Vin to let him pull him through the doorway. The man can be contrary and stubborn and takes to his own company as if it’s the only comfort he has known.Vin had stopped and turned in the hallway as if just remembering his manners, then offered Chris his hand. “Thanks for helping me get the wagon situated. This storm would likely blow it out of town otherwise.”
“No problem, pard,” Chris said and held Vin’s forearm to back up his words. When Vin lifted his head their eyes caught each other unguarded. Chris let his hand slip down Vin’s sleeve until he had a hold of his wrist and with a small tug pulled him into his room and shut the door.
The storm outside the boarding house rattles the windows but does not come in. Chris’s room is illuminated by a moon that refuses to hide behind a cloud for long causing muted shadows to drift over them like curious spirits.
He lets go of his wrist and shivers when Vin’s fingertips trail over his palm. There is a price for everything, he muses as he realizes that their usual calm regard has been replaced with a groom’s nervousness. They will never be able to greet each other the same way again. Some care will need to be paid along with caution. Reawakened faith in another soul will need to be tempered on the street and even among friends. But not here, he assures himself. Not here.
He moves closer, crowding Vin against the door but not touching him. Still, Vin lets out a small huff of air as if he has been squeezed. Chris gives him just enough room to brush past, but Vin remains where he is.
Chris has not failed to notice that Vin is almost beautiful, but it’s the first time he has allowed himself to look without pause or censor. The wind has reddened the skin around his eyes where the bandana didn’t reach. They are blue and deep and probably older than the sun that has traced faint lines at their corners. Chris raises his hand to finally touch Vin’s face only to realize that he is still holding his key. His starts to throw it across the room, useless thing that it is, and then thinks better of it and drops it into Vin’s pocket instead. It’s a gesture that, for a moment, leaves Vin shifting as if the key were a lit match. He meets Chris’s unwavering study and then takes his own key and slips it into the dark pocket that rests opposite of his gun.
A decision is made and a starting point is found when Chris reaches for the stampede strap cinched securely under Vin’s wide jaw. He pulls the tie all the way down and then carefully lifts the battered slouch hat off of Vin’s head. As Vin nervously tries to smooth his hair back Chris tosses his hat onto a nearby chair. His more sure hands join Vin’s. Letting his long fingers settle heavily in the unruly mass, Chris’s fingers catch in the tangles and then slip to the ends over and over again until Vin’s hands fall away. Vin blinks sleepily against this small surrender looking more drunk than he’s ever been. He rouses again when Chris’s hands move under his hair to the back of his neck and untie his bandana. It might have been red at one time but now it’s as pale as a desert stone and a different kind of soft than Vin’s hair. It carries his scent which reminds Chris of green apples that are so tart they make you squint through each bite. He would tie it around his own neck if it weren’t such a selfish thing to do. It joins the hat.
Vin’s buffalo hide jacket is a source of wonder. All the layers make him appear bigger and still allow him to disappear into the landscape. Its loose folds were buttoned against the wind and, at times, Chris supposes, against other forces, as well. But not against him he realizes when he reaches the last one. It’s lighter than he would have guessed which might explain how Vin can wear it year round. In one pocket his key rattles against Vin’s harmonica almost musically while the other one carries his spyglass. He slips it off of Vin’s shoulders and down his arms and adds it to the pile on the chair.
The pin-striped shirt he has uncovered carries a different button on each cuff. Chris takes the opportunity to cradle Vin’s hand between his own and is greatly pleased when Vin answers with his own grip. He loves Vin for his strength. And his humor. And his lack of fear. Vin’s not afraid of Chris’s grief or his temper. He is standing against a door, letting Chris tear down a friendship that has been their redemption in favor of something that does not even have a name.
