Comanche Moon by Cattraine

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money. Dang.

Archive: Sure, let me know where.

Warnings: Male nudity, cussing, implied M/M, etc.

Pairing: C/V OW/First Time

Notes: Chris wakes up nekkid…. hee,hee. So the moon in the title has little to do with the moon in the sky. This story is for my dear friend Judy, the first of several I promised her.

Chris Larabee woke up naked with a pounding headache. This in itself wouldn’t have been so bad if he had awoken in his room at the boarding house, or Maria’s bed, or even at his shack, err, cabin. Hell, a hangover after one of his more determined three day drunks would have sufficed as enough cause for the headache. No, what pissed him off was the fact that he woke up strung up stark naked in broad daylight in a camp full of grinning Comanche.

He shook his hair out of his eyes and squinted evilly at his captors. They grinned back, highly pleased with themselves. The small band of young warriors had been on a horse thieving expedition and had just helped themselves to Guy Royal’s remuda of stock horses when Larabee unwittingly took a shortcut through a gully and ran smack dab into their midst.

Before he knew what hit him (he suspected now it was the elaborately carved war club one of the braves fondled so lovingly), he had been surrounded and disarmed. How embarrassing. Vin would laugh his ass off. Of course, that would be after he discovered Chris as naked and scalped buzzard bait.

Grimly, he eyed his captors. He counted six. They all looked fairly young. Late teens was his guess. They were currently camped in a small arroyo near a creek with their spoils tethered nearby in a small grove of cottonwoods. It looked to be suppertime and the scent of the rabbits on the spit over the small fire made his belly rumble.

He had left town in a snit earlier, not stopping for a meal, spoiling for a fight and headed for Purgatorio. Four Corners had grated on him all week, and he had been increasingly restless, irritated and snapping at anyone foolish enough to cross his path. The final straw had come with Miz Travis whining about some minor slur that a drunken cowpoke had made to her. If the woman didn’t want to be mistaken for a whore, she shouldn’t hang around outside the saloon in a low cut silk dress with her hair down her back.

He had told her so in as many words before he rode out, leaving her sputtering in outrage on the boardwalk. He was sure that he had caught a glimpse of a smirk, quickly hidden under Vin’s hat from where he sat outside the jail, chair tipped back, seemingly dozing. He hadn’t bothered to tell his friend where he was going. He regretted that now.

He tugged at his rawhide bonds, but they were too well knotted. What a way for the infamous Chris Larabee to go. Hung up and spread-eagled like a skinned deer from the big oak tree with his privates dangling in the breeze.

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Tall Bull, Hook Nose, Black Horse, Mule Ears, and Bull Bear all sat across the fire and upwind of Skunk Breath as they bragged about their heroic roles in the raid and the subsequent capture of the black clad white man. They ate the roast rabbits, belching, happily gnawing bones and wiping greasy hands on their leggings. Everything was going quite well until they got to arguing about how exactly they were going to kill the white man.

There they split into quarreling factions.

Tall Bull, Black Horse and Mule Ears voted for a quick scalping followed by slow torture over fire with the hot blades of their skinning knives. Hook Nose and Skunk Breath wanted to make him run naked through the arroyo filled with spiny cactus first, then scalp him and torture him. Bull Bear just wanted to bash his head in with his war club. The jovial mood was quickly going downhill after that, and they were at the point of coming to blows.

“He will last much longer this way, my brothers. It will be a test of his courage,” Hook Nose argued persuasively.

“No---the fire will make him last longer,” Tall Bull refuted.

“I will bash his brains in,” rumbled Bull Bear.

Once he got an idea in his thick skull, it was difficult to dislodge. He thumped the heavy obsidian geode that formed the head of his war club on the ground as emphasis.

Skunk Breath huffed out an irritated whuff of toxic air, ignoring how hastily his friends leaned away.

“He will die of old age before we decide,” he whined. He had his eye on the white man’s fine black hat with the idea of keeping it.

