Part 5 of the Love Lies Waiting series.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. What they do together – is.
Synopsis: Follows The Most Beautiful Thing. It’s the morning after from Chris’ POV. Thanks again go out to Charlotte for her thoughts and insight.
He kept waiting to panic. He was expecting panic. In one form or another, he fully anticipated shame and qualm and terror to rise from somewhere at the base of his spine.
It never happened.
Morning lapped at him gently, tugging him into consciousness, stealing the sand of sleep from beneath his feet. Fuzzy light striped the floor by the closet, the bands narrowing into focus as his vision cleared. Movement was sluggish.
He was very warm. Very warm in a sated, languid, inside-out kind of way that made even his bones feel sleepy. The kind of warm that comes from playing in the snow all day and coming inside to a fire and a mug of hot chocolate.
His right arm tingled, the hand attached to it dead. Straightening himself produced a succession of pops that reminded him of his age and the reason why he didn’t sleep on his side very often.
The reason why he was sleeping on his side – was still sleeping on his. Breaths were deep and even; snores soft. The bed clothes, hopelessly askew, smelled for once of someone other than himself, alone. The room itself smelled of many things, not the least of which was sex, and –
Chris looked at the living furnace of Buck’s back and remembered.
Before consciousness, before he could check it or dissect it or question it, Chris smiled. Self- indulgent and self-pleased, he grinned and stretched all the way down to his toes.
Blood rushing into his finger tips turned his smile to a grimace as he tried to make a fist. Nothing appreciates being dead for that long; it has to remember how to work properly again. In quick succession, other parts of his body began to report for duty, his brain checking them off on its roster of belated self-awareness.
He was hard – not surprising. His throat was dry, and his face itched like he had a rash – uncomfortable. The rest of his skin was sticky, some in places he had never been sticky before, and clenching certain muscles made his mouth open on a wordless cry of surprise. Ouch. Experimentally, he reached behind him and probed gently between his butt cheeks. Very sticky and very tender.
Accompanying this discovery was nothing he expected to feel.
He didn’t blush at the memory of – what had possessed him? – riding Buck like a mechanical bull, bringing himself to the most spectacular orgasm he’d had in recent memory. Hell, in nearly all memory. His dick certainly remembered and twitched enthusiastically.
It wasn’t lust he was feeling, though, not specifically. Not most acutely.
Jumbled and slightly sideways came nearest the mark, nearest to naming what he felt. Like a box dropped on its corner, then righted, only the contents are never the same.
Surely he had wanted last night, wanted what had happened. Definitely. Replaying the evening in fast-forward showed him no moment where he wanted to stop, back off, or slow down. No, in fact, he remembered quite clearly being the one who had mounted his best friend and watched as Buck’s face grew incandescent with pleasure. This was before he couldn’t hold his eyes open or his head square on his shoulders and had surrendered himself to … had surrendered himself, period.
Buck’s skin was strangely pale in this light. The strong line from neck to shoulder and down the arm was its own horizon, white sun glowing bright on the rim, throwing the triceps and deltoid into deep shadow.
Soft skin Chris had not expected. The deep strength he had known, but not the tenderness, the softness. Softness in words and touch, in touching and being touched.
He risked touching now, fingers skimming over bare shoulder and arm, taking a moment to learn it by heart. The wild groping and heated thrusting of the moment had not allowed for this. Quiet unobserved discovery. Reveling in the revealed.
Buck’s upper arms had no hair on them. Not even tiny baby hairs. Not like the ones his barber had missed on the nape of his neck. Not like the brush of hair on Buck’s chest or the soft swirl around his nipples.
Chris pursed his lips and blew a gentle stream of air, watching the baby hairs quiver and the skin tighten beneath his hairline. He remembered the feel of Buck’s hair in his hands, fingers stroking, threading, tightening. He resisted the urge to twirl Buck’s cowlick into something impossible to tame by comb alone.