Chris moves his hands under the wide suspenders and squeezes Vin’s shoulders before he pushes them off. Vin lets them fall and then raises his hands as if unsure of where to put them. Chris captures them and sets them on his hips making Vin almost smile. He ducks his head to catch Vin’s eyes and smiles widely at him as he unbuttons Vin’s shirt. Flustered and delighted, Vin looks away giving Chris a chance to press his forehead against his temple for a moment. The small gesture causes them both to close their eyes as if they have finally found the source of their connection. Chris inhales sharply and gathers himself and then pulls the shirt out of Vin’s trousers. He reaches under it for the feel of skin only to grab handfuls of his union suit. Near to exasperation Chris pushes aside the shirt and with speed in mind unbuttons the undergarment. Pushing that aside, too, he grips Vin at his waist causing Vin’s head to list forward onto his shoulder. Moving closer he slips his hands to the small of Vin’s back and rubs the warm skin there. Nuzzling into Vin’s hair he mumbles his name.
Righting himself again he crouches at Vin’s feet and prods him to lift his foot. He feels it shift in the boot and then slip free. The other one comes off just as easily. The toe of one sock flops inelegantly at him. Before Vin can move his foot to hide it Chris grabs it and pulls it all the way off. Reaching up Vin’s pant leg for the hem of the other sock makes Vin’s muscles twitch as if ready for flight and yet he remains where he is. As Chris stands he runs his hand up the inside of Vin’s thigh to cup the heavy sex in his hand. Vin groans and braces himself against the door, eyes closed against Chris’s awestruck appraisal of him.
Chris moves one hand around Vin’s waist to keep him close and feels the cool metal of bullets tucked into his gun belt. Sighing, Chris finds the strength to pull back giving Vin a moment to catch his breath while he removes the last of Vin’s defenses. The gun joins the rest of Vin’s belongings.
They stare at each other, breathing shallow and quick, wondering how they got this far and where they can go from here. Somehow Chris finds the thread between them and leans in for a kiss. At the last moment Vin turns his head away enough so that the kiss falls short and lands on the corner of his mouth. Chris stays close, letting his breath ghost over Vin’s cheek while he decides how close they can be. A decision is made as Vin tips his head so that his mouth is almost near enough to Chris’s. They smile at each other’s nerve and then meet halfway in that miniscule space that separates them.
If Vin has remained still up to this, he is still no more. The moist catch of Chris’s mouth against his frees him from whatever self imposed discipline he had been working. His arms wrap around Chris’s neck as Chris’s hands find their way under his layers to the small of his back and down over his backside. Vin’s frustration in not being able to get even closer shows in his kiss as he nips at Chris’s jaw only to seek amends a moment later with his tongue measuring the hollow of Chris’s lower lip.
Chris answers him in kind, pulling him close until Vin slips his bare feet over his fine boots making him almost taller now. With a deliberate tenderness Vin presses slow kisses against his temple and forehead, the bridge of his nose and his rough cheeks. Chris squeezes Vin with his considerable strength and then uses that same strength to cradle Vin’s face in his hands. Vin sighs and closes his eyes as he lets his cheek rest in Chris’s palm.
Vin opens his eyes when he hears Chris’s soft laugh.
“Goddamn, Tanner,” Chris says, amused and awed, “I’ve unbuttoned everything and you’re still covered head to toe.”
Challenged, Vin pushes Chris back although he will not go far, and deftly removes his shirt, undergarments and pants until he is standing in a puddle of his clothes. Lifting his chin, Vin takes in Chris who is still dressed in the dark clothes and hat that have protected him until now and says, “You’re one to talk.”
Chris smiles and then it fades as he opens his arms, palms up. Even with his hat still firmly in place and his long duster buttoned up Vin has never seen him so vulnerable.
Vin steps forward and meets Chris again with a look and a nod and then carefully pulls the tie on his hat and removes it. Chris has his layers, too. But not here, and not with him.
End
For Cattraine in part payment for inspiration.
Thank you Megan Kent for thoughtful and precise beta. I was nervous but it didn’t hurt at all.
Feedback welcomed at: trueenough@gmail.com