They quarreled spiritedly for a half hour before Tall Bull, their unofficial leader, stood with an exasperated snarl, drawing his wickedly sharp skinning knife from its sheath. Turning, he started to stalk towards the captive. Larabee gritted his teeth and braced himself, determined not to give them the satisfaction of screaming.

“Heya.”

Startled, the young warriors stood and grabbed up their weapons as they turned to face the newcomer, who had approached so silently they had not noticed. Embarrassed at being caught so unaware, Tall Bear stepped forward aggressively, squinting suspiciously up at the stranger. Frowning, he looked the man over. Although he was dressed as a Human Being, he had apparently been born a white man.

Larabee blinked, squinted, then bit his lip hard. What the hell was Tanner up to now?

Vin Tanner sat bareback astride Peso.

He had ditched his hat and buckskin coat, as well as his shirt and drawers somewhere. Now he wore only a beaded vest, a cougar claw necklace, a long calico loincloth and thigh-length, fringed deerskin leggings over his boots. He still wore his gun, but now also carried a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. He had several hawk’s feathers braided into his hair. Both he and Peso sported paint. Peso had a white ring daubed around one eye and several red handprints splotched on his shoulders and flanks. Vin wore a narrow stripe of red crossing his face, under his eyes and three stripes down his chin. His golden brown skin glistened with oil. He was leading a small string of horses.

Larabee frowned, recognizing Guy Royal’s brand. What the hell? Had Vin taken up horse theft on the side? Tanner ignored the naked, tethered gunslinger, and nodded politely to the band of young warriors, keen eyes alert on their faces. He held his Winchester .44-40 rifle casually in the crook of his arm. He raised a hand, palm out in greeting,

“It is a good day for raiding, son of Standing Elk,” he said in fluent Comanche, addressing Tall Bull.

Tall Bull blinked in surprise. How did this strange person know him? Curious, he stepped slowly forward to return Tanner’s greeting.

“My eyes do not know you, stranger.”

“I am Black Wolf’s son, once of the Red Canyon tribe,” Tanner replied easily.

“Ah…” Tall Bull said, recognizing the Kiowa warrior’s name.

His tribe had met and traded with the Red Canyon tribe once a year or so. The late Black Wolf had been a much-respected warrior. Tall Bull remembered the tale of the young Tehan who had been adopted by the Kiowa. He was said to have eyes as sharp as his namesake, the red-tailed hawk.

“Have you eaten?” he asked politely, gesturing to the small fire and waving at his friends to put down their weapons. They did so, moving aside to make room for the guest.

Tanner nodded his thanks and slid off Peso, leading the big horse over to tie him not six feet from the silent, seething gunslinger.

Back turned to the campsite, he ran a slow, arrogant gaze lazily up and down Larabee’s nude body and winked a bright blue eye, smirking at the startled expression on the gunslinger’s face. He grinned at the bright red flush that suddenly flooded Larabee’s cheeks—both sets, and pulled a laden set of saddlebags from Peso’s back as he turned back to the small band of warriors, face again impassive.

“I see you have caught a foolish white man,” he said approvingly, as he squatted by the fire. “Will you sell him to the Spaniards?”

“No! We are going to roast him and make him run down the arroyo!” Hook Nose said proudly, ignoring Tall Bull’s scowl.

“He will scream loudly when we scalp him!” chimed in Skunk Breath, leaning forward happily.

Vin blinked, eyes watering, and sat back on his heels. Damn, this skinny young brave made Top Hat Bob’s breath downright fragrant in comparison.

“We will let Skunk Breath breathe in his face and then he will scream!” joked Mule Ears, ignoring his younger brother’s glare.

The others chortled, Vin included, at the jest.

Tanner accepted the half raw rabbit haunch graciously and ate, smacking his lips to show his appreciation. Casually, he reached over and flipped open his saddle bag and tipped the contents out. Two full, corked brown bottles sloshed enticingly as Tanner unwrapped an oilskin parcel and passed around some of Miz Nettie’s molasses cookies. He paid no attention to the handful of painted bones that had tumbled out in the grass.