He felt goofy. He felt wiggly-ornery like a schoolboy with a toad hidden behind his back. Yet, he let Buck sleep.
They had all day.
All day to themselves.
They had had days to themselves before, but not like this, not as this one promised to be. Stealthily, squinting one eye as if that might help make less noise, Chris lifted back enough of the quilt to peer down the shaded length of Buck’s body. Nice ass. So that was what had possessed him.
Yes, there was that, but there was more. It was Buck’s mouth that got him, that turned the key, cranked the engine, and kept him revved. It was Buck’s strength that tethered him, and his heart that made him love being bound. Granted, he wanted to hide his eyes at the memory of shooting off like a teenager almost immediately after Buck went down on him. Not his finest hour. But then again –
Gently, Chris rolled to his back and tugged on the opposite corner of the quilt, rolling again until he and Buck were cocooned in dark blue polyester blend, Chris right back where he had woken, spooned happily behind a lot of very warm flesh. Buck continued to sleep the sleep of the well-fucked. This begged the question why Chris wasn’t still asleep, but he wasn’t going to argue the finer points at that particular moment.
Unfortunately the moment had to be broken; he desperately needed to go to the bathroom and he needed to shower. The shower Buck had talked him out of in lieu of more exercise. Chris’ muscles wouldn’t forgive him for yesterday, not without a long soak in the hot tub. Perhaps not without a long soak and a good blowjob.
Apparently a smile would be part of his permanent expression for days to come, if the past ten minutes were any gauge.
Creepingly slowly, Chris eased himself from the covers and tucked them back around Buck, still sound asleep. At this point, Jack the Ripper and Lizzie Borden could break into the room wielding chain saws and bazookas, and Buck would probably snore through it.
He went down the hall to the guest bathroom nonetheless.
He had to sneak back into his room for clean clothes, of course, and felt like an idiot creeping naked around his own house. Still, he smiled. The persistent ache in his backside reminded him to keep grinning.
Lord, the bedroom reeked – in a good way. In a passion-spent, loin-stirring, hot and sweaty way. Chris wanted to crawl back under the covers and make more good smells until he and Buck were too tired to move. They could wallow in old-sweat, new-sweat, dried-come reek and forget everything but those four walls.
Alas, a shower was necessary.
His reflection in the bathroom mirror gave him pause. Hair comically plastered to one side of his head and tufting on the top like the crown of an exotic bird made him look like he’d spent the evening wrestling instead of sleeping. There was enough truth in that thought to warm the back of his neck and bring color to his cheeks. As he raised an arm and toyed with a particularly rebellious lock, he took the time to appreciate the fact that he smelled like – like he’d spent the evening doing exactly what it smelled like. He even had a nice beard burn to go with what was obviously dried spunk flaking on his right cheek.
That was new. He didn’t know how he felt about that.
He scratched at his cheek absently as he turned on the shower.
Ah, sweet blessed relief. Chris set the shower head to stun and let the scalding water pelt him. His muscles were loudly voicing their grievances; a man of nearly forty should not bale all the hay himself, and then go inside for a relatively ambitious bout of mind-altering sex. Perhaps he could talk Buck into a massage. In the hot tub. With a blowjob.
A little ingenuity and they could invent their own version of Clue.
He washed himself gently, cautiously, wondering if he shouldn’t invest in a detachable showerhead for reaching those hard-to-reach places. In the light of day, in the light of the bathroom mirror – in full possession of his faculties – the intimacies of the night before made him oddly, suddenly self-conscious. He didn’t feel half as embarrassed as he thought he should but supposed that some anxiety was to be expected. Willingly having anal sex was not something he would have considered a month ago.
Anal sex. He tried the words aloud.
“Anal sex. Anal intercourse.”
He grimaced. That sounded so clinical even muffled by the spray of water.
“Taking it up the ass.”