Bull Bear brightened around a craggy face full of cookie crumbs at the sight of the homemade dice. Like most of his band, he loved games of chance.

“Do you toss the bones, Hawk?” he asked eagerly.

“Pah. My luck is bad,” Tanner answered diffidently.

He tugged out the cork of one of the tall bottles with white teeth and spat it aside, then took a slow slip. As the young warriors watched avidly, he spat into the fire, causing it to blaze up blue. Vin nodded approvingly at the strength of the firewater and swallowed the rest with an appreciative sigh. He offered the bottle to Tall Bull, who took it tentatively.

The young warriors had never tasted the white man’s whisky before.

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Chris Larabee tested his bonds for the tenth time, one wary eye on the increasingly jovial group around the campfire, the other on a large horsefly that was taking too great an interest for comfort in buzzing his tender private parts. He hissed out an irritated breath and shifted his weight the best he could. Hell, at least he had both feet on the ground, splayed out though they were.

A burst of laughter caught his attention and he looked up just in time to see the skinny young brave with the turkey feathers in his forelock keel backwards off the log he was seated on, and subside in a snoring heap. Larabee bit back a grin. Apparently, Vin had spiked the whisky bottles.

The rest of the group has been gambling and drinking steadily for the past two hours.

As he watched, the largest of the braves, the one with the war club always in hand, stood and staggered over to a nearby bush to make water. He fumbled with his breechcloth for a minute, gaze apparently snagged by something unseen on the horizon, when suddenly his eyes crossed and he, too, bit the dust, slumping onto his face with all the grace of a toppled tree, still clutching his beloved club. Two down and four to go.

Vin had started out by deliberately losing most of the borrowed horses in his newly acquired string, a popular move with the young braves. He had casually opened the second bottle and passed it around, the others accepting it eagerly. As he had anticipated, the young men had no tolerance for the strong liquor to begin with, and they were well on their way to being shit-faced. He hoped the laudanum-laced second bottle didn’t prove to be too much for them.

Too engrossed in the fall of the dice and the fiery taste of the whisky, Tall Bull and the remainder of the group failed to notice that while Vin pretended to swig from the second bottle, he never actually swallowed any of the contents.

Black Horse gave a satisfied hiccough as he won Tanner’s next to last pony.

“Ha! Your luck is very poor, Hawk.”

Tanner nodded sadly. “Just so, my friend.”

Mule Ears peered blearily down at the knucklebones that served as dice. He frowned. Where had all those extra pieces come from?

“The bones are moving!” he announced with an alarmed hiccough.

His friends gave him a superior, scornful look. It was obvious Mule Ears could not hold his liquor as easily as they. They tactfully ignored the fact that Hook Nose was now unconscious while still sitting straight up, snoring softly. They simply passed the bottle over him. Tall Bull realized he was listing slightly to the right and hastily sat up straight and tossed the dice.

“Pah! That was my last pony.” He stared mournfully at Vin. He had really wanted to win Tanner’s fine, blaze-faced horse and rifle.

Tanner scratched his head and shook his handful of dice thoughtfully.

“What else do you have to bet?”

Tall Bull snorted with disdain as Mule Ears suddenly keeled over into Black Horse’s lap and watched blearily as Black Horse shoved him off, only to collapse right next to him, giggling. He puffed out his chest with pride and accepted the half empty bottle a grinning Tanner handed him, and took a healthy swig. He covered his mouth politely to mask the large belch that followed.

“T-this is very good firewater, H-hawk.” he slurred and frowned. What was the question? Tanner rattled the dice again. Oh. What else did he have to bet? He looked blearily around. All his friends were asleep. He scowled again. No one was awake to spot him a pony. Looking across the arroyo, he brightened.

“I will bet the naked white man,” he announced.

He really wanted the big black war pony the blue-eyed Kiowa warrior rode. He looked hopefully at Hawk.

“You can sell him to the Spaniards.”

Tanner frowned and scratched his chin. He pretended to look Larabee over again. Larabee glared green fire right back, not amused. Hiding his grin, Vin turned back to the hopeful Tall Bull.

“Ayah.”

He nodded and tossed the dice.

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“It’s about damned time!” Larabee snarled as Tanner finally stood up from the fire and stretched, leaving all his new friends sprawled out snoring around it. Tanner ambled over and arched a brow at the impatient gunslinger, hands on his hips.

“Reckon maybe a man trussed up nekkid as a jaybird and just rescued from a scalpin’ party would be a mite more polite.”

He addressed this to a snorting Peso as he unsheathed his Bowie knife and nonchalantly began to clean his fingernails. He could hear Chris’ teeth grinding from there. He ignored Larabee’s evil look and whistled softly under his breath. There was a long, sullen moment of silence.

Chris huffed out a breath.

“Did I say thanks?” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Don’t mention it, cowboy!”

Vin beamed at him and quickly cut him loose. While the blond rubbed circulation back into his limbs, Tanner gathered up his clothing and belongings and brought them over.

“Reckon you might wanna leave yer shirt here, Larabee. Unless ya wanna peel it off of ol’ Skunk Breath yonder.”

Larabee’s mouth quirked at the name. “Skunk Breath?”

“Yep. Boy lives up to his name, too. Downright odoriferous, as Ez would say.”

Bemused, Larabee tugged on his pants and boots and watched as Tanner quickly freed the tethered horses that bore Royal’s brand, shooing them back down the trail towards their home range. He left the young braves’ ponies hobbled where they could graze and reach the creek. Ducking into a nearby thicket he emerged shortly with his own saddle and gear, much to Peso’s disgust.

Larabee felt an evil grin emerge as he eyed his friend’s bare flanks as he saddled the snorting black horse.

“Nice outfit, pard,” he purred, watching with delight as a rosy flush flooded Tanner’s face.

It tickled him that a man who would ride fearlessly into a raiding party of Comanche would also blush like a wild rose at the drop of a hat.

Vin scowled at him and tossed him his serape and hat.

“Might wanna cover up that lily white skin, pard, afore the sun does any more damage to yer head.”

“We just gonna leave them here?” Chris indicated the snoring warriors with a wave.

“Hell, Chris they’re just teenagers, out on their first raid.”

Tanner ducked his head, voice soft, as he fiddled with Peso’s cinch. He neglected to mention to his friend what their plans had been for him. He didn’t want him to shoot the sleeping boys in cold blood.

Larabee’s keen gaze softened at that downcast gaze, the rosy face.

“Well, let’s get back to town then, I’m dry as a bone, especially since you gave all the damned whisky away. What did you spike it with?” he asked curiously.

“I had that lil’ bottle of laudanum that Nate makes me carry.” Tanner scowled, remembering the fat parcel of bandages and medicine the healer forced him to tote in his saddlebags.

He slid a smirk Larabee’s way.

“Spent the last two hours gamblin’, and all I won was a ornery, nekkid gunslinger. Ezra is gonna be right ashamed of me.”

He gave Chris a wicked wink and leapt up into Peso’s saddle with a bloodcurdling war cry, spurring the big horse away towards Four Corners.

Larabee chuckled as he donned the serape in place of his shirt, and set his hat firmly on his head. He grinned and spurred Pony in pursuit, leaving the young band of Comanche to their impending hangovers. Larabee was surprised to realize that his bad mood had vanished, despite his lingering headache. All in all, it was turning out to be a pretty good day. He grinned evilly to himself. It would be even better when he finally caught the curly headed ‘savage’ in front of him.

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They rode up to the livery doors just as Tiny was heading off to supper at the boarding house. He gave them a friendly wave and left them to their business, barely blinking at Tanner’s native attire.

Buck’s curiosity was harder to shake off. If his friends were going to ride grinning and half naked into town, he damned well wanted to hear the story why. So he dogged their heels all the way to the stables.