That sounded obscenely loud – even muffled by the spray of water. Honestly, it sounded appalling. In the Handbook of Manly Men, such a thing was an anathema. Something revolting and unthinkable. He should be horrified.
Chris let the water beat down upon his head and rolled the words over in his mind.
What truly made them appalling was how far removed they were from the truth. For the first few moments, he had wondered why someone would want to do that ever. It hurt, and it was awkward as hell.
What a brief lifespan that notion had enjoyed.
So quickly it had morphed into a dreamy speculation, filled with regret, Chris asking himself why everyone wasn’t doing it all the time! Why he and Buck hadn’t been doing it for years!
It felt so damned good. Deeper and richer and – loving. That was the core of it. Love. Well, that and the fact that it was unbelievably incredible. There’s an oxymoron.
He hadn’t come that hard in his entire life. He’d never felt so vulnerable. And now he was sounding like a woman.
Making love. Fucking. Hell yes, taking it up the ass. Now that he thought of it, he found he didn’t mind so much – the thought of it. This was pretty convenient since, obviously, his dick didn’t mind at all. He opened his eyes to stare down his body and the water sluicing off his groin. His dick looked totally ecstatic, curving upwards toward his stomach, happily bouncing along and wondering what the delay was.
Deciding to save that for later, he finished his shower and stepped out onto the furry bathmat. He and Buck had finished this bathroom together, floor mats and all. The plumbing had been a bitch, but the carpentry work had been a breeze, and, being men, they had decorated the room in nothing that could be described as a theme. None of the towels matched. They had taken the time to trim it with a woodsy green patterned border along the top and crown molding along the bottom, but as neither had the patience to wallpaper, they had simply painted the whole room one of the thirteen million colors of off-white at the paint store.
Sarah would know exactly what color it was.
Chris stopped and waited for the wrenching pain that accompanied all thoughts of her.
It never came.
Not for the first time this morning, Chris didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t understand what he was feeling. He tried another one.
Sarah and he agreed that the worst fight they had ever had was over wallpapering Adam’s room. She knew that the glue had to dry a little before putting the paper up, otherwise the paper would pucker and probably peel, but Chris had been impatient. As fussy as he was over measuring and cutting and lining up all the animal shapes so that they matched, he didn’t want to wait for the paper to dry. Sarah, on the other hand, couldn’t cut a straight line if her life depended on it.
Not that he’d been nagging her about it or anything. Of course not.
He had hardly said a word when he had to go back to the store for more rolls of paper, since she had already ruined two. Then, naturally, he had been determined to show her the proper way to measure and cut. He stood over her and gave helpful hints and instructions – all of which resulted in Sarah stopping, taking a deep breath, and telling him that he could either show her how to do it, or tell her to do it, but not both.
Those were her words. Her smile had told him in no uncertain terms where he could shove the glue brush.
He told her that she needed to learn how to do it right! In her own inimitable way, Sarah had placed a gentle hand on his arm and affected a sweet smile, telling him that in all the years they’d been together as a couple she’d been searching for the perfect phrase to express her feelings in the bedroom. And look! Chris had found it.
In the end, he had papered alone, struggling the entire time, and never waiting for the damn glue to dry. Sarah had read a book and taken a nap. She was so much smarter than he was.
Standing there in the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, Chris smiled still at that memory. Usually, habitually, the smile came with the pain – deep, merciless, and raw. Only now, it was merely a sting, a ghost of its former self, a mild throb in his chest like a second heartbeat.
He pressed a hand to his chest and looked at himself in the mirror, as if expecting to see a hole there. As if, possibly, he could see where the pain had gone. It couldn’t be gone. It had nowhere to go.
Frightening; this was truly disturbing and unsettling, and he had no idea what to do about it. So he dried his hair and got dressed and walked in a daze back to his bedroom. On the way, he paused to pick up the items of clothing that had been flung out into the hall in their craze of the night before. A boot. A sock. His boxers dangling from a picture frame. His jeans half way in and out of the bedroom.