“Aw, come on Chris! You all been playin’ Cowboys and Injuns or what?” he wheedled, leaning against a post and watching as they untacked and rubbed down their horses. Wicked, sharp, dark blue eyes took in Tanner’s attire as well as Chris’ sunburn, rope burns and lack of a shirt. There was a damned good story here, he was sure of it.

Larabee huffed out an exasperated breath. Buck was tenacious as the damned horsefly that had tormented him all afternoon. You either had to swat him away or give him what he wanted before he left you alone. He glared at his oldest friend.

“Alright, Buck, we’ll tell you the story over supper after we get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, Bucklin’, you are buyin’ ain’t ya?” Vin chimed in, grinning at him over Peso’s back. He sank the hook deeper.

“Me and Chris have had a hell of a day.”

Wilmington’s moustache twitched in irritation. He was about to die of curiosity. These two could be about as forthcoming as a pair of constipated clams. Finally, he scowled at his friends and threw his hands up in defeat.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll buy you two supper.”

“Drinks too,” added Larabee firmly.

Wilmington scowled to no effect whatsoever. He turned and stomped off, hollering over his shoulder.

“Okay! Drinks, too, but this better be good. I’ll see you boys at the boarding house in an hour.”

Behind him, Chris and Vin exchanged pleased smirks.

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Larabee finished grooming Pony and poured a measure of sweet grain into his feed bucket. He shot a surreptitious glance over at Vin and saw that he had finished with Peso and was now in the process of trying to wipe the war paint off his face with a bandanna he had dipped in a water bucket. The red paint was resisting his best effort.

“You’re gonna need soap and hot water for that, pard. We may as well stop at the bathhouse on the way to the boarding house.”

Tanner peered at the smeared cloth doubtfully.

“Reckon so,” he answered glumly.

Chris arched a blond brow.

“You got something against a bath?”

“Naw. Need one, anyway, to get all this damned bear oil off.” he replied sheepishly, indicating his glistening skin.

He reached for his dusty bundle of clothes and they started down the street towards the boarding house so Larabee could pick up a clean shirt. As they ambled down the boardwalk, Tanner’s Kiowa garb drew disapproving stares and murmurs from the townsfolk they passed. He dropped his head shyly, face hot.

Chris shot a gimlet-eyed glare over the downcast head, and Conklin abruptly shut his mouth on the acrid comment he was about to make.

Larabee dropped a hand carelessly on his friend’s shoulder, his rattlesnake-gaze and protective air evident, as he coolly met every curious stare. There were no more rude comments about ‘Indian lovers’ or ‘savages’ within his and Vin’s hearing as they walked down on the street. Tanner was silent.

After Larabee grabbed a clean black shirt, they stopped at Vin’s old wagon and he dug around for clean garments of his own. Chris waited patiently while the tracker chose a dark blue shirt and a clean bandanna from the batch he had stuffed in a small flour sack. It amused the gunman that while Vin owned only one or two pairs of britches, he had a multitude of kerchiefs.

They continued on into Mr. Lee’s bathhouse. They quickened their pace in unison and quickly stepped inside when they saw Mary Travis headed towards them with a determined air. No respectable widow would dare follow a man into the public bathhouse. Chris tossed the two bits to the old man and shot Vin a grin.

“My treat, since you saved my scalp and all.”

Tanner gave him a small half smile in return but said nothing. The bathhouse was empty at this time and they pulled a screen in front of two tubs in the back, to give themselves some privacy. Mr. Lee came bustling over and poured steaming buckets of hot water in each to mix with the fresh cool water that was already there. Once the tin tubs were steaming nicely, he returned to his chair at the door.

Larabee disrobed quickly and sank into his tub with a sigh. Damn, but that hot water felt good. He leaned back and watched lazily as Vin undressed, amused at the younger man’s modesty as he used his buckskins as a drape to shield his groin as he prepared to step into his tub.

“Hand me a bar of soap, will ya pard?”

Chris asked, smiling at the glimpse of bare behind he caught when Vin innocently turned away to grab a couple of bars from the nearby table. He gave Tanner a cheeky leer when the tracker tossed him a bar of the Castile soap he preferred over the coarse homemade lye, and watched fondly as his friend sank into the water, a look of pure bliss on the painted face.

“Thanks, cowboy,” he said softly and Vin smiled back, laugh lines around the sky blue eyes crinkling, knowing that he meant it for more than the soap.

They each leaned back, prepared for a good, hot soak, before the necessary business of scrubbing began, but were rudely interrupted by a ruckus from the front door. They could plainly hear Mr. Lee protesting in Cantonese, and Mary Travis’ clear, strident voice replying. Chris huffed out an irritated breath, while Vin abruptly sank chin deep into his tub, after looking wildly around and realizing there was no towel within easy reach.

Apparently Mrs. Travis had no compunction whatsoever about following a man into a bathhouse.

Larabee reached calmly over to remove a cheroot from the small packet that lay on his pile of clothing, and lit it by scratching a Lucifer against the side of his tub. He leaned back and took a deep draw and puffed out a smoke ring, eyes on the ceiling. Sourly, he wondered if the damned woman would follow a man to the shithouse. Probably, he thought, and nag every step of the way.

He heard the brisk tap of the high heels of her high buttoned shoes from behind the screen as she stalked towards them across the plank floor, apparently having intimidated Mr. Lee into letting her pass. He wondered what bee she had in her bonnet now?

Glancing over at his embarrassed friend, he saw that Vin was not only chin deep, but still as a mouse, apparently hoping to escape notice.

“Mr. Larabee! I insist that you…”

She never reached the end of her sentence. Chris had abruptly had enough of her intrusive presence and the imp of mischief that lurked in him raised its spiny head. Quickly, he stood, water sloshing, stepped out of the tub, and swept the canvas screen back to confront her face to face. He took another casual puff from his cigar.

“Can I help you Miz Travis?” he asked solicitously, bright wicked eyes on her startled face.

Casually he reached down and scratched his lean, wet belly. He heard a muffled snort, followed by a splash from the tub behind him. Mary’s face flamed scarlet and she gaped helplessly, trying to look everywhere but down and failing miserably. She sputtered for a moment, then turned tail and fled. Chris arched a brow and turned back to Vin with a smug smirk.

“I guess not.”

Vin surfaced from where he had slid beneath the water and brayed helplessly, tears of laughter running down his face.

“What?”

“B-b-bareback Larabee! Hell, Bareass Larabee more likely!”

Still cackling happily, he was too helpless to fight when Chris walked over and put a hand on his curly head to dunk him vigorously several times as punishment. He never saw the fond grin on his friend’s face at the rare display of mirth. It felt good to make Vin laugh, even if it was at his own expense.

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Buck paid up at the boarding house with a delicious dinner of roast beef, cornbread, green beans and mounds of mashed potatoes swamped with rich, brown gravy. Larabee and Tanner smirked and ate heartily, working their way through generous second helpings before deigning to speak, content to make the impatient Wilmington wait.

Later at the saloon, Tanner’s wry tale of his afternoon dice game and subsequent win had the rest of the peacekeepers howling with laughter at their leader’s expense. The story was indeed worth several rounds of drinks, and Ezra was nearly in tears of mirth at the thought of the dour Larabee as collateral in a bet.

The others couldn’t help but wonder at their leader’s rare good humor, as he sat chair tipped back in the corner, amused eyes on Vin’s animated face. The whisky flowed and a good evening was had by all, especially when Larabee told of Mary’s subsequent visit to the bathhouse and abrupt departure. He smirked, well aware of Conklin eavesdropping at the next table, as Buck roared with laughter and pounded Chris’ back. JD nearly snorted milk through his nose, and Josiah grinned toothily. The story of the feisty young widow who got an eyeful of Larabee in all his nude glory would be all over town within the hour. Maybe now she would leave him the hell alone.