Buck stirred as he dumped the dirty clothes in his closet hamper. Some time after Chris had left the room, Buck had turned and buried his face in Chris’ pillow, hugging it with both arms. It was that sight that hit Chris square in the chest and made his eyes sting.
Yeah, it had been Buck who had helped him rip out the shorter, child-friendly wash basin and put in one fit for adults. It was Buck who had helped him box up bears and books and the world’s tiniest baseball mitt. It was Buck who just wouldn’t leave, damnit, and Chris found himself smiling again.
“Chris?” Very muffled and slurred, the voice was morning-groggy and deep.
“I’m here.”
“Mmmmmm.” Satisfied, Buck smiled. Then frowned. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Why?” Chris approached the bed, sat on the edge, and gave in to his instinct to bury his fingers in Buck’s hair. Soft, wayward, difficult to tame. Chris had known that all along.
“Mmmmmm.” Much more satisfied. “Feels good.”
A long arm and powerful hand, impossible to resist, reached and pulled, and Chris was enfolded and – munched on. Sleepy mouth chewing on what it had obviously hoped to be skin.
“Why’re you dressed?”
“Because I showered.”
“Without me?”
“You’re slobbering on my shirt.”
“Give me something else to slobber on, then.”
Chris didn’t just yet, but Buck stopped anyway, seemingly mollified and drifting back to sleep.
“You didn’t answer. What time is it?”
Not asleep then, just lazy as sin. Chris kept petting his head. “It’s ten thirty. You didn’t answer either. Why?”
“Boy’s are coming out. It’s your turn this weekend.”
“Shit.” No, he hadn’t remembered. So much for having all day, having Buck all to himself.
Lazily, Buck raised his head, just his head, and grinned. Hedonism personified. “Why? What did you have planned?”
Chris merely frowned at him, annoyed at himself, and walked to where he could see the bedside clock. “Damn. Ten thirty doesn’t give me much time.” He’d need to change again, and eat something, and get the horses ready.
“We don’t need much time,” Buck drawled, moving the covers off of his body and wearing an expression that should come with its own rating label. Perhaps a warning label.
Chris ignored the effect that had on him – the sight of Buck’s body displayed, morning erection far more ready for action than the rest of him. “I told Vin I’d take him out to look at the old line shack, early. What with one thing and another, I forgot.”
Much humor was apparently found in this. Buck chortled. “One thing and another will get you every time.” He rolled to his back and stretched, arching a little off the bed, yawning wide, looking disgustingly pleased with himself.
“Do most people find you as unbearably charming as you find yourself?” Chris asked, struggling to remain properly disgusted.
“Yep.” More irresistible movement hauled Chris over and on top of Buck’s naked body. “You smell good.”
“You don’t,” Chris lied. Buck tugged on his shirt collar and attached his lips to the first piece of available skin. “Buck, I just got clean.”
“I don’t mind.” Only Buck would say something so inane. “We can get clean again later.”
Gentle sucking and biting made Chris not mind so much either. He tilted his head, lowered it, and went after Buck’s neck too. Turn about being fair play, and all that. Salty skin, no less smooth than the night before, made his mouth water. Warm sounds and smells, quiet tug of lips and teeth, this was nice. Chris widened his legs and let more of his weight sink down, feeling Buck’s chest vibrate with a nearly soundless hum of pleasure as their erections bumped and slid alongside one another. This is how mornings were supposed to be spent.
After all, this is what he had wanted. Damnit, he was master of the house, in the master bedroom with the big master bath, none of which had enjoyed dual occupancy since –
There was loud rapping on the front door, and Chris exhaled a groan of complaint. He raised his head and pushed a quick kiss onto Buck’s mouth, before climbing off of both him and the bed, grunting as his body reminded him, yet again, that it had been thoroughly abused the day before. Scratching his head, his ass, and then readjusting himself in his sweat pants, Chris padded barefoot to the front door.
“Yeah?”
“Chris it’s me.”
Chris rolled his head toward the ceiling and swore under his breath. Vin was early, as expected, and evidently Chris had forgotten for the second time in the last five minutes that Vin was supposed to be early.
“Chris?”
“Yeah.” He unlocked the door and swung it wide, turning before Vin could notice that he was still hard as a rock.
“Good morning to you too,” Vin greeted sarcastically, shutting the door. “I wake you?”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna say more than yeah?”
“Yeah,” Chris teased, grinning over his shoulder. “I’m gonna make coffee. You want some?”
“Could do.”
In the kitchen, Chris could calm his arousal by pressing his hips into the kitchen counter and taking more time than necessary to ready the coffee drip.
“You and Buck have a rough night?” Caught off guard, Chris dumped most of the coffee grounds on the counter. “You’re sleeping awful late,” Vin clarified, much to Chris’ everlasting relief.
“Yeah, uh, we were up late.”
Vin leaned back in his chair and turned the corner on the curtain over the window. “It’s got the makings of a gorgeous day,” he sighed, sounding as happy as no one else could be at the simple prospect of blue skies and a fair breeze.
“Good.” Chris had saved the coffee grounds, and joined Vin at the table while they bubbled in the percolator. “We can take a tour and be back in time for the others to join us.”
Vin nodded.
This was normal. This was a normal Saturday morning – sparse conversation over coffee with Vin, waiting for the circus to arrive, maybe seeing to the horses or taking a ride. Yet Chris was as tense as he could ever remember feeling. Surely Vin would notice, Vin of the eagle eyes and the uncanny sensitivity to all that surrounded him. Vin had to notice that there was something different about today, about Chris, about the atmosphere in the entire house.
Chris was inordinately happy that he had showered when he had, or there would have been no hiding it. Hiding how changed everything was.
“You gonna get that coffee or just let it burn?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’ll get it.”
Vin cocked his head, a small worry line forming between his brows. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just – I was just thinking.”
“I’d say.” The smile that slowly curled Vin’s lips was a terrifying thing. “You thinkin’ about whoever it was gave you that hickey?”
Mugs clanked loudly against one another as Chris nearly dropped them on the floor. Vin’s grin had spread unforgivably wide.
“Guess that’s a yes.”
“Vin – ”
“Hey, don’t get your panties in a twist. I won’t ask for details, but you’d better hide it before Buck gets up. You know he won’t leave you alone.”
Chris wondered at what cosmic joke was being played that Vin’s words hit so terribly near the mark. Buck, yes, he should go find Buck. And strangle him.
“I’ll go pull on a different shirt,” Chris said casually, as he handed Vin a mug and sauntered out of the kitchen.
He found Buck still in the bedroom, door outrageously ajar, sitting on the edge of the bed and scratching his balls. Chris bypassed him, heading for the bathroom. In the mirror he closely examined the fresh, bright red love bite low on the side of his neck.
“I can’t believe this.” He reeled and descended on the naked man in the other room. “You did this – ”
“Why? Vin say something?”
“ – knowing that everyone would see it.”
Buck tilted his head as if in thought. “How was I to know you’d pick that shirt?”
“Is that your best defense? Jesus, Buck.”
Buck, horrible man, appeared not the least unsettled, sitting there, grinning. “C’mon Chris. Everyone’s seen me with hickeys before. Just change shirts.”
Grumbling, Chris did just that, choosing one with a collar this time.
“You really think you can ride a horse today?”
“I have to, Buck.” Yes, he had to, which meant that he should change into jeans and boots too, while he was at it.
“Then don’t come crying to me later, stud.”
“Why not – it’s your fault I’m sore already.”
“Yep. It sure is.” The leer on Buck’s face had to be seen to be believed.
Chris threw him a tempestuous glare on his way out as Buck – who he would surely shoot one day – strolled – gloriously nude, half-erect, and unrepentant – into the bathroom.