Larabee sat sipping his whisky, content to bask in his friends’ company. He pondered that for a moment. He had never meant to get so deeply involved with other people again, but here he sat, full of good food and whisky, enjoying himself immensely. The urge to brood and drink himself into oblivion had vanished for the time being. He suspected that a lot his contentment was due to the soft, drawling presence of the man beside him.

He had reluctantly admitted to himself months ago that the feelings he had for the scruffy tracker went well beyond mere friendship. No female came close to arousing the level of feelings he had for the blue-eyed sharpshooter, and, he suspected, never would. He had truly loved only one woman in his lifetime, it didn’t surprise him that he would feel the same for one man.

The sheer surge of emotion that had Vin as the source was as complex as the man himself. He loved to see that shy, crooked smile. Worried constantly about the bounty on his head, became easily enraged at any insult to the quiet, young man, and quite simply had killed without compunction to keep him safe.

Vin had stolen into his heart so stealthily that he hadn’t noticed until one hung over morning, when it had dawned on him as he found himself hurrying to meet the tracker for breakfast before he left on a patrol. He counted on Vin’s steady presence in his life, and he felt off balance and out of sorts without him around. He just had no clue how to tell Tanner. He sure didn’t want to fuck up the best friendship he had ever had, so he kept silent.

It was getting late when the peacekeepers began to disperse. Buck and JD headed out on a patrol, while Josiah headed back to the church. Nate had left earlier to check in on a patient. Ezra was gearing up for a game with a trio of trail hands. Chris and Vin ambled slowly back down the street. There was a bright, full moon hanging overhead and the clear, starry night made the watch fires almost unnecessary.

Larabee had drunk enough for a nice buzz and was only slightly unsteady on his feet. It pleased him though, when Vin slid a supportive hand on his back when he stumbled slightly. Happily, he draped an arm over Vin’s shoulders and allowed himself to lean somewhat against him as they walked along. He was content to walk on this peaceful night with Vin close at his side.

Engrossed in his own thoughts, it was a moment before he realized Tanner was chuckling silently to himself. Larabee grinned, pleased at his friend’s good mood.

“What?” he demanded.

“You walking me home, cowboy?” Tanner asked, smiling up at him.

Chris grinned back and gave him a little one armed squeeze. He realized they were standing at the mouth of the alley where Vin parked his wagon. He arched a brow.

“Anything wrong with that?” he asked.

“Nope,” Tanner replied, another inaudible ripple of laughter causing him to shake silently.

Larabee in a foolish mood amused him to no end, and it pleased him to see the usually somber gunslinger relaxed and in a good humor. It seemed to him that barring today’s snit before he left town, Chris’ bad moods were stretching farther and farther apart. Granted, he still brooded and could be cranky as hell, but the drunken rages had almost ceased entirely. Maybe he was finally through grieving and ready to start healing.

They ambled up the shadowed alley. It was isolated and quiet here this time of night. Vin had chosen this location deliberately and parked at the far end of the alley between the grain exchange and the smithy, across the street from the Gem Hotel. The owners of both businesses lived outside of town and appreciated the peacekeeper keeping a watchful eye on their places at night.

They reached the tailgate of Vin’s wagon, Larabee’s arm still draped companionably over his shoulders. Chris frowned up at the full bright moon.

“Don’t they call that a Comanche moon?” he asked curiously.

Vin snickered. “Could call it a Larabee moon.” he joked, grinning up at his friend.

Larabee scowled down at his sniggering friend. He had a sudden, reckless irresistible desire to kiss the smirk off that sassy mouth. So he did, bending his head to brush Vin’s lips with his, hand sliding up to cup the nape of his neck. For one moment, Tanner froze and Larabee thought maybe he was about to get shot instead of scalped, then shy hands came slowly up to clasp his slim hips. For a moment they stood close enough to share breath, then Vin tilted his head and Chris licked his mouth open and plunged deep, wrapping his other arm around the shorter man’s waist to pull him closer.