“Oh,” Buck’s innocently smiling face appeared, “shut the door, will you?”
Shooting was too quick a death for such a man.
The ride with Vin wasn’t as uncomfortable as anticipated. If Vin noticed how precariously Chris was balanced in the saddle, he made no comment. They had often talked of turning the old line shack into a sort of retreat, a cabin, somewhere any of the boys could come if they needed to get away.
The structure was older than ancient which meant that they’d probably have to pull it down completely and start over, but between them, they had enough money to do the job right. It was a nice thought, anyway, and the morning was indeed as gorgeous as Vin had hoped.
So the ride was good, nice, settling, normal. It was the sort of distraction Chris felt he needed, even if he wasn’t sure why. He felt distracted enough as it was. It was a hell of a thing, what he and Buck had done, and he couldn’t understand why it didn’t shake him to the very core. It was as novel as it was familiar, and that was an impossible position to be in.
Logical; it was the next logical step to take, to give life to a physical aspect of a love they undeniably shared. Still, he hated to think of it in those terms. Logic had so little to do with it. Everything had changed irreversibly and everything was absolutely the same.
Some perverse part of him wanted to grab Vin by the lapels and shout that he had just had sex with Buck! Sex! And it had been one of the best lays of his life! This was no mutual orgasm by jacking off to a porno. This was hard-core porn in his own bedroom.
The worst part of that urge was that Chris didn’t imagine Vin would be either shocked or repulsed. He might wonder why Chris was shouting, but otherwise he would take it in stride and make sure that Chris knew what he was doing, getting into it with Buck. Getting into it as if, now, there was any way out. As if he would, for one second, consider ever getting out.
“So what do you think?”
“What?”
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
Chris grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, pard. Got a lot on my mind.”
Shaking his head and staring off toward the house, Vin gave a long sigh, “Must be one hell of a woman,” and broke stride, trotting for the barn.
Chris walked his horse to the barn; trotting was emphatically not an option. He dismounted carefully, gradually, and braced himself against Pony when his feet hit the ground. A rhythmic pulse of pain in his backside reminded him that Buck needed a good shooting. Or, perhaps, some other demonstrable form of punishment that would leave him unable to ride a horse for a week. That was a better plan, he decided, and hid his smile in the saddle bag.
Vin eyed him curiously but said nothing, and the two of them entered the house through the back door, both visibly bracing themselves against the noise within.
The circus had arrived.
And it was in the kitchen.
Nathan was carving a giant hunk of dead animal on a large board set over the top of the kitchen table. Everyone else was standing around wearing excited expressions of awe and curiosity.
“Where the hell’d you get this?” Buck asked, managing to smile and frown at the same time.
“From a friend of mine.”
Buck didn’t look at Chris when he entered, just kept staring at Nathan and the side of carcass on the table. It was grotesque, and really cool, according to JD, who looked equally impressed and appalled.
“Buck, right?” Vin asked, leaning closer and inspecting Nathan’s handiwork.
“Last I knew,” Buck answered cheekily.
“Yeah, ten-point,” Nathan responded, ignoring Buck. “He bagged this one and a doe.”
“John or Jane?” Josiah rumbled, his head in the fridge on a quest for beer.
“You never cease to astonish us all with your scintillating wit, Josiah,” Ezra commented from around his coffee cup. “Greetings, Mr. Larabee.”
“Oh yeah, hi, Chris.” JD said, unblinking, staring at the venison and the short work Nathan was making of it with his knife.
“We’ve named it Chris,” Ezra informed him, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Here, old man, sit a spell,” Vin offered, scooting Chris a chair. “You looked like you were having a hard time in the saddle,” he explained, shrugging at Chris’ puzzled frown.
Buck’s face remained passive as he nonchalantly added, “Yeah, Chris outdid himself yesterday. Did all the barn work by himself. And then went for a long ride. Rode too hard I reckon. I keep telling him he ain’t no spring chicken.”
Snickers and grins followed. Chris paid no attention to the chatter above his head as his beloved teammates, Josiah prudently abstaining, exchanged the usual witticisms concerning his age. He sat down with intent, stared resolutely at the dead animal being carved upon the kitchen table, and pretended not to feel the incredible burning sensation on the back of his neck.
When he lifted his eyes, they met Buck’s laughing ones, and he drew a forefinger in a sharp line across his throat, vowing that Buck would die slowly and painfully. Buck pursed his lips and blew him a silent kiss, a gesture he quickly, brilliantly, covered by bringing his coffee mug to his mouth and sipping loudly.
No one observed this silent exchange. No one felt the crackle in the atmosphere or felt the wind that swept through the kitchen, stirring the air and making him shiver. Ezra handed plates to Josiah who handed them to Vin and JD, anointed bearers of the sacrificial beast, which they carried with pride out to the grill. Josiah helped Nathan wrap what was left of the meat and stick it temporarily in the fridge – they’d take it home later – while Ezra grabbed tin foil and vegetables – mustn’t forget the olive oil – and joined the rest of them out back.
Chris remained seated, looking at Buck leaning against the counter smiling and laughing and using his wounded shoulder as the reason why he couldn’t be asked to help carry. No one bought it, but no one cared.
Chris thought he might cry. He thought he might laugh.
In the midst of this chattering commotion, he realized where his pain had gone. Something within him had breathed. Relaxed, opened, and exhaled without his ever making a sound.
It was a hell of a thing he and Buck were doing, and the only damn thing that had changed – at all, period, the end – was where they were putting their dicks. How they felt hadn’t changed; how they acted, how they laughed, how they lived, all of that was the same. No wonder no one else noticed, because absolutely everything else was the same.
Except in him.
Where no one else could see but Buck.
He had let go and he hadn’t even noticed. He had forgiven himself and hadn’t thought to tell himself yet. It takes a while for something that long dead to learn how to live again. His pain had gone away with pins and needles, with the irresistible strength of Buck’s arms.
His precious memories no longer had the power to scald him, only make him smile. A smile that had been just under the surface all day.
Sudden silence in the kitchen brought his sight into focus, almost. He swiped a hand at his eyes and discovered they were damp, and then Buck was in his space, pulling him up, and he was standing. And he was being held.
“Hey there, darlin’.” Low voice, moustache tickling his ear. “It’s just now sinking in ain’t it.”
“What?” Chris found his voice a whisper.
“That it’s a hell of a thing you did last night.”
Laughter, unexpected and hot, burst out, and he was hugging Buck for all he was worth, laughing and burying his face and not caring if anyone walked in. “Yeah, guess so.”
“That mean you’ve forgiven me?”
Chris shook his head. “No, I’ve forgiven me.”
He heard his back pop – and maybe his ribs too – with the force of Buck’s answering hug.
Then there were kisses, fiercely tender, and Chris didn’t know how that had happened. Not that it would have taken much movement. Not that any power on earth could have prevented it. There was a hell of a lot of love in the room, and no one else noticed, because it was nothing new.
They pulled apart at the sound of the back door and JD shouting something to people who could probably no longer hear him, but they didn’t stop smiling.
JD breezing through the kitchen, the rattling of beer bottles, JD leaving the kitchen. They kept smiling.
“Whaddya say, stud – you ready to go make sure these idiots don’t set fire to the yard?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then.” Buck winked, grabbed some more beer, and they went outside like it was any other Saturday in the world.
Chris clanged his bottle against Vin’s as he took a spot beside him, leaning against the wooden rail of the back porch.
Buck took over the grilling, Ezra handing him delicately wrapped parcels of veggies, Josiah mixing a marinade. JD talked about his latest date with Casey; Nathan talked about buying a house with Rain.
Chris smiled.THE END
Contiues in Suspicions of Happiness