When Larabee finally raised his head, both men were breathing considerably harder. They stood together, Larabee’s mouth pressed gently against Tanner’s hot face. He smiled because he could feel Vin blushing. His voice was a husky, burnt whisky purr breathed against Tanner’s skin.

“Now that you’ve won me, what are you going to do with me?” He teased softly, smiling at the ripple of reaction that got as Tanner shivered in his arms.

He pressed his forehead against Vin’s, enjoying the warm gust of breath against his own face, and lifted both hands to cup that strongly boned jaw as he pressed soft kisses over Vin’s eyes and cheeks. Tanner moaned with wordless pleasure, lifting his face hungrily for more and he obliged, kissing the lush mouth deeply, pulling him close.

Tanner moaned again, than gave a wordless snarl and pulled his head away. He fisted both hands in Larabee’s shirt and pushed him back towards the waiting wagon. The Hawk was about to claim his spoils.

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Later, snug under a buffalo robe, Larabee woke with the moon beaming right into his eyes. For a split second, he didn’t know where he was, only that he was relaxed and comfortable. Vin was curled naked and warm in his arms, tousled head tucked under his chin, his purring breath soft and moist against Chris’ chest. His skin was limned with silver moonlight. One hand was splayed possessively across Larabee’s belly, a leg thrown carelessly over his thigh, anchoring him.

Their loving had been both tender and intense as they urgently explored each other’s bodies, sought their pleasure and sated it for the time being. Larabee grinned a foolish grin up at the bright moon. It was a good thing no one had noticed the old wagon rocking and creaking on its axles! He dropped a gentle kiss on his lover’s unruly hair, tugged the robe snugly up over their shoulders and shut his eyes to the inquisitive eye of the nosy moon. He would wake Vin up for another round before dawn.

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Buck Wilmington rode his tall gray mare sleepily into town just as the early morning sun was topping the horizon. He had had a very pleasant night with Cora Mae McCauley after his evening patrol. The charming and voluptuous young widow had been well worth the hour-long interrogation Buck had endured from her young son, Wilbur, regarding his potential as a prospective Pa. In all, it had been a fruitful night, once Wilbur was put to bed.

Why on earth did perfectly sane women name their offspring such gawd awful names? Buck mused as he clopped down the street towards the livery. Why name a child Wilbur? It ranked right up there with Percival, Dewey or Otis. He grinned evilly and made a mental note to find out what the P in Ezra P. Standish stood for. If he wouldn’t tell, maybe Buck could wire Maude…

As he rode past the saloon, he noticed Chris and Vin seated in their usual chairs outside the saloon, two neglected cups of coffee steaming on the barrel between them. He started to holler a greeting, then frowned. There was something off with the picture but he wasn’t sure exactly what…both men looked like they were asleep. Vin was huddled down turtle-like in his hide coat, relaxed hands in his lap, old hat pulled low over his eyes. Chris, on the other hand, was sprawled out like a big golden cat, long legs crossed at the ankle, lean hands folded on his belt buckle, hat brim also tilted low over his face.

Buck’s eyes narrowed. There was a familiar cat-got-the-cream quirk to the gunfighter’s full mouth. He recognized that sated look. Larabee had gotten laid last night. But with whom? Chris ignored the town whores and had shown no interest in Mary…the last time he had seen Chris he was leaving with…his eyes widened and flicked to the dozing sharpshooter. About all he could see was Vin’s chin and mouth----a mouth with tender, swollen lips, a mouth that had been kissed raw.

Buck’s jaw dropped, and he was about to bellow his surprise, say something, anything, maybe needle his friends a bit, when Larabee tilted his hat back and gave him a cool, gimlet-eyed stare. That keen, clear gaze was warning enough. Buck grinned. Ol’ Chris was staking a claim! Wilmington chuckled aloud and tipped his hat as he rode on, an impossibly wide grin plastered on his handsome face. He had plenty of time. He would rag his friends later in private. In the meantime he would needle Ez about his middle name. His money was on Percy.

End

11/08/04

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